Coming Home (24 page)

“I dunno, Shelly, it sounds pretty thin to me.”

Shelly nodded. “Probably. I’m not going to argue with you about that. But unless something else pops up, and I doubt it will, I’m going to believe Maria.” She sent Roxanne a steady look. “And if we’re going to remain friends, I would advise you to do the same.”

Roxanne grimaced. “OK, OK, I’ll back off and fall in line.” She grinned at Shelly. “After all, what are families for?”

“Thanks you. I was hoping you’d agree.”

“Well, hey, it's pretty clear it's either that or you'll make certain that I disappear never to be seen again.”

Shelly grinned. “Maybe not that drastic, but close.”

Roxanne returned her grin, and having put the last of the leftovers in the refrigerator, she asked, “You want a glass of wine? I think I'd like one. It was a great party, but I always think the best part is after everyone has left and you can just relax and reflect.”

It was cozy and intimate in the small kitchen, the snowfall closing them in, blocking out any sound, and Shelly agreed—she was waiting for Sloan to return from the barn and was glad of the company.

Shelly poured Roxanne a glass of wine and opted for a glass of milk for herself. “No wine for me. I'm in training to get pregnant, remember?” she said as she sat down across the table from her.

Roxanne hesitated, then took the plunge. “How's that project coming anyway?”

Shelly's face clouded. “No luck yet, if that's what you want to know.”

“Hey, you've only been married for six months. It's no big deal. I had a friend who was married for three years before she got pregnant.”

“I'll be thirty-eight in three years,” Shelly said hollowly. “I don't have three years to wait.”

Her words slammed into Roxanne. Having a family, a baby, wasn't something she had ever worried about—it was something she'd take care of in the future—when she found the right man and was ready to settle down, but it dawned on her that
she
was thirty-eight with nary a papa prospect in sight. The thought that time might run out for her had never crossed her mind. She made a face. She'd been too busy being
Roxanne
, romping through life as if there were no tomorrow. Well, tomorrow had just walked up and slapped her in the face. While having a baby still wasn't high on her list of accomplishments, she suddenly understood the anguish and worry in Shelly's voice.

She fiddled with her wineglass. “I think you're putting too much on yourself,” she finally said. “You've had so much to deal with in the last eight, nine months. Josh's death. Coming back here. Starting up Granger Cattle Company. Sloan. Marriage. Nick.” She grinned at her. “Meeting my folks. All of that is bound to have been stressful. Maybe you're not giving yourself enough time.”

Shelly sighed. “You sound like your brother. That's what Sloan says. He says that I'm impatient and that I'm pushing too hard.” She took a sip of her milk. “Maybe I am. It's just that every month when my period comes, I want to die. I feel so useless, so, so
barren.
You don't know what it's like.” Her voice wavered. “I feel like a failure, as a woman, and a wife, and worse, like I'm failing Sloan.”

“Whoa. Stop right there. Why do you feel it's your fault? Sloan could be shooting blanks, you know.”

Shelly gave a watery laugh. “That's exactly what he says.”

“Well?”

Her eyes on her half-empty glass, Shelly admitted, “He's made arrangements for us to see a fertility expert in Santa Rosa next week. Says first thing we need to do is run some tests and make certain that there is nothing wrong with either one of us. Then we'll know what we're dealing with and can take the next step.”

“Gee, I never knew I had such a smart brother.” She smiled at Shelly. “Normally, just on principle, I would tell you to ignore anything he says, but this is one time he's hit the nail on the head.”

“I know … it's just. …”

Roxanne leaned forward and put one of her hands over Shelly's where they rested on the table. “Honey, I think you're beating yourself up for no reason—and running down the road to meet trouble. Have the tests. And I'll bet they're going to come back that everything is fine. I'll bet the doctor will tell you the same thing that Sloan and I have—you're too impatient.”

Shelly made a face. “Probably. But I'm still scared and anxious.”

“Anyone would be—it's only natural. Hell, I sweat my Pap test every year, even though I know the odds are that everything is normal.
Everybody
does—it's called being human.”

“You're right. I'm just being a worrywart.” She smiled at Roxanne, her hand turning to clutch Roxanne's. “Thanks. I think I probably just needed someone else to tell me that I'm being silly.”

The conversation with Shelly troubled Roxanne, niggling at the back of her mind. Acting her usual charming self, Roxanne got through the night and the following morning, even eating a spoonful of black-eyed peas Roman lovingly prepared for brunch, but despite her best efforts, there was a constraint, a preoccupation about her.

No one else noticed it, but Jeb. But then there wasn't much about Roxanne that he didn't notice. He knew something was bothering her, but he didn't have a clue. One thing he knew—it wasn't any worry about getting gas for her Jeep.

Like many ranchers, Sloan had his own gas tank on the place. An outfit from Ukiah came by regularly and kept it filled. Getting gas for Roxanne's Jeep had been simply a matter of walking out to where the cylindrical, silver-painted, thousand-gallon tank sat on its stand and filling a five-gallon gas can. Jeb and Roxanne had been among the last to leave and her vivacious manner vanished the moment they'd driven away from Sloan and Shelly's. It was a quiet drive to her Jeep; the only sounds inside the cab were the purr of the engine and the crunch of the truck's tires on the snowy, frozen ground.

Even while he filled the Jeep and helped transfer her things, Roxanne didn't say much. She seemed in her own world, hardly even aware of him.

She thanked him politely for his help and climbed into her Jeep. The engine turned right over and she smiled at him through the window. He motioned for her to roll it down, which she did.

A faint frown on his face, he asked, “You OK? You've been awfully quiet.”
“Just tired, I guess—we all were up late last night and it seemed like it was the crack of dawn when you guys came tramping into the house this morning.”

He nodded, not believing a word. He tapped a gloved finger on the roof of the Jeep. “I'll follow you home.”

Roxanne lost her preoccupied air. “Look,” she said firmly, “that isn't necessary. I appreciate all your help, but I'm fine now. The Jeep is fine. I promise I'll get gas before I drive out to the house.”

He shook his head. “Can't, Princess. New Year's Day. Like I told you, this isn't New York. The only gas station in St. Galen's is closed.” He flashed her a smile that made Roxanne's teeth ache. “But don't worry—you have enough gas to get home and back into town tomorrow. Besides, like I said, I'm following you home.”

She began to get angry. “Why?”

His smile widened, his teeth very white beneath the black of his mustache. “You and I, Princess, have things to talk about.” He looked around at the snowy landscape, then back at her scowling face. “New Year and everything, I thought today would be as good a time as any other for us to have that little talk I mentioned last night.”

“Suppose I don't want to talk to you?”

“Well, since I intend to stick to you like glue to paper until you do, you'll just have to get used to mehanging or sticking around until you do decide to talk to me.”

“Have I ever told you that I despise you?” she said through gritted teeth.

He grinned and ran a finger down her nose. “Frequently.”

Growling under her breath, Roxanne rolled up the window and stepped on the gas. She would have liked to speed away from him, but the icy road put paid to that idea—that and the hairpin curves. The snow had only fallen in the higher elevations, not reaching the valley floor, but even leaving the snow and curves behind, it did Roxanne little good; Jeb stayed right on her tail as she hit the pavement and increased her speed. She glared at him in her rearview mirror half a dozen times as they sped across the flat paved roads of the valley, racing toward her place.

Roxanne barely slowed when they left the pavement and began the climb on the gravel road that led to her house. About the two-thousand-foot level, they hit snow again; the tire tracks made earlier by Nick's truck the only disturbance in the smooth icing of snow on the road. At the turnoff for her place, she punched the Jeep and like an angry cat the vehicle snarled up the curving incline, coming to a screeching halt as she whipped it around and into the parking area in the front of her house. Intent on reaching the house before Jeb, she took no time to admire the pristine snowfall. It was a breathtaking sight; the ground blanketed in white, the tree limbs hanging low, iced in snow, and the house with its peak roofs and mullioned windows looked like a frosted gingerbread cottage.

Ignoring Jeb, who pulled in right beside her, she jumped out of the Jeep, grabbed her things, and stalked to the front door. He was right behind her, admiring the angry movement of her hips in the tight blue jeans. No doubt about it—she had quite a swing in that fine backyard of hers.

He was so fascinated by her movements that he didn't realize that Roxanne had stopped dead in front of him, until he plowed into her. His big body slammed into hers and he clasped her shoulders to keep from knocking her down.

“Uh, sorry,” he muttered, “wasn't watching where I was going.”

Roxanne remained frozen in front of him, her shoulders rigid beneath his hands.

He frowned. “What's the matter?”

“The front door's open … I locked it before I left,” she said uneasily. She glared at him over her shoulder. “And before you ask, yes, I'm sure that I locked it.”

“OK,” he said softly, moving around to stand in front of her. “You wait here, I'll check it out.”

She gasped when he reached around behind him and from beneath the black leather jacket pulled out a pistol.

He glanced back at her. “What?”

Eyes worried, she asked, “Do you always carry a gun?”
“Pretty much.” He grinned at her. “I'm a cop, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “I remember.”

He started down the path and Roxanne was right on his heels. He looked back at her and muttered, “I thought I told you to wait.”

She smiled. “Well, you know how I feel about being ordered around. Besides, it's my house. I have every right to go inside it.”
“Yeah, well, Princess, stop and think about this: there could be a guy inside with a gun or knife, just waiting for you to come home. If you want to barge right in there, be my guest.”

Roxanne paled, her beautiful eyes huge in her face. She swallowed. “I wasn't going to 'barge' inside. I was just going to follow you.”
“Don't. I don't want to be worrying about you. Just stay here—better yet, go back and get in the car with the engine on—if I run into trouble, you get that sweet little butt of yours into town and get me some backup. OK?”

She stood her ground. “Do you really think there's any danger? Isn't it more likely that whoever was here has already left?”

He stepped aside. “Like I said, you want to go first?”

She bit her lip, eyeing him and then the shadowy porch and the half-ajar front door. “No,” she said sullenly. “But I think you're making too big a deal of this.”

“I agree, but until I check it out, we don't know that, do we?”

She made a face. “Point taken. I won't follow you inside, but I'm not going back to the car.”

“Fine. Just make damn sure you
do remain
right here.”

Roxanne watched him as he carefully approached the front porch. She was suddenly grateful that he'd been such a jerk and insisted upon following her home. If she'd been here by herself, she'd have taken one look at the half-opened door and wheeled on her heels and headed straight back to her Jeep and town. Stupid she was not and there was no way that she'd have entered that house by herself.

She glanced around, noting that they had made the only footprints in the snow, except for a few animal tracks, birds and squirrels. Which meant that whoever had been inside her house had left before much snow had accumulated on the ground. But even telling herself that the house was empty didn't still the knot of anxiety that tightened in her breast when Jeb disappeared inside.

She waited for what seemed an eternity, even taking a few tentative steps toward the house as the minutes passed and Jeb did not reappear. She didn't like standing out here, but she wasn't foolish enough to go traipsing inside after him like some silly female in a melodrama. Besides, dammit, she'd given her word. Her chin set. And she wasn't running back to the Jeep either, though she did send a longing glance or two in that direction.

In spite of the weak sunshine, it was cold outside and Roxanne stamped her feet now and then to keep them warm. She kept her eyes on the doorway where Jeb had disappeared, all sorts of grim and grisly pictures floating through her mind. The only good thing that she could think of was that at least there'd been no gunfire. But then that made her recall several movies wherein bloody murder had been done silently with a knife. …

When the door was suddenly shoved open, she let out a half-muffled shriek and went weak with relief as Jeb's familiar form filled the doorway. He grinned at her. “Come on, it's OK. No one here but us chickens.”

She scurried up the path and brushed past him. Dumping her suitcase on the floor of the foyer, she asked, “How bad is it?”

He shrugged. “They didn't trash the place if that's what you're worried about. And if they stole anything, I can't at first glance spot it. You'll have to check it out yourself.”

She frowned. “They?”

He pointed to the floor. “Two sets of muddy footprints—which means they came in while it was still raining, before the snow. And since there didn't appear to be any sign of them outside, they had to leave while it was still raining, or at least before too much snow had fallen. The tracks inside the house are pretty easy to follow—especially since it seems the only room they entered was the living room. If they went anywhere else, they either removed their boots or the mud dried, because the only place I find any sign of tracks is in that one room.”