by Duncan Leigh
“I’m taking care of the dogs,” Sally offered. “But the horses are getting picked up.”
This was wrong, just wrong. Sarah had lived here her whole life. She loved the land. Her horses meant more to her than they could ever mean to a stranger. He didn’t care how much it cost him, he’d get Sarah’s ranch back for her. She’d refused his help once before, but she wasn’t here to stop him now. His mind made up, he stated his case. “Well, I’ll talk to the people who bought it, and I’ll get it back.”
An odd mix of confusion and surprise twisted Sally’s lips into an unsettling pretzel. Maybe getting Sarah’s property back for her wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
Pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the answer, he asked, “Who bought the ranch?”
Looking more bewildered than ever, Sally cleared her throat. “You did,” she whispered.
“I—” Words failed him.
He’d had a lot of new experiences over the last couple of weeks. In the decade he’d spent away from Mill Town, he’d never once ridden a horse. But he’d brushed up his riding skills since he’d come back. He’d learned how to wield a hammer well enough to mend a fence or fifty, caught his first big trout, enjoyed an ice cream on a lazy afternoon. Most of all, thanks to Sarah, he’d rediscovered the truth of that old adage, “home is where the heart is,” and finally figured out that Mill Town was where he belonged.
So, yeah, he’d done a lot of things, but he most certainly hadn’t bought a ranch. And definitely not Sarah’s—he’d never buy her property out from under her.
A loose, uneasy sensation slid through his belly, and his thoughts narrowed. While he’d never take Sarah’s ranch from her, he knew someone who might have done exactly that.
“Excuse me.” He strode toward the house on the hill.
Leaving the realty agent standing in the middle of the lawn with her mouth hanging open wasn’t the effect he had on most people, but he and Catherine needed to talk. And right now, before either of them made a mistake they couldn’t undo.
Bradley thundered up the steps of the house. At the door, he raised his fist to rap on the wood. He dropped his hand to his side. Why knock? This was his house, wasn’t it? Or had Catherine managed to sweep it out from under him like she’d done with Sarah’s ranch? He burst into the living room.
At his unexpected presence, hair stylists, dress attendants, and makeup artists froze. Like actors on a set who stood on their marks until someone called, “Action!” they stared at Catherine and waited for her signal.
Looking every bit the reigning queen of the big screen, his bride-to-be sat in a director’s chair. Instead of a megaphone, she held a large mirror as her prop. Without bothering to turn toward him, she spoke into the mirror. “You can’t come in here,” she protested.
“I need to speak to you.” His anger at what he suspected she’d done fueled him. He stormed past the frozen attendants.
“You can’t see the bride before the wedding.” Catherine’s voice rose to an uncharacteristic and rather unattractive screech. “It’s bad luck!”
Now she was worried about bad luck? Now? She hadn’t worried about bad luck during last night’s wedding rehearsal. When Adam had suggested they follow tradition by using a stand-in, Catherine had insisted on walking down the aisle herself. She hadn’t given a thought to bad luck when she’d put every detail of planning their wedding into his hands while she’d stayed in California. She hadn’t blinked an eye when, against his wishes, she’d announced their engagement on national television. Was she really worried about bad luck? He didn’t think so. He thought it far more likely that his bride feared he’d stumbled onto her secrets and didn’t want to discuss them until it was too late to undo what she’d done.
He stopped just short of her chair. “Did you buy Sarah’s ranch?”
Beneath her expertly applied makeup, Catherine’s reflection paled. “Okay.” She lowered the mirror. Still not glancing at him, she addressed her staff. “Everybody out.” A laugh as fake as her nails filled the room. “The groom needs to speak to the bride.”
As far as he was concerned, Catherine’s assistants couldn’t vacate the premises fast enough. Though he wanted to rage, to smash something, he held his tongue while, without a single word, the line of helpers filed out of the room. “It’s a simple question, Catherine,” he growled when the door closed behind the last of her staff. “Did you, or did you not, buy Sarah’s ranch?”
The departure of the would-be witnesses must have given his fiancée the time she needed to get over her initial shock. Nary a tremble shook her fingers as she lay the mirror on the kitchen table that doubled as a makeup stand. Catherine slid from the tall chair, drew herself erect and faced him. “Bradley, I know how much this place means to you.” She gestured at the house that had been his home when he was a kid, the one she’d declared far too small for their needs. “And I know you want to keep it.”
“What’s that have to do with you buying Sarah’s ranch?” Determined not to let his anger get the best of him, to give Catherine a chance to explain, he propped his hands on his hips.
“We can expand the property,” Catherine gushed, as if her wants and desires justified all the maneuvering she’d done behind his back. “We can build a new house here. A real house. A house we can come back to. A house worthy of people like us.”
“People like us?” The kind of people who used whatever means necessary to get what they wanted? That wasn’t him. He was just an ordinary guy who’d had a few lucky breaks. He retreated a step.
“You know what I mean.”
No, he didn’t. But he was beginning to. He suspected that, left to her own devices, Catherine would raze both Sarah’s place and his, and replace them with a mansion far more suited to Beverly Hills than tiny Mill Town.
Behind him, a bright light flashed. A distinctive click sounded. Then, another flash went off. He spun, his gaze landing on a photographer who crouched near the open door.
“Who the heck is that?” he demanded. Even as he pointed at the man, the guy fired off another series of shots. “Do you mind?” His footsteps as menacing as he could make them, he strode toward the interloper, who had the good sense to dart out the door. Bradley firmly closed it in his wake.
“He’s with People Magazine.” Dismay darkened Catherine’s eyes. She stared after the disappearing photographer.
“Are you kidding me?” She had to be joking. She knew how important his privacy was to him.
“Now, I know you didn’t want me—”
“We discussed this.”
“But he promised he’d be discreet. You won’t even notice him.”
“Right.” Like he hadn’t noticed the man snapping pictures in the middle of the most important discussion he’d ever have with Catherine. He took a breath. Over the last year, he’d done everything she’d asked without asking for anything in return. When his bride-to-be had complained that his blue-collar roots showed in his clothes, he’d let her take him shopping for a new wardrobe. They’d attended the parties she chose, sent their regrets to invitations that didn’t meet her standards. Most nights, instead of working on his music, he’d accompanied her to swanky restaurants where she could be seen by the movers and shakers in the movie and music industries. He’d even agreed to marry her in Italy and honeymoon in Europe when what he’d really wanted was a week-long getaway in a secluded cabin in the woods.
In all that time, he’d only asked one thing from Catherine: that their wedding be a private, intimate moment with just the two of them. Yet, not only had she announced their engagement on national TV, she’d invited the press to attend the ceremony without the slightest regard for what he wanted.
What did that mean for their future? He stared at Catherine. Did she really consider her wants, her needs to be that much more important than everyone else’s?
Granted, Catherine was
extremely talented, and she’d worked hard to get where she was today. But other people had talents, too, didn’t they? Adam’s sermons could move his congregation to tears. James Fargo ran the Mill Town Bank with compassion and care. Sally Hartford had such a big heart that she took care of her clients’ dogs when they were out of town. Sammy Harper and his band might never make it to Nashville, but they had every foot in the Mill Town Bar tapping on Friday nights. And what about him? Maybe he could perform better than most, but he’d be perfectly content as long as he had a roof over his head, an old pickup truck to ride around in, and a fishing pole.
But not Catherine. She thrived on the limelight. Stardom was in her blood. He took a breath. Okay, maybe he’d pushed her too hard, tried to force a city girl to adopt his country ways without giving her time to adjust. Much as he hated to admit it, he had sprung the idea of living in his childhood home on her without even asking her about it. Oh, he’d had the best of intentions. He’d thought he could introduce her to the simpler things—the house where he’d grown up, life in a small town, the pleasures of country living—and she’d discover they meant the same to her as they did to him.
But he’d been wrong. He saw that now. Catherine would never find the joy in fixing a home-cooked meal. She’d never settle for dinner at the Mill Town Diner on Friday night or meeting friends for an evening of line dancing on Saturday. Any more than he’d ever be content to live the rest of his life in the city.
Why had he ever thought their lives were compatible?
As if she sensed the direction his thoughts had taken and wanted to distract him, Catherine brushed passed him. “I love all the flowers for the wedding.” Her bouquet rested atop the mantle. She cupped her fingers around the petals. “How did you know that yellow roses were my favorite?”
“I didn’t.” He hadn’t known her favorite flower any more than he’d known which color she preferred, whether she liked chocolate or strawberry, or that coconut gave her hives. Nor had he known she’d go behind his back and ruin a friend’s life to get what she wanted. “Sarah must have known. You know, that ranch is her home. She’s lived there her entire life.” For Catherine to strip that away from Sarah, well, he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her for that.
“I think it’s so sweet that you still care about her.” Reaching for him, Catherine trailed her fingers along his collar bone. “It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”
He stumbled back a half-step. Though Catherine was saying the right things, her words struck one false note after another. They’d both agreed that their relationship wasn’t based on love. Now, when she had to sense how badly she’d disappointed him, she claimed she loved him. Did she even know what the word meant?
Trust, friendship, and support were the ingredients that made love possible. He’d explained how important Sarah was to him, that he wanted the two women to be friends. Apparently, his opinion hadn’t mattered to his fiancée. If it had, she’d have moved heaven and earth to help Sarah keep her ranch. Instead of supporting his wish to get married in the old barn, she’d given the entire building a Hollywood-style makeover and brought in caterers. She’d assured him that their ceremony in Italy would be a simple exchange of vows where the world couldn’t find them. But considering the presence of the photographer from People Magazine, could he even trust Catherine to keep her word?
That was what it all boiled down to, didn’t it? He didn’t trust Catherine. Not to keep her word about the ceremony in Italy. Not to consider his wishes. Not to put their marriage above what was best for her career.
How could he marry someone he didn’t trust? Someone who didn’t support him? Who’d gone out of her way to undermine his best friend? The plain fact of the matter was, he couldn’t.
He brushed her hand from his chest. “I can’t marry you.”
Looking at him as if he’d lost his marbles, Catherine tilted her head. “I’m sorry?”
“I can’t marry you.” He couldn’t say it much plainer than that.
“Of course you can.”
He chose to overlook the steely glint in her eyes. “Do you love me?”
Catherine scoffed. “Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re perfect for each other. We understand each other. We want the same things.”
No, no, and no. They weren’t perfect for each other. She didn’t understand him. And they sure as heck didn’t want the same things. He didn’t want the same kind of life she wanted. He was pretty sure he never had. Not really. Down deep in his soul, he’d always known things weren’t going to work out between him and Catherine. It had just taken him a long time to see it. To know his own mind. To realize what was important to him. Now that he did, he was going to hold onto it.
“I’m not going to tour for a while. I’m going to live here. Play locally. Build a studio. And write music.” There. He’d laid it all out for her.
“That’s so silly,” she protested. “Your career’s on fire. You’re gaining momentum. You’re—”
“Catherine!” This had to end. “I care about you. I do. But it’s just not enough.” Not enough to spend the rest of their lives together. “I’m sorry.”
That part was truer than she’d ever know. But they both deserved better than a loveless marriage. And, having said his piece, he covered the distance to the door in five quick strides. He’d leave it up to her how she wanted to break the news to the world. He had no doubt she’d place the blame squarely on his shoulders. If it made her feel better, so be it. He had broad shoulders. He’d take the hit.
At the hitching post, he mounted the horse he’d ridden to Sarah’s earlier. She might have lied about a lot of things, but one thing Catherine had said rang true. He cared about Sarah. In fact, his feelings for her played a huge role in his certainty that Catherine and he hadn’t been meant for each other. If they were, he wouldn’t still be thinking of Sarah, would he?
He needed time to think about what to do next. Where he was headed. What—and who—he wanted in his life. And galloping across the fields on horseback, the rush of wind in his face, the muscles of a powerful animal lengthening and retracting beneath him—well, he couldn’t think of a better place to do it.
At the top of a hill overlooking green fields and forest, Bradley reined his horse to a stop. It was time to discard the old and move on with the new. If he was going to do this, move back to Mill Town permanently, build a studio and concentrate on writing new music, the trappings of the career he’d thought he wanted would only weigh him down. The hat his agent had given him rested heavily on his head. Removing it, he sailed the ridiculously expensive Stetson into the bushes.
There. He gathered the reins into his hands. He felt better already.
Chapter Eighteen
“Welcome home, Sarah.” Sammy grabbed her overnight bag from the taxi’s front seat. Rounding the rear bumper, he lingered while she counted out a dwindling pile of bills.
“Well, thanks, Sam. But it’s not home anymore.” She handed across the fare plus the most generous tip she could afford. “I’m just here to pack up.”
“Oh. I see.” Sammy tucked the money in a pocket. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.” Sarah squinted into the sun. Sammy’s question was one of many she faced and couldn’t answer. She wouldn’t head to California. That was one thing she was certain of. Things hadn’t exactly turned out as advertised with Catherine’s friend. Though he’d been willing enough to take her horses, the promised job offer had never materialized. Not that she would have taken it if it had. Desert cacti and a scorching dry heat weren’t for her. After only two days in the arid climate, she missed trees and green grass and rolling hills too much to linger on the West Coast a minute longer than absolutely necessary.
Across the yard, brilliant colors sparkled from her flower garden. She drew in a floral-scented breath. James Fargo had given her
a week to pack up her personal belongings and move out of the house. After that, finding a place to live and a job came next. If she was lucky, she’d land one that would put her veterinary skills to good use.
“I’m sorry.” Sammy’s head hung low.
“Yeah, thanks, Sam.” Pulling her wheeled bag behind her, she started up the walkway to the house. “See you around.”
Crossing the threshold, she whistled for the dogs. They came at her at a dead run, slipping and sliding across the hardwood floors in their eagerness to get to her.
“Hi! Hi, guys!” She squatted down low for the usual outpouring of slobbery kisses. “It’s so good to see you. I missed you so much.”
Normally the dogs were so glad to see her after a trip they lolled about the floor, begging for tummy rubs. This time, though, she barely had a chance to say hello before, barking excitedly, the golden retriever took off for the kitchen. The sheepdog and the cocker spaniel joined in the chase, and soon all three dogs raised a noisy ruckus at the back of the house.
“Kelly, what are you barking at?” Abandoning her luggage, she followed the pack into the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she called when Kelly pawed at the door knob while Cooper whined at the window. She peered through the glass into the back yard. Had deer wandered into the garden? She shook her head. Other than a couple of missing catering and delivery trucks, which had probably headed back to the city right after the wedding, everything was exactly as it had been when she left. “What’s going on, you guys?”
Hoping to find out what had the dogs so stirred up, she opened the door. The instant she did, Kelly shot past her. Long hair streaming behind her, the retriever bounded down the steps with the other two dogs nipping at her heels. All three of them raced through the flower garden and out of sight. Sarah hustled after them.
“Where are you guys going?” Her long strides covered the ground while concern shifted in her chest. Any number of wild animals had wandered out of the woods in the past. Most would head back in the direction they’d come as soon as the dogs neared, but she couldn’t stand the thought of what might happen if her pets cornered a bear or a snake. She raised her voice. “What got into you? Kelly!”
