Chapter 33

Three hours in a closed truck, with a moody cowboy.

Oh, he’d talked to her, finally, after she’d asked him so many questions, he probably felt he had to. And while he’d been relating things, it had felt nice, like togetherness. Even companionable.

He’d told her all about their district, Dawson Ridges, the town of Dawson itself, and of Golden too. Another place, not so far away, but another little town full of people they loved and connections they had, from over the years. He’d mentioned the names: Olivia, the mayor. Misty McConahee, the septuagenarian who knew everything and everybody, and considered it her business to sort all their lives out. His good friend, Forrest, ex-military, now living close to nature, too. Though he’d chosen to continuing serving in the reserve, as Cole had.

It seemed though, that with that last mention, he shut down again, quickly. She didn’t get it. Seemed like he had an axe to grind, with someone.

Probably her.

So besides the incredible vistas that constantly delighted her, thoughts about her future also assaulted her. They were speeding toward it. What would she find?

Cole’s gruff voice interrupted her as the radio repeated the same Canadian Tire commercial again. “Turn that off, will you?”

“Want me to find something else? Or…”

“No point. Next bend’s the ranch.”

All her worry gathered in her throat, in one big lump. What a stupid, bad decision she’d made. Heading fast to a bunch of people who didn’t know her, in a province she also didn’t know. With very few resources, if she had to leave suddenly. With a cowboy she needed to stay away from.

Yeah. That’d been brilliant.

When they passed the last bend in the Trans-Canada Highway and pulled off onto a smaller road, the foreboding overwhelmed. The roller coaster ride was starting. And her muscles were screaming from sitting in a vehicle for way too long.

A few more miles and the road was different again. Narrower, but direct. They drove down a valley, up another hill, and around one last turn as Cole accelerated. Then there it was, up ahead. She heard the unmistakable energy in his voice. “We’re home.”

She rolled the window down, and the sweet air rushed by them into the cab. The vivid green of countless trees flew by. Garry Oaks mixed with stately pines as the road hurtled them toward the ranch.

And what a sight, as they finally emerged into the clearing. The silhouette of the Rockies in the distance, pale grey against the hazy sky. In front of them—Cole’s home. The entrance was flanked by two rough hewn poles with a sign over it, twin willows on one side. It proclaimed the name of the spread, though it wasn’t fancy at all. Just simple.

Dawson Ridges.

A western Canadian ranch lay before them. Cole had already told her what they did. They raised cattle and kept horses, were dabbling with getting into the equine world in a bigger way. They grew forage crops. In the distance, other buildings peeked from among the trees. A forest grove, thick, circled the perimeter protectively.

And set in the midst of it all, was the biggest, most crazily sprawling two-story ranch house she’d ever seen.

Her hands clenched in her lap.

“There’s Ma.” Excitement coursed through Cole’s voice. The truck’s tires crunched on the gravel, came to an abrupt stop.

A woman, middle-aged yet lithe, emerged from the ranch, and ran toward them, accompanied by a trio of dogs that seemed like many more. She met her son with all the anticipation a long-lost relative, gone for decades, would normally bring.

“Son.” They slammed into each other as she threw her arms around him.

Cole hugged her back, a complete, full-body, wrap-around hug. As if she was precious, and he was going to protect her no matter what. It tugged strangely at her heart. Moments later, he turned his attention to the dogs.

“Baxter! Hey, John QT, whatcha doin’, boy? Roger.” And he was down on the ground with them, his knees in the dirt, while they yipped and yapped and wiggled out of their collective skins in joy. A pug, a wolfhound, and a very furry kind of dog. All crazy excited.

But she hadn’t gone unnoticed. After a few more seconds watching her son and the dogs, the woman turned to her. There was a very real smile on her face.

“Tabby?” Upon getting her nod, Molly Dawson had eyes for no-one else, and Tabby felt strangely seen. Almost shrunk from the odd, yet inviting sensation. “Welcome.”

The way she said it, it sounded like Tabby was royalty. The feeling orbited through her, spun. She gave in to it. As if she really, actually belonged. “Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

The delight that spread on the woman’s face about leveled her. “Well, come here then. I can’t introduce you to Cole’s grandparents, just at the moment, as they’re travelling. Or my husband, as he’s decided to land himself in Toronto for an all expenses paid vacation. Big fake. But I’m here. Molly Dawson. Let’s have a hug.”

A welcome, woman to woman. And damned if she didn’t feel strength transferring to her from the older woman’s strong embrace.

But others were pouring from the house. Laughter and hugs, teases and good-natured rebuffs filled the air. She caught the names, Krys, Aggie. Hands? Talk of Mason, Lucas, Dane and Jared, brothers that were currently absent, but important just the same.

“You’re Tabby?” Aggie, russet hair tumbling to just shy of her waist, grinned at her. “Hey, if you can work with my brother plus get along with him, I need to know your methods. We need to talk.”

A more contained, quiet welcome from Cole’s other sister. Krys was sleek, her straight blond hair as much a part of her as her serious expression. “Nice to meet you.” But she turned from Tabby immediately, went back to her brother. All normal in itself, but there was something. Something.

Was her makeup okay? Tabby’s hand reached for her face without thinking. Felt the bumps, the familiar slide of the concealer. No, it wasn’t that.

She couldn’t put her finger on it. But his sister had been short with her somehow, and there’d been a look. What writers called micro-expressions. She’d made her mind up about her…already?

Ben, Cole’s younger cousin, a lanky twenty-three year old, just grinned, pumped her hand. “I see good looks run in the family,” Tabby said. That earned her a shy smile.

And then an older man emerged from the ranch house. He was Oriental, wearing yoga pants with an immaculate white t-shirt. He had a trendy apron tied around his waist done in a stiff black fabric with black and white pinstripes, almost elegant, despite being punctuated with flour marks. He headed straight for Cole, his welcome subdued in comparison to the rest of the family’s, but somehow, incredibly deep. “Good to have you home, Master.”

“Dax.” Cole grabbed his hand, shook it heartily, then pulled him in for an intense hug, which the older man also returned, with one massively strong arm. Then he turned to her. “This here’s my friend, Tabitha Grey, the one I told you about.” He gave him an appraising look. “You got any of your amazing sweet potato pancakes for her?”

Dax smiled, but not before his dark eyes narrowed ever so slightly. And the tiniest bit of tightness around his mouth.

But his words were gracious. “Welcome. Yes. Lunch and the pancakes will be ready soon.” He turned to Cole. “But the main course today is cream of leek soup. Grilled macaroni and cheese sandwiches later. How’s that?”

Cole grinned at her. “See what I mean? Tell her why it’s all so damn good, Dax.”

Dax addressed her, but the dark eyes still didn’t give anything away. Though at least he was more at ease. Sure of his place? She was even more aware…she had none here. “My secret ingredients. Always. Today? A bit of brewer’s yeast for flavor, in the soup.”

Finally, he spoke right to her, and his expression opened wide, just for a flash. And that flash, somehow, pulled her in. Along with a real grin this time. “Sound good?”

“Good? It sounds like I’ve landed in epicurean heaven.”

Aggie practically hummed as she beamed at Tabby. “Later you’ll be in cattle ranch heaven when Dax makes his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Fresh pie tonight, I think. Cherry, I hope. You like pie, right, Tabby? Cole might have let something slip about it.”

“Mistress spins a lot of tales. Good food isn’t hard to prepare. You just have to listen to it, follow its rules. Then it rewards you.” Then the reserve was back. “Perhaps you’d like to clean up from your journey, Miss Tabitha, and then join us in the kitchen? I’ve had a room made up for you in one of the smaller cabins.”

But the way he stared at her, looked at her, suddenly, she felt known, too well. Disturbingly so. This Dax—whoever he was—knew more than he let on. And could tell, she’d bet, how badly she wanted to get away.

And did he want her gone too? Maybe, as the one charged to feed them, she was a threat. Cole said he’d taken the prop job to pay critical bills. Underlined the critical, with the emphasis in his voice.

Ugh. And here she was, on their doorstep.

But she shouldered those thoughts, tucked them away, did her best to be friendly, take it all at face value. You’re a writer. Stop spinning tales, looking for suspense. Villains, couched in goodness. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

“Dax, a cabin? No.” Cole’s mom shook her head, vehemently. “There’s room for you upstairs, as long as you need to…” Molly coughed . “…um, want to stay. Come on, hon. I’ll show you to it.”

Suddenly, everything swirled around her. Need to stay? What was that about? The scene colored in front of her, turned grey.

And upstairs in the family home? All these people that she didn’t know. No.

No, no, no.

She was drowning. “No. Not in the house. Please.”

Molly blinked. “Is something wrong?”

Damn, she was messing up already. Now they’d know she was different. Why couldn’t she just relax? Accept the kindness that was given her…

Then, Cole’s hand cradled her elbow. Firmly. “Ma, remember I told you she’s a writer? She needs a private place. Just like we talked about. Right, Tabby?”

They hadn’t talked. At all. Gratitude rushed through her. “Yes. Exactly. That’s it.”

“Okay, well, whatever makes you feel best, hon. Dax is right, as usual. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we’ll eat.”

“Hey, we’ve got to get the cat. She’s Tabby’s kitty, but we saved her together.” Amid oohs and awws and the questions that flew at Cole, Sheba, in her cage, was lifted out from the back seat of the truck. She spat at a couple of them, earning more praises.

Aggie tussled to grab the cage from Cole. “Give her to me. I’ll put her upstairs in one of the bedrooms until we figure out where you’re staying. What a darling.” She hugged the cage and Sheba close. “Let’s get this munchkin inside.”

Dax too, curiously, honed in on Sheba, seemingly not seeing anything else for the moment. “I’ll round that one up something good to eat. Get some meat on her.” He smiled at Aggie. “Real food. Maybe some of that beef stew from last night. I’ve got leftovers…”

Something pinged in Tabby. Seemed that man, for all his proper, almost uptight demeanor, was determined to take care of strays. Melted toward them. Like the whole damn gang at Dawson Ridges.

She may just have landed somewhere decent—the crazy thought blazed through her mind. Maybe not her family, not her home. Maybe she was just a stray to them too. But still maybe, in time. Might she? Belong?

The front door of the ranch house opened. A woman emerged, walked out onto the wooden boards of the porch. Though, Tabby thought, walking was so not the description for what she did. At all.

The woman…flowed. Sashayed. Strutted her stuff. Moved so gracefully, yet Tabby couldn’t peel her eyes from her. She was mesmerizing. In a denim shirt and jeans that it looked like she’d been generously poured into—a work of stunning country art by some master—the woman stood, the wind rustling her long, red tresses, and waited, right at the front stoop.

“Raine’s here?” That was Cole. Was that irritation or worse—a wisp of anticipation in his voice?

“Heard you were back today. There’s nowhere else she’d be. You know that.” Ben, their cousin, currently working on the ranch with them, piped up.

And indeed, once they reached the porch, the woman had eyes for no one else. She stood in the center, right at the first step. She let Cole come to her, and he had no choice but to meet her where she stood. She was confident. As if no one would deny her.

And once he stood in front of her, she gave him a hug.

Well, Tabby thought. If that was just a hug, then poor, plain her was a living, breathing Rembrandt.

The woman enveloped him, and indeed, for a scant second, it looked like they’d become one massive creature, fused. Lovers. Impossible to tell apart.

Tabby’s breath stalled. Cole was being swallowed up by the woman, and worse, he’d walked right into the hug. Without protest.

Abruptly, it was over, and they were two separate entities again. The woman addressed the group, and Tabby noticed, she didn’t even see her. “Thank you all for your hospitality this morning.” She nodded, specifically at Molly and Dax. “Gotta get going. Lots to do at the Lazy Six. But you,” she turned to Cole. “I’ll see you again soon, sugar.” And off she went.

They entered the foyer. Cole dropped his duffel and Tabby’s bags. “What was she doing here?”

Krys spoke up. “Raine’s been calling for you, big brother. Every day.” A smart-ass grin flashed on her face.

“This is true,” Aggie agreed. “The Ms. Gradney is one woman who definitely knows what she wants.”

“And has the…shall we say resources? To back it all up.”

Curiously, Cole’s face reddened a couple of shades. “Let’s just get some of Dax’s good food in us before we get into the heavy business, okay? We’re starved.”

“Sure, big brother.” But Tabby didn’t miss the look that crossed between Krys and her sister. A sense of foreboding rose in her.

Raine Gradney? Tabby had no designs on Cole. Hot, sweaty, crazily explicit midnight dreams aside—along with the tuggings of an impractical heart—told her firmly that she had to keep her distance from the man. And she meant to keep to that good sense. Which meant she had no designs at all.

But something told her she’d better keep a tight eye on a Ms. Raine Gradney, nonetheless.