by Susan Fox
He didn't want the responsibility of Veronica Spencer. He didn't want to know her problems and he didn't want her intruding on his life. But his father's will made that unavoidable. Still, it was Cole who made the decisions around the ranch now. Veronica may have a quarter interest, but when he decided she would leave, she'd damned well clear out.
When Veronica awoke, it was dark. She felt ill and it was all she could do to roll to the edge of the bed. She was too sick to be startled by the barrier that stopped her before she could get one foot on the floor. Her only thought was that someone had left her hospital bed rail up. Frantically she tried to find the button to summon a nurse as she fought down a tide of nausea.
"Are you going to be sick?" asked a deep rough voice. Veronica panted her reply and was immediately pulled from the bed and carried through the darkness.
The suddenness of the bright bathroom light brought a searing pain to her head. Strong arms lowered her to her knees and held her steady over the bowl. Again and again the sickness came until she was limp and the nausea spent. Veronica heard the faucet being twisted on behind her and the rush of water that followed.
The cool wet cloth that was forced into her fingers was soothing as she ran it over her face. She already felt worlds better. She didn't resist when the cloth was taken impatiently from her fingers and held beneath the cold water again. This time, the cloth was guided over her face by a surer hand than her own.
"Here." The cloth was removed and a glass of water held in front of her. "Rinse your mouth." She should have known immediately whose voice was giving the orders, but her brain was still muddled. She obeyed. The glass was taken away and the room grew still. Veronica was weak and tired but her mind was beginning to clear. She knew now who had held her steady and witnessed her sickness. She knew and was recovered enough to feel deeply ashamed.
"Thank you, Cole," she got out, wondering why he was at her motel. She was just about to ask when it dawned on her that this was her old bathroom at the ranch. "How did I get here?" She'd heard of alcoholic blackouts and was suddenly terrified she'd just had one.
"I brought you here," was the gruff reply. The note of regret in Cole's deep voice was easily detected.
"I'm sorry." She must have said that to him hundreds of times in the more than two years she'd lived here, but Cole Chapman rarely accepted her apologies. "I need to be alone in here for a few minutes," she told him quietly.
"Can you manage by yourself?" There was no concern in his voice. It was simply a question he needed to ask. Veronica nodded and was lifted to her feet. Cole was out of the bathroom and had closed the door behind him before she realized she hadn't actually seen him yet.
Veronica moved carefully into the bedroom, using the wall to steady herself. The bright bathroom light had been painful, but the soft light from the lamp Cole had left on beside the bed was soothing. Her gaze wandered lovingly around the room that had changed little in eight years.
It was still decorated in spring green and white, from the tiny white flowers and vines on the puffed green comforter to the white ruffled curtains with green tie-backs. The dark luster of woodwork accented the wallpaper, which was a reverse of the comforter, with green flowers and vines on a white background. She remembered the horrified reaction her mother'd had when she chose this color scheme the first month they lived on the ranch. Veronica's lips moved into a wry line. Her taste and her mother's had always clashed.
Being in this house again, this room, brought back a lot of memories. For a brief moment, Veronica was lost in the odd sensation that she'd never really left, that the eight years she'd been away had somehow been compressed into days.
But Hank wasn't here now. Remembering that brought a crush of grief so strong it forced the air from her lungs in a rush. Wearily she lowered herself onto the straight chair next to the bathroom door.
Cole watched from the hallway, reluctant to intrude. Ronnie's too-thin shoulders shook with mute sobs and her head was bowed dejectedly. He wasn't prepared for the sudden rush of compassion he felt at the sight of her grief. It reached for him, tore into the still-tender areas of his own heart. His first step toward her was hesitant.
Veronica heard Cole's soft footfalls and went rigid. She straightened self-consciously and smeared the wetness from her cheeks. She noticed then that her watch and jewelry had been removed.
"What time is it?" she asked quietly, trying unsuccessfully to hide her misery from her stepbrother.
"Midnight."
Veronica looked up at Cole for the first time. Eight years had seasoned his smooth dark handsomeness into a more appealingly rugged look. The sun had defined the lines that fanned out from dark blue eyes, while the slashing grooves on each side of his mouth boldly accented the sensuality of his firm lips. His jaw was still the strong implacable jaw she recalled, but it was rough now with whisker stubble. He was as lean and hard as ever, his body the body of an athlete, wide shouldered, narrow hipped__
Veronica's eyes shied away. She would never let Cole see her make more than a cursory assessment. She'd had a crush on him once and had been foolish enough to confess her love to him. After that, Cole rarely had anything good to say to her or about her. Those were the memories that hurt.
"H-how did Hank die?" Veronica asked, bracing herself for the answer.
"He had a heart attack," Cole began quietly. "We rushed him to the hospital, but after they got him into intensive care, he had another one and they couldn't revive him."
The huskiness in Cole's voice made her feel close to him; they had both loved Hank Chapman deeply. But after a few silent moments Veronica raised damp eyes darkening with resentment to meet the watchful depths of her stepbrother's.
"Why didn't you notify us? You knew how much I—" She bit her lip, not wanting Cole to see her cry. "And you sent me to his grave knowing what a shock it would be." Veronica's pale features flushed with the effort it took to restrain her tears. She trembled with anger, but the hurt she felt was overwhelming. Cole crossed the small space between them, then crouched down in front of her.
"I did notify your mother. She wasn't home when I called the first time, but one of her servants took the message. When I called later that day, she was still out, but her husband assured me Miriam had already been informed." Cole paused and reached out to touch the small white hand that rested on her thigh. "I wouldn't have kept my father's death a secret, Ronnie, no matter how much hostility there was between us."
The solemn expression she saw on Cole's face blurred as tears surged into her eyes. "I don't believe you," she whispered desolately. "You always resented that Hank treated me like—" Like a daughter, her heart finished for her. Cole's fingers tightened gently around hers.
"Miriam called just after you did today and she admitted she hadn't told you about Hank." Cole let Ronnie's statement pass. Maybe he had resented how quickly Ronnie and his father had taken to each other. He'd certainly never understood why.
Ronnie shook her head. "Six months? For six months she kept it from me?" Veronica was incredulous. Cole's lips twisted sarcastically.
"Miriam outdid herself this time."
Veronica threw off Cole's consoling hand.
"Don't you dare criticize her! My mother was never as bad as you always said. And you don't know any-thing about her now."
Cole stared. Ronnie was overwrought and surely not rational. Where was the resentment she'd always borne Miriam? Miriam had never inspired any kind of loyalty in her daughter and now she was defending her?
"Where are my car keys?" She had to get out of there. The restless sense of panic she felt demanded she do something.
"They're in my pocket," Cole answered. "You won't be going anywhere tonight." Veronica opened her mouth to protest, but Cole interrupted. "You're in no shape to be driving."
"I'm sober," she told him angrily.
"I know you are, but you aren't well." Cole stood. It was then that she noticed the row of luggage he must
have carried in earlier. "Which case has your night-gown?"
Veronica didn't answer right away as she watched Cole cross to her bags, select one at random, then open it. "The small one," she was forced to say before he began rummaging on his own. Cole snapped the larger piece shut and reached for the case she'd indicated. Opening it, he also retrieved her toiletry and cosmetic bag.
In moments he'd draped her nightgown and robe across the foot of the bed. Then, he carried her cosmetic case into the bathroom and placed most of its contents on the wide counter that skirted the sink. When he finished he came back into the room and handed her the crutches.
"You'll have to dress yourself." Cole walked to the head of the bed and turned down the comforter and sheet before pushing the chair he had used earlier back into the corner.
Cole's take-charge activity had a settling effect on Veronica's nerves. She was exhausted and the inviting sight of clean sheets and a comfortable bed made her ache to lie down.
Her murmured thank-you carried a note of unconscious submission. Cole's impersonal gaze swept over her as she rose shakily from the chair.
"Sleep in as long as you need to. If you miss breakfast, there should be enough food in the refrigerator for you to help yourself."
Ronnie murmured another thanks and Cole moved toward her. She sensed his uncertainty, his reluctance, when he stopped bare inches from her. In the next moment, he wrapped her in his arms, pressing her firmly against his warm chest. Veronica stiffened. She knew that Cole's comfort was solely an observance, a hollow gesture of commiseration. The dutifully performed amenity cut her to the quick, astonishing her with the realization that she wanted much more from him than a dutiful embrace. Awkwardly she drew away and Cole released her as if he couldn't bear to touch her any longer.
"I'll be on my way as soon as possible in the morning," she told him as she grasped the crutches and moved past him to the foot of the bed.
"There's no hurry," he said, a little surprised at his almost welcoming response.
"Isn't there?" She wanted to demand why he'd brought her to the ranch in the first place. She didn't have the physical or emotional strength to deal with both Hank's death and the problems of dragging herself and her belongings from place to place. Why hadn't Cole just left her at the motel?
"As long as you're here you might as well stay a couple of days. There are a few things we need to discuss. The sooner we have our talk, the better."
"What do we have to talk about?" Veronica reached for her nightgown, hoping Cole would just leave. Now that Hank was gone there was no one to mediate their quarrels. Veronica was not about to get into any discussions with Cole.
"You'd be surprised, Ronnie. Good night."
Veronica listened to Cole's booted stride cross the green rug, then heard the soft click of the door as he closed it behind him.
"Good night, Cole," she whispered.
Veronica slept deeply, then woke to the strangeness of a new environment just after five a.m. Fixing bleary eyes on the small travel alarm on the nightstand, she decided it had been the muffled sounds of activity at the other end of the house that had awakened her. Her head pulsed with pain, but she managed the short trip from bed to bathroom to take some aspirin and have a shower.
Rapidly, with a skill born of necessity, Veronica cleaned her face in preparation for the foundation makeup that preceded the special combination of shadings, blushers and eye shadow she used to artfully conceal her pallor. She believed this restored some part of the beauty she felt she'd lost since the accident. When she finished drying her hair, she scooped up her makeup and toiletries and put them in their case.
It took little time to, pack. Making the bed was a challenge, but when she finished, the room bore no traces of her presence other than the luggage lined up by the door and the white slacks and pink blouse she'd taken out to wear. With luck, she would be on her way to the Cheyenne airport within an hour. She quickly dressed and went to the kitchen.
Savoring the delicious aroma of bacon and freshly brewed coffee, Veronica gingerly lowered herself onto a chair at the only place at the table not already set for breakfast. She watched Cole's uncommunicative back with some trepidation. Upon her entrance into the big kitchen, Cole had tossed a barely civil good-morning over his shoulder while he continued his work at the stove.
Veronica knew better than to ask Cole why he was doing the cooking, drearily remembering that he had little patience for questions before six a.m., especially hers. For now she allowed herself a few quiet moments to look around the big kitchen, marveling again how little the Chapman ranch house had changed in eight years.
The spacious living room she'd just come through was much the same, but the traditional furnishings, which had seen better days, were now arranged more for convenience than aesthetics. Her mother had tried to make inroads into Hank's uncaring attitude toward interior decoration, but he had resisted most of the major changes. Apparently Cole's wife had not had the time or inclination to make many alterations, either.
The kitchen remained relatively unchanged, too, although a dishwasher had been installed under one section of the counter and a big microwave oven rested beneath one of the cupboards. It was amazing how much work and storage space the kitchen had. With cupboards and counters taking up nearly three walls, the room was ideal for preparing large meals for the men who worked at the ranch.
The clatter of a plastic bowl falling to the floor then wobbling hollowly in a circle drew Veronica's attention back to Cole. As he bent to retrieve it he suddenly seemed to be reminded of her presence and he scowled darkly at her. Snatching up the bowl, he turned away to toss it into the sink and get another one from the cupboard.
The grief she'd somehow managed to put aside temporarily suddenly overwhelmed her under Cole's sharp look. It was a look that seemed to blame her presence for the small calamity, and when he turned back to the stove to fish more bacon from the hot grease, Veronica rose stiffly to make a silent retreat.
Once in her room, she stretched out across the bed and lay quietly. When she heard the sound of the voices of Cole's men coming in for breakfast, she was relieved she'd fled the kitchen. She wondered if she'd know any of them now and strained to hear a familiar voice.
The good-natured ribbing Cole was getting brought a faint smile to her lips. She could hear his men bemoaning the fact that the boss still hadn't found a cook, and the complaints ranged from burnt bacon to rubbery scrambled eggs. Even Cole's not-so-good-natured reply that the next one who complained had to cook the next meal didn't subdue them, their laughter and joking continued until they evidently started to eat.
The sounds emanating from the kitchen reminded Veronica of her happier days on Chapman Ranch. But after a few moments tears again streaked from the corners of her eyes and into her hair, as she grieved for Hank and the simple happy life-style he'd once shared with her. In her two years at the ranch, she'd been Hank's shadow, eager to go anywhere with him. Whether she was helping with the spring roundup and the endless summer work that followed, or braving the frigid temperatures and deep snowfalls of winter to get hay to the cattle, or helping in the calving sheds, she'd done it all, loved it all, because she was with Hank.
A new wave of sadness engulfed her as she was reminded that those times were as lost to her as Hank—the man who'd given her pleasant memories of a childhood place beyond the home her grandmother had made for her until she was six years old. In all her growing-up years since her grandmother's death, the Chapman ranch had been the only place where someone had really cared for her.
The simple well-ordered life-style in which she'd received the guidance, discipline and affection she'd needed had had a profound effect on the young teenager, whose insolent behavior had been an unconscious ploy to force her mother to notice her. Hank had been the only one of her mother's husbands Veronica hadn't been jealous of. He was also the only one who didn't regard her as a nuisance who needed to be put in a
boarding school and farmed out to camp for the summer.
A sharp rap sounded at her door and Veronica hastily reached for a tissue from the night table.
"Veronica?"
She struggled awkwardly to sit up and move to the edge of the bed. She wasn't ready for Cole. Not yet. She'd realized that in the kitchen. Veronica couldn't take his harshness and miserably wondered if she'd be able to take any sign of gentleness either. She was terrified at the thought of turning into a pathetic blubbering fool if Cole a nervous breath. "And thank you for joining me." Her eyes shied away from his, then warily wavered back. She felt as unsure and intimidated by him as ever, but to her immediate relief, Cole allowed himself a neutral smile.
"I notice you've packed your things. I thought we'd agreed that you would stay on a couple of days." Cole's voice was low, almost gentle, arrowing straight into her vulnerable heart. He was watching her intently now. She felt her cheeks flush and was unable to voice the polite refusal she wanted to make. Perhaps Cole was making this gesture because it was something he felt obligated to do, or maybe he still felt guilty about sending her to the cemetery. Whatever the reason, she knew that if he had a preference, it would be for her to leave.
"I can't," she finally got out, then set her coffee aside.
Cole leaned back in his chair and raised a booted foot to rest on his thigh. "My father made a bequest to you in his will, Ronnie, and it's something you and I need to discuss. Since you're here, I'd just as soon get it settled before you leave."
Veronica's eyes widened in shock at this news. Hank had left her something in his will? She felt the weight in her heart grow heavier as she thought about what Cole's reaction to that must have been. Did you decide to cash in on your gold mine?
"I'm sorry, Cole." Veronica flinched inwardly at the oft-repeated phrase. "I had no idea. Of course, I'll refuse to accept it, whatever it is."