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“Has he?”
Mitchell’s lips tightened. “I suppose he’s coming back here, too?”
“We don’t know yet,” Denver cut in.
Tessa caught the anger in her brother’s eyes, and she understood it. It had been Colton McLean’s horrid words that had turned Denver away from her. Colton hadn’t held his tongue after the fire. In his outrage and fury, his false accusations had cut deep, wounding everyone in her family.
She didn’t blame Mitch for hating him. But soon it would be over, and soon the McLeans would be out of this part of Montana. At that particular thought, her stomach churned. After these past few weeks, she wondered if she would find any joy in life without Denver. “We’ll work things out,” she said to Mitch.
Shoving his hat on his head, he muttered, “I wonder.”
Denver’s lips drew tight. “Let’s go.”
Tessa slid into the passenger side of the car, turning a stiff shoulder to the anger smoldering in her brother’s gaze.
“When Colton gets back here, the fireworks are really going to start,” she predicted, slanting a glance at Denver as he drove down the long lane and turned onto the main road.
Denver’s answer was a grimace.
By midmorning the rolling hills had given way to the city of Helena. Denver drove toward the heart of the city and past the copper-domed capitol building before parking near the courthouse.
“You’re going to wait for Ross here?” she asked, eyeing the building.
“Maybe. But first we’ll check with his secretary; find out when he’s supposed to be out of court. Then we’ll have lunch.”
He linked his fingers through hers and started across the street. A few minutes later they were standing in front of a huge oak desk in the reception area of a steel-and-glass building. The names of O’Brien, Simmons and Taft were mounted on the wall in chrome letters, and a petite woman with shining copper hair and a wide, friendly smile had waved them into the high-backed chairs in the waiting room; “Mr. Anderson’s in court, but his secretary is in.”
Within minutes a tall svelte blonde with striking dark eyebrows and a midnight-blue dress swept through the doors. Her glossy lips curved at the sight of Denver. “Mr. McLean,” she said, extending her hand, her silver bracelet jangling a little. “I’m sorry but Ross isn’t in right now.”
Denver took her hand for a second, then let it fall. “This is Tessa Kramer,” he said quickly.
“Nancy Pomeroy,” the blonde replied.
“Nice to meet you,” Tessa said woodenly.
Denver explained, “Tessa runs the ranch.”
If that surprised Nancy, she managed to keep her face expressionless.
Denver added, “Yesterday Ross called and said he’d located my brother. I wasn’t at the house and didn’t get the message until this morning.”
“And you’re anxious to know what’s going on,” Nancy guessed. “I don’t blame you.”
“When will Ross be back?”
“Not until late afternoon.”
Denver scowled, but there wasn’t much he could do, Tessa realized. “We’ll be back,” he said, taking Tessa’s hand again. “Don’t let him slip away.”
Nancy nodded, her brown eyes twinkling behind thick, mascara-blackened lashes. “I’ll tie him to the desk if I have to.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Denver said with a lazy smile.
Inwardly, Tessa groaned. She saw the look of playful longing in Nancy’s eyes and the easy response of Denver’s grin. How many other women did Denver smile for? How many pairs of eyes had gazed longingly into his? Los Angeles was a big city—much larger than Helena—and so near Hollywood, it was practically oozing with beautiful women, actresses and models.
“Something wrong?” Denver asked as he shouldered open the glass door and squinted against the sunlight reflecting on the sidewalk and windows of the buildings lining the street.
“Nothing serious,” she replied, fighting to repress the jealousy that coiled around her heart when she considered the fact that Denver might have a dozen women waiting for him in Los Angeles.
