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Chapter Fourteen
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Whitney had expected a big log cabin type mansion, one of those soaring custom homes featured regularly in Big Sky Design and Montana Living. She was sure there would be massive logs and lots of volume due to the soaring vaulted ceilings and expansive floor to ceiling windows. She’d pictured lots of wood and carved beams and a huge rock fireplace. She’d heard about the view, and had imagined that one would see the craggy peaks of the Absaroka Range from the living room windows.
And it was all that.
It was exactly that, but also so much more.
After opening the front door and inviting her in, Cormac stood back and let her walk around and see the house for herself.
She took her time touring the place, entering each room and getting a feel for the space before going on to the next room. Things were better in some regards than she expected, but also worse.
The walls were up. Windows were trimmed. Trim and base stained. The electrical was done. Plumbing finished. Cabinets in most of the bathrooms. Sinks, showers, toilets and tubs in half. There were hard surfaces for floors. Light fixtures here and there. Theoretically he could have a moving truck with furniture pull up and move in. The stairs had been reconfigured so Daisy wouldn’t fall through the iron railing, and the slate steps removed for rich hardwood to ensure Daisy wouldn’t stub her toe or cut a shin. Windows had safety latches. Security cameras had been installed with the new electrical system. And while the kitchen was far from finished, he could set up a mini kitchen somewhere with a small fridge, microwave and hot plate, and they’d get by.
So it was possible to live in the house.
But Cormac was right. It wasn’t a home. It had the bones and certainly potential, but the rooms were so big, and the ceilings so high, and there was so much dark wood and stone everywhere. It was a bit like a fortress, and it’d certainly delight a boy’s soul…big and small.
But no, it wasn’t warm. And no, it wasn’t really family friendly. “It could be beautiful,” she said.
“But it’s not ready for Daisy, is it?” he said.
“No,” she answered honestly as she glanced back at him. He was standing in front of one of the windows with the jaw-dropping view of the valley. Mountains ringed the home and the river shimmered far below. Pastures cut into hillsides before giving way to forests. “But I do know why you bought it. I know why it appeals to you. This is Montana at its best. You’re surrounded by nature, and look at all that sky…it feels almost spiritual.”
“Funny you say that. Trey calls this place the cathedral.”
“But you don’t want to live in a church. You want it to feel like a home.”
“What was your plan for the interior? White, cream, neutrals?”
She saw his expression and shook her head. “You love your cream and white, but it’s going to make this place feel cold, particularly once winter comes and all you look at for months on end is snow. This house needs color. Lots of red along with copper and orange, ivory and teal.” She could see his lip curling with distaste. “Color doesn’t have to be offensive. We’re not talking a circus palette.”
“How about we put the color in Daisy’s room? Pinks and cream and that awful lavender shade she loves.”
“Periwinkle?” Whitney laughed. She couldn’t help it. “And you can put color in a girl’s room without it being limp pastels. Give her a room with energy and spirit and let it reflect her personality.”
“You’re not going to put red in there, are you?”
“Why are you so afraid of red? It’s fire, passion, heat, life.”
“She’s four, not fourteen.”
“How much do you love her?”
“More than anything.”
“What do you want for her?”
“To be happy. To feel loved.”
“And when she’s fourteen, or twenty-four, who do you want her to be?”
He frowned. “Happy.”
“That’s it?”
“Confident. Strong. Creative. Independent.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. You tell me. What am I getting wrong?”
“You’re getting it exactly right. That’s what you should want your daughter to be. Confident. Strong. Creative. Independent.” She smiled. “That’s perfect. And I’m going to give you a house where you and she can be a family and Daisy can grow into a confident, strong, creative and independent young woman.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He took a key off his key ring and handed it to her, and promised to text her the code for the security system. “Use your company credit card to pay for purchases and I’ll sort out with accounting.”
“No problem.”
“And keep track of your time…not sure how you want to invoice me—”
“No.”
“I’m going to reimburse you for our time.”
“I’m not working for you, Cormac. This isn’t a job. I’m not your employee. I’m not a subordinate. I’m doing this as a friend. It’s a gift for you—” She held up a hand to stop him as he started to protest, “—and a gift for Daisy, who is my goddaughter. And if you can’t accept my help as a gift, then I don’t want to do it.”
“It’s going to take a lot of time.”
“Yes, it will. It’ll be a labor of love, but it’ll be worth it. It’ll make me feel as if I’ve finally done something important for Daisy by helping give her a home.”
*
They weren’t far from the Sheenan ranch and Cormac suggested they swing by his family house so he could pick up any mail that might have collected over the weekend and give it to Trey in case Trey wasn’t planning on driving out to the ranch tomorrow.
It was on the tip of Whitney’s tongue to tell him she’d just been here a week ago—not on his ranch, of course—but on this private lane. She’d been thinking about what Callan had told her ever since Thanksgiving but wasn’t comfortable bringing it up to Cormac. He was such a private person. Even when they’d dated he’d rarely talked about his family, or shared his feelings.
“Haven’t been back here in a while,” he said.
“Does it look different?” she asked, curling her legs up under her. It had been a bright blue sky earlier in the day but clouds were gathering on the horizon and with dusk approaching it felt cold and a little bit gray. But that was weather in Montana. Rapidly changing, always interesting.
“No. And I guess it won’t ever really be different because the land itself doesn’t change. The same hills, the same rocky faces, the same cluster of trees. I think that’s why I wanted a house with a view, but not all the land.”
“Well, you got a great view,” she said as he reached the old rustic log cabin home. It wasn’t a handsome log cabin house like the Carrigans’, or an impressive estate like Cormac’s new place. It was just a house in the middle of a huge working cattle ranch.
“I don’t see a car,” Cormac said, parking in the driveway and turning the engine off. “I don’t think Shane’s here.”
“You said he’s a writer?”
“Yeah. He’s apparently working on a book about the short-lived copper mining boom.”
“Has he had anything published?”
“A couple of books. Histories, biographies.” He opened the car door. “Want to come with me, or wait here?”
“I’ll come with you.”
He led her around on a quick tour, pointing out where Trey had jumped from the loft to tackle Troy and ended up missing Troy and broke his arm instead. Inside the barn he went to the stables, which were empty of horses.
“They’re all gone,” he said, strangely disappointed.
“Wouldn’t Trey keep one here?”
“Maybe it’s in the pasture.”
He shared another story about the time a teenage Brock got into a fight with his dad. The fight was pretty bad, they were pummeling each other good and even though Brock was a big guy, Dad was giving it to him and Brock was taking a beating. Mom came out with a rifle
and told them to break it up. Dad didn’t get off Brock so Mom fired at him, putting a hole through the heel of Dad’s cowboy boot.
If Whitney hadn’t known about Bill Sheenan’s affair with Beverly, she would have found the story almost funny. Instead it struck her as painfully sad. “Was that a good shot or a lucky one?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but it worked. Dad climbed off Brock and that was the end of that.”
“I can’t imagine your dad was happy with her.”
She winced the moment the words left her mouth but Cormac didn’t notice.
“No,” Cormac said. “Dad didn’t say a word to Mom, and Brock just got in his truck and took off.” Cormac frowned. “That may have been the weekend that he moved out. Brock was the only one who really stood up to Dad, and he paid the price.”
“Your dad was kind of a tough guy.”
“He loved us. But he and my mom—” he broke off, shrugged. “Let’s find the mail and go. I don’t like being here. It kind of gets me down.”
“If no one wants to live here, why don’t you sell it?”
“We’ve talked about it. But Trey loves the land.”
“And yet his wife won’t live here.”
