Rocky Mountain Cowboy (2 page)

And yet, even as he stared into them, she took a deep breath and straightened her narrow shoulders in an attempt to mask the raw pain she didn’t want exposed.

“Mr. Larson.” Her voice was husky and shaky.

“John Red Hawk Larson.” He was relieved he didn’t sound as shell-shocked as he felt. “But just Hawk is fine.”

Jennifer Michelle Fletcher. Home after sixteen years, only to bury her father.
He didn’t need to ask what name she preferred. Tom had always called her Jenny.

“Hmmm— ” She raised her hands and wiped them across her cheeks. Those incredible eyes met his directly as she pointed toward the bedroom door he’d just come through. “Did I miss your knock or did you?”

Her acerbic tone made him smile. He noticed the faint tremor in her hands before she lowered them to her sides. “I thought the room was empty. Sorry, I’m not used to knocking.”

“Obviously.”

The woman definitely had some spunk, he thought with a quiet approval. She’d need it. “What are you doing in here? I thought Eli would have put you in Tom’s room, down the hall?”

Pain flickered back to life. “This used to be my room.”

Now Hawk understood why no one had used this room in all the years he had lived here. He should have figured out why Tom had deliberately left it empty and so obviously feminine. The four poster double bed was covered in a white eyelet ruffled bed skirt and a pale blue and rose comforter. Lace curtains covered the dormer window and the one on the side. An overstuffed rose pink armchair sat by the window. A suitcase was opened on top of it, and an assortment of teddy bears lounged against the ruffled pillows on the bed. The room itself was similar to his across the hall, minus the feminine accents.

Jenny saw where his eyes wandered. “I guess Daddy saved a lot of my old things.” The break in her soft voice betrayed her pain again.

Hawk nodded absently. “Eli said you got in last evening,” he stated on the way to the closet where he’d last left his suit. Pulling open the double louvered doors to the little walk-in room, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Was it a hard drive?” Inside, he noticed that she had hung up some of her clothes next to his. “Seems flying would have been easier.”

When Hawk re-emerged, he was carrying a black three-piece suit and a highly polished pair of black cowboy boots. The suit had been recently returned from a dry cleaner and it was covered in a clear plastic bag, with a receipt still stapled at the top.

Jenny finally realized he had asked her a very logical question, one she had already answered for Eli. She also realized that she was caught in one of those rare suspended moments in life when you’re thrown an unexpected curve ball. Well, maybe not so unexpected, after all. She had known that John Red Hawk Larson was a remarkably handsome man. He had been pretty darn good-looking as a teenager, and she’d been adolescent enough to notice it. Tall and well-built, dark-skinned by heredity and occupation, with chiseled features, and exceptionally noticeable blue eyes, he was a man any woman would stop and look at, probably more than once. Her father had shared many photos of the two of them together over the years, so she should have been prepared for his handsome-as-sin looks.

“So why didn’t you fly?”

She shook her head slightly, clearing it. “I needed time to think. And I want to stay awhile.” She caught his gaze and held it. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” He met the challenge in her eyes with a crooked half-smile. “Tom wanted that. But aren’t you exhausted from the drive? Eli said it was straight through.”

“I brought a friend. He drove more than half of the way.”

He raised a dark e
yebrow. “Musta been crowded in that fancy ‘Vette— suitcases an’ all.”

His natural western drawl was so like her dad’s, she felt her lips curving into a faint smile. Cowboy talk; short and sweet, not too many words or complications. In her world, people talked too much, never saying anything very significant or very honest.

He looked toward the door to the hallway, maybe expecting
the friend
to walk through it. “I told Eli to put Peter in Daddy’s room. I can’t go in there… yet.”

Grief watered her eyes and turned her away, toward the bed. Hawk watched her sit down on the edge and demurely adjust the hem of her kimono over her thighs. He smiled to himself. Apparently, she didn’t flaunt that curvy figure, not like one woman in particular he knew he’d see later, at the funeral.

“Any idea how long you’re stayin’?”

She shrugged, not looking up. “Maybe just long enough to settle Daddy’s... Well, to take care of whatever needs taking care of.”

Tom had created a will not too long ago and discussed with Hawk what he wanted for his daughter and his ranch. That recollection made Hawk wonder if Tom had known then of his bad heart and simply kept it to himself in order not to worry anyone. That would have been so like him. Hawk was pretty sure that Tom hadn’t told his daughter about the will. It would only have made her wonder if something was wrong. Regardless, he would do all he could to see Tom’s wishes fulfilled. How much of a challenge that would be remained to be seen.

“About the services....”

“Everything’s been taken of.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, looking at him at last. “Be sure to let me know the expense.”

“I paid all the medical and funeral expenses from our operational accounts. Don’t worry about them.”

“Nevertheless, I want to help cover the expenses.”

“We can go over the accounts with the attorney in a couple of days.” He didn’t want to discuss the cost or legalities of Tom’s death right now, and she looked like she didn’t either, so he headed for the door that led to the only full bathroom in the house, which adjoined her bedroom. “Well, I better shower and get dressed,” he stated. “We’ve got to leave here in half an hour.”

Just as he reached for the knob, the bathroom door was opened and an unfamiliar male head popped out. Hawk wondered if this was ‘the friend’. In his late twenties or early thirties, he was dressed only in a towel. Bare-chested, he was of medium height and build, dark blonde hair, perfectly tanned skin. Hawk supposed he was fairly good-looking. Was this her boyfriend? He couldn’t remember Tom saying she had one.

“I’m going to take a shower now, babe,” the guy announced.

“Peter.... ”  Jenny raised her voice to try to stop him, but he quickly disappeared behind a shut door without even noticing the man standing beside it. “That was Peter Mason,” she explained with an apologetic expression. “He’s a co-worker and friend.”

Hawk nodded.

“We work for the same firm, and we do some small-scale fashion designing on the side,” she elaborated. “We’re kind of business partners, I suppose you could say.... We’ve known each other since college.” She was haltingly trying to explain her relationship with the guy. It seemed to make her nervous. It made him curious, but he didn’t pursue his curiosity. He’d save his questions for a better time.

He nodded. Giving the closed bathroom door a regretful last look, he turned to leave. He could hear the water running. “Guess I’ll take a shower at the bunkhouse,” he announced. “We’ll take my truck. There’s room to ride into town together.”

“I’m sorry about your shower.”

“Not your fault.” With a brief nod, he smiled, then left.

CHAPTER 2

There were close to three dozen people at her father’s funeral. Friends and neighbors, they stood in a semi-circle around the casket. Standing between Mr. Larson and Eli Banks, Jennifer Fletcher listened to the priest recite the Lord’s Prayer. Peter Mason and the other two men who worked
at the ranch stood behind her.

A cold gust of wind blew over the crowd. The black veil on her hat fluttered in the breeze. Dressed in a cropped
, tailored, black jacket and matching pencil skirt, black heels and stockings and matching leather gloves, she wished she had brought her coat. She felt ice cold. It hadn’t rained, which ended up being a blessing. But the dark clouds posed a continued threat, blanketing the mountains, the valley, and the sky.

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, causing everyone to look up and assess the approaching storm. There was no lightning yet, but it would inevitably arrive. Midday rain storms descended on the Rockies frequently from late spring through early fall. Normally, they didn’t last long. They just blew in fiercely, subjected everyone to a quick downpour, then departed on the wind, leaving fresh clear blue skies
most of the time.

Everyone had just come from the service at the church— a requiem mass for her father that had included a very touching eulogy delivered by Mr. Larson. In the front pew, watching and listening to the man
at the lectern, Jenny heard how much he had loved her father. The sheen of tears in his eyes testified to how much he was going to miss Tom Fletcher. He’d spoken of their long friendship and their six-year partnership. She had envied him those years with Tom. They had been as close as father and son. As close as she and her father had once been, before her selfish callow mother had stolen her life.

Tom had only been fifty-eight. A week ago, she had talked to him on the phone.
Last month, they’d been together at her beach house in Santa Monica. Though they’d lived over a thousand miles from each other, they’d kept in touch regularly. Lots of letters, phone calls, and visits in California. Tom had never shown any sign of a bad heart.

Or had she been too caught u
p in her work to see any signs?

When she had received that first phone call from Mr. Larson
four days ago, he’d been following her father’s ambulance to the hospital emergency room. She’d been called out of the studio where she’d been working. She’d waited for an hour in an empty lot trailer for the second phone call, praying desperately and crying. The news had been devastating when it had finally come.

Jenny didn’t remember much from that point on. Apparently Peter had driven her home and packed her clothes. They’d left for Colorado the next morning.

She’d insisted on going to the funeral home not long after arriving, and had the director open the casket, even though Mr. Larson had asked it be kept closed, even through the services. Jenny had mixed emotions about that. She wanted to remember Tom as she’d last seen him, alive and vital. But she’d also needed to know he had really died, because part of her was desperate to believe it was all just a terrible nightmare.

It
had all been so incredibly unreal— until the moment she’d gazed at her father’s lifeless body. Then she’d nearly collapsed from the stark reality that he was never going to smile at her, laugh with her, hold her, comfort her, walk her down the aisle at her wedding, or hold her first child. He was never going to be there for any of the things she’d always thought he would be there for one day. At that moment, she’d wanted to die herself.

And amid the grief, guilt was eating away at her, telling her that she’d been thinking only of herself all these years. She should have come home sooner, at least after college. If she’d been here helping Tom, maybe he would have lived longer. Maybe she would have seen his failing health. Ranching wasn’t easy. With a weak heart, it would have been enormously taxing. It had been unforgivably selfish to think only of all the anguish she’d suffered when she’d been torn away from her home and her father all those years ago. She’d always been so certain that she couldn’t face those painful memories again. She’d lived in self-imposed exile. She should have been thinking more about Tom. He’d always accepted her choice to remain in California, but dammit, she should have come home sooner, dealt with the memories and the pain!

When you were young, there always seemed to be so much time ahead of you to rectify things. She’d put aside the painful decisions and ignored her heart’s true desires. Fear had ruthlessly ruled her emotions. Now the only thing she’d come home for was to bury her dad. She might as well be burying her heart! The candle in her window had gone out. She felt like that little twelve-year-old girl who had stared out the rear car window all those years ago, watching her father disappear in a cloud of dust.

The wind was picking up, and a rain-scented gust nearly blew her hat off. She reached for it and shivere
d. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d long ago given up trying to stop them. How was she going to live with the terrible fact that it had taken her father’s death to bring her home? How was she ever going to forgive herself?

Anguish nearly made her fall to her knees. Then the prayers of the priest standing at the head of the casket finally penetrated a small part of her brain. They reminded her that her beloved father was in paradise with God. She felt so certain of the fact that she was abruptly filled with unexpected peace. Tom Fletcher had been a good man, a compassionate man. A man of integrity. He’d been caring and generous. He had been well-loved and well-liked by many of these people at the service.

He’d left behind a brokenhearted daughter and a grieving friend who would never ever forget him or stop loving him, and in the end, she had to admit most of her grief was for the empty place in her life Tom’s death left. Right now, she couldn’t imagine anything or anyone filling it.

Strangely, though, the man beside her was helping her cope with it. She hadn’t expected that. He had been protectively by her side from the moment they’d left the house, lending her quiet support and comfort, even his arm whenever she needed it.