the garden plot. The henhouse had nearly collapsed. The small barn was still standing, though the roof sagged and the remaining weed-strewn pasture was thankfully hidden beneath the blanket of white.
Nana had loved it here, and Jamie intended to clean it up and list it with a local real estate company.
She glanced at her watch and walked outside to the back porch. She couldn’t waste any more time thinking maudlin, nostalgic thoughts. She had too much to do, including meeting with the McCafferty brothers.
Boy, and won’t that be a blast? She carried in her bags and, despite the near-zero weather, opened every window on the first floor to air out the house. Then she climbed up the steep wooden stairs to her bedroom tucked under the eaves. It was as she’d left it years ago, with the same hand-pieced quilt tossed over the spindle bed. She opened the shades and window and looked past the naked branches of an oak tree to the county road that passed this stretch of farmland. All in all, the area hadn’t changed much. Though the town of Grand Hope had grown, Nana had lived far enough outside the city limits that the fast lane hadn’t quite reached her.
Jamie unpacked. She hung some clothes in the old closet, the rest she stowed in the top two drawers of an antique bureau. She didn’t allow her mind to drift back to the year and a half she’d lived with Nana, the best time of her life…and the worst. For the first time in her seventeen years she’d understood the meaning of unconditional love, given her by an elderly woman with sparkling gold eyes, rimless glasses and a wisdom that spanned nearly seven decades. Yet Jamie had also experienced her first love and heartbreak compliments of Slade-the-bastard-McCafferty.
And whoop-de-do, she probably was going to meet him again this very afternoon. Life was just chock-full of surprises. And sometimes they weren’t for the best.
It took two hours to check in the barn and find that Caesar, Nana’s old gelding, was waiting for her. A roan with an ever-graying nose, Caesar was more than twenty years old, but his eyes were bright and clear, and from the shine on his winter coat, Jamie knew that the neighbors had been taking care of him.
“Bet you still get lonely, though, eh, boy?” she asked, seeing to his water and feed and taking in the smell of him and the small, dusty barn. He nickered softly, and Jamie’s eyes burned with unshed tears. How could she ever sell him? “We had some good times together, you and I, didn’t we? Got into our share of trouble.”
She cleared her throat and found a brush to run over his shoulders and back as memories of racing him across the wide expanse of Montana grassland flashed through her eyes. She even rode him to the river where he waded into the deeper water and swam across, all at the urging of Slade McCafferty. Jamie had never forgotten the moment of exhilaration as Caesar had floated with the current. Slade’s blue eyes had danced, and he’d showed her a private deer trail where they’d stopped and smoked forbidden cigarettes.
Her heart twisted at the memory. “Yep, you’re quite a trooper,” she told the horse. “I’ll be back. Soon.” Hurrying into the house, determined to leave any memory of Slade behind her, she worked for the next two hours getting the ancient old furnace running, turning on the water, adjusting the temperature of the water heater, then stripping her bed only to make it again with sheets that had been packed away in a cedar chest. She smiled sadly as she stretched the soft percale over the mattress. It smelled slightly of lavender—Nana’s favorite scent.
Again her heart ached. God, she missed her grandmother, the one person in the world she could count on. Rather than tackle any serious cleaning, she set up a makeshift office in the dining room compliments of her laptop computer and a modem; she only had to call the phone company and set up service again; then, she could link to the office in Missoula.
She checked her watch. She had less than an hour before she was to sit down with Thorne, Matt and Slade McCafferty. The Flying M ranch was nearly twenty miles away.
“Better get a move on, Parsons,” she told herself though her stomach was already clenched in tight little knots at the thought of coming face-to-face with Slade again. It was ridiculous, really. How could something that happened so long ago still bother her?
She’d been over Slade McCafferty for years. Years.
Seeing him again would be no problem at all, just another day in a lawyer’s life, the proverbial walk in the park. Right? So why, then, the tightness in her chest, the acceleration of her heartbeat, the tiny beads of sweat gathering under her scalp on this cold day? For crying out loud, she was acting like an adolescent, and that just wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Back up the stairs.
She changed from jeans and her favorite old sweater to a black suit with a silk blouse and knee-high boots, then wound her hair into a knot she pinned to the top of her head, and gazed at her reflection in the mirror above the antique dresser. It had been nearly fifteen years since she’d seen Slade McCafferty, and in those years she’d blossomed from a fresh-faced, angry eighteen-year-old with something to prove to a full-grown adult who’d worked two jobs to get through college and eventually earned a law degree.
The woman in the reflection was confident, steady and determined, but beneath the image, Jamie saw herself as she had been: heavier, angrier, the new-girl-in-town with a bad attitude and even worse reputation.
A nest of butterflies erupted in her stomach at the thought of dealing with Slade again, but she told herself she was being silly, reliving those melodramatic teenage years. Which was just plain nuts! Angry with herself, she pulled on black gloves and a matching wool coat, grabbed her briefcase and purse, and was down the stairs and out Nana’s back door in nothing flat. She trudged through the snow to her little car, carrying her briefcase as if it were some kind of shield. Lord, she was a basket case. So she had to face Slade McCafferty again.
So what?
* * *
SO FAR, IT HAD BEEN A BAD DAY.
And it was only going to get worse.
Slade could feel it in his bones.
He leaned a shoulder against the window casing and stared out the dining room window to the vast, snow-covered acres of the Flying M ranch and the surrounding forested hills. Cattle moved sluggishly across the wintry landscape, and gray clouds threatened to drop more snow on this section of the valley. The temperature was hovering just below freezing, and his hip ached a little, a reminder that he hadn’t quite healed from last year’s skiing accident.
Thorne was seated at the long table where the family gathered for holidays and special occasions. He’d shoved the holly and mistletoe centerpiece to one side and had spread out documents in neat piles. He was still wearing a leg brace from a plane crash that had nearly taken his life, and he propped that leg on a nearby chair as he sorted through the papers.
Damn, he was such a control freak.
“You’re sure you want to sell?” he asked for the dozenth time.
They’d been over this time and time again.
Slade didn’t bother answering.
“Where will you go?”
“Not sure.” He shrugged. Craved a smoke. “I’ll hang around for a while. Long enough to nail the bastard who messed up Randi.”
White lines bracketed Thorne’s mouth. “I can’t wait for the day.” He shoved his chair back. “It won’t come soon enough for me.”
