did no good to dredge up the day when three of them were killed in an ambush and he was the only one to walk away. It only fed the nightmares and the guilt, and stirred feelings of desperation because he knew the past could never change.
He silently pulled the green beans from the microwave and dumped them into a serving bowl, then grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard and gave her one. “Help yourself. I’ve no idea what’s in the casserole.”
Clearly ill at ease after his rebuff, she avoided looking at him as he pulled a metal spatula from a crock on the counter that held serving utensils and handed it to her. “The casserole looks wonderful. Ham and scalloped potatoes, I think. Thanks.”
He gave her a plate and waited until she served herself, then scooped ample portions onto his own. The tantalizing aroma of this simple home-cooked meal flooded his senses. When had he eaten anything that smelled this good?
Chloe lingered uncertainly by the round oak table in the kitchen, as if debating whether to stay or go. An awkward moment lengthened between them.
“Well,” she said finally, “I got a late start from Minneapolis yesterday, so I had to drive the final seven hundred miles today. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to my cabin and return the plate in the morning. I need to settle in and get to work.”
With a little wave of her fingers, she let herself out the door.
Work at what? What could she possibly plan to work on in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere?
And for that matter, where had she been all these years? What made her come so far out West when there must have been endless places to stay that were much closer to Minneapolis?
His curiosity about her life was growing.
Poofy followed her for a few steps, then looked back at Devlin, his tail drooping.
He looked down at the crestfallen dog. “Yeah. Lucky it’s just you and not Abby or Betty here. I’m sure they’d have something to say about my manners.”
Chloe had apparently grown up in more ways than one.
As a kid, Ms. Perpetual Questions had been relentlessly persistent, but she’d clearly gotten the hint and was tactfully planning to give him all the space he wanted.
So maybe he had his peace and quiet back...yet from the strange wrenching in his heart, maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.
Or was it?
Well, that had certainly been awkward and embarrassing. But not unexpected as far as Devlin’s attitude was concerned, so at least he was still consistent.
If Chloe had known that he was going to be here, she would’ve given up her dream of three months of perfect, uninterrupted seclusion on this middle-of-nowhere ranch in Montana and headed straight to her new job in Kansas City that she didn’t want, but couldn’t refuse.
Lifting yet another heavy cardboard box from the trunk of her car, she shouldered her computer bag and started up the rocky trail to her cabin for the fifth time.
At the sound of footsteps behind her, she hesitated for a split second, then kept walking. But she was no match for Devlin’s long stride.
“I can carry that box,” he said as he fell in beside her. “I’m heading up that direction anyway.”
“No need.” She sidestepped when he tried to take it.
He gave a low sound of exasperation. “Still independent. I guess you haven’t changed that much after all.”
Adjusting the awkward weight of the box in her arms, she shot a side glance at him. “Neither have you.”
But that wasn’t exactly true.
He hadn’t been this polite the last time she’d seen him. Or this tall, well-muscled and flat-out handsome.
Back then, he’d been a tall, gangly sixteen-year-old, with a shock of unruly dark hair and the most beautiful silver-blue eyes she’d ever seen—back then, or since. She’d been just eleven, her last summer here, and he’d been her first big, hopeless crush. His lethal combination of teen-idol looks and bad-boy charisma had the girls in town following him like a flock of besotted groupies.
She’d teased him about them just to see his cheeks go red, but she had no doubt that the local women were going to be mighty pleased to see him back on their home turf. If someone, somewhere, wasn’t already wearing his ring and planning wedding bells, it wouldn’t take long for one of the locals to nab him. And the sooner, the better, before he broke any more hearts.
He certainly wouldn’t be breaking hers.
As a child, she’d been his persistent shadow, but in return he’d relentlessly teased her. Only when no one was watching did she ever let herself cry. She understood his behavior now, from an adult perspective. What teenage boy wanted a little girl to be his ever-present tagalong? But the teasing had hurt. He’d made her feel self-conscious and unworthy, and she’d grown to hate her freckles and everything else about herself.
But far worse, he’d hung out with the bad boys in high school—wild parties, lots of booze. She knew it was true—she’d seen him out in the woods and behind the barns, drinking with that rowdy crowd. And that scared her to death.
With a dad like hers, even at eleven she’d known Devlin’s drinking was a terrible red flag—a lifetime, ironclad deal-breaker, no questions asked.
No matter how handsome or polite or charming he might be now, she was not looking for romance any longer, and especially not with someone who partied and got drunk with his friends.
At the cabin, he stepped in front of her to open the door wide.
“Well, have a good...” He stared at the pile of boxes in the middle of the floor and the mountain of grocery sacks on the counter. “You sure pack light.”
At the brief deepening of the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, she felt the impact of his old charm clear down to her toes. The local women weren’t going to be just pleased at his return; they were going to be over-the-moon ecstatic.
“How long did you say you’re staying?”
Dropping the last box onto the stack, she pulled her laptop-case strap from her shoulder and laid the case on the kitchen table. “Three months. I had just enough money saved to stay here that long before I move on.”
“What sort of work did you do?”
“I was a secretary for...” she faltered, debating how much to reveal. “...a big investment firm, while putting myself through graduate school.”
That much was true, just not entirely complete. And it wasn’t like she was a criminal on the run—she’d been exonerated, after all. Even so, she’d already seen the expressions of doubt and accusation on the faces of acquaintances...people who’d wanted to believe the worst.
