The Missing Heir. Jane Toombs
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the matter with her before sending off that letter to Joseph Haskell?
For that matter, why had she offered to show Russ this property? Because she’d wanted to prolong her time with him, obviously. Bad idea. Still, she wasn’t sorry.
“How long have you lived in Nevada?” Russ asked after a time.
“All my life. Both in the state and on the ranch.”
“Ever think of leaving?”
She blinked. “Why, no, not really.” Which was true. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve never gotten to know a real live Nevadan before.” He hoped his words didn’t sound as lame to her as they did to him. Back off, Simon.
Spotting the For Sale sign, he glanced around and, his gaze centered on a dwelling that had seen better days, said, “A genuine fixer-upper, no doubt about it.”
“The barn’s in fair shape, though.” She pointed.
“Have any idea what they’re asking?”
Mari shook her head. “Though since old Mrs. Curwith died, I did hear her nephew was eager to unload the place.”
After they rode around the property, Russ told her, “I’ll keep it in mind.” It wasn’t a complete lie. If the price was right, he just might look into it, even though buying Nevada land had nothing to do with why he was here. This did look to be a good place to raise horses.
“Get out there and size up this latest claimant before old Joe does something he’ll regret,” Russ’s father had urged. “His ticker’s in bad shape and he doesn’t need another disappointment.”
Russ took a deep breath, moving his shoulders uneasily. Spying was not his vocation. Or his choice. Particularly since he was inclined to like Mari Crowley. But this was the first favor his father had asked since the schism had opened between them. The first contact, as a matter of fact.
“I’ve always liked the Curwith property,” Mari said. “I wish we had that little stream that runs through it.”
“I noticed the stream.” Realizing he sounded abrupt—the result of his distaste for his role—he turned to look into her amber eyes. Never mind how open and honest her gaze appeared, that meant nothing. When he found himself admiring how the tiny flecks of brown accentuated the gold color of her eyes, he shook himself mentally.
“I appreciate you taking the time to show me the ranch,” he said, trying to sound properly grateful.
“It’s the least I could do for someone who paid me double what I was asking for Lucy.”
Waving that aside, he said, “To show my gratitude, I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.” Only to get to know her better, in order to evaluate how much of a schemer she was, he told himself.
When she smiled, he thought she meant to accept, but then her smile faded. “I’m leaving town this evening, so I can’t.”
His pang of disappointment vanished abruptly when he took in the full import of her words. Leaving town. Because his father hadn’t been able to prevent Joe Haskell from inviting her to the island? Bad news.
“Later, perhaps,” he managed to say.
She looked uncertain. “I don’t think I’ll be back right away. Probably not before you leave Nevada.”
“Oh?” He tried to make the word an invitation to share a confidence with him.
Mari didn’t answer for a moment. If she hadn’t been leaving, it still wouldn’t be a good idea to go to dinner with Russ, even though she wanted to. As Willa would say, “Slow down, you’re going too fast.”
Best to end their acquaintance before she made the mistake of believing every word he said, as she’d done with Danny Boy. Before she had a chance to act on the attraction she felt arcing between them.
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you,” she said. “It’s always good to talk to a fellow horse lover.”
“Yes.”
Did he regret they had to part before they should have? Mari frowned. Where had that weird idea come from? Okay, so she knew. Because she regretted it. Because they ought to have had time to get to know each other. Maybe he wasn’t the poisonous kind. As it was, she’d never find out.
While riding back to her place, Russ began to ask her about her childhood, making, she thought, idle conversation.
“My aunt Blanche died two years ago,” Mari said. “She and Uncle Stan raised me, since my mother died when I was born.”
“Your mother was your aunt’s sister?”
She frowned at him, and he muttered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so personal. I was just curious.”
Mari didn’t explain any further. How could she when up until last week she’d thought her mother had, in fact, been her aunt’s younger sister? She still hadn’t gotten over the shock of what Uncle Stan had told her—that the woman who bore her had been no relation to Aunt Blanche. Mari didn’t know who her parents were, not really. She didn’t even know if this trip she was making to meet Mr. Haskell would give her the answer. Her mind was all jumbled with mixed hope and fear.
Finally pulling herself together, she said, a touch defensively, “I grew up very happily on the ranch.” And she had. But, somehow, her uncle’s news had tainted those years. Not that she blamed him. He believed he was telling her the truth when he said he was sure she was Joseph Haskell’s granddaughter. But was it really the truth?
Taking a deep breath, she turned to Russ. “How about you? Did you grow up on a farm?”
He shook his head. “In a city.”
“But you have a horse farm now?”
“It’s something I always wanted, even as a boy. To raise horses.”
“How wonderful to achieve your heart’s desire.”
His scowl surprised her. Surely what she’d said was harmless enough.
Evidently he’d taken note of her expression, because the scowl vanished and he said, “I’m glad I saw that ad for Lucy. Otherwise we might never have met.”
She was on the verge of saying that if he bought the old ranch, maybe they’d meet again, but she stopped herself. How could she know what her life might be like in the future? “Yes,” she replied simply.
Neither spoke again until they reached the stables and dismounted. Russ insisted on unsaddling and rubbing down his mount, and she didn’t argue, aware she would have done the same had she been the visitor. Horses needed to be taken care of by their riders—it was the first lesson her students learned. Just the same, his caring for the gelding pleased her. Russ was not one of Willa’s would-be cowboys. In her book, he was the real thing.
Eventually all the chores were done and, after washing up at the stable sink, they faced one another. For the last time, she told herself, unable to believe it was just as well. “Time to say goodbye.” She tried to inject cheerfulness into the words.
He took her hands in his. “I’d rather it were till we meet again.”
How warm his hands were. Warm and strong. Hers nestled inside his as though they belonged there. She could think of nothing to say. Certainly, “Don’t go,” didn’t make an iota of sense. Especially since, in a matter of hours, she was really the one who would be leaving.
She drew in her breath when he raised her palms and brushed his lips across one, then the other before releasing her. Without another word he turned and strode to his car. Her hands clasped together as though to hold on to the feel of his lips, she watched him drive away until the car and even the dust plume behind it was no longer visible.
Chapter Two