before you and Colton would want to check things out.”
“I’ve already started.” Denver’s jaw was rigid, his eyes blazing with warning, but Curtis, whether bolstered by the whiskey or his own sense of pride, didn’t back down.
“Good,” he shot back. “About time you took some interest in things.” Hooking his thumbs in the loops of his jeans, he turned to Tessa. “I’m gonna make me a sandwich. You want anything?”
“I’m fine,” Tessa lied. Beneath her ranch-tough veneer, she was shredding apart bit by bit, and she wouldn’t have been able to eat a bite if she’d tried. She heard her father amble down the hallway to the kitchen as she whirled on Denver. “What was that all about?”
“What?”
“You know what! You were baiting him, for God’s sake.”
“Was I?” He arched an insolent eyebrow. “All I said was that I was going to look things over.”
“It wasn’t so much what you said as how you said it. You implied something was going on here that wasn’t aboveboard.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Just don’t act like my dad’s some kind of criminal, okay? Try and remember who stayed here and held this ranch together while you and your brother took off to God only knows where.”
“I went to L.A.,” he said, his voice cold. “Just as I’d planned.”
She turned away. All these years she’d harbored some crazy little hope that he’d really cared for her, that he’d considered staying with her on the ranch, that she could have convinced him to stay in Montana with her if not for the fire. She hadn’t really believed his words that their affair had meant nothing to him.
Her chin trembled, but she met his gaze. His eyes glared back at her without a hint of warmth in their cerulean depths. “So you said.” She strode furiously down the hall to the kitchen. Her cheeks were flaming with injustice, and she felt her fists curl as tight as the hard knot in her stomach.
Her father was sitting in one of the beat-up chairs at the table. His cigarette burned in an ashtray, and a cup of coffee sat steaming on the stained oilcloth. “So he’s back,” Curtis grumbled, eyeing the local newspaper with disinterest.
“For a little while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Humph.”
“As long as it takes,” Denver said from the hall. Leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, he crossed his arms over his chest, the cotton weave of his shirt stretching taut over his shoulders.
“As long as it takes to do what?” Curtis asked.
Denver’s expression was calculating, his features hard. “I’m here to figure out why this ranch has lost money for the past five years.”
“That’s simple enough,” Curtis said. “The silver mines were a bust.”
“We made money before the mining.”
Curtis took a long drag on his cigarette. “But John took out loans for the equipment. Besides, prices are down and we had two bad winters—lost nearly a third of our herd. It’s no mystery, Denver. Ranchin’ ain’t exactly a bed of roses.”
“So I’ve heard,” Denver mocked.
Curtis squinted through the smoke. “Seven years hasn’t improved your disposition any, has it?”
One of Denver’s dark eyebrows cocked. “Should it have?”
Stubbing out his cigarette, Curtis shook his head. “Probably not. You McLeans are known for your bullheadedness.”
Surprisingly, Denver’s lips twitched. “Unlike you Kramers.”
“Right,” Curtis said, but he chuckled briefly as he pulled his jacket from a hook near the back porch. Squaring his stained hat on his head, he shoved open the back door and headed outside.
“You don’t have to badger him, you know,” Tessa said, keeping her back to Denver’s lounging form.
“I thought he was badgering me.”
“Maybe he was,” Tessa decided. “But you deserved it.” Through the window, she saw her father’s old truck bounce down the lane. Rain ran down the glass, blurring the glow of the taillights. “Dad’s just an old man whose only crime is that he’s given his life to this ranch.”
“And what’s mine, Tessa?” he asked, his voice low.
She turned and caught him staring at her—the same way he’d studied her in the past. His face had lost some of its harsh angles, his expression had softened, and his eyes—Lord, his eyes—had darkened to a seductive midnight blue.
“You left me,” she whispered, her throat suddenly thick. “You left us all—without a word of goodbye.”
He glanced away. “I regret that,” he admitted, shoving a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
“Why, Denver? Why wouldn’t you see me in the hospital?”
His eyes narrowed and the line of his jaw grew taut again. “Because it was over. There was no point.”