Chapter Two
“I was so glad when you decided to come." Melly sighed over coffee while she and Abby sat in the sprawling living room. It had changed quite a bit since Cade's mother died. The delicate antiques and pastel curtains had given way to leather-covered couches and chairs, handsome coffee tables and a luxurious, thick-piled gray rug. Now it looked like Cade—big and untamed and unchangeable.
"Sorry," Abby murmured when she realized she hadn't responded. "I had my mind on this room. It's changed."
Melly looked concerned. "A lot of things have. Cade included."
"Cade never changes," came the quiet reply. The taller girl got to her feet with her coffee cup in hand and wandered to the mantel, to stare at a portrait of Donavan McLaren that overwhelmed the room.
Cade was a younger version of the tall, imposing man in the painting, except that Donavan had white hair and a mustache and a permanent scowl. Cade's hair was still black and thick over a broad forehead and deep-set dark eyes. He was taller than his late father, all muscle. He was darkly tanned and he rarely smiled, but he could be funny in a dry sort of way. He was thirty-six now, fourteen years Abby's senior, although he seemed twice that judging by the way he treated her. Cade was always the patronizing adult to Abby's wayward child. Except for that one magic night when he'd been every woman's dream—when he'd shown her a taste of intimacy that had colored her life ever since, and had rejected her with such tenderness that she'd never been ashamed of offering herself to him.
Offering herself...she shuddered delicately, lifting the coffee to her lips. As if that would ever be possible again, now. "How is Cade?" Abby asked.
"How is Cade usually in the spring?" came the amused reply.
"Oh, I can think of several adjectives. Would horrible be too mild?" Abby asked as she turned.
"Yes." Melly sighed. "We've been short-handed. Randy broke his leg and won't be any use at all for five more weeks, and Hob quit."
"Hob?" Abby's pale brown eyes widened. "But he's been here forever!"
"He said that was just how he felt after Cade threw the saddle at him." The younger woman shook her head. "Cade's been restless. Even more so than usual."
"Woman trouble?" Abby asked, and then hated herself for the question. She had no right to pry into Cade's love life, no real desire to know if he were seeing someone.
Melly blinked. "Cade? My God, I'd faint if he brought a woman here."
That did come as a surprise. Although Abby had visited Melly several times since she'd moved to New York, she had seen Cade only on rare occasions. She'd always assumed that he was going out on dates while she was on Painted Ridge.
"I thought he kept them on computer, just so that he could keep track of them." Abby laughed.
"Are we talking about the same man?"
"Well, he's always out every time I come to visit," Abby remarked. "It's been almost a year since I've seen him." She sat back down on the sofa next to her sister and drained her coffee cup.
Melly shot her a keen glance, but she didn't reply. "How long are you going to stay?" she asked. "I never could pin you down on the phone."
"A couple of weeks, if you can put up with me...."
"Don't be silly," Melly chided. She frowned, reaching out to touch her sister's thin hand. "Abby, make it a month. At least a month. Don't go back until you feel ready. Promise me!"
Abby's eyes closed under a tormented frown. She caught her breath. "I wonder if I'll ever be ready," she whispered roughly.
The smaller hand that was clasping hers tightened. "That's defeatist talk. And not like you at all. You're a Shane. We wrote the book on persevering!"
"Well, I'm writing the last chapter," Abby ground out She stood up, moving to the window.
"It's been two weeks since it happened," Melly reminded her.
"Yes," Abby said, sighing wearily. "And I'm not quite as raw as I was, but it's hard trying to cope...." She glanced at her sister. "I'm just glad I had the excuse of helping you plan the wedding to come for a visit. What did Cade say when you asked if it was all right?"
Melly looked thoughtful. "He brightened like a copper penny," she said with a faint smile. "Especially when I mentioned that you might be here for a couple of weeks or more. It struck me at the time, because he's been just the very devil to get along with lately."
Abby pursed her lips thoughtfully. "He probably has the idea that I've lost my job and came back in disgrace. Is that it?"
"Shame on you," her sister replied. "He'd never gloat over something like that."
"That's what you think. He's always hated the idea of my modeling."
Melly's thin brows rose. "Well, no matter what his opinion of your career, he was glad to hear you'd be around for a while. In fact, he was in such a good mood, all the men got nervous. Surely Hank told you that Hob had just quit? Too bad he didn't wait an extra day. Cade's bucking for sainthood since I announced your arrival."
If only it were true, Abby thought wistfully. But she knew better, even if Melly didn't. She was almost certain that Cade avoided her on purpose. Maybe it was just her sister's way of smoothing things over, to prevent a wild argument between Cade and Abby. It wouldn't be the first time she'd played peacemaker.
She glanced sharply into her sister's green eyes. "Melly, you didn't tell Cade the truth?" she asked anxiously.
Melly looked uncomfortable. "Not exactly," she confided. "I just said there was a man...that you'd had a bad experience."
Abby sighed. "Well, that's true enough. At least I'll be down at the homestead with you. He shouldn't even get suspicious about why I'm here. God knows, it's always been an uphill fight to keep peace when Cade and I are in the same room together, hasn't it?" Melly shifted suddenly and Abby stared at her
curiously.
“I'm afraid you won't be staying at the homestead," Melly said apologetically. "You see, my house is being painted. Cade's having the old place renovated as a wedding present."
Abby felt a wave of pure tension stretch her slender body. "We'll be staying... here?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you tell me when I asked to come?" Abby burst out.
"Because I knew you wouldn't come," Melly
replied.
"Will Cade be away?" she asked.
"Are you kidding? In the spring, with roundup barely a month away?"
"Then I'll go somewhere else!" Abby burst
out.
“No.'' Melly held her fast. “Abby, the longer you run away the harder it's going to be for you. Here, on the ranch, you can adjust again. You're going to have to adjust—or bury yourself. You do realize that? You can't possibly go on like this. Look at you!" she exclaimed, indicating the shapeless dress. "You don't even look like a model, Abby, you look like a housekeeper!"
"And that's a fine thing to say about me," came a deep but feminine voice from the doorway.
Both girls turned at once. Calla Livingston had her hands on her ample hips, and she was wearing a scowl sour enough to curdle milk. She was somewhere near sixty, but she could still outrun most of the cowboys, and few of them crossed her. She took her irritation out on the food, which was a shame because she was the best cook in the territory.
"And what do I look like, pray tell—the barn?" Calla continued, ruffled.
Melly bit her lip to keep from smiling. Dressed in a homemade shift of pink and green, her straggly grey hair pulled into a half-bun, her garter-supported hose hanging precariously just above her knees, Calla was nobody's idea of haute couture. But only an idiot would have told her that, and Melly had good sense.
"You look just fine, Calla," Melly soothed. "I meant"—she searched for the right words— "that this isn't Abby's usual look."
Calla burst out laughing, her merry eyes going from one girl to the other. “Never could tell when I was serious and when I wasn't, could you darlin'?" she asked Melly. "I was only teasing. Come here, Abby, and give us a hug. It's been months since I've seen you, remember!"
Abb
y ran into her widespread arms and breathed in the scent of flour and vanilla that always clung to Calla.
“Stay home this time, you hear? Calla chided, brushing away a tear as she let go of the young woman. "Tearing off and coming back with city ways-this is the best you've looked to me since you were eighteen and hellbent on modeling!"
"But, Calla..." Melly interrupted.
"Never you mind." Calla threw her a sharp glance. "Call her dowdy again, and it'll be no berry cobbler for you tonight!"
Melly opened her mouth and quickly closed it again with a wicked grin. "I think she looks...mature," Melly agreed "Very... unique. Unusual. Rustically charming."
Calla threw up her hands. "What I put up with, Lord knows! As if that hard-eyed cowboy I work for isn't enough on my plate.... Well, if I don't rush, there'll be no peace when he comes in and doesn't find his meal waiting. Even if he doesn't come in until ten o'clock." She went away muttering irritably to herself.
Melly sat down heavily on the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, saved! If I'd realized that she was out there, I'd have sung the praises of your new wardrobe."
"Still hooked on her berry cobbler, I notice?" Abby smiled, and for just an instant, a little of her old, vibrantly happy personality peeked out.
"Please tell him," Melly pleaded.
"And give him a stick to beat me with?" Abby asked with a dry laugh. "He's been down on me ever since I coaxed Dad into letting me go to New York. Every time I see him, all I hear is how stupid I was. Now he's got the best reason in the world to say it all again, and add an 'I told you so.' But he's not getting the chance, Melly. Not from me!'
"You're wrong about Cade," Melly argued. "You always have been. He doesn't hate you, Abby. He never did."
"Would you mind telling him that?" came the cool reply. "I don't think he knows."
"Then why was he so anxious for you to come home?" Melly demanded. She folded her arms across her knees and leaned forward. "He even had Hank bring up your own furniture from the homestead, just so you'd feel more at home. Does that sound like a man who's hating you?"
"Then why does he avoid me like the plague?" Abby asked curtly. She searched momentarily for a way to change the subject. "I sure would like to freshen up before we eat," she hinted.
"Then come on up. You've got the room next to mine, so we can talk until all hours."
"I'll like that," Abby murmured with a smile. Impulsively, she put her arm around Melly's shoulders as they went up the staircase. "Maybe we can have a pillow fight, for old time's sake."
"Calla's room is across the hall," Melly informed her.
Abby sighed. "Oh, well, we can always reminisce about the pillow fights we used to have," she amended, and Melly grinned.
It was just after dark, and Meily was helping Calla set the table in the dining room when the front door slammed open and hard, angry footsteps sounded on the bare wood floor of the hall.
Abby, standing at the fireplace where Calla had built a small fire, turned just as Cade froze in the doorway.
It didn't seem like a year since she'd seen him. The hard, deeply tanned face under that wide-brimmed hat was as familiar as her own. But he'd aged, even she could see that. His firm, chiseled mouth was compressed, his brow marked with deep lines as if he'd made a habit of scowling. His cheeks were leaner, his square jaw firmer and his dark, fiery eyes were as uncompromising as she remembered them.
He was dusted with snow, his shepherd's coat flecked with it, his worn boots wet with it as were the batwing chaps strapped around his broad, heavy-muscled thighs. He was holding a cigarette in one lean, dark hand, and the look he was giving Abby would have backed down a puma.
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked curtly, indicating the shapeless brown suede dress she was wearing.
"Look who's talking," she returned. "Weren't you wearing that same pair of chaps when I left for New York?"
"Cattlemen are going bust all over, honey," he returned, and a hint of amusement kindled in his eyes.
“Sure," she scoffed. "But most of them don't run eight thousand head of cattle on three ranches in two states, now do they? And have oil leases and mining contracts....”
"I didn't say I was going bust," he corrected. He leaned insolently against the doorjamb and tilted his head back. "Steal that dress off a fat lady?"
She felt uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other. "It's the latest style," she lied, hoping he wouldn't know the difference.
"I don't see how you women keep up with the latest styles," he said. "It all looks like odds and ends to me."
"Is it snowing already?" she asked, changing the subject.
He took his hat off and shook it "Looks like. I hope Calla's loading a table for the men, too. The night-hawks are going to have their hands full with those two-year-old heifers."
Abby couldn't help smiling. Those were the first-time mothers, and they took a lot of looking after. One old cowhand—Hob, the one who'd resigned—always said he'd rather mend fence than babysit new mamas.
"Who got stuck this year?" she asked.
"Hank and Jeb," he replied.
"No wonder Hank was so ruffled," she murmured.
A corner of Cade's disciplined mouth turned up as he studied her. "You don't know the half of it. He begged me to let him nurse the older cows."
"I can guess how far he got," she said.
He didn't laugh. "How long are you here for?"
"I haven't decided yet," she said, feeling nervous. "It depends."
"I thought spring was your busiest time, miss model," he said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "When Melly told me you were coming, it surprised me."
"I'm, uh, taking a break," she supplied.
"Are you?" He shouldered away from the doorjamb. "Stay through roundup and I'll fly you back to New York myself."
He turned, and her eyes followed his broad-shouldered form as he walked into the hall and yelled for Calla.
Chapter Three
"I hope you've got enough to feed the hands, too!" he called, his deep voice carrying through the house. "Jeb's nighthawking with Hank!"
Jeb was the bunkhouse cook—some of the cowboys had homes on the ranch where they lived with their families, but there was a modern bunkhouse with a separate kitchen for the rest
"Well, I'll bet the boys are on their knees giving thanks for that!" Calla called back. "It'll be a change for them, having decent food for
one night!"
Cade chuckleddeepinhisthroatas he climbed the stairs. Abby couldn't help but watch him, remembering old times when she'd worshipped that broad back, that powerful body, with a schoolgirl's innocent heart. How different her life might have been if Cade hadn't refused her impulsive offer that long-ago night. Tears formed in her eyes and she turned away. Wishing wouldn't make it so. But it was good to be back on Painted Ridge, all the same. She'd manage to keep out of Cade's way, and perhaps Mellywas right. Perhaps being home again would help her scars to heal.
Abby might have planned to avoid him, but Cade seemed to have other ideas. She noticed his quiet, steady gaze over the dinner table and almost jumped when he spoke.
"How would you like to see the new calves?" he asked suddenly.
She lifted her eyes from her plate and stared at him, lost for an answer. "Isn't it still snowing?" she asked helplessly.
"Sure," he agreed. "But the trucks have chains. And the calving sheds are just south of here," he reminded her.
Being alone with him was going to unnerve her—she knew it already—but she loved the sight of those woolly little creatures, so new to the world. And she liked being with Cade. She felt safe with him, protected. Despite the lingering apprehension, she wanted to go with him.
"Well?" he persisted.
She shrugged. "I would kind of like to see the calves," she admitted with a tiny smile. She dropped her eyes back to her plate, blissfully unaware of the look Cade exchanged with Melly.
"We'll have dessert when we get back," Cade info
rmed Calla, pushing back his chair.
Minutes later, riding along in the pickup and being bounced wildly in its warm interior, snow fluttering against the windshield, it was almost like old times.
"Warm enough, honey?" Cade asked.
"Like toast." She wrapped the leather jacket he had loaned her even closer, loving its warmth. Cade was still wearing his shepherd's coat, looking so masculine he'd have wowed them even at a convention of male models.
"Not much further now," he murmured, turning the truck off onto the farm road that led to the calving pens, where two cowboys in yellow slickers could be seen riding around the enclosures, heads bent against the wind.
"Poor devils," she remarked, watching.
"The men or the heifers?" he asked.
"Both. All. It's rough out there." She balanced her hand against the cold dashboard as he stopped the truck and cut the engine at the side of the long shed. Cade was the perfect rancher, but his driving left a lot to be desired.
"Now I know how it feels to ride inside a concrete mixer," she moaned.
"Don't start that again," Cade grumbled as he threw open the door. "You can always walk back," he added with a dark glance.
"Did you ever race in the Grand Prix when you were younger, Cade?" she asked with a bright, if somewhat false, smile.
"And sarcasm won't do the trick, either," he warned. He led the way through the snow, and she followed in his huge footprints, liking the bite of the cold wind and the crunch of the snow, the freshness of the air. It was so deliciously different from the city. Her eyes looked out over the acres toward the distant mountains, searching for the familiar snow-covered peaks that she could have seen clearly in sunny daylight. God's country, she thought reverently. How had she ever been able to exist away from it?
"Stop daydreaming and catch up," Cade was growling. "I could lose you out here."
"In a little old spring snowstorm like this?" She laughed. "I could fight my way through blizzards, snowshoe myself to Canada, ski over to the Rockies..."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 146