Книга - Ranch At River’s End

Ranch At River's End
Brenda Mott


Great. First day as the hospital receptionist and Darci Taylor faints. But a bump on the head hasn't clouded her vision–she can see E.R. doctor Jordan Drake's medicine could be addictive. Tall, dark and handsome, great hands, and…oh no, not going there. She just has to ignore Dr. Drake's bewitching bedside manner and sexy cowboy boots. Darci needs this job to make a fresh start for her son. To put their past behind them, not pick up more damaged goods.But even in idyllic small-town Colorado, they can't seem to escape their troubles. And a romance with a single dad isn't helping. That means keeping her distance from Jordan and not falling for him. Yet she can't seem to stop….









“Dad, look at this saddle we found in the catalog!”


Darci broke off the kiss as abruptly as Jordan did, her eyes snapping open to see his daughter standing in front of them on the deck with her friend Jenny, holding a Western tack catalog. Both girls stared wide-eyed at them, Michaela’s gaze accusing.

“How could you kiss her?” Michaela shrieked. Then she turned and fled down the steps below deck.

The look she’d given Darci could have melted the anchor and left them all to drift away across the reservoir. Darci was pretty sure Michaela would have run much farther than below deck if there had been anywhere else for her to go. Jenny looked embarrassed as she trailed after her.

“Oh, God,” Darci said. “Jordan, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m the one who kissed you,” he said, then headed after his daughter.


Dear Reader,

My dad taught me there is a reason for everything. I had a hard time believing that when he very suddenly passed away while I was writing this book. It took me many months to even begin to get back on my feet. But as clichéd as it may sound, my father’s death made me see life from a different angle.

I began to remember how he’d taught me not to ever say “goodbye,” only “so long for now.” This is a belief of our people—the Cherokees—and something I began to take comfort in. I know I’ll see my dad again, and I know his death, as devastating as it was, is a turning point for me.

I realized that my heroine in Ranch at River’s End had reached a turning point in her life as well. When Darci Taylor’s son scares a cafeteria full of students half out of their minds, Darci decides they need a fresh start in the small mountain town of River’s End.

But things don’t go as smoothly as Darci hoped with the transition to her new world. Jordan Drake is an emergency room physician whose own life was turned upside down two years earlier when his wife was killed and his daughter wounded. He’s protective of Michaela, and when Jordan finds out Darci and her son have moved in four houses down from his own, he isn’t at all happy.

I had a great time taking my hero and heroine down the path they had to travel, and in watching how they dealt with their individual issues and—most important of all—how they dealt with their growing attraction to one another. And trust me, they went kicking and screaming!

I love hearing from my readers. You can reach me at BrendaMott@hotmail.com. Please reference the book title on the subject line.

My best to you!

Brenda Mott




Ranch at River’s End

Brenda Mott





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


When Brenda Mott isn’t busy writing or rescuing animals—she has more than thirty dogs at any given time—she enjoys curling up with a good book (naturally!), or taking in the beauty of Tennessee’s Powell River on horseback, or on foot with a few of her dogs. Brenda can trace her family roots back to the Cherokees who walked the Trail of Tears, and her ranch—twenty-one acres deep in the Tennessee woods—is located on part of what used to be the original claims of the Cherokee Nation.

Brenda’s stories most often have a theme of strong family ties and values. They also reflect her love of horses—and of her home state of Colorado—by having a ranch-themed plot. Her works have won several awards including Best Series Romance from RT Book Reviews, but her greatest reward comes in entertaining her readers. She enjoys writing romance most of all, because there’s always a guaranteed happy ending. She loves hearing from her readers. Reach her at BrendaMott@hotmail.com.


This book is dedicated in loving memory of my phenomenal dad.

I miss you more than even a writer’s words can say.

Ah-nah-gee-sss-dee nahs-squah Oo-ney-tlah-nuh-he.

(Go with God.)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN




CHAPTER ONE


JORDAN DRAKE WATCHED his daughter moving quickly up the sidewalk to school despite the cane she relied on. Hard to believe Michaela was already in the seventh grade. A now-familiar sadness threatened to overwhelm him. Sandra should be here, sharing this significant milestone in their daughter’s life with him. But this was no time for regrets—Sandra wouldn’t have wanted that. He had to keep moving forward.

The quiet drive to the hospital always calmed him, and he glanced up now at the rough-hewn mountain peaks, scattered with scrub oak, juniper and sagebrush, that surrounded River’s End.

The rural town was plunked down in the middle of some of the prettiest country western Colorado had to offer. With a small population, it was, Jordan had always believed, a good place to raise a child.

But tragedy had found him even here.

Shaking off the thought, he focused on the sun-filled, late-August day. He was sorry he couldn’t be outdoors, but he loved his job. Being an E.R. physician at River’s End Regional Hospital had its perks. Working three days on, three days off gave him plenty of time to spend with Michaela.

After parking his black Ford Explorer in his designated spot, Jordan headed inside. He’d barely scanned the reports when a patient—a boy Jordan knew to be the best fullback on their high school team—was rushed into the E.R. with a head wound. Typically, it was bleeding profusely.

“His brother hit him with a machete,” said the trembling woman hovering over Bruce Wilkins.

“It wasn’t a machete, Mom, it was a big knife.” The husky kid sighed in exasperation. “And it was an accident. I’m fine.” He grinned as Jordan pressed a wad of gauze against the wound with gloved hands. “But I don’t know about that lady at the check-in desk. She passed out cold when she saw this.” Bruce pointed at his wound.

Shirley? Had to be, Jordan thought. She was the one who usually handled the front desk. But he was surprised to hear she’d fainted. Shirley had worked at the hospital for years and seen all kinds of injuries.

“She did?” Go figure.

“Yep. And she hit her head, too, so you might be puttin’ stitches in both of us, Doc. I can wait if you need to stitch her up first.”

“You cannot wait!” Donna Wilkins scolded her son. “I’m sure Dr. Drake isn’t the only doctor here in the E.R.”

“Actually, I am the only physician on hand at the moment, but Dr. Samuels is just finishing his shift. We’ll page him if we need to.”

Jordan’s professional calm hid his concern. Someone needed to see if Shirley was okay.

He was about to duck out quickly to check on the receptionist when a wheelchair rolled into the adjoining exam room, which was partitioned off by a curtain. Jordan couldn’t see the patient, but he heard her protests over the squeak of the chair’s rubber wheels.

“This is ridiculous. I’m fine, really.”

Not Shirley.

“We’ll let Dr. Drake be the judge of that,” Molly Parker said. She’d been a nurse at River’s End Regional for as long as Jordan could remember. “Now get yourself up there on that exam table, Missy, and I’ll see where the doc’s at.”

If any more people came into the E.R., he’d definitely have to have Dr. Samuels paged.

“I’m here,” Jordan said. He parted the curtain enough to look discreetly through the opening.

A petite woman with short, blond hair was in the process of exiting the wheelchair.

“Is Shirley all right?” Jordan asked. “We’ll need to page Dr. Samuels, Molly, to check on her.”

The nurse gave him a strange look. “Shirley’s fine—why?”

“I don’t need a doctor at all,” the blond woman protested as she reluctantly climbed onto the exam table under Molly’s watchful eye. Gingerly, she touched the goose egg Jordan spotted on her forehead. “It’s just a bump.”

“You hit the corner of the desk and lost consciousness,” Molly said firmly. “But I think you can wait while the doctor stitches Bruce up, right, Dr. Drake? Or do you want me to page Dr. Samuels?” She looked as confused as Jordan felt.

He frowned. “I thought it was Shirley who hit her head.”

“No, no,” Molly said, her mop of dark curls bobbing as she shook her own head. “Dr. Drake, meet Darci Taylor, our new receptionist. Shirley’s training her to replace Tiffany.”

Who had gone into early labor yesterday afternoon. Now everything fell into place.

“Jordan Drake,” he said. “You must be from the temp service.” He held out his hand and the woman placed hers in it. She had a soft palm, but a surprisingly strong grip, and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The scent of vanilla perfume wafted his way, subtle and pleasant.

“That’s right,” she said. “Nice to meet you. Are you any relation to Dr. Nina Drake?”

“She’s my sister.” The psychologist of the family. He wondered how Darci Taylor knew Nina. Was she a patient?

Making a quick assessment of her head injury, Jordan nodded. “This can wait a few moments if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Please—take care of that young man.” She gestured toward the curtained partition, looking pale again.

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can, Darci.” Her name rolled over his tongue like candy. She was suntanned and pretty—her petite figure all curves beneath the floral-print skirt and silky T-shirt she wore. How on earth had he missed her?

Whoa. What was wrong with him? He saw female patients every day, many of them as pretty or prettier than Darci Taylor.

But none with eyes that blue.



DARCI FELT LIKE A COMPLETE idiot. Her first day—Lord, her first few minutes—on the job, and she’d fainted like some Victorian lady. When she’d accepted the position at the hospital through the temp agency, she’d somehow never connected working at a reception desk with seeing blood. Duh. This was the emergency department, and she’d better get her act together in a happy hurry if she intended to keep the position. Her part-time job giving riding lessons on her aunt and uncle’s ranch wasn’t nearly enough to pay the bills.

Being a single mother wasn’t easy, and this last year had been hell, but she’d managed to get through it.

Darci shifted farther back on the exam table, waiting her turn. It was impossible not to eavesdrop on Dr. Jordan Drake in the adjoining area. His deep voice was calm and patient as he tended to the boy who’d been brought in with the head wound. And then he laughed at something Bruce Wilkins said, and tiny goose bumps danced along her arms and neck.

The man had seemed so serious—she wondered what it took to make Dr. Cowboy Boots laugh.

Now where had that thought come from? Through a slit in the adjoining curtain, she couldn’t help but steal a peek at the doctor. He didn’t look much older than her own thirty-four—and met the old cliché standard of tall, dark and handsome.

But what sort of doctor wore jeans and cowboy boots with his scrub top? He looked more like a veterinarian who specialized in large animals. Well…River’s End was a tiny ranching community. Maybe the guy treated both humans and livestock.

Darci’s head throbbed, the bump feeling more like a cantaloupe than a goose egg. But she couldn’t afford to take any time off work.

She’d combined two part-time jobs in Northglenn, outside of Denver, before moving here with Chris. Working for a temp service, and the twenty-plus hours a week she’d put in at a local stable afforded her the means to take care of her thirteen-year-old son and she hoped to do the same thing in River’s End.

She planned to work extra hard for Aunt Stella and Uncle Leon. They were the only people who hadn’t turned their backs on her and Chris when her son had committed a crime most people weren’t willing to look past.

Shaking off the black thoughts, Darci let her mind drift back to handsome Dr. Drake. She couldn’t resist sneaking another peek through the curtain at those Western boots and jeans he wore. Professional though he was, he still looked pretty hot in them. Definitely cowboy casual.

The only thing that ruined his cowboy image, was his smooth hands. It had felt so good when she’d shaken hands with him.

His hair, straight and thick and dark as his espresso eyes, was just long enough to brush the top of his collar. Her fingers itched to touch it.

What was wrong with her? Darci gave herself a mental kick, remembering that she had more serious things to take care of in her life right now. She didn’t have time for good-looking doctors.

Dr. Cowboy Boots? the imp in the back of her mind teased.

Not even him, Darci thought, wondering if the bump on her head had affected her thinking. Still, she tried to imagine what Jordan’s face had looked like just now when he laughed. But all she could picture were those dark eyes.

The curtain parted and Darci nearly yelped.

“So you’ve got quite the bump there,” Jordan said as he moved toward her, chart in hand.

His professional voice was gentle, caring, and yet oh, so sexy.

“I—I skipped breakfast and felt a little dizzy,” she said, unwilling to admit she’d flat-out fainted. She could have eaten the Grand Slam breakfast at the local Denny’s and she still would’ve passed out at the sight of Bruce Wilkins’s gaping head wound.

“Mmm-hmm.” Jordan laid down the clipboard, lathered his hands to the elbows at the nearby sink, then snapped on a fresh pair of gloves before stepping up beside her.

Was he going to touch her?

Of course he was. He was a doctor after all. He could hardly examine her head from across the room. But right now Darci could use a little distance between them. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was overpowered by Jordan’s own clean scent. Soap, pure male and…what else? Words like woodsy and musky came to mind, but that wasn’t right either. Jordan didn’t strike her as the musky type.

No. His scent was more like fresh squeezed limes and—

Tequila, the imp prompted, inspiring images of body shots and salt and…good grief, she’d hit her head all right! And lost her mind in the process.

Jordan frowned in concentration and gently touched the lump on her forehead.

“Tender?” he asked.

Darci winced. “Very.”

She felt raw and vulnerable sitting there with his wonderful, strong and capable hands on her…and aching for more.

It had been way too long since she’d enjoyed a man’s touch, or even a simple date for that matter. The threats Christopher had made at his former school in Northglenn had taken over their lives, consumed Darci day and night for the past several months.

“Looks like you could use a couple of stitches,” Jordan said, jarring her from her thoughts. “Or maybe we can put some butterfly clamps on the laceration. Less scarring that way.”

“Sounds good,” Darci said. She tried not to flinch as he tended to her wound.

“There, that should do it. Don’t get it wet for a few days, and let me know if you notice any heat or further swelling. If the pain gets bad, take some Tylenol.”

“What—not two aspirin and call you in the morning?” Darci blamed her head injury on the lame quip. Just because he’d eyeballed her a little when she’d first come in…or had he? Maybe she’d imagined it. But it didn’t matter anyway. Just didn’t mean a thing. For all she knew there was a Mrs. Cowboy Boots in the picture.

So why couldn’t she quiet that damned imp in her head?

Jordan studied her as he peeled off his gloves, then reached for a pen and notepad. He scribbled something, and Darci spoke quickly. “I don’t need a prescription. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

He handed over the scrap of paper and Darci looked at it and nearly choked. He’d jotted down a pair of phone numbers in a neat, looping scrawl unlike the stereotypical hard-to-read doctor’s handwriting.

“Call me if you have any complications—excessive headache, vomiting, that sort of thing,” he said. “Either Dr. Samuels or I will be on call.”

“Thanks.” Darci folded the slip of paper and put it in her purse.

She could’ve looked up the hospital number in the phone book. Had he given her his home number?

Don’t be silly.

Maybe she could ask him to write out a prescription for her after all. One for a woman who’d been too long without a date. An anti-man drug. Maybe an antihistamine. Inwardly she snickered at her own lame humor.

Lord, she’d had no idea a head injury could turn her into a ditz.



CALL ME?

Jordan put his key in the front-door lock and opened the dead bolt. What had he been thinking? There was no reason to have given Darci Taylor his home phone number in addition to the one at the hospital. At least it wasn’t his cell. He didn’t need to be bothered day and night with minor medical emergencies.

But then, she probably wasn’t the type to do that anyway. Darci seemed like a strong, confident woman who took matters into her own hands.

You want her to call.

The voice inside his head taunted him as he deactivated the alarm and called out to Michaela that he was home.

Darci had looked vulnerable as she sat in the exam room with a head injury, though. She obviously wasn’t cut out to work in the E.R. admittance. Maybe she’d get a job elsewhere and then he could stop thinking about her.

Besides—he hadn’t been interested in a woman since Sandra had died. No point in starting now.

“Mac!” he called again, using the nickname his daughter preferred.

“In the kitchen, Dad.”

She was at the table, eating a frozen yogurt and working on her laptop. The way her head was tilted, with her long, light brown hair caught up in a ponytail, she looked so much like her mother.

Jordan’s chest tightened.

“Is that homework?” She was allowed online, but with limited access.

He had to protect his daughter.

Michaela nodded. “I’m writing a report on the opening chapter of a book we’re reading.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do teachers always make us read boring things instead of something we’d actually like?”

“Good question.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “One that kids asked even in my generation.”

“They had books back then?”

“Very funny. What’s this?” He picked up a piece of paper from the countertop. A flyer about parent-teacher meetings and an open house being held at the school a week from Tuesday.

“It’s a welcome-to-the-school-year thing,” Michaela said. “Sorta lame, but I guess we’re supposed to go.”

“They’re serving refreshments,” he said. “At least we can score some cookies.”

Michaela returned his grin. “You’ll like my homeroom teacher. She’s cool.”

“Awesome. Can’t wait. How about we go out on the boat this weekend?”

“Cool! Can Jenny come? We want to check out some new horse magazines.”

The cabin cruiser slept four, and Michaela’s best friend often came along on overnight excursions as well as day trips.

“We’ll see. Right now, why don’t you just worry about what you want on your pizza.”

“We’re going to Trail Inn?”

Restaurants in River’s End were a scarce commodity, but Trail Inn was the best pizza joint within fifty miles, and his daughter’s favorite. “You’d better know it,” Jordan said. “As soon as I change out of my scrubs.”

“And after I check on Chewy again.” The stray dog Mac had begged him to take in that summer had come with a surprise—puppies, born a week ago.

The medium-sized, red-and-white dog had turned out to be a blessing. Caring for Chewy and her puppies had been the best form of therapy for Michaela—something that made his little girl smile more than she had since her mother’s death. And Chewy was a good watchdog—something he’d wanted to get Mac, though he’d been a little leery of the more aggressive breeds.

Chewy had quickly become a spoiled family member, temporarily distracting Mac from her obsession with horses. She’d been trying to talk Jordan into buying her a horse like her friend Jenny’s, which Michaela wanted to ride. Her hip injury would likely never get much better, and Jordan was worried that a fall from a horse might make it worse.

“I’ll run next door and say thanks to Louise.” The neighbor kept an eye out for Michaela, even kept his daughter at her house at times, when Jordan wasn’t home. “Then we’re off. We can swing by and rent a couple of DVDs—heck, it’s Friday night. I’ll even watch The Sisterhood of the Traveling Trousers again.”

Friday nights had always been pizza and movie night for Mac and Sandra.

“Da-ad.” His daughter snickered. “It’s Traveling Pants, and there’s a part two, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. Hey—even better. We can watch both of them.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, quirking her mouth into a crooked little pucker—a Sandra habit. “And I love you for it, Dad. Thanks.” But her eyes held sadness.

“I love you, too, snicker-doodle.”



AS SOON AS JORDAN DRAKE had finished tending to her injury, Darci had insisted on going right back to work, but Shirley demanded she take it easy. “You just watch me work, and you’ll get the hang of things,” the older woman said. “We’ll worry about the details when you’re feeling better.”

Things had been fairly slow for the rest of the morning, though they picked up in the afternoon. By the time four-thirty rolled around, Darci was ready to go home. She was tired, her head was throbbing, and she was worried about Christopher. She’d asked Stella to keep an eye on him at the ranch after school until she could make other arrangements, and Chris had been furious.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he’d said. “I’m old enough to stay home alone for a couple of hours.”

“Yes, you are,” Darci had told him. “But age and privilege are two different things, and you’re going to have to earn my trust before I leave you by yourself.”

“Whatever. Just do me a favor, and don’t ask old lady Bataway to watch me.”

Their neighbor, Eileen Hathaway, was a busybody and overprotective of her enormous dog, a Newfoundland.

“Disrespect isn’t going to help you any. And I’m sure there’s not enough money in the bank to get Mrs. Hathaway to babysit you anyway.”

Now as she drove toward the Shadow S Ranch in a wind-blown sprinkling of rain, she hoped Christopher hadn’t given Aunt Stella a hard time. Of course, if he had, Stella would likely put a boot to his butt. Maybe that was what he needed. Maybe she’d been so busy worrying over everything that had happened in Northglenn that she hadn’t been hard enough on him.

Lord knows she’d experienced her share of anger and frustration. Yet she’d made a huge effort to tamp her feelings down and cave in to Christopher’s wants and needs. No more, though. She was through being Mommy Doormat.

Maybe Nina Drake could give her some helpful guidance when she saw Christopher on Thursday. Darci had requested a few minutes of the appointment time for her and Dr. Drake to talk.

At the ranch house, Darci rapped on the front door, then pushed it open, glad to get out of the wet weather. Immediately she was treated to the smell of home cooking. Stella and Leon’s dog—a big cream-colored mutt of undetermined heritage—greeted her with wagging tail. “Hey, Jake.” She scratched the dog behind his ears. In the kitchen, she found Stella at the stove, Chris and Leon nowhere in sight.

“Hi, Aunt Stella. Where’s Chris?”

“Doing his homework in the den. How was your first day?” Then she noticed the butterfly clamps and frowned, taking hold of Darci and steering her toward the window, where she could see the wound better. “Lands sakes, what happened to you?”

Darci shrugged sheepishly. “I fainted. It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”

“Fainted? What happened? Here, sit down and put your feet up. Want something to drink?”

“Aunt Stella, I’m fine, really.” But Darci obliged her aunt, kicking off her heels and propping her feet on a kitchen chair. She twisted the cap off the Diet Coke Stella set in front of her and took a long swig.

Her aunt demanded all the details, and Darci was halfway through her story when Christopher came out of the den and headed for the fridge.

She turned to face her thirteen-year-old son, who was nearly as tall as she was. He needed a haircut. His shaggy brown mop, the ends dyed black, hung in his eyes. Green eyes like his father’s. The man who’d left them a year ago without looking back.

“Pull up your jeans,” Darci said. Normally, she would’ve let Chris’s sagging pants hang beneath his boxers without comment. Pick your battles, Darci. Their former counselor’s advice. But today she was in no mood to be conciliatory.

“They won’t stay anyway.”

“That’s what your belt is for.

He grinned. “You actually fainted at work? Bet that went over big—passing out in the E.R.”

“Hey, it’s not funny.” Then Darci softened. “Okay, maybe a little. I was pretty embarrassed.” Especially when she’d had to undergo Jordan’s ministrations.

“Don’t eat too much,” Stella scolded as Chris rummaged around for a snack. “I’ve got a pot of chili cooking.”

“You didn’t have to cook for us,” Darci said.

“No big deal, kid. I figured you’d be tuckered, and Leon went to a lodge meeting so it was just gonna be me and a TV dinner. Now I’m doubly glad I threw something together, seeing as how you’re the walking wounded.” She nudged her niece’s knee affectionately as she passed by the chair where Darci had propped her legs.

“I love your chili, so I’m not going to protest too much,” Darci said. Stella used three kinds of beans, plus lots of chopped celery, onions and garlic.

Chris turned from the fridge with an apple and a wedge of cheese. “Save some of that for the chili.” She indicated the cheddar. “You getting your homework done?”

He wrinkled his nose as he sliced off a chunk of cheese on the cutting board Stella had been using. “We have to write a report for environmental studies on how we can be green at school. I’m about three pages short of the required four.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Darci said, glad to see he was actually settling back into public school after homeschooling for the final semester of last year. “Do you like your teachers so far?”

He shrugged. “They’re okay. Oh, yeah, that reminds me.” Stuffing the cheese into his mouth, he dragged his backpack off a chair. “There’s a parent-teacher thing coming up.” He rummaged in his pack and handed her the flyer. “Do we have to go?”

“Well, if it’s parent-teacher, I don’t see why you should have to…oh, wait,” Darci said. “They’re having an open house. And the skate park behind the school will be open, too. Says there’ll be plenty of adult supervision. You should go, Chris. It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, Mom.” He slumped as if she’d shot him with a poison dart. “I don’t need to go to the skate park with a bunch of teacher’s aides watching my every move.”

“Come on, Christopher,” Stella said. “Listen to your mom. If you don’t want to take your skateboard, at least you can see what the school looks like at night…show your mom your locker, visit with your friends.”

“Trust me,” he said, “I don’t have any friends.”

“Well, then this will be a good way to make some.” Stella stirred the pot of chili. “I always thought it was fun to be at school at nighttime.”

“You’re going,” Darci said, remembering her earlier resolve to stop coddling him.

“Fine. I’ll be in the den doing my slave work if anyone needs me.”

Stella chuckled once he’d gone. “Kids. They make everything so dramatic.”

Then she sobered, as if remembering just how dramatic things had gotten back at North Star Middle School in Northglenn.




CHAPTER TWO


DARCI THANKED AUNT STELLA for the chili, and for watching Chris, then hurried out to the car after him. It had begun to rain harder now, quarter-sized drops pattering down in cold splashes against her skin as she rushed toward her red Chevy Cavalier.

Christopher sat in the front seat, listening to his iPod. It was one of the privileges he’d recently earned back for good behavior. Darci shoved the container of leftovers Aunt Stella had sent with them into his lap before sliding behind the wheel. The windshield wipers swished out a steady rhythm as she drove, making her way down the county road and on through town. She hadn’t gone more than the few blocks that made up the downtown area, when she spotted a familiar figure at the side of the road.

Jordan Drake stood next to a black Ford Explorer, examining a flat rear tire.

Oh, dear. Should she stop? Or did he have things under control?

Darci glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him kick the flat in frustration, then head back toward the driver’s door. No spare? She supposed he could walk to the gas station, but it wasn’t in her to ignore someone in need of help, and besides, who wanted to walk in the rain?

Beside her, Christopher paid no attention to the fact that Darci had slowed the car. His head nodded to the beat of what was likely Southern-country-rock—his favorite. She turned into the parking lot of a church, flipped a U-turn and headed back out onto Main Street.

Christopher frowned, pulling off one earbud. “Hey, where are you going, Mom?”

“To help someone,” she said.

“Huh?” He yanked out the other earbud. “But I want to get home and watch TV.” His favorite reality show was coming on, another privilege he’d regained.

“Chris, we can’t leave someone stranded at the side of the road.”

“But you’re always telling me it’s not smart to stop for strangers.”

“He’s not a stranger. I work with him—well, sort of.” She wrinkled her nose, remembering the way Jordan’s hands had felt as he’d tended to her head injury.

“Whatever.” Chris rolled his eyes and bounced back against the seat.

Suddenly, Darci remembered seeing a similar black SUV parked down the street from her and Chris’s place, in front of the blue split-level. The one with a neatly landscaped front yard she envied, and a couple of acres behind it. At least, it looked like the same SUV, with an Honor Student bumper sticker.

Darci pulled up beside the Ford and rolled down her window.

“Hi,” she said. “Need some help?”

Jordan looked sheepish. “Thanks, we’re fine.”

Darci noted he had a little girl—his daughter?—with him. The kid was cute, with long, light brown hair and big blue eyes.

“You don’t look fine,” Darci said.

He shrugged. “I picked up a nail—” he gestured toward the flat “—and, uh, apparently I didn’t maintain my spare tire very well. It’s low on air.” He glared at his cell phone. “And I’m not getting a signal in this spot for whatever reason.”

“Mountains,” Darci said, pointing to the surrounding peaks. “My service comes and goes in the oddest places.”

“Reception’s normally pretty good here.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the weather.”

“Need a lift to the gas station?”

“It’s closed.” He grunted. “Believe it or not, Harry—the owner—took off for the Labor Day holiday weekend to go fishing. You’d think he’d stick around for the tourists coming through.”

“How about the convenience store? They have an air pump, don’t they?”

Jordan’s face went instantly pale, and Darci thought for a minute he was going to pull the same fainting stunt she had done in the E.R. earlier.

“You okay?”

“Not there,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t use the convenience store.”

“O-kay. Oh, wait. I forgot. I’ve got a portable compressor in my trunk.” She’d bought it for the four-hour road trip when she and Chris had moved here. “I’ll pump up your spare for you.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Okay. Let me turn around and park. Be right back.” Once more, Darci drove down the street and found a place to change direction, then pulled in behind Jordan.

A honey locust tree grew near the edge of the curb where she’d parked, its overhanging branches offering shelter from the steady rain. That way she could leave the windows down to let in some air. The rain had turned the August evening muggy. “If it gets too stuffy in here, Chris, you can get out,” she said.

“Can’t I walk home?”

“No. You can wait. Stop being rude.”

“Whatever.” He stuck his earbuds in and slumped down in the seat again.

From her trunk, Darci retrieved the portable air compressor. Compact in size, it plugged into a vehicle’s cigarette lighter. Still, Jordan reached to take it for her as she neared the Explorer. His hand brushed hers, and Darci bit her lip.

“Thank you,” he said. “Michaela and I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” She grinned. “It’s the least I can do to return the favor of you stitching up my noggin.”

He chuckled, and the sound washed over her, much warmer than the rain.

Jordan had lowered the spare tire rack from underneath the vehicle and removed the thick-treaded radial, laying it on its side. While he hooked up the compressor to an accessory adaptor beneath the SUV’s dashboard, Darci clamped the air hose onto the spare. As she straightened back up, she glanced inside the vehicle and frowned. The huge SUV was equipped with enough seats for seven people, yet they were all folded down, except for the two up front. It was as though Jordan Drake and his daughter were the only people who rode in it. Did he have a wife? she wondered again.

The cargo area was practically bare, other than a couple of odds and ends—a small tool box, a pair of kids’ tennis shoes, a rope like the kind you might use on a boat.

Odd.

Why would anyone bother to drive such a big, environmentally unfriendly vehicle if they weren’t going to utilize its potential? Darci realized Michaela was staring at her over the back of the passenger seat, and she smiled at the girl, giving her a small wave. Michaela smiled back shyly and returned the wave with a lift of her hand, then turned to face forward once again.

Darci couldn’t help but notice the scar on the child’s face and wondered what had happened. Had she been in a car accident? Cute kid. She seemed about Christopher’s age.

“Looks kind of bare, doesn’t it?”

Jordan’s voice startled her as he stepped up beside Darci.

She hadn’t meant to be nosy. “No—it—I was just admiring your SUV.”

He gestured toward the folded up seats. “Michaela and I are the only ones who usually ride in it.”

The words were casual, but his voice sounded oddly strained, and Darci couldn’t help but wonder if there was something he wasn’t saying. Just because he and his daughter were the only two who used the SUV didn’t mean he had to fold the other seats down, did it? Darci found the situation odd but shrugged it off.

Jordan crouched beside the Ford to keep track of the air compressor’s progress, watching the attached dial gauge.

It would take a good fifteen to twenty minutes for the tire to fill, and Darci was getting wet. She wondered if she could go back to sit in her car, or if that would seem rude.

After all, Jordan was getting pelted by the rain, too.

“Have you got a jack?” she asked, opting to stay and help. “I can remove the other tire if you want.”

“I’ll get it,” he said, “but you don’t need to stand out here getting wet. I can do it.”

“I don’t mind,” she said.

Jordan went around to the front of the SUV and took a scissor jack from beneath the hood. Returning, he slid it underneath the SUV and crawled after it to adjust the jack’s position, then wriggled back out. Crouching again, he twisted the jack handle clockwise, raising the frame to lift the flat off the ground.

A sudden bang startled her, and for a split second, Darci thought the radial had overinflated and blown up. Involuntarily, she let out a little shriek—just as Jordan flung himself against her, shielding her body with his own.

What the…?

Darci grimaced self-consciously as she realized the loud noise had come from an old pickup truck that had driven past and backfired. Silly her. She glanced up into Jordan’s face, prepared to apologize for shrieking.

He was sweating so profusely even the rain couldn’t hide it. And the fear that crossed his features was so intense….

What on earth?

“You okay?” Darci asked. “It was only a truck backfiring.”

Looking embarrassed, Jordan took a step back. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. Without another word, he turned his attention to removing the flat. “You might as well get out of the rain. No sense in us both getting wet.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Darci sat in her car, pondering what had just happened. Lost in thought, she nearly jumped when Jordan tapped on her window.

“All set,” he said.

Darci got out of the car. He’d already put away his tools and had the cord and hose wrapped neatly in place around her air compressor. She reached for it, but he held it aloft.

“I’ll get it.” Jordan carried the compressor to the back of the car. Darci popped the truck so he could set it inside. “Thanks again,” he said. “I really appreciate your stopping. Guess I’ll see you at the hospital.”

“Yeah, sure.” She watched as he trotted through the rain and climbed into the Explorer.

Belatedly, Darci realized she’d forgotten to tell him they were neighbors.



SATURDAY MORNING DARCI dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots and a dark brown Resistol, and she and Christopher headed for the Shadow S. Stella had more requests for riding lessons than she could handle, considering she also ran a barrel-racing clinic, and had been happy to hire Darci on as her part-time help.

Anxious for her first day on the job, Darci parked near the barn and got out. Even Christopher was in high spirits. He hadn’t been horseback riding on the Shadow S since he was in grade school and had only ridden a few times at the boarding stables outside Northglenn where Darci had worked. He’d gotten to the point where he’d shown little interest in riding at all, and Darci was glad to see him wanting to get back in the saddle.

Over Chris’s protests, she had used some of her savings and taken her son shopping that morning. Leon and Stella had rules, and one of them was: no boots, no riding. A tennis shoe could slip through a stirrup and hang a rider up if he fell. People had been killed that way.

And Darci had insisted her son get a pair of jeans that didn’t bag halfway down his butt. He’d grumbled as if she were sentencing him to jail, but now he didn’t appear to mind wearing the Levi’s and cowboy boots she’d purchased at the local feed store.

Leon was cleaning stalls when they arrived. He wore his usual gray cowboy hat, battered boots, faded jeans and flannel shirt. His silver handlebar mustache made him look like he belonged back in the 1800s.

“Hey, kids!” he called, still thinking of Darci that way. “You ready to start your first day, kiddo?” With one meaty hand, he grasped the shovel he’d been using and leaned it against the side of the stall before shifting his six-foot, three-inch frame into the aisle.

“You’d better know it,” Darci said. “Chris, you make sure you listen to your uncle today or no riding.”

“Aw, he’ll be fine,” Leon said before Christopher could protest. “Help me finish these stalls, Chris, and we’ll be off.”

Chris grimaced. “Me, clean up horse crap? I don’t think so.”

“You want to ride, you help Uncle Leon,” Darci said. “Having horses isn’t all fun and games.”

“I don’t have a horse,” he said, making Darci want to shake him.

“No, but you’re going to ride one—if you help.”

“Fine.” He shuffled over and took hold of a rake.

Darci blew out a puff of air that lifted her bangs, mentally counting to ten. “Listen to Uncle Leon,” she repeated. “Kick him in the butt if he doesn’t,” she added to her uncle.

Leon only chuckled. “He’ll be fine.”

Was she overreacting to Chris’s attitude? Darci wondered. She didn’t think so.

She found Stella saddling a chestnut mare, her short, red hair tucked under her own cowboy hat, the sleeves of her Western shirt rolled up. A short time later, Darci was mounted on the chestnut and in the arena with her first student—a ten-year-old girl named Jodi. The hour-long lesson flew by, and Darci was heading to the office in the barn to get herself some bottled water when another car pulled up outside the stables.

A pretty woman in her mid to late thirties got out and smiled at Darci. She wore boots, jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a quarter horse on it, her strawberry-blond hair caught up in a ponytail beneath a ball cap.

“Hi. I’m Nina Drake. Is Stella here?”

Darci was taken by pleasant surprise. “Nina—I’m Darci Taylor. My son, Christopher, has an appointment scheduled with you for Thursday.”

“Oh, hello.” Nina held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Darci.” She pushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ve been puttering around at the rental stables in town, doing a little riding for relaxation, but I think I need help to hone my skills. I’m here for my first riding lesson with your aunt.”

“Sounds like a plan. Follow me. Stella’s in the arena out back.”

The Shadow S boasted two arenas, the one where Darci had been giving a lesson and one behind the barn. She steered Nina in the right direction, then got her water and prepared for her next student.

By the end of the day Darci was tired in a good way and ready to go home and soak in a hot bubble bath.

She drove on autopilot, chatting with Chris, fully unprepared for what greeted her as she pulled into the driveway of the house they’d moved into just five days ago. Darci stared at the single word of graffiti spray-painted in red across the garage door.

Leave!

Angry tears stung her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. No one besides her aunt and uncle knew what Christopher had done—or at least she’d thought so. The local news had covered the story on all channels, but as a minor, Chris’s name had been left out, both on television and in the newspapers.

But why else would someone paint the word on their garage door?

Who would be so quick to judge her and her son with such hatred? Her landlord would be livid. And here she’d always thought of the little Colorado mountain town of River’s End as peaceful, welcoming.

“Holy crap!” Christopher exclaimed. His face clouded over. “I told you we shouldn’t have moved here.”

Darci only shook her head. She went inside the house and put her cowboy hat on the closet shelf, then changed into a faded old shirt before going back outside. She entered the garage via the side door and rummaged through some boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked, Chris tagging at her heels. Tears stung her eyes. She would not let some stranger’s horrible actions get to her.

“Paint thinner, paint thinner…” she mumbled. Had to be here with the other odds and ends she’d brought with her for household repairs. There.

Darci lifted the container from the box, along with some clean rags and a pair of rubber gloves. She’d have to make a trip to the hardware store and get a can of matching yellow paint to completely obliterate the word. Suddenly she felt angry, and that anger was directed at Christopher.

Her own child had made her life a living hell, and she’d had enough. Every penny of her small nest egg was meant to carry her and Chris along until she had a steady paycheck coming in. And now because of her son’s stupid actions and some hateful vandal, she had to waste money on paint for what had been a perfectly fine garage door just this morning. Who had had the nerve to do this in broad daylight anyway?

Biting her lip to keep her tears and frustration at bay, Darci tossed the rag at her son. “Here. Clean that off.”

“Why do I have to clean it?”

“Maybe because you’re the reason for it,” Darci snapped, then took a deep breath at the stricken look on her son’s face. “Chris, I’m sorry. Christopher!” But he was already pushing his way through the screen door to the house, letting it slam behind him. “Chris!”

He ignored her. Since his father had left a year ago, Christopher had changed from a quiet boy who loved to read, hike and skateboard to a troublesome young man Darci barely recognized as the child she’d given birth to. These past couple of days, he’d seemed more like his old self again, settling in to their new home better than she’d hoped—or so she’d thought.

Silently, Darci berated herself for directing her anger at him. He was still her son. She got to work with the rag and paint thinner. To her surprise, Christopher came back outside with a larger rag in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I just can’t believe trouble has followed us here so fast.”

“It’ll never stop,” Chris said, his face nearly as red as the paint he viciously scrubbed. “I made one dumb mistake, and now—”

“It will stop,” Darci said. It had to, or she’d lose her mind. “We have to believe that. It’s just going to take a little time.”

He grunted. “I doubt that.” He indicated the smeared graffiti. “No one wants us here. We could move to China and everybody would still hate me.”

“No one hates you,” Darci said, wishing she could believe her own words. For one moment, Christopher looked like the little boy she used to cradle in her lap when he skinned his elbow riding his bicycle. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand, and sometimes they react in inappropriate ways.”

“Now you sound like Dr. Kingsley.” That was Chris’s psychologist in Northglenn, who’d referred them to Nina Drake.

“Hey, don’t forget you’ve got me. And Aunt Stella and Uncle Leon.” Darci’s father had left her mother when Darci was a child, and her mother hadn’t been a very good grandmother to Christopher. But then, she lived in California and mostly only saw him on the occasional holiday. Likewise, his father’s parents were too busy with their fishing business for Chris. “Now come on, let’s not let some jerk spoil our weekend.”

Darci worked beside the son she loved, no matter what he’d done. She hated having to uproot him from everything familiar. From the place where he’d lived most of his life…from the people he knew…

The move hadn’t been any easier on her than it had on him. But what choice did she have?

No one in the Denver area wanted a kid in their neighborhood who had taken a realistic-looking gun to school and terrified a cafeteria full of students.




CHAPTER THREE


JORDAN DRAKE SLOWED his SUV as he passed the pale yellow house in the middle of his quiet, tree-lined block. The house had been vacant up until a few days ago, but now a petite woman with short blond hair and a young boy were busy scrubbing what looked like graffiti from the door of the attached garage.

Darci? Unlikely. But as she turned in profile, he recognized her—and that was her little red Chevy parked in the driveway. He’d had no idea she lived down the street from him.

He frowned at the graffiti. They’d already wiped away part of it, but Jordan could make out what was left of the word leave.

What was that all about?

“Dad, someone moved into Mimi’s old house,” Michaela said. “Oh, my gosh, it’s the lady who helped us with our tire yesterday.”

“It sure is.”

“Dang! Someone graffitied her garage door. Who would do that in River’s End?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

Crime happened everywhere.

A sudden thought hit Jordan. When the previous tenant—Mimi Hopkins—had lived in the rental house, he’d painted that very garage door for her. In fact, he and Michaela had done the entire exterior of the house and garage for their eighty-year-old neighbor to help her save a little money. Her landlord had agreed to give Mimi a month’s free rent if she looked after the much-needed paint job.

When his neighbor had moved to the assisted-living apartments in town, Jordan had forgotten all about the half gallon of yellow paint still in his shed. Until now.

He slowed the Explorer and pulled halfway into Darci’s drive. She looked up, then laid down the rag she was holding.

He lowered the window as she approached the driver’s side door, her hand cupped over her brow to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun.

“Hi, there,” she said, then grimaced. “We had an uninvited visitor.”

“So I see. How would you like some free paint to cover that up with?”

She raised her brows. “You have some?” Then quickly added, “I’ll pay you for it.”

“No need.” He shrugged. “I painted this house for the woman who used to live here. I’ve still got about a half gallon of that pale yellow sitting in my shed. I don’t need it. You might as well put it to good use.”

She bit her bottom lip, obviously hesitant to accept his offer.

“Consider it repayment for helping me with my tire,” he said, before she could protest.

“That’s not necessary,” Darci said. “I didn’t expect any payment.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I’ll go get the paint. Be right back.” He raised the window, relishing the air conditioning as he put the SUV in Reverse. This late in the day, and the temperature was still rising. Or was it just the way he felt, being so close to Darci?

Idiot, Jordan chided himself. He hadn’t dated in so long—maybe it was Darci’s pretty, blue eyes and cute smile that was affecting him. Or the vanilla perfume she wore. He’d noticed it at the hospital and again when he’d reacted to the sound of the truck backfiring, pressing his body against hers.

She’d felt warm and soft, her smooth skin damp from the rain. Her blond hair was wet, curling a little on the ends. He’d felt a quick rush of attraction right before it was replaced by embarrassment at his overreaction to the noise.

You’re losing your mind, Drake. Just get the paint.

He told Michaela what he was doing, then walked out to the shed, feeling a strange kind of anticipation at the thought of seeing Darci again.

Chewy ran out of the doghouse to greet him, and he paused to scratch the dog behind one ear. The gallon bucket of “lemon ice” was right where he’d left it last spring, sitting on a shelf along the shed’s far wall. He wondered if Darci had a brush or roller. Probably not. Jordan gathered a paint pan, stir stick, an old screwdriver to open the lid and a clean roller, before heading back outside. He hesitated. A tarp. She’d need one to keep from splattering her driveway. Might as well bring his own along, in case she didn’t have one. He opened the driver’s door of his SUV and reached inside to flip the lever beside the seat, raising the hatch. Jordan placed the paint supplies inside, intending to return to the shed for a tarp. For a moment, he stood without moving, staring at the vast, mostly empty cargo space. His stomach churned as Sandra’s voice came to him clearly in memory.

Let’s get the seven-seater, babe. I want to fill the thing with kids and soccer balls and football equipment and ballet shoes…

He’d laughed at her enthusiasm. Sandra had been brave and optimistic, no matter what life had thrown at her. She’d suffered a miscarriage prior to Michaela’s birth, and two more afterward. But as Michaela’s tenth birthday approached, she’d begun to talk about adopting, quickly catching Jordan up in her excitement. With their daughter growing so fast, Sandra was already dreading the day they’d have an empty nest, and she’d wanted to do something about it.

Jordan slammed the hatch shut.

After her death, he’d folded every one of the five extra passenger seats down, leaving only the two in front for him and Michaela. The only time he raised the other rows was if Michaela had friends along. But afterward he laid the seats back down, not wanting the reminder of what should have been. He’d thought about selling the Explorer, but it was handy in the harsh, snowy conditions winter often brought to River’s End, and for pulling his cabin cruiser. Plus he hadn’t wanted to upset his daughter with yet another change. She and her mother had loved the big, black SUV.

Shaking off his thoughts, Jordan got the tarp and drove back to Darci’s.

Christopher was in the driveway on a skateboard when Jordan pulled back in. The kid glanced his way, then pushed off down the sidewalk. Jordan had barely gotten out of the vehicle when Darci’s next door neighbor—Eileen Hathaway—strode across her front lawn in Chris’s direction. Eileen’s enormous black Newfoundland bounded ahead of the older woman, barking at the boy.

Christopher halted the skateboard and faced the monstrous dog without a bit of fear. The kid’s face lit with a smile, and he reached out to ruffle the dog’s thick fur. The Newfoundland slobbered all over him, lapping at his hands and wrists with a tongue as long and wide as a two-lane highway.

“Saylor, come here!” Eileen called. “You, too, young man!” Appearing not to notice Jordan or Darci, who’d been waiting near the garage, Eileen focused on Christopher as he turned his board around and reluctantly came back her way.

“It is against the law to ride a skateboard on the sidewalk,” Eileen scolded, grabbing hold of Saylor’s collar. She shook her finger at Chris, causing the loose skin above her elbow to jiggle. “I heard about what you did in Denver, and if you don’t stop roaring past my house on that thing, I’m going to call the police.”

Christopher smirked. “Fine.” With some fancy footwork, he popped the board into the air, carried it into the street where Darci’s car was parked, and set it back down, hopping on again. “I’m not on the sidewalk.”

“Christopher!” Darci strode forward but the boy had already taken off.

Eileen turned to glare at Darci. “You need to discipline that boy,” she said, her gaze raking Darci judgmentally. “From what I just heard, a trip to the woodshed might do him some good!” With that, she flounced up the steps, tugging poor Saylor along, and slammed the front door shut behind her.

“We don’t have a woodshed!” Darci called after her, echoing her son’s sarcasm. “Argh.” She pushed one hand through her bangs, whirling to face Jordan. The look of surprise and despair in her eyes got to him. “How did she—” Darci began, then shook her head. “Never mind.” She helped him with the painting supplies as he took them from the cargo space.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Jordan said, wondering what exactly Eileen had meant by her comment. What had Chris done that had the woman so upset? Did it have anything to do with the spray-painted graffiti? “Eileen yells at everyone’s kid. She reamed Michaela out a while back for letting our dog pee on the grass near the curb when Mac took Chewy for a walk. And yet she owns a dog big enough to poop buffalo chips.”

“Yeah, well at least everyone in town isn’t gossiping about your daughter,” Darci said. “Sorry.” She pressed her fingers to both temples. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I’ve got to go find Chris. Thank you for everything, though. I’ll get your stuff back to you later today.”

“No problem.” He waited as she ducked inside the house to retrieve her car keys. “Call me if you need anything.”

There he went again. But she obviously did need someone to talk to.

Darci nodded, then drove off.

Jordan stood for a moment in the driveway, still holding the bucket of paint. He eyed the garage door. Darci had enough on her hands, and he had a little extra time. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to paint the door.

Opening the can of yellow, he stirred it, telling himself he wasn’t doing this because he was attracted to her. He was simply being a good neighbor. It bugged him that he found her attractive and that he’d seen something in Christopher’s expression when the boy interacted with Eileen’s dog. A change in his mannerism that gave Jordan the impression of a nice kid longing for something….

He hadn’t been able to save Sandra from the shooter who’d taken her life. He hadn’t been able to protect his little girl from the injuries she’d sustained that cold December day nearly two years ago, or from the psychological fallout of watching her mother die.

So why did he feel the need to reach out to Darci and Christopher?

Using the roller, Jordan hurriedly painted the section of Darci’s garage door that had been covered by graffiti, going over it a couple of times to make sure it blended into the older paint.

Then he poured the excess paint back into the can, sealed the lid, and left it beside the garage door in case Darci needed it later. He had no use for the yellow and had only kept it in case Mimi needed a little touch-up work.

Folding the canvas tarp, he loaded it and the paint supplies into his vehicle and drove home.



DARCI DIDN’T HAVE TO LOOK far to find Christopher. He was at the skate park a few blocks away, practicing tricks on the half-pipe. The park was located in an area of town that had once been farmland and open country. As more and more construction occurred, the city limits of River’s End had gradually encroached on the wilderness, eating up hillsides of sagebrush and trees, though the town still retained its rural character. It was just no longer the place Darci remembered.

The town had grown by leaps and bounds since her last visit a few years ago. The population had been only six hundred when she was a kid. She’d loved coming here summers to visit her aunt and uncle on their ranch after her parents had moved their family to Denver when Darci was nine.

Which reminded her—she’d invited Stella and Leon over for a barbecue this evening to celebrate the holiday weekend. She needed to get home and paint the garage door, and do some more unpacking so the house would look presentable.

And Christopher was darned sure going to do his share of the work, including the paint touch-up.

He glanced up as she parked at the curb, but kept right on skating on the neon-green board. Darci couldn’t help but notice three other boys about his age with skateboards, hanging around the park’s perimeter. The trio kept looking Chris’s way, as though debating whether or not to approach him.

Darci wished he’d make some friends. If her neighbor knew about what Chris had done at his old school, had other people in town found out, too? Darci swallowed over the scratchy lump in her throat. What had the world come to, when a child could be bullied and harassed over the Internet to the point of being pushed to do something completely outside his nature? Cyberbullying was on the rise, and her son had become just another statistic.

Unfair. Yet they had to deal with it.

Surely Chris would make friends with someone at his new school, someone who wouldn’t prejudge him. He’d enrolled in River’s End Middle School a few days after the school year started, but that couldn’t be helped. Darci had gotten them into the rental house as quickly as possible, once it had become available. She’d also had to wait for Christopher to serve out the four-month sentence the juvenile-court judge had rendered before making big changes in their lives.

At least Chris hadn’t missed out academically, since Darci had been homeschooling him ever since he’d been expelled from North Star Middle School in Northglenn in the middle of the school year.

She’d thought putting him back in the public school system this year would be good for him. The family counselor they’d been seeing in Northglenn had advised it, as had Christopher’s psychologist, both of them agreeing Chris had to learn to make friends again, to fit in with society. Basically, play well with others, Darci thought as she tapped the horn, then motioned for Christopher to come to the car. He ignored her, running the skateboard up and down the cement bowls.

Her patience frayed, Darci got out of the car.

“Chris!” she called, walking over to stand near one of the ramps. “Let’s go. You’ve got work to do.”

“Can’t I stay awhile longer?” Sulkily, he looked at her as he brought the board to a halt. “The garage door isn’t going anywhere.”

“Nope. Work first, play later. Besides, I don’t want people seeing that mess, so come on.”

Grumbling, he got into the car, and Darci did her best to ignore the sneers on the faces of the other kids. She hated having to embarrass her son, but he was the one who’d taken off without permission. Of course, at his age even walking through the mall with her could classify as embarrassing in Chris’s eyes, depending on the mood he was in. She longed for the days when he was a little boy who needed her, and the worst of her worries was making sure he didn’t wander out of sight, or decide to draw a mural on his bedroom wall with a pack of crayons.

He still needs you.

But what had happened to the boy who’d loved to read about Harry Potter and go hiking and horseback riding with his great aunt and uncle in the mountains, happily helping them out in the stables?

“By the way,” Darci said. “I don’t want you mouthing off to Mrs. Hathaway anymore.”

“Why? She’s a nosy old bat.”

Darci struggled for control. “That may be. But she’s our neighbor, and if we’re ever going to fit into this town and have people accept us, we need to show them that we’re nice people who are above pettiness. So be polite to the old bat.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw him trying not to smile. “All right?”

“Okay.” He pulled his iPod from his pocket.

“And it wouldn’t hurt to apologize, either.”

Chris paused, his earbuds halfway to his head. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope. Maybe you can take that big ol’ dog of hers a treat. A peace offering, say some leftovers from our barbecue tonight? I’ll wrap up some cobbler or potato salad or something for Mrs. Hathaway, as well.”

“How about a dose of arsenic. For her, not the dog.”

“Chris, that’s not funny.”

“Why not? Everyone thinks I’m a mass murderer anyway.”

“Don’t you think you’re blowing things out of proportion?”

“Mom, someone painted leave on our garage. Hell-o.”

“Well, you know they’re wrong about us, and I know they’re wrong. Now let’s show them.”

“Fine.”

They reached the house, and as soon as Darci pulled up in front, she spotted the paint can—and immediately noticed Jordan had already taken care of the garage door for her.

“How about that,” Chris smirked. “Guess I don’t have to paint the garage after all.”

Darci knew Jordan had meant well—still, his actions riled her, especially in her present mood. Didn’t he realize she’d wanted Chris to help?

“Go finish writing your report,” she said.

“Thrills-ville.” Chris strode to the house.

While it was nice of Jordan to loan her the supplies, Darci wished he’d simply left the stuff. And to make matters worse, he’d forgotten the can of paint he’d brought over. Now she’d have to face him when she was annoyed with him.

Or was she more annoyed with herself for finding him hot?

The imp in her head was back.

Darci picked up the gallon can and strolled down the walkway, her palms growing damp at the thought of seeing Jordan again, which only irritated her further.

Michaela answered when she rang the bell. She peered at Darci from behind the partially opened door, safety chain in place.

“Hi, sweetie. Is your dad here?”

“Just a minute.” Michaela closed the door in her face, and Darci heard the distinct sound of a dead bolt sliding into place.

What the heck?

She could understand safety precautions, especially having lived in the Denver area, but here in River’s End? Had things changed that much in recent years with the town’s growth? Or had Michaela not recognized her? No, she’d just seen Darci a short time ago.

The door opened again, this time without the safety chain, and Jordan stood framed in the entryway. “Hi there. What’s up?”

“You forgot your paint,” she said, holding out the can.

“No, I didn’t. I meant for you to keep it, in case you need it for further touch-ups.”

“Are you insinuating someone might graffiti my garage again?” Darci knew she was being crabby.

“I hope not,” Jordan said. “I only meant you might need it sometime down the road. Scrapes and dings, peeling paint…” He shrugged. “I don’t need it. Like I said, I got it for Mimi when she lived in your house.”

“Fine. Thank you.” Darci tried not to notice how good he looked in his boots and faded jeans. “However, I wish you hadn’t done the paint job for me. I’d intended to make Christopher do it as punishment.”

“Oh?” He looked curiously at her. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to help.”

Suddenly Darci felt contrite for being short with him. It hit her that he had no way of knowing that Christopher’s actions were behind the graffiti.

“Okay. Well, thanks again for the paint.” Darci could see Michaela hovering behind her father, listening to their every word. Remembering how the kid had bolted the door so abruptly, Darci wanted to put the little girl at ease.

“How are you, Michaela? You know, you don’t have to lock the door next time I come over,” she teased. “I’m not planning to rob you of your silverware or anything.”

Michaela gasped loud enough for Darci to hear. Then she covered her mouth and turned to hurry up the stairs with her cane, clinging to the railing for support.

“Mac!” Jordan called, turning to watch his daughter. When he faced Darci again, his dark eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and irritation.

What had she said?

“I—I’m sorry.” Darci was truly perplexed. “I didn’t mean to upset her. It’s just that she closed and chained the door while she went to get you.” She shrugged. “This neighborhood’s pretty safe, isn’t it? River’s End isn’t exactly the center of crime.”

Jordan’s features tensed. “It’s not as safe as you think,” he said. “See you later, Darci.” With that, he closed the door.

Darci stood there, her mouth literally hanging open.

She wasn’t sure what rattled her more. The fact that she’d somehow upset Michaela, or that Jordan had practically slammed the door in her face. What had she said?

Darci plunked the can of paint down on the porch, turned and headed home.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE LINGERING AROMA of barbecue smoke drifted pleasantly around the patio as Darci sat with Stella at a small folding table, enjoying one last hamburger. At the back of the garage, her uncle Leon shot hoops with Chris, having coaxed the boy into a game of horse after Christopher had wolfed down two hamburgers and three hot dogs.

“You’ve got paint on your nose,” Stella said. “Right there.” She indicated the bridge of Darci’s nose. “What were you painting?”

Darci used a paper napkin to wipe the spot away. It must have gotten there when she put away the paint. “The garage door.” She sighed. She hadn’t wanted to bring up the incident in front of Chris. She’d hoped to enjoy the barbecue and forget that someone didn’t want them here in River’s End. “Somebody sprayed graffiti on it.”

“Taggers?” Stella asked. “In River’s End?” She shook her head. “What’s this world coming to?”

“Not taggers,” Darci said. “Someone painted leave on my garage in big, red letters. Why would they do that, unless they know what Christopher did. And how could they? His name was never on the news.”

Stella squirmed uncomfortably. “Well—um—I might’ve said something about what happened.”

Darci’s jaw dropped. “Who did you tell?”

“Just Lucy Long, down at Trail’s Inn Pizza.”

“Oh, Aunt Stella. You know Lucy talks to Suzanne.” The owner of the local beauty shop was a renowned gossip. “And if you tell Suzanne, you might as well broadcast it over the local news.” That explained how Eileen Hathaway had heard about Chris.

Stella pressed her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Darci. I wasn’t thinking. But I only spoke in Christopher’s defense, which is exactly what I told Lucy—those kids were cyberbullying him.”

Her aunt had a point, but it didn’t excuse Chris’s actions. With his love of horses and Southern-country rock, he hadn’t fit in with the kids at school, not even the other skaters. He’d been teased for the way he dressed, for the music he listened to and for hanging out at the boarding stables with Darci. And the teasing had escalated.

“It’ll blow over,” Stella said. “You’ll see.”

“But what’s next? What if someone damages my car, or breaks one of our windows? Maybe I should get a guard dog.”

“Now, don’t go borrowing trouble.” Stella’s gaze softened as she leaned in close. “I’m sure this was a onetime thing.”

“Yeah, well, I wish I felt the same.” Darci plunked her half-eaten burger down on her plate, no longer hungry. She had gone through hell in Northglenn. She didn’t think she could take another round.

“Everything will work out—you’ll see,” her aunt assured her.

Darci had her doubts. Especially if Chris kept being such a little shit. She watched him hook a shot using fancy wrist work. A grin spread across his face as he shouted playful abuse at Leon.

He was still her little boy.

“You’re worrying too much.” Stella reached out and took both of Darci’s hands in hers.

The familiar scent of lavender drifted over Darci, taking her right back to her childhood, when her aunt Stella could fix anything with a word of encouragement and some chocolate-chip cookies. If only life were so simple now.

“You know what you need?” Stella said. “To do something fun. There’s a horse auction next weekend. Why don’t you plan on going with me and Leon? I’m looking for a few more lesson horses, now that I’ve got you as my partner. You can help me pick ’em out.” She gave a wink, and Darci managed a smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Okay. It’s a date. Chris will have a great time.”

“I just wish I could help him settle in here and get adjusted.”

“Adjusted my tail.” Stella waved the thought away like a fly at their cookout. “He’s a big boy. Let him adjust on his own.”

“Aunt Stella.” Darci could hardly believe her aunt would be so callous. “He’s been through a lot.”

“And so have you. Chris is playing you as sure as he’s playing your uncle in that game of horse.”

Darci’s jaw dropped.

“You heard me. ‘Poor me. Poor Chris. Everybody hates Christopher.’ The boy made a dumb mistake, but he’s done his time, and I’m here to tell you that the sooner you get past all that and let that kid deal with things on his own, the better it will be for both of you. Hell, he’ll land on two feet. Just toss him in the air and see if I’m not right.”

Darci knew Stella’s tough-love approach hid a heart that was as big as the Colorado sky, but still she felt edgy. “I was starting to second-guess my decision to put him back in public school. I wish I could afford to quit work and homeschool him.”

“He’ll be all right. Anything happens, they’ll call you at work. Just like they do any other parent. Let go, Darci. You’re going to start meeting people through your job and through the school. Not everyone will be against you. You’ll see. Getting out there will help you and Chris become part of the community a lot quicker than if you both hide out at home.” She nudged Darci. “Chin up.”

Darci nudged her back. “Okay, Aunt Bossy.”

“Moo,” Stella said, then laughed. “Say, why don’t you leave Chris with me and Leon for a couple of days, since it’s a long weekend? He can go riding tomorrow… help Leon putter around the place a bit. School’s out till Wednesday, right? We can even take him to the fair if he wants.”

The county fair was always held over the Labor Day weekend and ran until the middle of the week. Because so many of the local students were also 4-H members who showed livestock, the kids got an extra long holiday from school.

“That would be nice,” Darci said. Chris used to love the fair and the ranch…not just riding but mending fences with his great uncle. Would he still?

Stella smiled. “We’ll have fun, plus it’ll give you a chance to settle into your house.”

Could she do this? Darci thought. Start over with her new job, a whole new set of friends? She hoped her aunt was right, that she and Christopher would eventually feel welcome here.

“All right,” she said. “Maybe I can get some more unpacking done.”

“There you go. So stop frowning.”

“Sorry. I’m still a little worried. I just wish I knew who defaced our garage. What if a kid does something to Chris at school?”

Stella bopped Darci on the head with a half-full bag of barbecue chips before clipping the rolled top shut with a clothespin. “Like I said, don’t go borrowing trouble, ’cause Lord knows it finds its way to us quick enough.”

As if on cue, a red-and-white mottled dog darted out of nowhere into the backyard and snatched a leftover burger from the plate beside the barbecue grill.

“Hey!” Chris shouted. The basketball hit him smack in the face as Leon bounced it his way, realizing too late that Chris wasn’t paying attention. His nose started to bleed, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he raced off after the dog.

“Christopher!” Darci shouted. But if he heard her, he ignored her. Nothing new there.

She got up and ran down the block after him, calling his name again.

“She’s got puppies,” he said over his shoulder, as if that explained everything.

What on earth?

Feeling every one of her thirty-five years, Darci lagged behind as the mama dog scurried into a yard a few houses down.

Oh, boy.

Her pulse picked up speed.

It was Jordan’s yard, and the dog raced around to the back of the house.

Chris hesitated only a moment before turning up the front walk.

“Christopher Lee, you stop right now!”

Something in her voice must’ve told him she meant business, because Chris stopped and turned to face her, jogging impatiently in place. “Come on, Mom! She’s got pups.”

He’d been bugging her for a puppy when they lived in Northglenn, and she’d pacified him by saying they might be able to get a dog once they moved, if his behavior improved. And she’d told Stella she was considering getting a dog. But a guard dog, not a puppy.

As Darci stopped to catch her breath, Chris opened the chain-link gate and headed up the walk, clearing the porch steps then knocking on Jordan’s door.



JORDAN CHOPPED FRESH cilantro, whistling as the knife thumped against the cutting board. Tacos were his daughter’s second favorite behind pizza, and he enjoyed making them, complete with his own homemade salsa. He was glad Michaela had invited Jenny over for supper and to spend the night. It would take her mind off the earlier incident with Darci.

A knock sounded at the door and he figured it was Jenny. “Michaela!” he called, sliding the cilantro from the cutting board into a bowl.

“I know!” she hollered. She thumped down the steps to the front door and swung it open without the safety chain.

But it wasn’t Jenny’s voice Jordan heard. It was a boy. Ben? Had Jenny’s twin brother come with her for some reason? Wiping his hands on a towel, Jordan started toward the foyer.

“—puppies.”

“How do you know my dog has pups?” Michaela’s voice held a defensive note. “Were you in our yard?”

“No! Your dog stole a hamburger off our grill.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“She did.”

Jordan strode to the door as he recognized the boy’s voice.

“Hello, Christopher. What can I do for you?” He could see Darci, hanging back a few steps from the fence. She was wearing denim shorts and a pink tank top and her blond hair was tousled, as if she’d been running. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she seemed to stir something inside him, but he waved her into the yard. “Darci, what’s up?” Then he noticed Christopher’s nose was bleeding. “What happened to you?”

The kid brushed the back of his hand across the smear of blood. “Nothing. I mean, it’s no big deal. I—uh—wanted to know if I could see your puppies?”

“Well, Chewy’s a little protective of them right now. But you’re welcome to come back when they get their eyes open and start walking around. How’d you know about them?”

“I followed your dog. I could tell she’s nursing a litter.”

“Ah. Sherlock Holmes.” Jordan stepped out onto the porch.

“She came into our yard,” Darci added, standing beside Christopher now. “And she did steal a hamburger. But it’s no big deal.”

“I’m sorry,” Jordan said. “She’s a stray we adopted, so she’s not really trained.”

“So, how long before their eyes open?” Chris asked, his own eyes wide and eager. “I really want to get a dog.”

“About another week. And since you’re the first person to ask for one, I guess that means you get pick of the litter.”

Michaela scowled, and Jordan put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, wondering what was wrong. She was never unfriendly.

“That is,” Jordan added, “if it’s all right with your mom.” He looked at Darci.

“We’ll see,” she said. “Chris, we haven’t really discussed this.”

“Please,” he begged, clasping his hands together.

“I said we’ll see. Now let’s go. Uncle Leon and Aunt Stella are probably wondering where we ran off to.” She turned to look at Jordan. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know. I hope we didn’t disturb you.” She hesitantly acknowledged Michaela, no doubt remembering how she’d upset her earlier.

Jordan knew he should explain, but this wasn’t the time.

“Not at all,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday, Darci.” No long weekends for hospital staff.

“Yeah,” she said. “See you. Bye, Michaela.”

“Bye,” Michaela said, with obvious reluctance. She turned to go inside.

“Hold up a minute, Mac.” Jordan closed the front door behind them. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like them.”

Jordan sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside him. “Why not? You don’t even know them.”

“And I don’t want to.” She chewed her lip. “I talked to Jenny earlier, and she told me what Christopher did—why he had to leave his old school.” She was shaking now, and Jordan grew concerned.

“What did he do?”

“He took a gun to school and threatened some kids in the lunchroom.”

“What? Are you sure?” And then he recalled a story that had dominated the news last year. It was about a twelve-year-old boy who’d taken a replica gun to school and scared a cafeteria full of students and teachers. No one was hurt, Jordan recalled, but people were extremely upset about the whole thing. Understandable after the terrible shootings that had occurred at Columbine High School some years ago.

“That’s what people at school are saying,” Michaela went on. “I don’t want him to have one of Chewy’s puppies.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said. “I’ll speak to Chris’s mom.”

If it really was Christopher who’d threatened his classmates, maybe he’d changed in the months since it happened.

Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Jordan’s first instinct was to protect his daughter, but at the same time, he couldn’t help wonder why Chris would have done something so awful.

He had to have had a reason.

Didn’t he?

So that would explain the graffiti, and why Christopher was seeing his sister Nina, a psychologist.

He wished he could ask Nina about the boy, and knowing he couldn’t left him feeling restless. There was always the good old gossip mill. Shirley, the hospital receptionist, would likely know something.

Then again, he could always just ask Darci.



THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY, Darci awoke early, anxious for the auction. It would be fun to help Stella and Leon pick out horses. She showered and dressed, then went to wake up Christopher.

“Mo-om,” he groaned. “It’s Saturday. I want to sleep in.”

“Nothing doing, buddy. You’re not staying here alone, and you’re not making me miss this auction.”

Christopher covered his head with a pillow. “I’m thirteen, for crying out loud! When are you going to stop making me feel like I need a sitter all the time?”

“When I decide you’ve earned the privilege to stay by yourself. Now get up and get dressed. We’ll have fun.”

But a part of Darci felt guilty as she left his room. Was she being overprotective, not letting her son stay home alone? She couldn’t help it. After all that had happened, she felt she needed to keep a close eye on him. Darci sighed. Maybe Nina Drake could shed some light on the matter. Chris’s first appointment with her on Thursday had gone well. He liked Nina, and so did Darci. She’d gotten to know the woman a little better the couple of times she’d seen her at the Shadow S this week, and had made an appointment to talk with her one on one. Darci had some issues of her own that weren’t yet resolved, and talking to her son’s counselor might benefit both her and Chris.

To Darci’s surprise, Christopher actually had on his boots and jeans when she went downstairs. “Hey, you’re wearing your boots,” she said.

“Might as well. We’re going to a horse auction, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are. Now how about some pancakes before we take off?”

Darci made apple-cinnamon pancakes from a mix, and even got Christopher to help clean up the dishes without too much complaining. Then they were off.

The auction barn was located at the edge of town, not far from the feed store. Trucks and trailers were parked everywhere when they arrived in Stella and Leon’s extended-cab Chevy, towing a four-horse trailer. Leon found a spot just a few spaces down from a familiar black Ford Explorer.

What would Jordan be doing at the horse auction? But there was the Honor Student bumper sticker, and as Darci walked toward the holding pens out behind the auction barn with Christopher and her aunt and uncle, she found herself looking for Jordan.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/brenda-mott/ranch-at-river-s-end/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.