She parked the SUV outside the house and got out, hunching deeper into her jacket. The wind was more fierce now and the icy chill was slicing into her bones. It had been a long time since she’d faced a Montana fall and winter, but she’d been raised here and so she knew that the weather could turn on you in a heartbeat. She glanced up at the leaden sky and told herself it would probably be best not to stay long. Of course, that might not be an issue. Caden might not be here. And if he was, he could refuse to talk to her.
“Emma, is that you?”
She looked up and smiled, grateful for the reprieve from her thoughts. “Hi, Jack. Good to see you.”
Jack Franklin. Caden’s best friend and foreman. Of course, once upon a time, Jack and his wife, Gwen, had been her friends, too. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Is Caden around?”
“Yeah.” He frowned a little, tugged the brim of his hat down on his forehead and glanced over his shoulder at the stable. “He’s with one of our pregnant mares.”
Her gaze drifted to the stables as well, as if she could see through the dark green wood walls to the man inside. “Everything all right?”
“Oh, sure,” Jack said. “You know Caden, though. He takes care of what’s his.”
She shifted her gaze to the man and wondered if he was trying for some subtext. But he looked innocent enough. Hard to tell, though. Jack’s loyalty would be to his friend. “I saw Gwen at the grocery store the other day.”
“Yeah, she told me.” He smiled at her and shook his head. “Feels weird, having you back. But good, at the same time. It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“Really is,” she agreed, taking a little hope from Jack’s attitude. “Look, I’m home to stay, Jack. I know Caden’s not happy with me...”
He snorted.
She winced. “I just want to make things right, you know?”
“I get it Emma.” His smile faded, but his eyes were still kind. “But it’s not going to be easy.”
She shrugged and said, “When was talking to Caden about something he didn’t want to, ever easy?”
He nodded. “Good point. Okay, tell you what. Why don’t you go on in the house? I’ll let Caden know you’re here.”
She glanced at the big, beautiful building behind her, then back to Jack. “Okay, I will. Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” He turned to go and stopped when she spoke up again.
“Jack? Say hi to Gwen for me.”
He grinned. “I will. And if it helps...she’s really glad you’re home again.”
“It does. Thanks.” She didn’t watch him go. Instead, Emma walked up the steps to the wide front door and silently admired the carving of pines dug deeply into the wood. Entering the house, she had to stop again to admire it all. The floors were wide planked oak, with colorful rugs tossed here and there to break up the starkness. The great room held brown leather couches and chairs, heavy, wide tables and a few lamps that would spill golden light across the entire room when turned on.
The fireplace was river stone, with a thick slab of carved oak as a mantel. On the mantel was a windup clock she remembered Caden’s mother had bought on a trip to Germany one year and on either side of that, were silver candlestick holders that had been in Caden’s father’s family for generations. The painting over the hearth was of the original ranch house and only served to bring home how much the Hale ranch had changed over the last few years.
The view of the lake was spectacular, that wall of windows displaying the amazing landscape like an oversize painting. But she turned from that view and walked toward the French doors on the far wall that opened onto the balcony. Inside the beautiful house, it was warm and luxurious and downright cozy, but Emma couldn’t take it. The unfamiliarity of the place. The knowledge that Caden had done all of this without her. That he’d done so well on his own while her adventure in dream chasing had ended with a mind-numbing thud.
Shaking her head, she pushed through one of the doors into the icy wind that slapped at her and somehow felt more welcoming than the warmth of the house. Her boots sounded softly against the deck as she walked to the railing and watched the ranch at work. Cowboys were in the corral, working several horses. She could smell a fire and noted smoke lifting out of the chimney of what she guessed was Jack and Gwen’s house.
And then he stepped out of the stable, a tall, muscled cowboy and all Emma could think was Caden.
Four
Caden stopped dead and looked across the yard to the house. To her.
Ridiculous to even think it, but Emma could have sworn he was looking directly into her eyes. She felt the solid punch of his stare even from a distance and knew that she still wanted him. More than anything else in her life, she wanted his hands on her. His mouth on hers. Remembering the fire that rose up between them made her hunger for that heat.
In spite of everything—or hell, maybe because of everything that had happened to her since she’d been gone, that need for Caden was as sharp as ever.
He was headed her way, a tall man, with broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. His black hair hung over the collar of his jacket and gave him a piratical look that did absolutely wicked things to Emma. But then, looking at Caden had always made her want...too much.
He kept his gaze fixed on her as he strode across the yard and as he came closer, her heartbeat quickened and her mouth went dry. Seriously? She’d come here furious that he might be using her sister. She’d come here hurt that he was so willing to have nothing to do with her. She’d arrived ready to have it out with him—and now all she wanted was to have him.
Coming here might not have been such a good idea.
She turned, went inside and was standing beside the cold hearth when he walked into the room. How one cowboy could completely take over a huge space simply by standing there was a question for the ages. But the simple truth was, Caden could.
“What’re you doing here, Emma?”
Good question. Watching him now, so close, yet so far away, tore at her and made Emma want all kinds of things from this moment. She wanted to rewind time and have the years separating them simply disapper. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t wish it away and instead she wanted him to accept what she’d done. And mostly, she wanted him to want her.
None of that was happening at the moment, though, so she gave herself a mental kick and said, “We have to talk, Caden.”
“No, we really don’t.” He took his hat off and sailed it like a tan Frisbee to the nearest couch. Shrugging out of his green jacket, he dropped that on a chair and stalked to the bar across the room.
“Caden—”
“I mean it,” he said, tossing a quick look at her. “We don’t have anything to talk about, Em.”
Em. He used to call her that and stupidly, she took heart from the use of that casual nickname now. There was nothing on his gorgeous face that should encourage her and yet...apparently hope was a hard kill.
She took her jacket off too and dropped it onto a chair before walking over to him. He grabbed a beer from the bar fridge, opened it and took a long drink. No friendly offer of one for her, so Emma didn’t wait. She got one for herself and ignored his raised eyebrow. After a sip of beer, she looked up at him. “I want to know what’s going on between you and Gracie.”
“And I want you to go home,” he said flatly. “Guess we’re both going to be disappointed.”
Turning his back on her, he headed to the fireplace and hit a switch tucked away behind one of the river stones used to frame it. Gas flames shot up instantly and danced along faux logs.
Surprised, she said, “You always liked real fireplaces better.”
He shot her a look. “Things change.”
That was plain enough.
Caden shook his head, took another drink of his beer and shrugged. “It’s both. I can change it to a wood burner when I want to.”
Was that a concession? Really? Was that how sad she was now? Taking a casual statement about a fireplace as a sign that maybe he didn’t hate her? She looked into his eyes and felt flames lick at her insides. Didn’t seem to matter that he hadn’t welcomed her with open arms.
Caden was dynamite to her match.
He turned away and studied the dancing flames in a taut silence that scraped at her raw nerves.
Cradling her beer between her hands, she welcomed the cold and silently hoped it would ease the heat engulfing her. Emma glanced at the glass French doors separating them from the outside world and reminded herself that every cowboy on this ranch could look through that glass and see whatever happened in this room. Not that anything was happening.
She dropped onto one of the leather couches to watch him. It took a few more minutes of strained silence, but finally, he turned to look down at her. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
Emma shook her head. “Not until we talk.”
Both of his eyebrows shot up. “Hope you brought some luggage with you, because that’s going to be a while.”
Irritation had her blurting, “Caden, you can’t just ignore me.”
“Why the hell not? Just what you did to me for five years.”
Guilt pinged inside her, but she squashed it. No, she hadn’t written to him or called, but she’d done that deliberately at first. Moving away from him, from Montana, hadn’t been easy and she’d convinced herself that talking to Caden or clinging to the memory of him would only make the move that much harder. And then she’d found work and lost it and found something else and got in trouble and she hadn’t wanted to talk to him. To tell him that she’d made a mistake by going to California. That she’d failed. Because what would have been the point?
“I left because I had to,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I remember the speech, thanks.” He took another drink of his beer.
“But I’m back now.”
“And what do you expect me to do? Handsprings?”
“And did you expect me to stay away?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he demanded and slammed his beer bottle down on the mantel hard enough to rattle the silver candlesticks. “You walked out on everything, Emma. Why should I think you’d come back? And now that we’re down to it, why did you come back? Hollywood not living up to your expectations?”
Not even close, she thought but didn’t say.
“I had to bring Molly home,” she said instead.
He shook his head, then pushed both hands through his hair. God, just watching his muscles shift and move beneath his white long-sleeved shirt was earth-shattering. Her fingers actually itched to rip his shirt open and slide her hands across that muscled chest. To feel his heartbeat. To watch fire explode in his eyes.
“That’s right,” he said with a snort. “You came home with a baby. Who’s the lucky father, Emma? Where the hell is he? Did he walk out on you like you walked out on me? Or did you leave him, too?”
Emma stiffened, then forced herself to relax so he wouldn’t see. Wouldn’t notice her reaction to the mention of Molly’s father. She wouldn’t talk about the baby. Not now.
Instead, she picked up on the last thing he’d said and argued the point. “Damn it, Caden, I didn’t just walk out.” Ready to defend herself, she stood up and faced him. “I talked to you about it. I told you that I had to do this. Hell, I asked you to go to California with me. Or did you forget that part?”
“I remember. Everything,” he added, meeting her gaze with a cold stare that sent shivers along her spine. “You asked me to go with you but you knew I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t?” she argued. “Or wouldn’t?”
“Both.” He kept his eyes locked with hers and when he spoke again, his voice was so deep, so soft, it seemed to vibrate inside her, plucking every nerve.
“I had to be here, Emma,” he said. “And you knew that. My life is here. This ranch. Building it into something special. That was my dream. Used to be yours, too. Or did you forget how many nights we spent planning what we’d build here?”
“I remember. Everything.” She used his own words to make her point. “And you’re right, Caden. It was my dream, too,” she said quietly, owing him that much. To let him know she hadn’t been pretending all those nights when the two of them would talk and plan and dream. “It was just that—”
“Other dreams came first?”
“Why don’t you understand why I had to try?” She’d come here wanting to have it out with him, but it seemed they were just talking in circles, not solving anything, just dredging up more misery.
“I didn’t want to understand, Emma. All I needed to know was, you left.”
“And how long are you going to be throwing that in my face?”
“How long you going to be here?”
A verbal slap that set her back a step or two. She didn’t remember him being this shut down. This cold. Or hard. Was she supposed to take the blame for that, as well?
“This was a mistake. So fine. I’ll go.” She grabbed her coat.
“Leaving must get easier the more you do it,” he mused, still with that quiet, cold tone.
“Damn it, Caden,” she argued, tossing her hair back behind her shoulders. “You just told me to go.”
“Don’t.”
She dropped her coat again and stared at him. “Why?”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and stood tall and gorgeous, staring at her. “You came here to talk, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s talk.”
“Quick turnaround,” she mused, wondering why he was being so reasonable all of a sudden.
“Living in Hollywood cause you to be this suspicious?” he asked.
Yes. “No,” she said, tipping her head to one side to study him. “I just know you, Caden, and—”
He cut her off neatly. “You used to know me, Emma. Things change.”
Pain tugged at her heart. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
His jaw clenched and the muscle there twitched. “Come on back to the kitchen. I’m hungry and if we’re going to have one of our ‘conversations,’ I’m gonna need my strength.”
He headed out of the room and Emma followed him. True, they used to have some wonderful arguments back in the day. They were both stubborn and unwilling to admit when they were wrong, so those fights could go on for hours. And back then, they’d usually ended one of their talks, in bed—or on the ground, against a wall, in a hay loft...
The thought of that happening today sent a jolt of anticipation through her. She wondered if he was remembering. Wondered if he was wanting as badly as she was. Maybe he was right about needing strength.
As she walked behind him, Emma tried to keep her gaze off of his butt, so she distracted herself by looking at the rest of his amazing house. A long hallway led past a dining room with a hand-carved table big enough to seat twenty. There were paintings on the wall, depicting different sections of the ranch, the town of Cache and the river that cut through Caden’s property and led up to the mountains. It was a showplace. Everything he’d ever dreamed of building and more.
Then she followed him into the kitchen and just stopped in the doorway to admire it.
For the past five years, she’d been sharing a tiny two-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood with her roommate, Terry. Their kitchen counter had been the size of a breadboard with a sink barely big enough to set a plate down into it. In fact, you could have fit the entire apartment in Caden’s kitchen.
The cupboards were a pale oak with copper pulls. There was open shelving on the walls as well, where pitchers, platters and coffee mugs were stored. A huge island in the center of the room was topped with a slab of dark brown and white granite so huge that it must have taken ten men to carry in and install. An immense, hammered copper range hood over th
e eight-burner stove and an oversize refrigerator also covered in that same burnished copper.
Eight stools were pulled up to the island and a window over the sink that was wide enough to provide a glorious view of the lake. At one end of the room, there was a big round table with six chairs sitting in front of another window, this one with a view of the ranch yard and the pines that stood guard behind the buildings.
“This is...” she said on a breathy sigh, “perfect.”
He glanced at her and she saw the flash of pride in his eyes before he buried it. “Yeah, had this place built a few years ago. Figured to make the kitchen as big as possible, since we sometimes end up with all the hands in here, looking for a hot meal.”
A few years ago. How had he done all of this so quickly? The old ranch house had been small and cozy, the place where Caden had grown up, and now it had been displaced by a mansion that was simply breathtaking.
He tossed her a quick look as he opened the fridge and pulled out a covered plate of sandwiches.
Her eyes went wide. “Wow, the refrigerator is magic, too? You’re hungry and it provides readymade food?”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “No, this is courtesy of my housekeeper.”
She’d guessed that of course. “Does she live here?” Emma really hoped not. If they were going to be able to really argue and get everything between them out in the open—then she didn’t want to have to worry about someone overhearing them.
“No,” he said, setting the plate onto the island and reaching back into the fridge for a beer. He held it up. “Do you want one?”
“Sure.” She grabbed a couple of paper towels, then took a seat on one of the island stools. “So she drives in from Cache every day? That’s got to be challenging in winter.” When that long, two-lane road became so packed with snow it could sometimes take days for the county to plow it.
He took a seat opposite her, twisted off the caps on the beer bottles and handed one to her. “No, Victoria lives on the ranch. Her husband, Micah Taylor, is the barn boss.”
She nodded, understanding. A barn boss took care of the hiring and firing of people, though he’d work with the foreman on making those decisions. Plus he ran the schedules, ordered feed and made sure work was getting done.
Red Hot Rancher Page 5
