by C. C. Coburn
“She seems pretty insistent.” Seth sucked his teeth and spit. “Why don’t you let me handle the chores here tomorrow, and you can go on the supply run. That way, maybe you can take Ms. Magarity out for a cup of coffee.”
Ty aimed a sharp look at the ranch foreman. “You just want out of the trip, or you got something else in mind?” Lately, his nonexistent love life had been the subject of Seth’s not-so-subtle hints.
“Well, it has been a while since you’ve been past the Circle P’s gate. And you’re not gettin’ any younger. Ya know you’ll be tied up here till after the cattle drive.”
Ty forced out a long breath. Ever since he’d quit his job as an investment broker and returned home, hanging on to the ranch that had been in his family for four generations had required every minute of his day. Six years ago, it had cost him his marriage. He hadn’t gotten involved—not really—with another woman since then. Sure, there were days when he’d like to come home to something more than an empty house and an empty bed, but he’d have to be more than a little interested to drive as far as Fort Pierce for a date. And he wasn’t interested in Sarah Magarity.
Why, then, six months later, did his anger over their argument still sting?
“You honestly think she wants to apologize?”
“What else could it be? Unless she’s gonna ask you to take another couple of kids on the trail ride. Either way, she has to make nice.”
Ty couldn’t help thinking the two-hour drive might be worth the trip if it meant seeing a softer side of the argumentative woman who worked for the DCF. He bent low, examining Ranger’s hooves one by one, certain Seth would offer a snide comment if the older man saw the look on his face.
“Fine,” he said, straightening. “But there’s a lot to be done if we’re going to be ready when everyone gets here on Friday. You up for the job?”
“Have I ever let ya down?”
Ty stepped into the wide corridor between the stalls and hung the currycomb back on its hook. He trusted Seth, the same way his dad had relied on the man.
“Let’s head on up to the house and compare notes, then.” He lifted a brow, teasing. “You think Doris’ll have supper ready?”
“Beats me.” Seth grinned. His wife, Doris, was the Circle P’s head cook. She set supper on the table at six on the dot every night.
By the time he climbed into one of the Circle P’s pickups at eight the next morning, Ty was certain Seth would have everything squared away in time for their guests’ arrival. Having already put in a half day’s work himself, he was surprised to find that he actually looked forward to relaxing a bit on the hundred miles of sparsely traveled, two-lane blacktop that stretched between the ranch and the nearest city. Not that he intended to waste the time. While he drove, he worked on the lyrics of a ballad he was trying to learn. Once he came within cell tower range, he turned off the CD player and concentrated on the ranch business he could handle by phone. No one answered at Sarah’s direct line so he left a message saying he was on his way. The numbers on the dashboard told him it was a little after one when he finished his errands, including the much-needed haircut.
Inside the drab concrete-block building of the Department of Children and Family Services, Ty made his way between movable partitions that divided a large room into cubicles the size of Ranger’s stall. Reaching an open area, he nodded to a little boy who looked up from the building he was creating out of small, red bricks. The child scrambled to his feet.
“Are you a real cowboy?” the boy asked, his mouth hanging open.
Ty glanced around to see if the boy’s mother was close by, but there was no one within hailing distance. If Millie had stuck around, they’d probably have a passel of their own by now. But it hadn’t worked out and he didn’t know much about kids. This one was still staring so Ty twirled his best Stetson on one finger.
“You got me, kiddo. You like the boots?” He kicked out a foot.
“Uh-huh,” the boy said. His head swung toward the end of the corridor. “Where’s your horse?”
Ty let his voice deepen into a John Wayne-like gravel. “Back at the ranch.”
“Oh.” The little boy’s shoulders slumped and with a wistful look down the hall, he turned and went back to his toys.
Ty ran a hand through his freshly washed hair and watched the kid’s retreating back. Beyond the plain white walls, clear skies and balmy breezes had combined to make a perfect day on Florida’s east coast. Why, then, wasn’t the boy outside learning to ride a two-wheeler instead of cooped up in this office breathing stale recycled air? He shrugged, and with a final wave at the kid, moved farther down the hall.
Sarah Magarity’s name hung outside a workspace slightly larger than the rest. Flowers perfumed her empty office, and he bent over pink blossoms whose fragrance reminded him of tropical islands and swaying palm fronds. He inhaled, appreciating the change from the odors of horse and cow, hay and sweat that usually filled his days. He glanced around, hoping to get a better sense of the woman who’d insisted on the meeting, but she didn’t keep photographs on her desk. Rolling his hat brim through his hands, he settled onto a vacant chair and tried without success to block out the incessant ringing of telephones.
At last, he glanced into the corridor in time to catch sight of a slender foot wearing an open-toed shoe. The footwear was completely impractical, but it was pretty, and as its owner appeared in the doorway, his gaze rose past elegant ankles and trim calves to a loose-fitting business suit that effectively camouflaged womanly curves. He stood, extending a hand as he let his gaze wander Sarah Magarity’s face. The hazel eyes that met his filled with unexpected emotion when her warm hand pressed into his grasp.
She swallowed visibly. “Mr. Parker, I know we didn’t part under the best of circumstances last time, but I appreciate your coming in today. Please, take a seat.”
“Most folks call me Ty.” He remained on his feet until she was settled behind her desk.
“And I’m Sarah.” She smiled one of those vague smiles people give when their thoughts are somewhere else.
Still wondering why she had demanded his presence, Ty waited while she opened a blue-edged folder and flipped through several official-looking documents.
“Mr. Parker—Ty,” she said, looking up from the papers. “You were married to Millicent Gage, weren’t you?”
“Millie?” Ty frowned. As far as expected topics of conversation went, his ex-wife was pretty far down on the list. He hadn’t seen the woman in nearly six years, hadn’t given her more than an occasional thought in the past two or three. He met Sarah’s eyes. The concern he read there made him uneasy enough that he shifted in his chair.
“Ty,” she said softly. “I’m afraid I have some sad news.”
Sarah paused long enough for his mind to form a hundred different questions. Across from him, she drew in a breath so deep it made her chest swell.
“I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your ex-wife, Millicent, passed away a few months ago.”
Millie. Dead?
Ty shook his head, trying to wrap his thoughts around the idea that the woman who’d been his childhood sweetheart was gone.
“How? Where?” he managed to ask.
“In New York. Apparently, she was mugged.”
Nodding to himself, Ty absorbed this piece of news. Millie’s hunger for more than a quiet life on the Circle P had driven them apart. He’d always hoped that she’d found someone else. Someone who would give her a brick house in the city, like the one she’d wanted him to buy. He brushed his hand over his face. Moisture had gathered in his eyes. He wiped it away and sighed.
Rising, he began, “Ms. Magarity…”
“Sarah, please,” she interrupted.
He tried again. “Sarah. If that’s why you called me here, you could have delivered that news over the phone and saved both of us some trouble.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not? Millie walked out of my life a long time ago. I’m sorry she p
assed on, but it doesn’t make sense that I’d have to come here so you could tell me about it.”
He shook his head, cursing his foolishness for even considering that Sarah Magarity might be interested in him. Whatever he’d been thinking about her, he’d been wrong. The woman was so argumentative, she couldn’t even deliver the news about his ex-wife without disagreeing with him.
Behind her desk, Sarah stood. Her soft features hardened. “Aren’t you even going to ask about your son?” she demanded harshly.
“My… What?” Ty’s knees bent. His backside hit the chair again, this time hard enough to hurt.
ISBN: 9781460304099
Copyright © 2013 by Catherine Cockburn
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