A Home of Her Own Page 2

  That hadn’t happened. Instead, his grandfather had left all his grandchildren equal shares in a large ranch located in eastern Utah, which they’d since sold. But whether the house belonged to him or not, Mike couldn’t stand by and allow it to be destroyed.

  Shoving the transmission into Reverse, he made a quick, three-point turn and started bouncing down the long, rutted drive to the house. A set of car tracks cut through the crusty, week-old snow, confirming that at least one other vehicle had recently passed this way.

  The tracks led to a vintage Mustang parked behind the silly fountain Red had bought and placed in the front yard. Mike didn’t recognize the car as belonging to any of the young people he knew—and in a town of only 1,400 people, most folks knew each other. But it could easily belong to someone from a neighboring town.

  Grabbing the cowboy hat sitting on the passenger seat and jamming it on his head, he parked behind the Mustang and stomped the snow off his boots as he approached the door. He listened but didn’t hear any noise coming from inside—no music or voices—so he doubted anyone was tearing up the place. More likely it was a pair of young lovers borrowing the old mattress he’d seen in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

  He scratched under his jaw. He really didn’t want to walk in on something like that. But there was the issue of the candles. And he felt fairly confident that if a couple had to drive all the way out here for privacy, there was a mother somewhere who’d thank him for rousting them out.

  “Damn kids.” He tried the door and found it unlocked. Probably the boy had climbed through a window around back and let his girlfriend in the front door. That was how they usually did it.

  Rusty hinges protested as he poked his head inside, but a rich vanilla scent greeted him immediately. The light came from the kitchen. Heat seemed to emanate from that part of the house, as well. Evidently someone was trying to make things cozy….

  “Hello?” Mike banged on the door as he entered. “If you’re undressed, cover up. I’m comin’ in.”

  He heard rustling at the back of the house. Then a flashlight snapped on and the beam hit him right in the face, blinding him before he could take another step.

  “Stop right there!”

  He put up a hand to block the light. “Or?”

  “Or…I’ll shoot.”

  He could tell by the voice that it was a woman. He had no idea where her boyfriend might be, but she seemed to be alone for the moment. “You have a gun?” he said incredulously.

  “What do you think?”

  Mike couldn’t remember anyone ever being shot in Dundee—unless it was in some kind of hunting accident. But he supposed anything was possible. “What kind of gun?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Just curious.” He was still trying to protect his eyes.

  “One that’ll put a hole in you,” she said. “Happy?”

  “Not particularly.” The quaver in her voice told him she was probably lying about the gun, which he’d suspected from the beginning. He could understand why she’d feel a bit intimidated with a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-ten-pound stranger barging in on her. What bothered him was the light—that and the question of why she was there. “Who are you?”

  “I could ask the same of you,” she said warily.

  “Mike Hill. I own the ranch next door.”

  Mike had grown up in these parts. Most everyone knew his family. But if she recognized his name, she didn’t say so.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Hill?”

  “Do you mind?” He scowled at the light as she stepped closer.

  “You’re the one who walked in uninvited.”

  She had to be alone, or he would’ve heard someone else by now. “I came to tell you that you’d better put out those candles and hightail it out of here before I call the police. You’re trespassing on private property.”

  “Is it your property?” she asked.

  “It should be.”

  “But it’s not, is it?”

  He didn’t like her tone. The fact that he’d lost the house, of which he had so many fond childhood memories, to a gold digger and her children still bothered him. The fact that he’d been robbed of the time he could’ve spent with his grandfather in the last ten years of Morris Caldwell’s life rankled even more.

  “What happens here is none of your business,” she went on briskly. “Please go.”

  Mike had no intention of leaving. No one was going to chase him out of his grandfather’s house—especially with nothing more threatening than a flashlight. “Get that damn light out of my eyes.”

  “Or?” she said, coming back at him with his own line.

  Mike welcomed the challenge. “Or I’ll take it away from you.”

  “Then I’ll—”

  “Shoot? You don’t even have a gun. If you did, you wouldn’t need to blind me.”

  She hesitated, but Mike didn’t give her a chance to decide, just in case he was wrong about the gun. With two quick steps, he caught her around the waist and pressed her up against the closest wall.

  The flashlight fell and rolled away as he pinned her hands to the side. But he’d moved her close enough to the light in the kitchen that he could just make out a straining chest covered by an overlarge sweatshirt, a pale oval face and a thick halo of long curly hair that appeared to be blond. She was young, all right, but older than he’d thought. Certainly not a teenager. She looked small, perfect, porcelain—like an angel. But the glint in her luminous eyes had nothing to do with innocence and everything to do with red-hot fury.

  She began to raise her knee, but he managed to maintain his hold on her and protect his groin at the same time. “Let go of me you, son of—!”

  “Whoa, calm down, little lady!” He used his body weight to press her more firmly against the wall so she wouldn’t try to knee him again.

  “Little lady?” She was breathing so hard he could feel every intake of breath. “I suppose you think that kind of condescending bullshit passes for manners out here, huh, cowboy?”

  Mike cocked an eyebrow at her. “My manners are a hell of a lot better than anything I’ve seen from you,” he snapped.

  “I’m not the one who came barging into your house!”

  That took him aback. “What?”

  “You heard me. Whether you think this place should belong to you or not, I own it, so let me go.”

  Mike didn’t budge. The last time he’d seen Lucky Caldwell she’d been a pudgy eighteen-year-old with more than her share of acne. She’d worn her reddish hair in a tight ponytail and waited for the school bus out front every morning, hugging her books to her chest and glaring daggers at him whenever he drove by. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Rumor had it that my mother tried to poison him. Actually, she gave him too much insulin, which she claimed was an accident, but he divorced her and cut her out of his will. Would I know that if I was just some squatter?”

  “Pretty much everybody knows that,” he pointed out, trying to see her more clearly. “At least around here.”

  “Okay, you bought the land next door from Morris when I was ten and you were about twenty-five. Josh was a couple of years younger. You and he started a stud service with a black stallion that had a white star on his forehead and white socks.”

  At his surprised silence she added grudgingly, “That horse was beautiful. I used to bring him sugar cubes and apples.”

  Slowly, Mike let go of her and eased away, wondering why his stallion hadn’t keeled over if she’d been feeding it from her evil mother’s pantry. Now that he could see her a little better, he couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t wearing anything, other than maybe a pair of panties, beneath that baggy sweatshirt. The hem hit her almost at midthigh; bare, shapely legs extended from there.

  “It’s cold. Where’re your pants?” he asked.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s late. I happened to be in my sleeping bag when you so kindly broke into my house and ruined my night. Forgi
ve me for not dressing more modestly.”

  With that biting edge to her voice, he could tell she still had plenty of spunk. But she’d certainly changed in other ways. Mostly, she’d grown up. Although she had large breasts, especially for such a small woman, the fat had melted away, and her hair was long and curly and tumbled almost to her waist. With the light from the kitchen acting like a halo behind her, he could now see that it was more red than blond.

  Mike restrained a whistle and couldn’t help wondering whether she would’ve looked that good six years ago if she hadn’t pulled her hair back every day. If so, she might have commanded a little more positive attention from the boys in town. As it was, she hadn’t been especially attractive. Nor, with her unpleasant personality, did she have anything else to recommend her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” he asked.

  Her hands curled into fists. “Maybe I appreciate my privacy.”

  More likely she enjoyed being caustic. He remembered Lucky clinging to Morris’s arm the day Morris had invited Mike over to meet his new wife and children. Because of his grandparents’ divorce and the quick second wedding, it had been a difficult year for Mike’s whole family, but particularly for Mike, since he’d always been closest to his grandpa. Everyone else had refused to acknowledge Morris’s invitation to come to the house, but Mike had shown up, hoping that everything he’d been hearing was a lie, or at least not as bad as it seemed. He’d thought he knew his grandpa. He’d thought his grandpa would never change. But Morris had been swept away by the excitement of his new relationship and was never the same after falling in love with Red.

  Mike had known there was indeed trouble in Eden when Morris hugged Lucky close and introduced her as “his new girl.” “This one’s a little doll,” he’d said, but the moment he turned his back, Lucky stuck out her tongue at Mike and ran away.

  Mike blinked, wondering what had brought Lucky back to Dundee. After Red died, his mother had finally stopped talking about how “that woman” and “those children” had stolen Morris’s love, as well as his money, then abandoned him when he was old and sick. Those who’d really loved him had taken care of him that last year. She’d also quit telling Mike, every chance she got, that it was Red who’d caused his grandmother to die shortly after Morris did. The doctors say it was heart failure. Of course it was. Her heart broke when she found out about Daddy’s affair. Mother was never the same after she left him and moved to town. Eventually, the scandal had slipped into the background and Mike hated to see it resurrected. “Are you here to stay?” he asked.

  When Lucky threw back her shoulders and brought up her chin, he knew he hadn’t done a very good job of concealing his hope for a negative answer. But then, he couldn’t imagine her expecting anyone to be happy about her return, his family least of all.

  “I might stay for a while,” she said. “You don’t have any problem with that, do you?”

  He had a problem with it, all right, but he’d already done all he could about Lucky. As soon as he’d learned that his grandfather had never legally adopted her and her brothers, as they’d all believed, he’d sued her for the house. And lost. Then he’d tried to buy it from her, several times. But she’d refused to sell. Bottom line, Lucky legally owned the place his grandfather had always promised to him; she could stay as long as she liked.

  “What you do is your decision, of course,” he said, his tone as curt and formal as hers.

  “My thoughts exactly.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late, I’m nearly naked, and it’s cold.”

  He leaned sideways to gaze through the short hallway to the kitchen. Aside from the candles and the crackle of a fire, she didn’t seem to have many comforts in there. Surely, staying in such a barren, filthy place had to be miserable, especially for a young woman. But he didn’t want her to be too comfortable, did he? Then she might prolong her visit.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked when he hesitated.

  Letting his breath seep slowly between his lips, he stooped to retrieve his hat, which had fallen off when he’d “disarmed” her. “No.”

  She stalked to the front door and yanked it open.

  If she’d been anyone else, he would’ve said something neighborly, something like, “If you need anything, I’m right next door.” Because she was a woman, and young and alone, he had a tough time not saying it. But she wasn’t just any woman. She was the daughter of the most selfish, grasping woman he’d ever met.

  “Good night,” he said coldly and walked out, carrying his hat. If Lucky had turned out as much like Red as he suspected, she could certainly take care of herself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LUCKY COULDN’T SLEEP. Her presence had been discovered by Morris’s first family. Already. Before she could even settle in and begin her research. She didn’t peg Mike Hill as much of a gossip, but he was loyal to his family. Now that he’d seen her, he was sure to mention it to his mother, who would mention it to her sister and brothers, and so on until half the town rose up against her. After all, practically everyone in Dundee was a friend or relative of the original Caldwells.

  Not that Mike or any of the people in his circle could do anything about her return—except make it unpleasant. Morris had seen to that. Considering what he believed her mother had tried to do to him, Lucky couldn’t understand why he’d still loved her and why he’d provided for her, especially so well. He’d left her brothers each a sizeable chunk of land, but he’d given her a little more than anyone else when he bequeathed her the house and a living allowance. Besides being grateful, she still missed him terribly. He was the best man she’d ever known, one of the few who had room in his heart for a fat, ugly little girl.

  Ironically, Mike, one of her greatest rivals, reminded her of the man she’d loved so dearly. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way he smiled. Not that he’d ever smiled at her. When she was a teenager, she used to daydream that the rugged cowboy next door would strike up a conversation, but she couldn’t remember his even acknowledging her. Which was probably why she’d become so determined to get a reaction out of him. She’d even flashed him one day while he was riding past on a horse and she was swimming in the pond. She’d doubted he could ignore that—and had felt mildly exultant when an expression of displeasure had flickered across his face.

  Pulling her knees to her chest, she tried to shut out the terrible craving she’d always felt for any crumb of approval or acceptance—especially when it came to Morris’s first family—and concentrated on staying warm.

  She was tempted to leave this house, leave Dundee. But the list of names she’d found in her mother’s journal was reason enough to stay.

  AFTER A MISERABLE night’s sleep, Mike stared at the phone, wondering whether or not he should call his mother. It was possible that Lucky didn’t plan on staying for any length of time. She moved around a lot. He knew because he was in charge of mailing off the monthly check she received from Morris’s trust, and she was forever sending him a new address. If she saw this as a stopover, if she was only going to move on in a few days, mentioning her sudden return would upset his mother, his entire family, for nothing.

  But if Lucky was going to stick around, it’d be better to give everyone some warning.

  He’d called his brother, Josh, already, but Josh was in Hawaii with Rebecca and Mike hadn’t been able to reach him.

  “Mike?”

  Mike glanced toward the door. Plump, fifty-year-old Rose Hilman, who handled the accounting, had just poked her head into his office.

  “Yes?”

  “Gabe Holbrook is here to see you.”

  Forgetting about his mother, his brother and Lucky Caldwell, Mike sat taller in surprise. He’d grown up with Gabe. They’d been best friends since they were kids, but ever since the accident, Gabe rarely came around.

  “Send him in,” he said.

  As Mike waited, he felt a surge of guilt and remorse. Over the pas
t few months he hadn’t made enough of an effort to see Gabe. The man had had a tough two years, the worst imaginable, but he’d become so remote and moody, it was difficult to connect with him anymore. There didn’t seem to be anything safe to talk about. The subjects they used to enjoy—football, rodeo, women—had all become painful reminders of Gabe’s loss.

  Mike stood as Gabe wheeled himself into the room, slightly heartened that his friend looked so healthy. A long-sleeved T-shirt covered the corded muscles in his broad shoulders and arms, which bunched as he forced his chair over the thick pile of the carpet. Obviously he’d been lifting weights. His face was leaner and harsher in some respects, but he possessed the same thick-lashed blue eyes and wavy black hair that had always made him a favorite with women. At least he’d been a favorite before the accident….

  “Gabe, good to see you, man.” Mike rounded his desk to shake hands.

  Gabe’s grip was firm. “It’s been a while.”

  Too long, and Mike knew it. If only the sight of Gabe in that damn wheelchair didn’t make him feel so…heartsick. He shoved his hands in his pockets, because he suddenly didn’t know what else to do with them, and sat on the edge of the desk. “You look good, buddy. You must be drinking more of that wheatgrass juice you made me taste last time I came up to the cabin.”

  It had probably been two months since that visit, but if Gabe resented the neglect, he didn’t let on. “There’re more vitamins and minerals in a tablespoon of wheatgrass juice than—”

  “I know—a whole grocery sack of fresh vegetables,” Mike broke in, chuckling. “And I still couldn’t force it down.”

  Gabe’s eyes swept over him. “From what I can see, you’re doing okay without it. For an old guy.”

  Two years younger, Gabe had skipped a couple of grades in school and always teased him about his age.

  “Forty’s right around the corner,” Mike said, “and you’re not the only one who won’t let me forget it. Josh has been giving me hell for months. So what brings you out to the ranch on such an ugly day?”