Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,74

said. “It’s all on one level—no steps anywhere. And we could build a ramp onto the front porch. You could have Jack’s old room. It has its own bathroom with a shower, and his workout equipment is still there. It wouldn’t be charity, Shane. We need you. Tess has more responsibility than she can handle, and we can’t offer classes without you to teach them.”

And what about us? Shane thought. If he moved to the Alamo Canyon Ranch, would he and Lexie be a couple? Would they be expected to marry? He loved her, but what if he couldn’t function as a whole man?

It was too soon to ask that question.

Lexie seemed to sense his hesitation. “Just think about it,” she said. “You don’t need to decide right away.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s not a bad idea. But I can’t make plans till I know how I’ll do in rehab. I won’t come to you as an invalid who needs to be bathed and diapered. I need to be able to take care of myself. Does that make sense?”

She sighed and lay back in the recliner. “Yes, of course it does. I just want you to know that whatever happens, there’ll be a place for you, where you’ll be welcomed and needed.”

He reached over, found her hand, and squeezed it. This beautiful woman deserved so much more than what he could offer her. Maybe once she got home, away from him, she would come to her senses and realize that.

For now, all he could do was let her go and focus on his own recovery. The future would have to wait.

* * *

Tess rose at dawn, already thinking of the busy day ahead. In the afternoon, the people from the Jensen Ranch would be showing up with their bull. The cows and heifers would need to be ready for him, herded into a pasture with plenty of feed, water, and a secure fence.

She pulled on her clothes, brushed her teeth, and splashed her face. Hopefully the Jensen bull would be a good one. If he turned out to be a dud, she might wish she’d listened to Lexie’s argument for buying semen. But it was too late to change plans. Maybe next year things would be different.

After unloading the bull, Alma Jensen would be keen to pick out a choice yearling. If he had an eye for bucking stock, Tess already knew which one he was likely to choose. The feisty young bull, still unnamed, was the last full brother of Whirlwind and Whiplash. Tess was tempted to hide him, but that would be a violation of her principles and her father’s. She would keep herself honest and hope for the best.

After a restless night, she still felt groggy. But a cup of Callie’s strong coffee would clear her head. Usually she could smell it brewing as she came down the hall. This morning the aroma was absent. When she reached the kitchen, she found it empty and dark.

Tess turned on the light and started the coffee maker. Callie must’ve overslept. Any second now, she’d come bustling into the kitchen, apologizing as she took over the coffee and started breakfast.

Minutes passed, and Callie didn’t appear. Maybe she was sick. Setting her coffee mug on the counter, Tess went back down the hall. The door to Callie’s bedroom was closed. Tess knocked cautiously. When there was no answer, she opened the door.

The bed was unmade, the covers looking as if they’d been pulled up over the pillows to make a lump, like someone sleeping. But Callie was nowhere to be seen.

Tess checked the bathroom and found it empty. Concern mounting, she hurried out to the front porch. She was scanning the yard and the pastures when Ruben came around the house.

“I can’t find Callie,” she said. “Have you seen her?”

The foreman shook his head. “Not since yesterday. You look worried.”

“I am. With all the crazy things going on around here, anything could have happened. Check the barn and the sheds. Ask the boys to help. I’m going back inside to look again.”

In the house, she checked all the rooms. Then she returned to Callie’s bedroom for a more careful search. Her plain blue nightgown lay half-stuffed beneath a pillow. The white blouse and denim slacks she’d worn yesterday should have been in the laundry basket, but they were missing, along with her bra and underwear. So were the brown loafers she liked to wear in the yard. Wherever Callie was, it appeared