“Who takes care of the chickens while your mom is out of town?”
Joe grunted. “I don’t do chickens. She hired a local high school student from the 4-H.” He shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Other than the rooster, how’s the house working out for you?”
“It’s perfect, although that empty garden is a little depressing, and I wish I had time to put flowers in those pots.”
“Pick up a few plants.”
“Maybe. Though I’m not sure it would be worth the time and energy.”
“It is if it matters to you.”
“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” She looked him up and down. “You’re awfully cheerful.”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“I am. You’ve been like a grizzly with a burr in his paw since I arrived.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.”
He looked at the sky. “Maybe I am feeling good. Extended forecast says there might be a long window of sunshine coming up. I’m not holding my breath, but it could be enough time to get my hay harvested. That’s enough to put anyone in a good mood.” Joe paused. “Do you hear that?”
“Yes. It’s coming from these.” She lifted one of the earbuds that dangled around her neck.
“What is that you’re listening to anyhow?”
She bit her lip and hesitated. “Italian opera.”
“Why?”
“My father got me hooked on the stuff. He was a closet tenor. What a voice.”
Joe shook his head. “A cowboy Pavarotti. That makes for an interesting visual.”
She wiped her hands on a rag and offered a musing smile. “Yes, trust me, my father in a black Stetson singing Verdi’s ‘Celeste Aida’ is a memory I will never forget.”
“You’re very fortunate to have such a relationship with your father.”
“I always thought you and your father were close.”
“We were. Most of the time. After all, we were Big Joe and Little Joe.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully as he met her gaze.
“When Dan left, my father was afraid I’d bolt, too. We’re a fourth-generation ranching family, and I suppose he saw it all slipping away. I was a kid back then, but I was suffocating. So I joined the army.”
“You eventually came back.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. I came back because he was dying.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“The thing is, I don’t know if I would have done anything differently. That’s what eats at me. I should feel more remorse. I don’t. I know that I had to leave, so I could return.” He took a deep breath. “Does that make any sense?”
“Yes. It does. More than you realize.”
“It’s like the life cycle of a ranch kid. You have to leave to appreciate what you left behind.”
She stared at him. “I know this is a long time coming, but that’s exactly how it was for me.”
Joe stared at her. Suddenly his mood began a slow descent south. “What are you saying?” He asked the question that he wasn’t sure he really wanted the answer to.
“I’m apologizing for how I treated you. Back then. I don’t want to make excuses, but that’s exactly how it was for me.”
He narrowed his eyes and clamped his jaw.
“My father died. I certainly didn’t have the legacy of a ranch like you did. In fact I felt as though I had nothing. No home anymore. No future here in Paradise.” She released a sigh. “Nick offered me a chance to escape, a promising future with a man who cared for me. I took it.”
Joe stepped back, creating even more distance between them.
“I’m not expecting your forgiveness. All I want to do is explain and apologize for how poorly I treated you.”
“Duly noted.”
An awkward silence stretched for moments. Becca turned to focus her attention inside the hood of the car.
“Having problems with the Honda?” Joe asked.
“It almost didn’t make it out of the church parking lot this morning, which makes no sense. I had the alternator and the starter replaced in Alamosa.”
“Battery?”
“Could be. My guess is it’s as old as the car. Anyhow, I finished the oil change and was about to check.”
“You change your own oil?”
“I do. Much less expensive that way.”
“I guess you’re a lot handier than I realized.”
“Yes. I believe that was the point. Dad always thought he’d stay on Elliott Ranch as foreman until he retired, with me as his shotgun, but his ticker had other plans.”
“I don’t mean to keep bringing up sad memories.”
“Not at all. I only have happy memories when it comes to my father.” Becca stopped, her neck craning toward a sound overhead. “What is that?”
Joe shaded his eyes, turning his attention to the sky. A chocolate-brown bird with broad, rounded wings and a short, wide, red tail soared in a large circle, its wings barely moving. “Red-tailed hawk.”
“Beautiful,” she said. “Hey, and look at that sky. I’m guessing the threat of rain has passed.”
“Yeah, I was plenty relieved to get up this morning to find that the storm had moved quickly to the north.”
“I imagine so.”
“I’m not going to bank on the rain holding off forever. We’re at the end of June, which means precipitation is to be expected. In fact, there are a whole lot of folk in the valley praying for moisture.”
“Anyone lined up to help with the hay?”
“I have calls to make today.”
She cocked her head, listening. “Is that your phone?”
“No. I left mine in the house.”
“Must be mine.”
Becca patted her pockets before reaching into the car for the cell phone on the dash.
“Missed it.” She pressed redial. “Mom?” Becca shook her head. “I had my earbuds in... Oh, my goodness. I better go get her.” Seemingly annoyed, she shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.
“What kind of mother am I?” she muttered. “My mom called twice. Apparently I also missed a call from Casey’s other grandmother.”
“Talk about being hard on yourself. That could have happened to anyone.”
“Maybe, but I don’t need to look any more incompetent than I already do in front of the Simpsons.” Tools clanged as she haphazardly tossed them into the trunk.
“So what’s going on?” Joe asked.
“Casey doesn’t feel well. My mother is three hours away. I need to pick her up.”
“Where is Casey?”
“The Simpson summer home in Four Forks. My mother dropped her off. They’ve got a huge graduation party going on. Virginia, that’s Nick’s mom, she was supposed to take Casey home, but she can’t very well leave her guests.”
“I can do Four Forks.”
She bit her lip. “Oh, no. I couldn’t ask you to drive all the way up there.”
“The last thing you need is to drive to Four Forks and have your car quit.”
“Your plan is to drive the farm truck?”
“No. I have a perfectly reputable new truck.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“Um, Becca?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve still got grease on your face. Maybe you should go clean up real quick.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” She glanced down at her clothes. “I better change, too. I don’t want to stand out any more than necessary. I’ll be fast.”
“I’ll get my truck and pull it around.”
Becca started toward the cottage, then stopped. She turned back a few steps. “Joe?”
“Yea
h?”
“I mean it. Thank you.”
He nodded and watched her disappear into the house. She wouldn’t be pleased to know that everything inside him was hollering to step up and protect her, shield her from a world that had treated her so badly. No, Becca Anshaw Simpson wouldn’t be pleased at all. For now he was simply grateful that this one time she had allowed him to help. He wouldn’t spend time wondering exactly why he felt the need to do it.
* * *
Rebecca quickly showered and slipped into slacks and a blouse. With a glance at the ugly, puckered vertical scar inside her right arm, she grabbed a long-sleeve white, cotton sweater before she met Joe outside.
The drive to Four Forks was silent. The scenery passed in a blur as her thoughts raced, anticipating a possible confrontation with Nick’s family.
Joe slowed as they approached a sign indicating they were on the outskirts of Four Forks, and Rebecca began to reminisce about happier times navigating this same route.
The little town, twenty-five minutes north, had much less than half the population of Paradise. The standing joke was that Four Forks was a third the size of a postage stamp. The town thrived as a haven for crafters and artisans, bringing tourists in from all over the country.
“Which way?” he asked when they entered the center of the quaint town.
“Veer right when you hit the light. The road is a little hidden.”
“Which light?”
She turned to him, brows raised. “There’s only one intersection in Four Forks.”
“I know. Lighten up. It was a joke. You’re as tense as a cow heading to a branding party.”
Rebecca relaxed for a moment before quickly leaning forward to point to the turnoff. “There it is. Do you see it?”
“Got it.”
“The bad news is that it’s a winding two-lane road up that hill.”
Joe nodded, his gaze concentrated on the road.
“There’s deer in the woods on either side of the road, and, of course, the shoulders are barely there, or nonexistent.”
“The good news would be what?” Joe asked.
“The Simpsons own the only house up there, so there’s very little traffic.”
“I can imagine this is fun in the winter,” Joe observed as he navigated cautiously.
“Winters are spent in Palm Springs.”
“Sure they are. What was I thinking?”
After a quarter of a mile, the bumpy gravel road became a smoothly paved drive. Joe continued to steer the truck past a long row of conifers and a succession of cars parked bumper-to-bumper. As they drove around a curve, a home came into view, set back behind a huge wrought-iron security gate that was spread across the massive drive.
Camelot. That was what she used to call the sprawling, ranch-style mansion with the impressive columns. As Nick Simpson’s wife, she used to be among the royal family that claimed seasonal residency here.
Joe gave a low whistle. “So this is how the other half lives.”
“Gallagher Ranch isn’t exactly low-rent. Why, you have three houses on that land.”
He nodded. “Yeah, and they could all fit inside this one. Who did you say calls this home?”
“My former mother-in-law, Virginia Simpson.”
“Her husband?”
“Nicholas Sr. died when the children were young.”
Joe didn’t ask, and she wasn’t going to divulge that Nick’s father had shared the family disease. Alcoholism.
“How do we get through the gate?”
“They have a guard on duty during events. He’ll have my name.” Rebecca glanced around. “You can park wherever there’s an open spot. I can walk from here.”
Joe eased the car along the side and unbuckled his seat belt.
“Um, Joe, it’s best if you stay in the truck,” she stated. “I may run into Judge Brown, and he certainly won’t make it easy.”
“I was going to stay in the truck until you said that.”
She leaned back against the seat. “I’m giving you sound advice, and you’re ignoring me.”
He winked, offering an exaggerated squaring of his shoulders. “I think maybe I can handle myself, and I have no intention of letting you into the corral with a bull all by yourself.”
“Fine. Fine. But don’t say anything. Your presence alone will be intimidating.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “This is Nick’s sister’s party. College graduation. My plan is to get in and out without a family argument.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea to me.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “We go up to the house to get Casey. My job is to look intimidating without opening my mouth. Do I have that straight?”
She released a breath. “That wasn’t quite what I said.”
“No?” Joe pushed his ball cap to the back of his head.
“No. We’ll pass that security guard together. Then you can stand a discreet distance back in case I need help with Casey.”
He opened the door of the truck. “That’s what I said.”
Rebecca took a last look at her appearance in the visor mirror before flipping it back into place. By the time she had opened her door, Joe was there to offer her a hand down to the grassy ground on her side of the vehicle. She met his gaze.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“You know, I could go up there and get Casey for you,” he said. “Save you all this anxiety.”
She stepped down, gathering her confidence as she straightened the collar of her blouse. “No. I have to do this. I’m sure I’m making more out of this situation than it deserves—however, I haven’t talked to any of Nick’s family since court.”
Two months ago, she mused. Two months since she’d been found innocent. She’d moved the mountain with God’s help then, and she would do it again if necessary. It wasn’t Joe Gallagher’s job to fight her battles for her.
They walked through the gate with a wordless nod from the guard, whose eyes voiced disapproval in one sweeping glance.
“Talkative guy.” Joe shaded his eyes and glanced up at the house. “Only five more miles to the front door,” he muttered.
In the distance Rebecca could hear music. No doubt a live band or a small orchestra. The Simpsons didn’t do anything on a small scale. The closer she got to the house, the louder the buzz of voices and partying from behind the house became.
Rebecca remembered being part of the festivities once. She’d had her wedding reception here. Tents had been set up on the endless lush lawn behind the house. Flowers had been flown in. Expensive catering ordered. They’d pulled out all the stops for Judge Brown’s grandson.
Her engagement ring alone had been embarrassingly huge. She’d worn a dress of flowing lace and a simple tiara with a net veil that day, along with Nick’s promise of a future together.
Tall, fair and utterly charming, Nick Simpson had provided the complete package. He’d served up every girl’s dream come true on a glass platter.
Except that dream had ultimately turned into a nightmare that crashed into a million cutting pieces, and her prince became someone she barely recognized.
As they approached the house, Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She quickened her pace, leaving Joe behind to wait near the large water fountain in the center of the drive as she moved up the walk and up the steps to the front door.
Moments after she rang the bell, the massive oak door opened and she was face-to-face with Judge Nicholas Brown.
Rebecca swallowed hard. When her heart began to beat a furious tempo, she stepped back several paces.
“You.” The word was fairly spat in her direction as his probing black eyes seared her with a nameless though oh-so-familiar accusation.
Yet something was different about the judge. Rebecca met th
e piercing gaze. Refusing to look away, she assessed the older man. She hadn’t seen Nick’s grandfather since their day in court. At that time, she’d barely had the courage to look him in the eye.
He’d changed. Not only was his color off, the skin sallow, but he seemed smaller than she remembered a mere few months ago. Suddenly realization hit her. Rebecca had lost Nick slowly, painfully over several years. By the time she’d buried her husband, he was a stranger. But Judge Brown had lost his grandson in one tragic split-second accident. She should have been praying for this poor man.
“Sir, I’m here to pick up my daughter.”
Judge Brown looked past her to where Joe stood a few feet away, watching.
“I see you brought your bodyguard with you.”
Rebecca turned in time to see Joe’s jaw clench. She gave a quick shake of her head to keep him from jumping to her defense.
A moment later, Virginia appeared. A grimace of embarrassment crossed her face when she glanced from her father to Rebecca. She placed a gentle hand on her father’s shoulder.
“Judge, why don’t you go back to the party? Jana was asking about you.”
Rebecca released the breath she’d been holding, her attention fixed on the judge as he disappeared into the house.
“Won’t you come in?” Virginia offered. “I’m sure Jana would love to see you.”
“I’m fine here. Thank you. Casey?”
“I think she overindulged. She’s been resting. My assistant has gone to get her.”
Virginia clasped her palms together. She glanced down the drive at Joe, her eyes registering confusion before her gaze returned to Rebecca.
“Please excuse my father,” Virginia said. The words were soft and apologetic.
“I don’t blame you for his actions, Virginia.”
“Maybe you should. He’s my father and I... Well, it wasn’t until that last day in court that I realized what my inability to stand up to him had ultimately done to Nick—” she hesitated “—as well as to you and Casey, and your family.”
“It’s not easy. I understand.”
“No. You shouldn’t understand.” Virginia waved a hand in a gesture of frustration. “I knew the accident wasn’t your fault. I should have stopped him. I should have asked for your forgiveness long before today, too.”
Rocky Mountain Cowboy Page 10
