by Judith Bowen
She shivered, looking out the sunroom window at the long stretch of frozen pasture to the east and south. Way in the distance, she could see reddish brown dots. Cattle, probably. This was rural! The snow dumped so far hadn’t stayed, and the weather had been glorious—crisp, cold and sunny.
Zoey had a peanut-butter-and-cucumber sandwich on rye for her supper and settled down to work. She heard a vehicle drive past about half past nine as she sat at the table in the living room, trying to make sense of the first chapter of this book, which was about danger on the high seas, Caribbean skullduggery, kidnapping, murder, an impossibly rich and beautiful heiress and an ancient Egyptian curse. She’d read this chapter, such as it was, several times already. Chinchilla might be one of the world’s most wonderful storytellers, but she didn’t know diddly about spelling or grammar or syntax.
Ryan?
She peeked out the curtains, staring into the darkness. There were lots of lights on up at the house; perhaps Melissa wasn’t in bed yet. She’d seen the child when Cameron had brought her home that afternoon, skipping and chattering beside him, going directly into the house without even a curious glance toward the apartment. Had they told her about the stranger living over the garage?
Zoey felt like a peeper. Or a mad relative hidden away from the neighbors. She had to fight the urge to look out the window every time she heard a sound. A dog. A car door. An airplane overhead. It was so quiet here that any noise seemed not only more noticeable than in her downtown Toronto apartment, but more significant. Zoey sighed. Maybe she’d get used to it. The main thing was to focus, concentrate on her work. All this other stuff was only a distraction. Interesting, but still a distraction.
She’d just returned to her desk with a cup of hot milk, thinking about packing it in and going to bed, when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs outside. Footsteps in twos and threes. There was a bang on her door.
“Zoey!”
She peered out the small glass square in the door, then unlocked and opened it.
“Zo-ey, ba-by!” Ryan was grinning as he stepped into the apartment, swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Man, this is terrific news! Cam just told me. I don’t know why he didn’t say something earlier, the old son-of-a-gun. Thought he’d surprise me, I guess.” He held her away from him, his eyes devouring her hungrily. Then he looked around the room. “Everything okay? Can I get you anything? Warm enough?”
He stepped away from her and bent to check the thermostat on the electric baseboard heaters that ran around the room. “I see they’re working fine. Good!”
He glanced at her cup, and she suddenly remembered her manners. “Would you like something to drink?”
“What are you having?”
“Hot milk.”
“Hot milk!” He laughed and shook his head. “No thanks. Now if that was a glass of brandy, maybe. Hell, I just wanted to come over tonight and welcome you to the ranch. Cam’s a terrific guy, eh? Doesn’t say much,” he said, winking at her, “but he’s got his head screwed on straight.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Zoey said simply. Obviously, Ryan didn’t have a clue as to the original reason Cameron had invited her. “It’s perfect for me.”
“Perfect for me, too. I like the idea of you being nearby where I can keep an eye on you.” Ryan moved toward her and kissed her mouth softly. “Sweet dreams, Zoey. See you in the morning.”
And with that he was gone, clattering back down the stairs. Zoey touched her lips gingerly, stunned. He’d kissed her—again!
Sweet dreams, indeed.
RYAN HAMMERED on her door again before she was dressed the next morning. She’d just settled down in the sunroom in her bathrobe and slippers with a bowl of Froot-Loops when she heard the same thump-thump up the stairs outside.
She let him in, feeling a little grumpy. She hadn’t even brushed her hair yet. He could have waited. It was barely nine o’clock.
“’Morning, sunshine,” he said, with his trademark grin, and thrust a handful of frostbitten flowers at her. Asters, chrysanthemums, a few straggling marigolds—they must’ve come from the Triple Oarlock flower beds.
“Thank you.” She took them from him. How thoughtful! They might be considerably past their prime, but you couldn’t fault a man who brought flowers.
“A welcome bouquet.” Ryan scanned the room. “They’re not the greatest but this place could stand some livening up, don’t you think?”
He walked into the kitchen area and picked up the coffeepot, reaching into the cupboard for a mug. A devious thought struck her—was this his little love nest? He seemed to know his way around. Cameron had said he saw a lot of women.
He was her guest now. This was her place. She needed to make that clear. She stuffed the flowers into a pitcher and went to the refrigerator. “Cream? Sugar?” she asked.
“A little cream. No sugar,” he said, then flashed her his easy grin. “I’m sweet enough as it is.” Zoey had the impression he’d used that worn-out line many times before.
“Would you like a piece of cake?” she asked. “I’ve got some frozen Sara Lee.”
“Just coffee.” He strolled toward the paned windows in the sunroom. “I like what you’ve done in here, moving things around. Makes it homey.”
“I hope you won’t mind if I finish my breakfast,” she said, somewhat stiffly. He was overwhelming her with his big, handsome and very physical presence. She needed perspective. Romantic potential was one thing, but bursting in at the crack of dawn and taking over her life was another. “I’m a bit of a late riser,” she added lamely, wishing it sounded less like an apology.
“No problem.” Ryan studied the apartment again. “What about the phone? You got it hooked up yet?”
“I’ve got my cell,” Zoey said.
“No big deal to hook this up. I’ll call the company on Monday.”
“Oh.” Zoey took another bite of her cereal, feeling a little uneasy. He was definitely taking over. “No, I think I’ll just use the cell.”
She stared at his back. He stood at the window, gazing to the east, sipping his coffee. Jeans, flannel work shirt, sheepskin vest, gray woolly work socks—he’d left his boots at the door, which she felt was quite thoughtful of him. Typical Cariboo-Chilcotin guy gear. “Mary Ellen know you’re living here now?” he asked suddenly, turning around.
“Yes,” Zoey said. “I saw her two days ago. This has all been…rather a rush.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “I know Cam. He decides, he acts. Bam!” He snapped his fingers. “Mary Ellen like the idea?”
Zoey frowned and swallowed a mouthful of cereal. “What idea?”
“You livin’ out here?”
Zoey shrugged. “She seemed fine with it. Why?”
“We’ll have to do some stuff together, you and me and her.” Ryan rubbed his hands together briskly. “What do you say? Just like old times.”
Zoey was glad he was including them both. It could be lonely for Mary Ellen if she was stuck out there with only her stepmother for company until the wedding.
She felt a tiny cold shock. Does that sound like a man ready to revive a romantic relationship? With one woman—her?
Oh, who cares! She spooned up the last Froot-Loop sticking to the side of the bowl. She was reading far too much into everything. Cameron’s idea had sent her rushing headlong down what could very well be a dead-end trail. Sure, she might be interested in reestablishing a relationship with Ryan—well, maybe. She hadn’t decided a hundred percent yet. But she had to be careful to read the signs from him, too. He was a flirt; he was exuberant. Maybe he hugged and kissed every woman he met.
“Why don’t we do something this afternoon? Drive around.” He put his empty mug down on the table and thrust his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “How about it? You and me and Mary Ellen?”
“Sounds great.”
“Okay.” Ryan ruffled her sleep-mussed hair as he walked by, the way an adult did with a child, and opened the door. “Two o’clock? We
can go for a drive up the valley or go to Pete’s for ice cream. Cam’s got me busy around here all morning, so I can’t leave any earlier. You want to call Mary Ellen?” His eyes settled on her. “Or you want me to?”
“I’ll call her,” Zoey said, gathering up her bowl and spoon and Ryan’s mug. “Two o’clock. See you then. Why don’t we take Lissy with us if she’s home?”
“Good idea.”
Things were moving faster than she’d thought possible. Zoey didn’t know whether to be pleased or not. Ryan was showing some interest, as Cameron had maintained he would. But was it romantic interest?
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the Owen place, Mary Ellen was covering some flower beds with straw at the foot of a tall willow growing on the margin of the creek. Ryan insisted they stop by, even though Zoey hadn’t been able to get through on the phone.
“Hi!” Mary Ellen said, carrying her rake and approaching the window of Ryan’s Blazer.
“You’re finished here. Come with us,” Ryan invited, leaning over Zoey to speak out the open passenger window. “We’re just going to Pete’s for an ice cream—” he nodded significantly toward the back seat “—and then we’re going for a little drive. Lissy and I’ll show you two the valley, the new ball park, how things have changed around here. Just in case you want to move back someday.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I should leave.” Mary Ellen glanced worriedly toward the house. “Edith’s napping. I’d better stay—”
“Get in,” Ryan ordered, in a mock growl and with the smile that no woman—including Zoey—had ever been able to resist. “Edith’s fine for an hour or two. What do you think she does when you’re not here?”
Mary Ellen bit her lip. “Okay. I’ll leave a note.” She disappeared into the double-wide and emerged a few minutes later with a fleecy jacket slung over her shoulder.
She got into the back with Lissy and Zoey noticed that the child warmed to her almost immediately. Maybe it was the fact that Mary Ellen had pulled a roll of Lifesavers out of her pocket. Or that she took off one of her rings and let Lissy play with it. Or maybe Mary Ellen just knew what to do around kids. Zoey didn’t. So far, Lissy had been polite but had basically ignored her.
“My mom was a dancer,” Lissy announced loudly, holding up her hand to show off the ring on her middle finger. “She’s in-fam-ous. Aunt Marty said so.”
“Oh? Well, that’s just great!” Mary Ellen said. Zoey wondered at the pronunciation—famous or in- famous? She glanced at Ryan, whose hands had tightened on the steering wheel.
“Never mind all that, Lissy. We’re nearly at Pete’s. What kind of ice cream do you want?”
Lissy ignored her uncle. “My mom was the prettiest thing ever, that’s what my dad says.” She glared defiantly at Zoey when Zoey turned her head to look back at her. “You have to be really, really pretty to be a dancer, you know.”
“I know that, Lissy,” Mary Ellen murmured, tousling the child’s hair. “Almost as pretty as you.”
Lissy giggled, pulling off the ring.
“Here.” Mary Ellen stuck out her finger and Lissy carefully slipped the ring back on.
“Is that a ring for getting married?” the girl asked, eyes wide and serious.
“No, it’s not,” Mary Ellen said, flexing her hand and smiling down at the turquoise stone. “I got it from someone special, though.”
“A man friend?” Ryan asked from the front seat.
“You could say that,” Mary Ellen replied. “My dad. No, honey,” she added, speaking directly to the girl, “I’ve never been married.”
“Hoo!” Lissy said, making a funny face. “And you’re so old, too!” The adults laughed and Zoey thought Ryan seemed relieved that the subject had veered to a lighter one. Obviously, talk about Lissy’s mother was not welcome. Why?
“Are you going to marry my dad now?” the child asked innocently. Zoey hardly dared to meet Mary Ellen’s amused eyes.
“I’m not marrying anybody. Not just yet. Even though I am so old.”
“What about her?” Lissy pointed at Zoey.
“Marrying your dad? Nope.” Mary Ellen shook her head. “Nobody’s gettin’ married to nobody,” she said, ungrammatically and with emphasis. “We’re all just friends here.”
“How about him?” The girl pointed at the back of Ryan’s head. “My uncle. Is she gonna marry him?”
Zoey felt her face flush. Normally she’d just laugh off a question like that, especially from a kid. But considering the scheme she’d discussed with Cameron…
Mary Ellen made a big production out of whispering loudly, so that Zoey and Ryan could hear. “Maybe we’d better ask them. What do you think?”
Lissy giggled and gripped her toy cat more tightly. “Guess so!” she whispered back.
“Pete’s place comin’ up on the left!” Ryan boomed out, and the little girl laughed as they turned the last corner. Zoey felt the tension slip away. Between the girl’s embarrassing questions about who was going to marry whom and the topic of her absent mother—a dancer, no less!—the atmosphere had been thick enough to cut for a few moments there. Zoey wondered what kind of dancer the child’s mother was. She could guess. Elizabeth had said Cameron had met her in a bar.
The adults had sundaes and Lissy ordered a double-decker banana and bubble-gum cone, chocolate-dipped. When they’d finished, Ryan drove out into the country north of Stoney Creek. The trees were bare, but there were patches of green from the spruce and pine trees and the occasional ragged flash of red from a mountain ash, still loaded with scarlet berries.
The mountains looked so close and yet so distant. The air was clear and clean. And cold. The mountains were brilliant with fresh snow, snow that hadn’t reached the valley yet.
Mmm. Zoey breathed deeply, letting her hair blow in the wind from the partly opened window. This was heaven.
THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Zoey turned down two invitations from Ryan. One was to a movie, which she didn’t mind missing at all. She had painful memories of that old Rialto Theater, most of which involved Ryan holding her hand and whispering in her ear while Adele Martinez looked on from a few rows behind.
The other invitation was to accompany him to a neighboring ranch to load a bull that the Triple Oarlock was borrowing. That was even easier to decline. Later, Zoey was surprised to hear that Mary Ellen had gone with him, but then she remembered that she’d lived around Stoney Creek a lot longer than Zoey had and knew a lot more people. One of their classmates, Patricia Somebody-or-Other, was married to the rancher who owned the bull.
Zoey had to keep her mind on business. It was all very well to pretend that this was a lark, that she was out to “snag” the high-school heartthrob all over again, but the fact was, she had a living to earn. And a wedding cake to produce. She’d meant to ask Elizabeth about recipes on Sunday when she’d had dinner with the Nugents. She’d also meant to have a heart-to-heart about Ryan Donnelly and get Elizabeth’s advice. With Arthur or one of the girls around every single second of her visit, Zoey hadn’t been able to raise either subject.
The manuscript was painfully slow going. Zoey spent four straight days and evenings working on the first three chapters, with one short trip to town to buy milk, eggs and some fast food. From experience, Zoey knew that after a solid week of intensive work on a Chinchilla manuscript, things tended to fall into place. She hoped this one would follow the same pattern.
On Wednesday evening, after a quick meal of oven-heated leftover pizza, a glass of milk and a handful of raisins and raw carrots, Zoey slipped outdoors for a walk to clear her head. She had a little route worked out—down to the mailbox at the end of the lane, a good half mile or so, past a line of tall trees, leafless at this time of year, past some frozen pasture and across a Texas gate, which kept livestock on the ranch proper, then back again. The cold air was invigorating. When she returned in the thickening dusk forty-five minutes later, chilled and ready for a hot drink, someone was sitting at the top of the stairs to her
apartment.
Her heart leaped, then she recognized a familiar silhouette as he stood.
“Surprised to see me?”
“I am,” she said. She’d seen very little of Ryan’s brother since she’d moved in. He always seemed to be busy somewhere on the ranch or in town or working in his office. She trudged to the top of the stairs, then fumbled for her key in her jacket pocket. “I don’t get many visitors.”
“We don’t lock our doors around here,” he said, waiting for her to use the key.
“Well, I do.” He followed her inside and she flicked on several lights. Her apartment, she thought proudly, was looking quite homey. The fresh flowers she’d bought in town the day before glowed on the nondescript coffee table and the radio she kept on low for company was—unfortunately—oozing some schmaltzy instrumental. Sexy and intimate. His eyes met hers. “Expecting someone?”
Zoey couldn’t read his expression. Was he serious? Joking? Expecting to find some strange suitor hiding in a corner somewhere?
“No, not expecting anyone,” she said, snapping on two more lamps to dispel the dim, almost expectant atmosphere. “Sit down. Can I get you some coffee? Herbal tea? I’ve got chamomile and peppermint.” One to perk her up, one to put her to sleep.
“Coffee sounds good. Thanks.”
He took the upholstered chair, which left the sofa for her. She moved toward the tiny kitchen area, conscious that he was watching her.
“Milk and sugar?”
“Both.”
She reached for a mug, trying to think of a possible reason for this visit. “I suppose Marty’s angry with me.”
“Angry?”
“For missing dinner last night?” She looked at him quickly, then poured the coffee she’d perked and put in the vacuum jug much earlier, around four o’clock. “I did apologize this morning, but…” She let her words trail off.
“No idea.” He accepted the evil-looking brew, only faintly lightened by a good dollop of coffee cream. Zoey wished now that she’d made a fresh pot, but he wouldn’t be staying long. Surely.
