High Country Homecoming

by Roxanne Rustand

  She melted against him, and he lost track of how long he held her until she finally stepped back and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I don’t even know what to say, Dev,” she whispered. “Except thanks. From the bottom of my heart.”

  He took her things up to his vehicle, then returned and offered her the crook of his elbow once again, to help her back up to the highway.

  But she seemed unsteady on her feet, and when she stumbled, he scooped her up in one swift motion and carried her up the slope. She felt as light as a kitten, and though he felt a deep ache in his right shoulder, her soft warmth made him want to hold on tightly and never let go.

  “Wait...” she protested, her cheeks turning scarlet. “I can walk just fine.”

  “It would take twice as long, and if you slip on this gravel, you could get hurt even worse.” He put her down by the passenger side of his SUV and opened the door. “Here you go. Consider it part of the Langford Rescue Service.”

  She managed a weak laugh at that. “For which I am extremely grateful. You will never know how much.”

  “I’m sure I can guess,” he said dryly.

  When they were both belted in and heading back to the ranch, she tipped her head slightly and gave him a curious look. “Would you really have broken Duane’s neck if he kept resisting?”

  Devlin snorted. “Of course not. But he didn’t know that. Intimidation can sometimes save a lot of effort.”

  He glanced over at her. She was shaking now; probably because her adrenaline was fading and the reality of the danger she’d faced was settling in. “I would’ve been here faster, but I spent the morning working the horses and my phone was in the tack room. Sorry. I left the minute I saw your messages.”

  “Believe me, I’m not complaining.” She settled against the back of her seat, her eyes closed. “It’s my fault. I figured I didn’t need to tell you I was leaving for town. It’s not like we’re...um...like we have a personal connection or anything. But I should have said something. You might’ve wondered why I wasn’t back yet and checked your phone sooner. Maybe none of this would have happened.”

  “Hindsight is always better,” he said, glancing in his rearview mirror before passing a slow-moving tractor on the highway. “Don’t dwell on it. It never changes a thing.”

  He nearly laughed at his own words. It certainly didn’t—and he’d had almost a year to prove just how true that was.

  Chapter Eight

  She knew Devlin had been a Marine, in a dangerous career spent largely in the Middle East. But until today she hadn’t truly realized the full extent of what he was.

  A warrior.

  A true hero.

  A man who had just saved her life.

  And a man whose warm embrace had made her feel loved and safe and whole again after one of the most terrifying moments of her life.

  How did she reconcile all of that with her memories of the teenager he’d been—the wild boy who got into fights at school and got drunk with his equally wild buddies on too many occasions to count?

  Lance Harrison had been one of the worst, and now the two of them were going to get together again. Were they finally mature, responsible adults who had put those youthful indiscretions behind them, or were they like her dad, for whom the seductive lure of the next drink meant more than a school conference, a birthday party, a father-daughter dance?

  Since she’d arrived, she hadn’t seen so much as an empty beer can or liquor bottle anywhere on the ranch. So was Devlin beyond all of that now?

  Not my business, she thought as she took another wrap of elastic bandage around her ankle, then carefully stood next to her sofa to test the result. Wincing, she tried taking a step, then another. Good enough. The Tylenol she’d taken for her headache ought to help her ankle, too.

  She would be forever grateful for the way Dev had rescued her today. But she would never dare act on the rush of tangled emotions she’d felt when he lifted her so easily—despite his damaged shoulder—and carried her up to his SUV like some superhero.

  Held against the warmth of his broad chest, with his heart thudding against her side, she felt her own heart start to race and her nerves tingle. It was the kind of moment she’d dreamed of as a little girl with stars in her eyes. And his kiss...even now the thought of it made her shiver.

  But she had only to remember her latest romantic disaster in Minneapolis to reaffirm how blind she was when it came to judging character. Gullible and naïve could be her middle names. And thanks to Thad, she’d been reminded that unconditional trust was something to fear.

  She limped to the kitchen and checked the temperature setting on the slow cooker, inhaling the rich aroma of her grandmother’s boeuf bourguignon, a rich beef stew redolent with pearl onions, bacon, burgundy, garlic and a bouquet garni—flavorful herbs held in a little cheesecloth bag to infuse even more aromatic flavor.

  “Grandma, you were amazing,” she murmured to herself as she pulled a brown-sugar pound cake out of the oven, tested it with a toothpick and set it on the cooling rack. She’d just slipped a batch of cheddar-cheese biscuits into the oven when she heard a knock on the door.

  A little shiver of anticipation—or was it fear?—snaked down her spine.

  But she was safe here. This was surely just Devlin arriving on time for supper, and nothing to worry about.

  Yet she found herself wishing that Daisy was already here, ready to bark at the approach of anyone nearing her cabin. At least then she would never be caught by surprise.

  “It’s just me,” Devlin called out.

  It was silly to feel such a rush of relief. Honestly, who else would be out on this remote ranch—much less on a narrow path leading to three small, privately owned cabins?

  Yet just hours earlier, this day had brought danger, and it was hard to file away that sense of jeopardy and fear just because the Dooleys had been arrested and shoved into a patrol car. “Screen door’s unlocked. Come on in.”

  He walked in, his Stetson in one hand, and took a deep breath. “Something smells amazing.”

  “More of my grandma’s recipes, but with some tweaks here and there.” She tipped her head toward the slow cooker. “Grandma made her boeuf bourguignon in the oven, but the slow cooker seemed like an easier way to go, so I’m testing it out. I’m just glad I started it this morning, before...” She swallowed hard and suppressed the waver in her voice. “Before going to town.”

  He gave her a long, searching look. “It was quite a day. How are you doing?”

  Usually people who asked that question really didn’t want to know, but with his gaze riveted on hers and that intense expression, she knew he wasn’t just making small talk.

  Still, she was only a little woozy after her fall, and her headache seemed to be subsiding. She might’ve hit her head a bit harder than she’d thought, but Devlin didn’t need to know that. He’d probably make her go to the ER for a checkup that wasn’t necessary at all.

  And one she definitely couldn’t afford.

  “Pretty good. Everything that happened keeps running through my thoughts—like a movie that keeps restarting, over and over.”

  “That’s no surprise. Would you feel safer in the main house? No one is there except the girls’ puppy, and he stays in his kennel at night. I’m sure Abby wouldn’t mind if you used her room.”

  She spared that option just a brief thought. Alone in that huge, rambling house with all of those darkened rooms? This snug little cabin felt more secure. “Thanks, but I’m fine right here.”

  “You could bring the puppy up here to stay with you, if you want company.”

  “That’s tempting, but no. He’s probably better off where he is.”

  “My thought exactly. Jess said he’s still destructive, and if he isn’t closed in his fenced yard, he has to be watched every second, or he’ll either destroy something or run off. Apparent
ly having a complete pair of shoes is pretty rare around here.”

  She smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

  The oven timer dinged, and she turned away to pull the pan of biscuits from the oven and slather the tops with melted garlic butter. Then she grabbed a wide baking dish of still-warm, lightly steamed fresh asparagus from the counter, sprinkled on some grated parmesan and slid it into the oven on Broil.

  Devlin cleared his throat. “I talked to Lance on my way up here. Just so you know, the Dooleys’ probation officer has been informed of their capture, and she has contacted a judge about revoking their probation. They’re already being transferred to the county correctional center. With the additional charges they’ll be facing from today, they won’t be free for years.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She looked down at the fragrant golden biscuits. The news was a relief, to be sure. Yet even standing in this cabin, with a protector like Devlin just feet away, she still felt fear and vulnerability roiling through her midsection.

  Today had been a random, unexpected situation. Maybe this incident was over, but how easily could something else like that happen again?

  Shaking off her thoughts, she rescued the asparagus dish from the broiler and settled it on a trivet, pasted a smile on her face and turned around. “I think everything is ready. Boeuf bourgnignon in the big slow cooker, sour cream mashed potatoes in the smaller one. Parmesan asparagus, cheddar biscuits and then there’s a dessert. I guess I forgot about making a salad.”

  His awed expression was that of a man who hadn’t eaten in months. “This...this all looks perfect and smells amazing. How on earth did you manage to do so much?”

  “I’ve always liked to cook, I guess—and it helps me relax.” She lifted a shoulder in a faint shrug. “I sure needed it today. And I wanted you to come for a dinner as a way to thank you, but please—give me lots of honest feedback. You’ll be helping me if you do.”

  * * *

  He’d had decent food in the military, and certainly there’d been plenty of it. He’d had great restaurant dinners with Gina when they were both stateside.

  But he couldn’t remember a single meal that looked as appetizing and memorable as this one, though it wasn’t just the incredible menu.

  There could have been no dinner at all.

  No Chloe to bustle around in the kitchen.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about how close she’d come to an assault. Maybe even death.

  Out in that isolated landscape of gritty, arid soil and sagebrush, no one passing on the highway would’ve seen Duane’s attack. And what were the chances that the Dooleys would have left her alive to call the sheriff and testify against them?

  Zero.

  If he hadn’t checked his phone when he did, she would already be dead.

  “Is something wrong? You’ll tell me, right? Too much seasoning—or not enough?”

  He looked down, realized he’d barely touched his food, and met her worried eyes. “It’s all wonderful.”

  “Yeah, right.” she said, her gaze skating across his plate. “I can tell you’re savoring every bite. So, what’s the problem?”

  You, he thought, an unfamiliar ache settling deep in his chest.

  He’d spent twelve years in the military, and he’d seen more than his fair share of battle. He’d expected it and had learned to steel his emotions as much as any man could.

  But this was his Chloe. The earnest little girl with red pigtails and a gap-toothed smile who had been his shadow. Even now the thought of the Dooleys daring to touch her filled him with rage.

  He set his fork aside. “I just can’t do this meal justice. I keep thinking about what could have happened if I hadn’t reached you in time.”

  “Everything turned out fine. End of story,” she said so softly that he had to read her lips. “You arrived like a superhero and saved me in the nick of time.”

  A river of ice cascaded through him.

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. A hero? Hardly. He had only to think of the people he’d failed and the price they’d paid, to clarify just how much of a hero he was. He inevitably lost those whom he loved the most.

  His little sister. His mother. Gina. Everyone he’d ever loved, really.

  Chloe tipped her head and seemed to look into his eyes to read his deepest thoughts. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned forward to rest her hand on his. “You still feel responsible for Heather’s accident,” she said flatly. “Did your dad ever apologize? Try to make amends for what he did?”

  “My dad?” Incredulous, he stared back at her. “Apologize?”

  Expecting Gus Langford to ever change would’ve been like asking the sun to set in the east. The man had gone to his grave without ever apologizing to anyone, as far as Devlin knew.

  “You boys were not to blame for Heather’s death. Betty probably told you that a hundred times, but I don’t think any of you boys ever believed it. You were brainwashed by your dad.”

  He locked his gaze on hers and tried to make himself say the words she wanted to hear.

  “Your father harped on that accident endlessly, blaming you boys and making sure you carried that guilt forever just to exonerate himself,” she continued, tightening her grip on his hand. “Maybe he was too weak to face the truth, but he was the one behind the wheel when he backed over her. He was her father, and he should have been more careful.”

  “But—”

  “None of you boys were even there, Dev. And none of you had been asked to watch her. Remember?”

  “But we should have. Someone should have seen her follow him outside.”

  “You boys were doing chores. He was in a fit of temper over something and just stomped on the gas without watching out for her.” She set her jaw, her gaze boring into his, as if she could change everything with the force of her will. “No matter what anyone says about big, tough, successful Gus Langford, he was harsh, he had a volatile temper and he was a weak man. A good one would’ve sheltered his sons, not tried to destroy them to assuage his own guilt. I just wish he were here right now so I could tell him so.”

  And she would have; he had no doubt of that. Even when just a bitty little thing, she’d stood up for Devlin at every opportunity, her hands jammed on her skinny hips, her jaw thrust out.

  Though why she’d chosen him to be the brother she championed, he’d never figured out.

  He stood up abruptly and started to clear the table, but she shook her head. “No need. Just wait while I put some of this food in containers for you. I’ll never be able to eat it all.”

  “Really, you don’t need to—”

  “Wait. Don’t move. You won’t need to cook for a day, and if you can give me some feedback on this meal, you’ll be doing me a huge favor.”

  She’d grown up to be a pretty woman, but she still had her sass and spunk, and that same tender heart. Whoever married her would be very blessed indeed.

  He blinked, blindsided by the random thought that had popped into his mind. When had that ever been a consideration? Not with her or anyone else.

  He’d learned his lesson about risking his heart, over and over, each love and loss more painful than the last. And he’d resolved to never take that risk again.

  Yeah, he’d certainly feared for her safety today and was relieved beyond measure that she was all right. And if he was totally honest with himself, maybe he even felt an unwanted glimmer of attraction. But now all he had to do was keep his distance and keep busy.

  And in a few months, she’d be gone.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d looked forward to attending the quaint Pine Bend Community Church on Sunday morning. But with her first step out of bed, her ankle had buckled, sending a sharp burst of pain up her leg and a wave a dizziness through her.

  After taking two ibuprofen, she’d spent the day in her cabin, with he
r foot propped on the coffee table in front of the sofa, while thumbing through her grandmother’s recipes and writing extensive notes on possible adjustments. When that got too boring, she grabbed a spiral notebook and began listing possible scene edits for the novel she’d been mulling over.

  Devlin didn’t call or stop by all day, but after his abrupt departure Saturday night, she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon, even though she’d sent the supper leftovers home with him, including the entire brown-sugar pound cake, plus the covered bowls of whipped cream and macerated strawberries that she’d made for dessert.

  Someone with manners might’ve at least texted a thank-you for all of the food, and maybe some comments. He knew she wanted comments about the recipes she’d tried.

  Then again she hadn’t exactly been tactful when she’d lectured him about his father. She’d lectured a Marine as if he was ten years old. The thought made her cheeks burn even now. As much as she’d been trying to help, what grown man would want to hear about his father’s litany of faults from someone who wasn’t even family?

  Her plan to use the next couple of months to push him into accepting more help for his hearing loss had probably just taken a giant step backward, and she only had herself to blame. But she wasn’t a quitter, and at the next opportunity she might as well give it a shot. What did she have to lose?

  By the next morning her ankle felt a little better, and both the dizziness and her headache had faded, so she withdrew some random cards from her grandma’s recipe box and got to work in the kitchen. Something called aspic sounded...well, strange and jiggly, with vegetables suspended in gelatinized beef broth. Ewww. A hit in her grandmother’s day, maybe. For millennial tastes, not so much.

  Two dozen ways to prepare liver also got a boot to the back of the card file.

  But Grandma’s parmesan potato casserole and her coconut cloud cake showed definite promise, and Chloe did have all of the ingredients.

  She’d just started scrubbing the potatoes when she heard someone knock on the screen door.