by Lori Wilde
Art paused again, glanced at her to see how she was taking it. Mariah gave him a slight smile, nodded, encouraging him to continue. It was finally sinking in. Her father was dead. She’d never see him again. Never have a chance to reconcile. Unfair. The world was unfair. But she really had no one to blame but herself. She could have reached out to him, let go of her hurt feelings and resentment. But she hadn’t and now it was too late.
“ ‘She’ll probably sell the land,’ ” Art read. “ ‘I wouldn’t blame her. She’s grown up in the city, but part of me can’t help hopin’ she’ll find her way back home to her roots. Her mama’s feet are rooted as deep in Texas soil as mine are, even though Cassie would deny it. But that’s neither here nor there, just explaining a bit. If Mariah does decide to sell the land, I hope she’ll sell it back to Joe. If she doesn’t . . . well, I have a dream. It’s probably a stupid dream, but I can’t get it out of my mind, so here goes. I pray she’ll come back to Texas and that she and Joe will hook up to build an equine center for kids who ain’t got much. I want to make cutting available to kids from all walks of life, not just for those who got a few coins to rub together. Joe and I have talked about such a project and more than likely we’ll get around to it, but just in case something happens and we don’t, I sure hope Mariah or Joe will make my dreams come true. Anyway, that’s what I want, but I understand if Mariah can’t give me that. Thanks, Art, for being a good friend and not acting too much like a damn lawyer.’ ”
Art stopped reading, put down the letter, took off his glasses, and rubbed them against his shirt to clear them of smudges. His eyes were misty. “Your father was a good man. I hope you see your way to making his dreams come true.”
Mariah cast a glance over at Joe. His jaw was clenched as if he was trying to hold back his feelings.
So Dutch’s last wish was for her to go into business with Joe and make an equine facility for underprivileged kids?
Sure it sounded good to Art and Joe. They were cowboys, horsemen. But to Mariah it showed Dutch’s bone-deep selfishness. Everyone in town seemed to love and laud her father, but they didn’t know what it was like to be abandoned by the man who was supposed to love and protect you no matter what.
Dutch had loved horses more than he’d loved her. He all but admitted it in his letter. And yet, in the end, he wanted her to follow his dream. He hadn’t known her. Hadn’t known her at all. He’d had no real interest in her. In what she wanted. What she needed. There was that hurt again. She couldn’t escape it no matter which way she turned.
Mariah pushed back the chair, got to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Bunting.”
“I suppose you need some time to think this all over, decide what you’re going to do.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t need any time at all. I already know what I want to do. I’m going to put the ranch up for sale. Rock-bottom price. I want out of Jubilee as fast as I can get out of here.”
Steamed, Joe left the office ahead of Mariah. She had papers to sign, and he was so angry, he needed to walk it off before sharing the cab of his truck with her on the ride back to the ranch. Selfish, spoiled brat. Not even giving her dead father’s request a second thought.
Well fine, that was her prerogative. He didn’t care. He didn’t want her hanging around here anyway, reminding him far too much of Becca, reminding him of how much she’d hurt Dutch. All he wanted was his land back and if she was inclined to sell it to him cheap, then so much the better.
He paced the sidewalk off the town square, trying to figure out how to get his hands on the money to buy her off and send her packing back to Chicago.
Fifteen minutes later, she came out of the office looking . . . well . . . to be honest, she looked like she’d been stirrup-dragged through a cactus patch. Immediately, his anger ebbed.
“Do you mind if I go grocery shopping?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“If I’m going to be stuck here for a while, I need supplies, and on the drive over, I spotted a small grocery on the block behind this one.”
He wanted to say, Hell no. He didn’t want to do any favors for her. She pissed him off royally. But the woman needed groceries, so what else was he supposed to do?
She started walking in the direction of the grocery store, leaving him not much of an option but to follow her, although he sure didn’t care for looking like a lapdog. To keep from trailing behind, he took several long-legged steps and caught up with her.
“You got a grocery list?” he growled.
“I don’t.”
“You need a list. Being a wedding planner, I figured you keep lists.”
She tapped her temple with a forefinger. “I keep it up here.”
Why was he giving her crap about a grocery list? Was he just trying to punish her? Petty. Yeah, he’d admit it. He wasn’t proud of it, but a guy couldn’t help the way he felt—disappointed, irritated, snubbed.
At the door, a friendly young man with Down’s syndrome greeted them and high-fived Joe. “Hello, Mr. Joe. We’come to Searcy’s Gro’ery.”
“Thank you, Rodney.”
It was the exact same exchange Rodney had with every customer who entered the grocery store. Rodney had been in the same high school class as Joe’s younger sister, Meg.
“Can I come riding at the ranch again?” Rodney asked.
“You’re welcome anytime.” Joe peeled off a cart from the row of carts before Mariah had a chance to commandeer one. He was running this show whether she liked it or not.
“Thank you, Mr. Joe. Will Mr. Dutch be there too?”
Joe shook his head. “Mr. Dutch died, remember? Your mama brought you to the funeral.”
Rodney looked heartbreakingly sad. “Oh yeah.” Tears misted his eyes. “Mr. Dutch, he gone to heaven.”
“That’s right, but you can still come riding at the ranch.”
Rodney beamed and clapped his hands. “Yay!”
Then another customer came in behind them, and Rodney ran over to high-five the elderly man, who already had his hand raised in anticipation. “We’come to Searcy’s Gro’ery.”
“That,” Joe said, once they were over by the produce aisle and out of Rodney’s earshot, “is the kind of young person your dad wanted to help. Dutch gave Rodney free riding lessons.”
“How noble of him to help other people’s children,” Mariah muttered.
Joe reached out to touch her shoulder, but regretted it the second he did it. He felt her stiffen beneath his grip and he immediately dropped his hand. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” she snapped. “Honest?”
Lighten up on her. She’s in pain whether she’s admitting it or not. Joe softened. “Jealous. Grudge holding. I can tell that’s not who you really are.”
She glared at him anyway, tossed a sack of oranges into the cart, and stalked off to bag some green leaf lettuce.
“Dutch was very sorry for abandoning you.”
“Really? Funny, I never heard that from him.”
“He told me the story about how you were so ashamed of him that you ran off when he came to see you at your high school.”
Mariah whirled on him, eyes blazing. “That was inappropriate coming to my school. I was fourteen. He was dressed up like a cowboy in one of the most exclusive high schools in Chicago. How did he think I was going to feel?”
Joe understood where she was coming from. Heck, his parents had embarrassed the fire out of him when he was a teen, but clearly Mariah had no idea how badly she’d hurt Dutch with her rejection. The old horseman had only told him about it when they’d gotten drunk together celebrating one of Miracle’s wins. Otherwise, the taciturn Dutch would never have spoken of something so painful.
“Did you ever stop to consider how difficult it was for a lonely old cowpoke like him to walk into a place like that?” Joe asked. “Bunch of rich kids staring at him.”
“Don’t give me that baloney. He was the adult.” She slung the lettuce into the cart, snatched up a prepac
k of cherry tomatoes. “He wasn’t lonely. He had tons of friends, apparently all more important to him than his own daughter. Hell, he did more with Rodney than he ever did with me.”
“You holdin’ on to a lot of anger.”
“You think?”
“Let it go.”
“Yeah, well, you ought to let go of your dead wife. It’s been two years, quit going on tequila benders.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, Mariah slapped a palm over her mouth and her eyes widened.
Joe took the emotional blow. Swallowed it. He’d provoked her, he was asking for it, but she played dirty.
Chagrin darkened her eyes. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I had no excuse to say that. I know nothing about you and your grief. It was rude and catty and none of my damn business.”
“Who told you about Becca?” he asked coldly. He wanted to just walk off and leave her there, but he wasn’t going to let her have control over his behavior.
“Look, could you forget I said that? I’m truly sorry I said it. I shouldn’t have said that. I was way out of line.”
“You’re right,” he said, his mildness of tone belying the hurt and anger punching hard against his throat, but he didn’t want her to know how much she rattled his cage. “I should let go of Becca, but when you love someone as much as I loved her . . . well, I can tell that you’ve never loved someone that much, so you have no clue what I’ve been through.”
Mariah caught her bottom lip up between her teeth. She looked as anxious to get away from him as he was to get away from her. She spun on her heels, headed for the condiments aisle.
Ah crap. Now he’d bruised her. He doffed his cowboy hat, shoved fingers through his hair. Why were they sniping at each other? Both of them with their emotions sticking out like spines.
He came up behind her as she studied the ingredients on the back of a bottle of salad dressing. “Mariah,” he murmured.
She raised her head, an unexpectedly bright smile on her face.
Joe didn’t know what to make of her. She had this sunny, optimistic get-’er-done attitude about her, but underneath was a darker, swifter current she struggled to mask. The deeper nuance was the part that drew him most. One wounded soul to another. They should stop slicing each other to ribbons.
“Could we declare a truce?” he asked.
Her hopeful, remorseful expression told him that she was ashamed of her dark current and sorry that she’d given him a glimpse. “You’re forgiving me?”
Joe managed a slight smile; felt the gentleness slide down into his gut. No sense taking their individual aches out on each other. “In the interest of improving neighbor relationships, yeah. I forgive you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m being so mean.”
“You’re hurting.” He wondered about her past, what had happened, who’d hurt her besides Dutch. Hey, wasn’t that enough? How did a kid ever feel secure when their parents bailed on them.
“Yes, but that’s not a good excuse. You’re hurting too.”
“You were just lashing out and I’m the handy target. You’ve been through a lot.”
She nodded, ducked her head, grabbed for a bottle of ranch dressing. He thought he saw tears misting her eyes, but when she looked up again the tears were gone and her chin was set firm.
“Go ahead. Let me have it. I can take it.” He moved closer until the tips of his boots were touching the toes of her shoes. “Speak your mind.”
“No need,” she said. “I’ve let it go.”
“Are we going to talk about your father’s last request?”
“What’s there to discuss?” She plucked more supplies off the shelf—peanut butter and coffee, strawberry jam and a loaf of multigrain bread. Then she breezed past him and cornered the aisle. In the process, her shoulder lightly brushed his.
His head reeled from the unanticipated contact. His body stiffened. With resistance? Or something else? Something he didn’t want to consider? Dammit. What was the matter with him? He hustled to keep up with her. “You made up your mind pretty quickly without giving it any real thought.”
“What’s to think about? I don’t belong here and I want out as quickly as I can get out.”
“I can accept that,” he said. “Sell the ranch back to me.”
“Sold,” she said.
“That’s mighty generous of you,” he said, “but there’s a hitch.”
She paused in her foraging, turned back to look at him. “What’s that?”
“I don’t have the money, at least not that I can get my hands on. It’s tied up in investments.”
“Wrong answer. I want out of this place ASAP.”
“Mariah,” he said, “I do know you’re hurting, but you don’t seem like a heartless person. I promise I’ll have the money by mid-December. Miracle is going to win the Triple Crown Futurity. That horse is special. If you can hold out until December, I’ll have the two hundred thousand and can pay full market value for the place.”
“Or I could slash the price and sell it within the next couple of weeks and be on my way.”
“Please,” he said. “I want to turn that part of the ranch into the equine center Dutch was hoping to start.”
“You think that argument is going to sway me in your favor? Why should I make Dutch’s dream come true? What did he ever do for me?”
“He left you a ranch.”
“I’ve got dreams of my own.”
“Which are?”
“Not that it’s any of your business.” She sank her hands on her hips, tilted her head, studied him a long moment. “I want to start my own wedding planning business.”
“Here in Jubilee?”
She looked at him as if he was nutty as a pecan tree. “Of course not here in Jubilee. I just want to sell the land, get my money, and get back to Chicago.”
“Can you just give me until Christmas?”
“That’s over two months away.”
“What’s waiting for you in Chicago?”
The expression on her face told him the truth. That she had no ties in Chicago. It was just the place she’d lived for a long time.
She ran a graceful hand through her hair. She moved like a dancer, lithe and controlled. “I can’t wait. I don’t have any money.”
“You’ve got a place to stay, rent-free.”
“What about utilities and food?”
“Jubilee can be a cheap place to live if you’re not keeping horses. Lots cheaper than Chicago.”
She sighed. “I suppose I really don’t have much of a choice.”
Then she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. He could see her struggling to push past her resistance, to accept the situation she was in and make the best of it. Joe knew how hard it was to get to acceptance, that final stage of grief. His grip on it was tenuous at best.
“Okay, all right. I’ll give you until Christmas.” She studied him with wide brown eyes, her top teeth worrying her bottom lip, blond hair curling around her shoulders, soft as morning sunshine.
He didn’t like the way he was behaving. She’d needled him and he’d needled her, and now he felt badly about all of it. He wasn’t usually such a jackass, and even though he didn’t know why, Joe had a sudden urge for her to understand that.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get these groceries bought and stowed. After that, I’m taking you to lunch.”
Chapter Six
You gotta let go of the old before you can grab on to the new.
—Dutch Callahan
You like barbecue?” Joe asked, inclining his head toward the Mesquite Spit at the end of the block as he loaded up her groceries into the backseat of his extended cab pickup truck. The parking lot was just as packed with cars today as it had been the evening before; the smell of mesquite-roasted meat hung thickly in the air.
Her stomach growled.
Joe chuckled. “I take that as a yes.”
They entered the smoky barbecue joint. T
he clank of dishes and the sound of country-and-western music filled the air along with the mouthwatering aroma.
Heads turned. Feeling self-conscious, Mariah glanced down to make sure she didn’t have something on her clothes. In that moment, she wished she was back at her old apartment in Chicago overlooking the lake, curled up under a blanket, eating chocolate chip cookies and watching Gilmore Girls on DVD. Nothing cheered her up like the camaraderie of Stars Hollow. Watching a small town on TV was a lot easier than trying to navigate one in real life.
“You look fine,” Joe said, intuitively reading her thoughts. “It’s just the locals wondering about the pretty new girl.”
Mariah studied the floor. Concrete, stained a dark burgundy. She’d never thought of herself as particularly attractive. Yes, she knew how to dress the part. Destiny had taught her professional makeup tips and how to play up her assets. But it was all a ruse and she couldn’t help feeling that someday someone was going to discover she was a fraud.
One look around told her that she didn’t fit here in this quaint place made of rough-hewn cedar walls and crowded with rough-hewn people. Cowboy hats hung from the hat rack pegs along the far wall. The decor was wagon wheels and iron skillets, hay bales and taxidermied bobcats.
Another set of memories washed over her. Cowboy memories. Her father taking her to a rodeo. Putting her up on his shoulders and walking around to introduce her to other cowboys. A lump caught in her throat and she blinked.
Joe dipped his head so his mouth was close to her ear. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She nodded.
“You’re a good liar, Mariah Callahan.” He put his hand to her elbow and guided her down the narrow walkway that felt more like a cattle chute, bordered as it was on both sides with metal signs advertising brands of horse feed. “Here we go.”
The service was cafeteria-style. Grab a tray, help yourself to the fixings, place your meat order at the beginning of the line, and pick it up at the end. The other people in line greeted Joe and looked at her with curiosity.
“Who’s this?” asked a red-haired man with a jovial face and weathered skin.