Reuniting with the Rancher

She glanced away toward the window again. She didn’t want to find any reasons to like this guy. None. She’d be leaving again in two weeks, whatever she decided to do with this ranch.

But then her thoughts wandered a different, faraway path. “You get used to it,” she said presently. “You just get used to it.”

“Have you?”

“I guess so. I didn’t realize until I got here just how much tension I was carrying all the time. My first night here I could feel it letting go. Something inside me is uncoiling. But it never uncoils for those children. Even in a safe place, like their homes, or at the youth center, I’m sure it never has long enough to let go because in just a short while they’re going to step outside again.”

He didn’t offer any bromides, but she heard him drum his fingers on the table. She needed to get away from this subject for a little while, she realized, because even just talking about it and thinking about it was ratcheting up her tension.

She fixed him with her gaze. “Do you have a lot of insomnia?”

“Sometimes. Usually not this bad.”

“I’d think with how hard you work, you’d just conk out.”

“You’d think.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe I’m just one of those people who doesn’t need a whole lot of sleep. I certainly don’t walk around feeling sleep deprived.”

“I can’t imagine it. Sometimes I think I could sleep around the clock.”

“Maybe I should let you get back to it.”

The perfect out. She should have grabbed it, but she didn’t. “No, I’m fine. I think I’m done with sleep tonight. I was sitting upstairs thinking about things when I saw you ride up. I’m wondering if this house is always going to feel so achingly empty without Martha.”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you. I miss her, too, and I didn’t even live here, but you’re right, I keep expecting to hear her voice.”

“Yeah. And for some reason I’m focusing on that. That I’ll never hear her voice again except inside my own head.”

He hesitated visibly, then said, “Martha told me you were attacked once in Chicago.”

At that instant she seriously wanted to throw him out. His company had at least distracted her from that mixed-up dream where one instant she was with Cliff in the throes of passion and in the next she was being grabbed and pawed by that slimeball. She still didn’t understand why her mind had hooked those two things together, even in a dream, but she certainly didn’t want to think about the attack.

He must have read her face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up, but I’ve worried about you ever since.”

“Why should you worry at all about me after the way I treated you?” she demanded, angry but not at all sure whether she was mad at him or something else. “And that was my business. Why would Martha tell you about that?”

He responded to her anger, his face darkening. “She worried about you. Constantly. Maybe she never told you, but she did. And after that, I worried, too. There’s a lot of crap between us, Holly. I’ve got plenty of reason not to like you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to you.”

He pushed back from the table. His face had grown hard, and his voice chilly. “Call me if you need anything. Martha put me on autodial.”

Then he walked out. Just like that. Not even a goodbye.

She sat alone at the table, cooling coffee in front of her, trying to sort through the tangled web of emotions inside her, but it proved impossible. All of it was impossible. She couldn’t imagine how she would ever get herself straightened out.

Coming back here had been a mistake. Dealing with rough neighborhoods by and large wasn’t nearly as dangerous as dealing with emotions. Things that could kill your body weren’t half as scary as things that could kill your heart.

Then she put her head down on the table and let the tears roll. Martha. Cliff. The past. The present. The only thing she was certain of was that she missed Martha with a grinding ache.

And sometimes, like now, her brain would furtively sneak in a question she didn’t want to hear: Had she made a mistake by not staying here and marrying Cliff?

Too late now, but apparently part of her would always wonder.

Damn, when she had raced to get out here, she had assumed that she wouldn’t see Cliff. He’d steadfastly stayed away during her visits to Martha after their affair, and it hadn’t crossed her mind that it would be different this time.

But here she was, and Cliff wasn’t staying away. Not at all. Although if she was to judge by the way he had just left, he might not come back.

That would be for the best, she told herself. Much better if she never laid eyes on him again. Even after all these years, he could still roil her emotions and waken her passions, and she really didn’t need that. Not now, not ever.

* * *

Cliff steamed as he rode home, but he reserved his anger for himself. He’d been stupid to accept Holly’s offer of coffee. He knew that woman could sting him, but he’d put himself right in the line of fire. Nobody to blame but himself.

As for her being upset that he knew she had been attacked, what was that? It hardly amounted to a shameful secret, and both he and Martha had worried about her. Hell, Martha had often talked about Holly and her concerns. Who else was she going to talk to? Nobody else around here knew Holly.

At first he’d found it uncomfortable to talk about the woman who had torched his hopes, but time had made it easier. He wondered about Martha, though, and about this whole setup.

Martha was no fool. She must have guessed what was going on between him and Holly that long-ago summer. At their age, she’d probably guessed they weren’t just two friends who liked to spend long hours alone with each other. No, she had to have known, even though she’d never said a word.

Of course, she couldn’t have known why they broke up. Maybe she thought it had been reasonably friendly. That much was possible, and might explain the current insanity of his being executor of the estate.

But why tell Holly she couldn’t sell the house for ten years? And while being executor didn’t exactly burden him with things he had to do, it remained that he felt Martha had meant him to keep an eye on things. Keep an eye on Holly.

Hell.

He almost muttered under his breath. Sy was getting a little antsy, though, probably picking up on his mood. The light wasn’t so great yet, although the first signs of dawn rode the eastern horizon. Regardless, he slackened the reins, trusting Sy to choose his own pace and safe ground. He’d long since learned it was the safest way to let a horse open up. They seemed to smell prairie-dog holes well in advance, and to see other obstacles quickly.

With the lack of tension, Sy cut loose. He hit a full gallop across the rangeland, maybe half a mile, then settled into a comfortable walk again. Cliff leaned forward, patting his neck.

“Better, boy?”

Sy tossed his head.

“I guess so.” But it wasn’t better for Cliff. He hadn’t been the one galloping. The question remained: What had Martha expected of him? And if she’d expected something, why hadn’t she given him a clue? Apparently, she hadn’t given Holly any clues, either, except that stuff about finding her dream. That was certainly opaque.

He sighed, feeling the last of the night’s chilly air, and tried to corral his thoughts. He had a lot to do today, and no energy to waste on thinking about Holly. He’d deal with whatever turned up as it became necessary.

In theory she was going back to Chicago in just under two weeks. Back to the job she had always wanted. A job that he thought might be slowly killing her. But what did he know?

He rode around to the barn and turned Sy over to one of his hired hands. He usually cared for the horse himself, but this morning he didn’t feel like it.

Ruben took the reins from him. “You got company, Boss.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that comes in a sports car.”

“Out here?” Cliff’s brows raised. He tried to think of anyone who might have business with him, because his neighbors and friends sure didn’t drive those cars. Useless out here.

He walked in through the back door and mudroom. His housekeeper, Jean, was at the kitchen sink. She looked at him, and her expression held none of its usual welcome.

“She’s in the living room.”

“Who?”

“Go look.”

He shook his head, wondering what the hell was going on. “Coffee?”

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