“Okay. Give me a minute to pack up.” She went into the bathroom for a few things, then stuffed some other necessities into the duffel bag. “All set.”
“Not quite.” Jake reached into the pocket of his shearling coat. He pulled out a small black velvet box.
Her rings. How could she have forgotten about her rings?
A flurry of emotions ran through her, confused her. Regret, excitement, everything in between.
Then Jake flipped back the lid. Her diamond caught the light and flashed. An odd, uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach.
“An important part of the costume,” Jake said, his tone almost light.
Her tongue seemed frozen. “Yeah,” she managed.
Jake took the engagement ring and matching wedding band out of their cushion. He held them in his palm.
She held out her own hand, palm up. Jake deposited the rings into her hand.
Without touching her.
Yes, her marriage was definitely over, Taylor thought. Well and truly dead. But that would make the next week easier. Oh, there might still be a physical spark between them, some strange force drawing them together, but on an emotional level there was nothing. Big old nothing.
Slowly she closed her fingers around the rings, pretending to herself that hiding them would make this easier. She certainly didn’t have the strength to put them on again, not yet.
Jake watched her for a long, excruciating moment before picking up her bag. “Let’s go get you some clothes.”
Taylor stared through the windshield of Jake’s truck as they rounded the last bend in the drive and the ranch buildings came into view.
She couldn’t believe she was back.
But here she was, back in Montana. Back at the scene of the most turbulent point in her twenty-two years.
The place looked so different, she thought. The tall grass and wildflowers were gone, obscured by a blanket of snow, and smoke curled from every chimney in the compound. The snow made the rugged Montana landscape seem even more vast, more isolated.
Jake’s parting words from the summer before echoed in her head.
You don’t belong here.
Until yesterday those had been their last words for five months. Every time she’d thought of Montana in the interim, those harsh words had been right there with her.
Looking at the immense emptiness around her, it was easy to imagine he’d been right. Maybe she belonged in the city, despite the unpleasantness of her life there now.
But it didn’t matter if she belonged here or not, she reminded herself. Her contract with Jake was for a week. One single, solitary week. Seven days. She’d do her job and then she’d get back on the plane to Boston.
Jake pulled up in front of the ranch house. She stepped carefully down onto the icy driveway and moved to the bed of the truck, unfastening the tarp to retrieve her suitcase. Last summer she would have stood by while Jake carried her suitcase, but now she wanted to stand on her own two feet.
Jake had a different idea, though. He reached to take the suitcase from her, ignoring her protest. As he did so their hands brushed accidentally and Taylor froze.
Their long day together had done nothing to lessen the awareness between them. By tacit agreement they’d avoided physical contact ever since he’d grabbed her wrist at lunch, and by and large they’d succeeded—except for the time she’d fallen asleep on the plane and woken with her head pillowed on his shoulder.
It was too easy, too seductive, to fall back into the patterns of the summer before, when they’d been so openly and joyfully physical with each other.
But she had to keep her distance—despite the signals her body sent her.
She hung back as they walked to the porch, thinking of the first time she’d come to the ranch, as Jake’s bride. Despite the beautiful scenery, at its peak in the middle of the summer, she’d had eyes only for Jake. She’d studied him as he drove, then sat and watched him as he parked the truck and walked around to her door.
He’d opened the passenger door and kissed her thoroughly before picking her up in his arms and carrying her not just over the threshold, but all the way to his bed. And then he’d carried her somewhere else entirely. Neither of them had given a thought to their luggage until several hours after dark.
Ahead of her on the porch, Jake pushed open the door. It swung inward, revealing the same neat front hall she’d stormed out of five months before.
Her footsteps halted of their own accord. Jake stood by the open door. He watched her without moving. The six feet of porch between them felt like an impassable distance.
She longed for the days when everything had been easy, when she could simply go into his arms and everything would be okay. Those days were gone. So far gone she wouldn’t even get a simple “welcome home” before she stepped into the house they’d shared.
She looked into Jake’s eyes, unable to read his expression. It seemed distant, almost disconnected. Then he surprised her by saying, his voice soft, “It didn’t turn out like either of us expected, did it?”
Regret? It wasn’t an emotion she’d expected from him, and as soon as she recognized it, it was gone. Completely gone. His face was a mask again.
But she hadn’t imagined it. “No, it didn’t,” she said.
She stepped toward the doorway, keeping as far away from Jake as possible. It was easier that way.
As she crossed the threshold the warm scents of baking assailed her. Her mouth watered instantly. It had been so long since she’d smelled that rich, buttery smell...
Jake shut the door firmly behind them. “Irma must have made those fancy cookies you like so much.” His voice was cool.
“They’re called madeleines,” she said, shrugging out of her new down parka, “and they’re tea cakes, not cookies.”
Taylor glanced around as she hung her parka on the coat tree. Through an archway she could see the living room, with its polished wood floor and solid leather furniture, arranged exactly as she remembered. The fire crackling in the big stone hearth made it seem particularly cozy and inviting.
On the other side of the entrance hall lay the dining room. She peeked around the corner at it. A sturdy iron candelabra still sat in the center of the massive wooden table, matching the sconces that lined the walls.
The inside of the house seemed very much the same. Familiar, almost. Taylor felt a fleeting, inexplicable sense of homecoming.
She quickly dismissed it. She didn’t even like it here. Her feelings about the place were not positive. Her dreams had been dashed here. Her life had come apart. Obviously it was only the comparison to her apartment that made it seem so wonderful.
Irma appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Taylor!” She hurried over for a hug and a kiss, then stepped back to survey her. “You’re skin and bones, girl. I’ll have to fatten you up.”
“You do that,” Jake said. “I’ll take Taylor’s suitcase upstairs.” He seemed as eager to get away from her as she was from him.
Taylor followed the middle-aged housekeeper back to the kitchen.
“I know why you’re here,” Irma said, sitting her down at the small round table in the corner. “Jake explained it to Orville and me.” Irma’s husband Orville cooked for the ranch hands. “We don’t like it, but maybe you two can find a way to settle your differences. This place ain’t the same without you.”
Taylor laughed as lightly as she could. She didn’t want