Czytaj książkę: «True Love Ranch»

Chapter One

“Come on, get out of the way!” Darcy glanced at her watch, then leaned on the horn of her dilapidated luxury car for the second time. “Let’s get moving here.”

Ahead of her, the brake lights on the pale blue pickup flared red, and the vehicle stopped. Stopped? That wasn’t the response she’d been after.

Inside the truck, the driver moved as though to get out.

Darcy’s breath caught in her throat. Boy she may have just aggravated the wrong guy. She looked around. The rough road that led to T.L. Ranch had barely enough room for one car and certainly no room for her to go around him. And she couldn’t back up. The reverse gear had broken a week ago, and she’d been using the Fred Flintstone method ever since. She wasn’t about to open the door now....

The driver’s door of the pickup opened.

Darcy straightened her back and carefully reached for her purse on the seat next to her. Coming from Chicago, she knew not to take any chances with angry strangers. She had a stun gun and pepper spray at the ready at all times. Which should it be?

A booted leg extended out of the truck. And it was a big boot.

Pepper spray, Darcy decided.

She watched with bated breath as the driver unfolded himself from the truck. He straightened up to nearly seven feet tall, or so it seemed to her.

His hair was as black as licorice under a battered Stetson, and longish at the collar. His pale eyes narrowed when they touched upon her. If he weren’t coming at her in that sinister way, she might have thought he was attractive—in a rustic sort of way. Faded denims, a Levi’s shirt and scuffed leather boots completed the intimidating picture. He looked like an angry Paul Bunyan.

He walked slowly and steadily toward her. He wasn’t as tall as she’d originally guessed; he was probably just over six feet, but his commanding air made him seem taller.

. As he got closer, she realized he looked vaguely familiar. But how could that be? She hadn’t been to her grandfather’s ranch for ten years—since she was seventeen years old, and back then... Her heart pounded with a mixture of dread and excitement. Could it possibly be him?

No, surely he had left when she did.

Darcy glanced at the half-open window and pressed on the broken automatic-close button, knowing that it hadn’t worked for a month. The cold November wind whipping around the inside of the car was a testament to that. But paying to have it fixed had fallen somewhere after eating on her hierarchy of needs.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

“You need something?” a deep voice asked.

She opened one eye and looked into the face of the truck driver. Her chest constricted. It looked like him, that was for sure. But it was just too far-fetched. He was long gone. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m trying to figure out what it is you need.” One side of his mouth twitched toward a smile but didn’t quite make it. The brim of his hat was low over his brow, shading his features.

“What I need?” she repeated dumbly.

He pushed the rim of his hat up and she went still with shock. It had to be him. There couldn’t be another man in the world who looked so like him. Faint laugh lines around his eyes made him a little less familiar than he would have been with the boyishly smooth skin she remembered. But it was him; she knew it.

“I heard your horn.” His voice was lower, a little huskier than she expected. “Thought you might be signaling some distress.” His mouth twitched into a half smile now. “Especially when it kept happening.” He hesitated and scrutinized her. “Is everything all right?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

“I’m—It’s fine,” she said, feeling her face warm.

“Wait just a minute.” He leaned closer and her heart skipped a beat. “Are you who I think you are?”

It was him. Joe Tyler.

“I’m not sure...” she said vaguely, her heart pounding a furious beat that he could probably hear from a distance of three feet. “You are...?”

Of course she already knew the answer. He was Joseph Emory Tyler, though he hated his middle name. Favorite color: blue. Favorite dessert: chocolate pudding. Favorite rock group: the Beatles. Favorite sport: steer wrestling at the rodeo. They’d spent many long ago hours arguing over whether or not it was a humane sport. He’d wanted to be famous for it one day. In the meantime he was going to try to finish his college education in order to have something “to fall back on if the rodeo thing doesn’t work out.” He hated spinach, but ate it because he’d bought into the whole Popeye myth years before. He loved beef but hated pork—except sausages and bacon.

A long time ago, Darcy had adored him enough to... well, that didn’t matter now. Maybe it had never mattered. It certainly hadn’t mattered to him—that was clear then and it was just as clear now. Maybe more, since he was still here.

She swallowed her bitterness. That was history now. Her anger could only hurt her. She took a long breath, inwardly counting to five. She knew her face was a self-conscious blotchy red.

“Darcy Beckett?” he said, solidly confirming his recollection. “Little Darcy Beckett?”

She gave a shuddering sigh. Hearing him say her name did nothing to still her reaction. And he remembered the moniker that had made her so impatient back then. All of her grandfather’s friends and employees, who’d known her since she was a baby, called her Little Darcy Beckett, but only Joe had done it in a low, teasing way. Then and now.

“Joe Tyler, right?” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.

He touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “How the hell have you been?”

“Fine,” she said, a little too curtly. She thought of all the ways in which life had not been fine, but forced a smile. “How about you?” What in the world are you still doing here? she demanded silently.

“Just great.” He shook his head again and gave a low whistle. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Darcy. Welcome back to the T.L. Ranch.” Was it her imagination or was his voice tinged with irony?

Anyway, just who did he think he was, welcoming her back to her own grandfather’s ranch? It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a real home, and yet she’d been sent away from it because of Joe Tyler. Now, here he was, welcoming her back in that lord-of-the-manner way of his. “It’s good to finally be back,” she said, hoping he noticed the chill in her tone.

Clearly unaware of the feelings churning inside her, Joe continued, “I guess you’re here because of the will.”

“That’s right.”

“Me, too.”

Her heart pounded. “You?”

He nodded.

“Why?” Her voice sounded sharp, even to her own ears.

“I got a letter from the lawyer telling me to be there at four o’clock.” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I’m usually there anyway—”

“Don’t tell me you still work at the ranch.” She tried to sound casual, as if she weren’t grinding it out from between her teeth. Which she was.

“I do. Been there for twelve years now.” He paused, and she wondered how much he knew about her estrangement from her grandfather. “I’m surprised your grandfather never mentioned it.”

Shame burned in her cheeks. “We...didn’t talk much in the last few years.” Did he really not know that? Or was he baiting her, trying to get her to admit she’d lost touch?

Joe frowned, then his expression cleared. “That’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “Now I remember the story. You ran off and married that guy no one liked. Whole family was mad at you.”

It was an accurate description, except he didn’t mention the divorce. She gave a noncommittal nod.

Joe clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You and Ken stopped speaking all those years because of that?”

“It seemed best at the time.” She didn’t add that she’d tried to telephone Kenneth Beckett about fifty times in those first couple of years, but that he’d never taken her calls. She also didn’t add that her Christmas cards had come back unopened. She couldn’t bear to admit she hadn’t even known her grandfather was ill, and she also didn’t add that she’d hesitated even to come to the reading of the will for fear he’d left her a bag of coal as his final I-told-you-so.

Joe raised an eyebrow. “So where’s your husband now?”

“My ex-husband, you mean.”

She could have sworn a look of mild surprise came into his eyes.

“The divorce just recently became final.” Though she had known Brandon wasn’t Prince Charming when she had married him, she had hoped that fact would protect her. If she didn’t love him, how could he hurt her? She now knew how foolish that idea was. “And as for where he is, I don’t know.” Though she wished she did. Or, more specifically, she wished she knew where her money—which he had helped himself to upon his exit—was.

Joe regarded her for a moment, then with a very small inclination of the head, he said, “I’m sorry to hear it.”

She shrugged. “It’s almost time for the meeting.” She gestured at her watch. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Right. Sure.” After one final moment’s perusal, he turned and headed back toward the truck. Darcy wondered if he could be completely unaware of how attractive he was viewed from the back, in his faded jeans and scuffed boots. Her heart flipped stupidly, just as it had so many times that summer when she was seventeen. The cool breeze lifted, carrying the familiar scent of the woods—like a ghost from her memory.

Darcy watched Joe for a moment, feeling a deep purple melancholy settle over her like a cloud. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away. Then she picked up the carefully folded lawyer’s letter that was on the seat next to her and tried to concentrate. As if anything would stop the memories and the longing now that she was going to have to see Joe again. She unfolded the letter and glanced at the hand-drawn map on the back. She should remember the way, but it had been so long.

She could follow Joe, but pride compelled her to find the way for herself. She continued to look at the map. There was a broken-down shack somewhere up here or the right, but she couldn’t recall such a thing. It was just one more reminder of how long it had been since she’d been at the ranch.

She looked back at the blue pickup, which had resumed its pitiful gait. It was deliberate, she knew. Joe hadn’t changed much at all, now that she thought about it. He’d always been able to goad her more effectively than anyone.

The trick was to ignore him.

She thought about the ranch and wondered what would become of it. The lawyer’s letter certainly made it sound as though it was her inheritance, but she couldn’t believe that, given her grandfather’s attitude toward her. She sighed. At least the letter said she could stay on for a while. That would give her a few days to regroup and plan the rest of her trip to California. Maybe she could even find a mechanic who would give her car the once-over without charging too much.

But then she’d be moving on. She’d spent too long in Chicago as it was—nearly five years. It was the longest Darcy had ever spent in one city. After the divorce, her friend Melanie, in San Diego, had said Darcy could share her place until she got on her feet. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but Darcy was running out of options.

She’d spend a few days here—maybe a week—then move on. Forever. This wasn’t home. That was just an illusion she’d created because it was out of her grasp. As long as the T.L. Ranch remained the single great bastion of home and safety in her mind, she would never be able to move forward. Once she’d spent a little time here, worked out some of her inner demons, she would be free of Colorado, the ranch, and memories of that summer with Joe Tyler... forever.

Then she’d be free to work on the Menger’s grant scholarship program in San Diego. Louis Menger had been trying to get her on the project, which provided scholarships for inner-city teenagers, for three years. He was getting older now, and Darcy feared the scholarship program might falter if Louis stopped heading it and left the reins to someone else. It had been her father’s pet project before he died, and Louis had long wanted Darcy to take it over.

The idea had always appealed to her, too. But her husband hadn’t had much respect for any kind of nonprofit organization so she put it off. Now it sounded like the perfect project to sink her energies into. Darcy liked the idea of being responsible for helping to educate bright, worthy kids who might otherwise get lost in the system.

She wanted to make a difference in people’s lives.

But she was going to do it by herself. Louis Menger might be offering her a job, but she was going to have to start her life on her own, without help. She was going to make a home for herself, without a man.

And she wouldn’t let Joe Tyler—or her former, perhaps unresolved, feelings for him—get in the way.

She took a deep breath and felt the energy of possibility surge through her. For the first time in years she felt as though things really were going to work out for her. She had a purpose, a goal—and she was heading for it full speed.

There was only one thing standing between her and her dream.

Darcy looked at the truck in front of her and sighed heavily. She’d spent a lot of money on therapy trying to work out those lingering feelings for Joe. And she’d succeeded, she reminded herself. Years ago. Now he was a temporary obstacle. Not even an obstacle—just a distraction, that was all.

She had to remember that.

Joe looked in his rearview mirror at Darcy in her car. He sure hadn’t thought he’d see her today, or any other time, come to think of it. Sure, she was getting the ranch and whatever other assets Ken had to be distributed, but from what Joe understood, Darcy was busy living the high life in Chicago. For her, this would be just one more asset to liquidate. At the most he would have expected her to send a representative. Joe felt he could have dealt with a representative. He wasn’t so sure about Darcy. Somehow he was going to have to try not to let her get to him.

He’d just concentrate on his other business. There certainly was enough of it to keep him occupied. He pressed harder on the accelerator and the truck lurched forward.

Of course, the news of her divorce was a surprise. Maybe that was it—maybe she just wanted a change of scenery, something to help her forget the heartbreak.

Joe could have told her some things just can’t be forgotten. Or ignored.

Her car drew up a little too close to his back bumper, and he found himself smiling. Typical Darcy, he thought, always in a hurry. Somehow, that bulldozer quality had always endeared her to him.

Watching her in his rearview mirror, he studied her, marveling at her beauty. The finely arched eyebrows, determined chin, curved mouth. He looked back at the road, but her image stayed with him. Dark blond hair, evenly cut at the shoulder. If the stories that had circulated about her at the ranch were true, she’d probably paid a fortune for that haircut back in Chicago.

She sure had changed since he’d known her. Way back then, money hadn’t mattered to her one whit. At first he hadn’t believed the stories about her lifestyle after she’d left the ranch, but eventually he’d admitted to himself that he hadn’t wanted to believe them. The stories just made him feel that much more foolish for ever thinking they could make a go of it together.

Darcy Beckett, his wife, sharing ranch life with him—that had just been a stupid, immature dream.

He’d woken up a long time ago.

He looked back at her. Fancy car, fancy haircut. According to her grandfather, Darcy lived high off the hog. Drank champagne as though it were water. She probably even rinsed her mouth with it when she brushed her teeth. Or used fancy bottled water from France.

He glanced at the road to keep on course, then back at the mirror. Darcy was framed in its confines like a picture. For a moment, he saw her as she used to be. Her hair, which had been much lighter then, was long and straight. She used to live in jeans and T-shirts, not the kind of fancy clothes she was wearing now.

She’d grown up, and done a damn good job of it. He’d grant her that.

Her face... how many times had he seen that face in his dreams? She’d barely changed, he’d realized when he’d gotten up close. For a moment he’d gone dumb at the sight of those strong cheekbones and the stubborn chin he used to love to kiss. Her skin was as smooth-looking as ever. In memory, he could just reach out and touch her. In memory.

Hell, it wasn’t easy to forget Darcy Beckett.

She used to come to the ranch every summer, though he hadn’t met her until she was fifteen. He was seventeen then, and far too old for such a child. But the summer she was sixteen, she was looking not so much like a child anymore. And by her seventeenth summer she was so beautiful that he ached every time he saw her.

Fortunately or unfortunately—he’d never been able to decide which—Darcy had wanted him, too. They’d spent the entire summer watching each other sideways during the day when other people were around, and drawing together like magnets in the dark shadows of night. Sharing their inner selves, their dreams, planning a life together... and ultimately, making slow, sweet, incredible love. Until they’d gotten caught, that is.

Then she left and never came back. He never forgot her, never stopped comparing other women to her. For a long time he’d kept to himself, avoiding all romantic entanglements. But the glow of that summer romance had worn off eventually, and when he’d met a town girl named Maura Kinney, who was available and willing, he hadn’t bothered to resist.

When Maura had told him she was pregnant, he’d done the right thing and married her. Why not? Maybe he was still thinking of Darcy, but Darcy had married some high rider in the East and was, presumably, going to live happily ever after with him.

He took a deep breath and then let it out, trying to relax his tense shoulders and neck. He still remembered the long months of wishing Darcy would come back, but not daring to ask Ken about her. He should have asked anyway, he realized now. But the boy he’d been was so cowed by the powerful R. Kenneth Beckett that he hadn’t dared let anyone know the depth of his feelings for the great man’s granddaughter. Hell, he’d been lucky to be able to hold on to his job. In those days, it wasn’t so easy to find good work that paid a fair wage; he couldn’t risk it.

Instead, he’d hidden his feelings. After all, he was young and he knew it. He thought surely his crush on Darcy would fade. It did, to an extent, when he wrote to her and didn’t get an answer. He even wrote a second time, just in case the first letter had been lost. Then a third time. Then he gave up. And he’d gone to so much trouble to get the address from Kenneth’s book without the old man knowing it, too.

Joe sighed, remembering. Eventually he’d started a life with another woman and his unborn child. He’d never truly been in love with Maura, but she’d been his friend. When she’d died after a short illness a couple of years ago, it had been a blow. Together they’d worked to build a life. When she died he’d had to start all over again.

He fastened his eyes on the route ahead. The old Watson place, a broken ruin of a house, was up there on the right. Almost home. The T.L. Ranch. He did this drive every day, but today, with the lawyer’s meeting pending, it felt completely different—different because when he arrived at the ranch he’d get out of the car and be face to face again with Darcy Beckett.