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“Southern California,” she said, laughing. There was something exhilarating and carefree about taking off with Denver and leaving the worries of the ranch behind. Even Denver’s concerns for his brother seemed far removed. “Come on. We don’t want to keep the Beach Boys waiting.” With a wink, she breezed out the back door.
Denver locked it behind him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he accused, tossing her suitcase into the trunk of his rental car as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Enjoying what?”
He grinned as he climbed behind the wheel and shoved the key in the ignition. “Harassing me at every chance.”
“Me?” she asked innocently. “Never.” But she couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled in her throat.
“Sure.”
“You ask for it,” she said as the car bounced down the lane. She relayed the message from Van Stern, then felt her lighthearted mood dissipate as they neared the foreman’s house. Denver turned off the engine and she stared at the dark little cabin. “Dad won’t like this,” she thought aloud.
“Does that bother you?”
“A little.”
“Enough to change your mind?”
She stared at him then, studied the crease furrowing his brow, the narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “No,” she whispered, touching his hand before climbing out of the car. When he reached for the door handle, she shook her head. “Let me handle this.”
Brittle yellow grass brushed her ankles as she crossed the yard, rounded the corner and rapped on the back door. “Mitch?” she called through the panels. “Mitch?”
“What the hell?” her brother mumbled, stumbling to the door and poking his head through the crack. His hair stuck up at odd angles from his face and he had to blink a couple of times. He was bare-chested and wore nothing but jockey shorts and a wrist watch. “Tess? What’re you doing here?”
“Saying goodbye.”
“What?” He rubbed a tired hand across his face and focused. “Good Lord, where’re you going?” he asked, before glancing at his watch. “It’s barely five-thirty.”
“I know. But I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“A plane?” he asked, cobwebs of sleep still fogging his mind as he stretched, yawned and leaned against the doorframe for support. “What’re you talking about?”
“I’m going to California. With Denver.”
A half a beat passed. The sleep faded from Mitch’s eyes. “To California,” he repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Wrong.”
For the first time he seemed to notice her clothes and hair. He rammed stiff fingers through his hair, only adding to the spikes already sticking straight up. “Why?”
“For a vacation.”
“A what? Oh, no, Tess. This is wrong. All wrong.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because you’re trying to buy the place from McLean. Because you just sold your horses to Nate Edwards. Because Dad’ll never be able to run the ranch without you—”
“You can help him.”
“I know, but—” His shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed to age ten years. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Positive.”
Mitch frowned, his green eyes sad. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you, Tess?” he whispered. “You never really got over him, did you?”
“It’s not a question of—”
