she blamed him. He believed he was telling her the truth when he said he was sure she was Joseph Haskell’s granddaughter. But was it really the truth?
Taking a deep breath, she turned to Russ. “How about you? Did you grow up on a farm?”
He shook his head. “In a city.”
“But you have a horse farm now?”
“It’s something I always wanted, even as a boy. To raise horses.”
“How wonderful to achieve your heart’s desire.”
His scowl surprised her. Surely what she’d said was harmless enough.
Evidently he’d taken note of her expression, because the scowl vanished and he said, “I’m glad I saw that ad for Lucy. Otherwise we might never have met.”
She was on the verge of saying that if he bought the old ranch, maybe they’d meet again, but she stopped herself. How could she know what her life might be like in the future? “Yes,” she replied simply.
Neither spoke again until they reached the stables and dismounted. Russ insisted on unsaddling and rubbing down his mount, and she didn’t argue, aware she would have done the same had she been the visitor. Horses needed to be taken care of by their riders—it was the first lesson her students learned. Just the same, his caring for the gelding pleased her. Russ was not one of Willa’s would-be cowboys. In her book, he was the real thing.
Eventually all the chores were done and, after washing up at the stable sink, they faced one another. For the last time, she told herself, unable to believe it was just as well. “Time to say goodbye.” She tried to inject cheerfulness into the words.
He took her hands in his. “I’d rather it were till we meet again.”
How warm his hands were. Warm and strong. Hers nestled inside his as though they belonged there. She could think of nothing to say. Certainly, “Don’t go,” didn’t make an iota of sense. Especially since, in a matter of hours, she was really the one who would be leaving.
She drew in her breath when he raised her palms and brushed his lips across one, then the other before releasing her. Without another word he turned and strode to his car. Her hands clasped together as though to hold on to the feel of his lips, she watched him drive away until the car and even the dust plume behind it was no longer visible.
Chapter Two
M ari found Willa inside the ranch house, seated at the kitchen table pouring herself a cup of tea. “Looks like you could use some of this,” Willa commented. “Get yourself a cup and sit you down.”
Mari hesitated. She really should finish packing, but somehow she just didn’t feel like it. Going to the mug tree, she lifted one off and joined Willa.
“Didn’t look too poisonous, that young man,” Willa said. “’Course, men ain’t the same as snakes. None of ’em are completely harmless.”
“He asked me to dinner. Naturally I refused.”
Willa peered over the top of her cup at Mari. “Wanted to go, didn’t you?”
“Whether I did or not, you know I couldn’t.” Mari set down her mug and leaned across the table toward the older woman. “Oh, Willa, am I doing the right thing? I’m so confused about all this.”
“Seems like you got to go and find out, that’s what I say.”
“If only Uncle Stan had talked to me first.”
“Once that man makes up his mind, he’s not much for waiting around.”
Mari sighed. “Or for asking anyone’s opinion, either. It’s just that everything has all happened so fast. I don’t know Joseph Haskell. I never even heard of him until he came on TV to ask his long-lost daughter to come home.”
“Stan sure enough thinks she was your mother. For all any of us know, she could’ve been.”
“My mother could have been anybody!” Mari cried, blinking back tears. “I loved Aunt Blanche. Why didn’t she ever tell me the truth—that my mother was some stranger she’d befriended?”
“I expect ’cause she got to fearing she might lose the baby she loved. Might be she and Stan couldn’t’ve adopted you if it got around there was no blood relationship. They weren’t exactly spring chickens at the time. As for your uncle, he did what he thought best for you.”
“I suppose. But this may turn out to be a wild-goose chase. Maybe I ought to wait and see….” Her words trailed off. Wait for what? Mr. Haskell’s phone call to Uncle Stan had made it clear his present health was too poor for him to travel to Nevada, and that he was sending his private jet so Mari could fly to Mackinac Island to his summer cottage. This evening.
“If you don’t go, you’ll never know whether your mother was Isabel Haskell or not, will you?” Wilma pointed out. “Best you get to packing. And never mind that young man. If he’s interested he’ll show up again, and then you can decide if he’s worth troubling yourself over.”
Show up again? Mari wondered as she headed for her bedroom. She wouldn’t be here if he did, so a lot of good that’d do. Time to forget Russ Simon and concentrate on what else to toss in her suitcase. Although most of her clothes were for riding or casual wear, she figured she’d better take at least one dress and a pair of dressy sandals. She had to admit—she was scared to be going alone to a place she’d never been to meet a stranger who might be her grandfather.
Uncle Stan could hardly come with her, since he had to take care of the horses and other ranch animals. Willa might be spry for her age, but it was too much to ask her to do ranch work, and they couldn’t afford to hire anyone else for the task. In fact, they were already one mortgage payment behind. The money Russ had paid for Lucy would help, but it was touch and go.
As for asking Willa to come with Mari, that wasn’t possible, either. Willa couldn’t take much time away from her own ranch because she supported herself by raising rattlesnakes, milking their venom and selling it to labs that made antivenin. No one wanted to snake-sit for her.
By the time the limo arrived to pick up Mari and take her to the Carson City Airport, she was ajangle with nerves. Twenty-seven-years old and she’d never ridden in a limo, much less a private jet. Maybe she ought to be feeling like Cinderella going to the ball, but she felt more like the untransformed cinder girl. If she’d been traveling as Mari Crowley, it wouldn’t be this way. She’d always been confident in her ability to handle almost any situation. But she might no longer be a Crowley, she might be a Haskell, and that thought was unsettling.
Never mind, you’re still Mari, she told herself as she hugged Uncle Stan and Willa in farewell. You can cope. Once the chauffeur settled her inside the limo and they drove away from the ranch, though, the tears she’d fought gathered in her eyes.
When they reached the airport, Mari still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. But her tears had dried by then and she allowed herself to be led by the chauffeur to where Mr. Haskell’s jet waited on the tarmac. He helped her aboard. Inside, a uniformed man showed her how to fasten her seat belt, telling her he was George, the co-pilot, and introducing the pilot as Tom. George pointed out where she could find soft drinks and sandwiches once they were underway. It took her a minute
