than thinking of her reason for at long last coming home.
But thoughts of home and the past would not be squelched, and she finally stopped fighting them. Besides, not all of her memories were painful. Her mother, for instance, had been completely kind and loving. While Opal Colby had been alive, Dena had been a happy child.
And Simon had been a happier, more just man. Yes, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t been so strict and demanding while his wife had lived.
And neither had Dena been so rebellious, she had to admit. In retrospect it seemed that once Opal’s sweet and gentle ways were no longer a buffer in the family, there was no family. Simon went his way every day, detouring only long enough to make sure Dena was behaving herself, which meant no makeup, the right kind of reading material and television programs—only his opinion counted, of course—very little time on the phone and a dozen other symbolic slaps in the face.
At least that was the way Dena had interpreted her father’s harshly issued orders and oft-repeated remarks of disapproval. For a girl in the throes of puberty who had so recently lost her mother, life was miserable. Many times she had muttered to herself that she hated her father, which had not been the truth at all. What she’d wanted so much she had ached from it was for him to hug her, speak kindly to her, tell her he loved her and even tuck her into bed at night as he had sometimes done before her mother’s death.
Now, as an adult with medical training, Dena knew that when her mother died Simon hadn’t been able to overcome his grief. He’d become hard because of internal misery, and as he hadn’t understood the emotional ups and downs of a teenager, he had continued to treat Dena as the child she had once been. He could handle a child; he hadn’t known how to deal with a budding woman. Dena had written of these things in her letters, but to her knowledge Simon had never read one of them. It was heartbreaking to envision him having destroyed or discarded her letters without opening them, but what else could she think?
The lights of Winston—still some miles ahead—gave her a jolt. She sat up a little straighter, wishing there was a way to reach the ranch without driving through the town. There were so many bad memories connected to Winston—her marriage, the Hogan family and their lies, her divorce, the fact that everyone in town knew her father would not say hello to her should they meet on the street. It was the way of small towns everywhere: everyone knew everyone else’s business. She had not once missed Winston or anyone living there, and she felt no guilt over feeling that way, either.
Ry noticed her more alert attitude and thought it a good sign. With her having been raised on a ranch, Winston was the closest thing she had to a hometown. His own past was similar; he’d grown up on a ranch in Texas near a town that was about twice the size of Winston, and he had many fond memories of his school years in that town.
Ry slowed down to the speed limit as they passed the town limits. Not a car was moving on the main street, not a person was in sight. The windows of some buildings were lighted. Winston was beginning to wake up, but it was still so very early, just approaching dawn.
“You must have gone to school here,” Ry said.
“Yes,” Dena said, offering no further information.
Ry sighed inwardly, but he couldn’t take offense at Dena Colby’s reticence. She had to be hurting, and since she hadn’t come home to visit her father during Ry’s employment at the Wind River Ranch, he really couldn’t begin to guess what was going on in her mind. Guilt, perhaps? He was suddenly curious about something he’d never even thought about before. Why hadn’t Dena come home for three years? It might have even been longer than that, as his knowledge of Dena’s absence was limited to his employment on the ranch.
In the next instant he realized that her dignity was very much like Simon’s. Had he ever seen Simon Colby lose control of his temper, for example? Or let anyone into his inner thoughts? Yes, Ry thought, he had liked and respected his employer, but he had never felt close enough to the man to call him a friend.
The ranch lay twenty miles on the other side of Winston. Dena felt the rigidity of her body relax some when they were again on the open road, although she was still tenser than normal. She gulped hard. It wouldn’t be long now, less than a half hour, and then the true nightmare would begin. She tned to think of something else. The question of how many times she had traveled the distance between the ranch and Winston came to mind. She knew every inch of this stretch of road, every curve and dip, except for—
“The road has been paved,” she said in surprise, more to herself than to Ry.
But he heard and thought she was speaking to him. “Wasn’t it paved when you lived here?”
“It was gravel.”
“Probably been a lot of changes made in the area since you moved to Seattle,” Ry said. He wasn’t trying to be snide or judgmental. His comment seemed perfectly normal to him.
Dena’s head jerked around. “What do you know about my leaving?” She’d been under the impression that he knew nothing of Colby family history, but now she wondered. And if he did know of her and Simon’s sad relationship, who had told him? Was she still the victim of lies and gossip around Winston? She didn’t mind anyone knowing the truth of her past, but she despised the possibility of even a stranger believing some of those lies.
Ry was startled by the defensive tone of her voice and became a little defensive himself. “I don’t know anything about you, so don’t get your dander up at me. Your business is yours and mine is mine. That’s the way I live my life.”
She felt properly chastised and said no more on that subject. Truth was, which she was fully aware of, she was overly sensitive about the past. She should not have spoken to Ry Hardin in such an abrasive manner. Why wouldn’t he snap back at her?
Besides, he’d been nice enough to crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to meet her plane, and she appreciated it.
“I haven’t thanked you for picking me up,” she said. “Let me do so now. I...I haven’t been myself since your call.”
“Forget it,” Ry said quickly. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
She put her head back and closed her eyes. “Yes, I do,” she said in a near whisper. There was something warm and friendly about Ry Hardin, which she would have been happy to pursue at any other time. But she wasn’t going to be in Wyoming long enough to concern herself with new friendships. She had arranged a week away from her job, figuring seven days should be a long enough time to deal with the morbid and heartbreaking details of burying her father. Her eyes squeezed more tightly shut for a moment. Could she get through the upcoming week without a breakdown? She felt on the verge of one, although she’d never experienced any such affliction before. But she’d worked with patients who had lost every hold on their senses because of a shock or even just the rigors of ordinary, everyday life. The thought of mental incapacitation was horrifying; she had to maintain an even keel, no matter how emotionally devastating the next few days might prove to be.
Ry was surprised and pleased that Dena hadn’t become angry over his defensive comeback. Even more pleasing was her remembering to thank him right after what could have been a serious breach between them. Obviously she was basically a nice person, and he himself would much rather be friends than enemies with anyone. Besides, it wasn’t his intention to alienate Simon’s daughter. It had crossed his mind that Dena could be his boss now. It was certain that someone was going to have to take over Simon’s duties, and why wouldn’t that person be Simon’s only child?
Not that Ry would ever kiss up to anyone
