Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (3 page)

“All right then,” Mr. Acker said, his voice thick with emotion. He cleared his throat. “See you then, Will.”

Lyndsay stood with her back against the cold metal stands, waiting for what she hoped was a long enough time for everyone to have left. Then she came around the end of the stands and—­

Ran right into Will.

 

Chapter 3

W
ill caught Lyndsay before she could fall back on her ass. He felt the lean strength of her arms, saw the wide shock in her deep brown eyes, and, for the first time, he noticed the tiny golden flecks hidden within. Her breasts brushed his chest, and for just a moment he held her still, stunned by an unexpected flare of desire, the need to bring her hips up against his. Her full lips shone with a touch of pink gloss, looking suddenly so kissable that he let her go and took a step back.

They stared at each other, and he couldn't help admiring the long fall of her brown hair where it tumbled around her shoulders and touched her breasts. She'd recently added highlights—­when had he first noticed that?—­and her bangs fluttered evocatively in spikes almost to her eyelashes. He was letting himself see her as a desirable,
available
woman—­and then he had to push that thought away. She wasn't a woman like all the others—­she was Tony's sister and a longtime friend. She was probably his
only
woman friend, since ex-­girlfriends and the wives of his buddies didn't count.

But this smoldering heat within his veins was telling him otherwise, and it made him uneasy. He wasn't going to let emotions overrule his good sense.

“Will?” Lyndsay said at last, the surprise in her eyes giving way to confusion and then concern. “Are you okay?”

He put on the easy grin that worked like a charm with women. “Of course I'm okay. Just curious why you were lurkin' around, eavesdropping.”

A blush flamed across her cheeks. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I came around the corner and you were right there. It—­it looked serious, and I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Serious? Since when is anything I do serious?” He felt a deep sense of unease that was hard to keep hidden. What the hell was up with him?

“Well, I know, I thought the same thing, Will. How could I not?”

Her smile was tentative. He'd known her too long to see it as anything other than forced.

“Okay, sorry for startling you,” he said. “Hell, you startled me, too.” His own reaction to her certainly had.

“I don't want to keep you from ice cream with your grandma.”

She bit her lip, perhaps to tamp down her smile, but all he saw was her lips. He thought again of kissing her—­like he hadn't just kissed . . . what's-­her-­name . . . a ­couple weeks ago.

Had it been a ­couple weeks since he'd broken it off with . . . damn, what
was
her name, the gift shop owner from Elk's Crest? Maybe that was his problem. He needed his kisses more regular.

He glanced at his grandma's Audi sedan, where she was still waiting, her stare out the passenger window quite pointed.

“Will,” Lyndsay said, “is everything okay with Mr. and Mrs. Acker?”

“Sure, they're doing as well as can be expected, right?”
When their only child is dead.
It had been sixteen years since her death, but he'd never forget the anguish, disbelief, and horror. He was long used to the tight cramp that clenched his chest whenever he thought of Brittany, and his own part in her poor parents' suffering.

“Gotta go,” he said, trying not to sound stiff and realizing he was failing. “See ya, Lyndsay.”

He gave a brief wave as he turned away, but he hadn't met her eyes again. She seemed to be looking too deeply into his soul.

His grandma was doing the same thing, but for different reasons, and he let his expression turn cocky as he slid behind the wheel.

“Hey, Grandma, can't believe you're letting me drive your prized Audi.”

“You're not sixteen anymore, William. You drive a swather across a hay field. I believe you've proved you can be trusted.”

“Gee, thanks.” He tossed her another smile as he started the car and pulled away from Silver Creek Park.

“That was Lyndsay De Luca you were talking with after the Ackers.”

“Yep.”

“She is quite the gifted teacher. And very smart to be able to teach mathematics to budding teenagers.”

He glanced at her with curiosity. “So I've heard.”

“She cares about the children, too. I understand she's an advisor to the 4-­H club.”

“Grandma, if you're such an admirer, why don't you hire her at the inn?”

She shot him a sharp look. “You are quite out of sorts, young man. One might think you have a problem with her.”

“I don't have a problem except that she seemed to be eavesdropping on my conversation with the Ackers.” He gritted his teeth. Damn, why had he mentioned that?

“Lyndsay is too well raised to be eavesdropping. Which means you felt uneasy being overheard and cast your doubts onto her. Why is that?”

He sighed. “That's ridiculous, Grandma. I'm friends with the Ackers. I've known them ever since high school.” Ever since Brittany had innocently decided he'd be the perfect boyfriend.

“And since their daughter's death, you've been a good friend to them,” she said quietly.

There was gentle understanding in his grandma's voice, tough as nails though she was.

“Of course I have. It's the least I've been able to do after what they suffered.”

“And you suffered, too, in your own way.”

“We all did,” he said woodenly. “When a classmate dies . . .”

With long practice, he pushed the memories aside, resurrected his smile, and pulled into a parking spot on Main Street, right in front of Just Desserts.

“Great parking spot, Grandma. I didn't even need to drop you off. Do you know what kind of ice cream you want?”

She frowned at him from beneath the brim of her sweeping hat. “Very well, William, I will consider the subject closed for now. I do believe a vanilla cone sounds lovely.”

“Vanilla?” he scoffed. “That's pretty boring. I like the one with chocolate-­covered cone pieces in it. Nuts, too. Now let's get in line before we have to wait all night.”

“Perhaps I can move the line along by intimidating a child or two with a good long stare.”

He snorted. “Their parents, too.”

He grinned at her, and she gave him a slow, wicked smile in return.

L
yndsay had converted the back bedroom into an office in her three-­bedroom ranch. Her desk was L-­shaped in a corner, with plenty of room along one side for research books and index cards and, on the other end, her laptop. She swiveled her office chair easily down the length, trying to stare at the bright screen of her computer, but the scene just wouldn't come to life, the characters wouldn't effortlessly talk to each other. As usual when the words were slow, she gazed into the distance. The desk overlooked a wide window and a view of her garden, with its mix of annuals, perennials, and shrubs. Above that rose the majesty of the Elk Mountains, still occasionally spotted with snow up above the tree line, like someone had licked ice cream and let drops fall where they might.

But the sun had set a while back. Against the gray darkness, the dark mountains rose up like jagged teeth to take a bite of the first stars.

But she was still thinking about ice cream, which led her back to Will. He'd caught her to keep her from falling, then he'd taken a step back like he'd been trying to get away. She slid her hand down her face, grimacing, wondering what he'd seen in her expression. She'd been careful to school her features, worried about her new sensitivity to him.

And there was his conversation with the Ackers, and how it sounded like he'd been visiting their farm all these years. It kind of surprised her, and her memories fell back in time. She and Brittany had known each other from the beginning of school, although they'd never been truly close friends. In a small town, you graduated with the same ­people you started kindergarten with, shared lunches, and played school pranks using farm animals or manure. They'd gone to parties in the woods, and once, Will had made a swimming pool with a waterproof tarp in the back of his pickup. Brittany had been at his side in the water, had drunk beer with him by firelight, and disappeared into the woods for make-­out sessions for which Lyndsay had envied her.

But her envy had disappeared the stormy night Brittany had driven off the road and slammed into a tree in her little car. She'd died instantly, but the grief had seemed to drown the whole school for many weeks. Will had walked around as if in a daze. That summer, Lyndsay hadn't even seen him at the ice cream stand or on the ball fields. He'd thrown himself into ranch work, Tony had said.

But thankfully, that fall he'd been his old self, enjoying his senior year. He must have had a girlfriend eventually, but Lyndsay couldn't remember who the first one was. Not that it mattered. They'd all been young and ready to face the world again.

But Will hadn't forgotten Brittany's parents, and that touched something deep inside Lyndsay's heart, surprising her in a way she thought he never could. After all, she'd been telling herself for years that she knew everything about him. But obviously she didn't. She rather liked knowing he could be loyal to a memory.

She'd been thinking about Will too much, ever since she'd realized that her subconscious had played a little joke, basing her hero, Cody, on Will. She'd assumed these resurrected feelings would fade away eventually, but after a week, they still lingered. Her dating life was in a rut, she was about to publish a book based on a guy she'd never even dated—­so what was she waiting for? Maybe it was finally time to date Will Sweet and get him out of her system.

She knew the drill: he dated and dumped and everyone moved on without too many complications. After all, he never let a relationship get far enough for anyone to be hurt. So it was
her
turn—­and it wasn't as if Tony could object. She was thirty-­three years old. His friendship with Will could take the “strain.”

She exhaled a long breath, feeling better at having made a decision. She'd ask Will out, and he'd say yes, because surely he was running out of women to date who didn't live two towns away. After getting a close-­up view of his flaws, the flaws every man had, she'd move on with her life.

It was a logical plan, and she was all about logic.

J
ust before dinner on Thursday night, Will sat in the bubble cockpit of the family helicopter, the sound of the rotors muffled by his headset. Holding the steering bar, the cyclic, with his right hand, using the gentlest of touches to hover for a moment, he admired the beauty of the Sweetheart Ranch spread out along the base of the Elk Mountains north of Valentine Valley. He felt at peace, and, as he often did, he said hi to Brittany.

She'd been the one who'd sparked his imagination about helicopters in ranch work, showing him a Texas photo she'd found online and teasing him about being a cowboy in the sky. A few years after her death, he'd talked his dad into the purchase, and from his first solo flight, he'd felt close to her. In those first few months in the air, her memory finally became a peaceful one for him, and even all these years later, he felt a connection to her whenever he flew.

As he hovered over the Sweetheart Ranch, which generations of his family had built, a sense of pride in the many buildings was still a feeling of satisfaction deep in his chest. Out in one pasture, a dozen horses roamed free. The family home itself was two stories, with dark wood siding and low additions on either side. There were several barns and outbuildings, of course, but he was hovering over the field outside the hangar, a big red metal barn of a building that fit into the landscape of the ranch.

Down below he could see his brother Chris waving at him from near the hangar. Chris had left the tractor in position, and all Will had to do was land on the dolly so the helicopter could eventually be towed into the hangar.

But still, Will hovered, looking down at his brother through the round window, feeling tired before even facing Chris. He was tempted to rise up, as if he could escape, but he knew that was pointless.

Chris had a strong enthusiasm for helicopters, considering he wasn't interested in learning how to fly himself. He was a bookworm, along with being a cowboy. He liked playing sports as well as the next guy, but . . . he thought too much, overanalyzed everything. He was convinced that Will's passion for flying meant he should start a side business, going into search and rescue or renting himself out to the forest ser­vice or the power companies for surveying. No matter how much Will insisted he was all about being a cowboy and focusing on the Sweetheart Ranch, Chris seemed not to believe him.

But Will had never really told Chris—­or anyone—­the truth, that the helicopter was also about feeling close to the memory of Brittany. Even though that might have faded a bit over the years into a warm glow of celebrating good times rather than a tragic ending, it still seemed almost like a betrayal to be up there with anyone other than family.

At last he lowered the collective handle next to his hip and settled gently onto the dolly. He saw Chris give him a thumbs-­up, but Chris knew better than to get too close. Will had the landing checklist to run through as he waited for the temperature to cool so he could begin fuel cutoff and eventually start slowing the rotors.

When at last the clutch light turned off, Will opened the cockpit door, hopped onto the dolly, and then to the pavement.

Chris was striding toward him, light blond hair gleaming in the sun that was just about to slide behind the mountains. He was shorter and leaner than Will, but there was no mistaking that they were brothers.

“So did you see the coyotes where we thought they were? The herd has been so nervous.”

“I saw several near the McGuire. We'll have to head up there soon and take care of them.”

Chris nodded. “I bet if you approached the Thalbergs or other ranchers in the valley, they'd pay you to look for coyote.”

Will rolled his eyes and headed for the main house, saying over his shoulder, “They handle their own predator problems just fine. You can stop bringing this up.”