by R. C. Ryan
She looked up at that moment and caught him staring. A hint of color flooded her cheeks. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She set aside the document. “There’s coffee.”
“I’ve had enough.” He crossed the room and ran a hand along the rustic slab of hardwood that served as a mantel over the fireplace. Like every other article of furniture in the house it was littered with framed photographs layered in dust. Apparently nothing had been cleaned since the death of Cory’s mother months ago.
Her tone betrayed nerves. “Any sign of our intruder?”
Jake turned, leaning a hip against the massive stone surround and crossing his arms over his chest. “He must have tried to break into the barn before starting on the house. He left pry marks in the wood. I’m glad you padlocked the door.”
“Thanks to your grandfather.” She caught the pensive look on his face. “Is there something else?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to get into the mind of an intruder. Why the interest in your car? It’s a rental.”
She gave a shake of her head. “I don’t have a clue.”
He prowled the room, pausing to study an assortment of rocks that spilled over a round wooden table, and a beautifully crafted saddle slung carelessly over a bench in the corner.
“You said that your father didn’t collect anything of value.”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
Again that shrug. “Just looking for a motive.”
She smiled. “Now you sound like a prosecutor.”
His smile came quickly. “Anyone in particular?”
“I’ve come up against some of the best.”
“And won, I bet.”
Her smile widened. “Some of the time. I pride myself on winning.”
“Did your father follow your criminal law career?”
Her smile was gone in an instant, leaving Jake to regret his question. But it was too late to take it back.
“I never heard from him. I doubt he had time, considering the number of women in his life.” Her tone lowered with sarcasm. “With his track record, you have to wonder why he kept bothering to marry them.”
Jake winked. “Maybe he thought the third time was the charm.”
That had Meg chuckling, unable to hold on to her anger. “I never thought of that.”
“Or maybe he was beginning to figure out where he’d gone wrong, and decided just once to make things right.”
She snorted. “He had a funny way of showing it. My mother told me that his second wife walked away with a fortune after enduring only a couple of years of his nasty temper. I can’t imagine what he thought he’d learned from that mess that would have him taking a third wife, and a mere girl at that.”
Jake wandered across the room and dropped down into a deep, upholstered chair. “Maybe he was lonely and looking for someone to fill the void.”
“Whatever.” She tossed aside the document and began tapping the pen on the desktop. “I don’t really care what he was thinking. Right now, my only concern is dealing with the mess he left behind.”
“Are you talking about the ranch? Or Cory?”
She gave a deep sigh. “Both. I hate the thought of auctioning off all the things my father loved. This land. The cattle. Even his tools and equipment in the barns. But I don’t see that I have any choice. As for Cory, I keep trying to imagine him in D.C. with me and…” Her words trailed off with a sad little shrug.
Jake nodded. “I can see where it might seem like a mountain to climb.” He smiled. “Speaking of mountains… Did I tell you that my brother Josh is an expert climber? He’s the one the rangers call on whenever they can’t locate a lost hiker in the Tetons.”
She gave him a steady look. “That’s fascinating. I’m impressed. Your family is pretty unique. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Just thinking out loud. The thing is that Josh claims that when he’s got a dangerous climb ahead of him, he does the same thing we all do every time we have to go somewhere.”
Instead of asking the logical question, she merely raised an eyebrow.
Jake’s smile grew. “One step at a time.”
“Gee, thanks for those words of wisdom.”
He chuckled. “What I’m getting at is this: You have a father to bury, a will to be read. You have a working ranch, and all that goes with it. You have a little brother, a stranger to you, who knows no other life than ranching. And you hope to deal with all of this in a week. As a bright young lawyer, just what advice would you give to a client facing those issues?”
She dropped the pen and steepled her hands atop the desk.
Jake could see the wheels turning in her clever mind.
“The first part is certainly straightforward enough. My client should bury her father and request a copy of the legal will.”
Jake could see Meg digging deeper.
“After that I’d tell my client to have at least two legal assessments of the value of the estate, and weigh that against the latest profit-and-loss statements filed by the deceased on his annual IRS statement. I’d determine the current market value of the cattle, the equipment, the contents of the barns, and any crops that might be grown and harvested annually. Deduct the cost of maintaining and operating said ranch against the money it earns, and it’s an easy decision whether it’s worth more sold or retained.”
Her voice was growing stronger with every sentence, and Jake could now glimpse just how effective she would be as a legal advisor.
“And finally, I’d have my investigative team do a complete background check on the newly acquired brother and his mother’s family, to see if there are other blood relatives involved. That would give her a clearer picture of not only the boy’s past, but of his future going forward with or without her.”
“And the deadline?”
“Ah. The deadline.” Meg laughed. “Very good, Dr. Conway. As we both know, the deadline is self-imposed. Therefore, my client ought to step back from that timetable and decide to move at a pace that will allow her to process all the information available and make her decisions based on what is prudent rather than what is expedient.”
Jake nodded in appreciation. “You have a remarkable mind, counselor. It’s fun to watch you in action.”
Meg flushed. “I guess I got carried away.”
“Don’t apologize. I think your advice was dead on.” He stood and pressed a hand to the small of his back. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll pour myself another cup of coffee. It’s going to be a long night.” He walked to the door and paused to look back. “Would you like a cup?”
“No, thanks.” She glanced at the document lying atop the desk. “I think I’ve strained my eyes and my brain enough for tonight. Maybe I’ll just catch a little rest over there on the sofa.”
Jake walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he drank it, he stood at the window and stared at the stars in the predawn sky.
At least now Meg was thinking more clearly. A ranch of this size couldn’t be dismantled and sold off piece by piece within a matter of weeks. Nor should it be, even if it were a possibility. As the owner, Meg needed to evaluate just what she had and what it was worth, not only in dollar value, but in sentiment, as well.
Hopefully, after giving it careful thought, she would begin to realize that the time spent here would offer her the best opportunity to make peace with her childhood.
And maybe, he thought, Cory could help her see, through his eyes, just what she had once loved and lost.
He drained his cup and set it in the sink before turning out the kitchen light and climbing the stairs. He moved along the darkened hallway until he came to a closed door. Opening it gently, he crossed to the bed. In the moonlight spilling through the window he studied the sleeping boy.
Cory lay on his stomach, one arm curled over his head, the other tucked under his chest. One foot dangled over the edge of the mattress.
On the night table beside his bed was a Louisville Slugger.
Jake picked up the scarred, old wooden baseball bat, noting the initials P S carved into the handle. A smile lit his eyes. Porter had given his son a treasure from his own childhood.
Jake’s smile faded when it occurred to him that Cory had placed the bat within reach, if he should have a need for it during the night. It was no longer just a father’s treasured memento. It was the son’s protection, should the intruder break in again and make it up the stairs.
Jake felt an overwhelming sense of fury at the stranger who had stolen this boy’s sense of security. Even in his father’s home, in his very bed, Cory didn’t feel safe.
Jake eased the boy’s foot onto the mattress before drawing the covers over him.
Cory shifted and sighed, and Jake brushed a lock of hair from his eyes before turning away.
He closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it, before heading down the stairs.
Meg settled herself on the sofa before drawing a faded afghan over her bare feet.
She’d forgotten how cool the nights were here in Wyoming. Back in D.C. the daytime temperature was unbearable in spring and summer, and even the nighttime couldn’t cool the hot, muggy air.
She hunched deeper into her father’s coat and was startled by the sudden realization that she could smell him in its folds. He’d no doubt worn this only days ago, and the scent of him lingered, tugging at her heart, thrusting her back to the days when Porter Stanford had been the most important person in her young life.
So big and strong and handsome. A tough, take-no-prisoners cowboy who ran herd over the people in his life with the same sense of purpose as he did his cattle.
In Porter’s world there were no gray areas. Only black and white. Whether it was a sick animal that had to be treated to a strong dose of medicine quickly and humanely, or a little girl wailing over a portion of barbed-wire fencing that had imbedded itself in her thigh, he reacted without hesitation.
She moved aside the cowhide to touch a finger to the scar on her thigh. She winced as she thought about how fiercely her father had reacted in her moment of pain and panic. It had been her tenth birthday, and she had begged her father to allow her to ride with him and the wranglers, instead of being forced to remain with her mother, who was nursing one of her headaches. Strawberry had thrown her from the saddle directly onto a section of fencing that one of the wranglers had just torn down behind the barn. She’d let out a terrible wail, and when Porter had recognized the seriousness of the situation, he’d reacted without a second thought. He’d cut away the section of fence, plucked the wire, barb and all, from her tender flesh. He’d then tied a bandana around her thigh and cradled her in his arms before climbing into the saddle of his big red gelding and racing to the barn, where he’d transferred his daughter to his truck and drove like a madman all the way to the clinic in Paintbrush. Old Dr. Walton had stitched the wound and administered a tetanus shot before congratulating Porter on his quick actions. But when they had returned to the ranch, Virginia, who had heard about the accident from one of the wranglers, was beside herself with fury that he’d left her home to pace and worry, not knowing just how seriously hurt her daughter had been.
Porter had carried Meg up to bed, no doubt hoping to spare her. But the argument soon reached such a fever pitch, their voices could be clearly overheard by the girl.
Meg closed her eyes, reliving the scene in her mind.
The fight escalated in direct proportion to Virginia’s sense of outrage. Her mother had found fault with everything Porter believed in. He was, according to Virginia, allowing their daughter to grow up wild and free on the ranch. Meg’s latest accident only served to reinforce her mother’s belief that it was time for their daughter to attend the girls’ school back east that had been Virginia’s alma mater. At least there the girl would learn some refinements.
Their ugly words, hurled in a blaze of fury, had left an indelible mark on Meg’s soul. As always, Meg had been the centerpiece of their battle.
Maybe it was being back here where it had all happened. Maybe it was simple exhaustion. Whatever the reason, Meg found herself suddenly sobbing uncontrollably.
Jake had every intention of leaving Meg to her privacy, hoping she might catch a few hours’ sleep in her father’s office. But when he heard the muffled sound of her crying, he hurried inside and dropped down on the edge of the sofa.
“Hey. It’s going to be all right.”
The deep timbre of his voice, so like her father’s, had Meg crying even harder.
Alarmed, Jake’s arms came around her and he gathered her close. Against her temple he whispered, “Go ahead then. Just cry your heart out, Meg. You’ll feel better.”
Now that the floodgates had been opened, there was no stopping her. She wept as though her heart was broken. The front of Jake’s shirt was damp, and still she cried until there were no tears left.
Finally, pulling herself together, she pushed away from his arms and sat back against the cushions.
Jake reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. She accepted it and blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and then looked away in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t. You have every right to cry. You’ve not only lost your father, but your homecoming has certainly been anything but welcoming.”
She blinked back fresh tears. “Thanks.” She knotted the handkerchief in her hands. “I didn’t even cry when I’d heard about my father’s sudden death. I never cry.”
At his expression she managed a wry smile. “Well, hardly ever.” She looked toward the fireplace. “I happened to remember an incident from my childhood, and it triggered all kinds of other memories.”
He settled himself beside her on the sofa. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
She shrugged. “I took a nasty spill from my horse into a nest of barbed wire.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I still have the scar.” She moved aside her father’s coat to show him the white, puckered skin on her thigh.
Such a shapely thigh. At the sight of it, his throat tightened, and he mentally cursed himself for thinking about such things at a time like this.
“That’s pretty impressive. I think it tops mine.” To keep things light he rolled back his sleeve to show her the scar on his left arm above the elbow.
Meg touched a hand to the spot and was startled by the ripple of muscle. “Barbed wire?”
“Shattered wooden fence post. Split open by a storm. I was riding an ornery mustang to win a bet from my brothers and landed headfirst. Doc Walton had to pick out the splinters one by one.”
“Ow.”
“Yeah.” Jake nodded. “That was the least of my pain. When I got home, Pa and Big Jim were waiting in the barn. I couldn’t sit in the saddle for a week.”
Meg’s tears were forgotten as she burst into laughter. “They punished you for riding a mustang?”
“Well, it wasn’t the first time I’d been threatened with murder and mayhem if I went near that mustang.” He shook his head. “But there’s just something in my nature that makes it impossible for me to resist doing exactly what I’ve been told I can’t do.”
“A maverick, are you?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking we’re kindred spirits.” He studied her lips, so close to his. For the space of a heartbeat he paused, as though considering the consequences. Then he lowered his face to hers.
The kiss was soft and unexpectedly sweet. Little more than a whisper of mouth to mouth. But as their lips brushed, Jake was forced to absorb a quick, hard punch to the heart that had him closing his hands around her arms, as though to draw her away. Instead of pushing her back, he found himself wanting more. So much more.
He drew her even closer as his mouth moved over hers with a thoroughness that had them both sighing.
Though he’d meant to comfort her, there was nothing sweet or gentle about what they were sharing
. Now it was all sizzle and spark. Hot need and a sharp, desperate flare that had them both frantic as they held on to the kiss and to each other until, with a sudden, quick intake of breath, they moved apart.
Jake’s lungs were straining as he saw green eyes that were fixed on him with such focus that he couldn’t look away. Nor did he want to. He could, he realized, happily drown in those liquid emerald depths.
He cupped her chin in his big hand and tipped up her face. His voice was rough with need. “Mind if I try that again?”
She looked as dazed as he felt.
Her lengthening silence was all the invitation he needed.
He lowered his face and took his time, kissing her long and slow and deep, enjoying the sizzling curl of desire that snaked along his spine.
Hadn’t he known those pouty lips were made for kissing?
He took his time, drinking in the sweet taste of her, allowing the pleasure to pour through his system like a straight shot of fine Irish whiskey.
When at last he lifted his head, his lips curved into a smile of pure male appreciation.
“Sorry for that rough first attempt. Too needy, I guess. I’d been thinking about kissing you, but I hadn’t planned on doing it quite so soon. I guess it was seeing that scar. It’s like we’re kindred souls. Both of us bearing the scars of our childhood.”
“Or baring them,” she said with a throaty laugh. “As in baring all. I realized, just as I’d shown you my scar, that I’d revealed a bit too much flesh.”
“Now, ma’am,” he said in his best drawl, “I believe I speak for all cowboys when I tell you there’s no such thing as a bit too much flesh.”
Her laughter grew until he joined her.
“Oh, Jake. Thanks. I needed that.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
She drew the cowhide around her and got to her feet. “I think it’s time I made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“I’ll second that. Right about now I could use some caffeine.”
