“Why?” she asked, turning to gaze at him.
Harry sought for words. “It would be like you taking over the cooking. Even if your mother ate what you fixed, you probably would think she was criticizing your cooking in her head.”
“No, I wouldn’t think that.”
Harry looked at John. “I tried.”
“Thanks,” John said, before he turned to his sister. “It’s a macho thing, sis.”
“Oh, well, I think that’s silly. Dad wouldn’t turn it over to you if he didn’t believe in your ability.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s me having doubts, not Dad.”
“I can only tell you your dad always brags about your ranching knowledge when he’s talking with the other Randalls,” Harry said to reassure his friend.
“See?” Melissa echoed. “Just assume you know the best way to do things.”
“And if I’m wrong?”
“It’s just possible your father made some mistakes in his time, too,” Harry pointed out.
“If Granddad were alive, he could probably tell you,” Melissa added.
“You’ve got to be kidding, Melissa. You know he thought Dad could do no wrong.”
“He didn’t think you could, either!” Melissa said with a grin.
“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten that.”
“That’s a nice memory,” Harry said with a smile.
“Didn’t you have a grandfather who believed in you?” Melissa asked.
“Nope.” He took a bite of his steak and chewed, showing no inclination to add to his statement.
“Did you not have a grandfather?” Melissa asked, leaning toward him, sympathy on her face.
“I had two of them,” Harry said. “They were pretty ornery and we didn’t see them often. Don’t start feeling sorry for me, Melissa. I’m just fine.”
HARRY MAY HAVE TOLD HER not to feel sorry for him, but Melissa couldn’t help it.
She’d tossed and turned for the last hour since coming to bed, but she couldn’t shake the thoughts of Harry that had taken hold in her mind.
Not only had his grandfathers been difficult, but his parents had divorced, and now he had little contact with his only sibling. Poor man.
Everyone thought Harry Gowan was wonderful. Her cousins certainly did. And her father. He wanted her to marry him!
Not that she was even considering such a crazy thing. But her mother’s surgery did make her stop and think for the first time. Her entire family was here in Rawhide, and she’d spent the last six years in Europe. Six years that she’d missed being a part of her mother’s life.
Not that she didn’t have a life of her own to lead in Paris. She had friends and, until a week ago, she’d had Pierre.
But what else?
Your work, said a voice inside her head. But as much as she enjoyed jewelry designing, she wasn’t so enamored of Monsieur Jalbert. For the past six months she’d been having doubts about remaining with him, whether she’d actually agree to the contract up for renewal. Or maybe strike out on her own.
Were they dreams? she asked herself. Or pipe dreams?
A master jeweler and shrewd business man, Monsieur Jalbert wielded a lot of power, not only in Paris, but throughout western Europe. With one decree he could make it difficult for her to sell her designs, even downright impossible.
Could she come back to America?
There were certainly cosmopolitan locales that could rival Paris—New York, San Francisco, maybe. And she’d certainly be closer to her parents.
In her line of work, she could set up shop anywhere in a major city where she could market her jewelery.
Wait a minute! said that inner voice. She was going back to Paris. She had the return ticket to prove it!
Outside her window, the wind knocked bare tree branches against the house. Earlier she’d found their rhythmic tapping somewhat soothing, but now the noise made her anxious.
She needed a drink to settle herself down. Back in Paris she usually had wine with dinner, or sherry afterward with some friends. She found it helped her sleep, especially when she was jittery or stressed.
She doubted her parents had any on hand. Then she remembered the bottle of French wine she’d brought them from the vineyard in Bordeaux she’d visited a couple months ago.
It had been a wonderful afternoon, strolling through the winery, sampling different wines until she found the one she liked best. Too bad the memory included Pierre. It was supposed to have been a romantic getaway weekend; it turned out to be nothing of the kind.
Banishing the recollection, she grabbed her robe and went in search of the wine. Her parents wouldn’t mind if she opened the bottle.
The orange embers in the living room fireplace were keeping the house warm, and she didn’t bother putting on the robe, instead throwing it over a chair on the way to the kitchen. In no time she found the bottle and poured herself a glass, which she took back into the living room.
The big club chair was as comfortable as she remembered. Facing the fireplace, it was her favorite place to sit. She would put her feet up and let the fire warm them, while gazing into the flames. Melissa had spent many a winter afternoon in this chair with a pad on her lap while she worked on her designs.
“You’re the picture of contentment.”
The male voice startled her. She jumped, nearly spilling her wine, and turned toward the sound.
There, sprawled out on the big sofa, was Harry Gowan. He was wrapped in her mother’s handmade floral quilt, his head sticking out one end, his feet the other.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“You invited me, remember?”
Yes, she did. She’d just figured John had put him up in one of the spare rooms after she’d gone to bed. She told Harry so.
“No need to go to so much trouble. The couch was fine.” He smiled. “At least until you woke me.”
“Sorry. I—I couldn’t sleep.”
“Worried about your mother?” he asked. As he sat up, the quilt fell to his lap, revealing his bare chest. In the glowing firelight it looked bronzed, each muscle rippling as he breathed in and out.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. His brown hair was sleep-tousled, his jaw shadowed by a hint of stubble. She wondered what he wore underneath that quilt; no clothing was visible.
“She’ll be fine. Caro’s a great doctor. There’s no need to worry.”
“She’s my cousin, Harry. I know what kind of doctor she is.”
“You have been away for a while. I’m not sure you know how well equipped the hospital is. Though it’s probably not what you’re used to.” He eyed the glass she was holding. “Are you drinking wine?”
“Do you have a problem with that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not my personal favorite.”
“Back in Paris everyone drinks it, even children.”
He gave her a crooked smile as he looked around the cozy room. “In case you haven’t noticed, Melissa, you’re not in Paris anymore.”
He hadn’t spoken truer words.
But in Paris she didn’t have a matchmaking father breathing down her neck, determined to marry her off to the local deputy. No matter how handsome he was.
She pulled the collar of her nightgown closed and stood up. “I’ve got to get some sleep. Good night, Mr. Gowan.”
Before he could reply, she strode out of the room, forgetting her robe until she got back to bed. Damned if she’d return for it.
There was something about Harry that made her react, like a spark to tinder. Given that incendiary quality, she’d best keep her distance.
She got into bed, once more tossing and turning in her quest for sleep. But she couldn’t relax. And she knew the reason why.
He was on the couch in the living room.
IT WAS STILL DARK when John woke Harry. He roused him from a deep sleep on the sofa.
“Sorry, buddy, but the storm has stopped and Melissa and I are going to try to make it to th
e hospital before they start the surgery. You can sleep longer if you want. Just leave whenever you like.”
Harry sat up and his eyes lit on the blue robe across the back of the chair nearest the kitchen. So he hadn’t dreamed it; Melissa had been here.
He hoped John didn’t see the robe and start asking questions.
“I’ll follow you into town, John. That way, if either of us has any trouble, we have help.”
“That’d be great. Hey, you want breakfast?”
Harry looked into the lighted kitchen but saw no sign of Melissa. “No, I’ll catch it at the café.”
He didn’t see her until they left the house. She was already in the truck waiting for John when the men came outside. She looked tense and apprehensive, and Harry knew she hadn’t slept a wink all night.
They started toward town, ahead of the snowplow. All told, it looked as if a foot and a half of snow had fallen overnight and about half of that remained on the roadway, having iced in the predawn freeze.
The twenty-minute drive took almost an hour. When they reached town, Harry followed them to the hospital. He figured he’d wait and see if everything was okay. After they began the surgery, he could take Melissa and John to the café and buy them breakfast.
They found Griff sitting in the waiting room alone. Melissa ran forward and hugged him. “Are we too late? Have they started already?”
“Yeah, about five minutes ago, but Camille was kind of loopy before that.”
“How long will the surgery take?” Harry asked.
“About three hours,” Griff said, automatically checking his watch.
“Then why don’t you come to the café with me, and I’ll buy you all breakfast? I owe you for the meal I had last night.”
“No, I can’t.” Griff tucked his hands in his pockets and began pacing the waiting room.
John and Harry looked at each other.
Melissa said, “I’ll stay here with Dad and you two go get breakfast.”
“No, I’ll stay,” John said. “I can talk to him about cows. That’ll settle his mind. If you talk to him about Paris, he may lose control completely.”
Melissa opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off.
“Come on, Melissa. We’ll bring them back some breakfast,” he said, hoping she would accept his invitation.
“Okay.” She went over and hugged her dad again, whispering something to him that the other two couldn’t hear. Then she headed for the door. “Are you coming, Harry?”
“Right behind you, Melissa,” he said, and waved goodbye to John.
The café had just opened and wasn’t busy yet. Harry ordered eggs and bacon, with hot biscuits. Melissa ordered French toast.
“Did you order that just because it has ‘French’ in its name?” he asked with a grin.
“No. I ordered it because it was always my favorite when I was a little girl.” She stared across the empty café as if she were seeing into the past. It was the same look she’d worn last night by the fire, he noted, remembering the blue nightgown that matched her eyes. “I had a great childhood.”
“I guess you did. You have great parents.”
“Yes, I know. And don’t tell me I shouldn’t have gone away,” she declared. “I had to!”
“I’m sure they understand.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think that’s one of the toughest things about being a parent,” Harry said. “One day you’re protecting and nurturing your child, and the next, the kid insists he’s all grown up, and moves out. That must leave a terrible hole in the family.”
“You’re going to make me start crying, Harry, and I don’t want to do that here.”
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I just never thought like a parent before, never thought about what it must be like to have kids, until now.” Suddenly self-conscious, he looked down at the tabletop. He gave a nervous laugh. “They’d better bring our food real soon before I make a total fool of myself.”
Melissa gave a watery chuckle. “Perfect timing. Here comes our breakfast.”
The waitress delivered their breakfast with a friendly smile and then headed back into the kitchen. Harry took a drink of his coffee. “I was missing my caffeine. I should never talk in the morning before I have my coffee.”
“I’m the same way,” she said, having regained control of her emotions. “I should’ve made a pot before we left home.”
“As it was we didn’t get here in time. We’ll take some back to your father and brother.”
“I think they have coffee at the hospital.”
“Yeah, but it won’t be as good. I’ve got a thermos at the Sheriff’s Office. I’ll go get it after we eat, and have them fill it up.”
“That would be great, Harry.”
He looked at her plate. “You know, that French toast looks pretty good. I may have to try it one day.”
“Here, I’ll give you a bite.”
Harry leaned forward and let her put a forkful, covered with syrup, into his mouth. “Man, I had no idea what I’ve been missing. That’s like having dessert for breakfast!”
“No more than pancakes. It has egg on the bread, so it’s kind of healthy,” she assured him with a smile.
“I think if I listen to you, I’ll end up liking everything French.” Including you. He was grateful he didn’t voice that last part.
“Even the escargot?” she teased.
He shook his head and made a face. “Never. That’s why they use that fancy name. Nobody’d ever eat it if they knew they were snails.”
Laughing, Melissa sat back in her seat. “You know, Harry, I didn’t think I could possibly enjoy breakfast this morning, but you’re making it fun. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Especially since all I’m doing is talking to a beautiful woman.”
He was starting to regret his frank statement, but then Melissa smiled. “Everyone is right about you, Harry. You are sweet. Too bad I’m going back to Paris.”
Why did she think something could develop between them? There wasn’t a chance. He thought the world of Griff Randall, but the man had chosen the wrong bachelor to hitch up with his daughter. “Yeah, ’cause I sure fit in with the Randalls,” he said sarcastically.
“Why don’t you?”
He was about to go into all the reasons, the main two being his lack of family and funds. The Randalls were among the richest people in the state. How would he fit in on a deputy’s salary?
He quickly changed the subject. “We’d better place the orders for your dad and John.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, hurry up and eat. I’ll go order their food.”
He got up and left the table. Getting away from Melissa was essential for his well-being.
When he placed the order, he told the waitress he would go get a thermos for coffee to take to the hospital.
“Don’t bother. We’ve got one here we can loan you,” she replied. “It’s the least we can do after you cleaned up that fight yesterday.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer, but you don’t owe me anything. I was doing my job. Just holler when the order is ready.”
He went back to the table to finish his breakfast.
“Are they going to let us know when it’s ready?”
Melissa, he noticed, never touched her French toast again.
“Yeah. Have you finished?” he asked.
“I’m not as hungry as I thought,” she said, her eyes filled with worry.
“Melissa, you need to eat breakfast so you can help your mother later. She’ll need you to be strong for her.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She picked up her fork. “Of course I can eat some more.”
Harry watched her hurry through her meal, amazed at the love she had for her mother. And her father and brother. Everyone in the family loved each other. How had she managed to stay away for six years?
It was a question he couldn’t ask.
They took the food back to the hosp
ital and sat with Griff and John as they ate. They all had to urge Griff to eat his breakfast, using Harry’s reasoning—that he had to be strong for Camille.
They were still drinking coffee when Jon and Caroline came to the door in their scrubs.
Chapter Five
Harry figured it was a good thing Griff had set his coffee cup down on the lamp table before they appeared, because the rancher jumped up and crossed the room, unaware of anything but the outcome of the surgery.
“How is Camille?” he demanded.
“She’s fine, Uncle Griff,” Caroline said, smiling.
Jon added, “We didn’t see any sign of cancer. We’re going to go ahead and send tissue to the lab to be sure, but we think the prognosis is excellent.”
Harry and John rushed to Griff’s sides to shore him up as relief ran through him. “Thank God, thank God,” the older man muttered. “Thanks to both of you.”
Melissa, who had joined them, looked at Caroline. “When can we see her?”
“She’s still in recovery. It will be a little while yet before she comes to. A nurse will come out and get you, one at a time, to go see her. Then we’ll move her to her room.”
John asked, “How long will she have to stay?”
“Just a couple of days. As long as there is someone at home to keep an eye on her….” Jon said, looking at Melissa.
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Good. Well, we’re going to get cleaned up and check on her again before we go home to our families.”
They all thanked the doctors again and sat back down. Griff buried his face in his hands.
“Are you all right, Dad?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah. I’m just so relieved. I couldn’t face losing Camille.”
“Neither could we,” John said.
“No,” Melissa said. “I’ve missed six years of her life. I’d never forgive myself if— But now she’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Does that mean you’re planning on staying?” Griff asked.
“No, Dad, but I’ll come back more often.”
He abruptly got up and began pacing back and forth again.
John glared at his sister.
A Randall Thanksgiving Page 5
