Damn. It was hope. The kid probably fantasized that he’d remarry one day, and she could come home from boarding school for good, and they’d all live happily ever after, with a dog and two cars parked in the same garage every night, like a normal family.
That was never going to happen.
Ginger looked up at him in adoring sympathy when he rubbed his eyes, tired to the bone. His sleepless night was finally catching up with him—or that was what he told himself.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t met anybody, Soph.” Olivia’s face filled his mind. “Well, I’ve met somebody, but I haven’t met them, if you know what I mean.”
Sophie, being Sophie, did know what he meant. Exactly.
“But you’re dating!”
“No,” Tanner said quickly. Bumming a cup of coffee in a woman’s kitchen didn’t constitute a date, and neither did sitting at the same table with her on Thanksgiving Day. “No. We’re just—just friends.”
“Oh.” Major disappointment. “This whole thing bites!”
“So you said,” Tanner replied gently, wanting to soothe his daughter but not having the first clue how to go about it. “Maybe it’s your mind-set. Since today’s Thanksgiving, why not give gratitude a shot?”
She hung up on him.
He thought about calling her right back, but decided to do it later, after she’d had a little time to calm down, regain her perspective. She was a lucky kid, spending the holiday in New York, watching the famous parade in person, staying in a fancy hotel suite with her friends from school.
“Women,” he told Ginger.
She gave a low whine and laid her muzzle on his arm.
He stayed in the barn a while, then went into the house, took a shower, shaved and crashed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
And Kat did not come to him.
* * *
Olivia had stopped by Tanner’s barn on the way to Stone Creek Ranch, hoping to persuade Ginger to take a break from horsesitting, but she wouldn’t budge.
Arriving at the homeplace, she checked on Rodney, who seemed content in his stall, then, gym bag in hand, she slipped inside the small bath off the tack room and grabbed a quick, chilly shower. She shimmied into those wretched panty hose, donned the skirt and the blue sweater and the boots, and even applied a little mascara and lip gloss for good measure.
Never let it be said that she’d come to a family dinner looking like a—veterinarian.
And the fact that Tanner Quinn was going to be at this shindig had absolutely nothing to do with her decision to spruce up.
Starting up the front steps, she had a sudden, poignant memory of Big John standing on that porch, waiting for her to come home from a high school date with Jesse McKettrick. After the dance all the kids had gone to the swimming hole on the Triple M, and splashed and partied until nearly dawn.
Big John had been furious, his face like a thundercloud, his voice dangerously quiet.
He’d given Jesse what-for for keeping his granddaughter out all night, and grounded Olivia for a month.
She’d been outraged, she recalled, smiling sadly. Tearfully informed her angry grandfather that nothing had happened between her and Jesse, which was true, if you didn’t count necking. Now, of course, she’d have given almost anything to see that temperamental old man again, even if he was shaking his finger at her and telling her that in his day, young ladies knew how to behave themselves.
Lord, how she missed him, missed his rants. Especially the rants, because they’d been proof positive that he cared what happened to her.
The door opened just then, and Brad stepped out onto the porch, causing the paper turkey to flutter on its hook behind him.
“Ashley’s going to kill me,” Olivia said. “I forgot to pick up salads at the deli.”
Brad laughed. “There’s so much food in there, she’ll never know the difference. Now, come on in before we both freeze to death.”
Olivia hesitated. Swallowed. Watched as Brad’s smile faded.
“What is it?” he asked, coming down the steps.
“Ashley’s looking for Mom,” she said. She hadn’t planned to bring that up that day. It just popped out.
“What?”
“She’s probably going to announce it at dinner or something,” Olivia rushed on. “Is it just me, or do you think this is a bad idea, too?”
“It’s a very bad idea,” Brad said.
“You know something about Mom, don’t you? Something you’re keeping from the rest of us.” It was a shot in the dark, a wild guess, but it struck the bull’s-eye, dead center. She knew that by the grim expression on Brad’s famous face.
“I know enough,” he replied.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up, but I was thinking about Big John, and that led to thinking about Mom, and I remembered what Ashley told me, so—”
“It’s okay,” Brad said, trying to smile. “Maybe she won’t bring it up.”
Olivia doubted they could be that lucky. Ashley was an O’Ballivan through and through, and when she got on a kick about something, she had to ride it out to the bitter end. “I could talk to her…”
Brad shook his head, pulled her inside the house. It was too hot and too crowded and too loud, but Olivia was determined to make the best of the situation, for her family’s sake, if not her own.
Big John would have wanted it that way.
She hunted until she found Mac, sitting up in his playpen, and lifted him into her arms. “It smells pretty good in here, big guy,” she told him. There was a fragrant fire crackling on the hearth, and Meg had lit some scented candles, and delicious aromas wafted from the direction of the kitchen.
Out of the corner of her eye Olivia spotted Tanner Quinn standing near Brad’s baby grand piano, dressed up in a black suit, holding a bottle of water in one hand and trying hard to look as though he was enjoying himself.
Seeing his discomfort took Olivia’s mind off her own. Still carrying Mac, she started toward him.
A cell phone went off before she could speak to him—How the Grinch Stole Christmas—and Tanner immediately reached into his pocket. Flipped open the phone.
As Olivia watched, she saw the color drain out of his face.
The water bottle slipped, and he caught it before it fell, though barely.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.
Mac, perfectly happy a moment before that, threw back his head and wailed for all he was worth.
“My daughter,” Tanner said, standing stock-still. “She’s gone.”
CHAPTER FIVE
This was the call Tanner had feared since the day Kat died. Sophie, gone missing—or worse. Now that it had actually happened, he seemed to be frozen where he stood, fighting a crazy compulsion to run in all directions at once.
Olivia handed off the baby to Brad, who’d appeared at her side instantly, and touched Tanner’s arm. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”
Before he could answer, the cell ran through its little ditty again.
He didn’t bother checking the caller ID panel. “Sophie?”
“Jack McCall,” his old friend said. “We found Sophie, buddy. She’s okay, if a little—make that a lot—disgruntled.”
Relief washed over Tanner like a tidal wave, making him sway on his feet. “She’s really all right?” Jack had been there for Tanner when Kat was killed, and if there was a blow coming, he might try to soften it.
Olivia stood looking up at him, waiting, her hand still resting lightly on his arm, fingers squeezing gently.
“She’s fine,” Jack said easily. “Like I said, she’s not real happy about being nabbed, though.”
“Where was she?” Tanner had to feel around inside his muddled brain for the question, thrust it out with force.
“Grand Central,” Jack answered. “She sneaked away from the school group while they were making their way through the crowds after the parade. Fortunately, one of my guys spotted her right away, and tailed her to the station. She was buying a
train ticket west.”
Coming home. Sophie had been trying to come home.
Brad pulled out the piano bench, and Tanner sat down heavily, tossing his friend a grateful glance.
“Question of the hour,” Jack went on. “What do we do now? She swears she’ll run away again if we take her back to school, and I believe her. The kid is serious, Tanner.”
Tanner let out a long sigh. He felt sick, light-headed, imagining all the things that could have happened to Sophie. And very, very glad when Olivia sat down on the bench beside him, her shoulder touching his. “Can you bring her here?” he asked. “To Stone Creek?”
“I’ll come with her as far as Phoenix,” Jack said. “I’ll have my people there bring her the rest of the way by helicopter. The jet’s due in L.A. by six o’clock Pacific time, and it’s a government job, high-security south-of-the-border stuff, so I can’t get out of the gig.”
Tanner glanced sidelong at Olivia. She took his hand and clasped it. “I appreciate this, Jack,” he said into the phone, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Send Sophie home.”
Olivia smiled at that. Brad let out a sigh, grinned and went back to playing host at a family Thanksgiving dinner, taking his son with him. Folks started milling toward the food, laid out buffet-style in the dining room.
“Ten-four, old buddy,” Jack said. “Maybe I’ll stop in out there and say hello on my way back from Señoritaville. Book me a room somewhere, will you? I could do with a few months of R & R.”
A few minutes before, Tanner couldn’t have imagined laughing, ever again. But he did then. “That would be good,” he said, choking up again. “Your being here, I mean. I’ll ask around, find you a place to stay.”
“Adios, amigo,” Jack told him, and rang off.
“Sophie’s okay?” Olivia asked softly.
“Until I get my hands on her, she is,” Tanner answered.
“Stay right here,” Olivia said, rising and taking off for the dining room beyond.
A short time later she was back, carrying two plates. “You need to eat,” she informed Tanner.
And that was how they shared Thanksgiving dinner, sitting on Brad O’Ballivan’s piano bench, with the living room all to themselves and blessedly quiet. Tanner was surprised to discover that he wasn’t just hungry, he was ravenous.
“Feeling better?” Olivia asked when he was finished.
“Yeah,” he answered. “But I don’t think I’m up to socializing all afternoon.”
“Me, either,” Olivia confessed. She’d only picked at her food.
“Is there a sick cow somewhere?” Tanner asked, indulging in a slight grin. After the shock Sophie had given him, he was still pretty shaken up. “That would probably serve as an excuse for getting the heck out of here.”
“They’re all ridiculously healthy today,” Olivia said.
Tanner chuckled. “Sorry to hear that,” he teased.
She laughed, but the amusement didn’t quite get as far as her eyes. Tanner wondered why the holiday made her so uncomfortable, but he didn’t figure he knew her well enough to ask. He knew why he didn’t like them—because the loss of his wife and grandmother stood out in sharp relief against all that merriment. And maybe that was Olivia’s reason, too.
“I am pretty concerned about Butterpie,” she said, as if inspired. “What do you say we steal one of the fifty-eight pumpkin pies lining Meg’s kitchen counter and head back to your barn?”
Maybe it was the release of tension. Maybe it was because Olivia looked and smelled so damn good—almost as good as she had that morning, out by the fence and then later on, in her kitchen. Either way, the place he wanted to take her wasn’t his barn.
“Okay,” he said. “But if you’re caught pie-napping, I’ll deny being in cahoots with you.”
Again that laugh, soft and musical and utterly feminine. It rang in Tanner’s brain, then lodged itself square in the center of his heart. “Fair enough,” she said.
She took their plates and left again, making for the kitchen.
Tanner found Brad standing by the sideboard in the big dining room, affably directing traffic between the food and the long table, where there was a lot of happy talk and dish clattering going on.
“Everything okay, buddy?” Brad asked, watching Tanner’s face.
“I got a little scare,” Tanner answered, shoving a hand through his hair. He knew a number of famous people, and not one of them was as down-home and levelheaded as Brad O’Ballivan. He was a man who had more than enough of everything, and knew it, and lived a comparatively simple life. “Just the same, I need a little alone time.”
Brad nodded. Caught sight of Olivia coming out of the kitchen with the purloined pie and small plastic container, stopping to speak to Meg as she passed the crowded table. His gaze swung right back to Tanner. “Alone time, huh?” he asked.
“It’s not what you think,” Tanner felt compelled to say, feeling some heat rise in his neck.
Brad arched an eyebrow. Regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re a good friend,” he said. “But I love my sister. Keep that in mind, all right?”
Tanner nodded, liking Brad even more than before. Look out for the womenfolk—it was the cowboy way. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he replied.
He and Olivia left Stone Creek Ranch at the same time, he in his too-clean red truck, she in that scruffy old Suburban. The drive to Starcross took about fifteen minutes, and Olivia was out of her rig and headed into the barn before he’d parked his pickup.
Butterpie was on her feet, Ginger rising from a stretch when Tanner caught up to Olivia in front of the stall door. Olivia opened the plastic container, revealing leftover turkey.
“Tell Butterpie Sophie’s coming home,” he said, without intending to say any such thing.
Olivia smiled, inside the stall now, letting Ginger scarf up cold turkey from the container. “I already did,” she replied. “That’s why Butterpie is up. She could use a little exercise, so let’s turn her out in the corral for a while.”
Tanner nodded, found a halter and slipped it over Butterpie’s head. Led her outside and over to the corral gate, and turned her loose.
Olivia and Ginger stood beside him, watching as the pony looked around, as if baffled to find herself outside in the last blaze of afternoon sunlight and the heretofore pristine snow. The dog barked a couple of times, as if to encourage Butterpie.
Tanner shook his head. Ridiculous, he thought. Dogs didn’t encourage horses.
He recalled finding Ginger huddled close to Butterpie in the stall earlier in the day. Or did they?
Butterpie just stood there for a while, then nuzzled through the snow for some grass.
Whether the little horse had cheered up or not, he certainly had. Butterpie hadn’t eaten anything since she’d arrived at Starcross Ranch, and now she was ready to graze. He went back into the barn and came out with a flake of hay, tossed it into the corral.
Butterpie nosed it around a bit and began to nibble.
Olivia watched for a few moments, then turned to Tanner and took smug note of the hay stuck to the front of his best suit. “You might be a real cowboy after all,” she mused, and that simple statement, much to Tanner’s amazement, pleased him almost as much as knowing Sophie was safe with his best friend, Jack McCall.
“Thanks,” he said, resting his arms on the top rail of the corral fence and watching Butterpie eat.
When the pony came to the gate, clearly ready to return to the barn, Tanner led her back to her stall and got her settled in. Olivia and Ginger followed, waiting nearby.
“So what happened with Sophie?” Olivia asked when Tanner came out of the stall.
“I’ll explain it over coffee and pie,” he said, holding his figurative breath for her answer. If Olivia decided to go home, or make rounds or something, he was going to be seriously disappointed.
“This place used to be wonderful,” Olivia said, minutes later, when they were in his kitchen, with the coffee brewing and the pie sitting on
the table between them.
Tanner wished he’d taken down the old calendar, spackled the holes in the wall from the tacks that had held up its predecessors. Replaced the flooring and all the appliances, and maybe the cupboards, too. The house still looked abandoned, he realized, even with him living in it.
What did that mean?
“I’ll fix it up,” he said. “Sell it before I move on.” It was what he always did. Buy a house, keep a careful emotional distance from it, refurbish it and put it on the market, always at a profit.
Something flickered in Olivia’s eyes. Seeing that he’d seen, she looked away, though not quickly enough.
“Did you know the previous owner well?” he asked, to get her talking again. The sound of her voice soothed him, and right then he needed soothing.
“Of course,” she said, turning the little tub of whipped cream, stolen along with the pie and the leftovers for Ginger, in an idle circle on the tabletop. “Clarence was one of Big John’s best friends. He was widowed sometime in the mid-nineties—Clarence, I mean—and after that he just lost interest in Starcross.” She paused, sighed, a small frown creasing the skin between her eyebrows. “He got rid of the livestock, cow by cow, horse by horse. He stopped doing just about everything.” Another break came then. “It’s the name, I think.”
“The name?”
“Of the ranch,” Olivia clarified. “Starcross. It’s—sad.”
Tanner found himself grinning a little. “What would you call it, Doc?” he asked. The coffee was finished, and he got up to find some cups and pour a dose for both of them.
She considered his question as if there were really a name change in the offing. “Something, well, happier,” she said as he set the coffee down in front of her, realized they’d need plates and forks for the pie and went back to the cupboards to rustle some up. “More positive and cheerful, I guess, like The Lucky Horseshoe, or The Diamond Spur. Something like that.”
Tanner had no intention of giving the ranch a new name—why go to all the trouble when he’d be leaving in a year at the longest?—but he enjoyed listening to Olivia, watching each new expression cross her face. The effect was fascinating.
A Stone Creek Collection, Volume 2 Page 7
