at the Lamberts’ to deal with. And maybe another chance to see Cassidy?
No. If she knew he was there, she’d avoid the barns, the way she usually did.
* * *
C ASSIDY WAS DRIVING about ten miles over the posted speed limit on the secondary road out of Coffee Creek. Plus, she was taking sips of her coffee. And nibbling on her cinnamon bun. So she couldn’t claim to be the injured party when she saw the flashing lights of a patrol car behind her five minutes after leaving town.
She pulled to the side of the road, turned off her music and waited.
Sun beat in warmly through the windshield and she could hear a meadowlark’s song drifting on the fragrant spring breeze that wafted through her open windows. Ahead of her the pavement curved and she tensed as she saw the flower wreath affixed to the simple white cross that marked the spot of the accident where Brock had died last July.
She’d been so busy thinking about Farley—and feeling unjustly hurt at his obvious disdain for her—that she’d almost passed right by the scene of Brock’s accident without noticing.
In her rearview mirror, she saw an officer step out of the patrol car. Her nervousness increased when she recognized Savannah Moody.
The last time she’d seen Savannah had been at Brock’s funeral. Savannah hadn’t stayed long, but she’d paid her respects. Now Cassidy took a deep breath as the sheriff stooped so she could look in the open window.
“Hey, Cassidy. On your way home from Bozie?” Savannah wore her long hair in a braid when she was on duty, but even without her thick chestnut hair framing her face, she was stunning. She’d been blessed with large, thickly lashed eyes and smooth olive skin that she’d inherited from her French Canadian mother.
“Yes. Just finished my exams yesterday.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get home, but slow down, okay? I’m not giving you a ticket this time. Just a friendly warning.”
Her gaze shifted up the road a bit, and Cassidy knew what she was thinking. Knew, too, that the warning shouldn’t have been necessary.
“You’re right. I’ll be a lot more careful in the future.” She studied the wreath again, noting that the flowers appeared fresh. “Is Maddie Turner still tending that?”
Maddie was her mother’s estranged sister. No one in the family knew the whole story behind the family feud, but they’d all grown up understanding that their mother would consider it a grand betrayal if they acknowledged their aunt by so much as a smile or a word of hello.
By the same token, none of them had understood why Maddie was being so diligent in tending Brock’s memorial tribute, until Corb took it upon himself to drive up to Silver Creek Ranch and ask her.
Apparently Brock had been in the habit of visiting their aunt every now and then and had even helped her out with some handyman work on occasion.
No one knew why he’d done this. But if any one of the Lambert kids was wont to break their parents’ rules, Brock was definitely the one.
“I guess so.” Savannah patted the side of her truck. “I’m not a fan of roadside memorials, myself. Anything that draws your eyes off the road is a potential hazard.”
“I’ll be careful,” Cassidy promised again.
“Good. Say hi to your mom for me, Cassidy. And welcome home.”
She was gone before Cassidy could tell her that this wasn’t a true homecoming. She was just going to stay a few weeks until she found out about the job she’d applied for in Billings. Her first interview had gone well. Now she was hoping for a second, soon to be followed by an offer of employment.
Josh had applied to the same accounting firm, and he felt they both stood a good chance of being hired since their marks leading up to finals had been the top of their class. Competition was tight, though, since the accounting firm was only looking for three new articling students, and at least five other members of their graduating class had applied, including the woman who’d been president of the business club.
Cassidy checked for traffic—and signs of wildlife—before pulling back onto the road. Savannah was long gone, having made a U-turn and driven off in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, Cassidy continued toward home, driving a sedate five miles per hour under the limit until she came to the fork in the road where she slowed down even further.
To the right lay Silver Creek Ranch, where Maddie still lived on the Turners’ homestead property.
The road to the left led to Coffee Creek Ranch, which had been in the Lambert family just as long as the Turners had owned theirs. Cassidy’s father had passed away years ago, and ever since then her mother, Olive, had been running the ranch—with the help of her youngest sons and Jackson. Her mother had a good head for business, and despite some ups and downs in the cattle business, she’d done very well.
One of her strategies to combat the uncertain economic times had been to diversify into breeding American quarter horses. Now the horse breeding side of their business was bringing in as much revenue as the cattle. And even more profit, according to Jackson, who was in charge of the books.
Now that she had her business degree, Cassidy suspected her mother was going to pressure her to take over the administrative side of the ranch from Jackson. She’d made it clear that she hoped Cassidy would move back home after graduation and join in the family ranching business.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Cassidy loved her mother, but it was the sort of love that did best when there were at least a hundred miles between them. And much as she loved the ranch, she thought a business career could be exciting, too. She could hardly wait to get started.
Cassidy’s tires rumbled as she drove over the cattle guard that was meant to keep Coffee Creek cattle from roaming beyond their property line. A hundred yards farther down the road, she came to the small wooden bridge that crossed over one of several unnamed creeks that ran through their property.
She drove up the final hill, then paused, looking down on the homestead that had been in her father’s side of the family since the mid-eighteen-hundreds. It was hard not to feel a sense of pride. From here she could see the white barns with their green roofs, stacks of rolled hay, sorting pens and chutes, and the neatly fenced paddocks and larger pastures. All the outbuildings had been constructed in the hollow of a wide valley, high enough that there would be no danger of flooding in the spring, but protected from the worst of the winds that came off the mountains.
The main house sat above the other buildings, backing onto a grove of pines and with a view out to Square Butte—a flat-topped mountain that dominated the skyline to the north.
Through a stand of ponderosa pines to her left, Cassidy could see glimmers of Cold Coffee Lake around which their father had built homes for all three of his sons.
Driving past the graveled turnoff to the lake and the cabins, Cassidy crossed through the main gate, with the wrought iron detailing of the double Cs that were the family brand. Her tires rumbled yet again on another cattle guard. And then she was home.
Four other vehicles were already parked in the yard. Her mother’s white SUV, Jackson’s black one, Corb’s Jeep and, of course, Farley’s charcoal-and-silver truck, with the Farley & Sons logo on the side.
Cassidy
