With his customary efficiency, Cade packed, collected his last check and drove north toward the border. The shock of learning his father had died was numbing. But once he was on the road with little to distract him but the empty highway stretching ahead of him, the shock quickly gave way to a riptide of emotions. Anger warred with an unexpected searing regret. He hadn’t seen his father for thirteen years. He shouldn’t care that the man was dead. But a leaden weight pressed on his chest and, despite a gut-deep rejection of the emotion, Cade remembered feeling that same heaviness after his mother died. He had an uneasy suspicion the pressure was caused by grief.
Cade tried to reach his brothers but none of the three answered their cell phones. He left brief messages for each asking them to return his call as soon as they could. He didn’t tell them their father had passed away—he figured he’d wait until he had more information. The attorney’s letter hadn’t listed details, only that Joseph Coulter had died and the law office needed to speak with Cade, in person, as soon as possible. Since it wasn’t likely Joseph Coulter had left any of his assets to either Cade or his brothers, Cade suspected he might be able to resolve any questions from the attorney without Zach, Brodie or Eli having to make the trip home.
He doubted he’d be in Indian Springs more than a few days. He planned to visit the attorney to take care of whatever small bit of business the man needed from him, stop by his mother’s grave, say hello to a couple old friends before leaving town. He’d worked on a ranch near Cody, Wyoming, the year before and the owner had told him when he left that he had a job any time he wanted. Wyoming would be a good place to spend the summer.
He didn’t respond to the attorney’s letter with a phone call or note. Instead, he packed his truck, loaded his horse, Jiggs, into the trailer and headed north. It took almost a week of driving from dawn to dusk before he crossed the Montana state line. The farther north he drove, the chillier the weather grew. Full spring had yet to arrive in northeastern Montana and snow lay deep in coulees, whitened the ruts between plowed black rows in wheat fields, and filled the roadside ditches.
Five days after leaving Del Oro, in midafternoon, he turned off the highway and onto the gravel road that led to the ranch headquarters, driving beneath the familiar welded arch. The graceful curves of ironwork spelled out “Coulter Cattle Company,” the heavy metal frame standing tall and sturdy although the once-bright paint was worn away. The road stretched between fenced pastures where an occasional Hereford steer or a horse with its shaggy winter coat peered at him over the top strand of barbed wire fences.
The road curved around the base of a butte and climbed a rise. From the top, Cade saw the buildings that he’d once called home, clustered at the foot of a flat-topped hill on the far side of the valley.
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel after thirteen years but he hadn’t expected to feel numb.
Maybe he’d been gone too long. Maybe the roots that once held him here were well and truly dead.
Or maybe I’ve been driving too long with too little sleep, he thought.
The truck and horse trailer rattled over the old bridge spanning the creek, then climbed the slope to the buildings. Cade pulled up the truck next to the corral and barn and stepped out. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension of days spent driving, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the buildings.
The house needed a coat of paint and held an air of abandonment, its curtains drawn behind blank windows. The barn with its low cattle shed attached at one end, the granaries and machine shop were all weather-beaten. What little paint remained on the structures was peeling from the gray boards. All the buildings looked down-at-the-heels rough but Cade’s assessing gaze found no sagging rooflines. The structures appeared to be square and solid on their foundations.
Jiggs stamped and shifted, rocking the trailer on its axles and demanding attention.
Cade walked to the back of the trailer, unlocked and swung the gate wide. Jiggs looked over his shoulder and gave an impatient huff.
“Hey, boy.” Cade grinned, entering the trailer and moving past the big stud to untie him. “Little anxious to get out of here?” The horse shifted his weight and nudged Cade’s shoulder with his nose. “I don’t blame you. It’s been a long trip.”
He caught the lead rope at the halter, just under the black’s muzzle. “Back up, big guy.”
Jiggs obeyed, his hooves clattering on the wooden trailer deck. The minute all four feet were on solid ground, he shook himself and danced in a half circle at the end of the lead rope, lifting his head to look around. His ears pricked forward and he whinnied.
Cade looked over his shoulder to see what had caught Jiggs’s interest, turning fully when he saw a young woman standing just outside the open barn door, a bucket of grain in one hand. Silvery blond hair brushed the shoulders of a dark green barn coat and her brown eyes were wide, the surprise on her oval face clearly indicating she hadn’t expected to see him. She wore faded jeans beneath the bulky coat and old boots covered her feet, her walk smooth and graceful as she moved toward him.
His eyes narrowed as he tried to place her and failed. If she was a neighbor, he didn’t remember her.
And I would have remembered, he thought. Even covered by the coat and plain jeans, he could tell her body was slim and curved. Her fair skin glowed with health in the weak afternoon sunlight, her mouth lush below a small, straight nose. And her thick-lashed brown eyes were alive with intelligence, curiosity and a feminine interest mixed with wariness.
Everything male in him noticed—and liked what he saw.
“Hello,” she said, her voice slightly husky. Her gaze was fastened on his face and the small frown that veed the arch of her brows cleared as she drew nearer. “You’re one of Joseph’s sons, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. The conviction in her voice was strong, mixed with the relief reflected on her face.
“I’m Cade Coulter. Who are you?”
Her eyes widened when he gave his name but she didn’t reply with her own. She seemed wholly absorbed in studying him and the open fascination in her deep brown eyes started slow heat simmering through his veins, his muscles tightening as her gaze swept slowly over his face and moved lower.
Mariah stared at the man in front of her. He was tall, easily a few inches over six feet, his shoulders broad beneath a sheepskin-lined tan coat. He wore a gray Stetson over coal-black hair and beneath the brim’s shadow, black lashes framed his deep green eyes. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but there was something essentially male, powerful and vaguely dangerous about him. His face was angular with a firm jaw, strong cheekbones, straight nose and a hard mouth.
He swept a slow, assessing look from the crown of her head to her boots and back up again. She caught her breath, awareness prickling her skin at the male heat that blazed for a brief moment in his darkened eyes before they were once again unreadable.
She realized that he’d asked her a question but she hadn’t answered, too busy drinking in his dark good looks while shivers of excitement raced over her skin. Self-conscious heat warmed her cheeks and she struggled to conceal her reaction to him.
“I’m Mariah Jones,” she told him. “I work here.”
He stared at her for a moment, those green eyes unblinking. Then he looked away, sweeping the area with a quick glance. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“There
