Ranch at River’s End

by Brenda Mott

  Jordan crouched beside the Ford to keep track of the air compressor’s progress, watching the attached dial gauge.

  It would take a good fifteen to twenty minutes for the tire to fill, and Darci was getting wet. She wondered if she could go back to sit in her car, or if that would seem rude.

  After all, Jordan was getting pelted by the rain, too.

  “Have you got a jack?” she asked, opting to stay and help. “I can remove the other tire if you want.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said, “but you don’t need to stand out here getting wet. I can do it.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said.

  Jordan went around to the front of the SUV and took a scissor jack from beneath the hood. Returning, he slid it underneath the SUV and crawled after it to adjust the jack’s position, then wriggled back out. Crouching again, he twisted the jack handle clockwise, raising the frame to lift the flat off the ground.

  A sudden bang startled her, and for a split second, Darci thought the radial had overinflated and blown up. Involuntarily, she let out a little shriek—just as Jordan flung himself against her, shielding her body with his own.

  What the…?

  Darci grimaced self-consciously as she realized the loud noise had come from an old pickup truck that had driven past and backfired. Silly her. She glanced up into Jordan’s face, prepared to apologize for shrieking.

  He was sweating so profusely even the rain couldn’t hide it. And the fear that crossed his features was so intense….

  What on earth?

  “You okay?” Darci asked. “It was only a truck backfiring.”

  Looking embarrassed, Jordan took a step back. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. Without another word, he turned his attention to removing the flat. “You might as well get out of the rain. No sense in us both getting wet.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  Darci sat in her car, pondering what had just happened. Lost in thought, she nearly jumped when Jordan tapped on her window.

  “All set,” he said.

  Darci got out of the car. He’d already put away his tools and had the cord and hose wrapped neatly in place around her air compressor. She reached for it, but he held it aloft.

  “I’ll get it.” Jordan carried the compressor to the back of the car. Darci popped the truck so he could set it inside. “Thanks again,” he said. “I really appreciate your stopping. Guess I’ll see you at the hospital.”

  “Yeah, sure.” She watched as he trotted through the rain and climbed into the Explorer.

  Belatedly, Darci realized she’d forgotten to tell him they were neighbors.

  SATURDAY MORNING DARCI dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots and a dark brown Resistol, and she and Christopher headed for the Shadow S. Stella had more requests for riding lessons than she could handle, considering she also ran a barrel-racing clinic, and had been happy to hire Darci on as her part-time help.

  Anxious for her first day on the job, Darci parked near the barn and got out. Even Christopher was in high spirits. He hadn’t been horseback riding on the Shadow S since he was in grade school and had only ridden a few times at the boarding stables outside Northglenn where Darci had worked. He’d gotten to the point where he’d shown little interest in riding at all, and Darci was glad to see him wanting to get back in the saddle.

  Over Chris’s protests, she had used some of her savings and taken her son shopping that morning. Leon and Stella had rules, and one of them was: no boots, no riding. A tennis shoe could slip through a stirrup and hang a rider up if he fell. People had been killed that way.

  And Darci had insisted her son get a pair of jeans that didn’t bag halfway down his butt. He’d grumbled as if she were sentencing him to jail, but now he didn’t appear to mind wearing the Levi’s and cowboy boots she’d purchased at the local feed store.

  Leon was cleaning stalls when they arrived. He wore his usual gray cowboy hat, battered boots, faded jeans and flannel shirt. His silver handlebar mustache made him look like he belonged back in the 1800s.

  “Hey, kids!” he called, still thinking of Darci that way. “You ready to start your first day, kiddo?” With one meaty hand, he grasped the shovel he’d been using and leaned it against the side of the stall before shifting his six-foot, three-inch frame into the aisle.

  “You’d better know it,” Darci said. “Chris, you make sure you listen to your uncle today or no riding.”

  “Aw, he’ll be fine,” Leon said before Christopher could protest. “Help me finish these stalls, Chris, and we’ll be off.”

  Chris grimaced. “Me, clean up horse crap? I don’t think so.”

  “You want to ride, you help Uncle Leon,” Darci said. “Having horses isn’t all fun and games.”

  “I don’t have a horse,” he said, making Darci want to shake him.

  “No, but you’re going to ride one—if you help.”

  “Fine.” He shuffled over and took hold of a rake.

  Darci blew out a puff of air that lifted her bangs, mentally counting to ten. “Listen to Uncle Leon,” she repeated. “Kick him in the butt if he doesn’t,” she added to her uncle.

  Leon only chuckled. “He’ll be fine.”

  Was she overreacting to Chris’s attitude? Darci wondered. She didn’t think so.

  She found Stella saddling a chestnut mare, her short, red hair tucked under her own cowboy hat, the sleeves of her Western shirt rolled up. A short time later, Darci was mounted on the chestnut and in the arena with her first student—a ten-year-old girl named Jodi. The hour-long lesson flew by, and Darci was heading to the office in the barn to get herself some bottled water when another car pulled up outside the stables.

  A pretty woman in her mid to late thirties got out and smiled at Darci. She wore boots, jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a quarter horse on it, her strawberry-blond hair caught up in a ponytail beneath a ball cap.

  “Hi. I’m Nina Drake. Is Stella here?”

  Darci was taken by pleasant surprise. “Nina—I’m Darci Taylor. My son, Christopher, has an appointment scheduled with you for Thursday.”

  “Oh, hello.” Nina held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Darci.” She pushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ve been puttering around at the rental stables in town, doing a little riding for relaxation, but I think I need help to hone my skills. I’m here for my first riding lesson with your aunt.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Follow me. Stella’s in the arena out back.”

  The Shadow S boasted two arenas, the one where Darci had been giving a lesson and one behind the barn. She steered Nina in the right direction, then got her water and prepared for her next student.

  By the end of the day Darci was tired in a good way and ready to go home and soak in a hot bubble bath.

  She drove on autopilot, chatting with Chris, fully unprepared for what greeted her as she pulled into the driveway of the house they’d moved into just five days ago. Darci stared at the single word of graffiti spray-painted in red across the garage door.

  Leave!

  Angry tears stung her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. No one besides her aunt and uncle knew what Christopher had done—or at least she’d thought so. The local news had covered the story on all channels, but as a minor, Chris’s name had been left out, both on television and in the newspapers.

  But why else would someone paint the word on their garage door?

  Who would be so quick to judge her and her son with such hatred? Her landlord would be livid. And here she’d always thought of the little Colorado mountain town of River’s End as peaceful, welcoming.

  “Holy crap!” Christopher exclaimed. His face clouded over. “I told you we shouldn’t have moved here.”

  Darci only shook her head. She went inside the house and put her cowboy hat on the closet shelf, then changed into a faded old shirt before going back outside. She entered the garage via the side door and rummaged through some boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked, Chris tagging at her heels. Tears stu
ng her eyes. She would not let some stranger’s horrible actions get to her.

  “Paint thinner, paint thinner…” she mumbled. Had to be here with the other odds and ends she’d brought with her for household repairs. There.

  Darci lifted the container from the box, along with some clean rags and a pair of rubber gloves. She’d have to make a trip to the hardware store and get a can of matching yellow paint to completely obliterate the word. Suddenly she felt angry, and that anger was directed at Christopher.

  Her own child had made her life a living hell, and she’d had enough. Every penny of her small nest egg was meant to carry her and Chris along until she had a steady paycheck coming in. And now because of her son’s stupid actions and some hateful vandal, she had to waste money on paint for what had been a perfectly fine garage door just this morning. Who had had the nerve to do this in broad daylight anyway?

  Biting her lip to keep her tears and frustration at bay, Darci tossed the rag at her son. “Here. Clean that off.”

  “Why do I have to clean it?”

  “Maybe because you’re the reason for it,” Darci snapped, then took a deep breath at the stricken look on her son’s face. “Chris, I’m sorry. Christopher!” But he was already pushing his way through the screen door to the house, letting it slam behind him. “Chris!”

  He ignored her. Since his father had left a year ago, Christopher had changed from a quiet boy who loved to read, hike and skateboard to a troublesome young man Darci barely recognized as the child she’d given birth to. These past couple of days, he’d seemed more like his old self again, settling in to their new home better than she’d hoped—or so she’d thought.

  Silently, Darci berated herself for directing her anger at him. He was still her son. She got to work with the rag and paint thinner. To her surprise, Christopher came back outside with a larger rag in his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Chris,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I just can’t believe trouble has followed us here so fast.”

  “It’ll never stop,” Chris said, his face nearly as red as the paint he viciously scrubbed. “I made one dumb mistake, and now—”

  “It will stop,” Darci said. It had to, or she’d lose her mind. “We have to believe that. It’s just going to take a little time.”

  He grunted. “I doubt that.” He indicated the smeared graffiti. “No one wants us here. We could move to China and everybody would still hate me.”

  “No one hates you,” Darci said, wishing she could believe her own words. For one moment, Christopher looked like the little boy she used to cradle in her lap when he skinned his elbow riding his bicycle. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand, and sometimes they react in inappropriate ways.”

  “Now you sound like Dr. Kingsley.” That was Chris’s psychologist in Northglenn, who’d referred them to Nina Drake.

  “Hey, don’t forget you’ve got me. And Aunt Stella and Uncle Leon.” Darci’s father had left her mother when Darci was a child, and her mother hadn’t been a very good grandmother to Christopher. But then, she lived in California and mostly only saw him on the occasional holiday. Likewise, his father’s parents were too busy with their fishing business for Chris. “Now come on, let’s not let some jerk spoil our weekend.”

  Darci worked beside the son she loved, no matter what he’d done. She hated having to uproot him from everything familiar. From the place where he’d lived most of his life…from the people he knew…

  The move hadn’t been any easier on her than it had on him. But what choice did she have?

  No one in the Denver area wanted a kid in their neighborhood who had taken a realistic-looking gun to school and terrified a cafeteria full of students.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JORDAN DRAKE SLOWED his SUV as he passed the pale yellow house in the middle of his quiet, tree-lined block. The house had been vacant up until a few days ago, but now a petite woman with short blond hair and a young boy were busy scrubbing what looked like graffiti from the door of the attached garage.

  Darci? Unlikely. But as she turned in profile, he recognized her—and that was her little red Chevy parked in the driveway. He’d had no idea she lived down the street from him.

  He frowned at the graffiti. They’d already wiped away part of it, but Jordan could make out what was left of the word leave.

  What was that all about?

  “Dad, someone moved into Mimi’s old house,” Michaela said. “Oh, my gosh, it’s the lady who helped us with our tire yesterday.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Dang! Someone graffitied her garage door. Who would do that in River’s End?”

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  Crime happened everywhere.

  A sudden thought hit Jordan. When the previous tenant—Mimi Hopkins—had lived in the rental house, he’d painted that very garage door for her. In fact, he and Michaela had done the entire exterior of the house and garage for their eighty-year-old neighbor to help her save a little money. Her landlord had agreed to give Mimi a month’s free rent if she looked after the much-needed paint job.

  When his neighbor had moved to the assisted-living apartments in town, Jordan had forgotten all about the half gallon of yellow paint still in his shed. Until now.

  He slowed the Explorer and pulled halfway into Darci’s drive. She looked up, then laid down the rag she was holding.

  He lowered the window as she approached the driver’s side door, her hand cupped over her brow to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “Hi, there,” she said, then grimaced. “We had an uninvited visitor.”

  “So I see. How would you like some free paint to cover that up with?”

  She raised her brows. “You have some?” Then quickly added, “I’ll pay you for it.”

  “No need.” He shrugged. “I painted this house for the woman who used to live here. I’ve still got about a half gallon of that pale yellow sitting in my shed. I don’t need it. You might as well put it to good use.”

  She bit her bottom lip, obviously hesitant to accept his offer.

  “Consider it repayment for helping me with my tire,” he said, before she could protest.

  “That’s not necessary,” Darci said. “I didn’t expect any payment.”

  “I know.” He smiled. “I’ll go get the paint. Be right back.” He raised the window, relishing the air conditioning as he put the SUV in Reverse. This late in the day, and the temperature was still rising. Or was it just the way he felt, being so close to Darci?

  Idiot, Jordan chided himself. He hadn’t dated in so long—maybe it was Darci’s pretty, blue eyes and cute smile that was affecting him. Or the vanilla perfume she wore. He’d noticed it at the hospital and again when he’d reacted to the sound of the truck backfiring, pressing his body against hers.

  She’d felt warm and soft, her smooth skin damp from the rain. Her blond hair was wet, curling a little on the ends. He’d felt a quick rush of attraction right before it was replaced by embarrassment at his overreaction to the noise.

  You’re losing your mind, Drake. Just get the paint.

  He told Michaela what he was doing, then walked out to the shed, feeling a strange kind of anticipation at the thought of seeing Darci again.

  Chewy ran out of the doghouse to greet him, and he paused to scratch the dog behind one ear. The gallon bucket of “lemon ice” was right where he’d left it last spring, sitting on a shelf along the shed’s far wall. He wondered if Darci had a brush or roller. Probably not. Jordan gathered a paint pan, stir stick, an old screwdriver to open the lid and a clean roller, before heading back outside. He hesitated. A tarp. She’d need one to keep from splattering her driveway. Might as well bring his own along, in case she didn’t have one. He opened the driver’s door of his SUV and reached inside to flip the lever beside the seat, raising the hatch. Jordan placed the paint supplies inside, intending to return to the shed for a tarp. For a moment, he stood without moving, staring at the vast,
mostly empty cargo space. His stomach churned as Sandra’s voice came to him clearly in memory.

  Let’s get the seven-seater, babe. I want to fill the thing with kids and soccer balls and football equipment and ballet shoes…

  He’d laughed at her enthusiasm. Sandra had been brave and optimistic, no matter what life had thrown at her. She’d suffered a miscarriage prior to Michaela’s birth, and two more afterward. But as Michaela’s tenth birthday approached, she’d begun to talk about adopting, quickly catching Jordan up in her excitement. With their daughter growing so fast, Sandra was already dreading the day they’d have an empty nest, and she’d wanted to do something about it.

  Jordan slammed the hatch shut.

  After her death, he’d folded every one of the five extra passenger seats down, leaving only the two in front for him and Michaela. The only time he raised the other rows was if Michaela had friends along. But afterward he laid the seats back down, not wanting the reminder of what should have been. He’d thought about selling the Explorer, but it was handy in the harsh, snowy conditions winter often brought to River’s End, and for pulling his cabin cruiser. Plus he hadn’t wanted to upset his daughter with yet another change. She and her mother had loved the big, black SUV.

  Shaking off his thoughts, Jordan got the tarp and drove back to Darci’s.

  Christopher was in the driveway on a skateboard when Jordan pulled back in. The kid glanced his way, then pushed off down the sidewalk. Jordan had barely gotten out of the vehicle when Darci’s next door neighbor—Eileen Hathaway—strode across her front lawn in Chris’s direction. Eileen’s enormous black Newfoundland bounded ahead of the older woman, barking at the boy.

  Christopher halted the skateboard and faced the monstrous dog without a bit of fear. The kid’s face lit with a smile, and he reached out to ruffle the dog’s thick fur. The Newfoundland slobbered all over him, lapping at his hands and wrists with a tongue as long and wide as a two-lane highway.

  “Saylor, come here!” Eileen called. “You, too, young man!” Appearing not to notice Jordan or Darci, who’d been waiting near the garage, Eileen focused on Christopher as he turned his board around and reluctantly came back her way.