been out of town on business this past month,” she’d said, stumbling over the words, anxious to wipe the anger from his eyes, the disgust now curling his lips, the accusation in the question.
“How convenient,” he’d said.
She realized he thought she was a cheat and deceiver of the first order. “We weren’t officially engaged. I was supposed to be thinking it over while he was gone.”
“One last fling before tying the knot,” Trevor had murmured sardonically, his eyes black pools of anger.
“No—”
“We’d better go, Lyric,” her mother had interrupted. “The accident sounds serious.”
“Yes. We have to go,” she’d said to Trevor, knowing she had no choice.
With her aunt hovering anxiously, and Trevor standing as still as a statue, she and her mom had rushed off into the night, arriving at the hospital an hour later.
Lyle’s mother had been distraught. A widow with no immediate family, she’d needed them desperately. The doctors had discovered a tumor in her son’s head, one that was inoperable. That was why he’d passed out while driving.
“Trevor,” Lyric now whispered to the absent cowboy who’d filled her heart with delight for a short time, “how could I have left him then?”
After talking to the doctors and knowing Lyle would never recover and that his future was very uncertain, she’d known she couldn’t desert him.
Trevor had left the state before she could get back to him. It was just as well. She’d been going to ask him to wait for her, but she knew whatever Trevor had felt for her had turned into hatred. She’d seen it in his eyes tonight when he’d given her the ice bag.
Gathering her toiletry case, she admitted she couldn’t have done otherwise and lived with herself. Not even for a man who’d made her heart sing could she have turned her back on her friend’s need.
Morning came early on a ranch. Lyric wasn’t naturally an early riser, but living on her father’s ranch had made her one. Last year, after the divorce, her mother had moved to Austin. Lyric divided her time equally between the two homes and had visited frequently with Aunt Fay who also lived in the city.
As administrator of a four-family trust set up by her grandparents and three other couples who were all friends and whose parents had founded an oil company together in the early 1900s, Lyric had had a busy life since college, spending her time approving grants and participating in various charity functions for the trust foundation. It was a job she could do from anywhere on her laptop computer.
Forcing her reluctant body from the comfortable bed, she went into the bathroom to shower. At once her senses were assailed by a familiar aftershave, by the clean smell of balsam shampoo and soap, and by the memory of being enveloped in Trevor’s arms.
She’d loved snuggling her nose against his neck and feeling his arms around her, holding her close, as close as his poor injured ribs could take.
At times during the long, dreary winter, she’d ached to crawl into his embrace and rest there, too weary to ever move again. Trevor, her strong, gentle love…
But none of that was to be, she reminded the longing that rose to choke her. As some wise person had observed long ago: you made your bed; you slept in it. Alone.
She pulled off the jersey and stepped into the shower. Twenty minutes later, hair dry and held off her face in a ponytail, wearing jeans, a knit top and a determined smile, she went into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Lyric,” her aunt greeted her.
“Did you sleep okay?” Trevor’s uncle asked.
She smiled at the two who lingered at the table with coffee and the newspaper. “Good morning, Aunt Fay, Mr. Dalton. Yes, I slept like a log. Your air is much cooler and conducive to sleep up here,” she said.
“It’s the mountains,” the uncle said. “And Mr. Dalton was my father. Everyone calls me Uncle Nick.”
“Uncle Nick,” she repeated. Spotting mugs on a rack beside the coffeemaker, she poured a cup and sipped the hot brew that was just the way the ranch cook made it in Texas. “Mmm, delicious.”
“Trevor left pancakes and sausage in the oven,” the uncle told her.
For the briefest second, she hesitated, then she opened the oven door and removed the plate. Perfect golden circles edged by two links of sausage were ready for eating. Her tummy rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had much food the previous day. She’d been too tense and excited to eat.
So much for great expectations.
“There’s milk in the refrigerator,” Aunt Fay told her, peering over her glasses.
Lyric poured a glass and took it, along with the coffee and food, to the table. The older couple moved newspaper sections to give her room. She ate in silence while they read and exchanged tidbits from the news.
“Trevor and Travis are in the paddock,” Uncle Nick told her when she finished. “They’re working with some green cutting horses. Do you need to go to the doctor?”
“No, thanks. I’m stiff but everything works.” After refreshing everyone’s coffee, she donned a hat and sunglasses, then carried her mug outside and ambled over to the wooden railing of the paddock beside the stable.
The man astride a beautiful bay gelding with black tail and mane looked exactly like Trevor. She knew in a glance that it wasn’t. “You must be Travis,” she said, leaning on the top rail.
“You got it right in one guess,” he told her, his smile brilliant against his tanned face and heartbreakingly like his twin’s. “What tipped you off?”
“Your smile is friendly.”
He guided the horse around the longe post and stopped it near her. “My brother’s isn’t?”
She wished she hadn’t been quite so candid. “Maybe I take things too personally,” she finally said in a light tone as if she were only joking.
The stable door opened. Trevor ducked his head and rode into the paddock on a magnificent black stallion.
“Oh,” she murmured.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Travis nudged the gelding closer to the rails as Trevor put the stallion through several routines such as spinning in a circle and backing, then standing beside a gate while his rider opened it. The two, moving as one, rode out into the pasture.
“What’s his name?” Lyric asked, gazing after Trevor and his mount.
“Boa’s Ebony. Eb for short.” Travis glanced toward the pasture, then back at her. “You ride?”
“Does Texas have cactus?” she countered.
“I’ll cut you out a sweet little mare,” he said and followed his twin into the pasture.
Five minutes later, he returned with a roan mare. Lyric joined him in the stable.
