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“Last time I saw the place, it was in terrible shape,” Matt said. “Whoever buys it will just want the land.”
“Okay. Do you have a copy of the key?”
“I’ve never had one,” Matt replied. “We never locked the front door when I was a kid. As far as I know, the house is still open.”
“Do I have your permission to go inside to appraise it?”
“Sure. Do what you need to do.”
A few minutes later, Matt stepped out of Paula’s office and breathed a sigh. He’d lifted an enormous weight off his shoulders. He felt scarred by everything that had happened in that house. Now he would never have to face it again.
That was done. At last.
He stopped when he saw the flat tire on his truck. Scotty? He spun to look in the hardware store’s windows, but Scotty wasn’t there.
It took him fifteen minutes to get the tire off, another ten to roll it down to the mechanic and half an hour to get it repaired, filled and back on the truck.
By the time Matt left Ordinary, he was tired and thirsty.
All in all, his first trip to town had been mixed. Some people were happy to see him and some clearly weren’t. It was better than he’d hoped for.
When he reached the ranch, he pulled in behind a compact silver Ford that had had turned in ahead of him from the opposite direction. He recognized Jenny at the wheel.
He parked behind his horse trailer and got out.
Jenny cut the engine and opened her door, watching him steadily.
Nothing friendly there.
She walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Someone really short got out. Jenny led whoever it was over to where Matt stood at the bottom of the hill.
She looked determined, almost combative. “This is Jesse,” she said.
Ah, Jesse. Who was he? Who did he belong to?
Jenny didn’t say anything else, just stood and watched him silently. What was going on? Kid seemed kind of familiar. Weird. He was too young for Matt to have met him before, though. Not here in Ordinary, anyway.
“Hey, Jesse,” he said.
The kid looked up at him with bright blue eyes and said, “Who are you?”
“I’m Matt.”
“Are you new?”
“Yep.”
“I can show you around.” He balanced on one foot. “I know lots of things.”
“Yeah? Do you live here?”
“Uh-huh, with my mom.”
“Oh? Who’s your mom?”
The kid gave him an odd look, then glanced up at Jenny.
Matt studied Jenny and then the child. Where she was dark, with chestnut hair and deep brown eyes, Jesse was fair, with blond curls framing his face and thick light lashes ringing those blue eyes. But Jesse had a smattering of freckles across his nose.
Matt knew without looking that Jenny did, too.
“He’s yours?” he croaked. Judging by the boy’s age, she hadn’t wasted any time jumping into bed with someone else after Matt left.
Matt got a weird feeling in his stomach. His nerves skittered. He asked a question he suddenly feared. “Who’s the father?”
Jenny crouched down in front of Jesse and said, “Head inside the house. Angela made custard today.”
“Custard!” he squealed and ran toward the house on sturdy little legs.
She stood slowly, turned around just as slowly, while a pink stain spread on her cheeks.
“He’s yours,” she said.
CHAPTER THREE
DAMN, ANGUS THOUGHT, what was wrong with him?
Did he have a death wish?
Sitting in his car on Main Street, he was deeply disturbed. It was missing Kyle so badly, and seeing Matt again, a kid who’d become his second son, but who could never replace Kyle.
And finding out that he’d invited to his ranch the man whose son Angus wanted for his own. What a mix-up. If only Jenny had told him earlier, he never would have asked Matt back to work on the ranch.
But you didn’t warn her, did you?
She’d had no idea Matt was coming to the Circle K. In retrospect, Angus knew he should have told her, but his mind was too distracted these days.
As if seeing Matt again and missing Kyle and craving another man’s son weren’t enough to deal with, his approaching marriage weighed on him, too. Only two more weeks. He had to go into that with a clear head and a clean conscience. He had business to start and finish here today.
Angus stared at the Rose Trellis, knowing that she was inside. That she was truly back, had taken over her mother’s dressmaker’s shop and had no intention of leaving.
Moira Flanagan. Her name cut through his veins, landing like a load of asphalt in his gut.
You’re insane coming here like this.
He had no response to that, no argument. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, his grip brutal but ineffective. He knew he was going to get out of the car and head on in there to see her.
He stepped out like a man heading to his execution.
Thirty-five years later, the thought of Moira still had the power to move him.
They needed to talk.
Dresses made from rose-printed material hung in the shop window. Lavish. Like Moira.
Since she’d come home for her mother’s funeral, Angus had seen her only from a distance. She hadn’t left town afterward, though, as he’d expected her to.
Yesterday, he’d heard that she’d taken over her mother’s business in town.
He had to see her.
I’m not ready.
You’ve left it long enough. Get it done.
He exhaled until there was nothing left in his lungs but regret.
He grasped the knob of the front door. Forcing himself to push it open, he stepped inside, setting off a chime somewhere above his head.
The interior was dim after the bright sun outdoors, so he stood still to let his eyes adjust—and to give himself time to steel his heart.
Dresses lined one wall. The other wall was bare.
“I’ll be right with you,” a musical voice sang out from behind a curtain at the back of the store, deeper and huskier than he remembered from his youth, but still instantly recognizable.
It stirred memories. Desires.
The curtain flew aside and Moira stepped into the room, smiling.
She stopped when she saw Angus, the smile fading from her pale face. He drank in the sight of her. The wide neckline of her dress bared her white shoulders. She’d been a wisp of a girl back then, with breasts too big for her frame. She’d grown into a woman, and age had added substance to the rest of her body.
Lord, what a woman. He had it bad for her. Still.
He curled his fingers into fists.
Don’t touch. You’ve got a good woman at home you’re going to marry in two weeks.
Then what are you doing here?
Clearing the air.
He stepped toward her.
She stiffened. “What are you doing here?”
He stopped. The air around her swirled with tension and the scent of her rose perfume.
“Hel—” His voice didn’t work, came out as a deep croak. He swallowed and tried again. “Hello, Moira.”
“I asked you what you’re doing here.” Her tone was no longer musical, but thin with distress.
“I thought we should meet. Privately. Before we have to do it in public.”
“At your wedding.” Her mouth was flat. “I don’t plan to attend.”
He heard the resentment in her statement and his temper flared.
“You’ve got no right to be bitter. You left me.”
“I know what I did.” He wasn’t sure what emotion ran through her voice. Was there regret beneath the anger? He hoped so, hated like crazy to think he’d been the only one in love all those years ago.
“She’s so young. Do you love her?”
He couldn’t lie. “No.”
Her green-eyed gaze shot to his face.
“I care for her, though,” Angus continued. “A lot. She’s a good woman.”
Moira fingered the ribbon on a hat on a table. “But if you don’t love her, why marry at all—especially someone so young?”
“Children.” His voice shook with fury. “They should have been yours. Ours. They should be full-grown and working our ranch.”
“Yes,” she hissed, whirling away from him. She placed her hands on the counter and hung her head, the nape of her exposed neck unbearably vulnerable.
“Why did you come back?” he asked. Why are you here to turn my life upside down?
She refused to look at him, so he studied the top of her head and the once-scarlet hair that had faded to the color of a copper samovar.
“I came home for Mother’s funeral last month, and decided to stay.”
“Why?” he asked. “There was a time when you couldn’t wait to shake the dust of Ordinary off your shoes.”
Moira glanced up at that, but her gaze skittered away and she shrugged. The neckline of her dress slipped lower on one shoulder. Her porcelain skin used to fascinate him, white and flawless against the calluses of his tanned rancher’s hands. Judging by the tremor running through him, she still bewitched him.
With careful movements he stepped closer to her.
“Was it only me in love all those years ago?” he asked. “Did you ever love me?”
She clasped her hands, but he could still see them trembling. “Always. I’ve never stopped loving you,” she blurted defiantly. “Make of that what you will.”
It felt as though a slab of concrete had fallen on him, crushing his chest. “But— You never wrote. Never called. I never heard from you.”
Angus gently touched her arm and she pulled away from him.
“Of course I didn’t write,” she answered. “You married another woman.”
“Did you think I’d stand around? I waited for you to come home. I waited for three years.”
