Ethan eyed a barrel that they’d all hauled up into the loft with only a rope and determination. It’d served as a jail during cops and robbers. A shield during a pretend shoot-out at the bad guys’ corral. And a seat on which to thread bait onto fishing hooks. But was that old barrel a safe for Big E’s cash?
He gripped the top of the barrel and worked the warped wood until the cover came off. A pile of cash wasn’t resting in the bottom. Disappointment swelled, but stalled as Ethan reached for the item inside. More memories rushed in as Ethan stared at his bow—his favorite Christmas present given to him the year before his parents died. The one he’d carried everywhere from breakfast to dinner to bedtime as if he’d been a real-life Robin Hood, always prepared to defend the weak. He reached for the bow and grabbed the half-dozen arrows next to it. He’d forgotten the endless adventures, and, even more, the endless fun the bow had provided.
He walked to the edge of the loft, notched the arrow and released it. The arrow flew high over Grace’s head and jammed into the far wall. Cheering, he leaned over the railing and grinned down at a frowning Grace. “Amazing. This thing still works.”
“Preparing to rob a bank with your bow and arrow?” She shifted her computer on her lap. The vintage tractor seat squeaked as if protesting her lack of enthusiasm.
“Funny.” Although robbing a bank was probably faster than scouring the ranch for Big E’s money. Unfortunately, the only thing he intended to do at the Billings Bank and Trust was plead for an extension on the payment due date.
He stared at the bow, wondering when exactly life had become so complicated. And wishing he could seize those childhood moments—the ones with the laughter and joy and pure innocence—and live them all over again. If only for a minute. An hour. Just long enough for the panic and the stress to recede. Just long enough to remind himself why it all mattered. “This bow and arrow has proven quite useful on more than one occasion.”
“Getting into the other bank account will prove useful.” Grace kept her focus on her laptop screen, her fingers tapping the keyboard. “We need to discuss these reports I made. The numbers aren’t good.”
Just like that, his childhood was rammed right back into the past. Reminiscing wouldn’t improve his credit or bulk up his checking account or resuscitate the ranch. He didn’t need to look at spreadsheets and profit-and-loss statements, with the emphasis on the loss part, to understand the financial trouble the Blackwell Ranch was in. “The numbers will be better when I find Big E’s hidden stash of money.”
“That money stash is a rumor.” Grace glanced at him. Persistence strengthened her voice. “But this second bank account is real and contains actual money, Ethan.”
They’d already been over this in his truck earlier. But he repeated himself anyway. “It’s money that I can’t access. Jon would’ve already been in that account if it was possible.”
“Well, I’ve texted Rachel Thompson for advice.”
“Rachel Thompson, the owner of the Double T Ranch and Zoe’s former best friend.” Ethan squeezed the bow and an arrow. Attorneys billed by the hour and at rates often ten times higher than an average ranch hand. He couldn’t afford to pay a ranch hand, let alone Rachel, Falcon Creek’s resident lawyer. “I’ll have better luck with my treasure hunt.”
“This isn’t high school, and we aren’t kids anymore.” Grace scowled up at him. “We don’t have time to chase after gossip and speculation.”
No, it wasn’t high school. In high school he hadn’t been interested in getting under Grace Gardner’s skin. Now, that was all he wanted to do. He liked causing that flare of annoyed determination in her eyes a bit too much, he realized. “I’ll leave Rachel to you and continue on my search.”
At his exclamation of “No way!” Grace called out, “Tell me you found actual cash.”
“No. But I did find Tyler’s action figures.” Ethan lined the toys on the bench as if readying them for a battle. “And Ben’s baseball cards.”
“What about money? The green, paper kind?” Grace prodded.
“The only green things up here are the army men.” Ethan walked to the railing and tossed one of the soldiers onto Grace’s keyboard. “There’s also a green fishing rod and tackle box.”
“Wait.” The snap of her laptop closing bounced up into the loft, along with her excitement. “I know this place.” Ethan leaned against the railing and studied her, unsure he’d ever heard Grace shout with such animation. “This barn has been on this land since before Big E was born. You told me about this place.”
Grace’s gaze moved around the barn as if she was seeing it for the first time.
Something in the way she was speaking made him uneasy. The brothers had never revealed anything that happened in the loft. Ever. It was an unspoken rule.
Grace scrambled off the tractor and hurried up the ladder. She popped onto the loft, her boots disturbing the dust. She studied the area as if she’d discovered the map for the treasure hunt. Finally, her gaze settled on the corner bench and she lunged forward, her smile wide. “This is where you used to hide out and read about the mating rituals of domestic and wildlife animals.”
Ethan cringed. He’d spilled his own secrets. To Grace. During one unforgettable night. “You remembered that?”
“I remember a lot of things from our night together.” Grace knelt and tugged a stack of books from underneath the bench. “I still don’t know how you managed to hide these from your brothers.”
“Desperate times. Jon told me I was too young and refused to answer my questions. I doubt Jon knew himself. It wasn’t a matter of need as much as I wanted to have the information. All the facts, as it were.” Ethan reached up, rubbed away the dust from Grace’s chin with his thumb. “Clearly, I figured out the mating ritual.”
A blush stained her cheeks. Her gaze shifted, yet refused to settle. Ethan curved his hand to cup her face. She sighed. Soft. Quiet. But he knew that sigh. He’d heard it before. Then and now he felt that sigh deep inside his own chest. He tipped her chin up, wanting her focus on him. Wanting to know that she felt something too.
Her green gaze, trapped behind her glasses, locked on his. Her lips parted and he leaned forward, pressed his lips against hers. Let her sigh rattle inside him. Let the feel of her consume him.
He pulled her closer, seeking more. Wanting more.
The books smacked against the floor between them. The moment disrupted.
Grace jumped back, out of his embrace. Her voice came out in a flustered rush. “Sorry.”
Not as sorry as he was. Sorry the moment ended too soon. Sorry he’d reached for her in the first place. Sorry for the reminder of how much he liked Grace in his arms. Sorry that the moment would never be repeated. Could never be repeated.
Grace knelt on the floor and gathered the books.
“Leave it be.” The books were part of his past. Nothing important. And now it seemed he had one more memory he could leave up in the loft: one last kiss with Grace. “It’s all old junk up here anyway.”
“I’d hardly call these sheets of music old junk.” Grace picked up several sheets of paper and thrust them at him. “I doubt Chance would.”
Ethan took the papers, glanced at the lyrics and tossed them on the floor.
Grace grabbed the falling sheets of paper as if they were more important than money. “Don’t be so careless with your childhood memories.”
Careless—he’d been careless when he’d reached for Grace. He blamed the setting and the swirl of childhood memories for making him weak. But nostalgia wasn’t part of his DNA and reliving times gone by was a mistake. One he wouldn’t make again. “Let’s get out of here and eat.”
Grace stood, holding Chance’s crinkled music sheets in one hand. “I’m sorry Big E’s money wasn’t up here.”
He nodded and stared at the window above her head. The sincerity in her voice was almost too muc
h. That money would help solve one problem, but he wondered how many more problems were lying up ahead. Hiding out in the loft held almost too much appeal. But Big E had always told him that a life lost in the past wasn’t a life lived. Yet, now, he wondered what life he wanted to live. Another thing to blame on the loft.
Grace stepped up to him, linked her free hand with his and squeezed. It drew his gaze back to her face. “I’m not going to tell you to stop looking for Big E’s money, but I did text you Rachel’s number as a backup plan. You never know, maybe she has a suggestion about the second account.”
He studied their joined hands, took in the connection as if she’d known he needed to hold on to something. Something real. Something grounding. As if she’d known he’d lost his balance. Feared losing his way.
She tugged on his hand. “Come on. I hear there’s beef burgundy and chicken soup waiting.”
Ethan climbed down the ladder and waited to make sure Grace made it to the ground safely. He switched off the lights, closed the door on the barn and his past. Silence remained as they crossed the large expanse of lawn and made it onto the back porch of the main house. Each step away from the old barn cleared Ethan’s focus.
Grace followed Ethan into the kitchen. “Tell me again why you’re living in one of the cabins and not here instead?”
“It’s not my home. Hasn’t been for a long time.” Anything left of his childhood home was back in the barn loft where it belonged.
Ethan heated the chicken soup in the microwave for Grace, and then took out bowls and silverware. He’d have to remember to thank Katie for plugging in the Crock-Pot of beef burgundy and leaving the homemade bread wrapped on the counter.
Grace hung her tote bag on the sleek, modern stool and set her laptop on the island, the chrome paired perfectly with the white marble countertop. Grace fit into the kitchen, the house, more than Ethan.
“It’s lovely and professional and updated for a chef. My mom would love it,” Grace said.
But it wasn’t the kitchen where his mom had baked Christmas cookies. Or where his grandmother had made pumpkin pie. Not that he wanted homemade cookies or pies. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it was not this. “It’s cold, impersonal and flawless.” Ethan yanked open a drawer, grabbed a silver ladle and waved it around the kitchen, pausing on each offending appliance. “There was nothing wrong with how this place used to be. The sink had running water with an occasional drip. You just needed to jimmy the handle. The stove cooked with gas. Everyone knew the left side cooked hotter and faster than the right. If you wanted to burn dinner, you used the left burner on the back. The cabinets stored everything, and no one needed glass fronts to peek inside. We just opened the cabinet door to find the essentials stacked up inside.”
“Unfortunately, sometimes change is necessary. Stoves stop working. Faucets break.” Grace slid onto a stool at the island as if she’d always sat there. Always been a part of his home.
Worse, he liked her here. With him. But he didn’t belong here. And he wasn’t staying. He set the bowl of chicken soup in front of her. “Speaking of change, isn’t it time you stepped out of your parents’ place and into your own?”
She picked up her spoon, but never touched her soup. Instead she opened her laptop, a determined edge in her voice. “We’re supposed to be discussing the Blackwell Ranch’s financials.”
“The Blackwell Ranch needs money. Quickly.” He piled several scoops of beef burgundy on his plate, added a piece of bread and handed another slice to Grace. “I’m working on that. You’re avoiding my question.”
“I need clients first.” She tore the bread into sections and avoided looking at him. “More than the four I currently have, including your brother Jon and this ranch.”
“When you have more clients, then what?” He took several bites of his dinner. Yet even the delicious beef failed to temper the gnawing agitation inside him. He wanted her settled into her new office. He wanted her business built. Yet he couldn’t explain why. Or perhaps he didn’t want to admit the truth. The truth that he wanted to know she could move on from her family and Brewster’s like he’d moved on without regret. Without second thoughts. Except...
She stirred her spoon around the bowl. “Then I’ll need real office space outside of Brewster’s.”
He paused, allowed her to eat more of her soup. Allowed his own regret over the past to settle back in the shadows. “What are you doing to build your client list?”
“I’m networking.”
“With more high school friends,” he said.
“Why do you care?” Her spoon clattered on the countertop, followed by her palm smacking the marble. “It’s my business.”
“The one you intend to use to support the baby.” He pushed his empty plate across the counter. She’d told him that change was necessary as if it was as easy to accept as the arrival of spring. Well, change was certainly coming: in the form of a child. He wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t ready. For all her confidence and talk of strategies, he wanted to know if she was as panicked as him. He wanted to know he wasn’t alone in his worry and angst about becoming a father. “It’s easy to write goals on a piece of paper, but really hard to make those goals a reality.”
He knew that all too well. His résumé listed his accomplishments and the depth of his knowledge. But that piece of paper alone hadn’t been enough to move him beyond phone interviews recently. He was no closer to buying into an established practice today than he was prior to his graduation several years ago. His stomach rolled, cramped. That extra scoop of beef burgundy hadn’t been the wisest choice.
“What about your ideas to support the baby?”
“Forgive me if I’m still working out those details. I only learned about the baby less than twenty-four hours ago.” Ethan rose, paced around the counter. “You’ve had several months to make adjustments. To change your life.”
Grace stood, grabbed her bag. Ethan intercepted her.
“Grace, I’m sorry.” What had gotten into him? She wasn’t to blame for his grandfather’s disappearance. Or his failure to find Big E’s money. Or his lack of a job. Or the simple fact that he was struggling to accept so many changes around him. “There’s been a lot to take in the last few days. I just think you should put yourself first for once.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It can be,” he countered.
“For you.” Her voice lashed out.
Ethan stepped back, rubbed his chin as if her words had slapped him. “What does that mean?”
“Let’s be really clear.” She dropped her tote bag on the stool. Her gaze steady, her voice curt. “You want me to have a stable business to support the baby because you have no intention of staying in town.”
He’d never wanted to raise a family in Falcon Creek. He’d only ever wanted to move beyond the confines of the small town his grandfather—and Grace it seemed—lived for. She wouldn’t make him feel guilty for wanting more. “I have every intention of supporting the baby.”
“But not here,” she said.
The truth in her words stole his breath. Why couldn’t she understand? She knew firsthand the Blackwell Ranch couldn’t afford to put him on its payroll. There was nothing the ranch could offer him that would help him support a child. He had to leave.
And when he moved on, he wanted to be sure he’d done something more than leaving her pregnant and alone. “I’m here now. I can help you set up your business.”
“Fine.” Before he could grin, she lifted her hand. “But only if you help the residents of Falcon Creek and their pets.”
The residents of Falcon Creek weren’t having his baby. He was only interested in assisting Grace, not making more house calls. “No.”
“Afraid you might discover you like it here?” She tossed out her question like a dare issued on the playground.
He already liked that spark in
Grace’s green gaze and that grit in her voice. He never imagined the most reserved of the Gardner sisters would stand up to him. Challenge him. He was afraid he might discover how much more he could like Grace Gardner if he stayed.
But Grace belonged to Falcon Creek. He didn’t. Falcon Creek was as much a part of Grace as her expertise with numbers. He’d lost that part of him when he’d left the pain behind and never looked back. “I’m afraid of the liability. Everything is good until someone loses their beloved pet on my watch.”
She hadn’t expected that argument. He saw it in the way she opened and closed her mouth. And in the way her eyebrows pulled together.
She tipped her chin up, met his gaze. “You wouldn’t let that happen.”
Her certainty and faith in his abilities humbled him. But that wasn’t enough. “Bad things happen even with the best intentions.” Like breaking someone’s heart or letting someone down. “You’re asking too much.”
“Maybe.” She folded her arms over her chest and studied him. “But you’re holding back too much.”
“I didn’t come home for some happy reunion.”
“Why did you come home?”
“Jon asked me to.” She winced at his words. He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans to keep from reaching for her. She needed the truth now more than she needed his comfort. “And yes, I would’ve come home if you’d asked.”
“Before or after you learned about the baby?” she countered.
“That’s not fair.” Their discussion about their night together hadn’t been resolved. They’d left the conversation in the awkward zone, both seeming content to let it rest. But that night lingered like an open blister, raw and sore. “You left without a goodbye the next morning. Nothing but a note.”
“You could’ve called me,” she said.
And risk being rejected twice. Not really his style. Not that he’d admit she’d hurt him. “What if I’d called and said that night had been amazing, unforgettable and one-of-a-kind? Would you have called back or run even farther?”
The Rancher's Rescue Page 12
