“I’ve read his report. It was just what you and Leland said. Huge losses and the lost or altered records were probably a cover-up.”
Trevor stroked the sweaty neck of the buckskin. “We got what we deserved, I guess…but I swear, I always thought Nate was a good guy. Had a run of tough luck over the years maybe, but he always seemed like a straight shooter.”
“I feel bad about that grandson of his.”
Trevor’s jaw tightened. “I had a long talk with Hayden afterward. He knows better than to talk about ranch business with his buddies, so there won’t be any gossip about Cody’s grandpa at school.”
“Cody’s a new kid on the block around here, with a dad who’s a jerk and a grandfather who was probably an embezzler. What kind of male role models does he have? I think we should try to help him a little.”
Trevor nodded thoughtfully. “We can help the boys patch up their differences, maybe…and try getting them together more often.”
“Right.”
A corner of Trevor’s mouth lifted. “And that would have nothing to do with Cody’s pretty momma.”
“I’m thinking about the boy, not her,” Ryan retorted.
“Riiiight.”
Trevor’s Texas drawl filled the word with implications Ryan didn’t want to think about. But he couldn’t deny that Kristin had lurked at the edge of his thoughts 24-7 since he’d arrived in Homestead. Not to mention for the past fifteen years.
He’d long since realized he wasn’t ever going to marry, though. Not with the kind of career he had, the kind of risks he took every day. The divorce rate among his fellow Rangers was astronomical, and seeing firsthand what a bitter breakup did to the children, he would never take the risk.
Maybe Kristin brought back memories of when he’d believed differently. It didn’t matter. Soon he’d be leaving for the East Coast, while she was obviously settling in for the long haul on her homesteaded land.
But she and her son deserved so much more than a legacy of lost trust and the shame of Nate’s misdeeds. Had he really stolen the money? How could anyone be sure, when the ranch records were so flawed? If Clint’s failures meant Nate was still taking the rap for something he hadn’t done…
On his way back to the office, Ryan set his jaw and made a silent vow to himself.
Before he left Texas, he was going to uncover the truth about what had happened here over the past few years. Perhaps Oscar had been the one who’d taken off with the money, or perhaps the losses were simply the result of massive incompetence.
Given Clint’s history, it wasn’t beyond belief there might’ve been other reasons for that money to disappear.
Kristin believed in her father’s innocence, and even Trevor had doubted his guilt. Whatever the answer was, Ryan was going to find it.
CLINT PACED THROUGH his spacious bedroom with a highball in his hand and a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the dresser, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his tie loose.
He’d had Trevor fly him back to Austin in the ranch helicopter for the afternoon, where he’d met with his campaign manager to discuss next year’s election. After a late dinner and a few drinks with some of his cronies, he and Trevor had flown home at about midnight.
It had been a long, difficult day. He was exhausted. But he already knew that sleep would elude him, just as it had the night before. Lydia was here in the house somewhere, though he hadn’t seen her since that first chance meeting.
The thought made him want to smash his glass into the fireplace.
Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of solitude. Peace. Utter control. And now she was back.
He stalked to the king-size bed, with its cool sheets that were turned down at a precise angle each night by Adelfa. Fresh, crisp sheets every night. He considered, then discarded the possibility that he might be tired enough to sleep anyway…so he jerked open the sliding-glass doors and stepped out into the crisp night air.
An ancient live oak shaded the enclosed courtyard by day. At night, it filtered lacy moonlight onto the stone walkways and flowering bushes, the wrought-iron benches. He tipped back the glass and finished off his bourbon, welcoming the smooth liquid fire down his throat as he headed for a bench at the base of the oak.
Where, with any luck, perhaps he could sit and doze.
It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone.
“We used to come out here together,” Lydia said as she stepped out of the shadows. “Remember?”
Her throaty chuckle reminded him of all the times they’d kissed out here under the moonlight. The days when they’d been young and impassioned, their verbal battles sometimes escalating beyond anything he had the energy for now. He turned to go, but her soft laughter stopped him.
“We were all wrong for each other, weren’t we?” She stepped closer, her white shimmery robe glowing in the moonlight. “A disaster from day one…yet we sure didn’t go wrong with those boys.”
“Oh?” He scoffed. “Tell me where we went right—no wait a minute, you weren’t around.”
She didn’t answer for a long moment. “I might have been, except…”
“Right. The gallery. Your…your…friend.”
“Harris?” She sank onto a bench. “You never believed me. You just assumed.”
“And it hardly matters, does it,” Clint said flatly. He rolled his shoulders irritably. “When are you leaving?”
“Really, Clint.” Her voice held the same hint of contempt that had driven his fury years ago.
It drew the line between her wealthy upbringing and his as a dirt farmer’s son.
Her East Coast education and his from a state university.
Her old money had been his stake in this ranch, his start in politics. Though she’d never said a word, she’d still managed to convey her utter boredom with his dreams.
“I’m long past these games,” he growled. “I’m turning in.”
“Where you’ll sleep as well as I have, no doubt.”
“What do you want?” He turned, intending to stare her down, but instead found himself taking in her ghostly pale face. The deep hollows under her cheekbones. “Lydia, you look terrible.”
That earned another soft laugh. “A woman can never be too thin, Clint. Fashion is everything. On the other hand, a man can be far too rude.”
“Some of us just don’t care.” He sighed heavily, knowing she was the one person on earth who would defy him at every turn, who would call him on every last mistake. And she never yielded the last word in an argument.
“Sad, isn’t it?” Her voice sounded wistful. “We should have been such an amazing team. Now here we are, nearly sixty, and we still can’t manage five minutes of conversation. I wish…it had been different. For us. For our boys.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Don’t worry, dear. I haven’t come to stay. I plan to leave in a few days for a buying trip in New York, then hope to get back here again while Ryan is still around.” She played with the top button of her robe. “Once he takes off again, we may not see him for years and I think it’s long past time to be mending fences.”
“That ought to keep you busy,” Clint snapped.
“So you’ve made no mistakes,” she said mildly. “You know, I used to think that failing memory was a curse for the elderly. Now, I think it’s probably a blessing, because it gives peace of mind that some of them don’t deserve. Good night, darling. Sleep well.”
She rose and drifted into the shadows toward the opposite wing of the house. A moment later he heard the soft slide of a glass door, and the snick of a lock.
The tension in his chest eased. He crossed the courtyard for his room, where he felt the weight of exhaustion settling back over him. This time, he thought he might be able to sleep.
But long after he settled in, he lay staring at the ceiling. Lydia was a master at subtle criticism. He’d never once won an argument with her, but she’d also been more than fair.
She could have destroyed the Four A
ces and his budding political career by taking what was rightfully hers in the divorce, under Texas law. Instead, she’d scoffed at her insistent lawyers and had accepted just enough to put herself through college. She’d earned an art degree—something Clint had thought useless as snowshoes on a long-horn. Yet she’d made her way in the world very well.
Past mistakes. He remembered his own all too well. There was no fix for them, not after all this time. And there was no question about ever reaching a friendly accord.
But maybe…he needed to mend a few fences, as well.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AT THE SOUND of a vehicle pulling up, Kristin put the last of the supper dishes into the dishwasher, rinsed her hands and went to the front porch.
Ryan stepped out of his truck and grinned at her, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his Levi’s. “Is he ready?”
Behind her, she could hear feet thundering down the stairs. A second later, Cody burst out the door and skidded to an ungainly stop at her side. “I think so,” she said dryly.
Cody gave her a quick hug and raced off for the passenger’s side of the truck. Through the front window, she could see Hayden bowed over something that had his full attention—probably the new Nintendo DSi that Cody coveted and she couldn’t afford.
“Thanks for helping smooth things over between the boys,” Kristin murmured. “It means a lot to Cody to have a friend here.”
“Trevor handled it, really. Hayden promised he’d never refer to Cody’s grandpa again, and he promised to apologize. After that, I think the boys mostly patched things up on their own.”
“Still, you’ve been so good about getting the boys together to play. Should I pick up Cody again around six?”
Ryan tipped his head toward the cab of his truck. “You could come over now, if you’ve got time. I could bring you both home.”
“Oh. Well…” She fought the urge to smooth back her hair. “I could drive over and save you the trip.”
His grin deepened. “No bother. Just grab a jacket and come on. I’d bet the boys would like you to see how good they are now. I think we’ve got some NFL champs on the way.”
She’d once worried that Cody was developing a serious case of hero worship, and she hadn’t been far wrong. The boy talked about Ryan, the ranch and Hayden’s cool dad from dawn to dusk, always with a touch of awe and envy that saddened her.
He’d also made some not-too-subtle hints about her getting involved with Ryan, and for that reason she’d been taking special care to keep a casual distance between them. But now, with Cody looking back at her, she could hardly refuse.
“Hold on just a minute.” In the house, she caught sight of herself as she passed the front hall mirror. You hardly have to worry about any unwanted attention. Her hair was escaping its ponytail, her T-shirt splotched with water from the pots and pans she’d just washed in the sink. In fact, you look pathetic.
Ditching the T-shirt, she pulled on an emerald sweater. Considered it in her dresser mirror. Jerked it off and decided on a crimson cashmere wannabe instead. Tried scraping her hair into a knot on top of her head, disgusted when the silky strands slithered right out of the clip.
In defeat she simply ran a brush through her hair and let it fall straight to her shoulders, slapped on some lip gloss and mascara and headed out to Ryan’s truck with a denim jacket slung over her shoulders.
Cody rolled his eyes as he and Hayden shifted out of the front seat of the crew cab pickup. “What took you so long?”
She ruffled his hair as he climbed in. “Five minutes, sweetie. When you get old enough to date, you’ll be cooling your heels for hours.”
Both boys groaned as they fastened their seat belts, then bent together over the handheld video game. She closed the back door, then slid into the front seat. “This is awfully nice of you, Ryan. Thanks.”
“No problem.” His gaze stayed on her for a moment, then he cleared his throat and shifted the truck into gear. “I can only stand office work so long, and then I have to get outside. The boys give me a good excuse.”
“Are you enjoying your time at the ranch?”
He steered around several of the bigger potholes in a low spot of the road. “It’s definitely been interesting.”
“How much time do you have left?”
He rolled his left shoulder, perhaps unconsciously testing it in response. “Thanksgiving. No longer.”
“And then?”
“I’ll go back.” He glanced at her and added, “Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment, Third Battalion. Fort Benning.”
She wondered if he knew how often he massaged his damaged knee, or that his skin paled if he took an uneven step. Or if he realized there were dark shadows under his eyes, telltale signs of all he’d been through. “What will you do, exactly?”
“Rejoin my platoon.” His jaw tensed. “Or… I could end up as a trainer.”
Obviously not his first choice, given the grim set of his mouth.
There was nothing between them now other than a tentative, growing friendship, but the thought of her living in Homestead and him in Georgia—if not on the other side of the world—saddened her.
“The boys will miss you.”
“I hadn’t been back for a long time. Now, I’ll probably make the trip whenever I have leave.” He glanced at Hayden in the rearview mirror. “I’ve been missing too much.”
When they pulled to a stop by the barns at the Four Aces, the boys piled out and raced for a football lying in the grass, tackling each other and squealing as they wrestled like puppies over the ball. Friends now, they’d had dinner at each other’s houses, and last Saturday she’d taken them to a matinee at the old cheap-seats theater in Homestead—a reclamation project of yet another newcomer to town.
The difference in Cody’s attitude was amazing.
Ryan jogged over to the boys and gestured for them to move out into a wide triangle from him, then they began passing the football. His own throws so gentle, they were almost in slow motion.
An unfamiliar sense of completion settled over Kristin as she moved to a bench under a live oak and watched. Cody and Hayden missed as many catches as they made. Their throws fell short or went wide, but they were better than they’d been, and with every effort Ryan’s deep voice called out encouragement and praise.
Cody needed this so much. Even from fifty yards away, she could see him beam in response to such unfamiliar praise from a man he respected.
Ted, she remembered bitterly, would have offered up caustic remarks and cursed after a few failed throws. Then he would have spiked the ball in frustration on his way back to the house.
Leaning against the back of the bench, she glanced toward the massive Gallagher home. An elegant woman stepped out the front door with a small suitcase on wheels and trundled it to the back of a pearl-gray Lincoln. She stowed it in the trunk, then climbed behind the wheel.
The car slowly made its way down the circular drive to the parking lot, lingered next to Ryan for a moment, then both Ryan and the driver looked at Kristin. Seconds later, the car purred over to Kristin, and the driver rolled down her window.
“I don’t believe we’ve met, dear. I’m Ryan’s mother.”
Kristin rose and walked over to greet her. Long ago, she’d heard stories about the callous woman who’d brazenly walked out of the house one day without a second thought for her young boys. The woman in the car bore no resemblance to the image Kristin had formed.
Thin, her silver hair twisted into a sophisticated chignon, she had the elegant bone structure and subtly perfect makeup of someone who’d come from wealth and knew the value of understatement.
With a beige sweater knotted over her shoulders and a cascade of gold geometric shapes dangling at her ears, she might have been ready for lunch at a private club. But the warmth of her smile was in surprising contrast to her appearance and bearing.
Kristin shook her hand briefly, noted the almost skeletal fragility of the woman. Too thin. And her skin…at a
distance, she’d merely been pale. At close range, she had the cachectic look of someone very ill. “I’m happy to meet you. Are you…still Mrs. Gallagher?”
“Yes. To Clint’s everlasting discomfort, I’m sure. In a way, it was always a connection to my children. Though a minor one, to be sure.” She laughed as if dismissing her foolishness, but her eyes were sad. “Tell me about yourself, dear. I hear you’re a physician’s assistant?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please, I’m just Lydia. I do love Texas manners, but I’d rather you used my first name.” She raised a delicately arched brow. “My son didn’t say a word, but a little bird told me that you were here once, a long time ago. Meeting the family, as it were.”
“There’s nothing between us now.” Uncomfortable, Kristin glanced at Ryan’s back as he threw the football to Cody. “We’re just neighbors. Unexpectedly so.”
Smiling faintly, Lydia searched her face. “Then I shall hope that you become much better friends, dear. I think you might be exactly what he needs.”
Kristin choked back a laugh. “You haven’t been talking to Clint, then.”
“Actually, he’s been gone most of the time I’ve been here. On purpose, I’m sure.” She waved a hand toward the house, where just the tips of a helicopter’s rotor were visible through the trees. “I heard that thing take off this morning at six. Adelfa said Trevor took him to Austin, and that he’ll be gone for several nights.”
“While you’re here? That’s too bad.”
“It’s intentional, my dear. But that’s fine. I came to see my boys, anyway.” The humor in her eyes faded. “I know about what happened between you and Ryan years ago. I’m sure Clint was completely at fault, and that the old goat probably isn’t any happier about you now than he was back then. That man never forgets a grudge.”
“But—”
Lydia interrupted her with a lift of her hand. “If—if you and Ryan form an attachment, I hope you’ll ignore his father and listen to your heart. Clint has already ruined far too many lives with his interference.” She shifted the car into Reverse. “Don’t give him that power again.”
A Home in Hill Country (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 12
