The Boys Back Home

by Sierra Dafoe

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Cassie sat halfway down the bus, her head leaned back, idly twirling the engagement ring on her finger. For the past twenty-four hours she’d done little else but stare at it blankly, watching the twinkles of light from its crystalline depths flash gold, then crimson, then an ethereal, dancing silver as the moon rose behind her and the bus, trundling its way west from Chicago, left the plains behind and began its groaning ascent into the mountains.

  She’d slept in sketchy patches, rousing briefly at the glare of neon lights in Salt Lake City, then waking stiff and bleary-eyed at the ungentle touch of the rising sun as they crossed into Idaho. Under its flat, colorless illumination even the high-grade diamond on her finger had looked sullen and dull.

  Now, hours later, the bus finally wheezed to a halt and Cassie lifted her head, rubbed her scratchy, tired eyes and looked out the window.

  Thin afternoon sunlight trickled down over a smattering of tired-looking buildings as dusty and pale as the dirt they crouched upon. They clustered together at the junction of two nondescript state roads, fronted by cracked, deserted sidewalks tufted here and there with clumps of dead grass. A single battered pickup stood by the greasy pumps of the Esso station.

  Back to the bustling metropolis of Preacher’s Bend, she thought mordantly. Oh joy.

  Sighing, she fumbled her suitcase out from under the seat—a process made easier by the fact that, after the last stop in Rigby, she was the only remaining passenger—and clambered up the aisle, fighting her own reluctance.

  Why on earth had she come? Richard was handsome, wealthy, successful… What more did she want? What more could any woman ask for? And he was hardly being unreasonable—all he’d asked her to do was set a date for the wedding.

  Why should that have sent her scurrying all the way back to Preacher’s Bend?

  Her doubts seemed to follow her up the aisle, as bulky and awkward as the suitcase banging her shins. She stepped off the bus and the door swung shut behind her, leaving her standing on the cracked pavement as the bus pulled away.

  Down the street, a solitary car turned into the parking lot of the Stop’n’Go. A cold breeze tugged fitfully at the flag outside the post office. The sky, a faded, powdery blue, stretched like a threadbare sheet over the rumpled bed of the Idaho plain, mile after mile of barren, empty fields ringed in by mountains towering in the distance, their sharp, jagged peaks already dusted with snow.

  Cassie stared, her suitcase forgotten in her hands, drinking in the openness, the stillness. You forget, she thought numbly. You forget in the city how much space there is out here.

  Then the autumn chill penetrated her clothing, and she shivered. Turning away from the view of the Rockies, she crossed the street to Bea’s Coffee Shop, reached for the door—and stopped abruptly, gazing at the enormous two-carat diamond glittering on her finger. In this setting, with the low, weather-worn buildings of Preacher’s Bend around her, the engagement ring Richard had given her ten months before looked almost desperately ostentatious.

  But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To prove, clearly and unmistakably, that she was engaged, that she’d moved on with her life, that she was successful, happy—in short, that she was over it?

  Then why did you come back, Cass? Tell me that.

  “Oh, hell.” Scowling, Cassie worked the ring off and shoved it in her coat pocket.

  She pulled open the door, and t bell above it jingled. The smell of strong coffee and fresh-baked pastries plumed out to greet her. So did Bea’s warm, familiar voice. “Cassie Jordan! I don’t believe it.”

  Cassie grinned as Bea Evans, still as spry as ever, slid a tray of pecan rolls into the display case and came around the counter, peeling off her oven mitts. Enveloping Cassie in a floury hug, Bea gave her a vigorous squeeze. “Oh, it’s good to see you home. Let me take a look at you.” Holding her at arm’s length, Bea cocked her head, her warm brown eyes scrutinizing her closely. “You look tired. You’ve been gone too long.”

  Cassie shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I figured it was about time to check in on the old homestead, make sure it wasn’t falling to pieces.”

  “It’s not.” There was a cryptic twinkle in Bea’s eyes as she waved her to a stool.

  “Well, good. That’s a relief. And you? How are you holding up?”

  “Oh, same old same old. At my age if it’s not one thing breaking down, it’s another.” Bea chuckled as she dished up a pecan roll, its top drizzled with warm glaze, and poured a cup of coffee for Cassie. “Now eat. You’re too scrawny.”

  Taking a bite, Cassie gave a deep sigh of contentment. She’d missed Bea’s pecan rolls, rich and chewy and sprinkled generously with nuts. Every time she bought a pastry in Chicago, it invariably tasted stale.

  Bea watched her, smiling slightly. After a moment, though, her expression darkened, and she said, “I was real sorry about your mom, Cassie. I wanted to say something at the funeral, but you left so quickly…”

  Her voice trailed off inquisitively, and Cassie grimaced to herself. So let her think that’s why you left town, Cass. It’s better that way. But as heartbroken as she’d been by her mother’s death, that wasn’t what had driven her, running like a scared rabbit, all the way from Preacher’s Bend to the windy streets of Chicago and into Richard’s arms.

  Aloud, she replied, “I know. I’m sorry. I just had to get away for a while.”

  Bea nodded sagely. “I felt the same way when my mom passed on. Felt like my whole world was falling to pieces. But you’re back now,” she added with a last, satisfied nod. “Back where you belong. You’ve been missed around here, Cassie Jordan.”

  Cassie shifted uncomfortably at her words, both wanting and afraid to ask who, exactly, had missed her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was terrified of hearing their names.

  Not his. Their. And that was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

  Even the unflappable Meredith Jordan had never had a solution for that dilemma. Cassie felt tears sting her eyes as she remembered the endless reassurances her mother had tendered over the years—reassurances which had never helped in the least. It’s just a phase, Cassie. Why, I used to fall in love with near about every boy I saw… You’re young yet, there’s no shame in not knowing what you want… Don’t worry, sweetie, someday you’ll meet a man who…

  A man. Always a man. She sighed, thinking of the engagement ring hidden in her coat pocket, and lifted the coffee mug to her lips.

  Then the bell above the doorway jingled, and Cassie froze.

  Suddenly, her heart was thudding like a jackhammer in her chest. She heard heavy footsteps approach, pause behind her… God, Cassie, get a grip! she told herself sternly. It’s probably just old Mr. Hawley, or Mr. Tennant, or hell, it could be anybody.

  It wasn’t.

  “Afternoon, Bea. You got any of that coffee to go?”

  That warm, rumbling baritone voice could belong to only one person on earth. Cassie’s fingers shook so badly she could barely put the mug back down, and she hunched her shoulders, desperately wishing she could sink into the floor and disappear.

  “Oh, I think we could manage something.” There was an anticipatory gleam in Bea’s eyes. “One today, or two?”

  “Two.”

  Bea filled two Styrofoam cups, held them out and rang up the sale, and then, then, just as Cassie could feel him turning away and was beginning to consider letting herself sigh in relief…

  “Kyle Watson,” Bea said sternly, “aren’t you even going to say hello to Cassie?”

  Thump. Something hit the floor, followed immediately by a pained oath. “Shit! Damn! Hell, that stings.”

  Cassie glanced over her shoulder to see coffee splattered across
the floor and Kyle Watson, his broad shoulders hunched beneath his worn sheepskin jacket, glaring at Bea from under the rim of his Stetson as he sucked the back of his hand. “Dammit, Bea! You did that on purpose.”

  Bea laughed. “I’ll get you another.”

  Kyle scrubbed futilely at the sleeve of his coat while Bea poured him a fresh cup of coffee, and Cassie, her heart pounding, held herself rigid on the stool, trying so hard not to think of the last time she’d seen him…

  “You know, Kyle, since you’re going that way, maybe you’d give Cassie a ride out to her place. It’s a powerful long walk.”

  Damn you, Bea.

  Cassie could feel the blood rising to her cheeks as Kyle turned, smiling, and then there was no place to hide, no place to look except up into eyes so light a blue they were almost silver, piercing her straight to the bone. He tilted back his Stetson, his face spreading into a grin that was so easy, so familiar, it seemed to melt away the years as if they’d never happened at all. “’Course I will. Hello, Cass.”

  “Hello, Kyle.”

  “Here.” He handed her one of the Styrofoam cups, fished out his wallet and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter by Cassie’s plate. “We all set here, Bea?”

  “Honestly, Kyle, I can pay for my own—”

  He glanced at her, raising a light brown eyebrow, and Cassie bit her tongue. Just get through this, Cass. Just keep your mouth shut and get home and get through this.

  “Go on, you two.” Bea flicked her hands at them. “Git.”

  Grinning, Kyle hefted her suitcase and held open the coffee shop door. Chin tilted in the air, Cassie marched out, ridiculously aware of his nearness as she passed him, of the way her head barely came up to his chin. That was one more thing she’d forgotten—how deceptively tall Kyle Watson really was.

  If only she’d managed to forget everything else, too.

  There was a shiny black pickup sitting at the curb outside, an empty horse trailer hitched to the bumper. Putting her suitcase in the bed, Kyle opened the passenger door for her. The cab had that distinctive new car tang, and Cassie looked up at him as she climbed in. “You must be doing well for yourself.”

  “Oh, we do all right.” He shrugged dismissively and closed the door.

  We. We do all right. A pain Cassie had almost convinced herself had finally healed knifed through her heart. She huddled deep into her coat, watching him walk around the front of the pickup, the breeze playing through his short blond hair.

  All her life, it seemed, it had been the three of them—her, Kyle Watson and Alan Caine. They’d sat with her from her very first day in grade school, Kyle’s head with its mop of honey blond curls bent above his desk on her left, Alan’s shaggy, raven black one on her right. They’d taught her to fish, grinning at her girly squeamishness over hooking a worm. Year after year, they’d gone to the county fair, all three of them cramming their skinny hips into the Ferris wheel seat, their scabby knees rubbing together, hollering as the wheel turned, lifting them higher and higher until the whole world was spread out before them…

  And when Cassie had first started dreaming of kisses, it had been Alan and Kyle who’d featured in her private fantasies. God, how many times had she dreamed of them? How many nights had she lain in her bed, her fingers rubbing eagerly at the downy-soft fur covering her mons as she pictured first one then the other kissing her mouth, their friendly, familiar gazes deepening into something more?

  She looked away as Kyle slid behind the wheel, biting her lip. From the corner of her eye she saw him glance in the rearview mirror, nodding at the empty trailer.

  “Just dropped a nice little mare off over to Jackson Hole. Those rich ski folks have been the salvation of ranchers around here, I tell you. Got their fancy spreads, want a couple of pretty horses to go with ’em.”

  Cassie nodded mutely, staring at the road ahead as he pulled away from the curb, his strong, tanned hand resting easily on the gearshift. When she’d left he’d still been a boy, practically, his face unlined by the harsh Idaho sun. Now there were tiny wrinkles at the corners of his light blue eyes, and a sense of assurance, of maturity, that made her feel even more awkward in contrast.

  Somewhere during the last three years, Kyle Watson had grown up.

  And you, Cassie? Have you grown up?

  She clenched her jaw, uncomfortably aware of the ring in her pocket. She folded her fingers over it, pressing the sharp, oversized rock into her palm. Coward, she thought to herself. How long are you going to keep avoiding the truth?

  Straightening her spine, she asked, keeping her tone purposefully light, “And how’s Alan?”

  Kyle glanced at her, his gaze flat and unreadable. Cassie wondered if she looked as pale as she felt. “He’s fine.”

  “Is he…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. “Do you see a lot of him these days?”

  “We run a ranch together, Cass. What do you think?”

  Cassie nodded, turning her head to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. She stared at the flat, empty fields, painfully aware of Kyle’s warm, familiar scent in the closeness of the cab, feeling both awkward and miserable.

  All her life she’d loved them. They’d woven themselves into every childhood memory she had, every dream, every moment. And when her love, like her adolescent body, had grown into adulthood, Cassie had found herself on the horns of a dilemma that no one, so far as she knew, had ever experienced before. She couldn’t have both of them. Even as a girl, she’d known that. It didn’t work that way. But she couldn’t have chosen between them, not ever. They were Alan and Kyle—how could she choose?

  For years, she’d carefully hidden her growing feelings, her desire for them both assuaged and exacerbated by their constant presence…and in the end it hadn’t mattered.

  In the end, they’d chosen each other.

  Kyle sat beside her, his gaze fixed on the road. Surreptitiously, Cassie studied his strong profile, the slight cleft in his chin, the short blond stubble along his firm jaw. His hair, still as wavy as when he was a boy, had darkened to a deep, tawny gold. It was clipped short, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. The broad, rangy shoulders under his sheepskin jacket had filled out, gaining a solid layer of muscle.

  He was even more attractive now than he’d been at twenty. Merely looking at him, Cassie felt a familiar throb between her thighs and was conscious of the tightness of her jeans across her mons, the seam pressing lightly against her clit.

  She jerked her head away, gazed instead at the passing fields. The empty trailer rattled over a pothole, and as the road sloped slowly upward she braced herself against the first sight of her old house, standing abandoned and forlorn in a tall patch of weeds, the shutters hanging askew, likely, or gone altogether. Latching shutters had been the last thing on her mind when she’d high-tailed it out of town, catching the five a.m. Greyhound in front of the post office, hardly caring where it was headed.

  But as they topped the slope and turned into the drive, Cassie stared, dumbfounded. The yard had been carefully tended, the grass, brown as straw, raked free of leaves. The upstairs shutters, freshly painted, were securely latched. Even the shrubs flanking the front porch had been recently trimmed.

  Dazed, she hardly noticed Kyle opening the cab door for her, taking her hand as he helped her out. He followed her up onto the porch, leaning against the railing as she walked to the old porch swing, pushing it lightly. It squeaked softly back and forth, its chain recently oiled, the slats of the seat painted a blinding white.

  Cassie glanced over her shoulder to find Kyle watching her, his silvery eyes unreadable, a strange, hungry light burning deep within them. “You did this.” She ran her hand along the back of the swing, stilling its motion.

  He nodded, digging his hands deep into the pockets of his faded jeans. “Me and Alan, yeah. Just couldn’t stand the thought of watching the old place fall to pieces, I guess.”

  That, right there, was why she loved them so. Even though she’d b
een gone three years, even though she’d left without a word, still they’d done all this for her.

  They’d always been there for her. Always.

  And that just made it worse.

  She shouldn’t have come. It was stupid, pointless. There was nothing here for her but old memories and pain. She turned her head to hide the tears glimmering in her eyes, and Kyle cleared his throat gruffly.

  “Door’s open, if you want to go in.”

  He loped down the steps, fetching her suitcase from the bed of the truck as Cassie pressed down the latch and went inside.

  Chapter Two

  Sunlight streamed through the windows in the parlor, flooding the hall with light. Cassie rested her hand on the newel post, gazing up the stairs to the shadowed second story. Her old denim jacket, the one she’d worn all through high school, hung on the coat rack behind the door, and she felt like all she’d have to do would be to turn and look down the hall into the kitchen and she’d see her mother standing at the kitchen counter where she’d stood a thousand times, her sleeves rolled up and an apron protecting her blouse, kneading dough in the big yellow bowl.

  Yesterday. It could all have been yesterday. Cassie clapped a hand to her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks, fighting to contain the sobs that shook her. And it was the old, playful Kyle who entered behind her, his warm, deep voice teasing as he set the suitcase down and hung up his hat. “Well, now, that’s not quite the reaction we were aiming for, Cass.”

  Her shoulders shook, and his tone changed immediately. “Hey. Hey, Cassie.” Turning her to face him, he took one look into her eyes and slid his arms around her, pulling her close till her head was cradled on his chest as she cried in great, whooping sobs.

  “I miss her, Ky. I miss her so much.”

  “I know, baby. I know.” He held her, stroking her hair, and she buried her face against the worn, fragrant softness of his sheepskin coat as she cried.

  There was only one other man in her entire life who had ever held her the way Kyle Watson did, who had made her feel this warm and safe and protected—and his name wasn’t Richard James Baldwin.