Mercy would find the same kind of relief. Especially since she was dealing with such a brutal, unexpected death. The death of someone who, judging from that look in her eyes, she had loved very much.
He wasn’t sure there was any relief for that kind of pain.
Two
She might not see that white knight anymore when she looked at Grant McClure, Mercy thought, but he was certainly no less imposing or handsome or rugged than he had seemed to her all those years ago. Working on a ranch did wonderful things for the male physique, things that all the gym-bound men she knew in Minneapolis could only dream about.
And she liked the slight appearance of lines around his eyes, eyes that were clearly used to gazing over long distances, eyes that were even more vividly blue than she’d remembered against his tanned skin. His sandy brown hair was shorter than the long locks he’d worn as a teenager, now barely brushing his collar, but it looked good on him.
He looked good, period, she thought, proud of how coolly she could acknowledge the fact, with none of the flutter that used to seize her as a child every time she looked at him.
Well, almost none.
She stuffed a sweater into a drawer, closed it, then straightened to look around the room. Grant had told her Kristina used it on the rare occasions when she visited the ranch—“before the isolation and lack of parties gets to her and she hotfoots it back to the city.” But it seemed obvious that her friend had left little imprint on the place.
Or perhaps Grant had returned it to normal when she wasn’t there; the plain, utilitarian furnishings were hardly Kristina Fortune’s style. But Mercy felt comfortable with the large four-poster bed, the plain oak dresser and small desk, and the severely tailored curtains that still managed to be cheerful in a bright blue-and-white check. A comfortable-looking armchair, upholstered in the same bright blue and sitting next to a large window, completed the simple furnishings.
She walked over to the bed and lifted the small stack of long-sleeved T-shirts she’d brought. Layers, she’d thought as she packed. Kristina had had some choicely descriptive words for winters on her half brother’s ranch, even though she’d never weathered one herself. Mercy had smiled at the thought of anyone from Minneapolis finding someplace else colder, but had packed accordingly.
And wasn’t it just amazing, she thought as she put the shirts in another drawer, how quickly she’d slipped back into accepting that old nickname? At first, back then, she’d hated it, but she’d grown to like it when she realized that Grant was the only one who called her that, as if it were something special and private between them.
And now, she thought as she shut the drawer, it was obvious that he still thought of her as that child he’d teased. Which was just fine with her.
She turned back toward the last thing on the bed, the two silk nightgowns she’d brought. She might have to wear jeans and long johns and wool socks during the day, but at night she preferred the smoothness of silk. It was one of her few indulgences, so she refused to feel guilty or foolish about it.
She had just tucked them neatly into the last drawer and pushed it closed when an odd scrabbling sound turned her around.
“Well, hello,” she said, smiling at the knee-high dog with the mottled gray-and-black coat who sat politely just outside her door. He looked at her steadily, with a gaze that was rather disconcerting, since one of his eyes was brown and one a pale blue. She walked over and crouched before the animal. Something in his demeanor prevented her making any presumptuous overtures, such as patting his head; he didn’t seem the type of dog who would welcome instant familiarity.
“Come to check out the intruder, have you?” she asked.
The dog cocked his head, and looked at her so assessingly she nearly laughed.
“I’d recommend you leave him alone. He’s not the cuddly type.”
She looked up quickly, amazed at how quietly Grant had moved down the hall. She’d barely heard him before he spoke, and she was rarely taken by surprise like that.
“I can see that,” she said. “I’ve dealt with a dog or two in my time. I recognize the look-but-don’t-touch signals.”
“He’s a working dog, not a pet. He’s not looking for friends.”
For an instant, Mercy wondered if there was more to his words than simply a warning about the dog. Then she decided she was looking for things that weren’t there.
“Then far be it for me to trespass,” she said, standing up. The dog continued to look at her, somewhat quizzically now. “But should he change his mind, I trust you won’t have a problem if I don’t reject him?”
“Not likely,” Grant said shortly, leaving Mercy wondering if he was referring to the dog or himself. She smothered a sigh; she didn’t remember him being so prickly.
“Does he have a name?” she asked. “Or is he simply ‘Dog’?”
To her amazement, Grant flushed. “Er…well, he was just Dog for a while. Until he showed us who he was.”
Mercy smiled; what a wonderful way to think of it. “So what name did he earn?”
He seemed relieved, as if he’d expected her to find his answer silly. “Gambler.”
Mercy glanced at the dog, who sat motionless in the same spot she’d first seen him in. “Really? Why?”
Grant smiled then. “He’s a lazy slug when he’s not working. But when he is…he does the work of five hands. And he won’t let anything get in his way. You tell him to move cattle, he moves them. Over, under, around, he’s everywhere, and they keep moving, as if he were a field marshal ordering his troops. I’ve seen him move a small herd a quarter of a mile without ever touching the ground.”
Mercy blinked. “What?”
“He walks on ’em. Jumps. Steer to steer, cow to cow, whatever. Gambles his life on his own sure-footedness. He never stops moving. And neither do they.”
She looked back at the dock-tailed animal, who couldn’t weigh more than forty pounds, if that. “I can see why he has that patrician air, then. He’s earned it.”
“Yes, he has.”
He sounded pleased. And for some reason that made her unable to meet his gaze. She looked at the dog instead, until Grant spoke.
“I thought you might like to look around the place. Get oriented.”
She looked at him then, and wondered why she hadn’t been able to before; there was nothing intimidating about him now. At least, nothing more than his size and muscle, and she was used to that. And she’d handled bigger men than him in her five years on the force.
“I’d like that. And that way I won’t have to bother anyone later.” She gave him a sideways look. She wasn’t sure how much Kristina had told him, and she didn’t want to go into any more details than necessary. “And I promise this will only be for a while. As soon as…they call me, I’ll be on the next plane out, and out of your way.”
He looked at her for a moment. “I…didn’t mean to give you the impression you would be
