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“So far, so good,” she said, knowing she was evading the truth. Paula was a trusted friend, but Tessa doubted she could understand the tangle of emotions that linked Denver and Tessa as well as drove them apart.
“You don’t think you can convince him to stay?”
Tessa shook her head. “I couldn’t before the fire, and now ... a lot has happened. Besides, we have separate lives now. He loves L.A. I like it here.”
“You’ve never been to L.A.,” Paula reminded her gently.
“I know.”
“Aren’t you just a little curious?”
“About what?”
“The city. The beach. Why Denver lives there?”
Tessa blew a wayward strand of hair from her eyes. “A little,” she admitted. In truth, she wanted to know everything about Denver. What he’d done the past seven years. Where he’d lived. With whom he’d shared his life.
“You loved him once,” Paula reminded her.
“I was young—and foolish.”
Paula, always the matchmaker, lifted a lofty red eyebrow. “So, if you’re not still hung up on Denver, why haven’t you married?”
One corner of Tessa’s lips curved upward. “Maybe I haven’t met the right man.”
“Oh, you’ve met him, all right. And you’re living under the same roof with him. If I were you, I’d use that to your advantage.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t know,” Paula mused, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Seems to me, life’s as simple as you make it. You’re not married. Denver’s still single, and you used to be so in love with him that you couldn’t think of anything else. Some things just don’t change.”
“I’ll remember that,” Tessa said, finishing her drink and finally turning the conversation away from Denver to Paula and her plans for Sherrie.
Two hours later, as she drove back to the ranch, the interior of her car so hot she had begun to perspire, Tessa considered Paula’s advice then promptly discarded it. Denver had come back to the ranch to sell it. Period. His return had nothing to do with her—he’d admitted as much that first night when he found her in the barn. Any tenderness he’d felt for her had died in the fire. Even the night before, the gentle way he’d touched her had been because of the alcohol he’d consumed—nothing more.
* * *
Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Denver walked through the gloomy machine shed, eyeing each battered piece of equipment and remembering some of the older rigs. The combine, mower and drill were the same ones he’d used himself. Trailing his finger along the dented seat of the old John Deere tractor, he frowned. He’d spent more hours than he wanted to count chugging through the fields, dragging a harrow or hay baler behind. From the time he could first remember, he’d wanted out—a chance at another life. Years ago, before the fire, he’d thought he would claim that life, make a name for himself as an engineer, study for an M.B.A. and marry Tessa Kramer.
But,
of course, things hadn’t turned out as he’d planned.
And now, he wasn’t so sure that he was ready to leave.
Scowling darkly, he dusted his hands, as if in so doing he could brush aside any ties that bound him to this land.
Though ranching wasn’t what he’d dreamed of all his life, he’d found a quiet peacefulness here that he hadn’t felt in years; the slower pace was a welcome relief from the tension and stress in L.A. Even his condominium on the beach in Venice didn’t interest him. Not without Tessa.
He hadn’t really acknowledged his growing attachment to the ranch—or was it his fascination with Tessa?—until his partner had called, reassuring him that things were slow in the engineering firm and that he could handle everything for a few more weeks. Oddly, Denver found the extra time soothing.
He shouldered open the door and stopped suddenly. There, only forty yards directly in front of him were the charred ruins of the stables. The debris had been hauled away years before, but a few blackened timbers, now overgrown with berry vines, were piled near what had once been the concrete foundation.
Though the wind was hot, he shuddered as memories of the blaze burned before his very eyes. Once again, he was seven years younger—
* * *
Fire crackled high in the air. Smoke scorched his lungs as he ran to the stables. Horses screamed in terror, and fear thudded in his heart. Inside the heat was so intense, the roar of the flames so deafening, he couldn’t see or hear. Throwing one arm over his mouth, he held his breath and moved by instinct, fumbling with locks on the stalls, hoping to set free a few of the scrambling, terrified animals. Stallions and mares squealed. Kicking madly, they bolted as soon as Denver tore open the gates.
