little with us, but he carried your gift with him. It wasn’t gift wrapped. When I brought it home, I thought about having it wrapped. Perhaps it should be, but I thought about all we went through and decided maybe it would mean something special to you to give it to you the way he carried it through fights and tough assignments. I’ve brought it to you like I got it from him,” Mike said, standing. “It seemed more appropriate to me.”
“We weren’t even married a year,” she said, looking at Mike’s hands as he pulled the parcel from his jacket pocket. The package was wrapped in plain wrinkled brown paper that was smudged, slightly torn in a couple of spots. He held it out to her. She glanced up at him and then took it from him with icy fingers.
“Thane had this?”
“Yes, for you. I imagine he got it when we were in one of the European cities. I don’t know when or where. We never talked about it, really, except when he asked me to get it to you.”
She struggled with the string until he reached into his pocket. “Here, let me,” he said, opening a small knife and cutting the twine. Their fingers brushed and again, Mike had that instant sizzle when there should have been nothing. Without thinking, he glanced from the package to her and saw her surprised look again as she gazed up at him. The minute he met her eyes, she hurried to unwrap the wrinkled brown paper.
When she saw the gift, she gasped. A gold chain with a large diamond pendant glittered in the light. It looked like an antique. She closed her hand around the necklace and put her head down. To give her privacy, he walked a few feet away to a window to gaze outside without seeing anything before him. Instead, he remembered the flashes of shells and flames, the smell of blood and fire and gunpowder. He remembered Thane and hurt again over the loss of his friend.
“There’s a note,” she said. He didn’t turn to look. He could hear her open paper and then she was quiet. And he knew she was crying because she loved her husband. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be. We all miss him, including Noah and Jake, our two other friends. Thane bought that pendant for you because he loved you. He was a good man and people cry over good men.”
Mike moved away, returning to his seat and looking at his phone, trying to give her a moment until she was ready to talk again.
“I always thought he would come home to me. I was sure he’d get through it,” she said so softly, he could barely hear her. “I was wrong.”
Mike stood. “I’ll get you a drink of water,” he said, leaving so she could be alone with her grief for a few minutes. He hadn’t been in the hall two seconds before Henry emerged from one of the rooms.
“Can I help you, Mr. Moretti?”
“It’s Mike, Henry. She told me you’re a bodyguard. You’re military, too, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Marines.”
“I’m giving her a moment. I told her I’d get her a drink of water. Thane had a gift for her and a note, and asked me to give it to her. It... Well, it tore her up.”
“I’ll get the water. Have a seat, Mike.”
Mike smiled and felt he would have a friend in Henry.
In minutes Henry returned with a tray that held two glasses and a pitcher of ice water. Cubes clinked in the pitcher as he approached Mike. “Here’s one for you, sir.”
“Henry, you don’t need to call me ‘sir.’”
“Yes, sir. Not too many people off the ranch realize I’m anything but a butler out here. It’s probably better that way. As you know, she’s worth a lot and this can be an isolated spot in spite of all the people who work here.”
“Okay. I’ll take the water to her. She should be okay now.”
Henry held the door open and closed it quietly behind Mike. Vivian was at the window and turned to face him.
He crossed the room and held the tray for her. “Have a drink.”
“Thanks. That caught me off guard,” she said, taking the glass nearest her. “I loved him and I miss him.”
“That’s understandable.” Mike turned away to set the tray on a table and sip his drink. He set the glass back on the tray.
“If you’re ready now, I’ll call Slade and see if he’s ready to meet you.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
While she talked on her phone, he glanced around. The desk at one side of the room looked French and a sofa covered in antique blue velvet faced the fireplace. One wall was almost floor-to-ceiling glass and overlooked a fenced yard with neat beds of red roses, a flowering crab apple tree and spirea and hyacinth in bloom. His gaze flicked back to Vivian. Her clothes didn’t reveal her figure or her legs, but one of the pictures Thane had carried was of both of them on a beach and Mike had total recall of her long legs and fabulous curves and a smile that could melt ice.
She turned to Mike. “Slade said he’s ready, so shall we go? It’s a short walk.”
“Sure,” he said, watching her cross the room and joining her, catching the faintest scent of an exotic perfume. He held the library door for her and then fell into step beside her as they walked down a wide hall that held potted palms and an elegant arrangement of chairs and loveseats. A splashing fountain was built into one of the walls and marble statuary and oils in gilt frames lined each side.
“Is this your art?”
She laughed, a melodic, cheerful sound that made him want to get her to laugh again. “Not all of it. Some of them. I specialize in Western art and portraits. One of the horse paintings is mine.” She pointed to the nearest painting. “The black horse.”
“Very nice,” he said. As he commented, he thought what a pity that Thane’s wife wasn’t older, less attractive, less appealing and less friendly because then she would definitely be less tempting.
Outside, they followed a stone path bordered by beds of blooming yellow jonquils and purple irises to a gate that he opened and held for her.
“Thank you,” she said as she walked through and he followed, closing the gate. “I really know so little about this ranch other than that we raise Hereford cattle. I do ride because we had a family farm that we went to occasionally and I had a horse, but that farm was nothing like this ranch and I didn’t spend much time with my horse. And I don’t here. I’m really not a ranch person. Also, I think the farm was more of a place for my father to relax.”
Mike saw barns, corrals and garages for the various cars, trucks and the one limo. In another direction there were houses and fenced yards. They approached a single-story building with lots of glass and wood.
“Here’s the foreman’s office. And here comes Slade,” she said as a door opened and a tall, slender man came out. He was in boots, jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt. In spite of the protection of his broad-brimmed Western hat, his skin was brown, wrinkled and weathered. His gray hair was long at the back of his neck.
“Slade, meet Mike Moretti, Thane’s ranger friend. Mike, this is Slade Jackson, our foreman.”
As Mike shook hands, he looked into gray
