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His lips curved into a crooked, almost wicked smile. Maybe it was time. He saw the flashing neon sign of a local tavern and pulled into the pothole-pocked parking lot. One beer, he decided, then he’d make up his mind.
* * *
With one quick stroke of her jackknife, Tessa cut the twine. The bale split open easily. Snapping the knife closed, she shoved it into her pocket, then forked loose hay into the manger. Dust swirled in the air, and the interior of the old barn smelled musty and dry.
Though it was evening, no breeze whispered through the open doors and only faint rays from a cloud-covered sun filtered past the grime and cobwebs of the few circular windows cut high in the hayloft.
The air was still, heavy with the threat of rain. She hoped the summer shower would break quickly and give relief to the parched ranch land. The ground was cracked and hard. And it was only the middle of August.
She was already feeding the horses and cattle hay she’d cut barely a month before.
Frowning, she heard the familiar sound of thudding hooves. Tails up and unfurling like silky flags, several of the younger horses raced into the barn. Behind the colts, the brood mares plodded at a slower pace.
“Hungry?” Tessa asked as several dark heads poked through the far side of the manger. A gray colt bared his teeth and nipped at a rival as the horses shoved for position. “Hey, slow down, there’s enough for everybody.” She chuckled as she forked more hay, shaking it along the long trough that served all the McLean horses.
Once the McLean horses were fed, she tossed hay into a manger on the other side of the barn and grinned widely as three more horses plunged their heads into the manger. Their warm breath stirred the hay as they nuzzled deep, searching for oats. “In a minute,” Tessa said, admiring the stallion and two mares. These were her horses, and her heart swelled with pride at the sight of them. She owned several—six in all—but these three were her pride and joy, the mainstay of her small herd. “Hasn’t anyone told you patience is a virtue?” She petted the velvet-soft nose of Brigadier, the stallion. A deep chestnut with a crooked white blaze and liquid eyes, he was spirited and feisty—and one of the best quarter horses in the state. At least in Tessa’s opinion.
The two mares were gentler and shorter, one a blood bay, the other black. Both were with foal, and their bellies had started to protrude roundly. These three horses were the center of Tessa’s dreams. She’d worked long hours, saved her money and even delayed finishing college to pay for them, one at a time. But the herd was growing, she thought fondly, eyeing Ebony’s rounded sides, and finally Tessa was through school. She reached across the manger and patted Brigadier’s sleek neck.
His red ears pricked forward then back, and he tossed his head, his mane flying and his dark eyes glinting.
“Okay, okay, I get the message.” Grinning, Tessa poured oats for her horses and heard contented nickers and heavy grinding of back teeth.
Rain began to pepper the tin roof, echoing through the barn in a quickening tempo. “At last,” Tessa murmured. She jabbed a pitchfork into a nearby bale, tugged off her gloves and tossed them onto the lid of the oat barrel. Stretching, she turned for the house. But she stopped dead in her tracks.
In the doorway, the shoulders of his denim jacket soaked, his wet dark hair plastered to his head, stood a man she barely recognized as Denver McLean. She hadn’t seen him for so long—not since that awful day. Though his face was familiar, it had changed, the harsh angles and planes of his features more rugged than ever. His hair was the same coal black, shorter than she remembered, but still thick and wavy as he pushed a wet lock off his forehead.
“Denver?” she whispered, almost disbelieving. Her heart began to slam against her ribs. Her father and Milly, the cook, had both speculated that Denver might return to the ranch after his uncle’s death, but Tessa hadn’t dared think he would show up.
He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder in the doorway. Behind him rain spilled from the gutters and showered the ground in sheets. The smell of fresh water meeting dusty earth filled the air. “It’s been a long time, Tessa,” he finally said.
Swallowing against a hard lump in her throat, she walked forward several steps. The horses snorted behind her and shifted restlessly, as if they, too, could feel the sudden electricity charging the air. “Yes, it has been a long time,” she agreed, her voice as dry as the earth had been only a half hour before.
As she met his blue, blue eyes, painful memories crowded her mind. As vivid as the storm clouds hovering over the surrounding mountains, as fresh as the rain pelting the roof, the pain of his rejection flashed through her thoughts.
So many times she’d hoped she might meet him and not even mention the past—pretend total indifference to the wretched nights she’d lain awake, wounded to her very soul. But now that he was here, standing in front of her, she couldn’t find one thread of that mantle of pride she’d sworn she’d wear. “I—I never thought I’d see you again.”
“No?” His expression was wry, his tone disbelieving. “Haven’t you heard? I own the place.”
“Yes, I know, but—” Words failed her. Silence stretched heavily between them. “I—I knew it was possible, but it’s just been so long.” So damned long.
“I came back to straighten out a few things,” he stated flatly, indifference masking his features. “I’ll be here a couple of weeks. I thought I’d better tell someone I was here. I can’t find your father or the cook, what’s her name?”
“Milly Samms.”
“Right. Anyway, you’re the first person I’ve run into.”
A little hurt tugged at her heart. Deep inside, she’d hoped he had been searching for her. She forced an even smile, though she couldn’t help staring at his face, a face she’d loved so fiercely. Whatever scars had once discolored his skin were gone—faded to invisibility. Though he seemed changed, it was his callousness and age that caused the difference more than any surgery. But he was still handsome and earthy, she had to admit—and sensual in a way she hadn’t remembered. “Most of the hands have gone into town,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It’s Friday night.”
He raised one of his thick eyebrows skeptically. “So who’s holding down the fort?”
“You’re looking at her.”
“You?” He held her gaze for a second before glancing at his watch and frowning. “I figured you might have a date later.”
Damn him. “I do,” she replied, a little goaded.
If the thought of her going out bothered him at all, he managed to hide it. What did you expect after seven years? she asked herself.
