by Gerri Hill
“I’m pretty close to finishing the setup and the internal links. I need to get some pictures of the valley and the lake,” she said. “And of course, the bunkhouse, once it’s finished and furnished.”
“You really think people will shell out two grand for this?”
“Yes. If we give them enough to choose from. The lake, horses, fishing, hiking, all right here at their fingertips. For people who are stuck in a city, being able to spend a week out here would be heaven,” Kerry said. She eyed her. “Don’t you think so? Haven’t you enjoyed the peace and quiet after coming from New York?”
Carson nodded. “I actually came from San Francisco, but yeah.”
Kerry frowned. “I thought you lived in Manhattan.”
“I have an apartment there, but I met a friend in San Francisco. We were going to spend a couple of weeks there.”
“A special friend?”
“Special? You mean a lover?”
Kerry nodded, and Carson was fascinated at the way Kerry’s expression changed, as if just saying the word put a charge in the air around them.
“I don’t have a lover,” Carson said. “Rebecca is the woman who took me in when I first landed in New York way back when. We’ve remained good friends.”
She expected Kerry to ask her why she didn’t have a lover, but she didn’t. Kerry’s gaze was suddenly shy as she occupied her hands by folding the foil neatly and placing it on the empty plate. Carson tried to read her expression, curious as to what thoughts were running through her mind, but Kerry kept them masked. She felt a need to ease the tension somewhat, but she doubted her next question would do it.
“Do you have a lover?”
Kerry’s eyes flew to hers as a blush lit her face. “No, I...no,” she said simply. “I’m...I don’t.”
The look between them was so intense that Carson could actually feel a crackling in the air. Kerry must have felt it too as the color of her eyes darkened but Carson never looked away. That was the moment that it became clear to her—and most likely clear to Kerry as well—that their relationship had definitely taken a turn. Sure, Carson could pretend there wasn’t an attraction between them, she could deny it, run from it, hide from it. She could be the one to change the course and steer them back down the road to friendship. She could turn away from this and leave Kerry alone, let Cody make his play for her affections.
But Carson wasn’t going to do that. She didn’t think Kerry would let her do that. Kerry showed no sign that she was running scared.
Mr. Burris called for Kerry, breaking the spell between them. She wasn’t sure if it was relief or regret in Kerry’s eyes as she stood. She took several steps away, then turned back to her.
“Thank you for breakfast, Carson.”
Carson nodded, her gaze following Kerry as she joined Mr. Burris inside the bunkhouse. Carson let out a deep breath, just now aware that her pulse had been racing.
Chapter Twenty-One
After her shower—which she’d drawn out as long as she could—and after drying her hair thoroughly, Kerry nervously made her way downstairs for dinner. She hadn’t seen Carson since their impromptu breakfast picnic, and she wasn’t entirely certain who had been avoiding whom. To say their conversation had rattled her would be an understatement. But was it the words or the looks? Or was it the electricity that seemed to pass between them so easily? She knew Carson felt it too. Her eyes just pulled her in and Kerry couldn’t look away, couldn’t—wouldn’t—break the spell. Her heart had been pounding in her chest, and it was with perfect clarity that she saw them together...as lovers.
She nearly stumbled over the last step as the image remained in her mind, and she paused, trying to shake it. She was so lost in these thoughts that she gasped as Mr. Cartwright’s nurse appeared, carrying a plate and a bottle of water up the stairs.
Kerry simply nodded as the nurse passed by her without a word, her pace brisk. The encounter was enough to somewhat derail thoughts of Carson from her mind. She went in search of Martha.
“Smells wonderful,” Kerry said, leaning over Martha’s shoulder as she stirred the stew.
“I think it turned out great,” Martha said. “The bread is warming.”
Kerry took a glass and filled it with water. “I met the nurse on the stairs,” she said. “That’s only the second time I’ve seen her.”
“Oh, she doesn’t talk much. She made it clear she was only here for Mr. Cartwright. She wasn’t here to socialize or make friends,” she said. “Only comes down to collect meals. Of course, it’s only for her now. He hasn’t eaten in days.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No. Not since they brought him back from the hospital. The nurse does everything for him, including changing his sheets. I just do the laundry and bring it back up.”
“Carson seems to think it’ll be any day now,” she said.
“Yes. Chance told me that when he left. It must be a terrible feeling riding away, knowing your father will most likely die while you’re gone,” Martha said. “They were all close.”
“Were they?” Kerry really hadn’t gotten that impression at all. Or maybe since he’d been sick for so long, they’d just accepted his dying and had the chance to prepare for it.
“Well, he was a difficult man, abrasive with them sometimes, but he was still their father,” she said. “They were always respectful to him.”
Kerry didn’t say anything, but she knew that respecting someone and deeply loving them were two completely different things. When Carson had told the story of her mother dying, the pain and anguish in her voice, in her eyes, spoke of a truly loving relationship. She felt none of that between the brothers and their father.
“Have you seen Carson?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could. Martha glanced at her, a smile on her face, as she covered the stew pot again. Kerry remembered their conversation from that morning and hoped Martha wouldn’t bring that up again.
“She went upstairs earlier. You didn’t see her?”
“No. Actually, I haven’t seen her since breakfast,” she said, hoping that would signal to Martha that they weren’t spending all that much time together.
“Oh? I thought she had been with you all day. She wasn’t around here. I just assumed she was at the bunkhouse.”
“No. Maybe the stables. She’s reconnected with Windstorm, her old horse,” she said vaguely.
“What about Windstorm?”
Kerry turned, finding Carson leaning casually in the doorway. Kerry’s eyes followed the length of her, noting clean jeans and moccasin loafers. When their eyes met, she had to catch her breath. It was still there. That look. She swallowed, struggling to find words. Finally Carson released her, her eyebrows rising slightly as she smiled. Kerry let out her breath, returning her smile shyly.
“Miss Kerry said she hadn’t seen you all day,” Martha said, picking up the conversation that had lagged. “She thought maybe you’d been at the stables.”
“I was. Windstorm probably hasn’t been brushed so much in years as the last two days,” she said. “He loves it.” She went to the stove and lifted the pot, sniffing appreciatively. “Smells wonderful, Martha. Stew?”
“And homemade bread,” Martha said, taking the lid from Carson and shushing her away. “Everything is ready, so whenever you are.”
“I’m starved,” Carson said.
“That’s because you missed lunch,” Martha fussed. “I have sandwiches every day. You should come in at noon and get one.”
Carson smiled at Kerry. “I guess you got one?”
“Yes. Egg salad today.”
Kerry went to the cabinet for bowls, but Martha took them from her. “Put that down, young lady. That is my job. I’ll serve you in the dining room.”
“You don’t have to serve us, Martha. With the guys gone, this could be a nice break for you,” she said.
“Thank you, but I don’t need a break. I’ve enjoyed being able to cook things the boys aren’t too fond of. That’s enough break f
or me.”
“Come on,” Carson said. “Let’s check out their wine stash and see if we can find a nice bottle for dinner.”
After much debate—neither of them being experts on wine—they settled on a cabernet sauvignon. But Martha, playing up to her role, took the bottle from them and firmly told them to sit while she served them. To both of their surprise, the dining room was dimly lit with two candles flickering between them. Kerry really thought Martha was enjoying herself a bit too much and suspected that Martha was simply satisfying her curiosity about what was happening between the two women. Kerry glanced up, finding Carson’s eyes on her. She held her gaze—how could she not? To say she was in a dangerous, foreign place would be an understatement. But she was feeling no panic, no fear. Only uncertainty.
“Did you make progress on the bunkhouse?” Carson asked.
Kerry nodded, taking a sip from her wine. “They’ve got it all out. Tomorrow they start with the new plumbing.”
“And how long will it all take?”
“I’m guessing two months. They have plumbing to do for the two new bathrooms. That’ll be first. Then frames for the new bedrooms. I still haven’t decided on the floors yet.”
“Here you go, ladies,” Martha said as she brought in the serving tray. She placed the freshly baked bread between them along with pats of butter, then gave them both a steaming bowl of the beef stew. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison, then smiled at each other. Kerry mentally rolled her eyes, amused at how corny she suddenly felt.
Their dinner conversation was sparse, forced and they both seemed to be searching for a topic that was impersonal...and safe. Kerry had so many questions to ask, so many things she wanted to know about Carson but she kept them to herself. Personal questions always seemed to lead them in a direction that she wasn’t certain she was ready to go. Not yet. Carson seemed to sense this as she, too, talked abstractly, never bringing the conversation back to them.
That didn’t mean the tension in the room lessened any. If anything, it grew thicker as they danced around the subject. Their glances lingered as the silence stretched out, both, finally, at a loss for words.
Carson pushed her bowl away and took her wineglass. “Do you want to talk, Kerry?”
Kerry’s eyes flew to hers, surprised that Carson would be so bold. What would they talk about? This attraction that Kerry couldn’t seem to find a place for? Or perhaps the heat that flowed so easily between them? Or maybe Kerry could give a boring litany of her past boyfriends to try and reiterate that she wasn’t in the least attracted to this beautiful woman sitting across from her. But in the end, she shook her head. No, she wasn’t ready to talk.
“I really need to work on the website,” she said. “In fact, I should probably head up now.” She finished her last sip of wine then stood. She paused before leaving, their eyes again seeking, finding each other. Carson’s were filled with questions and Kerry nearly gave in. Yes, they needed to talk. But she was still too afraid to broach the subject, too scared to say it out loud, to bring voice to it all. So she nodded, then hurried from the room.
She nearly ran up the stairs as if she could run from her feelings, leaving them behind with Carson, but she could not. She closed the door to her bedroom and leaned against it. How could there be more tension, not less, when they hadn’t said a word about what was happening between them?
Kerry closed her eyes, for a moment wishing the brothers were back. At least there would be some kind of buffer then, instead of them being totally alone.
Though alone they were, at least for another four days. She knew they wouldn’t last four days without talking about it. She doubted they could make even one more.
Carson sat alone in the study, twirling the glass of scotch between her hands. Dinner had been a tedious affair—she’d seen the confusion in Kerry’s eyes. She knew Kerry was struggling with what was happening. She thought maybe they could talk about it but knew now that it was a silly offer. To talk about it would make it real, it would mean Kerry acknowledged the attraction between them. No, Kerry obviously wasn’t ready for that. Kerry would rather still pretend it didn’t exist when they both knew it did.
Subconsciously, Carson wondered if she didn’t want the same thing. Pretending to have only a platonic interest in each other might prove to be the wisest choice, if not the most difficult.
She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, trying to recall another time when a woman was able to capture her senses like Kerry had. She wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t remember any. She knew there had been none. She always thought it was because she wasn’t interested in anything but sex. She didn’t want any attachments, emotional or otherwise. It had been effortless, really. Never once was she tempted to prolong an affair because her heart was involved. It simply never was.
Yet here she was, feeling an emotional connection with Kerry and she wasn’t running scared. Not yet. The fact that Kerry had never been with a woman before should have been enough to halt her in her tracks. Add to that Cody’s interest, Carson knew she should leave well enough alone.
She also knew that wasn’t possible. It was too strong between them. Kerry knew it. She knew it. And it wouldn’t surprise her if even Martha knew it.
Tomorrow, they would talk. She would get Kerry alone. She would make her talk.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With intentions of getting up earlier and perhaps joining Kerry for breakfast, Carson found herself still in bed when the sun broke through the pane of her window, hitting her in the face. She didn’t need to look at her watch to know she had missed Kerry. She rolled over, staring at the ceiling, thinking maybe it was a good thing she had overslept. She doubted Kerry would be in the mood to talk first thing in the morning.
She lingered through her shower, no longer feeling the need to hurry. In fact, by the time she finished in the bathroom she’d nearly convinced herself that there really was no need to have that talk with Kerry. Maybe it was best to just let nature takes its course, let things go where they may.
Let Kerry talk if she wanted to. No need to force her into it.
Probably not the wisest decision she’d ever made, but it certainly lightened her mood. She grabbed a fresh-baked muffin from a plate in the kitchen to go with her coffee. She heard Martha in the laundry room whistling along with a song on the radio. For a moment, Carson was taken back, picturing her mother doing the exact same thing, although singing, not whistling. It was a thought that made her smile and she was surprised that the edges of it were no longer bathed in sadness. Before, thoughts of her mother would rarely bring a smile. That, too, had changed since she’d been back. She was able to get past her grief and remember the goodness of those memories.
“Oh, Miss Carson, I didn’t hear you come down,” Martha said, her arms laden with folded towels. “You found the muffins?”
“Yes. Very good. You like to bake?”
“I like to make breads and such. Not big on cakes.” She headed out, then stopped as she turned back to Carson. “I heard on the radio that we’ll get a strong storm tonight. You think the guys will be okay?”
“Yes. That’s why they left Sunday. Chance wanted to make the next valley before the storm hit. They’ll ride it out there then head up again once the threat of lightning is over,” she said.
“Good. Oh, and Miss Kerry is out at the bunkhouse.” She smiled. “I guess you already figured that out.”
Carson nearly laughed at Martha’s attempt to be subtle. But her suspicions were answered. Martha wasn’t dumb.
After her second cup of coffee, she made her way down to the stables. Windstorm was waiting for her, his low whinny making her laugh.
“Didn’t take you long to get spoiled,” she said. She hopped into the pen and stood still. He, like before, circled her, his large head bumping against her as he sniffed out the carrot in her back pocket. He pulled it out deftly, crunching it loudly between his teeth. Carson wondered how long it would
be before Martha knew she’d been stealing from her vegetable stash.
She rubbed his neck as she looked out over the valley, seeing low clouds building to the west. If she wanted to get a ride in today she’d better do it early.
“How about it, Windstorm? You feel up for a ride?”
She led him into a stall then eyed the mare Kerry had ridden the other day. Maybe she’d steal her away for an hour or so. Surely Mr. Burris would be thankful. So she saddled up both horses and led them to the bunkhouse where the constant banging of the last two days had ceased.
Kerry was inside, sitting alone as she studied what Carson assumed were the remodeling plans. She looked up when she felt Carson watching her.
“Hey,” she said, smiling immediately.
Carson motioned out the door. “Come ride with me.”
She noticed the hesitation and thought Kerry would decline but she nodded.
“Let me just tell Mr. Burris.”
Carson went outside to wait, feeling a touch of apprehension, when really, she had no reason to be nervous. They would take a quick ride through the valley, maybe see if the old trail was still there to the Conley’s ranch. There was nothing to be nervous about.
“I think I should be offended,” Kerry said when she joined her.
“How so?”
“Mr. Burris smiled and his eyes lit up when I said I was leaving.”
“Have you been badgering him?”
Kerry climbed onto the saddle, leaning over to pat the mare on the neck. “I wouldn’t call it badgering. I’m simply making sure he does everything as planned,” she said.
“In other words, you’re underfoot,” Carson stated with a laugh. “Yeah, he’s probably doing cartwheels now that I’ve stolen you away.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Kerry asked. “Stealing me away?”
While their tone was teasing, playful, there was an underlying seriousness in their words. Carson didn’t shy away from it.
