True Love Ranch. Elizabeth Harbison
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Paul Bunyan.
He walked slowly and steadily toward her. He wasn’t as tall as she’d originally guessed; he was probably just over six feet, but his commanding air made him seem taller.
. As he got closer, she realized he looked vaguely familiar. But how could that be? She hadn’t been to her grandfather’s ranch for ten years—since she was seventeen years old, and back then... Her heart pounded with a mixture of dread and excitement. Could it possibly be him?
No, surely he had left when she did.
Darcy glanced at the half-open window and pressed on the broken automatic-close button, knowing that it hadn’t worked for a month. The cold November wind whipping around the inside of the car was a testament to that. But paying to have it fixed had fallen somewhere after eating on her hierarchy of needs.
She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.
“You need something?” a deep voice asked.
She opened one eye and looked into the face of the truck driver. Her chest constricted. It looked like him, that was for sure. But it was just too far-fetched. He was long gone. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m trying to figure out what it is you need.” One side of his mouth twitched toward a smile but didn’t quite make it. The brim of his hat was low over his brow, shading his features.
“What I need?” she repeated dumbly.
He pushed the rim of his hat up and she went still with shock. It had to be him. There couldn’t be another man in the world who looked so like him. Faint laugh lines around his eyes made him a little less familiar than he would have been with the boyishly smooth skin she remembered. But it was him; she knew it.
“I heard your horn.” His voice was lower, a little huskier than she expected. “Thought you might be signaling some distress.” His mouth twitched into a half smile now. “Especially when it kept happening.” He hesitated and scrutinized her. “Is everything all right?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“I’m—It’s fine,” she said, feeling her face warm.
“Wait just a minute.” He leaned closer and her heart skipped a beat. “Are you who I think you are?”
It was him. Joe Tyler.
“I’m not sure...” she said vaguely, her heart pounding a furious beat that he could probably hear from a distance of three feet. “You are...?”
Of course she already knew the answer. He was Joseph Emory Tyler, though he hated his middle name. Favorite color: blue. Favorite dessert: chocolate pudding. Favorite rock group: the Beatles. Favorite sport: steer wrestling at the rodeo. They’d spent many long ago hours arguing over whether or not it was a humane sport. He’d wanted to be famous for it one day. In the meantime he was going to try to finish his college education in order to have something “to fall back on if the rodeo thing doesn’t work out.” He hated spinach, but ate it because he’d bought into the whole Popeye myth years before. He loved beef but hated pork—except sausages and bacon.
A long time ago, Darcy had adored him enough to... well, that didn’t matter now. Maybe it had never mattered. It certainly hadn’t mattered to him—that was clear then and it was just as clear now. Maybe more, since he was still here.
She swallowed her bitterness. That was history now. Her anger could only hurt her. She took a long breath, inwardly counting to five. She knew her face was a self-conscious blotchy red.
“Darcy Beckett?” he said, solidly confirming his recollection. “Little Darcy Beckett?”
She gave a shuddering sigh. Hearing him say her name did nothing to still her reaction. And he remembered the moniker that had made her so impatient back then. All of her grandfather’s friends and employees, who’d known her since she was a baby, called her Little Darcy Beckett, but only Joe had done it in a low, teasing way. Then and now.
“Joe Tyler, right?” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.
He touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “How the hell have you been?”
“Fine,” she said, a little too curtly. She thought of all the ways in which life had not been fine, but forced a smile. “How about you?” What in the world are you still doing here? she demanded silently.
“Just great.” He shook his head again and gave a low whistle. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Darcy. Welcome back to the T.L. Ranch.” Was it her imagination or was his voice tinged with irony?
Anyway, just who did he think he was, welcoming her back to her own grandfather’s ranch? It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a real home, and yet she’d been sent away from it because of Joe Tyler. Now, here he was, welcoming her back in that lord-of-the-manner way of his. “It’s good to finally be back,” she said, hoping he noticed the chill in her tone.
Clearly unaware of the feelings churning inside her, Joe continued, “I guess you’re here because of the will.”
“That’s right.”
“Me, too.”
Her heart pounded. “You?”
He nodded.
“Why?” Her voice sounded sharp, even to her own ears.
“I got a letter from the lawyer telling me to be there at four o’clock.” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I’m usually there anyway—”
“Don’t tell me you still work at the ranch.” She tried to sound casual, as if she weren’t grinding it out from between her teeth. Which she was.
“I do. Been there for twelve years now.” He paused, and she wondered how much he knew about her estrangement from her grandfather. “I’m surprised your grandfather never mentioned it.”
Shame burned in her cheeks. “We...didn’t talk much in the last few years.” Did he really not know that? Or was he baiting her, trying to get her to admit she’d lost touch?
Joe frowned, then his expression cleared. “That’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “Now I remember the story. You ran off and married that guy no one liked. Whole family was mad at you.”
It was an accurate description, except he didn’t mention the divorce. She gave a noncommittal nod.
Joe clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You and Ken stopped speaking all those years because of that?”
“It seemed best at the time.” She didn’t add that she’d tried to telephone Kenneth Beckett about fifty times in those first couple of years, but that he’d never taken her calls. She also didn’t add that her Christmas cards had come back unopened. She couldn’t bear to admit she hadn’t even known her grandfather was ill, and she also didn’t add that she’d hesitated even to come to the reading of the will for fear he’d left her a bag of coal as his final I-told-you-so.
Joe raised an eyebrow. “So where’s your husband now?”
“My ex-husband, you mean.”
She could have sworn a look of mild surprise came into his eyes.
“The divorce just recently became final.” Though she had known Brandon wasn’t Prince Charming when she had married him, she had hoped that fact would protect her. If she didn’t love him, how could he hurt her? She now knew how foolish that idea was. “And as for where he is, I don’t know.” Though she wished she did. Or, more specifically, she wished she knew where her money—which he had helped himself to upon his exit—was.
Joe regarded her for a moment, then with a very small inclination of the head, he said, “I’m sorry to hear it.”
She shrugged. “It’s almost time for the meeting.” She gestured at her watch. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Right. Sure.” After one final moment’s perusal, he turned and headed back