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“Down,” Ella commanded her voice firm, and to Cord’s surprise the huge dog settled on his haunches whining, his tail flicking back and forth like a plume in the dust.
Paul and Suzy had slowed their steps as Cord caught up to them.
“Don’t run away from me like that.” His eyes ticked from the dog to his children and, against his will, to Ella.
She had her hair pulled back now, anchored by a ball cap. But that only seemed to enhance her large, expressive eyes.
“I’ve got the dog on a leash,” she said, the tone of her voice holding an edge as she looked from the kids to him. “He didn’t go running to the kids.”
“I understand,” he said, realizing where part of her prickliness came from. “And I appreciate your diligence.”
Ella wound her dog’s leash around her hand once more as if to show him that she had her dog under control. “He’s a good dog.”
He’s a big dog, he wanted to say.
“I hate to put you on the spot,” he said, feeling that he needed to lay some ground rules with their new tenant, “but I have some concerns with my children being around him, so I would have to ask if you could tie him up if he’s outside.”
Ella lifted her chin in a defensive gesture. “Boyce assured me that the children wouldn’t come—” She stopped there, biting her lip as she looked down at Suzy and Paul who were still stroking her dog’s head.
He guessed that his dad told her the kids wouldn’t get in her way and he figured from her reaction to Paul, Suzy and Ollie that she didn’t like kids.
Which was probably a good thing. She was far too attractive and, of late, he’d been getting lonely. His friend Owen had been pushing him to date. Put himself out there. But he had his children to think of and he wasn’t doing anything to jeopardize their well-being.
“I understand what you’re saying,” he said, a cool note entering his voice.
Though in spite of that he glanced her way again, flustered to see her doing the same.
He shook off his reaction and called out to the kids just as an old, rusty pickup came down the drive.
“It’s Grandpa,” Suzy and Paul called out, their gnat-like attention spans turning to his father. They ran to the truck as he got out, holding a bag.
“What did you get for us, Grandpa?” they asked, grabbing his hands and dancing alongside him as he limped toward Cord.
“What do you think I got, Suzy Q?” he asked, tweaking Suzy’s nose and tapping Paul on the cowlick that Cord could never get under control.
“Candy. Candy,” they both chanted.
Boyce glanced over at Cord with an apologetic shrug, then walked over to Ella, holding out one gnarled hand.
“Good to see you again, Miss Langton,” he said in his best aw-shucks manner.
In his heyday Boyce Walsh was a rodeo bull rider who still bore the scars and limp of a bad wreck that ended his career. Boyce and his brother, George, inherited the ranch from their father who, along with his brothers, had in turn inherited it from their father. Both Boyce and George had expanded their ranches, as had their cousins. Walshes had lived in Cedar Ridge even before the town was officially established.
Cord’s brother, Morgan, and sister, Amber, had both moved away, but Cord had stayed to help his father work the ranch, living the life he’d always wanted, carrying on the Walsh family tradition.
“Hope you’re getting settled in?” his father asked Ella, still holding her hand.
“A few things to unpack but otherwise it’s coming.” She gave his father a wide smile that lit up her face and Cord could see that Ella had, like so many others, been taken in by his father’s effortless charm.
And to his own disappointment, the change in her voice and manner created an unwelcome quiver of attraction in him.
“Kids not bothering you too much, I hope?” he asked, glancing down at Suzy and Paul. “I warned them to leave you alone.”
“No. It’s fine,” Ella said, her voice reverting to the cool tone he had heard before that told him it wasn’t.
Boyce’s frown showed his father sensed it as well but instead he looked at Cord, then at Ollie who had his head tipped up to catch the last few drops in his bottle. “So where’s Adana?”
“She quit. Dropped the kids off at Ella’s,” Cord said, shooting a glance at Ella as if to let her know that he had nothing to do with his ex-nanny’s irresponsibility. “Called me in the middle of a meeting to let me know.”
“That little minx,” Boyce said, shaking his head in disgust. “I thought she might not be the best one to hire.”
Cord said nothing to that seeing as Adana had been hired on his father’s recommendation. She was the granddaughter of one of his coffee buddies at the Brand and Grill in Cedar Ridge.
“I was on my way to get potatoes,” Cord said, moving Ollie to his other arm and taking a step away. “For supper.”
Boyce looked over at Ella, his face brightening. “Would you like to join us?” he asked and Cord stifled a groan. His father could read cattle like no one he knew but was illiterate when it came to people.
He saw Ella visibly recoil and how her full lips grew tight. Her jaw clenched as she glanced at Ollie who was finally happy, swinging his baby bottle around by the nipple.
“I’m sorry. I already ate,” she said, her voice breathless as her eyes skimmed Cord’s, then looked away.
“Adana forgot to take meat out,” Cord added, shooting a warning glance at his father. “So it’s slim pickings anyhow.”
“Well, maybe another time,” Boyce said, slapping his thighs, his hearty voice oblivious to the undercurrents of tension that emanated from Ella.
What was her deal, anyhow?
“And speaking of supper, I should get moving,” Cord said.
“Here, I can do that for you,” Boyce said. “Suzy and Paul, you come with me. Cord, why don’t you show Ella that trail we cut through the bush last year? She could take her dog for a walk there.”
Before Cord could protest or Ella could voice the objections he clearly saw on her face, Boyce was gone, Suzy and Paul trailing behind him, clamoring for whatever he had in the bag he swung from his other hand.
Cord blew out a sigh, then turned back to Ella, taking the bottle from Ollie before he dropped it in the dirt. “Sorry about that. Dad tends to be a bit clueless.”
“It’s okay. He meant well.”
“And about that trail—”
“I can find it myself. Just point me in the right direction,” she said, twisting her dog’s leash around her hand in a nervous gesture as Pablo stood, watching the kids leave and whining.
“Puppy,” Ollie said, lunging toward the dog in a movement that caught Cord unawares. The little guy would have fallen straight down but Ella reached out in time to steady Ollie with her free hand. For a moment she held his son’s arm as Cord regained his balance.
Then, as she shifted Ollie back to him, their eyes met.
And in that brief blink of time he saw a shadow of something deep in those expressive dark eyes. Sorrow? Pain? Regret?
A dangerous emotion shimmered in his heart as their eyes held for a split second longer than necessary. He felt a surprising and unwelcome connection to her. As if, like him, she held her own doleful secrets.
“I’ll find the trail,” she said, her voice breathless as she lowered her eyes and pulled Pablo away from both of them.
Then she turned and strode away, head high, movements deliberate, her dog trotting obediently alongside her.
Cord watched her go, unable to get rid of the suspicion that there was a lot more to Miss Ella Langton than met the eye.
Then Ollie grabbed his hair with his sticky hands, as if reminding him of his obligations and the danger of letting someone like Ella get behind his defenses.
He gave his son a smile and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Yeah. I know, buddy. I’ve got you, Suzy and Paul to think of. No room at the inn.”
But as he left he couldn’t help one last glance over his shoulder at Ella.
Just in time to see her doing the same.
He couldn’t allow himself to be attracted to her or any woman, he reminded himself, turning around and almost running to catch up to his father. He would have to keep his guard up around Ella.
He couldn’t afford to let himself even think of her.
Chapter Two (#udc403fd4-410b-5c2a-9844-67df5f904d3d)
Ella glanced at the clock as she called up her mother’s number on her cell phone. It was early enough on a Sunday morning that her mother was probably still home. Ella tucked the phone under her ear as she popped a pod into the coffeemaker. She was feeling funky. She hadn’t slept well last night and needed coffee. Now.
Her mother answered right away.
“Good morning, Mother,” Ella said, setting a cup under the spout. “How are you today?”
“Good. Just getting ready for church.”
Ella heard the expectation in her mother’s voice. Though Ella had gone to church her entire life, the last five years her attendance had petered off. She hadn’t attended at all the last year she and Darren were married. It bothered her mother, and many times Ella had wanted to explain but couldn’t. Too much was at stake.
It took her over a year, after Darren’s death in a motorcycle accident, to start attending again. At first sporadically, then slowly the weekly rhythm created by years of church attendance asserted itself. The past couple of months she had started attending weekly again. This morning she felt a desire to go and had even gone so far as to search for a church nearby.
“How are things in the gallery?” Ella asked, preferring to keep the conversation light and easy.
“Good. Had a wonderful showing yesterday. A few people asked when we could expect to see more of your work.”
Again her comment carried a heavy subtext. Start producing.
“Has the move to the cabin helped you at all?” her mother continued. “Given you inspiration?”
“It’s slow,” Ella said, slipping a cup underneath the coffeemaker. “Still working through stuff.”
Her mother was quiet, acknowledging what Ella had dealt with. “Honey, it’s been two years.”
“I know exactly how long it’s been,” Ella replied, pressing the heel of her hand against her eyes, frustrated at the sharp tone her voice took on. “Sorry. It’s even more frustrating for me than it is for you.”
“I understand, dear, but sometimes you need to push through the resistance. Sometimes resistance is a signal that better things are coming.”
Ella had heard variations on that theme often in her artistic career. Her husband, who had at one time been a part owner of her mother’s gallery, had tossed the same words at her when she was stuck. And sometimes he was right. But this was different. This was a wall she couldn’t get over no matter how hard she pushed and clawed, trying to find inspiration.
“I’ll keep plugging. I’m sure it will change eventually.” Ella glanced at some of her older paintings stacked against the wall. Dark landscapes with jagged trees silhouetted against blue-black clouds that screened a silver disc of a moon. Superimposed over them in a different medium, were vague shadows of angels—transparent if you stood directly in front of them, but they changed as soon as you moved sideways.
Though she had indulged in darker paintings, the last few years of her marriage the landscapes had become bleaker. They’d come out of a deep sorrow. A plaintive cry for comfort.
And they sold for thousands.
Her mother had pleaded with Ella to part with the few she had kept, saying they would fetch a goodly sum at the gallery.
But Ella kept them as a reminder of that time in her life and of her dependence on a man she should never have married. Darren had spun daydreams for her that made her think she would be cared for. Cherished. Nurtured. They would have a dozen children. A beautiful home. Money would not be a problem.
For a girl who never had a father or siblings and a mother who, though she loved her, was occupied with her business, these were heady dreams.
The house had come but at a cost.
So had the marriage.
“Have you gone running?” her mother asked. “That’s always helped you before.”
“I have. It’s beautiful here.” Ella glanced out the window, her one arm wrapped around her midsection as she looked past the copse of trees dividing her yard from the neighbors’. Beyond that the land flowed away to the solid line of granite mountains still capped with snow. “The neighbor, Mr. Walsh, his son and grandchildren live in the house. Apparently he has a house in town. Did you know that?”
Her mother’s moment of hesitant silence answered that question.
“Boyce assured me you would have your privacy,” her mother finally said.
“I hope so. I can’t afford any distractions.”
“Do you want me to contact Blanche DuMonde in Montreal? Ask for an extension? Explain your situation?”
Situation. Is that what this deep guilt and pain is called?
“No. I don’t want to give them a reason to refuse me. I really want that opportunity. To be able to teach art and paint...it’s a dream come true.”
A year ago Ella’s mother had sent in some of Ella’s work to L’école des Arts Créatifs based in the heart of Montreal. The owners of the gallery connected to the school saw her work, were impressed and contacted Ella’s mother about a teaching/artist-in-residence position they were opening up. They wanted Ella to apply. But she needed to create a body of new work in order to get the job.
And that was where things had fallen apart.
“I need you to know I have been praying for you,” her mother said, her voice quiet as if hesitant to even say as much as she did.
“Thanks, Mom.” Nice to know that while she’d struggled to pray to a God she had thought let her down, her mother still could intervene on her behalf.
Ella steered the conversation to inconsequential things. People they knew. Sales her mother had attended. Upcoming artists she was featuring. Then they said goodbye with the promise to stay in touch, and Ella set her phone beside her computer screen, glancing at the website on it.
Cedar Ridge Community Church. Services at 10:00.
No doubt the Walsh family would be attending, as well. Though she’d seen children at the other churches she attended, she’d managed to avoid them and the reminders they gave her.
Her mind skipped back to yesterday and her heart contracted thinking of Ollie.
That moment she had held his arm as she steadied him had cut her like a cleaver. His soft skin. The sweetness of him.
