by Leigh Riker
Grey’s mouth tightened. “You didn’t even warn me he was headed my way.”
“I couldn’t.” Her father had been sitting in the recliner that night by the telephone. Shadow didn’t have a cell then and she hadn’t known about the gun, or where Jared could have gotten one. “I don’t know what else to say. I can’t begin to think how to fix this. I never meant for you to meet Ava like that. I meant to tell her about you first, then introduce you to each other...”
When she started to rise from the step, Grey reached out to help her up, an automatic politeness that made her want to cry all over again. From the instant he’d first seen Ava, she’d scarcely been able to stop the tears, and if he’d noticed the dried tracks on her cheeks, that didn’t soften him now. “There’s no way to fix it, is there?”
Grey stared at her for another long moment. She was tempted to tell him about the years she’d worked so hard to keep Ava with her, and her desperate decision to ask Jenna for help. But Shadow knew she couldn’t redeem herself now. Bringing up the hardships of those years would only remind him of what he’d missed—what she’d stopped him from experiencing. Her voice quavered. “I’m sorry about tonight, Grey, and yes, I know it’s too little, too late.”
He had a right to feel shocked, angry, hurt. Now he must also feel betrayed again. “I’ve tried,” she said, “to do the right thing—at least, for Ava.” But the words didn’t ring true. She had blocked him from their child’s life, denied Ava the father she’d always longed for. “I should have done more—for both of you.”
Head down, Shadow walked toward her car. She wouldn’t—would not—think of Jared, of that terrible night or she would truly fall apart. With a shaking hand, she opened the door and turned back. Grey stood by the steps, a hard, unforgiving look in his eyes.
“About the wedding,” she said, because how could they possibly be there together now? Grey probably wouldn’t want to see her again. Ava, of course, was another matter; he hadn’t touched on that subject yet. “I think it would be best if I don’t take part.”
He shook his head. “Don’t even think about letting Logan and Blossom down. You’ve managed to hide my own kid from me for ten years. You can carry a bouquet down that aisle to the gazebo at the Circle H. You can live up to your obligations. Oh, and by the way, don’t forget the wedding party weekend in KC. Be there.” He took a few steps toward her. “And how’s this for irony? My best friend will be marrying a woman who carries another man’s child—and Logan can’t wait to adopt Blossom’s baby. You gave me no choice at all.”
“Grey,” she began, choking on his name.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, then turned and went up the steps to the house.
The door banged behind him, shutting her out.
* * *
GREY STOOD WATCH on the hill that night.
It could indeed be a lonely business—boring, too—and he felt a bit guilty. Well before midnight Grey was already yawning. Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge Cody for falling asleep on the job.
Hours before, still churning inside after Shadow left, he’d decided to switch with Cody or one of his other men tonight, including his foreman, Dusty Malone, an ex-rodeo cowboy with slightly bowed legs in worn blue jeans. But all the while his mind was on Shadow. And Ava.
He could keep trying to hate Shadow for lying to him. He could sue her for full custody. Yet neither solution seemed right. He knew from Logan, who’d lost Nick temporarily, that nobody could really win that case. Even Grey’s sister knew that now. Olivia and Logan had finally come to an agreement for the sake of their son.
Grey wasn’t normally one to hold a grudge. He had a temper at times, usually for good reason, and he could be more than a little prideful, as Logan liked to point out. But this went beyond Grey wanting to prove himself innocent in Jared’s death in part so Shadow could forgive him. It went even deeper than his love for this ranch.
Earlier, in the barn, he’d taken his mood out on Cody, who’d been running a hand along the stall bars as if he were strumming a guitar. “Cody, would you cut it out? Think you’re Brad Paisley or something?”
The kid had shoved his hands back in his jeans pockets. “Sorry.”
Grey would apologize tomorrow. Through his earbuds now came the soulful wail of the blues, which seemed a fitting complement to the soft, mournful lowing of cattle at the bottom of the hill. He tapped his fingers against the thighs of his jeans, keeping time to the tune. But the music wasn’t distracting him from his thoughts as much as he’d hoped it would.
Despite all the nights he or one of his men had stayed out here until dawn, they hadn’t caught the rustlers. At least the weather was warm, summer now, and Grey was doing something to try and preserve the ranch. He was more likely to do that than he was to find evidence about Jared’s death that might clear—or convict—him. The stakes were higher than ever now. If he found proof that went against him, he wouldn’t have to decide what to do about Ava, and Shadow would never forgive him. Grey wouldn’t have to worry about Wilson Cattle then. He’d be in prison.
The thought depressed him.
He had to try harder, but how could he—
The sudden sound of an engine stopped him before he descended into self-pity, something Grey tried not to indulge even in his worst moments. A truck rolled into view, passing Grey’s driveway and his silver truck. It edged up to the side of the road. The same white rig as before stopped, its trailer rattling as it shuddered to a halt.
This still didn’t make sense. Why would these guys target him so many times?
After the first time, they’d left Logan’s cattle alone, and Finn said there hadn’t been any other thefts reported in the county.
It had to be personal.
On his feet, his rifle in hand, Grey crept down the hill. One man clipped the barbed wire fence and was in. Again. Grey kept going, circling past them in the dark, and cut across the land to his truck. Taking care not to make a sound, he propped the rifle on the floor against the passenger seat, shut the door, pushed the ignition button and eased out of the driveway.
He was almost on them before they saw him.
Grey heard shouts. “In the truck! Let’s go!”
The three men scrambled. Doors slammed. The engine revved. The rig pulled out onto the road just in front of Grey and took off.
He stayed on the bumper of the stock trailer. Tempted to ram it, he couldn’t take that chance. The rustlers hadn’t loaded many cows, but there were at least three or four inside and they were his.
Seething, Grey called Finn and tailed them into town then onto a two-lane road that led toward Farrier. What to do? Force them off the road and maybe hurt, or kill, his cattle? Follow them to their destination? Three against one weren’t odds he liked. And what if they had guns? Grey had a flash of memory: Jared Moran, lying in the dirt. No, he’d ease off the gas instead, let them go after he got their plate number.
Too bad his plan didn’t quite work. In the dark, even in the glow from his headlights, he couldn’t make out the whole license plate, though Grey did memorize a partial.
He swung onto the next side road then turned around.
And called Finn Donovan again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHADOW SHUT HERSELF in her office at Mother Comfort to make the calls she’d mentioned to her mother. The day after she’d gone to Grey’s ranch, she was still heavy-lidded and hoarse from crying—not her usual way of dealing with a crisis. She was glad her mother had gone home after dinner; Shadow had spent the night on her living room sofa, head buried in her pillow so Ava wouldn’t hear her, listening to the refrigerator motor click on and off in the stillness.
I’ll be in touch, Grey had said. Shadow couldn’t guess what his next move might be, but she suspected things were about to get even worse. Would Grey try to get full custody o
f Ava?
The door to her agency opened, the bell above it jingling and pulling Shadow from her ruminations. To her surprise, Jack Hancock walked in.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” she said, schooling her features into a pleasant smile. “I called Bertie’s place earlier but you weren’t there. I think I have some good news.”
“Me, too.” Jack took the chair in front of her desk. “I was just over at the café. Did you know they’re planning to offer a dinner service there? Breakfast and lunch don’t bring in enough money. They’re hoping for bigger checks later in the day. Six nights a week.”
“I didn’t know. That will be a nice option for people.”
He grinned. “I got hired. For the time being, I’ll be a sous chef, but if all goes well I could end up as executive chef—head chef, whatever they want to call it—in command of my own kitchen.”
Shadow studied him. She couldn’t get used to the change from weeks ago, when he’d gone to work as Sam Hunter’s temporary caregiver and the ranch cook. Which hadn’t ended well. “I know you weren’t comfortable at the Circle H—”
“They weren’t ready for haute cuisine,” he murmured, although Shadow knew he’d actually quit after a fistfight with several of Logan’s hired hands. She wondered what he’d done since then with his white chef’s tunic and hat. Maybe he would wear them again in this new job.
With Jack’s visit to the office, her spirits lifted a notch. Earlier, she’d found a caregiver for Ned Sutherland, who’d finally been released from rehab and gone back to his ranch. Maybe if she focused on Mother Comfort, and only that for now, she could get through this thing with Grey. Whatever happened. “I’m happy you got this job, Jack. And it’s one you seem excited about.”
His smile faded. “I’m still worried about Bertie, though. That’s why I’m here. I mean, we need the money, but he can’t be left on his own too long. You have a new applicant, maybe, since we talked before? It wouldn’t be a live-in situation, ’cause Bertie and I don’t have room for someone overnight. I won’t be working full time yet, either...”
“All of my people currently have placements.” Shadow straightened. Maybe she could help Bertie as she had Ned. “But, Jack, maybe I do have someone. My mother can’t keep up her farm any longer, and I think another job would be good for her.” Although she wasn’t yet sure her mother would agree. At least Shadow had planted the seed. “As the mother of six children, she has lots of experience in caring for other people. Sick and well. And, as I told her, Bertie doesn’t need specialized care, just someone to watch over him—even keep him company. What do you think?”
Jack was still smiling. “How old is she?”
Shadow wagged a finger at him. “I didn’t hear that question. I don’t need the government charging my agency with age discrimination.” She paused. “I’m only half kidding, Jack. She must be close to you...”
“Still in her forties?”
“Yes. She was a teenage mom.”
“Bertie does still need help sometimes getting up from his chair, so it wouldn’t just be making meals and doing laundry, watching TV with him. She’d need to provide some minor physical support.”
Shadow smiled. “I’m sure she can. She managed my father’s care during his last illness and Bertie is in far better shape, from what she told me.”
“Then I guess we’ve got a deal. If she agrees. I’ll rely on your judgment.” Jack got to his feet. “Two problems solved in one morning,” he said.
“I’ll speak to her later. Then you and I can talk again about terms.” She paused, remembering the farm. “You don’t have room for a small flock of chickens there, do you?”
“Egg layers?”
“Yes, but they’re also like pets to her,” she said, hoping Jack would take them. Shadow had to drive out to the farm soon to check on things—and help her mother pack again. The full attic and the rest of the house needed to be cleaned out before Finn served the eviction notice and the county took over. If Jack wouldn’t house the chickens, or couldn’t, she’d have to find some other arrangement for them. Shadow had thought of her backyard, but local zoning regulations prevented that.
After he left the office, she picked up the phone again. Two problems solved in one morning, Jack had said.
Maybe she could make it three.
Shadow phoned the rest of the numbers on her list, eliminating those that pertained to Jack Hancock. She would try to find something now for Derek. Once Finn served that notice, her brother would have to move out, like it or not, and the chickens would no longer be partly his responsibility.
Minutes later, she sat back in her chair. Conducting business, even some that didn’t pertain to Mother Comfort, hadn’t worked today. Because regardless of how many calls she made, she still had Ava to worry about, and mending their relationship wouldn’t be easy. Neither would telling Ava about Grey.
Had she only been trying to avoid the real problems in her life? Her broken connection with her daughter? Her issues with Grey?
She made one last call.
For now, she would fix what she could.
* * *
JENNA ROAMED THE house in Shawnee Mission, taking inventory. Deciding what to take and what to leave for David—if he chose to keep anything at all, considering his move to Salt Lake and his need for such a big change in his life—took almost more energy than she had.
In the past week, sleepless nights had become the norm. She dreaded having to ask him about anything, for anything. In the space of those few minutes when he’d told her he wanted the divorce, he’d become a stranger. How had she not seen what was coming? Even their arguments in the past year hadn’t raised any flags.
She couldn’t seem to stop wondering what he was doing at any given moment, how he felt about the end of their marriage. David had never been as forthcoming as Jenna tended to be—witness her meltdown with Shadow about adopting Ava—but she’d thought little of that. Her father had kept his feelings under wraps, too, except for his occasional bouts of explosive anger. That was the only emotion she’d ever seen in him, really. David was more likely to withdraw into a newspaper.
She tidied a stack of them on the coffee table, and the simple rustling of papers crackled through the air.
The house was so quiet without Ava. Upstairs, Jenna stopped in her niece’s bedroom. The Tim McGraw poster on the wall made her want to cry again, as she remembered Ava’s expression when she’d come downstairs with her luggage. For a moment she’d clung to Jenna, then she’d gone out to Shadow’s car without another word, not even goodbye.
She hadn’t been this alone in years, and the silence seemed to reinforce that loneliness. Her inner panic, to be honest. At least the tears had finally dried up. For a while after Shadow left with Ava, she’d dissolved into a puddle of them, it seemed, every hour on the hour, unable to stop herself from sobbing aloud. She’d come close once or twice to full-blown hysteria.
What was she going to do? Where would she go?
Shadow had told her that their mother faced a similar move soon. Maybe they should get a new place together, Jenna thought, cracking a bitter smile. As if that would work. She needed her own space.
Downstairs again, in the doorway of David’s home office, she hesitated. There was nothing in here she needed to take, or would want, or was entitled to—his books, the antique humidor he kept on the desk though he didn’t smoke a pipe or cigars, another pile of financial magazines—so she quickly shut the door. Going in would only remind her of him, his clean scent, the sound of his voice. He’d already taken his laptop.
And still, she listened for his car in the drive, his footsteps in the front hall, like she was some teenage girl whose boyfriend had dumped her. But she wasn’t a girl weeping over her first lost love. Get a grip, Jenna.
The thought made her straighten. Sure, she might cr
y again over Ava. She missed her terribly, but another emotion grabbed her by the throat now. She marched into the family room and gazed out the wide window wall at the pool. The underwater lights were on, giving the patio the kind of romantic appearance Jenna had always tried to maintain. Her beautiful home, the way she entertained, her annual Christmas open house. How she made it all seem effortless. Her clothes, always fashionable, always of the best quality. And all, all of it, shallow.
Like her almost-over marriage.
Shadow was right. Jenna had trusted David, relied on him. Too much. In their years together, she had too often deferred to him, allowed him to make their choices even when she didn’t want to attend a certain party or go somewhere on vacation. She’d become a doormat. And all of that had led her here, alone and confused. Without the rudder she needed to change her own life.
What was it he’d said? You should think about how to make yourself happy. Jenna pushed out a sigh. She drew the draperies across the windows and toured the vaulted family room, turning on lights against the darkness, telling herself she would, indeed, be all right, if not happy just yet. Because she would.
Her grieving, like her marriage, was over. Not that there wouldn’t be more bad days ahead, but never again would she collapse in a heap in this chair or her bedroom or lean against that front door, one hand on the sleek wooden panel, as if begging him to come back. She was stronger than that. Better than that. And she’d just tumbled into the next phase.
She was angry.
* * *
WEARING HER GREEN camp shorts and shirt with the community center logo on the pocket, Ava stood, waiting. The half-sized school bus that had brought her here from her mother’s new house had yet to arrive to take her back. That morning, at the end of the street, she’d been afraid the bus wouldn’t pick her up. She’d felt totally alone even though her mom had waited with her. Ava tapped one foot against the pavement, trying not to look at the other kids who’d started camp with her today, now gathered nearby in a tight circle that excluded her.