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“He’s not around.”
“Don’t worry,” she vowed, as much to herself as to Nate. “I’ll find him.” If I have to chase him to the ends of the earth. I’ll find him, demand answers and then nail his handsome, lying hide to the wall!
Chapter Thirteen
Furious, though her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, Tessa drove back to the McLean Ranch. She stomped on the throttle, dying to tell Denver just what she thought of his crooked, underhanded dealings. How could she have been so stupid as to trust him again?
Not only had he reneged on the ranch deal, but he’d stripped her of her horses, her means of support—the animals so dear to her heart. Her fingers clenched around the wheel, knuckles showing white. Brigadier meant nothing to Denver except as a source of profit for the ranch.
“Black-hearted, vengeful son of a—” Downshifting, she wheeled the old truck into the lane. The pickup bounced and jarred. Tessa barely noticed. If she ever saw Denver again, she’d personally wring his neck!
And then what! Denver had all the cards. He owned the ranch, owned the horses, owned her own foolish heart. She had nothing, nothing, to fight him with. She’d lost everythi
ng, she realized as she drove past the acres of summer-dry ranch land—McLean Ranch land. Except, perhaps, the baby. And if she stayed here, let Denver know he might become a father, there was a chance, just for the sake of vengeance, he’d want the baby, too.
Tears drizzled down her cheeks. She couldn’t stay here a minute longer. Without Denver, without the horses, she had no reason to stay at all.
Her gaze swept the surrounding hills, foothills she’d seen every day of her life. Mountains she’d naively believed would someday be hers. Pain welled from deep inside. She ached to belong, to be a part of this land, to be a part of Denver’s life.
She blinked hard against the horrid tears. Even this damned beat-up old truck, she realized angrily as she cranked on the emergency brake, belonged to Denver. “He can have it,” she murmured, hoping to sound strong though she was dying inside. Wiping her face, willing the red blotches to disappear, she jumped out of the cab and strode across the yard to the house—Denver’s house.
“Something wrong?” Milly, elbow-deep in flour, asked. She was kneading bread at the counter, while Curtis, smoking and sipping coffee, sat in a chair at the table, a newspaper spread in front of him.
“Something? Try everything,” Tessa said, pride lifting her chin, though her throat was still swollen. Her father stubbed out his cigarette. “Everything?”
She braced herself for another lecture. “Everything. You were right, Dad. About Denver. About this ranch. About me. This place belongs to the McLeans. Always has, always will!” Tessa met her father’s worried gaze and fought the overwhelming urge to break down and cry all over again. “It’s over, Dad.” Stripped bare, her very soul raw and aching, she whispered, “Just like you knew it would be. I don’t belong here.”
“Hey, slow down,” her father said. “Start at the beginning. Of course you belong here. More than anyone. You run this place.”
“That’s right,” Milly agreed, wiping the flour from her hands on the hem of her apron.
“Not anymore.”
She was shaking all over, and she had to battle a fresh flood of tears. “I’m leaving, Dad,” she said, half apologizing. “I thought I could hold this place together—make something of it. But I was wrong.”
“Now hold on—”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” she said firmly. Her mind was made up, her eyes glittering fiercely with standing tears. “It’s time.”
“Just because—”
“It’s time,” she said again. She turned on her heel before her emotions got the better of her. Willing the sobs in her heart to stop, she took the stairs two at a time and dashed into her room—Denver’s parents’ room.
She dragged out her old suitcase, the same suitcase she’d tried to pack on that humid summer night—the night Denver had returned. The very suitcase she’d taken with her to California.
Dear God, how did I let this happen?
“Don’t,” she told herself, refusing to think of aquamarine water, white beach and Denver. Always Denver. “He’s not worth it!”
As she banged open the bureau drawers, she caught a glimpse of her red-rimmed eyes, her straggling hair, her pale cheeks. Furious with herself, she tossed her clothes recklessly into the tattered old case.
“Tess?”
Oh Lord, not now. She couldn’t stand her father’s pity. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she called, her fingers fumbling with the locks on her case.
He pushed open the door. Wearily, he surveyed the room. “Where you plannin’ to go?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
