existed. It was the house from her childhood memories, but it was so sadly run-down that it broke her heart. Going from room to room on the first floor, she nostalgically touched things—the rocking chair near the living room fireplace that her grandfather had favored, and the old upright piano against a wall on which her grandmother had played merry tunes.
Carly’s troubled gaze swept the old wallpaper and worn furnishings. How could her father have let the house go to pot like this? Didn’t it mean anything to him?
But did she have a right to criticize anything her dad did or didn’t do with any part of the ranch, after what she’d done? Still, she’d only been a teenager when she’d decided not to return to Wyoming; why on earth had her dad let her get away with such bratty behavior?
Carly sighed. She knew why Stuart had let her get away with anything and everything while growing up. It was because her mother had died when she’d been too young to remember, and her father had tried to make it up to her.
The old house tugged at Carly’s heartstrings as she walked through the first floor rooms and realized that the place wasn’t even clean. There were huge dust motes in corners and under furniture, and from the musty odor she was noticing she would bet anything that the windows hadn’t been opened for fresh air in ages.
“Obviously Banyon could live in a pigsty and not be bothered by it,” she muttered as she entered the big old-fashioned kitchen. Positive that the refrigerator would contain moldy food, if any, she pulled open the door, then stood there and blinked at the laden shelves. And it was fresh food she was seeing, too, fresh milk, meat and vegetables.
“Odd,” she mumbled, staring at the array. Surely Banyon hadn’t gone out of his way to provide this food for her, had he? Of course, her dad might have asked him to stock the kitchen, just in case she would rather eat alone than with the men. Yes, that was something Stuart would think of doing. She certainly couldn’t imagine Banyon doing it without a nudge.
After checking the refrigerator for bottled water and finding none, Carly shut the door and went to locate a glass for a drink of tap water, which she doubted was drinkable, but what choice did she have?
The sink water was cold and delicious, and Carly stood at a window and had her drink. Something began niggling her; more than likely she had let her dad down by arguing with Banyon almost from the moment they’d set eyes on each other.
But how could she not have spoken her mind about that stallion? Shooting him would be a terrible crime, and she still felt that she would stop at nothing to see that it didn’t happen.
She would like to discuss this with her father and find out for herself how he felt about it, but wouldn’t that be a lot like tattling? Frowning, Carly decided that whatever problems she might have with Jake or his methods of operating the ranch during her stay, she should not cause a breach between Banyon and her father. Their relationship had worked very well for at least four years, and she’d been on the ranch no more than a half hour and already she could stir up trouble with a few words to her dad. She couldn’t let that happen. It would be unjustifiably selfish of her to let that happen, especially in light of the promises she’d made herself during the past year to not cause her father any more headaches.
Sighing heavily, Carly headed for the staircase to the second floor. She might as well pick a bedroom for herself. Someone would probably be bringing in her luggage at any moment.
Halfway up the stairs she went back down and found a telephone. Dialing her father’s private number, she left a message on his voice mail: “Hi, Dad, it’s me. I’m at the ranch and everything is fine. Hope your business trip to London is going well, though you probably only just got there. Anyway, call if and when you want, though don’t feel it’s necessary. We’ll talk when you have the time. Love you. Bye.”
Three
Jake was sorely disappointed and more than a little angry. The two men who’d spotted the stallion, then chased him, had quite a story to tell when Jake finally met up with them shortly before suppertime.
“We’d a caught him for sure if that danged helicopter hadn’t spooked our horses,” Artie Campbell said disgustedly.
“We would’ve, Jake,” Joe Franklin agreed. “In two seconds flat that devil was in the woods. We followed, but it was a waste of time. He can race through trees and underbrush faster than greased lightning.”
“Did you happen to spot any of our mares?” Jake spoke stiffly, because his entire body was stiff. Losing the stallion today was Carly Paxton’s fault. Jake had put two and two together about the helicopter veering just before landing. Carly had noticed the men chasing the stallion and had wanted a closer look. The pilot, of course, had merely done as she’d asked.
“Not a one of ‘em,” Artie said. “He must have ‘em hid out somewhere.”
Jake nodded grimly. “Okay, you men did your best today. Maybe we’ll have better luck the next time he shows himself. I’m going to go clean up for supper. See you later.”
Heading for the house, Jake battled the irritation and resentment prickling his system. Carly Paxton was a royal pain in the neck. There was a darned good chance of that rogue stallion having been captured today. Without Carly’s nosiness, that thieving horse might be installed in an escape-proof steel pen right now, and Jake could be trying to figure out what to do with him instead of cursing the frustration gnawing a hole in his gut.
Entering the house by the back door, Jake paused in the kitchen to cool down his temper. As much as he’d like to lambaste Carly for her role in this afternoon’s fiasco with the stallion, he had to treat her cordially. The situation galled Jake, but he was stuck with it. Stuck with that woman on the ranch for only God knew how long.
Jake sighed heavily. If she wasn’t Stuart’s daughter…
But therein lay the bind. She was Stuart’s daughter, and already he’d snapped at her and even let her think he would shoot that stallion just because she had annoyed him with her questions. He’d better shape up and be nice, however much it went against his grain. Snorting disgustedly, Jake left the kitchen, took a quick look through the first-floor rooms in case Carly was downstairs, then headed for the second floor.
There were four large bedrooms up there—including the one he used—and he started knocking on doors and calling, “Carly?”
She was still unpacking, hanging clothes in the closet and putting other things in bureau drawers, when she heard Jake’s voice. Going to the door of the room she’d chosen, she opened it. “Yes?” she said coolly.
Jake tried very hard to smile, to appear relaxed and congenial. “Did you get settled in?”
“I’m working on it.”
Looking into her beautiful green eyes made Jake nervous, and he averted his gaze and resented Carly for unnerving him in such a personal way. Certainly he was still angry with her, but deep down he knew that anger was not the cause of his present discomfort. He didn’t want to be attracted to a woman he just barely knew and thus far didn’t much care for, but there were sparks in his body that were undeniably sexual. It might have been a while for him, but the signs of physical attraction were never really forgotten, even if a man strove diligently to forget a past he’d be better off not having.
Shying from such discomfiting thoughts, Jake uneasily shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “Uh, there are a few things I should’ve told you
