A.J. sat stiffly in the captain’s chair, facing forward, but his gaze was on her. Had he witnessed her encounter with his grandson?
“I overslept.”
“You needed it. Gonna take a few days to get acclimated.”
His deep scratchy voice was comforting. She was going to miss him. “Do you have to leave today, A.J.?”
His chin turned toward the right as if consulting his copilot. “Yep. Time to hit the road. You saw my map—we got a long way to go.”
In their business meeting last night, A.J. had used one arthritic finger to trace his intended course all the way across the country, pausing at the important stops. Important to Anne’s mother. Anne had been too tired to really take it in, but a few of the names rang a bell or two. A distant relative in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Another in Detroit.
When he pointed to a spot in Minnesota, Anne remembered hearing her mother wax poetic about stepping across the source of the Mississippi River. And she couldn’t deny that her mother loved American history, especially the Civil War. But Anne wasn’t sure why that mattered now. Her mother was dead.
Anne reached up and put her hand on the window. “I know it’s a long way, A.J., but would another day or two really make a difference?”
He looked at her, his expression serious. “Yes, dear, to me it would. I made your mother a promise, and I’m through letting her down.”
Anne’s heart twisted. She understood, but an old fear—probably easily traced back to her abandonment issues—made her cry, “A.J., are you sure this is what Mom would have wanted? She loved this place. What if Will and I can’t get along? We could really screw things up.”
An odd grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Same complaint the boy just got done bellyaching about.” He looked straight into her eyes. “I’ll tell you what I told him. You need him to run the ranch, and he needs you to handle the guests.” He winked. “Hate to think what he’d do if somebody complained about his cooking.”
Anne smiled despite herself. A.J. covered her hand with his. “You need each other, Annie. Just like I needed your mother. Sometimes we disagreed about how to do something. Sometimes there was nothing but hot tongue and cold shoulder for dinner, but we still managed to keep our guests happy. If you can’t find a middle ground, then keep out of each other’s way.”
His words echoed last night’s sentiment, but this time his tone was uncompromising. Anne had been in business long enough to know a reality check when she heard one. She needed to suck up her fears and tell him goodbye. She rose onto the very tips of her toes and looked across the console to the brass box. Her throat tightened and she blinked back the sudden rush of tears. “I’ll do my best,” she whispered.
“I know you will, dear girl. That’s why I asked you to come home.”
Home. The word did her in. Esther had been home to Anne—the reason she left the safety of her grandparent’s house in Maine to travel to the unknown wilds of Nevada. And no matter where she moved, Anne had always known she could count on that maternal compass point.
She dropped back a step and covered her face with her hands, struggling to keep her feelings boxed up. She might have managed to stifle her tears if a hand hadn’t suddenly touched her shoulder.
Will had materialized at her side. A strong arm pulled her to him. A second close encounter in less than ten minutes. She didn’t think this kind of emotional demonstration boded well for their working relationship, but Anne needed a shoulder—any shoulder. She’d been too busy handling things to cry at the funeral. Too busy with work and her daughter once she got home. Now, the reality of her loss hit hard. Her mother was leaving her forever.
He didn’t say a word, but his hands were gentle and kind. Once, Anne thought she felt his lips brush the side of her hair above her ear. When he took a deep breath, so did she and found she’d stopped weeping.
Blinking against the residual tears, she searched in the pocket of her robe and miraculously came up with a second tissue. She blew her nose then wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “Sorry,” she murmured, unable to look him in the eye.
“It’s okay. A.J. said this was going to be hard on you.”
How had he known when she hadn’t? She looked at her stepfather. His eyes were filled with kindness—and a hint of moisture, too. He reached out the window and brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “You know how much she loved you. I’m only taking her ashes way, Annie. Her spirit will always be here when you need her.”
Anne felt a second wave of sadness surface but she bit down on her lip and nodded. “I know,” she said in a strangled peep.
He cuffed her shoulder lightly then reached a bit farther to shake hands with Will. Their arms touched and Anne felt a sensation pass through her. A run-for-the-hills sensation. But that wasn’t possible. She was stuck here. For the summer. Surrounded by sensations.
Will nudged her with his elbow.
“Huh?” she mumbled, realizing A.J. had spoken to her.
Her stepfather’s eyes twinkled with that same devilish glint she’d spotted earlier in his grandson’s eyes. “I said, you and Zoey ought to take a day or two to get acclimated. Higher altitude, thinner air. Less blood to the brain.”
Hey, Anne thought, her spirits lifting. Maybe that’s my problem. I’m not crazy, I’m oxygen deprived. Well, something deprived.
Nodding, she said, “Good idea. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
A.J. settled back in the captain’s chair. “Esther left a bunch of boxes in the attic. Dress-up stuff for Zoey. She said you used to love to dress up and have tea parties when you were a little girl.”
A gossamer image of cloche hats and stoles made of mink pelts with beady glass eyes brought a return of weepy feelings. “Mom always bought the coolest things at Goodwill—just for fun.” When was the last interruption-free playtime Zoey and I spent together?
“And I’ll call the contractor about the locks, Gramps,” Will said, reminding Anne of her snit last night.
Slightly defensive— Anne knew A.J. and Will felt she was being overprotective— Anne took a step back. Her mother often bragged about not having a lock on the door of the house, but Anne didn’t live in that kind of world, and she wasn’t about to sacrifice personal safety for some misplaced code of the West.
“Bill Crenshaw is a handyman who helps me out once in a while,” A.J. said. “His number is by the kitchen phone. And you’ll find Joy’s number there, too.”
Joy McRee. A possible cook and a longtime friend of Esther’s, whom Anne vaguely remembered meeting at the funeral. Anne prayed this arrangement would work out. “I’ll call her today,” Anne said.
A.J. gave a nod then put the motor home in gear. Anne backed up to watch him make the sweeping turn into the main circle, but Will hollered, “Wait” and threw himself in front of the slowly moving vehicle.
Anne’s heart bounced violently against her chest. What kind of crazy person tried to stop a motor home with his body? Oh, yeah, the kind who hopped on the back of a giant bull.
A.J. hit the brakes.
“Your thermos,” Will yelled.
He trotted back to the gate, where the metal container sat balanced on a post. His dress resembled yesterday’s attire—snug denim jeans and boots—but today’s shirt was a faded blue chambray. The top two buttons were open, exposing a white undershirt.
He moved with surprising grace, Anne thought, given the punishing nature of his profession. Anne knew she’d be hobbled and limping if she had suffered even one or two of the litany of injuries her mother had attributed to Will over the years.
A second later, A.J. waved goodbye and the vehicle rumbled down the gravel driveway.
She watched until it turned onto the country road that would connect with the highway. Her tissue had turned to a soggy lump in the palm of her hand. Her chest hurt and her sinuses felt prickly. She doubted she could be more embarrassed.
Then she looked at Will. His face didn’t betray his emotions—he was
a guy, after all. A rough, tough bull rider. But she sensed that he wasn’t a bit happier about this situation than she was.
Their gazes met, and for a moment Anne recalled her nervousness when she faced her husband that first night of their honeymoon. For the two weeks prior to the wedding, they’d been so busy they’d barely kissed. Then suddenly they were alone. And married. For better or worse.
As it turned out, mostly for worse. Six years of power struggles. Some hers, some his. Very little qualified as better—except for Zoey.
“Breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I’m starved,” Will said, turning toward the house.
Now, Anne decided, would be a good time to lay down some rules. For one, she wasn’t a short-order cook. But before she could speak, Will did.
“I make pretty decent scrambled eggs, but I don’t do froufrou stuff like omelettes, okay?”
He waited for her, holding open the bizarre gate—the one her mother had claimed was a work of western art.
Anne’s stomach answered for her, loudly enough to make her blush. Not only was she famished, but she honestly couldn’t recall the last time a man had offered to cook for her. “Okay.”
As she hurried past him, she asked, “What happened to that half a cow A.J. served you last night?”
He shrugged. “Gone. Along with the bread and beans. And the midnight bowl of ice cream. Fast metabolism.”
“I think I hate you,” Anne said, trying not to scowl. “Now that you mention it, I seem to recall my mother referring to you as a walking garbage can.”
He let out an attractive hoot. “That sounds like Esther.”
Anne felt a tiny prick of jealousy. Although it wasn’t his fault, in some ways Will had had a closer relationship with Anne’s mother than Anne had. “Do you know how many women would kill to be able to eat like that?” she asked, stepping to the grass to let him take the lead. She suddenly felt ridiculous in her tacky robe and sneakers.
He hesitated as if going first broke some rule of cowboy etiquette. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve had that inequity pointed out to me more than once,” he said, leading the way with obvious reluctance.
Anne followed a few steps behind, trying her best to keep her gaze off his lean backside. But when she heard a marketing jingle from her distant past— “Wrangler butts drive me nuts” in her head—she realized her focus was fixed on the manufacturer’s label on Will’s back pocket.
When he held the door open for her to enter the house first, Anne breezed past him and dashed for the stairs. “I’ll get dressed then be right back down. We can talk over breakfast. Establish some kind of ranch-slash-guest parameters, job descriptions, hiring strategy, budgets.”
Anne didn’t need to look back to know he was watching her. As much as she wanted to deny it, something existed between them. Unfinished business? Thwarted lust? First love? No, not that. But something. She felt it, too. But that didn’t mean anything was going to happen.
And now was the time to nip it in the bud. This isn’t high school, she told herself as she dressed.
True, Will was even more gorgeous than she remembered. And yes, a woman would have to be comatose not to feel the allure of his laughing blue eyes and sexy smile, but Anne had no intention of giving in to her fantasies. She and Will Cavanaugh were partners for the summer. In running a guest ranch. Nothing else.
WILL HAD ALWAYS thought the Silver Rose’s kitchen was the heart and soul of the ranch. Esther had made it so. Will couldn’t picture Peg, his “real” grandmother, anywhere other than in the corner bedroom that had once been Will’s father’s.
A.J. once told Will that if he had it to do over again, he would have made Peg go to a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, back then, clinical depression wasn’t openly discussed or treated—at least in this part of the world.
“She went from her Bible to her deathbed in three years,” Will overhead A.J. tell a friend. “Peg was the type who needed answers face-to-face, so she went to heaven to ask God why he took her son.”
His grandfather’s obvious despair over losing Esther had concerned Will, making him fear that A.J. might give up, too. Maybe that explained why Will didn’t put up more resistance to this trip. In most ways, his grandfather’s mission seemed a healthy, positive thing. The urgency bothered him, but Will figured time took on a different meaning when you reached A.J.’s age.
He walked directly to the deep stainless steel sink, which overlooked the fenced backyard. Several straw-covered raised beds were waiting for Esther to fill them with flowers and vegetables. A partially obscured glass greenhouse and potting shed occupied a spot close to the garage.
A.J. had mentioned that Esther left behind written instructions for planting and plant care. Will wasn’t a farmer, but he’d be willing to help Anne with the garden, if she wanted to give it a try. Any kind of physical labor would help him get back into shape—his main goal for the summer.
He cocked his head to listen for Anne’s step on the stairs. Now, there was a possibility he honestly hadn’t considered when his grandfather had suggested this arrangement. True, he’d known for some time that she was single and lovely, but it wasn’t until he accidentally touched her that he realized the old fire was still alive.
Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. Better he keep his mind on business. Will was going to need Anne’s help this summer. He doubted that he possessed any hidden proclivity for hotel management—that took someone with more education than he could claim—but Will could hold his own where ranching was concerned. And he wasn’t really all that bad with people, despite what his grandfather thought.
Although Will was considered a loner because he rarely joined in the bar scene after an event, he got along well with other riders. Novice bull riders knew they could approach him for advice. He didn’t mind coaching the new generation, but he always traveled alone.
Some bull riders partnered up to split costs. When Will first started out, he shared everything with three friends from high school. Eventually, Will’s wins outpaced the others’ and his buddies drifted away. For a while, Will traveled with his pal, Hayward Haimes—a crazy, bowlegged rascal who never failed to make Will laugh. Divorced, with two kids who lived in Tennessee with their mother, Hay was a hoot. And a damn fine bull rider, until an accident claimed his life.
Will shook his head. He didn’t like thinking about Hayward. Fate had a lot to answer for with that one.
He looked around the kitchen. It was spotless, just the way Esther had liked it. She had been the kind of cook who routinely used every pot in the cupboard to concoct a recipe, but at night, everything needed to be in its place.
Will remembered coming in late one night and catching her in a cleaning frenzy. When he had offered to help, Esther had shooed him away. “I make-a the mess, I clean-a the mess,” she had said with a truly awful Italian accent.
The countertops were slabs of rose-flecked gray marble. Will recalled his grandfather grumbling about the cost. Esther had cheerfully retorted, “This will outlast us by centuries, my dear.” For all his gruff noises to the contrary, Will knew A.J. would have done anything to make Esther happy.
The walls were mostly white with wallpaper borders. Sepia photos of the ranch occupied the far wall. Will remembered Esther telling him the pictures served as an icebreaker for new guests. “Photos are a great way to get stories flowing.”
He washed his hands and dried them on a soft towel, which he tossed on the counter, then he crossed to the industrial-size refrigerator directly across from the sink. A separate freezer and ice maker were located in the laundry room/pantry, which had been added to the building the year after Will moved out.
He set out what he needed—eggs, bread and butter—then headed to the dining room for a cup of coffee. Doc had suggested Will cut down on caffeine, which reminded him of Anne’s comment last night. After just one week of deprivation, Will decided he’d have better luck trying to fly without a plane. Besides, Will figured, since he didn’t smoke or chew, he was entitl
ed to one vice.
A.J. had prepared this particular vat. It smelled strong. A little framed disclaimer on an ornate gold tripod read: “Help yourself, but if the well runs dry, you die.” The antique oak sideboard was wide enough to hold a separate pot for hot water and a frilly basket filled with teas and instant cocoa, as well as a dispenser of fancy creamers and sugar packets. Will ignored the girlie stuff and filled a man-size mug.
“My mom drinks tea,” a voice said.
Will had to double-clutch the cup to avoid dropping it. Several drops of hot liquid splashed on his wrist; several others stained his sleeve. He looked at the culprit who’d snuck up on him.
She didn’t appear dangerous, just sleepy. A tiny little thing with tufts of hair sticking out as if anchored with gum, she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and yawned so wide Will could see her tonsils. Her mouth made a sucking sound.
Will didn’t have a lot of experience with children. The only child he’d ever spent any prolonged time with was three-year-old Riley, the son of a woman Will had dated for a few months last year. By the time Will figured out he and Riley’s mom weren’t the least bit compatible, except in bed, he’d grown amazingly attached to Riley.
“Good morning, Miss Zoey. I’m fixing breakfast. Are you hungry?”
Her green eyes blinked wide, exactly as her mother’s had a few minutes ago. Only Zoey actually expressed her disbelief. “You cook?”
“Yes, ma’am, we cowboys have to fend for ourselves sometimes, so it’s learn to cook or starve.”
She watched him take a sip of coffee. “My mom doesn’t cook much. She usually brings stuff home. I can make mac and cheese in the microwave and soup cups. And peanut butter sandwishes. Do you like peanut butter sandwishes?”
He smiled at her sweet mispronunciation. “Yes, ma’am. One of my favorite things. I like ’em with bananas.”
Her eyes went round. “Me, too.”
“Cocoa?”
“Yes, please.”
Nice manners. Very refined. Except for her hair, everything about her seemed neat, orderly and perfect. Which struck Will as not kidlike enough for his taste. Somehow he knew her mother would disagree.
A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 6
