by R. C. Ryan
“Ash.” At the sound of his name, he blinked and struggled up before helping Brenna to her feet. She was still holding the wriggling pup, while Ash, reluctant to break this tenuous connection, continued holding tightly to her as if to lend support.
“Well, that will teach us to hold a reunion in the middle of the street.” Her voice was soft and a little too breathy.
“Still, he had to see us here. He didn’t even bother to stop and make sure we were all right.”
Brenna looked down at his hand, still holding tightly to her.
He was forced to release his hold on her. That was when he caught the glint of sunlight reflecting off the diamond on the ring finger of her left hand.
His mind went numb. For the longest time, his heart forgot to beat.
On the long drive here he’d tried to prepare himself for any number of changes. He’d even tried to picture Brenna married and with children. But the truth was, it had been an impossible image. The closer he’d come to town, the more he’d begun to allow himself to hope that she would be the same Brenna he’d left all those years ago. Sweet and generous and somehow willing to forgive him and even wait for him.
Though he’d tried to prepare himself for the worst, now that he saw that ring winking in the sunlight, mocking him, he couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. He felt his jaw clench until his teeth ached.
Seeing the direction of his gaze she flushed. “I guess you wouldn’t have heard. I’m…getting married.”
“Married. Well. Con…gratulations.” The word stuck in his throat. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
She nodded toward the man in suit and tie just exiting Green’s Grocery with a bottle of water tipped up to his mouth.
Ash absorbed a wave of absolute fury. He hated this stranger on sight.
Adjusting his sunglasses, the man smiled at Brenna and strolled into the street. “You hitching a ride with strangers now, Bren?”
“Sammy got loose and ran before I could stop him. I’m grateful he wasn’t run over. In fact, we were all nearly run over by some crazy driver who didn’t even slow down. It was a close call.”
“I thought I heard the screech of tires. I guess that’s what happens when you stand in the middle of the street,” the man said drily.
“Chris, this is Ash MacKenzie. Ash, my fiancé, Chris Revel.”
“Revel.” Ash studied the man through narrowed eyes.
“MacKenzie. Of course. I heard about your father. I guess everyone in Montana has, by now.” He offered a handshake. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks.” Noting the suit and tie, Ash couldn’t help saying, “I guess it’s a safe bet that you’re not a local rancher.”
“I work for the government. My temporary assignment has stretched out into a six-month stint.” He shot an admiring look at Brenna. “And for that I’m grateful.”
Ash fought to ignore the jealousy that pulsed through him. It was an emotion alien to him. But though he knew he had no right to envy this stranger, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling. It was raw and deep and completely irrational, and it had him by the throat as if it were a monster.
“What is it you do for the government?”
“Collect data for the Farm Bureau.”
It was on the tip of Ash’s tongue to call him a paper pusher, or something equally denigrating, until he managed to push aside his irrational anger and return to civility.
Hearing the honking of a horn, he looked over. “Unless we get out of the street, we may not get a second chance.” He turned to Brenna. “It was great seeing you.”
“You too, Ash.”
As Ash climbed into his truck, Chris Revel put a proprietary arm around Brenna’s shoulders and guided her back to the sidewalk.
Ash put the truck in gear and watched in his sideview mirror as the man bent to press a kiss to Brenna’s cheek before taking the puppy from her arms. Once the leash was attached, the couple continued walking with the puppy following at their feet.
They were looking into each other’s eyes and smiling.
Ash felt a knife enter his heart.
And then they were out of sight.
He leaned an arm out the window, trying to focus on the reason for his return to town. But it was impossible to concentrate on anything except Brenna Crane.
His first love. His only love, if truth be told. Even though he’d left her without a word of good-bye, he’d never stopped thinking about her. And somehow, he’d always entertained the idea of coming back to find her still in love with him, and still waiting.
Another dream shattered. With his record, he thought, he ought to be good at dealing with broken dreams by now. But this one hurt so much more than the others. Hurt enough to have him mentally cursing the pain, and cursing himself for his stupidity.
He knew one thing. He’d heard from a friend passing through Wyoming years ago that Brenna had been deeply wounded when he’d left town without so much as a word to her. For a girl like Brenna, it had to have been the final straw in a life that had been one shattering disappointment after another. But though he’d wanted to write her, or call, he’d convinced himself that he had no right. Not while he’d been struggling to figure out his own future. What kind of man would ask a woman as special as Brenna to wait or, worse, to join him in what appeared to be a succession of odd jobs and no roots?
Guilt had been Ash’s constant companion all these years. He was still plagued by guilt.
And now, it seemed, he needn’t have worried. Brenna had finally moved on with her life.
Ash reminded himself that after the way he’d treated her, she had every right to carve out a bright future for herself. And he had no right to get in the way. Whatever feelings he had for her would have to be buried as deeply, as completely, as the feelings he had for his father.
In these past years, the loss of everyone who mattered had left him feeling adrift. The loneliness had been a physical ache around his heart that had never healed. But he’d learned that it was possible to live with a permanently broken heart.
For now, he would concentrate on repairing the rift he’d caused in his family, and easing his mother through the pain of her loss. He’d been the cause of so much pain, not only for Willow, but also for Whit, the kid brother who had been his constant shadow.
He hoped they’d be able to find their way back to what they’d once had, before all the anger and harsh words had broken them completely.
And then he would figure out what he was going to do with his life going forward, now that all the old dreams were gone forever.
Chris Revel led Brenna inside the temporary cubicle he rented behind the medical clinic before turning to her. “Coffee?” The single word was abrupt.
She managed a smile. “I thought we were going to lunch.”
He turned his back on her. “That’s what I’d planned, but I got a call from Helena. I’ve got to get them a mountain of data before their monthly meeting tomorrow.”
“How long will it take to finish your work?”
He filled two cups from the coffeemaker on a corner cabinet and handed one to her. “Hours, if I get to it right away. Half the night, if I don’t get my hide in gear. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel our dinner plans, too. I hope you haven’t already shopped for those steaks.”
She sighed, struggling for patience, since his own seemed to be on a short leash. “That’s all right. They’ll keep. I guess working for the government is just like running a ranch. You dance to the whims of the bureaucrats while ranchers dance to the whims of Mother Nature.”
“Yeah. But frankly, I’ll take steady employment and a monthly paycheck over the whims of nature any day. Like I told you, I grew up on a hardscrabble ranch in Oklahoma. The day I left for the university, I vowed to never shovel manure again. Unlike,” he added with a note of sarcasm, “the cowboy we just left back there in the street.”
Ignoring his coffee, he opened a cabinet and began collecting folders and setting them on his desk. His m
ovements matched his terse words. After an extended silence, he turned to her, leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest. “So that was Ash MacKenzie.”
At her arched brow he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Small-town people like to gossip.”
“I should have guessed.” Brenna sighed with resignation. “What would you like to know?”
“Just one thing.” His steely gaze pinned her. “Are you over him?”
“Chris, he’s been gone for almost ten years.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not an answer.”
When she held her silence, he crossed the room before holding open the door, a sure signal that his patience had snapped and their time together was up.
Brenna set aside her untouched coffee and caught hold of Sammy’s leash.
As she brushed past him, Chris bent to kiss her good-bye. Against her mouth he muttered, “Maybe getting no answer really is an answer.”
“Chris, I—”
He cut her off with a quick, hard kiss. “I’ll see you in a day or two.”
When his door closed, she walked to her battered truck and yanked open the driver’s-side door. Sammy leaped inside and stuck his head out the passenger side window.
She climbed in and started toward home. But her thoughts weren’t on her destination, or on the man she had just left in his office.
All she could think of was Ash MacKenzie.
After the shocking way he’d left her, she’d had way too much time to think about him, and wondering what her life would have been like if he’d stayed.
Did he have regrets for the way he’d betrayed her trust? Did he miss her the way she missed him, with an ache that never ended? Why had he never tried to contact her?
She’d always hoped that they would one day cross paths again. In her fantasies, she’d be wearing something stylish and chic, her hair and makeup perfect, her manner poised and aloof. It shamed her to admit that she’d secretly hoped that Ash would be old or paunchy or at least apologetic about the way he’d left.
He’d been none of those things. He’d been the same rugged cowboy he’d always been, only older, more muscled, and, if possible, even sexier.
He’d taken the news of her engagement in stride. And though she hadn’t spotted a wedding band on his finger, that didn’t mean he hadn’t found someone to share his life. After all, she’d moved on. It was sensible to assume that he’d done the same.
But moving on wasn’t the same as letting go. Though she’d tried desperately to get over him, all those old feelings came rushing back the minute they came face-to-face in the street.
And seeing him again, being held in those arms for a brief moment, had shattered her beyond belief.
“Ash.” Willow fell into her son’s arms and hugged him fiercely before stepping back to study the rugged, craggy face of her firstborn son more closely.
“How are you holding up, Mom?”
“I’m okay. Lost without your father. My heart broken beyond belief. But I’ll survive. Oh.” She hugged him again, as if to assure herself that he was really here. “I’m so glad to see you, Ash.”
When he released her, he leaned down to the wheelchair to hug his grandfather. “Mad. You’re looking great.”
“I wish I felt great.” The old man returned the hug stiffly, before patting his grandson’s shoulder to soften the welcome. “These are hard times, Ash.”
“Yes, sir. They are.” Ash straightened and turned to Whit, who had stood to one side watching the reunion. “Hey, Whit. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Whit stuck out his hand, sending a signal to his brother that he had no intention of being hugged.
The two shook hands solemnly.
Ash looked him in the eye, and realized his younger brother was now as tall as he. “You’re not that fifteen-year-old kid anymore.”
“You got that right.” Whit’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “How long you planning on hanging around?”
“I don’t know. I came without any agenda except to bury Pop.”
Seeing Brady Storm just striding up the porch steps, Ash turned to the back door to greet the ranch foreman.
“Hey, Brady.”
“Ash. I figured that was your truck when I spotted the Wyoming plates.”
The two men shook hands, then seemed to think better of it and gave each other a quick, fierce, bone-jarring bear hug before stepping apart and slapping each other’s shoulders. From the warmth of their laughter to the light dancing in their eyes, it was plain that the affection between them was as strong as ever.
“You got older, Ash.”
Ash grinned. “You didn’t.”
“I guess that’s what comes of having salt-and-pepper hair back in my thirties and forties. I looked old before I got there,” the foreman said with a laugh.
Ash turned to wink at his mother. “And you didn’t age a year. How is that possible?”
Willow laughed and tossed her head. “I can see that you’re determined to be on your best behavior.”
“Maybe I’m hoping that will earn me a big slice of your chocolate cake.”
Willow turned to her father-in-law. “I guess he doesn’t know yet.”
“Know what?” Ash said.
“I’m chief cook and bottle washer around here now. I got sick and tired of sitting around watching everyone else working while I was feeling sorry for myself.”
“You’re the ranch cook? What does Myrna do?”
“I’ve been demoted to laundry and household chores and being your grandfather’s legs.” The old woman was grumbling as she waddled into the kitchen wearing an enormous apron that spanned her ample middle. Her gray hair had been pulled into a tight bun, from which damp tendrils had worked free to curl around her pudgy cheeks. Her blue eyes twinkled with a look of childish mischief.
“Hey, Myrna.” Ash gave her a hug and lifted her off her feet, swinging her around as he always had.
That had her smile returning as she settled on her feet and touched a hand to his cheek. “Ash, honey, if you don’t look even more handsome than you did when you left.”
“Now that’s the kind of appreciation I was looking for,” Ash said with a laugh.
“Appreciation was never the strong suit of the MacKenzie family.” Whit shot a glance at his older brother before adding, “At least while Pop was top gun around here, we all got shot down equally.”
Maddock slapped a hand down hard on the arm of his wheelchair. “You’ll not speak ill of the dead.”
Whit flushed. “Sorry, Mad.”
“You’d better be.” The old man turned his wheelchair toward the stove. “Lunch will be ready in a little while. I’m making…”
At the sound of wheels on gravel, Maddock looked out the window. The others did the same and watched as a tall, muscled man stepped out of a dusty truck and started up the steps.
Willow wiped her suddenly damp hands down the front of her denim shirt. “That must be…Griff.”
At Ash’s lifted brow, Whit said in an aside, “Long story short, Pop learned just before his death that he’d had a son with some slutty school teacher before he and Mom got married.”
“Whit!” Willow rounded on her son. “You mind that tongue.”
“What the hell…?” Ash’s jaw dropped.
Before he could ask more, there was a knock on the door.
Willow hurried over to greet their guest.
Pasting a smile to her lips she pulled open the door.
And found herself staring at a face that was the exact image of her dead husband’s.
Chapter Five
Griff?” When she managed to find her voice, Willow continued her wide-eyed stare.
Ash did the same. He couldn’t help himself. The same dark eyes. The same strong jaw. The same firm mouth. There was no denying this stranger’s heritage. He’d been cast from the same mold as Bear MacKenzie. Except for the difference in ages, and a knotted scar that ran from his ear to disappear below the collar
of his shirt, they could have been twins.
“Yes.” The voice was low and deep. Bear’s voice. The same growl. The same inflection. “Are you Willow?”
She nodded, and Ash realized that she was afraid to trust herself to speak, for fear she would burst into tears.
“I have a letter of introduction from Mason McMillan.” He held out the document, but instead of reaching for it, Willow continued staring at him for long moments.
Finally gathering herself, she stepped aside. “I’m sorry, Griff. I know about Mason’s letter. He copied it to me. Please come in.”
“Thank you.” He looked beyond her to the others. Their gazes were fixed on him as if they were seeing a ghost.
When nobody stepped forward, he cleared his throat. “My name is Griff Warren.” He turned to Ash. “You are?”
“Where are my manners…?” Willow began, but Ash was already speaking.
“Ash MacKenzie. I’m the oldest…” Realizing the error of what he was about to say, his voice trailed off as the two shook hands. This stranger would have been born before Ash was even conceived.
Ash indicated the man in the wheelchair. “This is my grandfather, Maddock. Everybody calls him Mad.”
“Mad.” Griff stuck out his hand and the old man shook it, all the while staring at him with a look of stunned surprise. To make conversation, Griff added, “I hope that nickname doesn’t describe your attitude.”
“Most days it does.” Mad’s tone was solemn enough, but the corners of his mouth were curling in the merest hint of a smile.
“Griff, this is my younger brother, Whit.”
Griff offered his hand, and Whit glowered as he shook it, unable to hide his feelings about this man’s presence in his family.
“Our ranch foreman, Brady Storm.”
“Brady.”
“Welcome to MacKenzie Ranch.”
“Thank you.”
An awkward silence fell over the group when they realized that Brady Storm, the only one of them who was not blood-related, had been the first to offer a word of welcome.
“I’m Myrna Hill. I’ve been with the family for nearly thirty years. Until recently”—she shot a knowing look at Mad—“I was chief cook and bottle washer around here. Now I guess I’m just the bottle washer.”