by Jill Kemerer
Slowly, she opened the door. His presence hit her, the faintest smell of cologne lingering. The bed, the quilt, the dusty dresser were the same. She crept to the tray with her dad’s belongings and gingerly picked up his watch. It had been a gift to him from her mother. He’d worn it every day Lexi could remember. It looked so out of place and lonely sitting here instead of wrapped around his wrist. Tears filled her eyes, and she gripped it tightly to her chest.
This was why she hadn’t gone in. It reminded her too much of him.
Swallowing her emotions, she clutched the watch in one hand and trailed her finger over the rest of the surfaces, stopping at the framed picture of her parents on their honeymoon. Daddy’s arm was slung over Mama’s shoulders, and they looked so happy and young. How I wish you were still here.
She’d loved both of them so much. It didn’t seem possible they were gone. Slowly, she turned, taking in the room, trying to hold on to the memory of his smile, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his arms pulling her into a hug. Oh, Daddy, I miss you.
The top drawer of her mother’s dresser was slightly ajar. She pulled it open. A file had been placed on top of old scarves. She lifted it out, but a knocking sound from the front door made her jump. Quickly, she wiped her eyes, and with the file in hand, she hurried back to the living room and let Clint inside. Snowflakes flurried around him. He tapped his hat on his leg before entering.
“You look cold.” Her spirits lifted now that he’d arrived. “And, wait, are you smiling?”
His teeth flashed in a grin as he set his tool belt on the floor to take off his coat and boots. “I love this weather. It’s not blowing too hard, and the cows are munching away as the snow piles up on them. I hope you don’t mind, I dallied a few minutes to take some pictures.”
“You? Dallied?” She padded down the hall with him at her heels. “I’m shocked. And here I pegged you as all business all the time.”
She stopped to face him, and he bumped into her. His hands shot to her biceps, his touch warming her down to the tips of her icicle toes.
“I pegged you as the same.” His dark blue eyes flashed with intensity.
She felt aware of him in a way she hadn’t previously. She wanted to lean into his muscular frame, let him take away the sorrow of losing her father. Instead, she stepped back, forcing a laugh. “You pegged me right, then. Let’s see those photos.”
His face blanked. “You want to see my pictures?”
“Well, yeah.” She shook her head. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Color flooded his cheeks, but he swiped his phone and held it out. Two cows stared at her, both munching on hay, an inch of snow on their backs. The sky was white behind them.
“This picture is really good, Clint.” She pulled the phone closer to get a better look. “They seem content.”
“That’s what I thought.” The moment stretched, and he cleared his throat. “Where is the bathroom? I suspect the dripping is coming from that sink.”
She showed him to the room, and she stood in the doorway as he turned on the faucet and opened the cabinet to check the pipes. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Clint...”
He glanced up at her. “Well, you can show me where the water main is.”
“Oh, that might be a problem. I don’t know where it is.”
“I’ll find it.” His eyes danced with amusement.
He was easy to be with. Not much of a talker, but she liked him just the same. Her thoughts bounced to two days from now, Thanksgiving, and how they were both alone with nowhere to go.
Didn’t it made sense to ask him to join her? Yes, it was taking a risk. Spending time together meant further developing a friendship. If something happened to end the friendship, he might quit. She had to keep the ranch’s welfare number one in her priorities. But the loneliness of this upcoming holiday enveloped her.
They were both adults. Surely they could have a meal with each other without their working relationship blowing up.
Clint straightened and moved toward the door.
“Wait, I have a question for you.” She touched his arm, all firm muscle, then snatched her hand back. “Why don’t you have Thanksgiving dinner with me?”
“I have plans.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You told me you were feeding the cattle.”
“Yes. Those are my plans.”
“You can’t feed cattle all day.”
He didn’t look at her.
“Come on.” She sighed. “Neither of us has family, and I don’t want to go to a well-meaning friend’s house, if you know what I mean.”
He met her eyes, understanding connecting them before he moved past her into the hall. “I thought you don’t cook.”
“I don’t. I can buy a premade dinner from the supermarket.”
“Where’s the utility room?”
She tried not to let her disappointment show as she gestured for him to follow her past the living room and kitchen to the door next to the garage. Clint gravitated toward the pipes against the wall. His lack of interest in her offer was apparent. And that was fine. She’d been thinking of him as a friend when she should be thinking of him as the ranch manager.
She’d spend Thanksgiving alone. Maybe she’d drive somewhere, eat Chinese food or something. She didn’t have to spend it here.
“If I eat Thanksgiving dinner with you,” he said over his shoulder, “we’re not having supermarket food. We’re going to cook it. I’ll show you the basics.”
“Really?” Had the sun suddenly appeared? Were rainbows arching over the house? “Thank you! But cooking isn’t my strong suit. The basics might be beyond me.”
He cranked a lever on a copper pipe. “Something tells me you’ll pick it up quickly. Now, stay in here while I turn on the faucet. If I yell to turn it off, pull this lever up, okay?”
She nodded, admiring his broad back as he left the room. Only then did she realize she was still holding the file she’d found in her mother’s drawer. Absentmindedly, she opened it, scanning the sheet.
Her mouth dropped open. Heart stopped beating. Vision blurred.
Clint ran back into the utility room, yanking the lever up. “Didn’t you hear me calling?”
She lifted her face, the file and its contents dropping to the floor, each sheet gliding in a different direction.
“He lied to me, Clint. He lied. He knew.” Everything she’d thought to be true since the funeral suddenly came into question. And the betrayal almost buckled her knees.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “Who? What are you talking about?”
“Daddy knew he had cancer, and he didn’t tell me.”
Chapter Four
Clint had no idea what to do, so he bent and picked up the papers that had scattered across the floor. He scanned the top sheet. Pathology report. Dated October 1 of this year. A handwritten note about getting a second opinion was scrawled in the margin.
“He must not have known for long. A month, tops.” Clint handed her the papers, but she kept her arms by her sides, her hands balled into fists.
“He kept this from me.” Her words were tight, cold, hard. “He robbed me of helping him.”
“I’m sorry—”
“The faucet will have to wait. I need to be alone.”
Clint nodded, set the documents on a shelf and left. His thoughts were jumbled as he strode under the dark sky back to his cabin. Lexi had so many dimensions. He’d seen her exhausted, mourning, professional, playful and now this. Whatever this was. Upset didn’t quite explain it.
Betrayed, most likely. It was the lying part she’d focused on.
And the lying part was something he knew a little too well.
A pit formed in his
stomach. He’d been keeping something from her, too. But what could he do about it now? She was already reeling from her father’s death. Finding out RJ had known about the cancer had put her over the edge. If Clint came clean and told her about how he lost his property, it would add to her burdens. She’d fire him and be left without a manager. She’d work night and day to save this ranch as well as her company, and she’d be as hollowed out as she’d been when she hired him.
It wouldn’t be right to add to her problems to selfishly clear his conscience.
He ducked his chin against the snow pellets. Why was she so upset about her dad not telling her, anyhow? A month seemed pretty quick to go from diagnosis to death. Maybe RJ had planned on filling her in at Thanksgiving. Or maybe he thought he was invincible. From all accounts, he sounded like the kind of guy Clint had been surrounded by his entire adult life—a tough Wyoming rancher who never admitted defeat, not even to cancer.
Regardless, Clint and Lexi weren’t close. They’d only known each other a short time. Not telling her about his past wasn’t a betrayal. He was doing what she’d hired him to do—managing the ranch.
Speaking of which... He hadn’t secured additional feed for the winter. If he didn’t find any in the next week or so, they would have to sell the calves at the scheduled date or risk losing valuable cattle in the frigid months ahead.
Was he making the best decisions for the ranch? Maybe he’d been lying to himself and his past was affecting his work performance.
His porch light glowed, and he muttered under his breath at the sight of Banjo curled up on the welcome mat the same way he’d been every night since Clint had found him there last Thursday. Each night he’d tried to take the dog back to the barn, but Banjo wouldn’t budge from the porch.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Clint bent to stroke Banjo’s black-and-white fur, and the dog got to his feet, wagging his tail and adoring Clint with his big brown eyes. “This isn’t your home. You can’t stay here.”
Banjo cocked his head.
“Fine. I can’t have you freezing. You can sleep on the floor. Just this once.” He unlocked the door. He’d said those same words every night, and just this once had turned into Banjo, you own me. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m a pushover. But you are sleeping on the floor.”
The idea of Banjo sleeping on the end of his bed appealed to him, but he couldn’t allow it. He didn’t want the dog living with him. Banjo was old, arthritic, and Clint doubted he would make it through the next year. Growing attached to the dog would not be smart. He’d lose him, too.
Clint took off his coat and boots and stretched out on the couch. Banjo lay on the rug.
It felt as if every hour brought a new set of issues to deal with. Banjo. The faucet still not repaired. And Thanksgiving with his boss.
She was probably too upset to celebrate Thanksgiving now. He should be relieved, but part of him hoped otherwise.
His cell phone dinged, showing a text from Lexi.
I’m sorry I flipped out. Please send me the list of ingredients I need to buy for our Thanksgiving dinner.
Had she read his mind? “Guess Thanksgiving is still on.”
He texted her back.
I’ll buy everything tomorrow. See you Thursday.
Leaning back, he tried to relax. He hadn’t had this much excitement in years. He tried to avoid drama. But the anticipation kicking up his pulse didn’t lie. He kind of liked drama of the Lexi variety. Maybe a little excitement wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
* * *
She would be on her best behavior with Clint today. This Thanksgiving would be difficult enough without Daddy. If she scared Clint off, she’d be alone with only her thoughts to keep her company. They kept circling like buzzards over roadkill. Why hadn’t Daddy told her about the cancer? She deserved to know. Hadn’t he understood she would want to rush home and be with him?
Stop fixating on it. It’s over.
She slid a dusty platter into the soapy dishwater. Her mother’s fine china stayed in the hutch most of the year. Lexi had always loved the blue-and-white set. Rinsing the platter, she could almost smell her mother’s perfume and hear her laughter. Mama had been such a joyful, optimistic person, and Lexi had been close to her until she died from complications due to pneumonia.
And now Daddy was gone, too.
Tuesday night after she’d basically kicked Clint out, she’d stood in the utility room, trying to make sense of the pathology report, hearing Clint’s words about not knowing for long. But the report had made her paranoid. Who else wasn’t telling her vital information? Had Daddy confided in someone other than her? The mere thought sliced her heart open.
Had she been the only one not to know?
While her father had had many acquaintances, the one person she could imagine him confiding in besides her was Jerry. Yesterday morning, she’d asked Jerry if he’d known about the cancer, and from the expression on his face, she’d believed his hearty no. Who else would Daddy tell? His brother had died five years ago, and he didn’t have any other close friends.
Clint arrived carrying several bags of groceries.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” She hurried to the hallway and reached for one of the bags.
“Here, take this one. It’s not as heavy.”
She peeked inside. A Dottie’s Diner box labeled pumpkin pie. Her mouth began watering. As they unpacked the groceries in the kitchen, a charged silence filled the air. She had to say something, but she didn’t want to discuss her dad or her reaction to the pathology report.
“What should I do?” she asked.
“Do you have a roasting pan?” All business, Clint washed his hands. “I bought a turkey breast instead of an entire bird. We’ll rub butter on it and sprinkle it with salt and pepper. It will cook pretty quick.”
Some of her tension leaked out. “What does a roasting pan look like?”
“Rectangular with a wire rack inside.” He rinsed the turkey breast and patted it dry with a paper towel.
She searched through the cupboards and finally found a pan fitting the description. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” He smiled then, and she couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t a man who smiled often. Catching a glimpse of it felt like being let in on a spectacular secret. It made her want to find out more of his secrets. Who was this man? Why was he single? Had he ever been in love? Married? And why had he been working at an oil company for years when he clearly loved ranching?
“Put this in the microwave for twenty seconds.” He handed her half a stick of butter.
Her questions were too personal. If she asked him the real stuff, she might not like the answers.
“How did you learn to cook?” She pushed the microwave button and leaned against the counter, watching him pull out cutting boards, knives and salt and pepper as if he lived there.
“Food Network.”
She laughed, trying to picture him watching cooking shows. The image didn’t mesh with the outdoorsy cowboy in front of her. He drew near, standing inches from her. What was he doing? Her heart pounded. But he simply reached around her to turn on the oven.
“I can’t see you glued to the TV and taking notes.”
Was a blush creeping up his cheeks? She didn’t even try to conceal her glee.
“I don’t. I got snowed in for a week. I was bored. Nothing was on television, and one of the cooking shows made me hungry. I decided to try my hand at the recipe. I got hooked.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. The soup you made for me was delicious.”
“Bring the butter over.” He brandished a pastry brush and demonstrated how to paint the butter on the meat. “You want to cover the entire thing.”
She swiped the melted butter on the skin, and Clint sprinkled salt and pepper over it before sliding the pan into
the oven.
“Easy enough, right?” He pointed to the items she’d grouped together on the counter. “You peel potatoes, and I’ll chop the herbs and vegetables for the stuffing.”
The sound of the knife hitting the board in precise thuds filled the air. She took her time peeling each potato and rinsing them. Now that Clint was here, her mind wasn’t racing in tangled circles about her father. But other problems loomed. Yesterday, she’d called Natalie Allen, vice president of her company, and the conversation had left her perplexed. Something wasn’t right in Denver.
“Do you ever question people’s motives?” She lined the potatoes up on the board and turned to face him.
“Why do you ask?” The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he chopped celery.
“I talked to my vice president yesterday afternoon. She’s been meeting with the other wedding planners, and she told me they think I should hire a purchaser to keep up with ordering the invitations, flowers, decorations and such.”
“Who orders the stuff now?”
“The planners are responsible for their weddings. They rely on their assistants for most of the ordering.”
“Can your company afford another full-time employee?”
The company could, but keeping up with the orders hadn’t been a problem until she’d moved to Wyoming.
“Yes, but it’s never been an issue before. In the past I’ve trusted Natalie had the best interests of the company in mind with her decisions. But I’m wondering if something more is going on. Something she isn’t telling me.”
“Why would you think that?”
The missed orders, the complaints. Lexi had always checked in with the wedding planners once a week. But since living at the ranch, she wasn’t able to spend time with the individual employees the way she used to. Natalie had taken on the responsibility. Strange that no one had ever brought up needing a purchaser before. Was she overreacting?
“I guess finding the pathology report made me a little paranoid. Just because my father kept something important from me doesn’t mean everyone else is, too.”
