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“Too bad Tessa won’t be here to see it,” Curtis said wistfully as he slipped out of the mare’s stall. “She’s waited a long time for this.”
Colton didn’t answer. In a mood as dark as Black Magic’s hide, he strode outside, barely noticing that the wind had turned, kicking up from the west.
Though it was barely four o’clock, Milly had already snapped on the kitchen lights. The windows glowed from within. Colton climbed up the back steps, kicked off his boots and hung his jacket and hat on pegs in the porch, then shouldered his way into the house.
It was filled with the scents of nutmeg, strong coffee and pot roast. Milly was sweeping what appeared to be a spotless kitchen floor. She glanced up when he appeared. “You got a call this afternoon. Some guy from a magazine. Grover, he said his name was.”
Colton didn’t really care. “What’d he want?”
“To talk to you.” Milly leaned on her broom, looking miffed. “Wouldn’t tell me any more than that. I left his number in the den.”
Colton couldn’t help but smile. He’d gotten used to Milly and her bossing, Curtis and his cantankerous ways, and Cassie—Lord, how she’d gotten under his skin. He knew what Steve Grover wanted, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t interested.
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In the den, he glanced at the number, dialed and worked his way past a receptionist and a secretary before being connected with Steve.
“McLean!” Steve nearly shouted. “I’d about given up on you. Thought you might have dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Not yet,” Colton said, a slow smile spreading over his face as he pictured Steve Grover, a man of about five foot eight, whip-thin and charged with energy. He would give odds that even now Grover was pacing in his office, stretching the phone cord taut.
“Ready for a new assignment?”
“I could be,” Colton evaded, propping one hip against the desk and staring out the window to the ranch beyond. Playful colts cavorted in one field while red-and-white Hereford cattle lumbered in the next. “Where?”
“South Korea.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Colton laughed. “I guess you should’ve called sooner.”
“You’re right.” Grover let out a long breath. “All kidding aside, the plane leaves Sunday night from Seattle.”
“Seattle,” Colton repeated, watching Cassie’s white truck pull into the side yard.
“Right. Direct to Seoul. We’re sending a team. Knox, Winston, Overgaard and you, if you’ll go.”
Colton watched as Cassie slid out of the cab, tugged on her jean jacket, then hurried up the front walk. His heart lurched, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry, I can’t make it,” he said without even thinking.
“What?”
“Can’t do it,” he said again. “I’ve got some problems here to tend to.”
“But this might be the biggest story of the year. The students are rioting, the militia’s been called in and there’s talk of a North Korean offensive.”
“Send someone else.”
“But—”
“Talk to you later.” Colton dropped the receiver, severing the connection. His blood pumping, he strode straight to the front door, opening it just as Cassie pushed the doorbell.
Folding his arms over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, he drawled, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
Cassie tossed her hair away from her face. “I’m on my way home; I thought I’d see if Tempest was any better.”
“About the same.”
