The Ranch She Left Behind (7 page)

“Ro, I—”

“No foolishness about imposing. It’s your house. Rats—I shouldn’t ever have rented the sister suite. But we’ll think of something. Where are your things?”

Ro moved to the window to scan the yard. “I’ll get Barton back. Or somebody. Who’s not leading a class right now, Bree? We’ve got tons of strapping college kids. One of them will bring your suitcases in.”

But Bree was staring at Penny thoughtfully. Her cool, observant control had always spotted things Rowena’s passionate fire either overlooked or tried to will away.

“Hang on a minute, Ro.” Bree’s blue eyes had darkened slightly, and her cameo-pale forehead furrowed. “Everything’s okay, isn’t it, Pea?”

“Everything’s fine.” Eventually, Penny would have to tell them about the intruder. But one thing at a time.

“Good.” Rowena scraped her black hair away from her face impatiently. She was an old hand at rejecting any little reality that annoyed her. “Then of course you won’t go back to San Francisco tonight, so let’s find one of the kids to—”

“Ro, let Penny talk.” Bree put her hand on their older sister’s arm.

Penny smiled, grateful. Rowena was a steamroller when she got going, and Penny would find herself ensconced in one of the cottages by nightfall, with a pet parakeet and a Silverdell voter’s ID, if she didn’t slow things down.

Bree’s voice was gentle. “Tell us what’s going on, Penny. Did you really come all this way just for one day? Are you really going back tonight?”

Penny took a breath. “No. In fact, I’m not going back to San Francisco at all. I sold the town house.”

“You
what?
” Both her sisters spoke at once.

“I sold the town house. You know Ruth left it to me, for a nest egg. She expected me to sell, and luckily it moved very quickly. So I’ve come back to Silverdell.”

“Then…but that’s fantastic!” Rowena frowned, tugging the sheet from her shoulder and glancing around the porch, her gaze again calculating, sorting. “Okay, so we’ll have to free up something more permanent. They’re almost finished with the four new cottages, but they won’t be move-in ready until—”

“Rowena!”
Penny squared her shoulders. “Bree. I know this is going to be a shock, and that’s why I didn’t call ahead. Or write. I wanted to tell you in person, face-to-face. The thing is…I’m not going to be living at the ranch.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rowena repeated, almost absently. “It’s no imposition. It’s what we’ve all been hoping for. You know we’ve been begging you to come ever since Ruth died. Since before Ruth died. Of course you’ll live here.”

“No. I won’t.” Penny took Ro’s right hand and Bree’s left into her own. “I love you for wanting to take care of me. But I won’t be moving into the ranch.”

Rowena opened her mouth, obviously prepared to protest reflexively, but a glare from Bree made her shut it again.

“Damn it, Ro.
Let her explain.
”

But could she? Could she ever make them understand how, up until today, she’d always been a stranger to herself, a guest in her own life? Their love, Ruth’s love, the exile to San Francisco, the quiet, hermit life with her great-aunt…where no storms came…

No storms. And nothing else, either.

Everyone had tried to shield her from the ugliness of the Wright family history. Maybe they thought that, since she’d been only eleven at the time of the tragedy, she had a chance of growing up unscarred if they wrapped her in cotton and tucked her away.

But in the end, they’d only managed to create a ghost of a girl, who had no idea who she was or what she wanted out of life.

“I’ve bought a house. A duplex. I’m renting one side out for now, but eventually I hope to open a studio. Give lessons, maybe. Definitely paint and take pictures, and anything else that will help me earn a living.”

The news wounded them. She could see it in the speechless shock that wiped their eyes and smiles clear of emotion.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t apologize. She had nothing to apologize for. She had a right to make her own decisions, to live wherever she pleased. And yet she hated to hurt them.

“Rowena, Bree…please try to understand. I love you both more than I can say. But it’s time I created a life of my own.”

* * *

T
HE
DUPLEX
M
AX
had rented was newly refurnished, which was one of the reasons he’d chosen it. He’d come out twice to look at various possible rentals. He’d seen plenty of houses much grander than this little cottage, but grand didn’t suit his agenda. Simple suited him. Simple and clean, with structural integrity and enough charm to please the soul.

Even Ellen hadn’t been able to say the duplex was ugly. Small, yes. But delightful in a quaint, historic-cottage way. A pale butter-yellow with blue trim around the windows and doors, the one-story wooden structure looked neat and friendly, glowing under autumn sunshine filtered through half a dozen gorgeous aspens.

And
furnished
made it even better. For the next nine months, he could leave all the big pieces in Chicago, which was a relief. Back home, every stick of furniture seemed saturated with memories of Lydia. That was her chair at the dinner table. That was where she sat while they watched TV. Even the pencil marks on the woodwork measuring Ellen’s growth had been made by Lydia.

Which was probably more proof that Max had been a hopelessly absentee father. But he couldn’t change the past. All he could do was rededicate himself to his daughter from now on. No do-overs in this life—but luckily you did occasionally get to
start
over.

And it would be easier to start over without Lydia’s ghost everywhere they turned.

He had put away his clothes and books and set up his drafting table. Later, he’d have to go buy supplies, but for now the landlady had been thoughtful, providing everything from magazines on the coffee table to knives and forks in the pantry.

Maybe he’d wait for Ellen to come back from exploring, and then they’d make a grocery run. He wasn’t very good at cooking yet, but he’d mastered the red rice with tuna horror she seemed to love best. She’d probably had it twice a week in the months since Lydia died.

He walked out to the car one more time, clearing out the last of the loose items—Ellen’s paper cup from the fast-food lunch they’d grabbed as they neared Silverdell, her tangled earbuds and the cherry-flavored lip balm she’d bought at a gas station. He dug out a paperback book about a vampire high school, which had gotten wedged between the seats. He was finally extricating himself from the SUV when he heard another car drive up beside his.

He straightened, smiling, wondering if it might be his landlady, who would also be his next-door neighbor. The agent had explained that the owner, someone named Penelope Wright, would live on the other side, though so far he’d seen no signs of her. For some reason, he’d assumed she was a retiree—maybe the old-fashioned name did that. But perhaps she wasn’t retired, and had merely been at work all day.

Reflections of aspen leaves dappled her car’s windshield, so he couldn’t see anything except the hint of a bright blue coat or dress.

He waited, still smiling a welcome, ready to start off on the right foot. But, oddly, the person in the car didn’t open the door. Maybe she was on the phone, tying up some final details before she hung up.

He turned back to the SUV, checking under the seats one last time, not wanting to look impatient. He had just collected a stray French fry when he heard the woman get out of her car and clear her throat.

“I…I…” She started over. “You…”

Poor thing. She sounded as if she might struggle with a stammer.

“Hi,” he began, turning with a smile. The rest of his greeting died on his lips. Standing in front of him was the woman from the ice-cream store.

It couldn’t be. But…

It also couldn’t be anyone else. Even without the same cute dress, silly boots, shining hair…he would never forget that face.

For a split second, the shock left him mildly uncomfortable. The encounter earlier had been so random, so strange. It had been over in less than a minute, and she’d disappeared suddenly, without a word, as if embarrassed by her boldness.

So how had she found him again? She didn’t know his name—he didn’t know hers. He hadn’t told the soda jerk anything about his plans. And yet, out of nowhere, this same woman pulled up in his driveway a few hours later?

How was it possible? Silverdell wasn’t
that
small.

Was there any chance this sweet-faced young woman was…

Stalking him?

“Wow. This is so awkward I honestly don’t know what to say.” The woman shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she hoped that when she opened them, he wouldn’t be standing there.

But of course he was.

“Okay. So I guess you have to be Mr. Thorpe. You’re here early. I mean, that’s fine. It’s just that…I wasn’t even considering the possibility that my tenant might already be in Silverdell. Before, I mean. Earlier, I mean. When I…”

She took a deep breath, held out her hand and managed a smile. “I guess I should properly introduce myself, even if it’s a little late. I’m Penny Wright. I’m your…your….”

He took her hand. “My landlady?”

She nodded. “I cannot tell you what an idiot I feel. If I had considered, even for a second, that you…that we…”

She flushed, starting at the neck, which wasn’t very helpful, because it caused Max to focus on the graceful column of her throat. His gaze followed the pink stain up, as it spread across the delicate jawline, and then her cheeks.

And, just like that, there it was again—the hot, helpless, fourteen-year-old feeling. He wanted to kiss that pulsing spot where her throat met her chin—and at the same time he wanted to be the white knight who knew exactly what to say to make her feel better.

But he couldn’t do either one, because he was too busy hoping she couldn’t tell what she did to him…physically. He realized he still held her hand, and he let it go as nonchalantly as he could.

He fought down the sensation. This was ridiculous. The both of them, grown adults, standing here temporarily reduced to blithering idiots—all over a casual kiss. A quick, closed-mouth kiss between total strangers that had meant absolutely nothing.

Get a grip, Thorpe.

“You shouldn’t feel foolish,” he said, smiling. “It was very sweet, and I didn’t mind a bit. But if you’d rather, we could agree that it never happened.”

She nodded eagerly. “If we could, if you would…I mean, that would be terrific. I’d appreciate it. So much. That’s not really me. I mean, I don’t do things like that, ordinarily. It was just—just this silly thing I did because…you see, I was making this crazy list, and—”

He was loving the stumbling explanation, and wondering whether he might have grown
too
cynical, through the years. This innocent honesty didn’t look like a sham. This looked like the real thing. An adorable, awkward naivete.

But her cascade of half sentences was cut off by the arrival of more vehicles, which pulled up in a caravan and jockeyed one at a time for parking space in the street just outside the duplex. Max looked first at the newcomers—a late-model pickup truck, a hybrid SUV and a wildly expensive sports car. Then he looked at Penny, whose expressive face was registering both surprise and annoyance.

“Oh, my goodness, they are
impossible!
I should never have told them the address!” She glanced at Max apologetically. “My family. I told them not to come, but they’re…well, they hover. They mean well, but—”

“Hey! Penny!” A tall blond man in a suit hopped out of the truck, strode over and scooped Penny into his embrace. “What a surprise, kiddo! Ro called and she said we needed to get over here ASAP to help.”

“Dallas!” Penny’s annoyance seemed to fade as she accepted his hug. Max watched curiously, trying to sort out the relationships. Whoever this was, she liked him. Brother, maybe? But there wasn’t much resemblance.

“I’m sorry you had to come,” she said. “I’m perfectly fine on my own. There’s really nothing to be done. My furniture won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“Ah, but that seems to be the problem. They can’t stand the idea of you camping out on a sleeping bag. Ro and Bree are mobilizing a small army to make this place homey. The SUV is loaded with food, supplies, blow-up mattress, books, shampoos, and there may even be a lawn mower back there. You’ll be lucky if they don’t start hanging wallpaper before it gets dark.”

Penny groaned. But then she seemed to remember her manners. She stepped back from the hug, and, putting her hand on the man’s arm, included Max in her smile.

“Dallas, this is my tenant, Max Thorpe. We’ve just met, this very minute. Max, this is my brother-in-law, Dallas Garwood.”

Max shook Dallas’s hand, noting the sharp scrutiny the blue-eyed man gave him and meeting it with a bland smile and a slightly raised brow. Dallas Garwood was the distrustful type? But what about Max made him suspicious in the first place?

“Nice to meet you, Dallas,” he said politely.

Another man had stepped out of the jazzy sports car and was making his way over. His greeting was warm, but a bit more restrained, as if he weren’t quite as close to Penny as Dallas was.

“Hey, Penny. I’m Gray, and—”

“Gray!” Dallas thumped the newcomer on the shoulder. “Penny, it’s hard to believe you haven’t met Gray. He’s been underfoot for months now. He’s been dying to meet you, because somehow he’s decided you’re the only one who can persuade Bree to set a wedding date.”

Penny accepted a hug from the second man, and then rather stiltedly attempted to introduce him to Max, too.

“Grayson Harper, this is Max Thorpe, my tenant. Max, Gray is my sister Bree’s—”

“Fiance,” Gray said, stepping forward to help smooth over Penny’s uncertainty about the label. He shook Max’s hand, and again Max was aware of getting a steely-eyed, mildly threatening appraisal.

You’d better be a good guy,
the stare said.
You’d better not mess with our Penny.

Damn.
Max wondered whether he had picked up some kind of scary stain that looked like blood while he was in the basement. Surely he didn’t give off a serial killer vibe, did he? He was just a road-weary dad in jeans and a suede jacket, holding his daughter’s
Vampire High
pulp novel, and a bubblegum-blue Slurpee cup. How dangerous could he possibly look?