in her mind’s eye, a little younger, a little thinner and a bit more baby-faced...but as devastatingly handsome as he was today. She never dreamed he’d still be working at the ranch. For years she’d felt guilty about the fact that he’d probably been fired; now it turned out that he never had been.
But her grandfather had been so angry! Once he’d learned of their secret trysts, he’d sent Darcy straight home, even though it was only the beginning of August. She’d assumed Joe had been sent on his way, too, especially when her letters had gone unanswered.
Now that she thought about it, though, it figured that he hadn’t been. R. Kenneth Beckett’s world was a man’s world. Always had been. She could see it now: Joe had been given a warning and a wink.
She turned into the driveway, and the ranch spread out before her. Her heart soared. Acres and acres of sharply angled hills, dotted with horses of all sizes and colors, cradled the beloved house in a valley.
It didn’t look much like a ranch, apart from the horses on the hill. It never had. The ranch had been built by a Swiss settler centuries before, and to Darcy the old European styling had always seemed like the setting for a fairy tale.
The house was large, with pointed gables and shady eaves. Thick vines climbed the wall and snaked across the front, netting the building’s facade like a spider web. The windows were beveled lead glass with diagonals of iron bar slashing it into diamonds. The window sills, however, were scaly with peeling paint. Closer inspection revealed two of the windows on the far corner of the house were broken, and Darcy could clearly see boards behind several others.
When had that happened? Grandfather had always taken great pride in his home. There had never been a chip of paint missing, much less scales of it peeling off.
Darcy swallowed a lump in her throat. If she’d known he was ill, if she’d known that the house had practically fallen to ruin, would she have tried one more time? Yes, a melancholy voice inside her said, of course I would have. Another question followed quickly: Would he have responded with more warmth if he’d known their time for reconciliation was drawing to a close?
Apparently not. After all, he had known he was ill, and yet he had neither contacted her nor had anyone else do so.
Bullheaded to the bitter end.
She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. It was more comfortable to be angry with him than to miss him. There was no point in mulling over the past.
Darcy parked the car next to the pickup truck and got out warily, watching Joe Tyler from the corner of her eye.
Joe raised his eyebrow. “You ready?” He gestured toward the house.
Darcy straightened and kept walking. “Yes, I am.”
“You don’t look ready. You look like you’ve been crying. Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course I’m okay.” She sniffed and hated herself for the giveaway. “It’s just hay fever. I always have hay fever when I come here.” She walked quickly toward the front door.
He followed.
Darcy hesitated at the door. She had always just walked right in, but that had been a very long time ago. She wasn’t at all sure whom she’d find in the house now or what they would expect of her.
She pushed the doorbell and waited, trying to ignore the fact that Joe Tyler was standing close behind her. Right—as if anyone could ignore such a presence. For one thing, he smelled fantastic. She could detect a hint of sweet laundry detergent or fabric softener mingling with the crisp masculine scent of aftershave. It was a combination that tempted her to lean back into him, as if collapsing into a freshly made bed.
Heat pulsated from him right through the gauzy batiste of her pantsuit. His proximity felt uncomfortably... what was the word? Intimate flew to mind. The heat that passed from him to her felt intimate.
This foolish line of thinking was getting her nowhere. A long time ago she and Joe had shared a predictable teenage curiosity about each other. Nothing more, she insisted silently. It was a lifetime ago, and Darcy had been married and divorced since then, had gone from carefree wealth to economic struggle. Now she knew that following the lead of sexual chemistry could only result in disaster.
There was no way she was going to make that mistake again.
“Why don’t you just go on in?” Joe reached past her toward the door. His arm brushed against her shoulder and left a burning spot on her skin.
“It’s not my home.” Although it was the closest thing she’d ever had.
“At the moment, it’s no one’s home, and I don’t want to stand here all day while you ring the bell.” He stepped around her and pushed the door open. “The Coxes are too deaf to hear it these days anyway.”
“The Coxes?” She remembered Anthea, the kind woman who worked as the housekeeper, and her husband, Hank, who was the family driver. “Are they still here?”
“For the time being.” He hesitated, then added gently, “It’ll be a short reunion. They’re getting ready to leave for Florida.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure. This week sometime.”
It was Darcy’s second encounter today with the living past, and the second time she felt her fond memories meant more than the truth did. “Is anyone else still here? Anyone I might know?”
Joe was quick to shake his head. “There’s no one here at all beyond some hired day help. The guys you knew are all long gone. The last of them was Skip Morton and he left—” he paused to think “—well, it must be nearly a year now.”
“Oh, no.” Darcy was filled with apprehension. She was walking into a situation that was even more unfamiliar than she’d anticipated.
“Things really changed over the past few years, Darce, and not for the best.”
“Oh.” Darcy didn’t know what else to say. She’d had such happy times here as a child. When she went in this door, what changed vision of the past would confront her? She hesitated, almost afraid to disturb her memories.
“Let’s go.” Joe guided her through the front door into the wooden entryway. “Like I said, it’s a little different since you were here last. Toward the end, your grandfather was too ill to do much with the place and too poor to hire someone else to do it for him.”
“But you said he had hired help.”
Joe shook his head. “Just a few men. All together we have our hands full just dealing with the livestock.”
A door at the end of the hall creaked open before Darcy could reply.
“Joe? Is that you?” An elderly man bustled down the hall toward them. “How are you, son? Didn’t recognize you from back there without my glasses on. How’s Ricky?”
Darcy felt Joe glance at her quickly. Who was Ricky? she wondered. Another ranch hand? Was someone else requested at the reading of Grandfather’s will?
“Just getting over a cold, but he’s all right,” Joe said. He took off his hat and tossed it onto the foyer table.
