Desert Heart (The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch Book 4) (3 page)

If only she’d let him in.

Well, he was back now. Back for his third and final chance. If he didn’t succeed this time, he’d take it like a man—three strikes and all that—or cry his heart out for twenty days and nights then eventually grow old alone, dreaming about her the way he’d dreamed for the past twelve years.

Either way, he hadn’t thought things through that far. Hadn’t thought any of this through. There hadn’t been time. It had only been a week ago that he learned he’d been named manager of Seymour Ranch. Perfect timing, considering he had still been contemplating how to launch a second career six months after the accident that ended his days in the league.

Of course, he’d always known those days were numbered and planned on a new start. He’d finished business school on the side with that in mind. It had taken him years of part-time study, hammering away whenever work gave him the chance, but he’d finally done it. He’d been getting ready to put that degree to use when an addendum to sweet old Lucy Seymour’s will came to light, naming him as manager of this ranch.

So here he was, back where he started. In more ways than one.

He let his eyes drift to the ragged mess that the once-vibrant garden had become. Weeding it was one of the items on his list, along with finding out what the hell this aquifer business was all about. His gaze went from the sun-dried adelias and choked-off gaillardias to the space beyond.

Right over there was the batting cage he and his dad had built. All rusty and overgrown, not like it had been for that
Sports Illustrated
photo shoot his agent had talked him into a couple of years back. Even he had to smile at the story—country kid grown up in isolation becomes baseball star, thanks to a rusty old pitching machine the neighbors didn’t want.

His mouth curved into a frown. The neighbors were Dale Gordon and his sons. Old Dale had played a little minor-league ball in his time and had visions of his sons making it big someday. So he’d picked up a discount pitching machine somewhere and set it up. But Dale’s two boys had turned to more satisfying hobbies, like shooting beer cans, jackrabbits, or any snake unlucky enough to cross the sights of their BB guns.

So Rick and his dad had bought the machine off Dale. Set it up in a nice, even spot and put up a cage made of cast-off lengths of fence. They couldn’t afford new stuff, but they made do.

“Perfect.”

He could still remember his father nodding at it with pride.

A sigh built in his chest. Weeding the batting cage would go on his list, too, right after the garden.

“The best batting cage in the world,” his dad had said.

And it was, because it was his, and it worked. It was fun. Focusing on the chute, the ball, his swing—that filled the time his dad couldn’t color with stories of Rick’s mother, who’d died much too young.

Yeah, the pitching machine worked, all right. The lonely kid on the remote ranch had batted his way right into a college scholarship, then into the major leagues. So in a weird way, he owed Dale Gordon and his no-good sons. If it weren’t for that pitching machine, he might be like them—a couple of thirty-year-old drifters doing who-knows-what.

Lucky for Rick, he hadn’t seen either of Dale’s sons since his return. Just Dale—and far too much of him. Lucy Seymour had managed to keep the foreman sober, but these days, he’d taken to hitting the bottle. Hard and often, it seemed.

Rick kicked at the dirt and shook his head. Funny how some dreams panned out and others didn’t. And funny how some dreams changed. Used to be, he would line the pitching machine up so he’d face the mesa and pretend it was a stadium full of fans, screaming for a grand slam. But after a year or two of playing major-league ball, he started doing it the other way around. Even in the oldest, most venerated parks like Fenway or Wrigley Field, he’d let his imagination take out the grandstands and crowds and substitute Arizona instead. This space. This peace. This sky.

Home. Home had been calling him for a while.

And now the ghost of Mrs. Seymour had finally brought him back. Back home.

Back to Tina.

They’d played together as kids, then played a different way as teens. Lost their virginity together that magical night in Spring Hollow, and followed that up all summer, sneaking off to clandestine rendezvous once their chores were done. But then a talent scout had come along and made Rick an offer too good to resist. One thing led to another, and Rick ended up in college, and eventually, the big leagues. It all went so fast, and he had nearly convinced himself that what he and Tina had was just a kid thing. Puppy love, right?

But puppy love didn’t last over twelve years and a thousand miles. Puppy love didn’t propel a man and a woman right back into each other’s arms the minute they laid eyes on each other when he finally did visit home.

Home. Arizona. Tina. He sighed, remembering it all.

That week they’d shared seven years ago had been a whirlwind of passion and burning need. No giggles, only intense gazes as if the end of the week signaled the end of the world. And it did, in a way.

“Come with me,” he’d urged her when the week was up. “Come to California. Marry me.” She’d barely left the ranch in all those years, and he was just what she needed—a knight in shining armor to carry her away. “Be mine.”

He remembered how her eyes had blazed with hope, then dimmed to twin shadows before she forced a bittersweet smile.

“I can’t, Rick.” No explanation, though he sensed a cascade of words poised on her tongue. She looked at him with those weepy eyes, so full of secrets.

Why?
He wanted to plead.
Why?

“I just can’t,” she whispered. Seven long years ago.

He took a deep breath, then another. When a raven cawed, his gaze snapped up from wherever it had drifted to and focused back on the overgrown garden.

Tina. Love. Last chances. He could spend all day staring into the wind, thinking about it. But he had a ranch to run, and an awfully fine line to walk between old ways and new—not to mention a bitter old man as a foreman and neighbors who expected the worst.

Rick sucked in a long, slow breath. He’d take it one day at a time with Tina and with the ranch. Lucy Seymour’s husband, Henry, used to say the first twenty days of anything were the worst, and Rick had used that as a benchmark throughout his life. His first miserable twenty days away from home back when he was a teen. His first grueling twenty days in the big leagues. The first hopeless twenty in the hospital.

And now this. His first twenty days on the ranch.

His hand balled into a fist, but something got in his way. The cookie plate. He looked down and studied it for a minute. Chocolate chunk cookies, by the look of it, lumpy as the surface of the moon and just starting to melt in the sunshine. Perfect.

He bit into one and let the flavor explode in his mouth. Pictured Tina holding the bowl at her hip, mixing the batter. Wiping a smear with her finger, then extending it to him.

He sucked in a sharp breath when the next image popped into his mind, all by itself. He was just leaning over to lick that finger when a tiny Tina look-alike came pattering along, giggling,
Daddy, Daddy,
and got to it first.

Now, shoot. Did his imagination really have to torture him like that?

He closed his eyes and held on to that picture for a good, long time.

The next cookie, he held up to the hills in a silent toast to their maker—and to twenty days.

Tina’s head buzzed all the way home.

Other body parts, too. Her face tingled like she’d gotten too much sun. Her stomach fluttered. Heat pooled low in her body and slid around in slow, sultry waves.

Ty slapped the steering wheel as he drove. “Can you believe it?”

No, she couldn’t. Destiny had made a terrible mistake, letting her meet Rick all those years ago. Letting her soar with hope then crash brutally to the ground because her destined mate was human. Female shifters couldn’t mate with humans for good reason, so it was either one big mistake, or one awful trick of fate. She’d given up on love years ago, because if she couldn’t have Rick, she didn’t want anyone.

And now he was back. Worse, as manager of Seymour Ranch! She’d have to deal with him regularly. She could practically hear the cruel laugh of destiny on the sidelines, witnessing the torture that every business meeting with him would be. She’d be able to see her true love but not touch him or hold him or kiss him or—

“Fucking unbelievable,” Ty went on.

Tina gave a bitter nod as her eyes tracked the landscape outside. The desert seemed drier, more withered than it had before. The cactus graying, the brushwood drooping.

The pickup rattled over a series of cattle grids and then under the Twin Moon Ranch gate. Overhead, even the ranch brand seemed to mock her: two circles, overlapping by one-third. A perfect representation of her and Rick. Two lovers connected in their hearts, yet forever pulled apart.

“And now this,” Ty muttered.

She could have listed a dozen things about Rick that could have qualified as
this
, but Ty was waving at the first building on the right where several concerned faces stood in an expectant huddle.

“Trouble,” he growled.

Trouble for sure
, she nodded, still thinking about Rick.

Ty parked, slammed the door, and stalked to the meeting house. Tina followed on feet that felt heavier, older than before. She climbed the three steps to the shaded porch, followed Ty in, and gave her younger brother Cody a nod of greeting.

Normally, she would have whisked straight to her usual spot—the chair beside her father’s empty seat. But she paused just inside the door. So much had changed in the past years, and yet everything was the same. Her father, the retired alpha, was away, helping a leaderless wolfpack in Colorado, and Ty and Cody were leading in his place. But she was still Good Old Tina. Still alone.

“So, how did it go?” Cody smiled.

“How do you think it went?” Ty grumbled.

Ah, her dear brothers: one was pure sunshine, the other, a thundercloud. Between the two of them, they made a great team.

A leadership team Tina was part of, too. Their father had never taken a mate, so she’d served as de facto alpha female for years. Good Old Tina, working quietly in the wings. Good Old Tina, smoothing over her brothers’ rougher edges.

Good Old Tina, destined to fill the same role for the rest of her life.

“So tell us, already!” Lana insisted.

Tina breathed a sigh of relief. Ty’s mate had a calming influence on him. Just for that, Lana was a welcome addition to the pack. As an expert in land rights, she was a double win.

Tina returned Lana’s bolstering smile. That was the other great thing about Lana: she was a friend, too. The only other woman this close to the heart of the pack. The only one who truly understood the pressure Tina faced.

If only Lana weren’t so damn good at everything. Because she’d all but put Tina out of a job. In a way, that was great. Tina finally had time to concentrate on her official job as ranch accountant, and she finally had time for herself. The problem was, she’d quickly run out of things to do with that time. There was only so much fixing her cute little bungalow needed, so much gardening to do, so many books to read. Without a mate or kids…

Tina stood a little straighter and told herself not to sink into that morass. She had nieces and a nephew to smother in love. Packmates to support. Cookies to bake.

Cookies. Her thoughts snagged there. Did Rick like chocolate chunk?

“Rick.” His name slipped out of her mouth, and everyone’s attention jumped to her. “Rick Rivera.” She quickly covered up. “He’s the new manager of Seymour Ranch.”

“Rick Rivera—that Rick?” Cody asked, rubbing a thumb over his chest in a perfect imitation of Rick’s little gesture.

Lana’s eyes went wide. “Rick Rivera—that Rick?” She swung an imaginary bat.

Tina let out a weary sigh. “That Rick.” If only they knew.

“He always seemed like a good enough guy,” Cody started. “And if the Seymours trust him enough to make him manager—”

“I don’t trust him,” Ty growled.

“You don’t trust anyone,” Lana sighed.

Ty changed tacks. “He wouldn’t tell us who the new owner is.”

Tina cut in there. “He doesn’t know.” A hidden growl tickled the back of her throat—her inner wolf, grumbling in Rick’s defense. Which was crazy, since her wolf should be loyal to her pack, not to a man she couldn’t have.

The growl deepened until Tina forced it away with a cough.

“He
claims
he doesn’t know. And he wouldn’t talk about the aquifer,” Ty fumed. He turned to Lana and all eyes followed. “What do you think?”

“Hard to tell. My contact at Water Resources tipped me off that someone’s been asking around about how to file a petition to drill deeper and double the output from the Cameron aquifer.”

Tina stiffened. The Cameron aquifer only ran under two properties—Twin Moon and Seymour Ranch.

“And since it wasn’t us putting in the request…” Cody started.

“It has to be him,” Ty growled.

Lana put her hands up in caution. “So far, nothing has been filed.”

“And what if they do?” Tina asked, careful to refer to use a more neutral
they
than a specific
he
. “What are the chances of it getting approved?”

“Conservation laws are dead against it, but you know how it goes. Money talks, and they keep finding loopholes to keep pumping water.” Lana scowled. “No foresight whatsoever.”

“Could the aquifer support more use?”

“Absolutely not. We’re at the limit right now, and that’s with us following all of Stef’s recommendations on recharge and conservation.”

Tina nodded. Stef was a relative newcomer to Twin Moon Ranch and another valuable asset with her renewable resources expertise. Bit by bit, the pack had developed a top-notch team, to the point that other packs came seeking their advice. In the old days, the wolfpacks of the West had vied for status on the virtue of their physical strength. Nowadays, Twin Moon paired that with brains and knowledge. They’d need all the advantages they could get, though, to face the challenges ahead.