After their first meeting at the airport and the flight back to the ranch, he had been certain that he had her number. In spite of Erika’s tales of a girl who kept the family laughing and a little off balance, the woman was pretty stereotypical for her age group and background. Pressed to describe her the evening before, he would have said she was into the latest trends and fashions, no doubt a slave to shopping, and a woman who hid any insecurities behind either her cell phone or a carefully maintained pose of superiority. In fact there were times when she reminded him far too much of his ex-girlfriend, Cynthia.
The truth was he hadn’t liked Bethany very much on that first meeting. No, the truth was that he’d been disappointed—not selfishly, but for Erika and her fantasy of who her beloved niece was as an adult. Still, after gratefully turning her over to Erika, he had had second thoughts. He kept going back to that look in her eyes. He’d noticed it again earlier on the drive back to the ranch. Her eyes revealed a mind racing along at warp speed, constantly aware of all around her. It was almost as if she expected something unpleasant, and did not trust finding out that there was nothing to worry about.
Curiosity and his innate empathy for the pain of others—even when he really couldn’t define that pain—made him reassess his initial reaction to Bethany. Early that morning after bringing her to the ranch, he’d been eating breakfast in the kitchen, keeping Honey company as was his habit, when he’d decided that perhaps Bethany deserved a second chance.
“What are you looking for?” Honey asked as he rummaged through the catchall closet near the back door.
“Nothing,” he replied at the same moment he spotted exactly the item he’d remembered being there.
“That was your mother’s,” Honey commented when he emerged with a lady’s straw Stetson. She said nothing more, but her eyes locked on his as she continued to knead bread.
“I know. I just thought that maybe—I mean Erika’s niece didn’t know she was coming here—I mean she probably didn’t think about—”
“She’ll need a hat,” Honey said as she snapped open a damp tea towel and spread it over the bowl of dough.
“You think it’s okay then? I mean, I could pick one up when we go to town.”
“It’s already over eighty degrees out there,” Honey observed. “By the time you get to town…” She finished that observation with a shrug.
“Right,” Cody said more to himself than to Honey.
So the hat had been a peace offering, a way of starting over for both of them without stating the obvious, that they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. And it had worked—better than he might have imagined. Maybe Bethany had had some second thoughts, as well.
Either way, the trip into town had started off well. Wedding chatter between the two women, with Cody occasionally managing to get in a word or two, made it easy. But once they’d dropped Erika at the salon, things changed dramatically. The thing that annoyed him most was the way Bethany needed to control everything. To Cody that was a clear indication of someone seriously lacking in confidence.
So how was someone like that going to handle several major social events plus a high society wedding? How was she going to bring to the table all the tact and diplomacy that would be required? His dad didn’t need any hassles, and Erika deserved the wedding she’d been dreaming of all her life. In his eyes, Bethany Taft was not the person to carry that off.
After they’d picked Erika up from the salon and headed back to the ranch, Bethany had become subdued, even withdrawn. Her conversation had consisted of polite responses to Erika’s comments. As they got closer to the ranch, she fell completely silent, staring out the window. He’d also noticed the way she fingered the turquoise beads on her necklace, almost as if they were some sort of worry beads or rosary. She’d had that same tension the night before as he’d maneuvered to land the plane.
“You okay?” he’d asked when they reached the outlying gate proclaiming the entrance to Daybreak Ranch and Erika had gone to open it.
The smile had been as phony as it was the evening before. “Fine.”
At dinner, she seemed to be working overtime at playing the fascinated guest. She was quick. Cody would grant her that. She had apparently realized that the house was Ian’s pet subject and soon had him giving her the entire story behind Frank Lloyd Wright’s deconstruction-of-the-box approach to architecture.
“See,” Ian said with a sweep of his arm to include the sloped ceiling of the dining room that led the observer’s eye straight to the low glass walls surrounding them. “There are no corners—mitered glass makes corners disappear and the low placement of the windows brings the courtyard in. The outside becomes part of the space and the stone cantilevers not only form the mantel for the fireplace but give the building support without being obvious.”
“Brilliant,” Bethany agreed, then looked slightly panicked as she realized that the topic of the design of the house had probably gone as far as she could take it.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Cody had interjected, “I have some unfinished chores.”
His father frowned but said nothing. Erika was clearly surprised but, as usual, found a way to make it all seem like just what she had planned. “Of course, Cody. I’m sure Ian has calls to make and Bethany and I still have tons to discuss and plan.”
Bethany said nothing.
Outside Cody sought the refuge of the barn where the prized Thoroughbred racehorses the ranch was known for breeding were housed. He picked up a grooming brush from the pristine storage area beneath the display of trophies and ribbons and moved down the row of stalls. He stopped at the next to last stall and patted the high solid rump of Blackhawk, a black Arabian stallion.
Blackhawk snorted a greeting and stamped one back hoof. He stepped to one side as if making room for Cody in the narrow stall. Cody began the rhythmic grooming routine, ignoring the fact that not a hair was out of place on the massive animal. Blackhawk let out a breath that warmed the cramped space, then shifted restlessly.
“Easy, big guy,” Cody murmured, stroking the horse’s neck. “Just stopped by for a little company. We’ll ride tomorrow.”
He considered his father’s suggestion that he take Bethany for a tour of the ranch. Ian rarely asked him for anything. Ever since Ty and their mother had died, it was as if Ian was constantly afraid that he might lose Cody, too. In the old days he and Ian had enjoyed debating each other on controversial topics such as religion and politics. No more. These days Ian would occasionally let slip a look of disapproval as he had at the dinner table when Cody rose to leave, but he would say nothing.
Sometimes Cody wanted to shout at his father. “I don’t have cancer and Ty didn’t die of a heart attack or because you said the wrong thing to him. He died because he got buried in snow and couldn’t dig his way out. He died because I wasn’t there to dig him out.”
But this last was never uttered—not to his father, not to anyone he knew, not even to God. It was just there, deep inside, the drumbeat that accompanied him everywhere he went.
He forced his thoughts back to Bethany. If he did take her out to show her the ranch, then maybe the best idea would be using one of the ranch’s off-road vehicles.
“I can’t imagine she rides,” he mumbled.
Blackhawk snorted.
Cody stroked the horse’s mane. “There’s something about the ranch that seems to set her off.”
Having said it, Cody realized it was true. For somebody like her, all city sophistication and highbrow clothes,