Tiptoeing across the floor, she checked the boys, releasing her breath when she touched Scotty's forehead. Cool. Blessedly cool.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze out of focus and groggy. She bent and kissed him, then rolled him onto his stomach and tucked the covers over him. If she could block out the light, both of them would sleep until midmorning. Glancing at the casement windows, she saw the blinds above the darkly varnished woodwork, then eased each of them down, careful not to disturb the boys. Satisfied that all was quiet, she picked up her clothes and the carryall that was on top of their stack of luggage, then crept out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
The bathroom next to the boys' bedroom was cold, and Kate shivered in the warmth of her flannel pajamas, eyeing the deep old-fashioned claw-footed tub with longing. Lord, it would be wonderful to be able to take a long, hot soak. The sink was equally old and stained with rust, but the water was blessedly hot, and Kate found towels in the Federal-style closet by the door. It was obvious by the emptiness of both the closet and the medicine cabinet, by the lack of curtains on the window over the tub, that this bathroom was rarely, if ever, used. The same white paint covered the walls, trimmed with the same wide, darkly varnished oak woodwork, and the floor was covered with the same gray linoleum, with a worn spot in front of the sink and a large crack in front of the toilet. The same feeling of emptiness rose in Kate's chest, and she avoided her own gaze in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She didn't know why, but that emptiness upset her.
The upstairs hallway was long and wide, with the stairs at a right angle. The door at the head of the stairs was closed, and Kate's heart gave a lurch. She knew that was Tanner's room; she'd heard the door close after she'd gone to bed last night. She had her hand on the top newel post before she noticed the recent restoration of the oak steps, risers and banister. Everything had been stripped down and sanded, and finished in a natural matte finish, the beautiful grain of the wood showcased in the elaborately turned spindles of the railing. The restoration was flawless and precise, indicating hours and hours of patient, painstaking work. It was absolutely beautiful.
Caught off guard by the staircase, Kate paid careful attention as she descended the stairs, absorbing the details of her new home for the first time. She'd been so out of it last night that the kitchen was the only thing that had made any impression, and it had been stark and functional.
But now, with the early-morning light streaming in through the living room windows, what she saw made her go dead still. The room was huge, running the full length of the house, with four tall narrow windows and a leaded glass and oak door opening onto the veranda along the east side of the house, and another set of French doors leading to a large sun room on the south end. Floor-to-ceiling oak bookshelves had been installed along the north wall and all along the east side of the room, framing the windows and housing not only an impressive collection of books but a state-of-the-art sound system. The floors were pegged oak, and in the slanting light she was able to tell that the off-white walls were finished in lath and plaster. Here, too, all the oak moldings and woodwork had been painstakingly refinished, and the French doors leading into the empty sun room looked as if they had had new brass fittings. The living room was sparsely furnished – two dark, forest-green leather sofas, a black leather recliner, two chrome-and-glass end tables and a large oblong coffee table that looked as if it had been made out of a 1940s pedestal dining table. There were some magazines on the coffee table, and a shirt was draped across the back of the recliner, but those were the only traces of anyone having ever been in the room.
Unsettled by both the simple uncluttered beauty of the room and the unlived-in look, Kate wiped her hands against her thighs and stepped off the last stair, feeling as though she were invading Tanner McCall's private sanctum. The place was spotlessly clean, with not a trace of dust, and even the windows gleamed. It wasn't until she stepped farther into the room that Kate saw the U-shaped computer center built along the stairs. A large modern desk flanked by a side-pull file cabinet stood adjacent to the computer setup, the high-back swivel chair behind it showing extensive use. The desk was cluttered with papers, and an empty coffee mug and an open telephone book sat on the file cabinet. But what finally relaxed the funny tightness in her midriff was the Post-It note stuck on the telephone. She found that very human reminder somehow reassuring.
Experiencing a sudden attack of nerves, Kate closed her eyes and pressed her hands hard against her abdomen, trying to quell the flutter in her stomach. This was silly. Really silly. He was just a man, after all. Dark and stern, but just a man. Gathering up her courage, she took a deep breath and started to turn.
"Good morning."
Her stomach, which had been in an uproar anyway, shot directly to her shoes, the rush leaving an unnerving hollow in her belly. She whirled, feeling as if he'd just caught her snooping through his desk. Determined to brazen it out, she forced herself to meet his gaze, aware that her pulse was going a mile a minute. Sticking her hands behind her back, she dredged up a smile. "Good morning."
Tanner looked at her, his steady, unsmiling stare unnerving her, his perusal making her want to squirm. He stood in the archway leading to the kitchen, dressed in blue jeans and a navy and burgundy plaid shirt, his left hand braced high on the frame, his other hand stuck in the back pocket of his jeans. It was the first really good look Kate had had of him, in daylight and without his hat. He was a big man – wide-shouldered and heavily muscled, and with his boots on, had to be at least six-three. He lounged in the doorway, having the relaxed attitude of a man aware of his own strength. His black, collar-length hair was brushed back from his face, his chiseled features more defined in daylight. There were fine lines around his eyes and deep grooves around his full mouth, his high cheekbones accentuating his high, straight nose. He was at least forty, she realized, but there wasn't a trace of gray in his thick, black hair. His face gave little away, except his native ancestry, and his eyes even less – guarded, unwavering, inscrutable. They were, she realized with a funny flutter in her abdomen, a deep, dark, bottomless hazel – impenetrable and mesmerizing.
Realizing that she was staring, Kate shifted uncomfortably and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, then withdrew one and made a nervous gesture toward the kitchen. "Um – would you like me to finish making breakfast?"
Tanner stared at her for a moment longer, then straightened, his expression hardening. "That's pretty well taken care of." He straightened and motioned to her with a jerk of his head. "Come on. I'll introduce you to Burt."
Burt's room was situated at the northwest corner of the house, behind the kitchen. It was a large room, also spotlessly clean, with windows facing north and west, and it was clear the room had been recently renovated. A bathroom that was wheelchair accessible had been built in what, Kate guessed, had once been a large pantry off the kitchen. The bedroom floor was covered in top-of-the-line linoleum, and the door had been widened to accommodate a wheelchair. Venetian blinds covered the windows, their slats partially closed, but the window by the head of the bed was open a few inches. Sounds from outside drifted in, and the minute Kate and Tanner entered the room, the form in the hospital bed stirred. Tanner opened the blinds, then released the safety railing on the bed. The old man opened his eyes and looked up, a disoriented expression in his eyes. "Tanner?"
"Yeah. How are you doing?"
"Okay. Okay, I guess."
Tanner reached for the controls clipped to the head of the bed, holding Burt in place as he began raising the bed. "Let's sit you up. There's someone here I want you to meet."
Clasping her hands together in front of her, Kate stuck a smile on her face and held it, an ache of compassion filling her chest. His body wasted by age and illness, Burt Shaw closed his eyes and curled his gnarled, yellow fingers around the top of the quilt, the stubble of white on his sagging skin making him seem more vulnerable. Age spots marked his scalp, the part at the side indicating
that he wore his hair combed over his bald spot. Kate tightened her hands, the thickness in her chest expanding. Just like Grandpa.
Tanner rearranged the pillows to support the old man's head; then, bracing his hand beside Burt's shoulder, he leaned over him. "Burt."
The old man opened his eyes, and suddenly the tightness in Kate's chest disappeared. Burt Shaw was staring up at Tanner with the shrewdest, bluest eyes Kate had ever seen. He glared. "What?"
Kate caught the twitch of amusement around Tanner's mouth. "I said there's someone here I want you to meet."
"I don't want no damned strangers hangin' around here," Burt said, his tone querulous.
The glint in Tanner's eyes intensified as he stared back at his partner. "Well, I'll guarantee you won't want to throw this one out." He straightened so Burt could see Kate standing beside him. "This is Kate Quinn. She and her two boys will be staying with us for a while."
Burt glared up at her. "Did he hire you to baby-sit me?"
Kate suddenly grinned. "No, he hired me to ride shotgun on you. There's a difference."
The old man continued to glare at her, a shrewd, assessing glint in his eyes. "You a good cook?"
Kate stared right back at him. "Yes."
"You make good pies?"
"I do."
Burt gave her a fierce look, his yellowed fingers fumbling with the bedding. "Damned well better. That damn Cyrus can't cook worth spit." He shot Tanner a disgusted look, then turned his attention back to Kate. "Where did you get all that whiskey-colored hair?"
Much to her discomfort, Kate found herself blushing. Her hair was just plain old light brown with blond highlights, but she did have a lot of it, and it was naturally curly. Whiskey-colored hair seemed – well, it seemed so sensual, somehow. Clearing her throat, she brazened out her embarrassment with a bit of cheek. "I got it from my mother. Where did you get yours?"
A wicked twinkle appeared in Burt Shaw's eyes. "Got a streak of sass in you, don't you, missy? I suppose you've got a streak of ornery, too."
She grinned down at him, covering one of his gnarled hands with her own, giving it a light squeeze. "Yes I do. But I'll let you win once in a while."
Unexpected feelings stirred in Kate's chest when the old man awkwardly folded his fingers around hers, the trembling in his hand transmitting itself to her. "Well, you'd better go get that slop you feed me, boy. Your young lady can feed me breakfast."
Kate did feed him his breakfast, then bathed and shaved him, ignoring his crotchety barbs while teasing him about his own orneriness. She could see pressure marks on his back and knew he was headed for bedsores.
When she was finished with Burt, she found Tanner at his desk, the phone clamped to his ear, idly sketching shapes on the margin of an invoice. He shifted the instrument away from his mouth, motioning her to sit in a nearby chair. "How did it go?"
She indicated the phone. "I can talk to you after you're finished there."
He dismissed her concern. "It doesn't matter. I'm on hold."
Leaning back in the chair, she hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans and stretched out her legs, a small frown appearing. "With the paralysis as extensive as it is, it's amazing that his speech wasn't affected more." Meeting his gaze, she made what observations she could after such a short time. "It looks like he's lost considerable weight, and I can see the beginnings of pressure sores on his back. I'd like to get a sheepskin for him, if at all possible. It would help keep him from getting bedsores."
Tanner studied her, a twinkle appearing in his eyes. "Burt's been a hard-nosed cattleman since he cut his first tooth. You could be in for a real battle if you try to get a sheepskin under him."
Certain he was putting her on, she gave him a cautious look. "You're pulling my leg, right?"
Tanner shook his head. "Nope. Burt hates sheep with a passion. Says they destroy good grazing land and that every one of them should be drawn and quartered."
Kate chuckled. "Since the one I want will be drawn and quartered, it shouldn't be a problem."
Tanner's call went through right then, and Kate removed herself from his conversation, slipping out to the sun porch to enjoy the view. The snow had all but disappeared, only traces remained beneath the stands of trees that peppered the valley. The valley itself opened to a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains, their rugged gray peaks still capped by snow, while the bronzes and browns from the preceding autumn rolled out, broken only by thick clumps of spruce and aspen and dark green copses of towering fir trees. Wild shrubs and silver willow lined the ravine to the east, and huge cottonwood trees followed the course of the creek. In another two weeks, when the trees were leafed out and the grass was green, it would be absolutely beautiful. It was beautiful now. She could fall in love with this country. Very easily.
"Quite a view, isn't it?"
She turned to find Tanner at the door, his expression impassive, but what unnerved Kate was the absolute bleakness in his eyes. It made her think of a wild animal entangled in a net, unable to get free. Badly unsettled by that impression, she turned back to the row of windows, folding her arms in front of her. Her voice had a funny catch in it when she answered. "It's fantastic."
There was a strained hesitation, then he spoke again, his voice brusque. "I'm going to have to head out pretty soon, so I'd like to go over everything with you now, if that's okay with you."
Sensing his sudden withdrawal, as if walls had suddenly gone up, Kate avoided his gaze, her voice not quite even when she said, "Now would be fine."
By the time Tanner finished, Kate had been thoroughly briefed about what was going on where. She knew where everything was, she knew who everyone was, she had a detailed schedule taped to the fridge, and she had a phone list of everyone from the vet to the man who delivered alfalfa cubes for the horses. And it was clear to her that the key to her survival was clearly going to be Cyrus Brewster. Cyrus not only cooked for the hands but was also the general handyman. Kate was curious about him – not because of what he did, or the fact that he'd helped look after Burt until she got there, but because of the softening in Tanner's expression whenever he mentioned him. This man was also significant in Tanner McCall's life, and that made her curious.
But something else became equally obvious. Tanner McCall left nothing to chance. He made certain she understood what was entailed in the operation of a ranch this size, who was responsible for what and what the chain of command was – and he also made it very clear that the chain of command ultimately ended up at him.
He sat sideways to the table, one arm across the back of the chair, his other hand around his mug, his thoughts apparently sidetracked. He exhaled heavily, then took a drink of coffee. Setting the mug back down, he met her gaze. "There's a cold room in the cook house and a couple of freezers, so if you need anything, go down and get it, or have Cyrus bring it up. If we don't have what you need, tell Cyrus, and he'll get it for you when he goes into town. As for Burt … there are some things you'll need to know." Leaning back in his chair, he went over her duties, making it absolutely clear what her responsibilities were and how he wanted them carried out.
Kate made some notes about Burt's medication, but for the most part she just listened, growing increasingly discomfited as it became clear that he didn't expect her to do much else other than care for Burt. Kate had expected to have at least casual housekeeping duties to do, especially when Tanner was providing room and board for her sons. She was prepared to work – she needed to work. The last thing she needed was idle time. And besides, she just didn't feel right about it. She didn't want to make an issue of it, at least not the first day on the job, but it looked like she was going to have to.
Oblivious to Kate's reaction, Tanner continued. "There's a Hutterite colony a few miles from here – we get some of our supplies from them, and every couple of months we hire some of the women to come over and clean the bunkhouse, the cook house and here. If you want to have them come more often, tell Cyrus. He'll make the arrangeme
nts."
More often? She didn't want them at all. Resting her arms on the table, she clasped her hands together, considering how to broach the subject with him. She suspected that Tanner McCall was used to having his orders followed without question, but she also knew that this was something that she had to deal with right up front. She had skirted too many other issues with him already; she didn't want to add this to the pile.
Rubbing one thumb over the back of the other, she tried to ignore the twist of guilt that made her insides knot. Finally she looked at him, her voice quiet when she spoke. "Burt's care isn't going to take up that much time. Some days he'll require more attention than others, but I came here expecting to work." She thought about the two boys still sleeping upstairs, and her throat got all tight. She stared back down at her hands, not sure if her voice was going to hold or not. "Not many people would have hired me knowing I had two kids, and I really appreciate that." She kept her gaze focused on the table until she was certain she had her emotions under control, then she looked up at him, needing to make him understand. "I want to do my share here, Tanner. And I want my kids to pull their weight, as well. This is going to be their home for a little while, and I want them to know there are no free rides in life."
He was sifting across the table from her, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his mood darkly introspective as he rubbed an imperfection on the handle of his mug. His expression was fixed and shuttered, but there was a grimness around his mouth that made her stomach drop.
Finally he lifted his head and looked at her, nothing, nothing in his eyes. "Then by all means make a home for you and your boys, Mrs. Quinn," he said flatly. "Whatever chores you give them or how you decide to handle that is your business. Just make sure they don't interfere with my men or the operation of this ranch."
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