by Cora Seton
“He said he couldn’t talk to you.”
That sobered Luke up in a hurry. Holt unable to talk? That was a first. “You think he’s still mad?”
“I’d say that’s an understatement. Get your shit together and get to the barn. I’m supposed to be helping Evan today. And I’ve got class in a few hours, too.”
“Give me five minutes.” Luke rubbed a hand over his face. Felt the stubble on his jaw. He needed a shower and a shave, but that would have to wait. The critters came first.
Ten minutes later the cold February air cleared the last of the cobwebs from his brain as he hurried through the snow to the barn. Mia hadn’t come home. And she’d given back the engagement ring. Those were drastic steps for her to take. She was serious in her determination to leave him.
And what had he done? Sat on the couch? Gotten drunk? Hell of a way to get her back.
Jake met him halfway. “It’s all yours, buddy. I’m off.”
“What the hell do I do?” He hated the desperation that rang in his voice.
“Feed the damn cows, what do you think…oh, you mean about Mia?” Jake shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Find out what she wants and give it to her. That’s the easiest way, I’ve found.” He shook his head. “We might be bigger and stronger than them, but we don’t seem to win many arguments. Good luck with that, and by the way—Dad’s taking this not talking thing pretty seriously. Guess he really doesn’t want to go to Paris.”
Luke nodded. “Guess so.” No wonder Holt had bolted yesterday. No wonder he hadn’t stopped by last night to chew him out.
Luke headed back to his cabin several hours later, hoping to find Mia there, but he could tell from fifty feet away she still hadn’t returned. No lights were on inside and the driveway in front was empty of any vehicles except his own. His trip out to Amanda’s place had been for nothing. Her walkway had been clean as a whistle when he reached her house. She’d stepped out to tell him a friend had stopped by and done the work.
Now he stopped in front of the stairs leading up to the cabin, unwilling to encounter the silence inside. The beep of a car’s horn made him jump and he turned to see a Chevy Malibu pull up beside him. He was surprised to find Camila Torres behind the wheel. She rolled down the passenger side window. “I saw you walking and thought I’d come say hi before I stopped by your parents’ house. Is your dad around?”
“Should be,” Luke said. “What do you want him for?”
“Oh, I just thought I’d drop off a couple of enchiladas for your parents’ lunch. You know Holt loves enchiladas.”
Luke scowled. Holt had acquired a taste for Mexican food in recent weeks, an unusual turn of events for a meat and potatoes kind of man. He still wouldn’t admit that any fare at Fila’s Familia was fit to eat, but Luke had seen him consume both Fila’s Afghan food and Camila’s Mexican dishes at the restaurant’s test run with the same relish with which he demolished a steak.
“You drove all the way out here to drop off lunch?”
She smiled sweetly. “Anything to make a potential customer happy. See you around, Luke. Oh, by the way… Mia will be in at the restaurant later today. Our opening is coming right up.”
“I appreciate the information.” He straightened up and watched Camila turn the car around and drive back toward the main house. He’d find a reason to head into town and pop in at the restaurant. He and Mia had some talking to do.
“Don’t you dare!” Rose called out as she burst into Marjorie’s Manes and dashed across the beauty parlor to yank the scissors from Marjorie Douglas’s hand.
Marjorie shrieked and tugged Mia’s thick ponytail hard, wrenching Mia’s head back against the plastic-covered seat.
“Ouch! Rose, what are you doing?” Mia cried.
“I saw you through the window. You can’t cut your hair! Are you crazy? Most women would kill to have this.” She batted Marjorie’s hands away again and fluffed Mia’s thick, straight locks.
Mia shrugged her off. “I want a change. All this hair makes me look about ten years old.” It was also one of the features that drew men’s attention her way, and Mia had decided after thinking long and hard that drawing men’s attention was what had gotten her in trouble every time. A short, short haircut would change all that.
Rose eased between Marjorie and Mia, keeping the hairdresser at bay. “Your hair makes you look utterly beautiful, Mia.”
“Being beautiful hasn’t done me much good, has it?” She failed to keep the pain out of her voice.
Rose softened. “Being beautiful is part of who you are, though. You don’t have to cover that up if it’s respect you’re after. And you don’t have to cut it if you want a more sophisticated style, either; you just need to change it up. Marjorie, show her some updos, would you?”
“Sure thing. Let’s start with a chignon.” Marjorie looked relieved and Mia stifled a groan. It had taken her ten minutes to talk the stylist into giving her a short haircut. Now that Rose had interfered, she’d never manage it again.
“I wanted a big change. Something that people will notice.”
“They’ll notice this,” Marjorie insisted. She manipulated Mia’s hair with deft fingers and in no time flat she’d sleeked it back into the sophisticated style. “What do you think?”
Mia tilted her head to examine herself from different angles. She did look different. Older. More worldly. “Not bad,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure I can do it myself.” Was the change drastic enough? She wasn’t sure. She’d wanted to draw a line in the sand between the old, pushover Mia and the new, confident, competent one.
“Sure you can. It just takes practice,” Rose said. “Marjorie will show you, then you can try. This style makes you look really mature.”
That’s what she was shooting for. Mia relaxed back into the chair and let Marjorie have at it. The hairdresser demonstrated the style step by step, then took it out and let Mia try. After Mia had practiced it several times, Marjorie demonstrated a French braid, several kinds of buns from severe to sexy, and several beautiful twists.
“What about makeup?” Rose asked when they were running out of styles.
Mia wrinkled her nose. “What about it?” She had plenty of makeup. She wore it every day.
“Let’s go buy some new stuff when you’re done here.”
New stuff? “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?” She caught the look that passed between Marjorie and Rose. “What?”
“Honey, you’re beautiful,” Rose said. “And you put on your makeup like a pro. It’s just you always apply it like you’re about to take to the stage. You said you wanted to change your look. Let’s try lightening it up a little. I bet you’ll like the results. We’ll go look at some clothes, too. Some sophisticated clothes.”
Several hours later, Rose and Mia stumbled out of the freezing wind that had kicked up into the living room of the Cruz guesthouse, laden down with shopping bags, to find Rob, Cab, Jamie and Ethan sitting at the table eating a mid-afternoon snack.
“What’s going on? Where’s Autumn?” Rose said, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. Mia peeled off her coat and stepped out of her boots, still shivering from the cold.
“Sleeping,” Ethan said. “All those two do is sleep. I’ll take her something in a minute.”
“But first we have to settle this once and for all,” Rob said. “It’s cowboys.”
“Man, you’re full of shit. It’s sheriffs,” Cab said, and took a bite of his sandwich. Rose trailed over and kissed him on the head.
“Whatever it is, it’s definitely sheriffs,” she said.
“What’s the question?” Mia asked. “Which one’s sexier? Cowboys, hands down.” She bit her lip. She wasn’t supposed to be interested in her cowboy anymore.
Cab turned around. “The question was who’s more badass, cowboys or sheriffs, but I’ll have you know sheriffs are a helluva lot more sexy than any cowboy.”
Rob snorted. “You wouldn’t know sexy if it bit you on the ass.”
“Cab’s the epitome of sexy,” Rose said, dropping down into the seat beside him. “As for badass, there isn’t a cowboy in the world as badass as you, baby.”
“Ugh,” Rob said. “That’s downright embarrassing. Jamie, tell Cab he’s not sexy and he’s not badass.”
“Hell, I can’t do that,” Jamie drawled. “Cab’s the sexiest, most bad-assed sheriff I know.” He blew a kiss at Cab. Cab pelted him with a piece of his sandwich.
“I’m going to take this stuff upstairs before my IQ level drops to that of the present company,” Mia said.
“I’ll join you in a minute,” Rose said. “I’m pretty smart, so I can lose a few points while I grab a glass of water.”
Mia trailed up the stairs to her room, dropped her bags on the floor and flopped onto her bed. She wondered if people would have taken her more seriously all along if she’d changed her look before now. Maybe Ellis wouldn’t have played with her the way he did. Maybe Luke would think she was capable of running her own business. Rose found her a few minutes later. “Who knew this transformation stuff could be so exhausting,” she said, stretching out beside Mia.
“I’m the one doing the transforming,” Mia pointed out.
“Thank goodness. It’s tiring enough just watching you. I can’t wait to see what people think about the new you, though.”
“I’ve got to get to the restaurant now. I’m supposed to help out. I don’t know if I can even stand up, though. We hit every store in town.”
“Just be grateful we don’t live in a big city. We wouldn’t have made it home for a week. Come on, let’s pick out an outfit for the brand-new Mia Start.”
“What, right now?”
“No time like the present.”
Mia got up slowly. Rose was right. Mia the beauty queen was dead. Time to unleash Mia the businesswoman on the world.
Luke ignored the hand-lettered sign announcing that Fila’s Familia would open in March and barged through the door, letting a swoosh of icy wind blow into the restaurant with him. He was ready to confront Mia and demand she come home. At first he’d taken Jake’s advice to give her whatever she wanted to heart. He’d prepared to come and discuss her business notion and see what he could do to help. But as the day progressed, he grew angry that she found it so easy to turn her back on their engagement. One little hiccup and she was out of there. He figured it was time they both put their cards on the table. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to know if she wanted to be with him. If she did, then to hell with the rest of it—they had to stick together through thick and thin. He’d tell her she couldn’t walk away from him again. If they fought, they’d argue through an issue until they reached a resolution.
The restaurant was empty, however—except for a woman behind the counter with her back turned to him. Small and slight, like Mia, her dark hair was pulled up in a severe chignon—a style Mia never wore. The woman rummaged through some supplies stacked on shelving that ran the length of the back wall. Luke cleared his throat.
The woman straightened. Turned slowly.
Luke gaped.
It was Mia. But a Mia as unlike herself as a moth to a butterfly. Her new hairstyle made her look ten years older. Her bright, dramatic makeup was gone—no, not gone, just drastically lightened. What little she did wear made her softer somehow. More mature.
Even her clothes were different. On a day like today when her work might consist of heavy-duty scrubbing, he’d expect to find her in ratty, torn jeans and a tight T-shirt that showed all her blessed curves. Instead she was downright matronly in classically cut slacks and a fresh blue blouse.
Where was his Mia? His fun-loving, sassy, sexy Mia? Who was this…woman? The tirade he meant to unleash fell away.
“I’m right here,” Mia said, as if in answer to his question, and she even sounded different. Stiff. Mature. Like a school teacher. “What do you need?”
Need? He needed the woman he loved. The original one, not this frumpy, new version. Not that she looked all that frumpy, he admitted to himself. Not really. A little more mature, maybe, but still beautiful; nothing she wore could ever hide the truth of Mia’s body. Still, these clothes and that hairstyle didn’t stir up his libido like her normal style did. Mia used to be sex on a stick. Now she was…he didn’t know how to put it.
Respectable.
“Luke?”
“I… uh…” Hell, he was stuttering like a child. “I need to talk to you.” There. That was direct.
“What about?”
“What about?” He braced his hands on the counter. “About us, that’s what. About you walking out on me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re gonna talk about it.” He stared at Mia. A stranger stared back at him. He expected her to give in, or at least look away first. This Mia met his gaze as bold as brass.
“No, Luke, I’m not. Not while I’m at work, anyway. If you have something to say to me you can meet me tonight at Ethan and Autumn’s place. Where I live now. We can make arrangements then for me to pick up the rest of my things.”
“Damn it, Mia!” He leaned farther over the counter. “You said you would marry me.”
“And you said I didn’t know a thing about business!” The cool, collected new Mia suddenly lost her control. “You said you couldn’t keep me out of other men’s beds.” Two bright spots of color highlighted her barely-rouged cheeks. “I don’t need anyone to say things like that about me. Certainly not my fiancé. Go on, get out of here. Go back to your cattle. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Not a wife—just another cow to herd.”
She slammed through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and they shut behind her, leaving Luke alone again. A cow to herd? That wasn’t what he wanted at all.
He wanted a wife. He wanted Mia. And damn it, he was going to get her back. Before he could follow her into the kitchen, however, his cell phone rang. He answered it when he saw the call was from his mother.
“Luke? You’d better get back here quick. We’ve got a problem.”
‡
Chapter Nine
“Someone left a letter for you today,” Ethan said when Mia arrived back at the Cruz ranch later that afternoon.
“A letter? Like a bill?”
“No—a real letter. Don’t see many of those these days.” He handed her the thin envelope and Mia frowned at the shaky block letters that made up the address. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. In fact, she was amazed the post office had been able to make out the directions, the printing was so uncertain. She slipped a finger under the flap and forced the envelope open to find a single small square of paper inside.
Mary him.
There was no signature. Nothing except those two words. Mia shook her head at the misspelling. Who could have written it? Was this some kind of a joke?
“What is it?” Ethan said, looking up from his own bills long enough to notice her confusion. She handed the slip of paper over to him. His eyebrows shot up as he read the words. “Marry him? Huh, that’s pretty direct. Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this handwriting. It looks like a child’s.”
Ethan was quiet a moment. “The postmark says Chance Creek. Do any kids in town know about your situation?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not like I have any nieces or nephews.”
“A mystery, then.” He smiled. “Maybe you should marry Luke.”
“Not you, too.”
“Come on. Give the guy a break. He’s crazy about you. Has been for ages.”
“He’s crazy about getting laid.” She would have laughed at Ethan’s shocked expression if the topic didn’t anger her so much. “He’s not crazy about what’s up here.” She tapped her forehead, remembering the way he’d stared at her in the restaurant this afternoon—like she’d suddenly grown horns. He obviously didn’t like her new look at all.
“Well, he is a man.”
“Don’t give me that.
I’ve lived with you and Autumn, remember? I know what a real marriage is supposed to be like. Until I can find a man ready to give me that, I’ll stay on my own, thank you very much.”
“He’ll get there,” Ethan said. “Just give him a little time.” Mia wanted to hug the tall cowboy for his sentiment, but she held back, both out of a sense of propriety and because she wasn’t at all sure he was right.
“I hope so.”
By the time Luke walked through his front door that evening he felt like he’d been flattened by a freight train. The icy wind that had whipped through Chance Creek all day had pushed the snow in the pastures into drifts, and his mother had called because it packed so hard in one place that a dozen head of cattle had wandered right up and over a fence. He’d spent all afternoon searching for them, luring them back into their pasture and fixing the fence. Now his muscles ached, he was dog-tired and hungry as anything, too. He’d taken another run out to Amanda’s place and been relieved to find that all was well. Maybe some old geezer had taken a fancy to her because she referenced her friend again, and her walkway was clear of snow.
The envelope lying on the floor of his cabin stopped Luke in his tracks. Was it from Mia? His heart rate kicked up a notch as he bent down to retrieve it. It was odd Mia would write a letter rather than text him. She was rarely without her phone. His stomach dropped as he took in the address, written in uneven block letters, as if done by a kid—or a psychopath. What kind of letter was this?
He made short work of opening it. Two words were written on a scrap of paper in the same block handwriting he’d seen on the envelope.
Buety Pagint.
What the hell did that mean?
Luke squinted at the paper. Cocked his head. Beauty pageant? Some squirt of a kid didn’t even know how to spell the words? What kind of a stupid joke was this?
He stumbled toward the couch, sat down heavily and leaned back against the cushions. Beauty pageant. The words meant nothing to him, although…didn’t Mia used to be in those pageants when she was young? He wondered which of her friends would know the answer to that. He couldn’t ask Mia directly, not after their last confrontation. If he did, she’d say he didn’t listen to her, and that wasn’t true—it was just sometimes when she was talking he made the mistake of looking at her and then he lost his concentration.