“I’d have been there when Julie took that spill at the horse show, for one thing,” he said. She’d broken her neck, going over a jump. Rance had been in Hong Kong at the time, making deals, driving the hard bargains he was famous for. It had all seemed so damn important back then.
Cora touched his hand. “Don’t, Rance,” she said. “Don’t go back over that ground. Julie died instantly—there was nothing you could have done.”
His eyes burned. “You had to handle it all. The arrangements. The girls. All while you were grieving yourself.”
“Situation like that,” Cora said, sounding choked, “a person does what they have to do. I wish you’d been here, too, Rance, but I don’t hold it against you that you weren’t.”
A long, difficult silence fell.
“It wasn’t perfect,” he said. That was as close as he could get to the truth both of them were avoiding, to what lay behind the oh-so-respectable facade of his memories. “But I loved Julie.”
“Of course you did,” Cora replied. “And she loved you. You were a good provider, Rance. You were a faithful husband and a fine father. Nobody could have asked any more of you.”
Julie had asked more of him. A lot more. And he’d put her off, thinking there was plenty of time.
Julie might still be alive if he’d swallowed his damnable pride. If he’d given even an inch of ground.
“Life moves on, Rance,” Cora said, squeezing his hand. “Takes us with it, kicking and screaming sometimes, but we don’t get much say. When they lowered my Julie’s casket into the ground, I wanted to die, too. Right then and there. But I had Maeve and Rianna to think about. I had to go on.”
Rance nodded. Looked away and blinked hard.
“You’ve been stuck in neutral for a long time,” Cora said. “But you’re a young man. You have two daughters. Rance, you’ve got to go on.”
It wasn’t as if he had a choice, any more than Cora had. Time he accepted that, and stopped running from a past he couldn’t change.
“Mind if I crash in the spare room tonight?” he asked.
Cora rose out of her chair, patted his shoulder as she passed.
“Make yourself at home,” she told him.
CHAPTER 7
“YOU WANT TO DO WHAT?” Keegan asked the next morning, leaning halfway across his shiny desk at McKettrickCo and bracing himself against the wood with both hands, like a man about to do a standing push-up.
“You heard him,” Jesse said from his place by the window. “Our cousin Rance has come to his senses.”
“Come to his senses?” Keegan echoed, furious. He looked as though he might blow an artery at any moment. “He’s lost his freaking mind!”
Rance sighed. “Take a breath, Keeg,” he said.
Keegan thrust himself back, threw his hands out from his sides. “Goddamn it, Rance!” he yelled. “You can’t just throw over everything this family has worked for for the last fifty years!”
“Sure he can,” Jesse said.
“You stay out of this!” Keegan roared.
Jesse didn’t so much as flinch, nor did his piss-off grin falter.
The office door popped open, and Myrna Terp stuck her head in. “Is everything all right in here?” she asked. Having raised three sons herself—Morgan, Virgil and, alas, Wyatt—and worked in the Flagstaff operation until the new branch of McKettrickCo was opened in Indian Rock a few months back, Myrna was no stranger to conflict, verbal or otherwise.
“Yes!” Keegan answered.
“Everything’s fine,” Jesse told Myrna in calm tones. “Rance is going to retire from the company and concentrate on ranching, that’s all.”
Myrna opened her mouth, closed it again and retreated, shutting the door softly behind her.
Keegan sank into his cushy leather chair, braced his elbows on the edge of the desk and covered his face with both hands.
“You are taking this way too hard,” Rance said. “It’s not as if I’m selling my shares to an outsider and moving to China.”
Keegan lowered his hands. Stared at Rance as though he’d never seen him before. “It’s the woman, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “The one with the pink car.”
“Echo,” Rance said, suddenly defensive, “has nothing to do with this. I’ve got two daughters to raise, Keeg. I have more money than their grandchildren could ever spend. What do I want with a job?”
Jesse began to clap, slowly and quietly.
Keegan threw him a murderous glance.
Jesse grinned, unfazed as always.
“Maybe you want to work yourself to death,” Rance told Keegan, “but I don’t.”
“It’s the woman,” Keegan insisted grimly. A vein jumped under his right temple, and his jawline looked hard enough to bite through a brick.
“It’s not the woman.”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s the woman, Rance. Until she came to town, you wanted to set up branch offices on other planets.”
“Whose side are you on?” Rance demanded.
Jesse ignored the question.
“You’ll regret this,” Keegan said, glaring at Rance again. “Buying cattle. Planting hay, for God’s sake. You’re a businessman, Rance—not a rancher.”
“I’m a McKettrick,” Rance said. “The Triple M is in my blood.”
“Oh, go ahead, then,” Keegan railed. “Ride the range. Sit around campfires and sing with the coyotes, for all I care. You’ll be bored out of your skull within six months. You’ll want to come back. Trouble is, McKettrickCo will be gone.”
“You need a vacation,” Jesse told Keegan. “Go somewhere and get laid.”
“Shut up,” Keegan bit out. “Unlike you, I do not subscribe to the theory that getting laid is the solution to everything from global warming to fallen arches, all right?”
Jesse laughed. “There’s your problem,” he said. He left his post at the window, strolled to where Rance stood and laid a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re serious about heading up to Flag for that cattle auction,” he added, “I’ll go with you. Just give me a call at Lucky’s.”
Lucky’s was a bar and grill, with a card room in the back. Jesse spent a lot of his spare time there, playing poker.
“At least Cheyenne works,” Keegan said, once Jesse was gone.
Cheyenne, who would be Jesse’s bride in a matter of weeks, was McKettrickCo’s newest executive. Working in conjunction with the local high school and a junior college in Flagstaff, she’d set up a workstudy program for kids and displaced homemakers and even a few senior citizens. So far, though still in the early stages of development, the idea was a success.
Rance didn’t need the fat paycheck he drew from the company, but he’d hate to see a new board of directors put all those people out of work.
“I’ll vote with you, Keeg,” he said.
Keegan sighed. “I’m not sure that’s going to be enough,” he admitted. “Even if you stay on.”
“You know I’ll help any way I can.”
Keegan studied him for a long time, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. But who’s going to do your job, Rance?”
“I was in charge of expansion,” Rance answered. “As far as I’m concerned, this company is big enough. Maybe too big.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Keegan said. “Hell, maybe Jesse’s right, too. Maybe I need to get laid.”
Rance laughed. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Keegan grinned. For a moment, he looked like the old Keegan, the one who’d fished in the creek on the Triple M and ridden the hills on horseback with him and Jesse. The one who’d seen ranching as a fine, free life.
But then Keegan turned sober again. “Is it serious, Rance? With Echo, I mean?”
Rance shoved a hand through his hair. Looked away, then met his cousin’s gaze squarely. “Damned if I know,” he said. “Something’s going on. We haven’t slept together yet, but it’s bound to happen.”
Keegan leaned back in his chair, cupping his han
ds behind his head. “Be careful,” he counseled. “I barely met the lovely Ms. Wells, but there’s something fragile about her. She’s breakable, Rance.”
Rance recalled the way Echo had stood up to Bud Willand the night before, when the ne’er-do-well wanted to take her dog. She was delicate—small-boned and slender enough to blow away in a high wind. But she was strong, too. She’d come to a new town, where she didn’t know a soul, and she was about to open a business.
It took guts to do that.
“I don’t want to break her,” Rance said.
“No,” Keegan agreed, watching him pensively. “I know that. But she’s the first woman you’ve really been drawn to since Julie. Don’t use her, Rance. That’s all I’m saying. Somebody’s done Echo Wells a real number, somewhere along the way. Maybe more than once.”
Rance narrowed his eyes. “You got all that just by meeting her at Rianna’s birthday party?”
“Yeah,” Keegan said. “She’s been hurt, Rance.”
Haven’t we all? Rance wondered. Keegan surely had—he’d lost his folks in a plane crash when he was still in high school, and later his marriage had gone sour. He rarely saw his daughter since the divorce.
Even Jesse, for all his easy ways, had been lonely as hell until he’d met Cheyenne. He’d been the wildest of the three of them, dancing on a razor-sharp ledge above an abyss, tempting death. Daring it to come and get him.
And then there was Rance himself—he’d never stopped grieving over the death of his sister, Cassidy, and toward the end, he and Julie had done each other the worst kind of injury. They’d given up, gone their separate ways, even though they’d still lived under the same roof.
“I’ll tie up all the loose ends by the end of next week,” Rance told Keegan, resting a hand on the doorknob.
Keegan nodded and looked away.
ON SATURDAY MORNING, ECHO rose even earlier than usual. She put coffee on to brew, pulled on a pair of old jeans and a baggy T-shirt, and took Avalon out for a predawn walk.
When they returned, Echo paused on the sidewalk.
The shop window sparkled, and the latest bestsellers were prominently displayed behind the glass. Echo had climbed a ladder, the night before, to hang a butcher-paper banner above the door—Grand Opening Saturday at 9:00 a.m. it proclaimed. The till waited on the newly varnished counter, alongside the creditcard machine. Now all she needed were customers.
Would they come?
Echo bit her lip. Yes, she thought, her spirits rising on a swell of optimism. People would come—probably out of curiosity at first. But if they were welcomed, and if she listened to them, they would return again and again.
Remembering what Rance had said, early on, about competition from the chains, she was a little deflated, but the sensation lasted only a moment.
She was too excited to be discouraged.
She unlocked the door, led Avalon inside and locked up again. No dead bolt and chain yet, but she had a call in to Eddie Walters, the local handyman.
Upstairs, she took a quick shower, wolfed down scrambled eggs and toast in her bathrobe, and reconsidered the clothes she’d laid out for her first day in business. The lightweight navy pin-striped pantsuit had seemed sensible when she’d chosen it the night before, but now the general effect seemed a little stiff.
More like something a banker would wear to refuse a loan or foreclose on something.
Not good, Echo thought. Half her wardrobe was still in boxes; her small closet contained mostly sundresses, summery tops and jeans.
Jeans wouldn’t do—she wanted to present a friendly image, but not too casual.
The sundresses were all pretty, made of light cotton or floaty stuff.
Floaty stuff: out. Sure, she had a few decks of tarot cards and some crystals among her stock, but she didn’t want to come off as Glenda the Good Witch. Indian Rock, as Rance had once pointed out, was not Sedona.
Finally, she selected a sleeveless navy dress with tiny white polka dots. Back in Chicago, she’d worn it to casual luncheons and backyard fund-raisers, with the single strand of pearls Justin had given her as a preengagement present.
She’d given the pearls to a casino employee in Vegas, a weary, resigned-looking woman wiping out ashtrays along a line of slot machines, along with her plastic bridal bouquet.
Looking back on that humiliating day, when she’d been all dressed up with nobody to marry, she smiled. Thank you, Justin, she thought for the first time. Thank you.
Once she was dressed, with her hair braided and her usual lip gloss and touch of mascara applied, Echo twirled.
Only Avalon was there to see, but Avalon was enough.
“Show time,” she told the dog.
Avalon panted and smiled her dog smile.
Together, they went downstairs.
Cora, Rianna, Maeve and a number of other people were waiting on the sidewalk, smiling through the glass. Cora juggled a tote bag and a huge bakery box.
Echo grinned as she opened the door to let them all in, and it didn’t bother her a bit that Rance hadn’t come.
“Daddy bought a whole bunch of cattle!” Rianna announced the moment she crossed the threshold. “Trucks and trucks and trucks full of them!”
“He’s going to be a rancher,” Maeve added solemnly. “And he’s wearing shit-kickers, just like Uncle Jesse’s.”
“Maeve McKettrick,” Cora scolded, her tone as good-natured as her manner, as she bustled to set the bakery box down on the counter. “Watch your language.”
“Granny bought you a cake,” Rianna told Echo. “That’s what’s in the box.”
“Picked up some paper plates and napkins and plastic forks, too,” Cora said. “I’ll just get them out of the truck.”
Cheyenne Bridges, whom Echo had met briefly at Rianna’s birthday party, introduced her mother, Ayanna, and said her brother, Mitch, would be along later, with Jesse.
Sierra materialized out of the crowd, too, accompanied by a slender blond woman with enormous blue eyes and a great haircut. She wore jeans, boots and a black cashmere turtleneck. “Echo Wells,” Sierra said, “this is my sister, Meg. Echo, Meg McKettrick.”
Meg smiled and put out a hand. “Hi,” she said. “It’s about time this place had a bookstore.”
Sierra was already scanning the shop. “Amen,” she agreed.
Cora returned with a bulging grocery bag, beckoned to Echo and proudly unveiled the sheet cake, iced in white butter cream, with the words “Welcome to Indian Rock, Echo Wells” written in blue frosting across the top.
It was an ordinary-enough sentiment, but Echo had never seen her name on a cake before. Her eyes burned, and for a moment she was too choked up to speak.
Ever perceptive, Cora patted her arm. “You get behind the counter, there, and I’ll take your picture,” she said, immediately hauling a small digital camera out of her tote bag.
Echo swallowed hard and went to stand behind the cake. Avalon followed, and just as Cora snapped the photograph, the dog stood on her hind legs, forepaws resting on the counter’s edge, as though posing.
Everyone laughed, and the tightness in Echo’s chest eased.
She cut the cake, setting a smidgeon of it on the floor for Avalon, and began working the cash register. Cheyenne, who had already set aside a stack of cookbooks for herself, stepped in to help bag people’s purchases.
Customers came and went, most buying, all sampling Cora’s welcome-to-town cake. There were only crumbs of it left when Rance appeared in the open doorway of the shop.
He wore jeans, a black cowboy hat, boots and a blue chambray work shirt—ordinary clothes, in the same way the greeting on the cake was ordinary. And yet the sight of him seemed to stop time itself, for Echo. Everyone else in the store receded, as though behind a silent, murky waterfall—visible, but indistinctly so.
Rance smiled, took off the hat. Set it aside on a bestseller table, now stripped nearly bare, and approached the counter.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said, ve
ry seriously.
Echo stared at him for a moment, then laughed. The waterfall vanished, the people were back, and every clock in the world started ticking again. “Howdy yourself,” she replied.
He peered into the cake box, now almost empty, and looked comically forlorn.
“That’s what you get for showing up late,” Cheyenne told him, edging Echo aside to work the register herself. “Take a break,” she added, when Echo hesitated.
Echo made her way to the stairs at the back of the shop, knowing Rance would follow, and sat on the third step up. He took the second, smiling up at her.
“Looks like the place is a hit,” he said.
Echo shrugged, but she felt ridiculously proud. “You should have seen the cake,” she told him. “It had writing on it. ‘Welcome to Indian Rock, Echo Wells.’”
“I wish I had seen the cake,” Rance teased. “I might have gotten some of it then.”
Suddenly, Echo was ambushed again. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned her head to hide them, but Rance was too quick.
He took her hand. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
She blinked, hoping her mascara wouldn’t run. “Nothing,” she answered. “Everything is wonderful. It’s just that—”
“What?” Rance prompted.
“It’s silly.”
He squeezed her hand but said nothing.
“Nobody ever gave me a cake before,” she told him.
“Not even on your birthday?”
She swallowed, thinking of all the childhood birthdays that had come and gone. She hadn’t made the connection at Rianna’s party. And all those celebrations that never happened were ancient history, anyway, along with the little-girl disappointment that accompanied them. What was the big deal now?
“I told you it was silly,” she sniffled.
Rance raised her hand to his mouth, kissed it lightly. “Are we still on for that ride tomorrow afternoon?”
For a moment, Echo misunderstood. Her body heated, and warm, secret places expanded, deep inside her. Then she remembered the invitation he’d extended, after the Bud Willand incident and the unpacking of all those boxes of books.
She was just starting to hope Rance hadn’t noticed her first and entirely spontaneous reaction when the grin spread across his face.
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