The Way To A Rancher's Heart. Peggy Moreland
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to face the window again. “Had being the operative word.”
“You still have her,” she insisted. “Just because she chose to pursue her own life doesn’t mean that she’s extracted herself permanently from yours.”
He shot her a glare over his shoulder. “Sure you didn’t get that degree in psychology?”
She shook her head. “No. Art. But I’m a people watcher. It’s a hobby of mine. And do you know what I see when I look at you?”
“What?” he asked drolly.
“A man who feels sorry for himself.”
He slammed the glass down on the counter so hard that water shot above the lip like a geyser. He spun to face her, his face flushed with anger. “I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’ve taken the cards I’ve been dealt and played them as best I could. Nobody can question that. Least of all you.”
She rose and crossed to him. “Maybe I don’t have the right, but I do think I’m correct in assuming you feel sorry for yourself. And now you’re blaming your sister for leaving you to take care of your children alone.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes boring into hers as he glowered down at her. “You listen to me little girl,” he grated out through clenched teeth. “I don’t blame Penny for anything, other than taking off without giving me any warning.”
Undaunted by his anger, by the dig of his fingers into her flesh, she met his gaze squarely, maybe a bit stubbornly. “She warned you she was leaving. You told me so yourself just this morning.”
He continued to glower at her, a muscle ticking on his jaw, then he released her, pushing her away from him as he turned back to face the window. “I didn’t believe her. She’d said before she was going to leave, but she never went through with it.”
“And you’re angry with her because this time she did what she said she was going to do.”
He whirled to face her, his gray eyes hard as steel. “The kids need her. They depend upon her. And she walked out on them.”
“They need you,” she argued. “Their father.”
He thrust his face close to hers. “And what makes you an authority on what a kid needs? Huh? What the hell makes you think you know better than I do what my own kids need?”
She drew in a long breath, never once moving her gaze from his. “Because I was a kid once myself. My father died of a heart attack when I was five. My mother never got over the loss. She committed suicide when I was six. I needed my father,” she said, and blinked back the unexpected tears that rose. “And I needed my mother, too. But she wimped out. Left me all alone.” She hitched a breath but refused to let the tears fall. “That’s how I know,” she said, her voice growing as steely as the eyes that met hers. “You want to talk about hard knocks?” She tapped a finger against his chest. “Mister, I’ll compare lumps with you any day of the week.”
Two
Annie experienced a brief stab of remorse for the sharp words she’d exchanged with her employer…but, thankfully, it didn’t last long. She dispensed with it by assuring herself that he’d deserved the tongue-lashing she’d given him.
Calling her a girl, she reflected irritably as she stripped the sheets from the children’s beds. And carrying on as if he were the only person in the world who had suffered any losses. Well, she had suffered her share of losses, too. But she had dealt with her losses, accepting them as natural occurrences in life, situations totally out of her control, and had gone on living, which was more than she could say for Jase Rawley. Instead of dealing with his grief, it appeared he had dug himself a hole and climbed inside where he continued to lick his wounds, shutting out his children and anyone else who tried to get too close.
But his children needed him, she thought, feeling the frustration returning. Couldn’t he see that? She certainly could and she’d only been living in his home for a week. Well, he was going to have to climb out of that hole, she told herself as she stuffed the linens into the washing machine. Even if it meant her throwing a stick of dynamite into the hole he’d dug for himself and blasting him out.
Pleased with the image that thought drew, Annie started the first load of laundry, then went to the master bedroom to remove the sheets from Jase’s bed. Though she’d been in his room several times during the week, she hadn’t entered her employer’s private quarters since his late-night return. She noticed immediately the changes his presence made in the room. The sharp, spicy scent of aftershave lingered in the air, as did the faint odor she’d learned to associate with the corral and the livestock herded in and out of it almost daily.
She stooped to pick up a pair of socks from the floor and held her nose, grimacing, as she deposited them in the hamper in the master bath where she noticed more signs of her employer’s presence. A wet towel lay on the floor, discarded after his morning shower, she was sure. A toothbrush was angled over the edge of the sink and an assortment of coins were scattered over the tile countertop where he’d obviously emptied his pockets before dropping the jeans to the floor. She nudged a fingertip through the pile of loose change, finding a rusty nail and a crumpled receipt amongst the coins, as well as a tattered package of antacids.
Shaking her head at the odd accumulation, she picked up the jeans and dropped them in the clothes hamper before returning to the bedroom. She frowned slightly as she noticed that the bed, though rumpled, was already made. Had he made it up himself? she wondered, then snorted a laugh when she noticed the imprint of his body on the comforter and realized that he hadn’t even bothered to turn down the bed when he’d arrived home, but had opted to sleep on top of the covers instead.
With a rueful shake of her head, she ripped back the comforter and quickly stripped off the sheets. Wadding them into her arms, she headed for the laundry room, but slowed in the hallway, her attention captured by the gallery of framed pictures hanging there. Though she’d looked at the photos before, she found her curiosity heightened after her earlier, heated conversation with her employer.
Pictures of Rachel and the twins dominated the wall, monitoring the children’s growth from birth to present day, but Annie found herself skimming over them in search of pictures of Jase. She smiled as she recognized a picture of him with Penny, taken when his sister was probably about Tara’s age. Jase stood apart from Penny, yet there was an unmistakable protectiveness in his posture that indicated he took his responsibilities as his sister’s guardian very seriously.
Though he was much younger in the picture, Annie noticed that Jase hadn’t changed much over the years. In fact, she was sure she recognized the grim scowl and the steely-eyed impatience as the same expression he’d graced her with at breakfast and again at noon.
With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to Penny. Plain, but by no means unattractive, in the photograph Penny projected an image of solemnity unnatural for one so young. Annie supposed it was due to the tragedies Penny had suffered so early in life, the responsibilities she’d been forced to assume.
Though she’d only known Jase’s sister a short span of time, Annie suspected she knew Penny better than her own brother did. She attributed that advantage to her fondness for studying people, noting their mannerisms and habits, the little quirks that spoke volumes about their personalities. Too, people tended to tell her things about themselves, guarded little secrets that they wouldn’t dream of sharing with another. She wasn’t sure why that was so, though she suspected it was simply because she was willing to listen. For whatever reason, throughout her life she had found herself serving as a sounding board and vault for the problems and dreams of countless others, just as she had for Penny in the short week they had spent together before Penny’s departure.
Penny Rawley was way past spreading her wings a little, Annie reaffirmed as she moved farther down the hallway. From what Penny had told her, the woman had dedicated herself and her life to Jase and his family. Especially so after the death of Jase’s wife.
Reaching a wedding portrait framed in gilt, Annie stopped in front of it, tilting