Evangeline’s mouth was still open from her last word. She shut it and tipped her head to the side. “You’re the right man to inform your family, but maybe Jack should speak to the Wards.”
“Look, I never went along with the feud. I thought it was a stupid waste of time.” That had always been the problem in his father’s eyes. If he’d stuck to the Morgan’s side of the fence, he never would have fallen in love with Jennie and he and his family would still get along. “Let me speak to the Wards.”
JENNIE SWUNG HER LEG over her mount and dropped to the hard-packed dirt. With Lady out of commission, she’d had to ride Little Joe and his gait wasn’t as smooth as Lady’s. Every muscle and joint ached from fourteen hours in the saddle. Thank goodness the temperatures had only been in the seventies.
She loved the spring. After the long months of winter with the wind howling through the valleys, she looked forward to the warmer days and clear blue skies. On the other hand, she dreaded the long hot days and dust of summer.
With the three-year drought and cattle prices down, they’d had to let the extra hands go. Which meant, along with Stan Keller, their foreman, and Rudy Toler and Doug Sweeney, the two remaining cowhands, Jennie rode fences and checked cattle every day. This year had to be better than last. They couldn’t afford to keep the cattle and the ranch if they weren’t making enough money to buy feed, much less pay the hands. So far the year had been one disaster after another.
Her father had always managed the books, but being shorthanded meant doing all the work themselves. Every able-bodied man and woman would be out tending stock and fences, except the housekeeper, Ms. Blainey. Her job was as important as tending cattle. She cooked the meals for the worn-out cowhands.
Her stomach rumbling, Jennie hurried to feed, brush and curry the bay gelding. After reapplying the dressing to Lady’s injury, she made her way to the house intent on soaking in a hot shower before dinner. She still didn’t have a clue where the razor blade had come from and none of the hands owned up to leaving it in the tack room. She’d warned them to inspect their gear before saddling up, just in case.
Her father should be back from checking on stock in the north pasture soon. He knew how upset Ms. Blainey would be if he missed supper. Jennie smiled. Rachel Blainey was the same age her mother would have been if she’d lived this long, and she was a nice addition to the staff. Jennie hated cooking with a passion. She’d rather wrestle an ornery bull-calf than bake a cake. Her smile slipped. She hoped they could keep Ms. Blainey on, as tight as the money was.
Vowing to stay awake long enough to review the accounts that night, Jennie trudged up past the bunkhouse. When the sprawling cedar-and-stone cabin came into view, she spied a strange, black four-wheel-drive pickup parked in the gravel driveway. Company? They weren’t expecting any company, were they?
She frowned down at her filthy shirt and dusty jeans and sighed. Couldn’t be helped. Whoever it was would just have to understand she’d been out working. Her mother would have rushed her back inside and made her take a shower before greeting guests. But that was when she was ten and her mother was always at the house, clean, pressed and looking like a model fresh from a magazine shoot, instead of a cattle rancher’s wife.
After eighteen years, Jennie could still remember the smell of her mother’s perfume and envision the smile, very much like her own. Sometimes she missed her mother more than she could bear—usually when times were toughest. But her father had done the best he could and loved her enough for both parents.
Jennie stepped in through the back door. She could hear the low rumble of a male voice coming from the living room and the happy sound of Ms. Blainey’s laughter.
Maybe she did have time to shower and change before she came out. Easing her way down the hallway, she was almost to the staircase when a soft, feminine voice called out, “Hank? Is that you?” Rachel Blainey rounded the corner from the living room, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her white cotton blouse wrinkle-free and snowy white. “Oh, Jennie, I’m glad you’re back. We have a visitor, someone I think you know.”
“I’m really not dressed for company,” Jennie said, eyeing the staircase and wondering if it would be rude to race up to the bathroom and slam the door.
“Oh, nonsense. I’m sure he’s used to dusty ranchers. After all, his family is in ranching.”
Curious now, Jennie allowed Rachel to snag her elbow and tug her toward the living room. “You say I know him? Who is he?”
“He’s one of the Morgans from next door.”
Jennie dug the heels of her Dingo boots into the hardwood floor, her stomach filling with a swarm of butterflies. Morgans? The only Morgan who’d ever been willing to step foot on the Flying W was—
A man stepped into view. His tall frame completely blocked the light from the picture windows behind him, throwing his face into shadow.
Jennie squinted, trying to make out his features.
“Hi, Jennie.” The voice confirmed his identity in the first syllable.
Her mind scrambled to put words in her mouth while her stomach flip-flopped around the butterflies, as if trying to decide whether to leap for joy or upend from nausea. “Cameron.”
Of all the people who might have come to visit, she never expected to see him. They hadn’t spoken more than two words since their breakup, and so much had happened in between. With the Morgans and Wards feeling the way they did, she wouldn’t think even the black sheep of the Morgan family would venture onto Ward property without a bulletproof vest.
Jennie moved around him, feeling dwarfed by his six-foot-three-inch frame. Her shoulder brushed against his arm, the scent of aftershave and leather assailing her nostrils, sending memories flittering through her jumbled thoughts. Why now? Why come back to the ranch now? Not that she couldn’t handle it. She was a grown woman with a decade of experience behind her. Then why did she feel like the awkward teen she’d been when she’d fallen in love with Cameron Morgan?
Since then, she recognized it for what it had been—a teenage fantasy. She didn’t love him anymore. There was nothing between them. He’d gone on to enter the army and she’d married Vance Franklin. Their lives had gone entirely different directions.
Once in the middle of the living room, she turned to see his face in the light.
Ten years.
Jennie was amazed at how much had changed in his face and how much was still the same Cameron. A few lines had appeared around his emerald-green eyes and his coal-black hair was shorter than when she’d dated him, probably a reflection of his time spent in the military. Such a shame, too. She used to love to run her fingers through his thick waves, making it stand on end. He’d tug her long, blond braid until her head tilted back and he could claim her lips in a scorching kiss. Jennie’s heart hammered against her rib cage and she stammered, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you.”
Jennie snorted. “You have that right. I’m still dusty and smell like a horse.”
The lines around his eyes softened. “Better than the most expensive perfumes.”
Jennie smiled, while fighting to resist falling into his deep green gaze. “You always were a charmer.” He’d charmed her into loving him, and then he’d asked her to leave the only home she’d ever known and a father who needed her.
“And you were always so serious.”
Ms. Blainey cleared her throat reminding Jennie she was still in the room. “I’ll just go get a pitcher of lemonade while you two catch up.”
A flare of panic ripped through Jennie. “Why don’t you stay