High Country Homecoming. Roxanne Rustand
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wearing his ring and planning wedding bells, it wouldn’t take long for one of the locals to nab him. And the sooner, the better, before he broke any more hearts.
He certainly wouldn’t be breaking hers.
As a child, she’d been his persistent shadow, but in return he’d relentlessly teased her. Only when no one was watching did she ever let herself cry. She understood his behavior now, from an adult perspective. What teenage boy wanted a little girl to be his ever-present tagalong? But the teasing had hurt. He’d made her feel self-conscious and unworthy, and she’d grown to hate her freckles and everything else about herself.
But far worse, he’d hung out with the bad boys in high school—wild parties, lots of booze. She knew it was true—she’d seen him out in the woods and behind the barns, drinking with that rowdy crowd. And that scared her to death.
With a dad like hers, even at eleven she’d known Devlin’s drinking was a terrible red flag—a lifetime, ironclad deal-breaker, no questions asked.
No matter how handsome or polite or charming he might be now, she was not looking for romance any longer, and especially not with someone who partied and got drunk with his friends.
At the cabin, he stepped in front of her to open the door wide.
“Well, have a good...” He stared at the pile of boxes in the middle of the floor and the mountain of grocery sacks on the counter. “You sure pack light.”
At the brief deepening of the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, she felt the impact of his old charm clear down to her toes. The local women weren’t going to be just pleased at his return; they were going to be over-the-moon ecstatic.
“How long did you say you’re staying?”
Dropping the last box onto the stack, she pulled her laptop-case strap from her shoulder and laid the case on the kitchen table. “Three months. I had just enough money saved to stay here that long before I move on.”
“What sort of work did you do?”
“I was a secretary for...” she faltered, debating how much to reveal. “...a big investment firm, while putting myself through graduate school.”
That much was true, just not entirely complete. And it wasn’t like she was a criminal on the run—she’d been exonerated, after all. Even so, she’d already seen the expressions of doubt and accusation on the faces of acquaintances...people who’d wanted to believe the worst.
But Devlin had no interest in her. He surely wouldn’t think to try googling her on the internet, so it should be possible to simply keep her troubled past where it belonged. In the past.
He eyed her curiously. “What was your major?”
Mom had declared she was foolish to chase dreams that might never come true. When her own mother didn’t believe in her, was it ridiculous to think she could ever succeed? Would Devlin laugh if she told him about what she was doing?
“My major was Creative Writing,” she said. “That’s why I wanted to come out here. I wanted a peaceful, beautiful place to stay, where I could concentrate on my writing with no interruptions. Since I have such happy memories of Montana, this ranch seemed perfect.”
“And then where will you go?”
That was the hard part. Knowing Chloe’s situation, her sister had offered her a generous salary, and a chance for a fresh start. Far too generous an offer to refuse. But the thought of her future weighed on her shoulders like a mantle of iron.
She might not ever make much money with her writing, so she could hardly afford to turn down Jane’s offer, considering her legal debts. But it was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’ve got a property-management job waiting for me in Kansas City.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “You don’t exactly look thrilled about it.”
“It will be a blessing,” she said firmly. “I’ll need a job as soon as I leave. But until then, I will count myself fortunate to stay here once again.”
He seemed to consider that for a while, then sighed. “I expect Betty will be happy to see you.”
Chloe couldn’t help but smile at his less-than-gracious attitude. “I can’t wait to see her, either. After my mom took off, I used to pretend that she was my grandma. She still sends me birthday cards with invitations to come visit, but this is my first time back. When will the family be home?”
He was bent over the dead bolt on the door, checking it out. He didn’t answer.
He’d ignored some of her questions, and twice he hadn’t responded when she called out his name. She’d figured he was just being his usual distant self.
But now she wondered. Devlin had been physically wounded and probably had deeper, more-emotional wounds, as well. Who wouldn’t with all of the dangers he’d probably faced in battle?
Had he also ended up with hearing damage due to his military career?
It was entirely plausible, but prying personal information from him had always been a futile task. She waited until he looked up again. “When will the rest of your family be back?”
“A week from tomorrow.”
Sure enough, now she could see that he wasn’t just listening; he was trying to watch her speak. “Aren’t the twins in school?”
“Kindergarten, but they’re on spring break.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a fleeting, affectionate grin at the mention of the little girls. “They seemed pretty excited about Disneyland.”
“I can believe it. They’ll sure have a lot of days with Mickey.”
Devlin shrugged. “Not all of that time. They’re visiting their mom in San Diego, Jess is looking at some stallion prospects and Abby will be checking out a few colleges.”
“Who is Abby?”
“She was hired as a nanny last fall, and now she and Jess are engaged.”
“But she’s looking at colleges, so she’s leaving?”
“Considering online programs, I guess.”
“Good for her.” Chloe slid a knife through the shipping tape on the top of a cardboard box labeled Kitchenware and inspected the contents. Books.
She straightened and rested a hand at the small of her back. “You’ll have eight busy days ’til they get back, then. Are there ranch hands to do the chores?”
“Nope. I told Jess I could do it. Might as well earn my keep while I’m here.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and gave her a slight nod of farewell, then turned for the door. “‘Night.”
She’d already seen how he favored his weak right arm and shoulder, while handling that heavy pan of ham and scalloped potatoes. And when she’d heard the sound of gunfire down in the shooting range this afternoon, she’d walked up the hill and briefly watched him struggle to hit the targets.
At sixteen he wouldn’t have missed a single shot. But even from the top of the hill, she’d seen his rifle barrel wobble. Not wanting to embarrass him, she’d slipped away before he noticed she was there, but the problem was clear enough. How was he was going to manage doing chores?
Maybe he wasn’t warm and friendly, and he certainly wouldn’t ever be a pal. But she just couldn’t ignore someone in need, even if he wished she would disappear.
“Hey, Devlin—if you need any help, just holler,” she called out. “You’ve got my cell number, now.”
He didn’t respond.
She stared at the door closing behind him, feeling an old, familiar wave of compassion and frustration.
He hadn’t wanted help or sympathy years ago, and he clearly didn’t want it now. Which was