Conall's Legacy (7 page)

She hung up, her shoulders drooped, and she thought again about the pain that drove her neighbor to beat the fire out of pieces of metal all night instead of sleeping. Luisa had a feeling it was nightmares that came in the night. Ones so evil it terrified him to go to sleep until he was so exhausted they couldn’t come. She remembered those days well. Cindy had been the one standing beside her then, showing her unconditional love and support. Everyone deserves a friend, Luisa thought. With a shake of her head, she flicked on the coffeepot and reached for her cake flour.

An hour later, Luisa pushed damp tendrils away from her face and fanned her bangs to dry them. Her teal shirt clung to the curves of her sweat-soaked body. In her haste, she’d forgotten her number one cooking rule--never use the oven in the middle of an Arizona afternoon unless it was winter. It was easily 95 outside and the parted, yellow daisy curtains failed to let in enough breeze to move the stifling air in the kitchen.

She turned the fresh cake out of its pan and set it on the counter to cool. On her way down the long hall to the bathroom, she stopped for the thousandth time at her favorite photograph of her father. He stood beside his best horse, rope coiled in his hand. In the background were the weathered boards of a centuries-old holding pen. Inside, a Texas longhorn bull posed as though carved in granite, massive head held high. The grandson of this bull stood in a pen behind her horse barn and looked just like his grandfather. Some things go on, she thought, a soft smile curving her lips. With a sigh she moved on.

A glimpse in the bathroom mirror reflected heated cheeks and flattened hair. She looked longingly at the shower.

“Well, why not?” she asked her reflection. “You’re going to make a fool of yourself. May as well look your best.” A shower might revive her and her limp hair. She turned on the taps to heat the water just enough to take off the chill. Her teal shirt hit the floor.

What on earth was she doing? Going after a man like a desperate old maid. Cindy’s words came back to her. The man obviously needed help of some kind. Maybe just a friendly neighbor to talk to. Luisa could do that. She was a good listener. Besides, she owed him, didn’t she?

She stripped off the rest of her clothes and stepped under the spray wondering if he would trust her enough to open up.

Drake ... She had only seen him a few times since he’d arrived, and had more often heard him working in the depth of night. Still she could picture his face as well as her own. The creases between his eyes were deep enough to have been brought by pain. Sadness turned his blue eyes molten at times. They had sparked with momentary joy and surprise when the filly landed in his wet lap. The mental picture brought a smile to her.

His fleeting joy had faded, though. Sorrow returned to weigh on him. What made his heart ache so? she wondered.

The stinging spray reminded Luisa of her own ache. The thought of being alone on the ranch the rest of her days wrapped cold fingers around her heart and twisted. She had only Cindy and the animals to tell her innermost thoughts. Some days Luisa felt the presence of her father on the ranch and spoke to him. She shook her head. If anyone saw her one-sided conversation, they’d have her committed for talking to a memory.

Luisa chewed on the inside of her lip. What would it be like to have a man in her life? One to raise children with, to spend a lifetime with? One who would be a soul mate to her? Her thoughts ran together cluttering her mind and making her impatient. She didn’t waste time on useless speculation, and dreaming of a man that wouldn’t materialize fell into that category.

The shower spray revitalized her and cleared the nagging thoughts from her mind. She reined in imagination and stepped from the shower with a disgusted sigh.

Why had Drake come here? She’d had her life under control, but now it was spinning off its axis. Drake Forrester spelled complications, and she didn’t need any of those. The ranch had been a place of peace and sanctuary for her, but that had changed the day he’d pulled his clattering, dust-covered truck and trailer into her ranch yard. She wondered if she’d ever regain that same peace of mind.

#

Drake jerked his fingers through his tousled hair. The knock came again, firmer this time. He brushed a hand over stubby whiskers and thought about ignoring the sound. No vehicle had crunched up the dirt and gravel drive and every sound carried on this place. That meant it had to be Luisa. He was in no mood for visitors. The dreams had come even in the morning hours. They got stronger instead of fading away.

The knock was more insistent this time, rattling the screen door. “What does she want?” he grumbled. Maybe she intended to tell him not to work at night. It might disturb her precious animals. He thought of the tiny, red filly and smiled. Well, so maybe they were special, but they were still just animals. Weren’t they?

Maybe the noise was bothering Luisa, and she wanted him to stop working. That wasn’t an option. He’d covered his mallet with a cloth trying to mute the sound somewhat. Wasn’t that enough?

Besides, the iron sculptures were something he had to do. He beat out his frustration and grief while trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to keep the nightmares away. It was the only way to drown out the sound of Conall’s final breath. He worked all night and into the dawn until he was so exhausted not a thought passed through his brain. Then he collapsed on the bed and slept. Usually. This morning it hadn’t worked.

Luisa knocked louder and he wondered briefly if he could just shoot her and go back to bed. She didn’t give up. The knocking came again. “I’m coming. Hold on.”

He slipped a black T-shirt over his head as he walked across the small living room. His black jeans contrasted bare, white feet.

Luisa stood on the porch, the cake in her hands visible through the screen door. A tentative smile curved her lips when their gazes locked.

Drake’s heart hit his chest twice--hard. Desire coiled in his long-celibate body like a rattler ready to strike. He caged it to keep her safe. He wasn’t the kind of man to take advantage of a woman, especially one isolated out here in this back of beyond. He shook his head at the wonder of why any human, let alone a female one, would want to live out here with nothing but animals, dead quiet, and pitch dark for company.

“Hi.” She held up her offering drawing his attention back to her. “Thanks for your help. Queenie was really in trouble the other day.”

Drake shrugged, a little self-conscious. He always hated the gratitude from people he helped. He did his job, that’s all.

“You really didn’t have to bother.” A flicker of hurt flashed across her face, so he hurried to continue. “Never could turn down chocolate, though.”
Or a good-looking woman who looked wounded
. “Come on in.”

As she walked past him, her gaze slid over his body from bare feet to rumpled hair.

Drake ran his fingers across his scruffy chin. “Sorry, I worked last night and just got up.”

“I know. I heard you.” She walked into the kitchen and set the cake down.

“I hope I’m not bothering you too much.” The thought of giving up his lifeline to sanity was grim. “Sometimes I have to work at night.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m getting used to operating on not much sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I ...” he hesitated. “I don’t have a choice.”

“That’s okay. I understand. An artist’s muse can be very insistent.” She smiled and turned away.

“Are you an artist?”

“No. At least not with paints or sculptures.”

He watched as she took out plates and silverware. She was very familiar with the layout. The thought warmed him until he remembered watching another woman move with practiced ease. Only the woman he envisioned was red-haired and had small children to step over as they played at her feet. Rebecca....

“Drake, I asked how large a piece you’d like.” He snapped his attention to Luisa. He stood close enough to breathe in the scent of her freshly shampooed hair. He wanted, no needed, desperately to pull her into his arms and bury himself in her essence if only for a few moments. To return to a semblance of a normal life. To be just a man and woman together for even a little while.

“Drake?”

She stood with a knife poised over the cake. He laid his hand over hers and positioned the knife against the icing. “That’s a big enough piece to start with.” The warmth of her fingers tingled against his skin.

She lifted startled eyes to his as her hair swung loose around her chin. He reached out to lift it over her shoulder, but felt her withdraw without moving. He dropped his hand and stepped away.

Luisa cleared her throat and turned to cut the cake. “You have any milk?” she asked. The blade sliced through chocolate. “It hits the spot with something this rich. Or, I have some fresh coffee over at the house. I can go get it.”

“No, I’ve got milk.” Grabbing it from the refrigerator and two glasses from the cabinet, he met her at the small, oak dinette. He pulled a chair out for her and then dropped onto his own. Silence settled on them and pulsed awkwardly.

“This looks great. Thanks.”

“I hope you like it. I try to bring something over when a new tenant comes in. You know, to say hello.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I’ve been here over a week.”

“I know. This time I was too busy and just now got a chance. It’s a thank you, too.” Luisa shrugged and forked a piece of cake off the plate.

“I’ve seen you taking care of the livestock in the evenings. What else do you do? I haven’t seen you leave to go to work.”

Drake wondered about the cause of the frown that tugged at the corners of her mouth before a smile took over.

“I work from home. I’m a writer.”

“Really? I’ve always been intrigued by authors. That whole creative thing. What do you write?” he asked between mouthfuls. “Should I know you?”

“Only if you’ve been reading to kids lately.”

Her voice and the features of her face softened, hinting at the love she had for children.

“What are your books like? I read to the kids of a friend of mine.” Pain jerked the chains wrapped around his heart. He forced it aside.

“Oh, I have this hapless little angel character. She can’t do the things grown up angels can. She’s too sweet and kind for her own good, always wanting to help but somehow making things messy before getting it right.”

“I bet I know her, at least if there isn’t more than one.” Pain hit Drake between the eyes at the memory. He shook it off. “Katrina, right?” He thought of the tales of the goofy baby angel he’d read to Conall’s children in his friend’s place. The boys had gained comfort from the books even though Drake didn’t accept the ideas he read about. “My friend’s kids like the angel getting into trouble.”

“Katrina does plenty of that.” Her smile spread and her eyes sparkled.

She appeared inordinately pleased that he knew her work. Pleasure spread through him, lifting his own spirits. He smiled and took another bite, then let the dark confection melt in his mouth. A sigh of pure ecstasy escaped from his body.

“
This
is great, wonderful--words fail.” He shrugged at his inability to describe the flavor and texture of her creation.

Luisa smiled, her cheeks turning pink at his praise. “I call it Chocolate Sinsation--with an ‘i’.”

“Then I guess it’s hellacious rather than heavenly.”

She chuckled at his joke, the warm sound coming from deep in her chest.

Drake knew laughing was not something she did often, in spite of the soft smile that normally curved her lips. He couldn’t imagine why he thought that. Maybe his cop instincts were surfacing.

Drake thought of the pub, and of the noise, laughter, and friends talking over a cold round. She
had
to be lonely way out here. He hadn’t seen anyone come in since he’d arrived. Luisa didn’t fit his image of a recluse, so what kept her tied so tightly to her home and horses? Was she hiding from personal problems too? If she were, he’d like to help her.

That surprised him. Unexpected longing hit him, longing for answers, for closeness, for a loving relationship. Intuition told him both he and Luisa needed healing. But what could heal wounded hearts?

Whatever it was about this woman, Drake realized this near-stranger was someone he’d like to know better.

“So tell me--I take it you grew up here?”

“That’s right. I helped my dad run cattle.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“Oh, the usual stuff. Nothing glamorous like on television. It was all hot, dirty work, but I loved it.” Another chuckle escaped.

“What?” he asked, trying to figure out what was funny about a job that sounded boring, sweaty, and downright gritty to him.

“I remember one day, I was helping Dad bring in the cows and calves to separate for market. One of the old rangy ones got ticked off with the whole thing and chased me.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Anger flashed through his body. Conall would never have risked any of his children in such a way. How could Luisa’s parents allow it? “How old were you?”

“I was eight that summer.” She laughed, a soft, joyful sound. “That wicked witch chased me around the barn, and I had to dive into the stock tank, clothes, boots, and all, to get away from her. Dad teased me for days about really wanting to go swimming.”