He collected a .22 Winchester 190 rifle from a padlocked closet and some boxes of ammo from a locked cupboard in his bedroom. The intense, laser-like focus of target practice had never failed to settle his thoughts. After a few hundred rounds or so, he’d definitely have everything back into perspective.
He headed over the rise just beyond his cabin. Below, the ground fell sharply into a broad, grassy meadow rimmed on three sides with a high, curving hillside that created a perfect rifle-range backdrop, while the fourth side opened up into a heavy pine forest leading up into the foothills.
Sure enough, the old wooden target frames were still there, though several were falling into disrepair. He sauntered over, found a dozen old tin cans scattered on the ground nearby and then lined them up on the almost-horizontal crossbar of one of the targets. Then he strode back to a triangular boulder marking a distance of a hundred yards and loaded .22 LRs into the magazine.
It had been almost nine months since he’d felt the weight of an assault rifle in his hands. The simple .22 in his hands had been his grandfather’s and felt like a toy in comparison.
But before he could raise it high enough to look through the site and fire, a searing jolt of pain tore through his damaged shoulder.
He winced.
Forced himself to continue.
Struggled to focus.
The shot went wild, pinging off a distant boulder with a puff of dust and rock chips.
One after another were the same, until he’d burned through a hundred rounds and had hit one of the tin cans maybe thirty times, his frustration and anger at himself growing with each pull of the trigger.
He’d refused to believe what the VA docs had told him. He’d been a crack shot—scoring 349 at his last marksmanship qualification—so what did they know?
But lifelong skills and sheer strength of will weren’t enough to overcome the truth.
He had just partial vision in his right eye, due to irreparable damage. His shoulder-replacement surgery six months ago had been only a partial fix at best, so it would never be the same.
Was this pathetic performance his future? Or could he regain his strength and skills by July, and qualify for the career he’d been offered?
Maybe it was just a foolish dream, but from now on, he was going to work at it every single day. Weight lifting. Running. Target practice. And he wasn’t going to stop until he reached his goal.
A twig snapped. He suddenly sensed that someone was watching. He spun around and froze, scanning the hill behind him, all of his senses on high alert.
But no one was there.
* * *
Devlin stopped at the main house, let himself in through the back door and unlocked the pet door so the twins’ puppy could go out into the fenced yard at will.
Even with a half-grown pup chasing around the kitchen after a tennis ball, the house felt empty with everyone gone.
He’d arrived late Sunday night, and during the first two days he’d been here, he’d discovered that the little blonde twins seemed to be everywhere all at once, playing with their rascal of a puppy. Building forts with blankets. Trying to be “good helpers” when Grandma Betty or Abby—who had been hired as their nanny and who was now Jess’s fiancée—were trying to make a meal. Which meant a lot more spills in the process, though no one seemed to mind the extra mess.
There was so much more laughter in the house now—nothing like the grim silence Devlin and his brothers experienced while growing up. Even with Grandma Betty’s best efforts to make it a happier home after Heather’s death and Mom’s passing the next year, it had felt as if the life had been drained from the house and everyone in it.
Devlin looked in the fridge and found a 9ʺ x 13ʺ pan on the middle shelf, read the directions on the sticky note affixed to the foil wrap and snorted.
Reheat at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Don’t worry about pre-heating the oven. Frozen microwave-ready bags of veggies in freezer. Coconut cake on the counter. Tell Chloe to come to the house for supper. She’s had a long trip today. J
Betty had added Chloe’s cell number in larger print and underlined it twice, apparently guessing that Devlin might not follow through.
He sighed as he turned on the oven and shoved the pan inside, imagining a meal with Chloe across the table, chattering away. Maybe he could just ignore the note...
Nope.
He’d been career military; as tough, hardened and relentless as any of his buddies. But he still didn’t dare ignore his grandma’s orders. She’d always loved Dev and his brothers to pieces, but she’d also instilled in them a deep sense of respect and responsibility.
If he failed to be thoughtful, just the disappointment in her voice would make him regret it.
He dutifully made the call on his amplified cell phone, though when Chloe politely declined, he breathed a sigh of relief and said he’d drop off some dinner on his way up to his own cabin, anyhow.
Just as he was pulling the casserole out of the oven, he heard a loud knock on the back door and Chloe let herself inside. “I figured I’d save you the bother and just come down.”
She gave a startled laugh as the pup raced over to her and collapsed at her feet, a mass of waving paws and wagging tail. She bent down to rub his fat belly.
She looked up at Devlin, her head cocked. “What is he? Some golden retriever mix, I’d say.”
“I’ve been told his mom was a golden, father unknown.”
“What’s his name?”
Devlin shot a quick, pained glance at her over his shoulder as he settled the hot casserole on a trivet. Then he turned back to face her so he could read her lips as she spoke. “Uh... Poofy. Thanks to the twins.”
“Not exactly the name of a hardworking ranch dog, but he’s such a big fluff ball that I can see why.” Chloe laughed. “Do the twins belong to Jess?”
He hesitated, debating over how much to say. “He adopted them this past winter. Their mom is Lindsey, our youngest cousin. She...well, she just couldn’t handle raising them.”
He searched the freezer for frozen vegetables and held up microwavable bags of corn and green beans. “Preference?”
“Either.”
He tossed the green beans into the microwave and pushed the buttons for about four minutes.
When he turned around again, Chloe was staring at him, and he realized that she’d finally seen the scars.
Multiple operations had repaired much of the visible damage, leaving a jagged scar that trailed from his right temple to the corner of his jaw, but as it descended along his neck and into the collar of his shirt, the scarring was heavier.
At least his shirt covered the worst: the twisted, gnarled flesh that draped over his shoulder replacement and upper arm, where much of the bicep muscle was gone forever.
“Devlin.” She rose slowly and moved closer, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. “What happened?”
He jerked away, resenting the pity in her voice. Alarmed at the unexpected warmth that flowed through him at the touch of her hand.
He didn’t talk about the details with anyone. Not the shrink back at the VA hospital, not his docs. And here in Montana, he certainly wouldn’t be talking to Jess or Abby or anyone else. However ugly, his scars were nothing compared to the ultimate sacrifice paid by his closest buddies—and he didn’t talk about that, either.
It did no good to dredge up the day when three of them were killed in an ambush and he was the only one to walk away. It only fed the nightmares and the guilt, and stirred feelings of desperation because he knew the past could never change.
He silently pulled the green beans from the microwave and dumped them into a serving bowl, then grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard and gave her one. “Help yourself. I’ve no idea what’s in the casserole.”
Clearly ill at ease after his rebuff, she avoided looking at h
im as he pulled a metal spatula from a crock on the counter that held serving utensils and handed it to her. “The casserole looks wonderful. Ham and scalloped potatoes, I think. Thanks.”
He gave her a plate and waited until she served herself, then scooped ample portions onto his own. The tantalizing aroma of this simple home-cooked meal flooded his senses. When had he eaten anything that smelled this good?
Chloe lingered uncertainly by the round oak table in the kitchen, as if debating whether to stay or go. An awkward moment lengthened between them.
“Well,” she said finally, “I got a late start from Minneapolis yesterday, so I had to drive the final seven hundred miles today. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to my cabin and return the plate in the morning. I need to settle in and get to work.”
With a little wave of her fingers, she let herself out the door.
Work at what? What could she possibly plan to work on in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere?
And for that matter, where had she been all these years? What made her come so far out West when there must have been endless places to stay that were much closer to Minneapolis?
His curiosity about her life was growing.
Poofy followed her for a few steps, then looked back at Devlin, his tail drooping.
He looked down at the crestfallen dog. “Yeah. Lucky it’s just you and not Abby or Betty here. I’m sure they’d have something to say about my manners.”
Chloe had apparently grown up in more ways than one.
As a kid, Ms. Perpetual Questions had been relentlessly persistent, but she’d clearly gotten the hint and was tactfully planning to give him all the space he wanted.
So maybe he had his peace and quiet back...yet from the strange wrenching in his heart, maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.
Or was it?
Chapter Two
Well, that had certainly been awkward and embarrassing. But not unexpected as far as Devlin’s attitude was concerned, so at least he was still consistent.
If Chloe had known that he was going to be here, she would’ve given up her dream of three months of perfect, uninterrupted seclusion on this middle-of-nowhere ranch in Montana and headed straight to her new job in Kansas City that she didn’t want, but couldn’t refuse.
Lifting yet another heavy cardboard box from the trunk of her car, she shouldered her computer bag and started up the rocky trail to her cabin for the fifth time.
At the sound of footsteps behind her, she hesitated for a split second, then kept walking. But she was no match for Devlin’s long stride.
“I can carry that box,” he said as he fell in beside her. “I’m heading up that direction anyway.”
“No need.” She sidestepped when he tried to take it.
He gave a low sound of exasperation. “Still independent. I guess you haven’t changed that much after all.”
Adjusting the awkward weight of the box in her arms, she shot a side glance at him. “Neither have you.”
But that wasn’t exactly true.
He hadn’t been this polite the last time she’d seen him. Or this tall, well-muscled and flat-out handsome.
Back then, he’d been a tall, gangly sixteen-year-old, with a shock of unruly dark hair and the most beautiful silver-blue eyes she’d ever seen—back then, or since. She’d been just eleven, her last summer here, and he’d been her first big, hopeless crush. His lethal combination of teen-idol looks and bad-boy charisma had the girls in town following him like a flock of besotted groupies.
She’d teased him about them just to see his cheeks go red, but she had no doubt that the local women were going to be mighty pleased to see him back on their home turf. If someone, somewhere, wasn’t already wearing his ring and planning wedding bells, it wouldn’t take long for one of the locals to nab him. And the sooner, the better, before he broke any more hearts.
He certainly wouldn’t be breaking hers.
As a child, she’d been his persistent shadow, but in return he’d relentlessly teased her. Only when no one was watching did she ever let herself cry. She understood his behavior now, from an adult perspective. What teenage boy wanted a little girl to be his ever-present tagalong? But the teasing had hurt. He’d made her feel self-conscious and unworthy, and she’d grown to hate her freckles and everything else about herself.
But far worse, he’d hung out with the bad boys in high school—wild parties, lots of booze. She knew it was true—she’d seen him out in the woods and behind the barns, drinking with that rowdy crowd. And that scared her to death.
With a dad like hers, even at eleven she’d known Devlin’s drinking was a terrible red flag—a lifetime, ironclad deal-breaker, no questions asked.
No matter how handsome or polite or charming he might be now, she was not looking for romance any longer, and especially not with someone who partied and got drunk with his friends.
At the cabin, he stepped in front of her to open the door wide.
“Well, have a good...” He stared at the pile of boxes in the middle of the floor and the mountain of grocery sacks on the counter. “You sure pack light.”
At the brief deepening of the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, she felt the impact of his old charm clear down to her toes. The local women weren’t going to be just pleased at his return; they were going to be over-the-moon ecstatic.
“How long did you say you’re staying?”
Dropping the last box onto the stack, she pulled her laptop-case strap from her shoulder and laid the case on the kitchen table. “Three months. I had just enough money saved to stay here that long before I move on.”
“What sort of work did you do?”
“I was a secretary for...” she faltered, debating how much to reveal. “...a big investment firm, while putting myself through graduate school.”
That much was true, just not entirely complete. And it wasn’t like she was a criminal on the run—she’d been exonerated, after all. Even so, she’d already seen the expressions of doubt and accusation on the faces of acquaintances...people who’d wanted to believe the worst.
But Devlin had no interest in her. He surely wouldn’t think to try googling her on the internet, so it should be possible to simply keep her troubled past where it belonged. In the past.
He eyed her curiously. “What was your major?”
Mom had declared she was foolish to chase dreams that might never come true. When her own mother didn’t believe in her, was it ridiculous to think she could ever succeed? Would Devlin laugh if she told him about what she was doing?
“My major was Creative Writing,” she said. “That’s why I wanted to come out here. I wanted a peaceful, beautiful place to stay, where I could concentrate on my writing with no interruptions. Since I have such happy memories of Montana, this ranch seemed perfect.”
“And then where will you go?”
That was the hard part. Knowing Chloe’s situation, her sister had offered her a generous salary, and a chance for a fresh start. Far too generous an offer to refuse. But the thought of her future weighed on her shoulders like a mantle of iron.
She might not ever make much money with her writing, so she could hardly afford to turn down Jane’s offer, considering her legal debts. But it was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’ve got a property-management job waiting for me in Kansas City.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “You don’t exactly look thrilled about it.”
“It will be a blessing,” she said firmly. “I’ll need a job as soon as I leave. But until then, I will count myself fortunate to stay here once again.”
He seemed to consider that for a while, then sighed. “I expect Betty will be happy to see you.”
Chloe couldn’t help but smile at his less-than-gracious attitude. “I can’t wait to see her, either. After my mom took off, I used to pretend that she
was my grandma. She still sends me birthday cards with invitations to come visit, but this is my first time back. When will the family be home?”
He was bent over the dead bolt on the door, checking it out. He didn’t answer.
He’d ignored some of her questions, and twice he hadn’t responded when she called out his name. She’d figured he was just being his usual distant self.
But now she wondered. Devlin had been physically wounded and probably had deeper, more-emotional wounds, as well. Who wouldn’t with all of the dangers he’d probably faced in battle?
Had he also ended up with hearing damage due to his military career?
It was entirely plausible, but prying personal information from him had always been a futile task. She waited until he looked up again. “When will the rest of your family be back?”
“A week from tomorrow.”
Sure enough, now she could see that he wasn’t just listening; he was trying to watch her speak. “Aren’t the twins in school?”
“Kindergarten, but they’re on spring break.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a fleeting, affectionate grin at the mention of the little girls. “They seemed pretty excited about Disneyland.”
“I can believe it. They’ll sure have a lot of days with Mickey.”
Devlin shrugged. “Not all of that time. They’re visiting their mom in San Diego, Jess is looking at some stallion prospects and Abby will be checking out a few colleges.”
“Who is Abby?”
“She was hired as a nanny last fall, and now she and Jess are engaged.”
“But she’s looking at colleges, so she’s leaving?”
“Considering online programs, I guess.”
“Good for her.” Chloe slid a knife through the shipping tape on the top of a cardboard box labeled Kitchenware and inspected the contents. Books.
She straightened and rested a hand at the small of her back. “You’ll have eight busy days ’til they get back, then. Are there ranch hands to do the chores?”
“Nope. I told Jess I could do it. Might as well earn my keep while I’m here.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and gave her a slight nod of farewell, then turned for the door. “‘Night.”
High Country Homecoming Page 2