by Lisa Jackson
His lips curved into a crooked, almost wicked smile. Maybe it was time. He saw the flashing neon sign of a local tavern and pulled into the pothole-pocked parking lot. One beer, he decided, then he’d make up his mind.
* * *
With one quick stroke of her jackknife, Tessa cut the twine. The bale split open easily. Snapping the knife closed, she shoved it into her pocket, then forked loose hay into the manger. Dust swirled in the air, and the interior of the old barn smelled musty and dry.
Though it was evening, no breeze whispered through the open doors and only faint rays from a cloud-covered sun filtered past the grime and cobwebs of the few circular windows cut high in the hayloft.
The air was still, heavy with the threat of rain. She hoped the summer shower would break quickly and give relief to the parched ranch land. The ground was cracked and hard. And it was only the middle of August.
She was already feeding the horses and cattle hay she’d cut barely a month before.
Frowning, she heard the familiar sound of thudding hooves. Tails up and unfurling like silky flags, several of the younger horses raced into the barn. Behind the colts, the brood mares plodded at a slower pace.
“Hungry?” Tessa asked as several dark heads poked through the far side of the manger. A gray colt bared his teeth and nipped at a rival as the horses shoved for position. “Hey, slow down, there’s enough for everybody.” She chuckled as she forked more hay, shaking it along the long trough that served all the McLean horses.
Once the McLean horses were fed, she tossed hay into a manger on the other side of the barn and grinned widely as three more horses plunged their heads into the manger. Their warm breath stirred the hay as they nuzzled deep, searching for oats. “In a minute,” Tessa said, admiring the stallion and two mares. These were her horses, and her heart swelled with pride at the sight of them. She owned several—six in all—but these three were her pride and joy, the mainstay of her small herd. “Hasn’t anyone told you patience is a virtue?” She petted the velvet-soft nose of Brigadier, the stallion. A deep chestnut with a crooked white blaze and liquid eyes, he was spirited and feisty—and one of the best quarter horses in the state. At least in Tessa’s opinion.
The two mares were gentler and shorter, one a blood bay, the other black. Both were with foal, and their bellies had started to protrude roundly. These three horses were the center of Tessa’s dreams. She’d worked long hours, saved her money and even delayed finishing college to pay for them, one at a time. But the herd was growing, she thought fondly, eyeing Ebony’s rounded sides, and finally Tessa was through school. She reached across the manger and patted Brigadier’s sleek neck.
His red ears pricked forward then back, and he tossed his head, his mane flying and his dark eyes glinting.
“Okay, okay, I get the message.” Grinning, Tessa poured oats for her horses and heard contented nickers and heavy grinding of back teeth.
Rain began to pepper the tin roof, echoing through the barn in a quickening tempo. “At last,” Tessa murmured. She jabbed a pitchfork into a nearby bale, tugged off her gloves and tossed them onto the lid of the oat barrel. Stretching, she turned for the house. But she stopped dead in her tracks.
In the doorway, the shoulders of his denim jacket soaked, his wet dark hair plastered to his head, stood a man she barely recognized as Denver McLean. She hadn’t seen him for so long—not since that awful day. Though his face was familiar, it had changed, the harsh angles and planes of his features more rugged than ever. His hair was the same coal black, shorter than she remembered, but still thick and wavy as he pushed a wet lock off his forehead.
“Denver?” she whispered, almost disbelieving. Her heart began to slam against her ribs. Her father and Milly, the cook, had both speculated that Denver might return to the ranch after his uncle’s death, but Tessa hadn’t dared think he would show up.
He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder in the doorway. Behind him rain spilled from the gutters and showered the ground in sheets. The smell of fresh water meeting dusty earth filled the air. “It’s been a long time, Tessa,” he finally said.
Swallowing against a hard lump in her throat, she walked forward several steps. The horses snorted behind her and shifted restlessly, as if they, too, could feel the sudden electricity charging the air. “Yes, it has been a long time,” she agreed, her voice as dry as the earth had been only a half hour before.
As she met his blue, blue eyes, painful memories crowded her mind. As vivid as the storm clouds hovering over the surrounding mountains, as fresh as the rain pelting the roof, the pain of his rejection flashed through her thoughts.
So many times she’d hoped she might meet him and not even mention the past—pretend total indifference to the wretched nights she’d lain awake, wounded to her very soul. But now that he was here, standing in front of her, she couldn’t find one thread of that mantle of pride she’d sworn she’d wear. “I—I never thought I’d see you again.”
“No?” His expression was wry, his tone disbelieving. “Haven’t you heard? I own the place.”
“Yes, I know, but—” Words failed her. Silence stretched heavily between them. “I—I knew it was possible, but it’s just been so long.” So damned long.
“I came back to straighten out a few things,” he stated flatly, indifference masking his features. “I’ll be here a couple of weeks. I thought I’d better tell someone I was here. I can’t find your father or the cook, what’s her name?”
“Milly Samms.”
“Right. Anyway, you’re the first person I’ve run into.”
A little hurt tugged at her heart. Deep inside, she’d hoped he had been searching for her. She forced an even smile, though she couldn’t help staring at his face, a face she’d loved so fiercely. Whatever scars had once discolored his skin were gone—faded to invisibility. Though he seemed changed, it was his callousness and age that caused the difference more than any surgery. But he was still handsome and earthy, she had to admit—and sensual in a way she hadn’t remembered. “Most of the hands have gone into town,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It’s Friday night.”
He raised one of his thick eyebrows skeptically. “So who’s holding down the fort?”
“You’re looking at her.”
“You?” He held her gaze for a second before glancing at his watch and frowning. “I figured you might have a date later.”
Damn him. “I do,” she replied, a little goaded.
If the thought of her going out bothered him at all, he managed to hide it. What did you expect after seven years? she asked herself.
“A date with a hot bath and a good book.” She found her work jacket on a hook near the door and slid her arms through the sleeves.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” she admitted, trying to compose herself. Why after all these years did her heart race at the sight of him?
She dusted her hands and thought about the reason he’d come back: his uncle’s estate. “I’m sorry about John.”
“Me, too.”
“He didn’t want a funeral—”
Waving off her explanation, he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I just came back to tie up a few loose ends, that’s all. Where’s your father? I thought he was running things.”
“He is. He, uh, had business in town.”
“But he’s coming back?”
“Of course.”
“When he gets back, tell him I want to see him. I’ll be up at the house.” He glanced through the rain toward the weathered two-story farmhouse across the yard.
Tessa’s gaze followed his.
With its high-pitched roof, dormers and broad front porch, the old house had stood in the same spot for nearly a hundred years. It had been updated since the turn of the century—two bathrooms, central heat and electricity had been added—but it still appeared as it had when it was built by Denver’s great-great-grandfather.
Denver cleared his throat then looked
at her again, his eyes studying her face. She felt his gaze sliding from her straight red-blond hair past hazel eyes and a freckle-dusted nose to the sharp point of her chin. She wondered how he saw her—if she looked as he’d remembered. If he even cared.
“You know,” she whispered, clinging to her rapidly escaping courage and feeling her fists curling into tight balls as she thought about the past, “I’ve waited all this time to ask you this one question.”
His head jerked up. “Shoot.”
“Why?” She stood dry-eyed in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes searching his face—a face she’d loved with all her youthful heart. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me?”
A muscle jumped angrily in his jaw. “Didn’t seem the thing to do.”
“But you could have called or something—” She lifted her hands helplessly and hated the gesture. Despite the fact that seeing him again opened old wounds, she couldn’t let him see that she was still vulnerable to him in any way.
Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he crossed the weathered barn floor, eyeing the munching horses, the hayloft now full of new-mown hay, and the bins and barrels of oats, wheat and corn. “By the time I thought about it, there was no point,” he said. Then his gaze softened a little and he studied the rusted bit of an old bridle hanging on the wall. He ran his fingers slowly along the time-hardened leather reins. “I thought by now you’d be married with about five kids.”
“So did I.”
“What happened?” He regarded her with genuine perplexity, and she felt some of her old anger simmer again.
“The man I wanted to marry left town without saying a word.”
He didn’t move. The rain beat steadily on the roof, breaking the silence that stretched yawningly between them.
Tessa forced the issue. Though quaking inside, she sensed this might be her only chance to find out what had happened. “You wouldn’t see me in the hospital,” she accused, her voice surprisingly calm, “wouldn’t take my calls and returned all my letters unopened.”
His jaw hardened. He dropped the reins but didn’t say a word. One horse nickered and Tessa glanced toward the manger.
The way she saw it, Denver’s silence was as damning as if he’d said he hadn’t cared. She drew on all her courage. “Before I knew what was happening, my dad told me you’d taken off for Los Angeles.”
He almost smiled, his eyes narrowing. “I couldn’t keep the plastic surgeon waiting.”
“Without saying goodbye?” she asked, bewildered and wounded all over again. “After everything we’d planned?”
“We didn’t plan anything, Tessa.”
The wind shifted. Rain poured through the open door. “But you’d asked me to marry you, move to L.A.—”
“I never said a word about marriage,” he cut in, his voice harsh. “Think about it. You were the one who wanted to tie me down.”
Tessa nearly gasped. “I didn’t—”
“Sure you did. You kept trying to convince me that I should stay here, with you, on this damned ranch.” Standing at his full height, using its advantage to stare down at her and drill her with his frosty blue gaze, he added, “I had no intention of staying.”
“I loved you,” she said boldly, the words ringing in the barn. “I might have been naive, but I did love you, Denver.”
Denver’s muscles tensed, the skin over his features stretching taut. “We were two kids experimenting, Tessa—finding out about our bodies and sex. Love had nothing to do with it.”
“You don’t believe that!” she cried, feeling as if he’d slapped her. “You couldn’t!”
“Time has a way of making the past crystal clear, don’t you think?”
Tessa’s chin wobbled, but she forced her head up proudly. He wiped the rain from his hair, and she saw his hand, the burns still visible. Suddenly she understood. “You were afraid to see me,” she whispered, her eyes widening with realization as they clashed with his again.
His face was unreadable and stony. “Think what you want.”
She walked toward him, her steps quickening as she closed the distance. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were afraid that because of your scars—”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe what happened between us just wasn’t that important?”
“No!”
“Oh, God, Tessa. You always were a dreamer.”
His words hit hard and stung, like the cut of a whip. As if to protect herself, she stumbled backward, wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against one cobweb draped wall. “What happened to you, Denver?” she murmured, staring at the bitter man whom she had once treasured. “Just what the hell happened to you?”
“I got burned.” Hiking his collar up, he turned and strode through the slanting rain. Ducking his head, he marched across the gravel yard, his boots echoing loudly as he disappeared into the house.
Tessa stared after him, her heart thudding painfully. Dropping onto the hay-strewn floor, she buried her face in her hands. For years she’d imagined running into him again, hoping deep in her heart that there might be some little spark in his eyes—a hint that he still cared. And even if he didn’t love her again, she’d told herself, she could be content knowing that he, too, felt a special warmth at the thought that she had been his first love.
She’d been practical, not harboring any fanciful dreams that one day they could fall in love again. But she’d hoped that after an initial strained meeting, she and Denver would eventually become close—not as lovers, but as friends.
It had been a stupid, childish dream. She knew that now. Denver had changed so much.
Surprised that her hands were wet, that she’d actually shed tears for a man who had turned into such a soulless bastard, she sniffed loudly, wiped her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Never again, she told herself bitterly. These were the last tears she would ever shed for Denver McLean!
Chapter Two
Determined to be as cool and indifferent as Denver, Tessa marched through the rain to the house. The nerve of the man! she thought. He’d waltzed back into her life only to tell her that everything they had shared had been lies. He had twisted the truth to serve his own purposes. Well, he could twist it all he liked!
She wasn’t afraid of Denver or his lies. He couldn’t possibly hurt her more than he already had.
Seething, she kicked off her boots on the back porch and stalked into the kitchen in her stocking feet. The mingled smells of warm coffee, stale cigarettes and newsprint filled the air. Illuminated by the one remaining low-watt bulb, the room was muted, some of its defects hidden.
Tessa half expected to find Denver at the table, but the kitchen was empty. She knew he had to be in the house—or on the grounds nearby. His rental car was parked near the garage, under the overhanging branches of an ancient oak, and she’d watched him storm into the house just minutes before.
“So who cares?” she asked herself angrily. He’d made himself perfectly clear. She meant nothing to him and so much the better. At least now they could get down to business. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a glass pot still warming on the stove, took a sip and grimaced before tossing the remaining dregs down the drain. She refilled the cup with hot water for instant coffee and placed it in the microwave.
She listened, but didn’t hear a sound other than the hum of the refrigerator, the gentle whir of the tiny oven and the drip of the rain outside. Maybe Denver had left through the front door.
Usually after chores, if Tessa found a few minutes to herself, she enjoyed the time, but now, as she stirred decaf crystals into her cup and pretended to read the headlines of the newspaper spread all over the kitchen table, she was tense.
The overhead bulb flickered, strobing the chipped Formica, the yellowed layers of wax on the old linoleum and the nicked cabinets. The entire ranch was falling apart, and the disrepair was glaringly evident. Denver would soon discover just how bad things were. Maybe she should tell him—get everything out in the open.<
br />
Still wrestling with that decision, she walked through the corridor leading to the stairs but stopped when she noticed a crack of light glowing under the study door. So Denver had holed up in the office. No doubt he was already poring over the books—searching for flaws. Her fingers curled tightly over the handle of her cup. If it took every ounce of grit within her, she had to find a way to work with him and get through the next few days without antagonizing him. Her father needed this job. Since the fire no one else in Three Falls would hire Curtis Kramer.
She twisted the knob, shoving on the door.
Denver was right where she expected him to be—seated behind John McLean’s old walnut desk. Leaning over a stack of ledgers and invoices, his head bent, light from the desk lamp gleaming in his black hair, he worked, finally glancing up. “What?” His shirtsleeves were pushed over his forearms, leaving his dark skin bare.
An old ache settled in Tessa’s heart. She stared at him a second, and she had trouble finding her voice. “Making yourself at home?” she asked finally. Though she tried to sound nonchalant, as if she didn’t care one whit about him, there was a wistful ring in her words.
Denver leaned so far back in his chair that it creaked against his weight. Impatiently he stretched his arms, then cradled the back of his head in his hands. “I’m only staying a couple of weeks—to iron out a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Back taxes for starters.” His gaze shifted to a stack of unpaid bills. “Those next. And eventually the accounts with the feed store, hardware store—” He lifted a thick pile of paper. “Whatever it takes.”
“To do what?”
His eyes narrowed. “To clean up this mess. According to John’s lawyer, there have been all kinds of problems here—repairs that need to be made and haven’t, bills unpaid, you name it!”
“Every ranch has . . . cash flow problems,” she pointed out.