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“That’s what happened. And now you’re back, sweeping back in here like some sort of avenging angel—accusing my father of everything from arson to involuntary manslaughter.”
“I haven’t accused him of anything.”
“Not in so many words, maybe,” she said, her temper flaring wildly. “But it’s obvious you blame him for the fire, just as you blame me.”
“When Curtis was here, we were talking about running the ranch.”
“Were we?” She strode across the room, tilting her head back, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You could have fooled me.”
“I don’t want to talk about the fire,” he snapped.
“Then leave it alone, Denver. Leave all of it alone. Because, believe it or not, we’ve been working our tail ends off around here to save this place—a place you don’t give a damn about!” She strode out of the room, letting the screen door slam behind her, then fumbled for the light on the porch.
“Mule-headed bastard,” she muttered, tugging her boots on before running down the back steps. The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding the earth, turning the dust to mud. Bareheaded, Tessa stalked furiously down the well-worn path to the paddocks. She leaned against the wet fence, feeling the wind tease her hair and toss the wet strands across her face. She didn’t care. This summer storm couldn’t match the tempest of emotions raging deep in her soul.
Damn! Damn! Damn! Her fingers flexed and curled. Why did he have to come back? Why now?
Closing her eyes, she prayed the cool rain would wash away the pain, dampen the fires of injustice that burned so brightly in her heart.
“Tessa?” Denver’s voice, so near, made her jump, her heart still fluttering at the sound.
“Leave me alone!”
“What do you think you’re doing out here?” he asked so calmly she wanted to scream.
“Trying to put things in perspective.”
Leaning over the top rail, his eyes squinting against the darkness, he stood so close that his shoulder brushed hers. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Raindrops, reflecting the blue glow from the single outside lamp, collected in his hair and drizzled down his throat.
He hadn’t bothered with a jacket, and his shirttail flapped in the wind. “Aren’t you afraid of drowning?” he asked softly.
“In case you haven’t heard, we’re in the middle of a drought!”
His eyes searched the dark heavens. “Not tonight, we’re not.”
“The rain feels good.” Why did she feel so defensive around him? Slowly count
ing to ten, she tried to control her temper. “Besides, we need every drop we get. The river’s low and the fields are tinder-dry.”
As the wind slapped against his face and the rain plastered his hair, Denver said, “This is crazy. Let’s go inside where it’s dry.”
“I’m fine out here.”
“Are you?” He tried to smother a smile and failed as he brushed a drip from the tip of her chin. His gaze shifted restlessly over her face. “You look like a drowned rat.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she snapped, but couldn’t help smiling.
“Only when I’m trying to impress them.”
“So you’re still the charmer you’ve always been.”
He laughed, a low rumbling sound that warmed the cool night. “Low blow, Tessa.”
“You deserved it. You haven’t been pulling any punches yourself.”
“I guess I haven’t.” The breeze snatched at his hair, ruffling it. “Come on inside. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.” The determined line of his jaw relaxed, and he looked more like the young man she’d loved so fervently. He touched her lightly on the shoulder, his fingertips warm through her wet blouse. “Truce?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s possible, Denver.” But she let him take her hand and told herself that the tingling sensation she felt in her palm was because of the storm. Hands linked, running stride for stride, they dashed through puddles in the backyard to the house.
