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The dog obediently found his bed in the corner and curled up on it.
Ty looked around, saw Virgil sleeping, and an indulgent smile curved his lips. She looked down to cover her surprise. The smile changed his face completely, softening his jaw and cheekbones, erasing years off his face and making it appear almost boyish.
Clara slid the pan into the oven, determined to finally put things on an even keel. “Good morning, Tyson.” She deliberately kept her voice pleasant and impersonal.
He tilted his head, studying her as she straightened, brushing off her hands. “Ty, remember? Unless I’m in trouble, it’s Ty.” The smile changed, his lips curving in a devilish grin. “Does calling me Tyson mean you’re still mad?”
In trouble? He was trouble. It would have been easier if he hadn’t smiled, she realized. His smile was the one thing she couldn’t get out of her head. At the wedding it had been warm, intimate and slightly lopsided as though he was sharing a joke. The warmth of it had extended to his eyes, the brown-as-molasses depths of them with sundrenched crinkles in the corners.
She avoided his gaze and set the timer on the oven instead. He thought she was mad? Embarrassed, yes. Awkward—definitely. Angry? Well, maybe a little. He shouldn’t have rubbed his lips over her temple like that. It was presumptuous. It was …
Glorious. It had made her feel feminine and alive. Lordy, but he was a distraction! She wished he’d get out of the kitchen and back to the barns so she could focus better.
“Miss Ferguson?”
She was surprised that he persisted in addressing her so formally—to the rest of the family she was just Clara. His sober tone turned her head and she bit down on her lip at the sight of him, his weight on one hip, all well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, the grin no longer in sight. He wore a baseball cap. The curved peak made him seem—for the second time in as many minutes—ridiculously young. She had to stop noticing and simply do her job. It was the most important thing right now, her ticket to a new life. She was saving as much as she could so she could afford her own place. And Ty Diamond wasn’t going to screw that up for her.
“Did you want to ask me something?”
He hesitated so long that Clara fought the urge to squirm. The timer on the oven ticked down painfully slowly. Virgil, asleep in his favorite chair in the living room, let out a random snore. It broke the silence, and alleviated a bit of the tension. Clara let out a soft laugh as Virgil snored again and shifted in his chair.
“Your father always falls asleep during his crossword,” she said quietly. She wasn’t quite sure what to call Virgil in reference to Ty. He was Ty’s adopted dad but also his uncle by blood. And the tension between the two sometimes made her wonder if they even acknowledged each other as relatives at all.
“He gets tired easily, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “The stroke took a lot out of him. He’s made wonderful progress, though. He did great in his physio this morning. Even if it did take a lot of prodding and a fair amount of sass.”
“From you or from him?” Ty’s eyes seemed to twinkle at her.
“From him, of course. He’s been irritable lately.” She met his gaze with a look that told him she knew the source of Virgil’s displeasure.
“That’s probably my fault,” Ty admitted. “He’s changed more than I expected. Sam warned me. About a lot of things.”
His gaze was steady on her again and the ridiculous fluttering she’d felt at the wedding came dancing back. What had Sam warned him about? That Virgil was more stubborn than ever? That things weren’t exactly calm and peaceful around Diamondback Ranch? Or had he warned Ty of something else—about someone else? A sudden thought struck. Had Ty asked her to dance because he’d been put up to it?
Each time she thought of that night she regretted it more.
“I’m just his nurse,” Clara replied, turning away and taking the rolling pin and empty biscuit bowl to the sink.
“I didn’t realize nurse duties included baking.” He stepped forward and snuck a small bit of raw biscuit dough from the countertop, popping it in his mouth.
Clara felt a sharp and sudden pain in her heart, watching him sneak the scrap of dough. How many times had she and her brother done that as kids? Bread dough, cookie dough, it hadn’t mattered. Their mother would scold but never yell, saying that she hoped they had children someday who did the same thing and drove them crazy. The memory sent a bitter pang through Clara’s heart. Life had been so uncomplicated then.
Clara missed her family terribly. She’d followed Jackson to Alberta when he’d claimed he’d make his money in the oil patch and set them up for life. She’d been blind and stupid to leave all the good things behind to chase empty promises. But it was too late to go back home now. How could she possibly explain the changes over the years that had passed? No, the gulf was too wide. Saskatchewan was only a province away but it might as well have been a continent.
“I like to cook, and it gives Molly more of a chance to get out now and again,” Clara explained. Besides, if she wasn’t here at Diamondback, she was home at Butterfly House, and lately she’d felt more and more dissatisfied with that arrangement. She wanted her own place. Her own space and her own things. She wanted to buy her own groceries and eat on her own schedule and not worry about a set chore list.
“Did you make the pumpkin bread yesterday?”
She wiped her hands on a dishtowel.
“I did, yes.”
“It was very good.”
It felt so stilted and practiced, Clara realized. She lifted her chin. At least Ty was making an effort for the first time since the wedding. Maybe they just needed to clear the air and find some common ground. He’d never answered her first question so she repeated it.
“Is there something you wanted, Ty?”
The tiny smile threatened to mar the perfection of his lips. She’d called him Ty deliberately and according to his wishes. Maybe if they could move past the Tyson and Miss Ferguson bit it would be more comfortable.
“Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared up the stairs. Clara ran water into the sink, preparing to wash up her dishes. In seconds he was back, holding her shawl in his hands.
“You dropped this the other night,” he said quietly. “I thought you might want it back.”
She’d wondered where she’d misplaced it, but was so embarrassed about her quick exit that she hadn’t had the courage to ask Molly if it had been found. She dried her hands on a dishtowel and took it from him, careful not to touch his hands. “Thank you. I wondered where it went.”
Silence filled the kitchen once more, a quiet of the awkward variety. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she put her dishcloth back in the water and turned to face him. “Was there something else?”
“I don’t quite know how to say it,” he admitted, then reached up and took off his ball cap. His sable hair was slightly flattened and the band of the cap created a ring around his head.
“Just spit it out,” she suggested, her tummy doing weird and wonderful things. Tyson Diamond exuded a carelessness that practically shouted bad boy. But most bad boys she’d known growing up had been overconfident and pushy. Not Ty. He was just … there. With his intense eyes and slow swagger. It wasn’t much wonder the women flocked to him. Ty didn’t have to do anything more than breathe. And here she was, hanging on his every word.
And she knew what it was like to be pressed up against his lean body.
And why on earth was she thinking such a thing?
He frowned, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry for the other night. I upset you and I didn’t mean to.”
Her lips dropped open. Ty was apologizing? He thought she was mad at him—and she was, she supposed, but only a little bit. She’d been the one to ask him to dance. She’d been the one who’d quite unexpectedly melted in his arms. Yes, he’d gotten quite close and then he’d suggested they get out of there, but he hadn’t truly done anything so very wrong.
She couldn’t have asked for someone to be gentler with her as they’d danced. He’d tipped up her chin and put himself into her hands, letting her take the lead. It wasn’t his suggestion that had upset her. It was the fact that she’d wanted to take him up on that offer so badly she’d frightened herself. For a brief, heady moment she’d considered taking his hand and letting him lead her away.
And then she’d come to her senses. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to let something like that happen. And then there was the fact that for a few precious minutes she’d forgotten all about her plans and goals and let herself weaken. Oh, she hadn’t been mad at Ty. She’d been furious with herself.
“You don’t need to apologize. Let’s just forget the whole thing.” She made a show of picking up a set of oven mitts, wishing the oven timer would ding so she could be doing something, anything, rather than feel pinned beneath Ty’s dark gaze. She chanced a look up and saw that his eyes had warmed.
“Did you think I was angry?” she asked bravely, suddenly wanting to know. She thought perhaps she’d prefer that to him thinking she was silly and weak.
He opened his lips to answer when the oven timer dinged—just when she wanted to hear his answer.
With a frown of consternation she opened the oven door and slid out the pan of golden-brown biscuits. She put the pan on top of the stove.
“I wondered,” he replied, “because you ran. I wondered if it was because of … you know, your past. I didn’t think about that when I … well … it wasn’t really a kiss, was it?”
She kept her back to him, closing her eyes. It was a small town and the Butterfly House project was a big deal around here. It was no secret that she came from an abusive background. Of course she was damaged goods.
“I’m not angry. It was just wedding fever or something. I blew what happened out of proportion. You have been perfectly polite and kind to me since you came home.”
“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”
Her gaze darted up to look into his face. He was too serious. When he looked at her that way it was twice as bad as when he flirted with his saucy grin. “Why did you do it?” she whispered. She didn’t need to elaborate for them both to know what “it” was.
“Why did you ask, after you made it clear you didn’t want to dance?”
She grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping off the counter. “I thought maybe I’d hurt your feelings.”
He laughed, a sharp sound of disbelief as he leaned against the island. “Hurt my feelings? Clara, I think I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”
She was getting annoyed now at being put on the spot. “Well then I’m sorry I did it. You can take your unhurt feelings and quit cluttering up my kitchen!”
But it wasn’t her kitchen, and they were both aware of it. Silence settled over them, bringing that same, damnable feeling of intimacy she could never escape when he was around.
“You felt good in my arms,” he said quietly. “And that’s not a line. It’s the only reason I have for losing my head. It’s not the sort of situation I normally find myself in. It was innocent, I swear. But I forgot what it’s like here in Cadence Creek. It probably opened you up to speculation and for that I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
His explanation—his apology—touched her, though she would rather not let it show. It was better for everyone if they really did forget that stupid dance had ever happened.
“Yes, I think that’s best.” Thank goodness he was being sensible about it all. “I’m pretty focused on what I want, Tyson. I’m not interested in distractions. And right now my job is to help your father get well.”
“I’ll stay out of your way,” he replied.
He’d been absent during the long weeks when his father was sick. He hadn’t come home even when they’d asked him to. But he was here now, and she didn’t like the idea that she might be standing in the way of him settling in. Of mending fences. Virgil had a habit of talking to himself and Clara had heard snatches of mutterings and grumblings. Virgil was not happy with his younger son. It wasn’t good for him to be stressed. He and Ty needed to sort things out.
“You need to be with your father. I know you stayed away a long time, Tyson. He needs you. As long as we’re clear, there’s no need to avoid each other, right?”
She bent to get a cooling rack out of the cupboard and started piling the biscuits on the top.
Tyson’s gaze caught on the golden-brown biscuits as the warm scent filled the air. She brushed her hands on her apron and stood back. Good God, she was pretty. The dark ringlets from the wedding were gone but now her hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. And her eyes … They were the same blue as a September sky over the golden prairie. Her plain apron covered the soft curves of her hips. He was shocked to realize he wanted to put his hands on them and pull her close to see if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked.
But she was sweet, and off-limits. Never mind that he had no idea how to really talk to her. The past ten minutes had been torturous, second-guessing his words and meaning. All his normal self-assurance evaporated when faced with a woman like Clara Ferguson.
He pushed the thoughts aside and nodded at the rack of biscuits. “Mind if I try one?”
“Sure. Here.” She gave him a paper napkin and one of the round golden discs. He went to the cupboard and found the carton of molasses. Moments later he’d split the biscuit open and slathered it with butter and the sticky spread.
It was like biting into a buttery cloud. Better than his mother’s, if that were possible. In four bites it was gone. Wordlessly she held out another.
“These are delicious, Clara.”
“My mother’s recipe.”
He chewed and swallowed. He had a fair amount of experience dealing with whispers and gossip, and most of the time it ran off him like water off a duck’s back. He didn’t give a good damn about what Cadence Creek thought. But he found he cared what she thought. In some ways she was right. He did need more time with Virgil. He just had no idea how to go about it without starting an argument.
“The reason I stayed away, well, it’s complicated.”
She nodded. “It usually is. Molly said you didn’t even come for his seventieth birthday a few years back. They had a big party I guess. But you wouldn’t come.”
“I couldn’t come,” he said.
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
He wanted her to know why, but telling her could be a huge mistake. He’d had a good reason, but spending a few nights in lockup sounded bad no matter how he spun it. With her history he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Do you think it was the right thing for me to come home now?” he asked. He shifted his gaze to look at Virgil, still sleeping in his chair. Virgil had aged so much. He was smaller now than Ty ever remembered, and looked so vulnerable. Ty hated that. Hated that he might have been part of the cause of his father aging, too, by leaving Virgil more of the ranch to handle than he should have.
“Yes,” Clara said firmly. “Yes, I do. For your brother, who needed you, and for your mom. Molly missed you and talked about you often. She felt terrible about the rift between you and your dad. And for Virgil, too, of course.”
“He criticizes everything I do. He’d be happier if I’d stayed on the circuit and never come home.” Even as he said it, he heard how childish it sounded, and he wasn’t sure it was true. Virgil had always insisted that it was Ty’s place to be at Diamondback pulling his weight. But it was always Virgil’s way or no way at all. Ty had chafed against all that authority.
Clara put down the mug she was holding and peered up into Tyson’s face. He didn’t like that she seemed to see what he took great care to keep hidden. He’d excelled at his chosen path and had the trophies and accolades to prove it. But inside was a boy who always felt second-best.
“You need to patch things up,” she reiterated. “What are you waiting for?”
Virgil shifted in his chair and let out a moan as he woke from his nap. What was Ty waiting for? He was excited about his new idea but he knew Virgil would think it was stupid. He wanted to say he was sorry but knew he’d just be told he was being weak.
If he was waiting for unconditional love, he’d be waiting a long time, and it was too hard to take the first step.
Ty reached for his hat, putting it back on his head. “I’d better get back to work.”
Clara sighed as the door closed behind him and he passed by the kitchen window, his long legs eating up the ground. “I think the person who needed you to come home the most was you, Ty,” she murmured at his retreating back. And she had no idea how to help either one of them meet in the middle.
CHAPTER THREE
AS MUCH AS CLARA LOVED her job at Diamondback, Virgil’s care was not enough for the full-time hours she was paid. Sometimes she felt like a glorified housekeeper. Not that it was a problem, but one of these days Molly was going to let her go and she’d have to find a new job. She would probably have to leave Cadence Creek; her stay at Butterfly House was only temporary until she could get on her feet. She’d been squirreling away money, but it cost a lot for an apartment and all the furniture she’d need.
She needed this job for as long as it held out and she was going to wring every drop out of the opportunity.
But for now she was sitting in one of the spare rooms, needle and thimble in hand, making tiny, even stitches in Molly’s latest quilt.
She enjoyed doing things with her hands. As a girl she’d learned to cross-stitch and knit; she and her mother had spent evenings in front of the television working on little projects. It had been her mom’s way of unwinding after working all day in an office, and it had been Clara’s way of spending time with her mom.
She’d spent a lot of time thinking about her mom lately. She’d learned so much from her mother, but the lesson that Clara carried now was how she had always insisted that a woman needed a way to support herself. No matter what, Wendy Ferguson had put in a good day’s work and still had time for her kids. As Clara fed the needle through the fabric, she missed her mother something terrible. She talked to Ty about mending fences, so maybe once she was settled she’d reach out to Wendy, too. Maybe they could be a part of each other’s lives again.
But for now Molly sat across from Clara, her own needle flashing in and out as she made stitches on the patterned lines of fabric.
“It’s almost ready to roll,” Molly remarked, tying off her thread and moving to cut a new piece.
The quilt was tied onto old-fashioned wood frames with metal brackets holding the corners. Once they’d quilted as far as they could reach comfortably, the frame would be rolled in and clamped tight. When it was all done Molly would bind the perimeter. But that was weeks away yet, especially since they only sneaked the occasional hour to work on it.
“It’s beautiful,” Clara replied. “The burgundy-and-green pattern is stunning against the cream.”
They stitched for a few more moments, but Clara got the sense that Molly wanted to say something. She shifted in her chair and there was a tension around them that usually didn’t exist. Clara’s fingers tightened on the needle. Did Molly have a concern about Virgil’s care? Or was it something else? Molly, along with the rest of Cadence Creek, had surely seen Clara run from Ty at the wedding. She’d probably seen how close they’d danced, too. And she would be foolish to think the older woman hadn’t noticed the strain around the house since his arrival. There was no question that despite breaking the ice, Clara and Ty still tiptoed around each other.
“Is something wrong, Molly?”
Molly put down her needle and sighed. “I suppose so, Clara. I find myself feeling a little bit selfish these days.”
