Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Ranch
Bowman parked the truck outside the front of my childhood home—a home that hadn’t felt like much of one since my mother had died several years earlier.
It had been so long since I’d been here.
I always made an excuse so I didn’t have to come home and relive the best and worst times of my life. So I didn’t have to replay the fights I’d had with my father over and over.
I swallowed down bitter thoughts and shadows of times when I’d once been happy. Sometimes I wondered if my mother had lived, would I have learned the art of temperance? Would I have learned to think before acting? Or was I wired to lead with emotions first and always?
Bowman climbed out of the truck, while I sat there in the passenger seat. “You coming?”
“Yes.”
I made no move to get out.
Bowman came around to the passenger side and opened the door and waited. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He already knew.
“Some homecoming,” I murmured before I could stop myself.
“Won’t get easier staying in the truck.”
“I know,” I admitted. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
I inclined my head and handed him the pastry boxes that rested on my lap. He took them, and then I hopped down. I gathered the brown bags Mr. Bixby had given us, and then shut the truck door.
The sound of it echoed in the quiet afternoon.
With heavy footsteps and an even heavier heart, I marched toward the porch. Muddy boots and shoes rested on the mat just to the side of the door.
I set the bags of food onto the porch. “Boots off,” I said, removing my shoes.
Bowman didn’t complain as he set the pastry boxes down, and then took off his boots. He set them next to mine.
It was inadvertent and it meant nothing, but something about them lined up next to each other made it look like they belonged together.
With exasperation, I shook the thought aside.
This place.
It was this place making me think things like our boots looked good together.
Four Border Collie Australian Shepherd mixes dashed up the front porch steps, their nails clacking across the wooden planks.
“You have dogs,” Bowman said with a smile.
“Ranch dogs,” I said. “Herding dogs.”
Their noses nudged the pastry boxes and brown bags in excitement, but their tails went crazy when Bowman bent down to give them some affection.
“What are their names?” Bowman asked.
“Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy,” I said. “After the characters in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”
Because they were working dogs, they quickly lost interest in us and bounded off the porch in search of more amusing companions.
I reached for the handle and turned the knob without bothering with a key.
“They don’t lock the front door?” Bowman asked in surprise.
“No,” I said. “Not usually.”
There was nothing to steal. Pictures, gingham curtains, cast iron.
There were only memories here.
The house smelled like bacon grease and familiarity. Half-drunk cups of coffee were in the sink. Dishes with forgotten food were on the table.
It was as though our whole family had gotten up from the table one night and left; just moved on to a new place and time.
But the house itself was a time capsule.
“You grew up here?” Bowman asked. The awe in his tone had me looking over my shoulder at him.
“Yeah.”
“God damn, you were lucky.” His eyes feasted, gorging themselves on every nook and cranny. He walked into the den, pastry boxes still in hand. He saw my grandmother’s patchwork chair and the fireplace.
“What was it like where you grew up?” I asked, taking the pastry boxes from him and walking toward the refrigerator.
“Not like this. Nothing like this. I was lucky to get clean sheets.” He shook his head. “Wow, Powell. This isn’t what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?” I asked in confusion.
“I don’t know. You hear cattle ranch and you start thinking of haciendas and huge windows. This is . . . this is . . .”
“Homey,” I finished for him. “It’s homey.”
“Yeah, and not at all showy.” He looked at me. “I was wrong about you.”
“Wrong about me? How?”
“The night we met. The clothes you wore. I knew you came from money. So I was expecting . . . not this.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that so I said nothing and began cleaning up the kitchen. Bowman helped, bringing me plates and wiping down the table. But he didn’t move the papers that were haphazardly strewn about.
“I’ll show you where you’re staying,” I said. “Oh, our luggage is still in Hadley’s car.”
“They’ll be back with it at some point.”
“Right,” I said, suddenly realizing we were alone. “Well, let me show you the upstairs.”
The second step from the bottom of the staircase squeaked.
“God, you even have a squeaky stair,” Bowman said with a chuckle. “This is great.”
I couldn’t help the smile that blossomed across my face. His enthusiasm for something I’d always taken for granted made my heart happy, though I couldn’t say why.
When we got to the second floor, I went to the linen closet and grabbed two sets of sheets. I opened the door to Hadley’s bedroom.
I set down the sheets with the tiny rosebud pattern, deriving joy from the visual of the big, masculine bull rider sleeping on something so dainty and feminine.
Bowman looked around, taking it all in.
“There’s the bathroom,” I said, pointing to another door. “We share it, so just make sure you knock before you enter.”
“Can I see your room?” he asked.
“My room? Why?”
“Curiosity.” He shrugged. “I promise I won’t throw you down on the bed and ravish you. Unless you want me to.”
“Behave,” I warned.
He grinned. “So, can I? See it?”
“Sure,” I said, my heart beating in trepidation.
We walked through Hadley’s room into the bathroom. The counter was devoid of personal products. No make up, no lotion.
She didn’t live here. She lived with Declan in our family’s guest cabin. And she was expecting a baby. Our lives were so different now.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Bowman said as I just stood there, looking in the mirror.
“Just a penny?”
“Twenty-five cents—adjusted for inflation.”
My mouth quirked. “They’re maudlin. Not worth talking about.”
“You’re sad. Aren’t you?” He cocked his head to the side. “I mean on a deep, deep level.”
I turned to him and gently placed my hand on his chest.
His eyes widened in surprise at my voluntary touch. “What are you—”
“Tour’s over,” I grumbled, shoving him back toward Hadley’s room. When he was clear of the doorway, I closed the connecting door and locked it.
He knocked on the door. “Hey, I have to use the bathroom!”
“There’s one in the hallway and another downstairs,” I called back. “And there are a few trees out back. Take your pick.”
I went into my bedroom and made up the bed, wishing I was anywhere but here.