High Country Homecoming. Roxanne Rustand
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added Chloe’s cell number in larger print and underlined it twice, apparently guessing that Devlin might not follow through.
He sighed as he turned on the oven and shoved the pan inside, imagining a meal with Chloe across the table, chattering away. Maybe he could just ignore the note...
Nope.
He’d been career military; as tough, hardened and relentless as any of his buddies. But he still didn’t dare ignore his grandma’s orders. She’d always loved Dev and his brothers to pieces, but she’d also instilled in them a deep sense of respect and responsibility.
If he failed to be thoughtful, just the disappointment in her voice would make him regret it.
He dutifully made the call on his amplified cell phone, though when Chloe politely declined, he breathed a sigh of relief and said he’d drop off some dinner on his way up to his own cabin, anyhow.
Just as he was pulling the casserole out of the oven, he heard a loud knock on the back door and Chloe let herself inside. “I figured I’d save you the bother and just come down.”
She gave a startled laugh as the pup raced over to her and collapsed at her feet, a mass of waving paws and wagging tail. She bent down to rub his fat belly.
She looked up at Devlin, her head cocked. “What is he? Some golden retriever mix, I’d say.”
“I’ve been told his mom was a golden, father unknown.”
“What’s his name?”
Devlin shot a quick, pained glance at her over his shoulder as he settled the hot casserole on a trivet. Then he turned back to face her so he could read her lips as she spoke. “Uh... Poofy. Thanks to the twins.”
“Not exactly the name of a hardworking ranch dog, but he’s such a big fluff ball that I can see why.” Chloe laughed. “Do the twins belong to Jess?”
He hesitated, debating over how much to say. “He adopted them this past winter. Their mom is Lindsey, our youngest cousin. She...well, she just couldn’t handle raising them.”
He searched the freezer for frozen vegetables and held up microwavable bags of corn and green beans. “Preference?”
“Either.”
He tossed the green beans into the microwave and pushed the buttons for about four minutes.
When he turned around again, Chloe was staring at him, and he realized that she’d finally seen the scars.
Multiple operations had repaired much of the visible damage, leaving a jagged scar that trailed from his right temple to the corner of his jaw, but as it descended along his neck and into the collar of his shirt, the scarring was heavier.
At least his shirt covered the worst: the twisted, gnarled flesh that draped over his shoulder replacement and upper arm, where much of the bicep muscle was gone forever.
“Devlin.” She rose slowly and moved closer, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. “What happened?”
He jerked away, resenting the pity in her voice. Alarmed at the unexpected warmth that flowed through him at the touch of her hand.
He didn’t talk about the details with anyone. Not the shrink back at the VA hospital, not his docs. And here in Montana, he certainly wouldn’t be talking to Jess or Abby or anyone else. However ugly, his scars were nothing compared to the ultimate sacrifice paid by his closest buddies—and he didn’t talk about that, either.
It did no good to dredge up the day when three of them were killed in an ambush and he was the only one to walk away. It only fed the nightmares and the guilt, and stirred feelings of desperation because he knew the past could never change.
He silently pulled the green beans from the microwave and dumped them into a serving bowl, then grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard and gave her one. “Help yourself. I’ve no idea what’s in the casserole.”
Clearly ill at ease after his rebuff, she avoided looking at him as he pulled a metal spatula from a crock on the counter that held serving utensils and handed it to her. “The casserole looks wonderful. Ham and scalloped potatoes, I think. Thanks.”
He gave her a plate and waited until she served herself, then scooped ample portions onto his own. The tantalizing aroma of this simple home-cooked meal flooded his senses. When had he eaten anything that smelled this good?
Chloe lingered uncertainly by the round oak table in the kitchen, as if debating whether to stay or go. An awkward moment lengthened between them.
“Well,” she said finally, “I got a late start from Minneapolis yesterday, so I had to drive the final seven hundred miles today. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to my cabin and return the plate in the morning. I need to settle in and get to work.”
With a little wave of her fingers, she let herself out the door.
Work at what? What could she possibly plan to work on in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere?
And for that matter, where had she been all these years? What made her come so far out West when there must have been endless places to stay that were much closer to Minneapolis?
His curiosity about her life was growing.
Poofy followed her for a few steps, then looked back at Devlin, his tail drooping.
He looked down at the crestfallen dog. “Yeah. Lucky it’s just you and not Abby or Betty here. I’m sure they’d have something to say about my manners.”
Chloe had apparently grown up in more ways than one.
As a kid, Ms. Perpetual Questions had been relentlessly persistent, but she’d clearly gotten the hint and was tactfully planning to give him all the space he wanted.
So maybe he had his peace and quiet back...yet from the strange wrenching in his heart, maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.
Or was it?
Well, that had certainly been awkward and embarrassing. But not unexpected as far as Devlin’s attitude was concerned, so at least he was still consistent.
If Chloe had known that he was going to be here, she would’ve given up her dream of three months of perfect, uninterrupted seclusion on this middle-of-nowhere ranch in Montana and headed straight to her new job in Kansas City that she didn’t want, but couldn’t refuse.
Lifting yet another heavy cardboard box from the trunk of her car, she shouldered her computer bag and started up the rocky trail to her cabin for the fifth time.
At the sound of footsteps behind her, she hesitated for a split second, then kept walking. But she was no match for Devlin’s long stride.
“I can carry that box,” he said as he fell in beside her. “I’m heading up that direction anyway.”
“No need.” She sidestepped when he tried to take it.
He gave a low sound of exasperation. “Still independent. I guess you haven’t changed that much after all.”
Adjusting the awkward weight of the box in her arms, she shot a side glance at him. “Neither have you.”
But that wasn’t exactly true.
He hadn’t been this polite the last time she’d seen him. Or this tall, well-muscled and flat-out handsome.
Back then, he’d been a tall, gangly sixteen-year-old, with a shock of unruly dark hair and the most beautiful silver-blue eyes she’d ever seen—back then, or since. She’d been just eleven, her last summer here, and he’d been her first big, hopeless crush. His lethal combination of teen-idol looks and bad-boy charisma had the girls in town following him like a flock of besotted groupies.