Expect the unexpected.
The next Thursday Annie decided to stop by home to shower before she went to Dylan’s. She smelled like horseflesh. She’d spent the bulk of her afternoon with the twelve-year-old gelding Tina from Mocha Moose had bought her daughter. The horse, otherwise a sweet thing, kept kicking from behind and had put a nasty bruise on Rachel’s thigh.
Annie suspected the previous owner had mistreated the horse. They’d found a couple spots he liked rubbed, and Annie encouraged Rachel to love on him often. Once Rachel established trust, Annie would teach her about pole gentling so she could safely approach him from behind.
Annie’s phone rang on the way home, and her heart skittered when she saw Midge’s name on the screen. Please, God. Not bad news.
She answered the phone, and after trading greetings, Midge got right to the point.
“Well, we’re a little over halfway through your ninety-day probation . . . I’m afraid we’re still getting letters.”
Annie winced. “I’m sorry, Midge. I’ve lightened the tone, and I assure you I give careful thought to my answers. You know there are going to be differing opinions on this kind of thing. It’s love— hardly as cut-and-dried as a horse advice column.”
“I see your point, Annie, I do. But something has to change. Some of your responses don’t receive the negative feedback. I’ll e-mail you the ones that readers favor. Maybe that’ll help guide you.”
After agreeing, Annie hung up the phone. If she didn’t turn this around quickly, she was going to lose her job.
Annie pulled up to the house and spotted Sierra’s car. Her sister was supposed to be at work, but she must’ve gotten off early. Weeknights at the diner were often slow.
Annie went to greet Pepper, who was grazing happily in the meadow. When he ambled to the fence, she stroked his speckled nose and rubbed behind his ear where he liked. “Go for a ride tomorrow, big fella? . . . Yeah, I miss you too.” She kissed his nose, gave him a final rub, and headed toward the house.
Inside, a cartoon was blaring from the TV, but Ryder was nowhere to be seen. The smell of garlic filled the house, and she heard something sizzling in the kitchen. Maybe she’d have time for a bite or two before she took off again.
“I’m home for a quick shower,” she called as she went down the hallway.
“Okay,” Sierra called back.
Annie spotted new photos of her and Ryder hanging in the hallway and paused. She recognized them from the Fourth of July, several of Ryder in his new cowboy hat, and a few shots of Annie. A couple of the photos were professional quality.
“Hey, your pictures turned out nice!” she called.
“Thanks. I’ll show you the ones of Sawyer later.”
Annie showered away the day’s dirt and grime and slipped into a comfy pair of jeans and a button-up. She blow dried her hair and slid into the kitchen with a few minutes to spare.
Sierra was standing over the stove when she entered the room. Her sister lifted a full ladle, blew on it, and tasted.
“You’re home early,” Annie said.
Sierra drained the pasta, her movements quick and proficient. “I tried to call, but you were out of range, I guess.”
“Thanks for starting supper. Was the diner slow again?”
Sierra dumped the macaroni into the sauce and stirred. “Um, sort of.”
Sierra hadn’t looked at her yet. A series of warning signals went off inside Annie.
“What happened?”
Sierra grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, still avoiding eye contact.
“Please tell me you didn’t get fired.” Not after Mabel and Roy had so graciously taken a chance on her. Not when her own job hung in the balance.
Sierra set the food on the table, looking everywhere but at Annie. “No, I didn’t get fired. I—I quit.”
“Quit! Sierra, how could you?” Did her sister think jobs grew on trees like pinecones?
“It couldn’t be helped. It was—it was the wrong job for me. I’ll get a job someplace else, I promise.” She folded her arms, more guarded than defiant.
“I don’t understand you. We need the money, and the Franklins went out on a limb to offer you that job!”
“I know, but—” Sierra’s eyes glossed over. “I just couldn’t stay there anymore.”
No, not this time. Annie wasn’t softening at the first sign of emotion. Her sister needed to learn responsibility. She wasn’t a child anymore. She had a child, for heaven’s sake.
“You barely worked there a week.” She crossed the kitchen and looked out the patio door, thinking. Maybe Mabel and Roy would take her back. The diner had been her only job opportunity since she’d been fired from the Mocha Moose.
“Okay.” Annie took a deep breath as she turned. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go to the Tin Roof in the morning and sit down with the Franklins. We’ll explain that you made a rash decision and that you realize now it was a—”
“No.”
“—bad idea, and we’ll beg for your job back.”
“No!”
“Yes, Sierra! You have to take responsibility for your decisions—”
“You can’t tell me what to do!” Sierra whirled from the room.
Annie followed into the living room where a commercial blared. “There’s not another job waiting in the wings! It took weeks to find this, and you can’t throw away opportunities like old, holey socks!”
“Leave me alone!” Sierra kept going right out the door.
Annie followed. “I’m working two jobs to keep our heads above water. Don’t you think you could at least hold down one? Is that asking too much?”
Sierra spun in the dirt, her auburn hair flying around her shoulders. “I’m sorry we’re such a burden!” She turned toward her clunky car. “Ryder! We’re leaving!”
“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”
Ryder came trotting around the house, cowboy hat firmly in place. “Where we going?”
Sierra’s shoulders still heaved, but her voice was calm. “Get in, puddin’, we’re going for a ride.”
“Don’t, Sierra.”
She buckled Ryder’s seat belt, then got in and started the car.
“We’ll be out of your way now,” she said through the cracked window. “And don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be home by curfew.” Her tires spun, spewing dirt and gravel.
Annie spun and marched into the house. She passed the television, flipping it off, and kicked Ryder’s rope out of her way.
The pasta sat in the center of the table, steam rising toward the ceiling. She wasn’t the least bit hungry now. She felt like jumping in her truck and running off too. Must be nice to just pick up and go on a whim, never mind the supper cooling on the table. She glanced across the kitchen. Or the stovetop—still on!
She turned it off and dished the pasta into a Tupperware container, then cleaned the skillet and pot and put them away.
Why did Sierra have to be so flighty, so stubborn! Surely she could understand they needed the money. Couldn’t she see how hard Annie was working to keep them on their feet?
Where had she failed? She looked heavenward, envisioning the look on her grandfather’s face when he’d begged Annie to look after Sierra, and feeling a familiar stab of guilt.
I’m trying, Gramps. Is this what you went through with Mom? She thought of how distant her mom and grandfather had been with each other during her childhood. Is that where she and Sierra were headed?
Well, she couldn’t let that stand in her way. First and foremost was getting the girl on her feet before some cowboy came along and swept her off them. There was time enough to worry about their relationship later.
After refrigerating the pasta Annie hopped in the truck and made the short drive to Dylan’s. She looked futilely for Sierra’s car on her way through town. Hopefully she’d gone to Bridgett’s and not some guy’s since she had Ryder in tow.
At the Circle D Annie found Braveheart in his stall, stomping his hooves. He must be so tired. She soothed him with soft words as she approached, making a concerted effort to clear away all thoughts of Sierra.
He raised his head and neighed, looking for her.
“Right here, baby. Annie’s right here.” She held her fist to his nose, and he tensed up and moved back until he hit the stall.
Annie continued talking. She didn’t dare put the horse in the pasture just yet. He was too skittish and distrustful, and now that his sight was completely gone, she was afraid he’d stumble in a rut or run headlong into the fence.
She’d finally gotten him to approach the stall door and was scratching his neck when Dylan entered, leading the bay quarter horse she’d seen in the pasture before.
Dylan’s smile lit up the barn. “Evening.”
He wore tan chaps, a plaid shirt, and a hat that had been put through the paces.
“Hey.”
She worked quietly with Braveheart, aware of Dylan nearby. He moved with efficient motions, unsaddling the bay and brushing him down.
When he was finished, he joined her. “Hey, buddy.”
Braveheart tossed his head and neighed.
She felt Dylan’s appraisal and put a few inches between them.
“You smell like flowers and sunshine.”
She started to say she’d stopped home for a shower, but heaven forbid he think she’d gone to extra measures on his account.
“You smell like horseflesh and sweat.”
He laughed. “That’s my Annie, always putting me in my place.”
Too bad it only seemed to amuse him. “Someone has to.”
He stroked Braveheart’s neck, his attention still on her. “If you knew how much I enjoyed it, I bet you’d stop.” His deep, quiet drawl caused a visceral reaction in her.
She shifted farther away and cleared her throat, willing the heat in her stomach to stay put and not flood into her cheeks.
Braveheart snorted.
“Easy, fellow,” Dylan said.
The horse wasn’t responding well tonight. No doubt he sensed the leftover tension from her quarrel with Sierra. And it hadn’t dissipated since Dylan’s arrival.
“He’s restless,” Dylan said.
Annie was glad to have the focus on the horse. “He’s letting us touch him at least. How’s he eating? He looks thinner.”
“His appetite’s down. I’m getting worried. What more can I do for him?” He leaned on the stall door, and his arm brushed hers as he reached out to rub Braveheart’s neck.
The horse nickered.
“Just keep loving on him as often as you can. Try not to worry. Time will take care of it. It’s like with any sudden loss. You just keep breathing and eventually everything settles into a new normal. He’s depended on his sight all his life, but his other senses will pick up the slack. Be patient.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Not my forte.”
She thought of Sierra and sighed. “I know what you mean.”
He rubbed and scratched Braveheart while she talked to the horse in soothing tones.
After a few minutes Dylan gave Braveheart a final pat and withdrew his hand. “I need to grab a shower.”
“Meet you on the porch in a bit.”
“Actually . . . I thought you might be interested in a field trip.” He flashed his dimple.
Annie looked away. He was at it again. “The porch suits me fine.”
“Did you know your grandpa’s childhood home is on my property?”
She met his eyes. Her grandpa had told countless stories about growing up in a cabin, but she’d thought it long gone. “It’s not still standing . . . ?”
“It is. Road’s kinda rough getting back to it, but my truck can handle it. My grandpa bought up the property way back and used the cabin as a bunk for his cowhands. But the creek floods over the road leading back there, so he stopped using it.”
She weighed the exciting proposition of seeing her grandpa’s home with the daunting one of extra time with Dylan.
“Whaddaya say? We have enough daylight if we go there first.”
She remembered the tales her grandfather had told her. About falling into the creek when he was just a wee thing, about jumping off the roof on a dare from his big brother and breaking his ankle. And he’d told her about the view from his mama’s kitchen window.
“I’d love to see it.”
“I’ll grab a shower and we’ll be on our way then.”
He was out of the barn before the second thoughts could swarm over her like bees over a honeycomb. She was going with Dylan to some remote cabin in the woods? What was she thinking? What would John think?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s Grandpa’s cabin. She was being ridiculous. It was daylight, after all, and it wasn’t a date. Just a . . . field trip, like he’d said.
She pulled her focus back to Braveheart and worked with him until she heard Dylan enter the barn.
“Ready?” he asked.
She gave Braveheart a final pat. “Hang in there, baby. I’ll be back soon.”
“How far is it?” she asked as Dylan opened the truck door for her.
“Fifteen minutes or so.” He rounded the vehicle, tossing his keys in the air and catching them easily. His spread was larger than she’d figured if they could drive fifteen minutes and still be on his property.
She took a deep breath and realized his truck smelled just like him. Leather and musk. He got in, started the truck, and a countryand-western tune filled the cab.
“Chilly?” he asked.
The sun had sunk behind the mountains, and clouds had rolled in across the sky. “A bit.”
He flipped on the heat and turned down the drive. She didn’t like being in tight quarters where she could smell him and feel his body heat. He tapped his fingers to the country jig and hummed along.
She wished she’d brought her letters so they could make good use of their time. But she hadn’t, so she might as well settle back and enjoy the scenery. From the corner of her eye she watched his square fingers thump the steering wheel, then curl around the wheel as he turned onto a rutted drive. His sleeves were folded up, exposing thick forearms with a sprinkling of black hair.
The mountain scenery, Annie. For heaven’s sake.
“Tell me about yourself, Annie. All this time together, and I don’t even know what you do in your spare time.”
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the green hills dotted with cattle. “Ride my horse, Pepper, mostly. Read, when I get the chance.”
“What do you read?”
She sure wasn’t telling him she was a Jane Austen junkie. Didn’t want him thinking she had grand illusions of romance.
“This and that.”
“That’s my favorite genre too.”
She rolled her eyes.
“How’s your nephew? Getting good with that lasso?”
“He’s becoming quite the cowboy.”
“How come I get the feeling you don’t approve?” The smile in his voice was audible.
“Because I don’t.”
“Come on, now. We’re not so bad, are we?”
She humphed.
“Saw your sister flitting around tables at the Tin Roof Monday, chatting up the customers, doing a fine job.”
The anxiety she’d felt earlier snaked back up into her throat. “She quit today.”
She felt his perusal for several seconds before he turned his attention back to the rutted lane. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “We had words before I came to your place. She took off with Ryder in a huff.”
“She’ll be back. Any idea why she quit?”
“I’m sure she got tired or bored or something. It’s always the same with Sierra. I couldn’t count on both hands all the jobs she’s had, and with a track record like that, no one will touch her. I don’t mean to talk bad about her. She’s really a sweet girl, and I love her to bits, but . . . she can be a handful.”
She was surprised to find her tongue so loose. He was easy to talk to when he wasn’t being all Dylan.
“Maybe I can put in a good word somewhere.”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want you ruining your good word. Besides, I think she’s asked around about everywhere. I just hope her car holds out. It’s making a funny noise, she said, but we can’t afford to get it checked right now.”
“Maybe I can help. I’m a mechanic of sorts. Have her bring it over and I’ll take a look.”
She looked at him, catching his profile. Masculine square jaw, neatly clipped sideburns. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”
He turned a smile on her. “Anything for a pretty lady.”
She didn’t want to know if he was talking about her or Sierra. They crossed a low wooden bridge. Moose Creek was barely a trickle, the water having evaporated under the July sun.
The lane became more rutted and he slowed down, dodging potholes.
“You weren’t kidding.” She reached for the door to steady herself.
“This area’s been flooded so many times, and like I said, no one comes back here anymore.”
Her shoulder thumped into the door. “I see why.”
“Used to ride over here when I visited my grandpa.” He tipped a smile her way, waggling his eyebrows. “Made a great rendezvous spot with the girls.”
Brother. “I’ll just bet it did.” Her grandpa wouldn’t have appreciated his use of the place.
They bounced and bumped their way down the lane. The hills leveled and the pine trees grew thicker. The lane became covered with a bed of pine needles.
Awhile later she spotted the cabin nestled in a grove of tall pines. “There it is.”
Weeds and overgrown bushes virtually engulfed the front of the one-story cabin. As they drew closer she made out weathered logs separated by lines of chinking. The tiny porch featured broken handrails, and a stone chimney rose from the wooden-shingled roof.
“My grandpa jumped off that roof when he was a boy.”
Dylan put the truck in park and shut off the engine. “Oh yeah?”
“Broke his ankle.” She got out of the cab. “His brother had to do his chores the rest of the summer for daring him.” She took a deep breath of the pine-scented air.
“Sounds like you’ve heard a tale or two.”
She couldn’t prevent the smile as she approached the steps.
“Careful of the rotting wood,” he said.
On the porch she tried the rusty handle and the door squeaked open. Inside it was dim. Dust motes danced in front of the cabin’s tiny windows. Something scurried away in the dark corner, making her jump.
“I’ll get a flashlight,” Dylan said, and then she was alone. The air in the one-room cabin smelled stale and musty, as if it hadn’t been energized by human presence in years. A stone fireplace dominated one wall. The mantel, no more than a rough-hewn beam, slanted across the empty grate like a cocked eyebrow.
Opposite it, a tiny loft nestled near the beamed ceiling, marking the place where her grandpa and great-uncle had slept. The room below was empty from what she could see, save for something that appeared to be a small bed.
She made her way into the kitchen, bumping into an old chair. The window over the sink beckoned. She braced her hands on the cast-iron sink ledge and looked out past the cobwebs and dirty windowpane. Beyond the pine boughs, the Gallatin Range stood in silhouette against the pink evening sky.
She heard the front door squeak open, then Dylan’s footsteps as he crossed the wood-plank floor. The flashlight shed a golden glow over the room when he entered.
“Sorry. Forgot how little light these windows let in.” His voice seemed deeper in the quiet of the cabin. “Great view,” he said, coming nearer.
“My great-grandpa built the house at just the right angle so his wife could see the mountains she loved.”
She looked around the room as Dylan shone the light. An old rug hugged the wood floor near the chair she’d bumped. Chunks of chinking were missing, and daylight seeped through the slits.
“I wish these walls could talk,” she said. “Imagine the stories. . .” She walked back to the main area and peered up at the loft before stepping onto the ladder.
“Careful, it’s old.” Dylan grabbed her waist. He probably had ulterior motives, but she was too distracted to put up a fuss. She reached the top and peered into the dark loft.
“Here.” Dylan handed her the flashlight, taking hold of the rickety ladder. “Not sure how sturdy the loft is.”
She shone the light around the space, disappointed to find it empty except for some debris in the corner. She stepped back down, turning into Dylan’s arms at the bottom. Her heart bucked in her chest and gooseflesh raced down her arms.
“Excuse me.” It was an effort to keep her voice steady.
He pulled his hands away, letting her by. She approached the big fireplace, shining the light on the old stones.
“They were probably pulled from the creek.”
He was probably right. “Chopping firewood was my grandpa’s chore. He hated it. He had a fireplace at his house and I was always asking him to light it, but he rarely did. Just turned up the thermostat and covered me with an extra blanket.”
“Can you imagine how much firewood they must’ve gone through on a winter’s day?”
“Even in the summer they must’ve needed it at night.”
“I’ll bet he never wanted to see another chunk of firewood again.”
She smiled. “Probably not.”
She shone the light around the room, then checked her watch. She wondered if Sierra and Ryder had returned home. She’d probably stay out till all hours just to prove she could.
Still, it was getting late and they still had to work on the column. “We’d best get back.” She handed him the light and started for the door. On the porch she navigated the steps carefully. Darkness was falling fast and the clouds obscured the moon and stars.
“Thanks for bringing me here.” She skirted Dylan as he held the passenger door.
“My pleasure.” He smiled and touched the brim of his hat in a way that made something flutter in her stomach.
She buckled her seat belt as he rounded the front, taking one last look at the cabin. She’d like to bring Sierra here sometime.
Dylan got in, put the key in the ignition, and turned it. A clicking sound followed. And then . . . nothing.