“He was seen later that day in the company of Catherine Erickson, a local high school teacher.”
“Erickson?” The pieces fell together. “Any relation to Marc Erickson?”
“His sister.”
“Why would he visit Erickson’s sister?”
“She’s more than that,” the visitor said. “Catherine Erickson was engaged to Ryan Christopher.”
Alarms sounded in Hutton’s brain. “Why would the Pentagon send Gallagher to the Ericksons? If Erickson or Christopher had told the family anything more about the embassy bombing, wouldn’t they have passed it on to the authorities by now?”
“Gallagher could have finished his business at the Pentagon,” the visitor said. “His trip to Montana could be just a social call to the family of old friends.”
Hutton searched his memories. He’d never laid eyes on Gallagher before the bombing. After the bombing, Christopher was dead and Erickson in a coma. How could Gallagher have known either of the two Marine lieutenants who had almost foiled Hutton’s perfect plan? If Hutton hadn’t managed to catch up with Erickson in the alley near the embassy, the man would have lived to implicate him. As it was, his shot to Erickson’s back had been a lucky one. Although the Marine had told his pals who found him that Ryan knew the identity of the man who’d shot him, Erickson had lost consciousness without implicating Hutton. Christopher was dead, and Erickson had finally died without ever emerging from his coma.
So where the hell did Gallagher fit in?
“I’ll take care of this,” Hutton said, rising to indicate the meeting was ended.
As soon as his visitor had left, he picked up the telephone. He had an operative in Spokane, just a few hours away from the small Montana town. Before he could move forward with plans for the next bombing, Hutton had to know that Gallagher wasn’t a threat.
THE NEXT MORNING, Cat hummed contentedly under her breath while she made coffee. Morning was always her favorite time of day, and today was especially pleasant, filled with memories of last night’s lively dinner. For over two hours, Trace in his distinctive husky voice had entertained them with stories of Marc and Ryan’s adventures as Marine recruits in the Carolinas and interpreters in Tabari. For that short time, Marc and Ryan had seemed alive again.
Something else had stirred to life in Cat yesterday, as well, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She acknowledged her attraction to Trace, but whether her interest was sparked by his stories of Ryan, the resemblance of his physical build and amazing eyes to her fiancé, or the unique qualities of Trace himself, she couldn’t be sure. Wishing she could understand the contentment she experienced in his presence and why she felt such an incredible pull toward the stranger, she hurried to peel potatoes for hash browns before Megan awoke.
Pale early morning light streamed through the tall east windows with their jaunty yellow-blue-and-white plaid curtains. With its cheerful yellow walls, mellow pine cabinets and her mother’s collection of Blue Willow platters lining the plate rails, the sunny kitchen always lifted her spirits. But the main reason the room was her favorite was the memories it held of the hours she’d shared there with Ryan, who’d always helped with the dishes.
Trace had surprised her last night by insisting on clearing the table and offering to do dishes, but she’d shooed him away to join her father in front of the fire. She’d been motivated partly by how much her father had enjoyed Trace’s anecdotes at supper but also by a reluctance to share the intimacy of her kitchen with him.
She lifted her head at the sound of footsteps at the back door. After wiping their boots on the outside mat, Gabe and Trace entered the room together. Trace had offered to assist Gabe with the horses that morning, and her father, happy to show off his prize stock, had led him to the barn.
For a greenhorn New Englander, Cat thought, except for the newness of his clothes, Trace looked as if he’d worked a ranch his entire life.
“Coffee smells great,” Trace said with a smile that led her thoughts in dangerous directions.
“Help yourself to a cup,” Gabe instructed. “Mugs are in the cabinet by the sink.”
Cat pulled her attention from their handsome visitor and focused a worried gaze on her father. This morning his usually clear blue eyes appeared rheumy, his suntanned nose glowed red, and as she watched he erupted in an explosive sneeze that he barely managed to muffle in a red bandanna jerked hastily from his back pocket.
“You’re not catching cold?” she asked.
Wiping his nose, he shook his head.
“Been taking your allergy medicine?”
Looking sheepish, her father admitted, “This hay fever’s my own danged fault. You know I don’t like swallowing pills.”
Trace handed him a steaming mug of coffee. “Maybe this will help.”
“Thanks.” Gabe settled at the kitchen table and wrapped his fingers around the warm mug.
Trace brought his own mug and sat across from Cat.
“Cream and sugar?” she asked Trace, knowing her father always drank his coffee black.
“Sugar, please.”
She rose, removed the sugar bowl from the cabinet and passed it to their visitor. Trace heaped three teaspoons into his cup and swirled the spoon in a gesture that brought back a flood of memories.
“That’s the way Ryan always drank his coffee,” Cat said.
As if caught by surprise, Trace wavered briefly, then returned to his stirring. “Never used sugar until I started working for the prince. His household likes their coffee sweet. They drink it almost like syrup.”
After another mighty sneeze, Gabe pushed to his feet. “Looks like I’ll have to take those blasted pills, after all. Sorry, Gallagher, but I won’t be able to show you the ranch on horseback today. The danged medication always puts me to sleep when I first start taking it.”
“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” Trace commiserated. “Maybe Cat could show me around. You ride, don’t you, Cat?”
Gabe chuckled. “Cat ride? She was on a horse before she learned to walk.”
“But I can’t leave Megan, and the trek around the ranch is too long for her. If she goes with us, she’ll be exhausted.”
She felt torn between wanting to spend the morning with Trace and reluctance to expose herself further to his charm. Although last night her father had invited him to stay for a few days, Trace would still be leaving soon, never to return. She saw no point in forming an attachment, and Trace, as Ryan had been, was the kind of man she could learn to like too much too fast.
“I’ll watch Megan,” Gabe said.
“You can’t watch her if you’re asleep,” Cat protested, thinking that settled the issue.
“If I can borrow a horse, I can mosey about by myself,” Trace offered.
“Nonsense,” Gabe said. “You won’t know where to go. Cat can show you the high spots of our spread. I’ll call Myra MacIntosh—she’s our nearest neighbor—and ask her to stay with Megan this morning.”
Not wanting to appear inhospitable, Cat smiled at Trace. “We’ll start out after breakfast.”
His long, collected look from those khaki-brown eyes made her catch her breath. “I’m looking forward to it.”
AFTER BREAKFAST, Cat told Megan where she and Trace were going.
“I wanna go wif you,” her daughter insisted, fists on her hips, chin jutting. “I like Trace.”
“Can you ride a horse?” Obvious amusement tugged at the corners of Trace’s mouth.
Megan shook her head. “Not a horse. A pony.”
As if mesmerized by the little girl, Trace stooped to her eye level. “Do you have your own pony?”
Megan nodded. “Her name’s Sugar.”
Sugar, Cat remembered with a pang of regret, was Ryan’s public term of endearment. In private, he called her Kalila.
“Sugar. I like that name,” Trace said. “How did you pick it?”
“That’s what my daddy used to call my mommy. Mommy told me. She tells me lots of stories about Daddy and Uncle Ma
rc.”
Something glittered in Trace’s eyes, and for a moment Cat thought she’d seen tears, but he blinked, and the impression passed. It must have been a trick of the light.
“Can I come, Mommy? Please.”
Cat found it difficult to deny her daughter anything, but she’d learned not to spoil her completely. “Sorry, sweetheart, but we’ll be gone too long and you’d get too tired.”
Megan’s lower lip trembled, and Cat relented. “But if you’re a good girl for Grandpa and Mrs. Mac, I’ll take you for a ride after lunch, okay?”
Her daughter looked at Trace. “Will you come, too?”
“If your mother wants me to.”
At that moment, Mrs. MacIntosh, the plump and pretty elderly neighbor who operated the adjoining dairy farm with her husband, arrived. With sparkling brown eyes, a sunny disposition, the energy of a woman half her age and a dozen grandchildren, Mrs. Mac considered Megan one of her granddaughters. The little girl adored her.
Cat introduced Mrs. Mac to Trace, explained about Gabe’s allergies and gave her instructions for Megan.
“Come along, dearie,” Mrs. Mac told Megan. “You’re still in your jammies. Let’s get you bathed and dressed.”
“Thanks for helping out,” Cat said. “Dad’s lying down in his room.”
The friendly woman shook her head and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Men. They never do what the doctor tells them. Afraid it’ll ruin their manly image. If Gabe weren’t so miserable, I’d say it serves him right, but he’s suffered too much the last few years. His allergies only add insult to injury.”
“Come here, sweetie,” Cat said to Megan, “and give me a kiss before I go.”
She leaned down, and Megan threw her arms around her mother’s neck and planted a loud smack on her lips. Cat straightened, and Megan turned to Trace. “Want one, too?”
Trace’s expression transformed at the question, his face reflecting such hunger and tenderness, it was almost painful to behold. Cat could almost understand. He looked the way she felt whenever she watched her daughter, but Cat was Megan’s mother. For her, such a reaction was natural, expected. Trace’s was a total surprise and inexplicable. Did the man long so much for children of his own?
Before Cat could sort out her thoughts, Trace’s hungry look dissolved into a warm smile. “Sure, I’d like a kiss, but only if it’s all right with your mother. You should never, ever kiss strangers.”
Megan glanced at Cat, and she nodded her approval.
Kneeling to face Megan, Trace opened his arms. Megan flew into them, hugged his neck and noisily kissed his cheek. Then she drew back, gazed at him with serious hazel eyes and patted his tanned cheek with her tiny fingers. “Hold on tight and don’t go too fast.”
Trace glanced at Cat and cocked an eyebrow in question.
“That’s what I tell her when she rides Sugar,” Cat explained.
“You’re right,” Trace said solemnly to the little girl. “I’ll be very careful.”
“You don’t want to fall off and break your neck,” Megan said with a superior nod.
Trace looked at Cat, who was trying not to laugh. “You tell her that, too?”
Cat grinned. “That piece of sterling advice comes from her grandfather. You’re stalling, young lady. Run upstairs for your bath.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With Mrs. Mac at her heels, Megan scampered up the stairs.
“She’s adorable.” Trace rose to his full height, watched Megan until she disappeared around the landing, then faced Cat. “You’ve done a great job with her. Being a single parent can’t be easy.”
“Dad helps. You like children, don’t you?”
Trace nodded, his expression wistful. “I’ve always wanted children of my own.”
“Then you should have them.” The encouragement popped out before Cat had time to consider that his reasons for not having a family were personal. Trace, however, didn’t appear to take offense at her suggestion.
“Have to find me a wife first,” he said easily.
“A good-looking man like you, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Cat said.
“You volunteering?”
The sudden impulse to say yes blindsided her, and she compensated with a deep, steadying breath. “Having lived around military men for so many years, I’ve been drilled thoroughly into never volunteering for anything.”
“Smart lady.”
She exhaled a sigh of relief, glad the dizzying moment had passed.
He followed her out the back door, and together they strolled across the yard toward the barn.
“Chickens—” he pointed to the outbuildings “—and a vegetable garden. Looks like you’re pretty self-sufficient here.”
Cat nodded, glad the conversation had turned less personal. “With milk and butter from the MacIntosh dairy, even if the roads become impassable in winter, we eat well.”
“Must take a lot of work.”
“We manage.”
She kept to herself her concern that the load was becoming more than she and her father could bear alone. Her thoughts turned to Todd Brewster. In his marriage proposals, he’d offered to help Gabe with the ranch, if that was where Cat would rather live. He’d promised he would have time to work the ranch before and after school and in the summers, and his offer had been tempting. His help might mean the difference between keeping the place going or selling out and moving into town.
The only problem was, fond as she was of Todd, she didn’t love him the way she’d loved Ryan. She doubted she’d ever love any man that way again. She breathed a heavy sigh and could almost feel her shoulders bending beneath the weight of her problems. She had more than her own feelings to consider, she reminded herself sternly. Megan came first—and her daughter needed a father. Todd would make an ideal stepfather.
And there was her father to consider, too. He had already lost so much. It would kill him to lose his ranch, too.
Shaking off her musings, she caught Trace studying her curiously from the corner of his eye. She knew he’d registered her sigh, but he was almost a total stranger, and she wasn’t about to burden him with her dilemma.
They entered the barn, and her eyes adjusted from the bright morning light to the dim interior. From the stall at the far end, Snickers, her dappled gray mare, bobbed her head in welcome. They strode through the center aisle, and Trace stopped at the stall on the right and approached Rogue, Ryan’s chestnut quarter horse. Before Cat could warn him that the horse didn’t like people, he was stroking Rogue’s muzzle, and Rogue was gently nuzzling Trace’s shoulder in return.
“He’s a beauty,” Trace said. “What’s his name?”
Cat had to swallow her amazement to answer. “Rogue. He was Ryan’s horse. You must be really good with animals. Rogue never allows anyone but Dad or me near him.”
Trace reached higher and scratched behind Rogue’s ears. “Seems gentle enough. May I ride him?”
The horse whinnied softly as if in approval.
“He’s thrown everyone who’s tried since Ryan…”
Died.
Even after five years, she had a hard time saying the word. “But you still keep him?” Trace asked in a voice that seemed oddly filled with emotion.
“Ryan would have wanted me to.”
Selling Rogue would have produced enough funds to hire temporary help, but even that would be only a stopgap measure in the long run. Having the horse was like having a little bit of Ryan left, and she didn’t want to let go. Her father understood. They still kept Marc’s horse, too.
Trace had stopped stroking the horse at her declaration, but he didn’t turn. Rogue arched forward and nuzzled Trace’s shoulder again.
“See,” he said, “he likes me.”
Still astonished at Rogue’s reaction, Cat shrugged. “It’s your neck, if you want to risk it. Saddles and bridles are over here.”
A few minutes later, they were mounted and headed up the gravel road toward the north pasture. The morning, although sunny,
was comfortably cool, and the air was laden with the fragrance of wildflowers and the resinous scent of evergreens. Sunlight glistened off the snow-covered peaks that surrounded the high alpine valley like the sides of a bowl, and the trill of birdsong and the occasional darting shadows of wings floated across the meadow.
In spite of the problems that weighed on her mind, Cat was surprised to find her mood as bright and sunny as the morning sky. She couldn’t remember feeling this lighthearted since before Ryan’s death and wondered whether it was the memories of Ryan that Trace had shared or the fascinating man himself who’d unburdened her heart.
Trace stopped, stood tall in the saddle and took a deep breath. “I’ve never smelled air so clean.”
“Not even in the desert?” Cat asked.
He made a sour face and shook his head. “In Tabari we usually had the stench from the oil fields and refineries. Or so much sand blowing that we were afraid to breathe too deeply. Here, it’s like inhaling a crisp vintage wine. Pretty heady stuff.”
His boyish enthusiasm was infectious, and Cat found herself appreciating anew the clean and crisp atmosphere she usually took for granted.
“And the view,” he said, “it’s incredible. No wonder Marc and Ryan wanted to give up the military for this.”
She nudged Snickers with her heels, and Trace and Rogue followed them off the road into the pasture, wading easily through the thick, high grass.
“Are you a career man?” she asked. “In for the long haul?”
His expression sobered. “Probably. Don’t know what else I’d do.”
“You could teach.”
He shot her a surprised glance. “Teach what?”
“After living in the palace, aren’t you fluent in Arabic? I’m sure not many have your language qualifications. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a job.”
“I don’t have the patience to teach. All those students would drive me nuts.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Do you like teaching?” he asked, so skillfully shifting the conversation that she didn’t notice until later that he’d avoided talking about himself.
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