* * *
CASSIE HAD WATCHED his tall, well-honed physique, dressed in khakis and a crewneck shirt, disappear around the corner of the house. Trace Rafferty had been born an exceptionally handsome man. Judging from the photographs Sam had shown her after his son had gone into the military, time had only added to his male attributes. He’d inherited his mother’s black hair and smile. But his rugged features and those searing hot blue eyes fringed by black lashes had come straight from his father.
Sam was so proud of his son, who’d served in many places around the globe. In or out of uniform, Trace Rafferty, still unmarried, possessed killer looks that would always cause him to stand out.
Cassie had been putting up jam for the past week, a little at a time. It always made the house smell good, so she’d decided to put up some more today to make his homecoming a little more welcoming. After that she’d started dinner with a pot roast in the oven and homemade rolls that were still rising.
According to Doc Rafferty, Trace hadn’t been out to the ranch since his father had gotten married last year. On his last leave, he’d stayed in town with him and his new wife at their condo in White Lodge.
Perhaps it had been too painful to return to the home that was now empty of all family. But Sam had left it to his son and hoped he would make his life here now that he was out of the air force. She knew Sam’s heart. He’d missed his son horribly over the years. To have him back home to stay would thrill him.
After finding as many ripe strawberries as she could, she made her way to the back door through the laundry room to the kitchen. Trace could have them fresh for breakfast if he wanted.
The minute she stepped in the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was the smell of tuna fish mingled with the jam aroma. Looking around she discovered Trace over in the corner at the breakfast table eating sandwiches. He’d already drunk half a quart of milk without the aid of a glass.
He flashed her a smile that gave her an odd, fluttery sensation. “You’ve caught me.”
Troubled that his smile had any effect on her at all, she put the basket of berries on the counter. “It’s your house. You’re entitled to do whatever you want.”
“I didn’t know you were still living here.”
Uh oh. “After Logan died, I didn’t plan to stay on, but your father insisted because he wanted the house kept up while no one was living here. Now that you’re home, I plan to leave tonight after I’ve served you two dinner.”
Though she hadn’t told Sam yet, she’d already made arrangements with her cousin Avery to stay with her and her husband, Zane, until she found another place to live and work.
He shook his dark head. “Since I just arrived and don’t know my own plans yet, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to move out.”
“But—”
“No buts. You were hired to take care of the house. From what I’ve already seen, you’ve done a fantastic job.”
“Thank you.” She checked on the roast, then started to leave the kitchen, almost faint with relief that she didn’t have to give up this job quite yet.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m taking the horses for their daily exercise.”
Trace emptied the milk bottle. His eyes played over her. “How do you manage that?”
She couldn’t help but smile at the remark. “I ride Buttercup and string Masala along. He goes where she goes.”
“So he has a crush on her?”
A chuckle escaped her. “No. But he has no choice if he wants to leave the paddock. He’s a wild mustang my cousin Connor tamed and gave to us. Besides Connor and your father, my husband was the only other man to ride him.”
He continued to study her. “All you Bannocks are expert horse people. I’m surprised you haven’t won that horse over yet.”
She averted her eyes. “Masala preferred Logan.”
Since when did that matter when according to Trace’s father she was an expert horsewoman? He got up from the table. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you and take a look around the property. Maybe Masala will let me ride him. If not, I’ll hold the rope and lead him around as we walk. After my flight, I need to stretch my legs.”
Cassie preferred to be alone, but she didn’t see how she could turn down Trace’s offer. “Won’t your father be here before long?”
“I don’t know. Clive Masters said he’d gone out on an emergency. I’ll text him to let him know we’ll be back soon. If he’s hungry, I made enough tuna fish for him to have some, too.”
“He’ll like that,” she said. It seemed Trace had made up his mind. He had the confidence and authority of a man who was comfortable in any setting. “I’ll meet you at the barn in a few minutes.”
After she left the kitchen, Trace cleaned up the mess he’d made and went back to his bedroom to put on jeans and a T-shirt. His room was exactly as he’d left it. The framed pictures of him, a couple with his dog, some with his parents and some with Jarod and Connor out horseback riding, still hung on the wall.
He found his old pair of cowboy boots and put them on. With the exception of the last time he’d been home, he and his father had always gone riding after chores were done.
His ancient black cowboy hat sat on the closet shelf. He dusted it off and shoved it on his head. Once he’d sent his father a text, he headed for the barn. Cassie was already out in the paddock astride her horse.
Buttercup was well named. Between Cassie’s hair and the palomino’s golden color that included a white mane and tail, they made quite a sight in the sun. He rubbed her horse’s forelock. “You’re a real beauty, aren’t you Buttercup,” he said, struggling not to look at Cassie. Her coloring was the complete opposite from the Italians he’d spent time with over the past eighteen months.
Nicoletta Tornielli, the olive-skinned woman he’d been planning to marry, had long black hair and large black-brown eyes. After being around her family, Cassie’s fairness with that peaches-and-cream complexion was in complete contrast.
While he was deep in thought over the change in his circumstances, her horse pushed against his chest, causing both of them to laugh. She smiled down at him. “Buttercup likes you. When one of the older ranchers in the area told Connor he needed to sell a couple of his horses, Connor took me with him and I ended up buying Buttercup. She’s been a wonderful horse so far. Friendly.”
“Your cousin has a great eye for horseflesh. One horse down, one to go.” Still feeling her smile, he walked into the barn. The smell of the barn brought back memories of getting up early in the morning. He’d repair the fencing bordering the Bannock property with his father, or make certain the planted forage wasn’t flooded by the numerous springs. Then he’d ride to the pasture. His job was to look for heifers in trouble while his dad checked on the rest of the herd.
In one of the stalls he found a blue roan with transverse stripes across the withers, marking him a wild mustang. “Hey, big fella.” Trace started talking to the horse, touching him, using all the tricks his horse-loving father had taught him years ago. The gentleness paid off. Soon the horse was nickering. Trace went into the tack room for a bridle and brought it out.
At first Masala shied away from it, but Trace continued to talk to him in soothing tones until the horse allowed the bridle to be put on. “It’s now or never,” he muttered before mounting him. Trace had always preferred riding bareback on his favorite mount, Prince. That seemed a century ago. If this horse didn’t like the weight, it was too late now.
Masala tossed his head several times and backed up, but when he realized he wasn’t in charge, Trace made a clicking sound and rode him out of the barn.
Cassie’s eyes flashed like green gemstones. “I don’t believe it! I didn’t think he’d let anyone else ride him.”
“My father taught me a few techniques.” They left the paddock and headed for the deep forest that made the Rafferty property so desirable to Trace.
“You learned them well. He must sense the take-charge pilo
t in you.”
“You think?” he teased.
“I know.”
They rode side by side, following a faint trail that wound through the trees. With the temperature at eighty-one degrees, he welcomed the cool of the forest. When the fall hunting season was on, the abundance of wildlife made the property a big game hunter’s paradise—elk, moose, mule deer, bison, white-tailed deer, bear and bighorn sheep roamed this part of the state. This ranch had it all. Someone would pay a lot of money for the property. Trace was determined that money would go right into his father’s bank account.
He glanced over at Cassie. “Tell me something. Who did the work and staining on the exterior of the cabin? When I first drove in, I thought I’d come to the wrong house. It’s so changed I hardly recognized it.”
“That was Logan’s doing.”
“The artwork on the shutters, too?”
“No. That was my contribution.”
Trace marveled at her skill. He took a deep breath of the pine-scented air. “And the garden?”
“We both worked on it at the end of last summer to get it ready for spring.”
A spring Logan never saw...
It meant Cassie had done all the planting. “You’ve made the place beautiful.”
“Thank you. Your father asked me to pick out some porch furniture so it would look more attractive. When I was young I read all the books in the Little House series. I loved them and envied Laura Ingalls Wilder her life.”
He wondered where she was going with this. “I remember watching a few TV shows based on those books.”
Cassie flicked him a glance. “Do you know, when I first saw this place, I found myself thinking of it as Little House in the Big Woods. You know, it’s isolated here. The forest is so pristine and untouched. Anyway, it gave me the same feeling as those books. I was really delighted when your father hired us to live and work here. It’s an adorable house in the perfect setting.”
Trace was charmed by her. “Well, with what you’ve done to it, it is now. Tell me—do you plan on writing a series of books about this house, too?”
“Don’t be silly.”
He eyed her very fetching profile. “You have a real talent for color and design. There are chalets in the Alps with shutters that can’t touch the beauty of your artwork. Dad should have hired you years ago. How many other homes have you worked on?”
“None.” She sounded surprised. “I’m not an artist, Trace. But a few years ago some of my college friends and I went on spring break to Europe. When we toured through Switzerland, I stayed in a village where all the chalets had decorated shutters and window boxes. I was so delighted by them, I took pictures and thought I’d like to try my hand if I ever got the chance. Your father, bless his heart, was willing to let me experiment.”
“He got more than his money’s worth. I’m very impressed.” He was impressed with a lot of things about her. She was well traveled, could grow a garden and make jam, paint and was an expert horsewoman, as well. Trace had no doubts she could ride Masala if she wanted. He got the feeling she was holding something back where the horse was concerned, but he wasn’t about to push his theory about why at this early stage.
“Tell me about your deployment in Italy. What was it like to be a jet pilot?”
His career seemed to be a safe topic for her, so he obliged her. “In a word, exhilarating.”
“But what was your job exactly?”
“The mission of the Thirty-First Fighter Wing is to deliver combat power and support across the globe to achieve U.S. and NATO objectives.”
“I guess you had to memorize that for everyone who asks.” He smiled at her perception.
“So what did you do when you weren’t fighting?”
“We had to maintain aircraft and personnel in a high state of readiness. That involved a lot of training exercises.”
“Did you get your eye injury in combat? I hope you don’t mind my asking. When your father received the news, he was too broken up to talk about it.”
So was Trace’s girlfriend, Nicci. She’d begged him to go to work for her father so nothing between them would change. But everything had changed. There was no going back.
For their marriage to take place, she would have to move to Colorado. But she’d been living in denial since his injury and their relationship had hit a plateau.
Not so for the woman riding on the horse next to him. Unlike Nicoletta, Cassie had been forced to face losing her husband and get on with living and working. You couldn’t avoid dealing with death. Her life couldn’t get more real than that. Since she’d asked the question, why not tell her the truth?
“I was flying a combat mission when a laser beam intersected my eye. If you want the medical version, the light was transmitted through the clear ocular media and imaged onto a small spot on the sensory retina. In a mere moment tissue necrosis occurred. The result being that my vision was impaired.”
“A laser? Where did it come from?”
“Lasers are used for different functions in military applications. They serve in targeting guidance systems. Some are fire-control devices, others for access denial systems and communications security. Although the use of lasers as a weapon is a violation of the Geneva convention, the potential for its wrongful use continues to attract international concern. The laser that injured my eye was no accident.”
She shivered. “That’s horrible. Evil.”
“You’re right. In military applications, just a few microjoules of laser through the pupils in a 10 to 30 nanosecond pulse can produce a visible lesion. At 150 to 300 microjoules, a small retinal hemorrhage can occur. This type of damage can have a devastating effect on a pilot’s vision. It did on mine.” His voice grated. “I wasn’t blinded, but I have to wear a corrective lens so it prevents me from doing that particular job anymore.”
“Though you’re no longer top gun, you can still fly, right?”
“Yes. I could be a flight navigator, but once you’ve done what I do, no other position holds the same excitement for me. That probably sounds selfish to you.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “There are few careers in this world that demand your specialized kind of expertise. Connor and I had a talk about that very thing last week. Since his injury, his fans have been begging him to get back to steer wrestling and go for a sixth world championship title.”
“What did he say?” Trace was curious.
“He admitted that those years of being on top were great, and there was no other thrill like it. But the injury affected him enough that he knew he’d never be that good again. Sure he could train and go for it over and over for a few more years, but he’d never be able to perform at his former level. To be a has-been simply wasn’t for him.
“Then he gave me that special smile of his and told me he was glad he’d been injured because he ended up marrying Liz Henson. To quote him, ‘The thrill of being married to her has topped anything I’ve ever experienced.’”
Trace liked hearing that. “He’s really happy, then.”
“Ecstatic. They both are. From the time we were in high school Liz had a crush on him that never went away.”
He nodded. “Dad let on to me about her heartache before she and Connor traveled to Las Vegas together for the National Finals Rodeo. That trip turned their lives around and lost him a great vet in the process.”
“It about killed her when he married Reva Stevens. I wasn’t surprised when it ended in divorce so fast. Reva loved Connor, but she hated ranch life. Not everyone takes to it. She didn’t last long. At the time I was afraid his heart was permanently broken.”
“My mother couldn’t handle being this isolated either,” Trace admitted. “Nine years into the marriage and she asked my dad for a divorce.” Would the same thing happen if he and Nicoletta got married, even if they lived in Colorado? He’d been struggling with that question all night.
“For someone who wasn’t born to it, your mom lasted longer than most, Trace. That’s beca
use she loved your father. At least that’s what I heard from people who knew your parents. But I know that’s no consolation to you. Anything but. Forgive me for saying something so insensitive.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I was the one to bring it up. My mother was frank with me. I knew she loved Dad, but that wasn’t enough. I’m glad you told me about Connor. It’s great to hear he’s found his happiness now.”
“I agree, but I’m so sorry about your injury, Trace. It isn’t fair,” she said in a heartfelt voice. “I’m surprised nothing’s been done to prevent such a thing from happening.”
“People have tried. There was an international conventional weapons conference in 1995. They announced the latest protocol on blinding laser weapons. The United States signed on to the guidelines. Four of the articles outlined the parameters for the use of lasers in military maneuvers and war.
“They came up with the rule that the employment of lasers solely to cause permanent blindness—or a resulting visual acuity of 20/200—is strictly prohibited. But of course, the enemy doesn’t care.”
“That is so horrible.”
“No more horrible than your husband being shot.” Trace wanted to move the subject away from him. “Did the rangers find the person responsible?”
She was quiet for a moment before she admitted, “Not yet. As you know, Avery’s husband, Zane, is a special agent for the Bureau of Land Management. While searching for Logan, he found a dead marten near Logan that had been shot on the property that day.
“The slug from a smooth bore shotgun that killed my husband matched the slug in the marten. Zane’s still hoping forensics will lead to the owner of the shotgun so he can be brought in for questioning. So far there’s no actual proof that it wasn’t accidental.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. There’s no hunting until April, so whoever was out there in February was trespassing. It could have been an accident, but Zane doesn’t think so. A hunter shooting marten would probably have taken it for the fur.”
A Montana Cowboy Page 2
