like old times, she thought. She’d never been able to break through Ethan’s defenses. Even though he’d been attracted to her, he’d kept his distance, making her long for him even more.
Not that she would let herself long for him now. Kissing him, or even fantasizing about it, would be a mistake.
“You must be working today,” she said, trying to resume a casual conversation.
“Yes, I am. But I live here, too.”
She started. “On the Double Crown?”
“It’s only temporary. I’m in between homes right now, so I’m renting the hunting cabin from Ryan.” He gestured to the barn. “Of course I’m boarding my horses here, too.”
From what she recalled, Ethan had been living on the rough-and-tumble property his father owned. Although she wondered why he was moving, she decided not to ask, not to delve too deeply into his affairs, even if she wanted to, even if everything about him still intrigued her. “I’ve never been inside the hunting cabin.”
“Really?” He shifted his feet, scattering dirt beneath his heels. “There isn’t much to see, but you can come by later if you want to.”
Surprised by the invitation, Susan didn’t know what to say. He’d never asked her to visit him before. He’d never encouraged her advances. Of course, this time she wasn’t falling all over him. At least not outwardly. Inside, her heart was skipping girlish beats.
“Thanks,” she finally managed.
“Sure.”
While silence stretched between them, the wind kicked up, the scent of hay and horses triggering her senses. In the distance cattle grazed, like colored dots on the horizon.
“I better go,” he said. “I have an appointment on another ranch.”
She told herself to relax, to not make a big deal out of his offer. “It was nice talking to you, Ethan.”
“You, too,” he told her.
He climbed behind the wheel of his white dually, and she watched him start the engine. Within no time, he was gone.
The boy with the slow, sexy smile.
She returned to the house and headed for the kitchen, where she found Lily, bustling around the stove.
Susan stood in the doorway, admiring the woman Ryan had married. Even at fifty-nine, Lily had the power to turn heads. Long limbed and voluptuous, she wore a mint-colored sweater and a loose skirt, attire that was as unpretentious as her style. Her midnight hair was fastened into a simple twist, leaving the angles of her face unframed.
“That smells good,” Susan said, indicating the pot of broth simmering on the stove.
Lily looked up, her large, exotic-shaped eyes radiating warmth. “It’s corn soup. An old Apache recipe.”
Which made sense, considering Lily was part Apache and part Spanish.
Susan moved farther into the kitchen and watched as Lily mixed several pounds of boiled, shredded beef with a homemade batch of acorn meal. She suspected that Lily had taken her time, peeling the acorns and grinding them, a task that was meant to keep her mind off Ryan’s illness, especially on this gloomy morning.
A second later Lily took a shaky breath, then glanced out the window as though someone were stalking her. And why not? Susan knew that a man named Jason Jamison, a cold-blooded killer, had been threatening the family. Of course Ryan had hired a security team to protect them. He wouldn’t leave something like that to chance.
“Are you okay?” she asked Lily.
“I’m fine. Just jittery, that’s all. There’s so much to deal with right now.” She turned away from the window. “Will you check on Ryan? And if he’s awake, will you tell him that I’ll bring him some soup later?”
“Sure. But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
“I know.” Lily gave her a brave smile. “I’m glad you’re staying with us. I like having you around.”
Her heart bumped her chest, filling her with a sense of longing, of family, of home and hearth. Lily hadn’t been Ryan’s wife when Susan had lived on the Double Crown, but she’d gotten to know her later. Mostly from trips Ryan and Lily had taken to San Francisco, where they’d traveled to visit her.
“Thank you,” Susan told her. “That means a lot to me.”
Lily nodded, and they simply gazed at each other, caught in a soundless moment.
After the older woman resumed her task, adding the beef and acorn meal to the broth, Susan left the kitchen, her emotions tugging at her sleeve.
She walked through the great room, her boots echoing on tiled floors, as restless as the Fortune empire ghosts.
Over the years, the house, a traditional adobe structure, had undergone quite a few renovations. At one point it had been divided into two separate wings, where Ryan and his older brother, Cameron, lived with their families. But Susan knew that Cameron had died over ten years ago, leaving Ryan to pick up the pieces of his brother’s lazy yet tremulous life.
She headed to Ryan and Lily’s room, a master suite with a private bathroom, hot tub and sauna. The door leading to the sitting area was open, a sign that her cousin was awake. She knocked anyway, a light tap to announce her presence.
“Come in,” he called out.
She entered the room and saw him sitting on a small sofa near the fireplace. To Susan, Ryan had always seemed larger than life, an invincible force with his solid frame and darkly handsome features. But an inoperable brain tumor had challenged his strength, creating symptoms he could no longer hide.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Better now that you’re here.”
He patted the cushion next to him, and she moved forward. He didn’t look particularly refreshed from his nap, but she was grateful that he was coherent. Earlier, he’d been too dizzy to converse with her.
She sat down and took his hand, holding it gently in hers. “I love you.”
A smile wobbled his mouth. “I love you, too, little girl.”
“I’m not little anymore.”
He gave her hand a light squeeze. “You’re still my baby.”
She wanted to ask him about Jason Jamison, to discuss the details, but she didn’t want to alert him that his beloved wife was fretting in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder every chance she got. Sooner or later Susan would learn everything there was to know about Jason. Both of her brothers had warned her about this man, suggesting that she talk to Ryan about him. Which she intended to do, just not now.
“Lily’s making soup,” she said, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt.
“What kind?”
“Apache corn.
