by Paula Roe
He paused. “No,” he finally admitted, his hands twisting on the steering wheel as they hurtled north along the cracked asphalt road. “You’re right.”
“And my sister wanted to spend some time with them. Stella’s on hand if there’s a problem.” She stared out the window, at the scrub and wooden fence posts passing by at great speed. “I’ve never seen a real working ranch before.”
“What about Colorado?”
“We were in Breckenridge, in the winter,” she reminded him. “You’re talking ski resorts and private chalets, not a hundred head of cattle.”
“Try for a few thousand and you’ll be closer. There’s the house,” he added, nodding through the windscreen.
A massive wooden sign across the graveled drive heralded The Mac-D Ranch followed by a double-looped M and D brand. As they took the turn, a myriad of fences flanked the road and finally, at the end of the long driveway sat the homestead. It was a weathered dark brick single-story affair, with a wraparound porch, huge patio windows and a weathered green roof. Past that, past more fences, she saw an array of barns and sheds, a huge truck and some gathering cattle.
As they pulled to a stop, a man emerged from a nearby shed and came to meet them, his long, loping stride and easy rolling gait a perfect match for his rangy body and broad shoulders. A real cowboy from the top of his battered Stetson, plaid shirt and sun-bleached jeans, all the way down to his dusty work boots.
“Mitch, this is Vanessa Partridge. Vanessa, Mitchell O’Connor.”
He was shorter and broader than Chase, with tanned skin that came from working the land. He swept the hat off his head, wiped a hand on his jeans and offered it with a smile. “Ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
“Please, call me Vanessa. And thank you for letting me visit.”
“No problem.” He slapped his hat against one thigh. “Plenty of room in the house. Sam’s always happy to have visitors.”
“How’s he doing?” Vanessa tentatively asked.
“Oh, about the same.” Mitch’s smile faltered for a second before he caught himself. “Chase’ll show you to your room, if that’s okay. I’ll be along as soon as I wrap up here.”
“Okay.” She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile as Chase took her bag from the car.
The living room was spotless, with minimal furniture and soft blue painted walls. The open-plan kitchen attached to it housed loads of counter space, a large range and an equally massive fridge.
“You’ve got the room on the left.” Chase indicated the long hall with her bag. “Mine’s next door.”
“And Sam’s?”
“At the other side of the house, along with Olivia’s—his nurse—and Mitch’s. The bathroom’s there—” he nodded as they passed “—and the laundry.”
He got to her room and placed her bag on the floor. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
She took in the room’s contents—perfectly made double bed, a small bookcase, writing desk next to a pair of sliding doors that opened onto the patio.
When she turned, Chase was still standing in the doorway with a strange, unreadable expression.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome. Chase, I—”
He frowned, shaking his head. “You don’t have to say anything.”
But she wanted to. A hundred questions lay impatiently on her tongue, ready to throw out there. Yet she was pretty sure this wasn’t the time or place for airing her insecurities.
So instead, she said, “Okay,” and let him go.
For now.
After she unpacked, she made her way to the kitchen. Chase had prepared a huge pitcher of iced tea and was working at filling a battered old percolator with water for coffee, when Mitch walked in the door.
Chase glanced up with a frown. “I thought Tom was due today?”
“He only comes in twice a week.”
“But I—”
“Now, Chase, don’t go getting your britches in a knot.” Mitch stomped his feet on the mat at the back door. “I don’t need a cook on call and Olivia fixes all Sam’s meals, so there’s really no need.”
“And where is she now?”
“Had to run into town to do a few chores.”
Chase chewed that over, then said, “This thing with Tom—”
“It’s just me,” Mitch countered. “Makes no sense wasting your money on one mouth. And anyway—” he tossed his hat onto the scarred kitchen table “—Tom freezes enough meals to last until next time.”
With that, he walked off down the hall, his boots clomping on the bare wooden floors. The creak of a door sounded, followed by an overly cheerful “Hey, buddy! How are you doing? Have you met Chase’s friend yet?”
“Come on,” Chase said, and gently nudged her out of the kitchen.
Vanessa crossed the threshold, not knowing what to expect. A sterile room, perhaps, laden with drips and gadgets and high-tech machines. Yes, there were a few machines, and yes, the room was absolutely spotless. But it was also the room of a nine-year-old boy, a boy who apparently loved martial arts, football and Charlie Jack. His walls were plastered with movie posters, Atlanta Falcons items and huge color photocopied covers of Dunbar’s books. On the bulletin board over his desk were sketches of familiar scenes: the mythical subterranean world the young Charlie Jack explored in the first book, the final battle with the evil Skulk at the end of book two. Even Skulk Castle, complete with the feisty princess Charlie rescued in book three.
Then her gaze went to the bed and she had to force every single mothering instinct in her body not to cry.
“Hi,” Vanessa said, smiling at the pale, bald boy looking so fragile against the well-worn blue flannel sheets, blue veins stark against his translucent skin. “You must be Sam.”
“The tubes gave me away, huh?”
She swallowed, heart lurching as her eyes went to Mitch.
“Don’t give Vanessa a hard time, dude.” Mitch’s hand cupped Sam’s smooth head lovingly. “She’s here as Chase’s guest.”
“You his girlfriend?” Sam asked.
Chase met her eyes questioningly. Vanessa looked back at Sam and said, “Just a friend.”
“Right. You from New York too?”
“Washington.”
Sam’s face lit up. “They have the Library of Congress. I love libraries. Grandma worked at the Jasper County one, where my dad was born.”
“Your dad was born in a library?”
Sam grinned. “No, silly!”
Vanessa grinned back, pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. “So what do you like best about libraries?”
“Well, the books, of course. There’s so many. Awesome. And it’s quiet. You always can tell when—”
Chase and Mitch left them to talk, returning to the kitchen and the now-bubbling percolator.
“So,” Mitch began when they’d both filled their mugs with steaming coffee. “You got yourself a Perfect.”
Chase glanced sharply over the edge of his cup. “What makes you think she’s a Perfect?”
“Oh, I dunno—the skin, the clothes, the way she holds herself. Dude—” he swallowed with a grateful gulp “—she’s a Perfect.”
Chase shook his head. “No, she’s not like that. I mean, she’s a nursery school teacher. A single mom.”
“So what? Bet she’s got rich parents and Daddy gave her a car for graduation.”
Chase scowled. What the hell was wrong with Mitch? “Her parents are hotshot Washington defense lawyers, but she’s not involved in all that. She’s different…nice. Funny. Compassionate. Her girls are the cutest kids I’ve ever seen and she’s a good mom. And she cooks. Man, that lamb roast melts in your mouth…” He trailed off as Mitch’s goofy grin spread. “You’re jerking me around. You son of a—”
“You like her.”
“Yeah.”
“Chase likes Vaneeeeessaaaaa,” Mitch singsonged, his broad smile half hidden behind his coffee mug.
“What are you, t
welve?”
“Chase wants to kiss Vaneeeesa.” Mitch expertly dodged Chase’s swipe. “He wants to marry her. Chase and Vanessa sitting in a tree—”
“You’ve always been a total goofball, O’Connor.” Chase gave up, instead opting to lean against the counter and stare daggers at his best friend.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
“How on earth your family put up with you, I have no idea.”
“Um, Sam says he’s tired.”
Startled, they both turned to see Vanessa standing at the mouth of the hallway with a worried look.
“He tires easily,” Mitch reassured her. “I’ll just go and check on him.”
“Iced tea? Coffee?” Chase asked as Mitch disappeared.
“Tea sounds great.” She watched in silence as he got out a glass, a spoon then sugar.
When he turned back to her, she was sporting a funny kind of half smile.
“This tree we’re in… Is it entirely safe?”
“You heard.”
She grinned. “Hard not to.”
“That’s just Mitch—he’s always been a clown. Well,” he amended, “not lately. In fact, I haven’t seen him joke around for months.”
“Understandable, given the circumstances.” She paused then said hesitantly, “Where’s Sam’s mother?”
He frowned, anger surging, hardening his heart. “Jess left six months after Sam was first diagnosed.”
Her eyes turned sad. “So Mitch’s been coping for how long?”
“Nearly two years.”
He slid the glass across the counter and she took it, wrapping her fingers around the base but not drinking.
“What kind of mother walks away from her sick child?”
“Someone who obviously can’t cope.”
“Yes, but…” A frown marred her forehead as she stood there, silently sifting through her thoughts. “It comes with the territory. You’re a parent and it’s your job to look after your baby. No excuses.”
When she finally met his eyes, Chase felt the moment change. It was as if a kind of mutual purpose had formed around them, one that went deep and strong, right to the very core of their beliefs.
And just like that, something shifted inside.
Vanessa was nothing like what he’d expected. She aroused him, yes, but since he’d met her, she’d been surprising the hell out of him and challenging the boundaries of his teenage prejudices.
She had a fierce determination underneath all that quiet dignity. It told him she’d never be a Jess. She had more depth, more integrity than any other woman he’d known. And she was here, far away from her babies, because Chase had asked her to read to a boy she didn’t know.
A manuscript that, given a different outcome, should have been Erin and Heather’s.
A deep, strange yearning shot through every muscle, confusing the hell out of him. So, to hide it, he said, “We should start reading as soon as Sam feels up to it.”
He caught Vanessa’s brief nod before he moved down the hall.
As expected, Sam was thrilled with Chase’s surprise and asked that they start on the story right away. Vanessa and Chase had agreed to take turns reading a chapter each, but when it was Vanessa’s, Chase found himself so wrapped up in her gentle, melodious rendition, so full of enthusiasm for the story and the magical world of Charlie Jack, that he just wanted to sit back and listen to her read for hours. Instead, after the fourth chapter, he noticed Sam’s eyes drooping and called time-out.
Vanessa insisted on cooking dinner despite Mitch’s and Chase’s protests. In twenty minutes, she’d fixed a potato salad and greens, and three marinated steaks were busy sizzling on the griddle.
“Sam’s still sleeping?” Vanessa asked as Mitch strode into the kitchen and headed straight for the fridge.
“Yep,” he replied, grabbing a beer from the door, twisting it open then throwing the cap into the sink. She remained silent under his head-to-toe scrutiny, his eyes narrowed as he tapped that bottle absently on his belt buckle.
“Does he sleep a lot?” Vanessa finally asked.
“Yeah. He’s always tired these days. Chemo and drugs have pretty much wiped him out.”
For once, Vanessa didn’t have an acceptable comeback to that. What did you say to a terminal child’s father? Sorry just wouldn’t cut it, and yet the word still hovered on her tongue. Instead, she swallowed it back down and said softly, “Is Chase with him?”
“Shower.” He tilted his head questioningly. “How long have you known Chase?”
“A few weeks.”
Mitch’s eyebrows shot up. “Hmm.”
She went over to turn the steaks. “Is that a good ‘hmm’ or a bad ‘hmm’?”
“Depends. He told me about you.”
Vanessa blinked, her face neutral. “And what did he tell you?”
“Who your parents are, where you live, what you do.” He paused then added, “Must be tough, raising twins by yourself.”
She shrugged. “I manage. You have to.”
He nodded. “So what are your intentions toward Chase?”
Her eyes widened at his frankly assessing stare. “You’re giving me the talk?”
“Do I need to?”
“Is Chase really that bad a judge of character?” she countered.
Mitch snorted in amusement. “Oh, yeah. In freshman year he couldn’t get a date to save himself. Then he filled out, grew up and bam! Women falling over themselves to talk to him.”
“That’s good to know.” She smiled wryly.
“Hey, I say it like it is. Getting women isn’t a problem. Getting a decent one, well…”
She began to arrange the plates on the table, replaying Thursday night’s conversation in her head. “So he had a few girlfriends in college.”
“I wouldn’t call them that.” Mitch took a swig of beer then glanced to the door. “He’s not told you this himself, then.”
“Just that he wasn’t the jock type.”
Mitch’s beer nearly spluttered through his nose. After he finished coughing and wiping his mouth, he began to laugh. “God, understatement of the century! No, he was definitely not the jock type. We were both textbook nerds until about nineteen.” He put the beer on the table and took up the cutlery, placing it beside the plates.
They set the table in silence until Vanessa finally said, “So you must’ve known his parents.”
Mitch froze for a moment, shooting her a look, before heading over to the cabinet. “Yeah, I knew them.”
“And?”
“They were jerks.”
“That doesn’t really explain anything.”
Mitch sighed, placing two glasses firmly on the table. “White trailer trash with a lot of money. His father was a real piece of work, a smooth charmer. Eyeballed any female who walked into his store. Chase’s mom, on the other hand, was high maintenance—lots of tight skirts, high heels and makeup.” He finished with the glasses and placed his hands wide on the table. “Two stupid, juvenile people who produced a genius like Chase.”
“Genius?”
“He was the recipient of the Sterling Scholarship, a private, internationally renowned scheme funded by a bunch of anonymous donors. They award something like ten in the entire world. You get to choose your college if you pass the tough entrance exam and three rounds of interviews.”
Wow. For one second the enormity of Chase’s intelligence was a terrible, daunting thing, until she remembered the challenges he’d faced and what he’d had to overcome.
“So his folks fought a lot.”
“Yeah. They had major trust issues and argued nearly every week.” He took another swig of beer and leaned his hip on the table. “And not just privately, either.”
“Ah.” Vanessa winced.
“Yep. Not only was Chase the son of Mad Max Harrington—the loud crazy guy screaming at you on TV, trying to sell you a bed—” he made a distasteful face “—but his folks played out their little ‘you’re cheating on me’ drama in the main str
eet nearly every weekend. You could damn near set your watch by it.”
Vanessa swallowed, her heart aching for the boy Chase had been.
“He copped a lot of crap for it at school.” Mitch shook his head. “Bullied by the Perfects—”
“Perfects?”
“The jocks and their girlfriends. You know the type—latest clothes, cool phones, flashy cars…” He paused, and his face flushed.
“Total snobs who thought everyone was beneath them?”
When Mitch nodded, Vanessa realized everything was finally starting to make sense. That night at the library, he’d called her perfect. But he’d really meant “Perfect.”
That’s why he’d mistrusted her on sight—because she reminded him of a painful past he’d spent most of his life trying to escape. And yet…he’d opened up to her. Invited her into this part of his life. That meant something. At the very least, it meant he was beginning to trust her. And that was important, more important than she’d first realized.
After Mitch went to take a shower, Vanessa was left alone with the calming routine of cooking, so of course, her thoughts returned to Chase.
The attraction was a given. He could charm the panties off a nun, her grandmother would say. Choking back a snort of laughter, she turned to strain the greens. She’d also have a lot to say about her current fascination with Chase Harrington.
He revealed himself to her in little pieces: in conversation, in everything he chose not to say, and how he responded to life’s crises. Despite her initial thought—that Chase would be a fabulous way to pass the time with no strings—she found herself becoming more and more drawn to him.
And just as if she’d imagined him, he appeared at the door, clean shaven and dressed in jeans and sweater, his hair sticking up in still-damp spikes.
“Need a hand?” He smiled.
She felt the flush deep inside, warming everything. In silence she thrust out the potato salad before finally finding her voice. “On the table?”
“Sure.” When he strode over, his bare feet padding softly on the wooden floors, she gulped in a breath. Chase in his suit and tie always held massive appeal, but now, in jeans, barefoot and smelling of soap and shaving cream…
Devastating. Droolworthy.
