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His words were too much for Lexie. She had to defend her father. “My mother’s death was an accident. Nobody killed her. And you could have moved on, Aaron. You could have found someone else and had a family of your own. Why didn’t you?”
He gave her a startled look, as if he’d suddenly come to his senses
and realized what he’d been saying. “Never mind that,” he said, closing the door on the conversation. “Let’s just get this job done. Hand me that number-two drill bit.”
They worked for another hour with a minimum of talk. Lexie was accustomed to Aaron’s silences, so she didn’t feel as awkward as she might have. But the whole time she balanced and braced the metal pieces, and handed him what he needed, her thoughts were churning.
Aaron had never spoken about his connection to her family. But her mention of the photographs had triggered an avalanche of pent-up emotions. For as long as she’d known him, he’d been a good neighbor, dropping by to chat, to share a meal, or to help when needed, especially after her father’s cancer diagnosis.
Until now, she’d never suspected his obsessive love for her mother or his deep, burning hatred for her father.
Your family owes me . . . The words of the cryptic note were branded in her memory. Could those words have been Aaron’s? Could he, and not Callie, have been responsible for the malicious acts on the ranch?
But that didn’t make sense. Bert was dead. Aaron might have gained some satisfaction from watching him suffer and die, but he’d have no reason to hate the rest of the family. And it was Callie who’d been found with the poison; Callie, who had reason to be resentful about the size of her inheritance. Motive, means, and opportunity. She’d had them all.
The work was finished by noon. Lexie paid Aaron out of petty cash and invited him to stay for lunch, which would likely be canned soup and tuna sandwiches.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” he said. “I’ve got sprinklers to mend at home.”
“Not quite like the old days, is it?” she couldn’t resist saying. “We all miss Callie’s great cooking.”
“Not just her cooking.” He gave her a forlorn look. “She was a fine lady and a good friend. I miss her every day.”
“We all do.”
Lexie watched him load the Kubota with tools and leftover parts and drive back toward his house. What a lonely, bitter man, she thought. His friendship with Callie had been the one bright spot in his life. Surely he wouldn’t have harmed her.
But right now she had more important things to do than play detective. This coming weekend she would be driving to Tucson to pick up Shane and bring him back to the ranch. She wanted everything in his room to be spotlessly clean and arranged for his use. She would need to talk to the boys, to make sure someone strong was handy to help him out of the truck into his chair. And the plywood Aaron had laid down to serve as a ramp to the porch would need to be better supported. Maybe Ruben could take care of that before he and Pedro left for the rodeo.
It was her turn to fix lunch, so she hurried back inside and busied herself in the kitchen. With Shane coming, it wouldn’t hurt to improve her cooking skills. One more thing to add to her growing mental list.
Could she really do this? The enormity of what she was about to face loomed over her like the crest of a huge, breaking wave. Shane. Here. Maybe for the rest of his life. And there would be no miracles, no magic cures. He would never be able to walk again.
He would be angry and frustrated with himself. He might even take his rage out on her. Could she stand it? Could she take it for what it was and understand?
She loved Shane with all her heart and soul. If he’d asked her to be his wife, she would have married him on the spot. But that wasn’t what he’d set as a condition of his coming here. It would be hands off, no strings, no promises. Pride—that was all he had now. And that pride had built a wall between them.
In the hospital, she had taken his doctor aside and asked him about Shane’s sexual function. She still remembered the doctor’s words. “It’s too soon to say for sure. As far as we know, the nerves involved weren’t damaged. But the key to that function is as much mental as physical. In other words, as long as he believes it can’t happen, chances are, it won’t. For a man, that can be the scariest thing of all.”
And that, Lexie sensed, was behind Shane’s distancing himself from her. He was scared—scared to death of finding out that he wasn’t able to make love to her.
The days, weeks, and months ahead would be a trial for Shane as well as for her. If she wasn’t up to it, now would be the time to let him know. Otherwise, she would gather her courage and walk into the future with her eyes open, prepared to give him all the patience, understanding, and love her heart possessed.
* * *
After an all-night drive, Tess unloaded Whirlwind at Red Rock Arena in Gallup for the Wild Thing Bullriding Championship event. After seeing him fed and comfortable, she parked the rig in the lot and went in search of coffee.
Just outside the entrance to the park, she found a Starbucks, ordered a Grande black and slumped behind a corner table. After twenty-four hours without sleep, she was feeling raw and irritable. She’d avoided the mirror in the restroom, but she probably looked the way she felt. Whirlwind wouldn’t be bucking until this evening. Until then, she could catch a few hours of sleep in the truck. For that, it wasn’t worth checking into a motel.
When her name was called, she picked up her coffee at the counter and returned to the table, this time sitting with her back to the room, as if to shut out the noise and chatter. She hadn’t seen a bull riding event since Jack’s death. It was something she needed to do. But it would take all her strength of will to watch without turning away—especially if some young rider went down under the hooves.
The coffee was almost scalding. She took careful sips until it began to cool. Little by little, as the bitter heat flowed down her throat, her body awakened to a brittle alertness.
“May I join you, Miss Champion?”
The sound of that resonant voice jerked the fragile knot of her nerves. Even before she looked up, she knew who was standing behind her. Brock Tolman was no stranger. They’d met briefly and casually over the years, at rodeos and stock contractor meetings. She’d seen him cross verbal swords with her father more than once. But this was her first one-on-one encounter with the man.
Her first impulse was to fling the hot coffee in his smug, insolent face. But that would accomplish nothing. Let him talk. Find out what his game was. That would be the smart thing to do. The less she reacted to him, the better.
