Once Tempted (21 page)

“It’s okay. I can talk to him later in the week. I wouldn’t want to interrupt. He might not figure out who dunnit otherwise.”

“Maybe I should go get the letter—”

“No, I’m sure it’s not important.” She paid her bills online, and the bank where she’d set up the fund for
Christopher had her cell phone number and email address.

“What if it’s from—”

“It wouldn’t be. David’s parents have no reason to contact me.” The Bradfords had made it clear they had no wish to communicate with her ever again. Perhaps the letter from the lawyer informing her that David was proceeding with a divorce had found her at last. She hardly wanted to read that and dredge up those painful memories. “How are you, Mom?”

“Chris had a good day. Jay let him play on the computer for a half hour in the afternoon and there were hot dogs at lunch.”

“I know hot dogs are his favorite.” It was useless to point out to her mother that she hadn’t answered Tess’s question about how she was doing. It would only sadden her. Besides, how Chris’s day went did dictate the quality of her own.

“And how are things with you, Teresa?”

“They’re good. You know that couple I told you about, the one I’m planning the wedding for? I found some dresses for the bride and she seemed really excited about them. And I’ve been given a new responsibility as events planner and promoter. They want me to post stuff about the goings-on at the ranch. Today I went down to the barns. I held a newborn lamb, Mom.”

“Your great-great-grandparents were farmers.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Well, your great-grandfather was the second son so he went into the city and got a job in a bank. He and his wife lived in the city. His older brother’s family eventually sold the farm. So this family, the Knowleses, they have many sheep?”

“I don’t know the exact number. It seems like a lot.”

“And they have cows and horses and goats, too?”

“Yeah. I met the goats, too. They weren’t quite as
adorable as the lamb but they were pretty funny. One, her name is Hennie, likes to hit a ball with her head. The goats are dairy goats. And I have to say the cheese they make is delicious. Speaking of cheese, I got Mrs. Vecchio’s recipe from Anna so I’m all set to make my Italian dinner for the chef here. He’s going to love your baked penne.”

“Don’t forget the gorgonzola. It doesn’t have the right pep without it.”

“I won’t. I miss you.” She thought of the banter Quinn and Ward had exchanged, the love they—Reid included—had for one another. There was so much Chris would never know. “Will you tell Chris I miss him, too?”

“Of course.” There was a short silence on her mother’s end. Then she spoke. “Teresa, these people, this place—your papa and I think it’s good you went there.”

Tess swallowed the thick lump of emotion clogging her throat. “Thank you, Mom.”

Ward was in a tack shop on the outskirts of Hopland. He had a fairly long list of items to pick up. Topping it was a dozen saddle blankets that had been woven with Silver Creek wool in a deal his father had negotiated several years ago with Clinton Stiles, the owner of the tack shop, and his sister, Clover, a weaver who owned The Fold in Acacia. Per their agreement, Clover bought wool from Silver Creek at a reduced price and wove a certain number of blankets for the ranch. The rest Clinton sold in the tack shop. Clover used their wool to make other items as well, spinning it into yarn and knitting sweaters and whatever else struck her fancy.

Acacia had an artsy, homespun feel to it; its townsfolk liked the idea of wearing sweaters and scarves from sheep that were raised a few miles down the road. Tourists
got a kick when they heard the wool came from the biggest ranch in the area. Ranch guests bought them as souvenirs.

Normally Ward would have picked up the blankets in town at The Fold, but Clover was away, exhibiting her work at a wool festival in Oregon.

Another item on his list was for Quinn. She wanted him to pick up a new bosal because she’d decided that if Tucker ever agreed to let her on his back she’d try him in a hackamore rather than a bridle with a bit. Ward figured if anyone was going to convince Tucker that humans were worthy of a ride, it would be Quinn.

The vet had cleared Tucker of having any communicable diseases. As soon as she got the green light from Gary Cooney, Quinn had turned the gelding out with Harper and Bristol, two of their mellowest dudes, so docile and laid-back that it was the common joke that all they were missing in life was a sofa, a bag of Doritos, and a bong.

Whenever Quinn passed by, they’d mosey over to the rail for a scratch and tickle and then follow her around the corral, just hoping for some more of her lovin’. Tucker, ever watchful, must have noticed that they had no fear of this human. By now Quinn could stand next to him without him rearing or pawing. Yesterday she’d even been able to apply the ointment Cooney had prescribed to Tucker’s gashes. The progress with Tucker thrilled Quinn.

The autopsy results from the veterinary lab had determined the cause of death for their cow: redwater, a bacterial disease that colonized in the liver and then attacked the other organs. Mature cattle that contracted redwater could be healthy one day and dead the next. The diagnosis had come as something of a shock since they’d vaccinated the herd last spring. But Gary Cooney believed
that perhaps the vaccine had worn off. His recommendation was to move to a six-month schedule for the vaccine. The loss of a healthy cow stung, but so far she was the only one to have contracted the disease. And at least redwater wasn’t infectious like brucellosis or leptospirosis, which could spread to other animals.

Having selected a nice braided bosal, Ward had everything he’d come for, but instead of going to the register to pay up, he found himself in a different section of Clinton’s store. The boot section. The women’s boot section, to be precise.

His eyes traveled along the rows of cowboy boots, their hues as varied as a rainbow, their stitching running the gamut from plain to intricate. He skipped the ones made of snakeskin, ostrich, and lizard. They weren’t made for doing more than showing off on a Saturday night. Besides, he couldn’t see Tess being too happy about wearing snakes.

Aha, that was the boot for her, he thought. A Lucchese with whorls of purple stitching against distressed brown leather. The stitching made him think of the purple nail polish decorating her very pretty foot. The image of it remained fresh in his mind.

He grabbed the boot off the wall. “Do these run true to size, Clinton?”

“Yeah.” Clint nodded slowly. He did many things slowly. “I’ve heard tell they’re real comfortable. ’Course they’re Luccheses, so what would you expect? They’re not cheap,” he warned.

“You got ’em in a size eight?” He’d caught a glimpse of the size of Tess’s high-heeled pump and somehow that piece of information, along with the rest of the things he’d learned about her, was seared in his memory.

“Might have.” He ambled off in the direction of the stockroom.

Ward sat down on the wooden bench, the sample boot in hand, and waited for Clinton to return.

Yeah, these would look good on her, he thought. They were beautifully constructed and in a color just funky enough to appeal to her city girl side. Most important, the intricate stitching didn’t impede their function. And he wanted these boots to be functional.

He realized that he’d begun a campaign of sorts with respect to Tess. And just as he would a business plan for the ranch, he intended to pursue this campaign thoroughly and successfully.

The idea had been born the afternoon she’d shared a few reluctant comments about herself: her lack of a formal wedding; her neighbor’s nasty dog, Caesar the ankle biter; her brother Christopher’s autism. Her admissions had revealed a depth of pain that to Ward seemed all the more poignant for the effort she took to conceal it. Obviously a lot of things that should have been joyous in her life weren’t—he now strongly suspected her marriage had not been the happy union he’d initially believed; certainly her brother’s illness had taken a terrible toll on her family.

The new assignment he’d given her of tweeting and creating a picture board of the ranch on Pinterest fit in neatly with his plan. He wanted to introduce her to the animals that were the heart and soul of Silver Creek.

She’d already come a long way in the past week. The sheep were her favorites. Every day she went looking for Angie. A stunned smile would spread over her face when the lamb would come over. And while she was obviously leery of Tucker, Quinn’s rescue horse, she nevertheless stopped by the corral to see how he was faring.

Despite her professed disinterest, it was easy to see that Tess’s fascination with the animals on the ranch was growing. He intended to nurture that fascination. The next step in his campaign was to get her astride a
horse. These funky purple-stitched boots would forestall the first excuse she’d use: that none of her shoes or boots were suitable for riding.

Knowing her as well as he did, he could guess what her second ride-avoiding attempt would be: a smart-aleck comment about how she’d rather have a car to drive than a horse to a ride. He had an answer for that, too. It was all in the timing, and he was planning with the precision of a general going into battle—because he knew Tess was going to do her damnedest to avoid getting on the back of a horse.

That his mother had orchestrated it so that Tess and he would work together no longer irritated him. He wouldn’t change his mother—not even her matchmaking proclivity—for anything. Besides, he was willing to admit that something about Tess had gotten to him the moment he spotted her behind the wheel of her smoking clunker. She’d been all huge, dark eyes and raw courage, and graced with the softest breasts he’d felt in a long time.

“You’re in luck, Ward. We got a pair in size eight. Good thing, because Luccheses are special orders.”

Clinton’s mellow drawl was as startling as the blare of a sixteen wheeler. Ward straightened on the wooden bench with a jolt. He had no idea how much time had passed while he’d been reliving the sensation of his arm brushing against Tess’s lush rack. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours.

Clinton opened the cardboard box and pulled the tissue paper back for Ward’s inspection. “That’s going to be one happy lady.”

Ward surely hoped so.

Walking along the winding gravel path that led to her cabin, Tess slowed when she spotted the large cardboard
box resting against the cabin’s door. Had Anna mailed her something? she wondered. She’d already sent the blue resin necklace she’d found for Adele—perfect timing since Adele and Daniel were due to leave the next day for South Carolina. They’d be spending ten days with Daniel’s sister and brother-in-law, helping them ready their inn for its grand opening. From there they would fly to Spain for their romantic getaway.

No, the box couldn’t be from Anna. It was way too big—unless she’d decided to send a good-luck cooking pot to bolster Tess’s nerves for the meal she was making for Jeff and Roo and their kitchen staff the following night.

Curiosity had her quickening her pace. Surprise had her widening her eyes. There was no address or stamp on the wrapped brown paper; there was only her first name written in black ink. But she recognized the bold angular script. A flutter of excitement burst inside her.

Ignoring the damp cold of the afternoon, Tess plunked herself down on the stoop next to the box, hauled it onto her lap, and tore open the wrapping. Her breath came out in an “Oh” of astonishment at the box’s contents.

They were fantastic, she thought as she trailed her fingers over the surprisingly soft leather. Admittedly cowboy boots weren’t her usual style, but maybe it was time to branch out and recognize that craftsmanship was craftsmanship. Prada couldn’t have done better. It amazed her that Ward had gone and bought her a pair of boots. She lifted one out of the box and peered at the size stamped inside. Eight. Damn, the man was good.

Obviously she’d have to try them. She’d been planning on changing into jeans anyway. It was cold out and Tess had yet to take her daily picture of Angie, who’d started to have a fan club of sorts among Silver Creek’s Twitter followers. And Reid, when he’d stopped by her
office bearing a much-appreciated cup of coffee, had mentioned that the night before, a sorrel mare (she didn’t admit she had no idea what “sorrel” meant) had given birth.

According to Reid, the foal was a great going-away present for Daniel and Adele. They’d been waiting for this maiden mare to deliver. A newborn foal would make a great addition to the collection of images she was posting on Pinterest.

Boots and box in her arms, she scrambled to her feet.

N
O LONGER CONVINCED
that the animals were determined to stampede her, Tess had grown somewhat more comfortable going down and observing them. She’d even become accustomed to the bustle of the barns in the afternoon, when the hands herded the sheep and young lambs into their barn for the night to protect the young lambs from the freezing night temperatures and predators. Holly and Frank Boone, a married couple who’d worked at Silver Creek for the past ten years and had begun dispensing information whenever Tess was in their company for longer than five minutes, informed her that coyotes had started making a comeback in the area. The thought of Angie or her brother, Arlo (Quinn had named him that), being dragged off by a coyote horrified her.