Then again, she was hungry. The airline food had been skimpy and unpalatable. And maybe what she needed to ask him was better done in person after all. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
She replaced the receiver, instantly regretting the impulse. Her mind in a whirl, she rummaged in her bag for the jeans she’d planned to wear on the plane the next day. After a lengthy debate with herself, she decided not to change the T-shirt. A dash of lipstick, a flick of the comb and she was ready. As ready as she was ever going to be, she thought ruefully.
A few minutes later she drove out of the motel parking lot, followed by a grimy minivan. Its dark tinted windows made it difficult to see who drove it. She slowed to let it pass but it kept pace behind her, following her for the three miles to the tavern. Not surprising really, since there was only one road into town.
Even so, the long months she’d spent hiding in the shadows had kept her constantly on guard, to the point where the most mundane thing could seem threatening.
Driving down Main Street, she credited her shivery uneasiness to the memories that jarred her mind. The first time she’d stood, drained of emotion, in the huge living room of Mabel and Jim Corbett’s old house. The confusion of sharing her life with a dozen or so kids, all hurting inside like her, all afraid to trust.
Cully had been one of those kids. Older than her by ten years, he’d left by the time she was nine. But if it hadn’t been for Cully, she never would have survived that first year in the foster home. She blinked hard, determined not to give in to the past. She’d left it all behind a long time ago. Too long ago.
She parked in a familiar spot outside the Red Steer, noting with an absurd sense of relief that the minivan had passed on by. No matter how often she reminded herself that she no longer had anything to fear, it was tough to let go of the constant apprehension, the mistrust of anything unfamiliar.
Her heart skipped when she saw the red Jeep Cherokee parked close to the entrance. It had to belong to Cully. He’d always been partial to red. She’d hoped to get there ahead of him—give herself time to reacquaint herself with the place before she had to deal with him.
Every muscle in her body felt tight as she pushed through the swing doors that led into the dining room. The orange lamps, fastened to the walls in their wrought iron cages, were turned down low. The huge brick fireplace still dominated the room and in spite of the warmth outside, a crackling log fire spit flames up the massive chimney.
She saw him at once. He was seated with his back to a window, facing the door as if he’d been watching for her. She pulled in a deep breath and walked unsteadily across the room, wishing like hell she’d listened to her instincts and ordered that pizza.
Cully rose to his feet as she approached, his expression unreadable. He looked older, she noticed, and remembered with a shock that he was now forty-one years old. Deep creases etched the corners of his eyes. His hair, still springy and dark, showed no sign of gray, except for just above his ears at the temples.
He’d filled out from the tall, lanky cowboy she remembered. His denim shirt stretched across a broad chest and beneath the rolled-up sleeves his upper arms were solid muscle. He wore the hard, tough look of a man who spent most of his days weathering the harsh environment of the mountains. It looked good on him. Too good.
She reached the table and hesitated, wondering if she should shake hands or just sit down in the chair he’d pulled out. “It’s good to see you, Cully.” Even to her ears, her voice sounded stilted, almost hostile.
Something flickered in his eyes, then he held out his hand. “You, too.”
She watched her fingers briefly disappear in his warm, sunburned grip, then he let her go. His hand had felt strong, secure. It had been a mistake to come. She sat down, trying to figure out a way to get out of this gracefully.
“I’ve ordered the steaks,” Cully said, taking away her options. “I hope you still like ’em medium rare.”
She nodded and slid her gaze away from the appraisal in his eyes. She must look older, too. God knows she felt every one of her thirty-one years.
“You look real good, Ginny.”
She started, remembering his uncanny ability to read her mind. From the first moment he’d set eyes on her, he seemed to know what she was thinking, even before she did.
“I’m not Ginny anymore,” she said quietly. “My name is Justine now.”
His answer unsettled her even more. “It makes no difference what fancy name you’ve given yourself. You’ll always be Ginny to me.”
He’d teased her that first day, telling her it would be her job to milk the cows at the crack of dawn every morning. Then he’d patted her shoulder and promised he’d watch out for her. You don’t have to be afraid of nothing as long as I’m around, he’d said. Them cows are more afraid of you than you are of them. You just holler at ’em and watch ’em run.
Grateful for his understanding, for the first time since arriving at that rambling old farmhouse, she’d smiled. He’d seemed so tall, so powerful. She remembered looking way up into his dark gray eyes and knowing somehow that here was someone she could trust.
From then on she’d followed him around like Mary’s little lamb, until a short year later when he’d gone to help out on the Double K Ranch. The home she’d come to love had seemed empty after he’d gone.
She made herself push the memories away.
He sat twisting the mug of beer in front of him between his strong fingers, not looking at her. “I’m real sorry you had to come back to this. I know how you felt about Mabel and Jim. It must have hurt bad to hear what happened.”
She made an effort to control the wobble in her voice. “I still can’t believe it happened. Jim was such a careful driver.”
Something in his face changed and he glanced over at the bar. “Get you a beer?”
“I don’t drink beer anymore. A glass of white wine would be good, though.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical smile. “Oh, right. I forgot. City gals don’t drink beer.”
It shouldn’t have hurt. She wasn’t sure why it did. On the defensive, she said crisply, “We city folk tend to be civilized.”
“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” He shoved his chair back, scraping the feet on the hardwood floor. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched him get up and head for the bar. She wasn’t surprised to hear he’d gone into law enforcement. He’d once told her that he’d run away from home when he was a kid and a friendly cop had found him a place in the Corbett household. He’d talked a lot about being a cop.
Mabel had told her that he’d left the ranch and gone to Rapid City for training. That was right after she’d turned her back on the town for good. It hadn’t taken him long to be assigned as deputy in McKewen County and eventually located in Gold Peak. She might have known he’d end up back here.
He came back with her wine and set it in front of her. She murmured her thanks and waited for him to sit down.
Before she could ask what she wanted to know, he said casually, “Paul’s reading the will at ten o’clock tomorrow morning at his office. I’ll pick you up at the motel and run you over there.”
She gave a decisive shake of her head. “Sorry, I’m booked to fly back on the midday flight. I have to be back at work the next day.”
He drained the last of his beer. “They can’t do without you for a couple of days?”
She almost smiled. “No, they can’t.”