by Lisa Jackson
And yet he had. She’d died a thousand deaths all those years ago, just thinking that he’d used her—that she’d meant nothing to him. And again, when he’d seen her in the barn and denied loving her at all. Her throat was hot, her eyes luminous with unshed tears.
He brushed one solitary drop from her lashes and cursed under his breath. “What the hell am I going to do with you?” His thumb caressed the curve of her cheekbone and she felt him tremble.
“I—I can handle myself,” she murmured.
“I know you can, Tess.” With a sigh, he swept her off her feet and carried her back to the bed. She buried her face in his neck, drinking in the clean scent of him, the powerful feel of his muscles. She kissed the warm crook of his neck.
“Stop it!” he rasped. “I’m trying to be noble here.”
“Noble?”
Before she could say another word, he tucked her robe around her and drew the covers to her neck.
“You’re leaving?”
“If and when we make love again—”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, lashing back. He was rejecting her again!
His night-darkened eyes searched her face. “Next time, there will be no regrets.”
She shoved the covers aside and sat up in the bed. “There won’t be a next time!”
The cords in his neck protruded. “Stop pushing, Tessa. You’re lucky I still have some self-control.”
“Sure,” she taunted, thrusting her chin forward defiantly. “Now just leave!”
His jaw worked and his eyes clashed with hers. Then, as if afraid he might change his mind, he turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the room. A few minutes later she heard the shower running.
* * *
The next morning Tessa didn’t waste a minute. She’d spent most of the night laying plans, and today she intended to put them into action. If the night had proved anything, it was that she was still just as susceptible to Denver’s charms as she’d ever been. Ignoring the traitorous part of her heart that had argued long and hard with her, she reasoned the sooner she sent him packing to L.A., the better.
She showered, then dressed in a wheat-colored linen suit and magenta blouse. Curling her hair, she twisted it into a thick braid at the back of her head before stepping into tan heels and adding color to her lips, cheeks and eyes. With a satisfied glance at her reflection, she decided that she was ready to face Rob Morrison at Second Western Bank. He’d indicated that he would loan her the money to buy the ranch. Now she had to make sure he was as good as his word.
Downstairs, Milly was already bustling around in the kitchen. Apple pies were cooling on racks by the windows and she was poking at the corners of the floor with her broom.
“I won’t be around for lunch today,” Tessa said.
“You skip too many meals, if you ask me.” Straightening, Milly set the broom in the corner, then eyed Tessa up and down. “My, don’t you look nice.”
“Nice?” Tessa repeated, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want to look nice. How about professional or sophisticated or chic?”
“All of the above,” Denver said as he opened the door from the back porch. Unshaved, hair mussed, he was squinting, as if the morning light were much too bright.
Smothering a smile, Tessa realized he was suffering from a hangover. Good, she thought wickedly. Serves him right!
Milly took pity on him. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“And about two dozen aspirin,” he said, forcing a smile as he fell into one of the table chairs and studied Tessa. “Where are you going?”
“To the bank.” Placing the cup on the table in front of him, she offered him an emphatic smile. “I have an appointment with Rob Morrison.”
“Isn’t he a teenager?”
“He was, Denver. Not only has he graduated from high school, but college, and now he works for his dad as a loan officer.”
“I remember when he was still stealing hubcaps and shooting the hell out of mailboxes,” Denver grumbled.
“No more,” Milly said. “Rob’s become a real straight arrow. Belongs to the city council and all. Time didn’t just stand still, you know.”
“So I’ve been told,” Denver admitted, his gaze catching Tessa’s. Lord, she was beautiful. “Over and over again.”
“Guess you’re a slow learner,” Milly observed as she shoved the broom in a cupboard on the back porch.
“I guess so.” Denver couldn’t take his eyes off Tessa. Seeing her dressed as a lady—no, as a businesswoman—did strange things to him. She was fascinating enough in her jeans and work shirts, her attractive ranch-tough veneer. But dressed elegantly, in an expensively tailored skirt and jacket, she made him face the fact that she was truly the most captivating woman he’d ever met. The fire in her stormy hazel eyes, the proud lift of her chin and the confident set of her shoulders were potent and evocative.
Seven years ago he’d been attracted to her, maybe even loved her, but her innocence and spunk had been childishly intriguing. Now, he was faced with a full-fledged woman, a mature woman who knew her own mind, a woman he’d tried to humiliate the day before, a woman he’d nearly made love to last night.
The phone rang and he realized he’d been staring.
“I’ll get it,” Milly called out as she reached around the corner and picked up the receiver. “McLean Ranch,” she answered brightly, then glanced sharply at Denver. “Yeah, he’s here. Just a minute.” She held the receiver toward Denver. “Long distance,” she whispered. “Jim somebody.”
“Van Stern,” Denver said, placing his cup on the table. “My partner. I’ll take it in the den.” With a quick glance at Tessa, he strode out of the room. A few seconds later Milly replaced the receiver.
“I wonder what that was all about?” the housekeeper muttered.
“He does have a business in L.A., you know.” Tessa finished her coffee. “Maybe Van Stern wants him to go back to Los Angeles. Denver only intended to stay a few days.” That particular thought should have been uplifting, but Tessa’s spirits didn’t soar. Quite the opposite. After she’d avoided him for days, swearing to herself that she didn’t care for him, not one little bit, that her attraction to him was just chemistry, the thought that he would suddenly be out of her life was difficult to accept. Frowning, she reached for her purse and said, “I’ll be at Second Western Bank this morning, then I’ll stop over at Nate Edwards’s place. I should be back in time to feed the stock, but if I’m not, tell Mitchell he can handle it.”
Milly snorted sarcastically. “He’ll like that a lot.”
“I know, but he can just bloody well do it.” With a wave she walked out the back door.
* * *
Second Western Bank was a two-story concrete structure on the corner of Main and First Streets. With its narrow, black-framed windows, the square gray building looked more like a jail than a financial institution. Only a few trees and shrubs planted between the bank and parking lot softened the sharp angles.
A security guard was posted in the front entrance, and inside, the main lobby floor was brick, shined to a glossy finish. If only there had been bars on the windows, the penitentiary decor would have been complete.
Rob Morrison was waiting for her in his office on the second floor. Less austere than the rest of the bank, his corner suite was decorated with a few oil paintings of rugged coastlines and high mountains, cream-colored furniture and thick burgundy carpet.
Rob rose from his chair when she arrived. A thin man with rust-colored hair, freckles and narrow features, he extended his hand. “Tessa! What a pleasure,” he said, smiling and waving her into one of the side chairs near his desk. “What can I do for you?”
“Guess.”
“The McLean Ranch, right?” He twisted his pen in his fingers.
“Right. I’d like to take out a loan and buy the ranch.”
Still twisting his pen, Rob leaned back in his chair. “All of it?”
She nodded. “Unfortunately, no one’s bee
n able to find Colton, and he owns half the place.”
“You don’t think he’ll want to buy out Denver’s share?”
“Do you?” she asked.
Rob laughed. “It’s doubtful. The last I heard, Colton was in Afghanistan or somewhere.”
“Even if he can’t be found, I still want to buy out Denver’s share.”
“He wants to sell?”
“In a hurry,” she said, smiling dryly. The one trait that hadn’t changed in Denver was his need to escape. He intended to leave Montana as quickly as he could, and though she tried to tell herself that his departure was for the best, that she’d lived well enough without him—she couldn’t forget his words, loosed by liquor. If and when we make love again, next time there will be no regrets.
“Have you settled on a price?” Rob asked.
“Not yet.”
“That’s the first step. As soon as you and Denver and Colton work out an agreement, I’ll go to work. I’ll give you the loan application forms and you can take them with you. The land will be mortgaged, of course, but the bank will require a down payment. You can work that out with Denver.”
Tessa wasn’t sure she could work anything out with Denver, but didn’t say so. A few minutes later, she was back in her car, driving south.
* * *
Nate Edwards’s ranch was all that the McLean Ranch wasn’t. The main house looked as if it were more suited to a Southern plantation than the windy hills of Montana. Rising three full stories, the shiny white exterior was punctuated with huge bow windows and cobalt-blue shutters. A porch, complete with an old-fashioned swing and wicker furniture, ran the length of the building, as did an upper balcony.
The ranch buildings and fences were all of gleaming white. A lake fitted with huge irrigation pipes forced water across the dry acres. Even in late August, the grass on Nate Edwards’s property was healthy and green.
Tessa parked her car at the curve of a circular drive and mounted brick steps. She rang the bell and waited until Nate’s wife, Paula, opened the door. Red-haired and younger than her husband by fifteen years, Paula grinned widely.
“Tessa! This is a surprise. Come in, come in,” she invited, “It’s about time you stopped by. Sherrie’s been asking about you.”
“I’ve been busy,” Tessa explained, feeling a little guilty. She and Paula had been friends since high school, and Paula’s daughter, Sherrie, was a child after Tessa’s own heart.
“Who is it, Mommy?” a small voice called as Tessa stepped inside the cool interior.
Glancing up, she spied a dark-haired imp on the landing of the stairs. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me,” Tessa said.
The child squealed in recognition. “Tessie!” she cried, hurrying down the sweeping staircase and running into Tessa’s outstretched arms. “You promised to take me riding!”
“That I did.”
“Over my dead body!” Paula interrupted, wagging a finger in front of Sherrie’s pert little face. “You can’t ride until you’re five, remember.”
Sherrie crossed her plump little arms over her chest. “I won’t ever be five.”
“Sure you will,” her mother teased, touching the tip of Sherrie’s nose with her finger and winking at Tessa. “Come out to the back porch. I’ve got a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator, and Sherrie and I baked cookies this morning.”
“Apple squares!” Sherrie chimed in, scrambling from her mother’s arms and making a beeline for the kitchen. “I’ll show you.”
The kitchen was as formal as the rest of the house. Gleaming pans hung from the ceiling, marble counters stretched around the room and every appliance sparkled. On the center island were two huge platters of warm cookies. Sherrie picked out the largest square in her plump little fingers and handed it to Tessa. “Try it,” she commanded, her eyes bright, her pink cheeks flushed.
“Delicious,” Tessa pronounced as she bit into the gooey confection.
“I know,” the girl said proudly.
Paula promptly lectured her daughter on the virtues of being humble.
Hiding a grin, Tessa strolled outside. Paula joined her a few minutes later on the back porch. While Sherrie picked flowers in the garden, Paula and Tessa sat beneath a table umbrella and sipped from frosty glasses of iced tea.
“So where’ve you been this morning?” Paula asked, eyeing Tessa’s suit.
“The bank. I’m trying to buy the ranch. That’s why I’m here.” Tessa shoved her hair from her eyes and watched Sherrie pick the petals off a budding rose. “I wanted to talk to Nate about Brigadier and a couple of mares. He was interested in buying them once.”
“Still is,” Paula said. “He’s never forgiven you for buying that stallion right out from under his nose at the auction.”
“I guess he has a chance to get even.”
Paula studied the ice cubes dancing in her drink. “I hear Denver’s back.”
“For a while,” Tessa replied, her eyes squinting against the sun.
“How’s it going?”
“So far, so good,” she said, knowing she was evading the truth. Paula was a trusted friend, but Tessa doubted she could understand the tangle of emotions that linked Denver and Tessa as well as drove them apart.
“You don’t think you can convince him to stay?”
Tessa shook her head. “I couldn’t before the fire, and now ... a lot has happened. Besides, we have separate lives now. He loves L.A. I like it here.”
“You’ve never been to L.A.,” Paula reminded her gently.
“I know.”
“Aren’t you just a little curious?”
“About what?”
“The city. The beach. Why Denver lives there?”
Tessa blew a wayward strand of hair from her eyes. “A little,” she admitted. In truth, she wanted to know everything about Denver. What he’d done the past seven years. Where he’d lived. With whom he’d shared his life.
“You loved him once,” Paula reminded her.
“I was young—and foolish.”
Paula, always the matchmaker, lifted a lofty red eyebrow. “So, if you’re not still hung up on Denver, why haven’t you married?”
One corner of Tessa’s lips curved upward. “Maybe I haven’t met the right man.”
“Oh, you’ve met him, all right. And you’re living under the same roof with him. If I were you, I’d use that to your advantage.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t know,” Paula mused, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Seems to me, life’s as simple as you make it. You’re not married. Denver’s still single, and you used to be so in love with him that you couldn’t think of anything else. Some things just don’t change.”
“I’ll remember that,” Tessa said, finishing her drink and finally turning the conversation away from Denver to Paula and her plans for Sherrie.
Two hours later, as she drove back to the ranch, the interior of her car so hot she had begun to perspire, Tessa considered Paula’s advice then promptly discarded it. Denver had come back to the ranch to sell it. Period. His return had nothing to do with her—he’d admitted as much that first night when he found her in the barn. Any tenderness he’d felt for her had died in the fire. Even the night before, the gentle way he’d touched her had been because of the alcohol he’d consumed—nothing more.
* * *
Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Denver walked through the gloomy machine shed, eyeing each battered piece of equipment and remembering some of the older rigs. The combine, mower and drill were the same ones he’d used himself. Trailing his finger along the dented seat of the old John Deere tractor, he frowned. He’d spent more hours than he wanted to count chugging through the fields, dragging a harrow or hay baler behind. From the time he could first remember, he’d wanted out—a chance at another life. Years ago, before the fire, he’d thought he would claim that life, make a name for himself as an engineer, study for an M.B.A. and marry Tessa Kramer.
But,
of course, things hadn’t turned out as he’d planned.
And now, he wasn’t so sure that he was ready to leave.
Scowling darkly, he dusted his hands, as if in so doing he could brush aside any ties that bound him to this land.
Though ranching wasn’t what he’d dreamed of all his life, he’d found a quiet peacefulness here that he hadn’t felt in years; the slower pace was a welcome relief from the tension and stress in L.A. Even his condominium on the beach in Venice didn’t interest him. Not without Tessa.
He hadn’t really acknowledged his growing attachment to the ranch—or was it his fascination with Tessa?—until his partner had called, reassuring him that things were slow in the engineering firm and that he could handle everything for a few more weeks. Oddly, Denver found the extra time soothing.
He shouldered open the door and stopped suddenly. There, only forty yards directly in front of him were the charred ruins of the stables. The debris had been hauled away years before, but a few blackened timbers, now overgrown with berry vines, were piled near what had once been the concrete foundation.
Though the wind was hot, he shuddered as memories of the blaze burned before his very eyes. Once again, he was seven years younger—
* * *
Fire crackled high in the air. Smoke scorched his lungs as he ran to the stables. Horses screamed in terror, and fear thudded in his heart. Inside the heat was so intense, the roar of the flames so deafening, he couldn’t see or hear. Throwing one arm over his mouth, he held his breath and moved by instinct, fumbling with locks on the stalls, hoping to set free a few of the scrambling, terrified animals. Stallions and mares squealed. Kicking madly, they bolted as soon as Denver tore open the gates.
He heard a cough, then a tortured cry, and he whirled toward the tack room. God, were his parents trapped inside? Hold on, he thought, I’m coming. Just hold on!
As he stepped forward, a blast ripped through the stables, throwing him off his feet. His hands scrabbled in the air, catching on the bit of a bridle still dangling from the wall. The scorched leather snapped and he fell to the floor. In his last few seconds of consciousness he knew he would die.
