Driving through the traffic, Michael seethed. Ilse Blandon had broken under cross-examination, no other witness could outweigh that defect, and there was the matter of the receipt, tangible evidence of their client’s opportunity. The judge had withered both William and himself with his comments before the jury went out to deliberate, and Michael still stung from William’s cool displeasure.
He almost resented the man for not chastising him. If it weren’t for his relationship to Noelle, would he be so lenient? Michael pulled his sister’s junker to the curb and got out. He’d already phoned for a cab to meet him there, but it hadn’t arrived. He went down the curbside stairs and rapped on the door with one knuckle.
Jan opened, and Michael held out the keys. “It’s running again.” He’d picked up the car and paid the bill, but returning it was always the hardest part, seeing how she lived.
She took the keys and waved him in. “I feel bad . . .”
“Don’t.”
At nineteen, she looked washed out and tired. Her blond hair hung limp. There were circles under her eyes, and her skin had that translucent quality that made her look fragile, more fragile than she was. She had faced the truth, cut strings he couldn’t cut. She was free of the past, on her own.
Not that she did very well at it. He looked around the studio apartment, slightly larger than an elevator, with stained floors and walls. The bed was folded up to the wall, but the bedclothes hung out the side. There was scarcely space to walk around the dishes and clothing that cluttered the floor.
He walked to the counter, picked up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s lying on its side. His blood ran cold at the thought of Jan being a lush like Mother. “What’s this?”
“Bud left it.” She shrugged and tossed it to the trash. It hit the edge and knocked the can over. “Oops.” She giggled and bent to stuff everything back in.
“Does he stay here with you?”
“What’s it to you?” She tossed her hair and reached for a pack of cigarettes.
What was it to him? The men she saw made his skin crawl. Why couldn’t she see what they were? He’d worked himself ragged to escape this ugliness, had won a full academic scholarship to Harvard Law School, graduating in the top two percent.
And not only that. He’d learned the mores of the upper crust until he could assimilate without effort, while Jan wallowed lower and lower. She’d be diseased before twenty and it wasn’t her fault. A fresh surge of hatred for his mother seized him.
Oblivious to his darkening mood, Jan giggled again, an unnatural sound.
With a swift motion, he gripped her chin and bent her head back. She shrieked and struggled, but he held firm. It was there in her eyes. “What are you on?”
“Nothing. Just a little upper.”
“From Bud?”
“It was, like, free. Given to me.”
Sure. That’s how it started. You only paid once you were hooked. “Where’d you get it?”
“I don’t . . .”
He tightened his grip. “Where!”
“Okay. Bud.” She pried his fingers from her chin.
He swallowed his fury. “Listen to me, Jan. . . .”
“Like, get off my case, all right?”
He forced his voice to calm. “This is no place for you. Let me set you up.”
She tapped a cigarette free with a smirk. “Like Mom? Can I be a bird in a cage too?”
He didn’t show the hurt. Jan was high or she’d never have said it. She knew what it cost him, not in money but in his soul, to hate the woman so much and still see that she had a life, even a comfortable one.
She put the cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter. “I’m not doing anything hard.” She inhaled and blew the smoke slowly. “I just, like, want to make it on my own.”
As though she could make it without his help. Her memory was awfully short. “Cut loose of Bud. He’s a scumbag.”
She shrugged. “So he’s not hoity-toity like Noelle. Have you two even—”
“Stop it, Jan!” He gripped her shoulders and tossed her to the beanbags along the wall. What was the use? He could wring the truth from a witness, spin the truth for a jury, but he couldn’t tell the truth to the ones who mattered.
He couldn’t tell Jan she was ruining her life. And he hadn’t told Noelle she made every day worth living. That with her, he almost felt . . . human. Instead he’d proved he wasn’t.
Jan rolled to her side, frightened but sullen. And suddenly it wasn’t Jan he saw crumpled, it was Noelle. His heart pounded; his eyes burned with unshed tears. He reached down to help his sister up. He could tell her. Jan was probably the only one who would understand. But he didn’t.
———
Noelle flounced down on the couch and glared out the front window. She’d earned the chance to train Destiny, had one glorious time on his back, then awakened ready for more. The clouds that had moved in overnight hung misty and cold, but that wouldn’t stop her or Rick, either, she was sure. Not that he was anywhere in sight to ask. And she knew because she’d gone out and looked extensively and had damp stringy hair to prove it.
She crossed her arms and dropped them across her ribs. He had to know she’d be aching to continue. Yet even though his truck was in the yard, he was nowhere to be found, except perhaps the places she hadn’t looked, like his bedroom and bath. But if Rick were still in bed, it was time to call 9-1-1. No, he was up and out somewhere, intentionally frustrating her.
The door opened and Rick stuck his head in. “Ready?”
She jumped up. “Where have you been?”
He drew his brows together and rested his palm on the doorjamb. “Working.”
“I tramped all over the ranch.”
“I know.”
She clipped her hands to her hips. “You know?”
“I saw you.”
“From where?”
“The stable roof.”
She looked out the window at the stable’s roof that slanted low on the backside. She could have missed him there, but if he’d seen her . . . “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Like what?”
“Like ‘here I am.’ ”
He stood a long minute without answering.
“You must have guessed I was looking for you.”
He hung his thumb in his belt. “No, actually . . .”
“Oh, never mind. I just wanted to get an early start before it rained.”
“And I just thought I’d patch a spot on the roof before it rained.”
She held his slightly mystified gaze and realized how high-handed she’d sounded. “Oh.” Yes, patching the stable roof before a rain was a good, worthy use of his time.
“So . . .” His mouth pulled to one side. “Are you ready?”
She expelled a quick breath. “Yes.”
He looked her over. “Where’s your coat?”
“I don’t have one.” In the summer heat of her shopping trip in Denver, a coat had not been on her mind to purchase.
“Come with me.”
She followed him to the stable where he pulled from the hook on the wall a poncho like the one he wore and slipped it over her head. It fit like a tent, but he didn’t snicker. Rick knew when not to tease. Together they climbed into his truck, and he drove up the storm-hushed slope. Destiny came to meet them, seemingly eager.
Maybe because of the impending storm, Rick let her take him fresh, though he kept a secure hold of the rope. The air was pungent with wet hide, the reins slick in her hands, the air brisk. It was invigorating—for Destiny as well. He paced with energetic steps, and she exulted in the horse’s motion, his ready response.
She neither wanted, nor tried to, control him, and she was certain he knew it. Theirs was the mutual understanding she had wished between the animal and Rick. They were one, linked by some connection of mind and soul. Rick might be training him, but she was winning his heart.
The sky rumbled and without further warning spilled large heavy raindrops. She had been damp already, but it was pelting by the time Rick gripped her waist and swung her down.
“Get into the truck.”
She ran even as lightning flashed and thunder punctuated his words, rain slashing down cold and hard. She dove into the truck’s shelter as Rick unsaddled and released Destiny to the pasture. With water streaming off the brim of his gray Stetson, he dumped the saddle into the back and yanked open his door. He pulled off the hat to climb into the cab. His breath steamed the windows as he filled the space beside her and shut the door. Then he turned and grinned, so unexpected and boyishly she had to laugh.
He rested his forearm on the wheel. “Sorry. I thought it’d hold off a bit.”
She looked through the streaming windshield. “No holding that off.”
“It’s about time. It’s been too dry.” He started the truck, and the wipers swished away the watery curtain.
The days had been for the most part clear and sunny. There certainly hadn’t been any rains like this one. And there were the horses standing in it. “Are they all right? You don’t need to bring them in?”
“They don’t want to come in.”
It seemed true. They stood, necks arched and heads high. “What do you call the black stallion?”
“Hercules.” He put the truck in gear and started down the sloshy meadow.
“And Destiny’s sire?”
“Red Skelton.”
She turned to see if he was joking.
He read her look. “He was named and papered when I bought him.”
“Poor thing.”
Rick swung the truck around a rushing rivulet. “I call him Red. He doesn’t seem to mind.”
She rubbed the rain from the back of her neck. “And you named his foal Destiny. I thought he needed the sire’s name incorporated.”
“On paper he’s Red Destiny.”
“Sounds Marxist.”
The corners of Rick’s mouth quirked. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Who’s his dam?”
“Aldebaran.” He eased the truck over a dip. “I told you she was a good horse.” He parked in the yard and turned off the engine.
Sheets of rain obscured the house and turned the yard into thin strips of gravel between pools. Its force thrummed in her ears. “Guess you’re glad you patched that roof.”
He glanced sidelong. “I’ll check with you first next time.”
She raised her chin. “I just think you might have said something.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean, given your outspoken and gregarious nature.”
He cocked his head and stared out at the rain.
She watched it, too, for a minute. “This should take care of the dryness.”
“Depends. When it comes too hard and fast it mostly washes away. Ground this steep and dry can’t take it in.”
“But there’s so much of it.”
He nodded. “It’s the kind of rain that flash floods. If you’re ever caught out in it, head for high ground away from any streambeds or gullies.”
The storm was daunting. “Should we make a run for it?”
He leaned close to the windshield. “Doesn’t look like it’ll stop any time soon.”
With her neck already wet and the cab getting steamy, running from the truck to the porch wouldn’t be so bad. “I say we do it.”
From opposite sides of the truck, they ran to the porch, water splashing up their legs. Gripping her hand, he pulled her up the steps to the door where they stopped, breathless and soaked. Noelle caught her streaming hair back with both hands as Rick opened the door and waved her in, but Marta stood in the entry—mop in hand. Noelle felt as though she’d been caught jumping in puddles. She shrugged out of the poncho and dutifully handed it over, then followed Rick’s example and shed her boots.
“I think a fire’s in order.” He went to the fireplace in his socks, crumpled paper under the grate, and arranged logs and kindling on top. She joined him as he lit the edges. A fire on the first of August. Only in the mountains.
“It’ll be warm in a minute.” His voice alone warmed her. That and his sock feet.
She looked down at her own and suppressed a laugh. “Destiny responded well to me.”
Rick poked the fire. “Well enough.”
“Admit it. He was eager to perform.”
Rick leaned on the mantel. “I wouldn’t say eager.”
Noelle turned her back to the fire and let the heat rise up her legs and spine. “I can take him by myself.”
“No.”
She huffed. “Then why did you tell your father I was capable?”
Rick shrugged. “Just being polite.”
She shook her head. “You meant it.”
“Oh yeah?”
She turned and held her hands to the fire. “Why don’t you save yourself the argument and just say yes?”
“Because the minute I do you’ll start pushing for the next thing.”
“Which is?”
“God only knows.”
She met his gaze, and they smiled with their eyes, warmth reaching deep inside her.
———
Noelle basked in the coolness the following evening, lulled by the rhythmic creaking of the porch swing, one leg folded up beneath her. The crag was stained with rubescent rays of westering sun. In the grasses below, crickets sang, but beyond that, silence. It was Marta’s day off, Rick had gone to Denver, and the cabins were actually empty until tomorrow. Noelle had the ranch to herself. Luxury.
She had painted a scene of eroded ground, cut into veins and cracks by yesterday’s rain on either side of a white-faced aspen scrubbed clean behind the ears, with mushrooms that had sprung up overnight in the bright springy moss at its base. It was a study in contrasts and the tenacity of mountain life. She was learning.
An engine and tires in the gravel ended her solitary reverie. Rick’s truck pulled in and came to a stop, but he wasn’t alone. Morgan climbed out looking rakishly handsome, sleeves rolled, tie loose. He must not have taken the job. As Rick headed for the stable, Morgan strode up the steps and raised her to her feet. “More beautiful than before.” His eyes roved the length of her. “Did you miss me?”
“You were only gone five days.” But his piece was back in her puzzle and it did fit.
“Well, I missed you.”
“Why didn’t you take the job?”
He cocked his head. “I presented my proposal; they accepted. I’ll be facilitating a sticky merger, so the Windy City is going to be home for a while. Want to come?”
“I don’t think so, Morgan.”
“I’d show you a good time.”
“I have a good time here.” She pulled her hands free.
He shook his head. “Some things never change. But that’s okay. No rejection fazes me. I have a heart of steel.” He gave her a suave smile. “Let’s go somewhere. I only have tonight.”
Her heart thumped. “You came back for one night with me?” Did he expect she’d make it worth the trip?
“I came back for my car.” He brushed her arm with his fingertips. “But I’m accepting offers.”
“Your car?”
He nodded. “I left it in the barn. I just flew out to negotiate. Now that I know I’ll be there awhile, I’ll drive out.” He took her hand. “Come on.”
She let him lead her off the porch to the Corvette in the barn. He uncovered it and opened her door, expecting as usual to whisk her off on whatever adventure he envisioned this time. As she hesitated he cocked his head and hummed “Little Red Riding Hood.” She flashed him a glance. He was not the big bad wolf; she knew that. He was only Morgan. She slid into the seat and he closed the door.
Dusk was deepening as he backed out into the yard. Rick crossed behind them and went into the house. Morgan shifted into drive. “Have you eaten?”
She shrugged. “Marta’s day off.”
“Good.” He pulled to a stop beside Rick’s truck, climbed out and took an insulated container from the bed, then got back in and set it on her lap.
“What’s this?”
“Picnic.”
She looked out at the deepening sky. Picnic?
He took the gravel road slowly since the rain had deepened the ruts and the Corvette rode low on the grasses rubbing beneath. In town, he turned right, heading up toward the national park. If he thought she was going to hike in the dark with elk and fox and bears and mountain lions . . .
He drove to a half-circular lookout and parked. She stared out at the early stars pricking the clear sky. Morgan got out and opened his trunk. What was he planning this time?
Near the edge of the lookout, beside the boulders that marked its drop, he spread a woolen blanket. On that, he placed a three-wick candle that he lit with a lighter. She climbed out and watched, gooseflesh rising on her arms in the evening chill. She was glad for the jeans she was wearing.
He came and took the insulated cooler from her, then noticed her shivers and handed it back. He reached into the car, took out his suit coat, and wrapped it over her shoulders. Then he took the cooler and placed it on the blanket. “Voilà. Picnic.” He motioned her to sit.
His jacket smelled of his cologne as she held it close around her. He unzipped the cooler and removed several packages. “French bread medallions, goose liver pâté, smoked gouda, and grapes.”
He took out a bottle of club soda and two plastic flutes. “Not my beverage of choice, but in consideration of your preference . . .” He poured her flute and passed it.
She sipped. “When did you plan all this?”
“In the airport. One of those gourmet shops.”
She smiled. “It’s nice.”
“I would have chosen more, but Rick was antsy.”
Noelle imagined him waiting while Morgan compiled their picnic. She hadn’t known he’d gone to the airport; he’d only said Denver. “We should have invited him.”
Morgan gave her just the look she expected.
She spread a medallion with pâté. “I’m sure he’s hungry.”
“He’s got a whole kitchen.”
That was true. But they had the starlit mountain vista and an orange moon creeping up the horizon. Rick would have blessed their food. She took a bite. “Delicious.”
Morgan pulled a grape from the stem. “So are you bored yet, holed up on the mountain with Rick and Marta and assorted guests?”
“Not very. And we had company.”
“A flatlander from Kansas with a fat wife and twelve kids.”
She cocked her head. “Wrong.”
“Who, then?”
“Your father.” She straightened the napkin across her knee.
“Dad was up?”
She nodded. “He brought Rick a pair of fillies to start. He was sorry to miss you.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“The best part is, he convinced Rick to let me ride Destiny. And train him.”
Morgan sat back with a grin. “Good for Dad. Bet it gave Rick fits.”
“He only convulsed once or twice.” She laughed.
“So how is it?”
“Destiny? It’s . . .” She recalled the feeling of being on his back, sensing his mood and matching hers to it. “Beyond words.”
Morgan reached across and grasped her hands. His eyes were deep as the night shot with moonglow. “Promise me one thing when I’m gone.”
Her throat tightened. “What?”
“You’ll stay just the way you are right now. You won’t climb back into your shell.”
She searched his face, saw there something real and painful. He cared. He truly cared. “I promise.” But she was far from sure she could keep it.