Snowbound with the Cowboy Page 12

  The more she saw, the more she realized Devlin and Jess were right—there might be good reason to just tear the house down. A cold breeze whistled through the windows and in some rooms, mildew and mold made her sneeze. Unlike a modern open-concept design, the floor plan was cut up into small rooms that limited the placement of furniture and use of space.

  Yet in every room memories curled around her like a soft sepia mist, and she found herself wistfully running her fingertips along the woodwork, wishing she could relive those wonderful times.

  Millie’s rocker had been here—where she knitted and crocheted and read her magazines. And there was the place Warren had sat in his easy chair and watched the farm-and-ranch news on the TV.

  Tate came inside just as she was headed up the open staircase. He shucked off his boots and coat and came to the bottom of the stairs. “The banister is pretty wobbly. Be careful.”

  The three bedrooms upstairs still sported the same floral wallpaper Millie had always loved, though now some of it was hanging in tatters where there had been leaks in the ceiling. Two of the rooms were empty, save for a jumble of boxes and furniture odds and ends.

  The third—the room that had been hers—was furnished with just a bed and card table where a bedside table used to be. The open closet door revealed several pairs of jeans draped over hangers and a few shirts. Other than a lamp and a stack of books on the table, the room was bare and strangely poignant. Was this evidence of Tate’s vagabond life? All that he owned? For a man born into wealth on one of the largest ranches in the county, it seemed...sad. Evidence of a lonely, solitary existence.

  She spared a quick glance into the bathroom, and cringed at the obvious water damage and mold creeping up the walls. The old avocado shag carpet that Aunt Millie had refused to change despite Uncle Warren’s firm insistence.

  Sara hurried downstairs, shivering. “Tell me that the furnace works,” she said through chattering teeth. “So you can turn it on.”

  “Not yet. The furnace repairman has the replacement parts on back order because the furnace is so old. But spring is just around the corner, right?”

  “Sure doesn’t feel like it today. Aren’t you worried about the water pipes freezing?”

  “The water was turned off during the coldest part of the winter, but since moving in, I’ve kept the fireplace going if the outside temps drop below the midthirties.”

  “What about that wind whistling through the window frames upstairs?”

  “I’ve ordered new windows for the second floor. The old ones were off-brand aluminum replacements and poorly insulated. Not a wise choice.”

  “I totally agree. Warren installed them when I was in middle school, and I remember him arguing with Millie about which brand to buy. Warren won, unfortunately—and Millie didn’t talk to him for a week.”

  Tate flashed a quicksilver grin. “Poor Warren.”

  “Her motto was always ‘Spend the money and do it right the first time’ and he must’ve finally taken it to heart, because he did a stellar job on the cabin.”

  Tate knelt in front of the redbrick fireplace, adjusted some kindling and slender logs and built a fire. Within minutes it flickered to life and warmth started to radiate through the room.

  He rose and gestured toward an oak rocking chair, then settled on a straight-backed chair that had probably belonged to Millie’s dining room set. “So, what do you think? Is there hope for this old house?”

  Entranced, she watched the flames caressing the logs, the sparks rising toward the chimney then falling back as spent ash. “Of course there is. The big questions would be budget, time and intention. Who’s going to live here? If you rent out the house or sell it off with a few acres for a hobby farm, you probably wouldn’t want to put much into it.”

  “I like the idea of doing it right, no matter who lives here. The place has good bones and I think it could be something really special.” He braced his elbows on his thighs and leaned toward the fire, the warm amber glow casting the planes and angles of his lean, handsome face into sharp relief. “I’ve spent the last ten years living out of a suitcase, going to rodeos. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had roots anywhere, but I’ve always thought I would enjoy renovating houses. Or at least trying.”

  She must have looked a little stunned, because he laughed and winked at her. “This probably destroys my bronc rider image, but I’ve spent a lot of time in hotel rooms watching HGTV.”

  She smothered a grin, and despite her tension earlier, she felt herself relax. “Then you and my uncle Warren have a lot in common.”

  “You probably won’t want to tell him that. But hey, I feel I’m in good company. I’ve never heard a word against him.”

  Sara shifted uneasily in the rocking chair. “I suppose I’d better be on my way. It’s getting late.”

  “Are you sure? I could sear some prime Angus steaks if you’d like. Wouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

  Langford prime beef had a reputation that extended far beyond the county, and her mouth watered at the thought. “That sounds wonderful. But maybe another time?”

  “Tomorrow, if you’d like—since you’re coming to talk about the house anyway. Just let me know.”

  “I’ll just come straight from work so it doesn’t get so late. Can I bring something? Maybe salad fixings from the store?”

  “Perfect.”

  At the back door she hesitated and listened to the rising wind. Swirling snow now obliterated the security light, leaving just a faint glow. It was too dark to judge the total snowfall from inside, but it was definitely time to get home.

  He looked over her shoulder. “Would you rather I drove you home?”

  “Goodness, no. I’ll be fine.”

  “Text me when you get home all right, okay? I imagine that lane from the highway to your cabin would be two miles of misery in deep snow, so call me in the morning if you need help getting out. I’ve got a snow blade for my truck.”

  Touched by his concern, she nodded. “Thanks. I will, but I’ve got four-wheel drive and I’m a Montana girl, so this is probably nothing.”

  Still, electrical outages were common in this kind of stormy weather, and conjured up the image of a long, uneasy night.

  “Just so you know, I think I’m going to bring the black Lab home with me tonight. The smoky smell is mostly gone and it might be nice to have some company.”

  “Good idea.” He hesitated and for a moment she saw something flicker in his eyes—as if he was remembering their shared past. Did he ever think about their moonlight kisses? Slow dancing at the high school prom? His voice roughened. “Drive safe, now.”

  “Definitely.” Her cell phone barked—the unique alert from her after-hours clinic answering service. “I just need to catch up on my messages, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  He lifted a hand to touch her shoulder or maybe even offer the kind of casual hug friends gave each other in farewell. But then he let his hand drop to his side and he stepped back as if having second thoughts about crossing some invisible line.

  After settling the Lab in the backseat, she started her truck, checked several messages from the clinic and made several phone calls.

  She glanced toward the house as she shifted the truck into Drive.

  All she could see beyond the curtain of falling snow was the faint glow of the lights inside, but she knew Tate was at the window, watching her leave. Concerned for her. Who would’ve thought the day would end this way?

  This was not about romance. Nothing about fluttery feelings or hopeful expectations for a relationship that would be doomed from the start. She just had to keep reminding herself of that. But maybe it could be the start of friendship. Two adults who could enjoy each other’s company and never want anything more.

  Yet far into the night, while she listened to the wind howl and branches scrape against the side of the cabin,
a single thought kept drifting back.

  If Tate had given her that farewell embrace and if it had deepened into a farewell kiss, she definitely would have kissed him back.

  Chapter Nine

  Sara had texted him when she got home safely last night. Then she’d texted again this morning to ask if Tate would feed her animals, and said she’d made it to work despite the snow—though it had taken twice as long as usual and she was running late.

  After his morning chores he took his truck over to Sara’s to clear the lane from the highway all the way up to her cabin, then came back to begin clearing his own lane and parking area.

  Just being neighborly, he told himself. Nothing more than that.

  Maybe he’d felt a bit more than neighborly last night when he’d nearly given Sara a farewell embrace before she headed for home, but it had meant nothing. Just an old habit from long ago, and he’d caught himself in time.

  Jess turned up just as Tate finished moving snow. He drove beside Tate’s truck, rolled down his window and grinned as he handed over an insulated lunch bag and a travel mug with a lid. “Grandma was concerned about you having a hot breakfast. Everything okay up here?”

  “I didn’t lose power and the snow wasn’t all that bad. Six or seven inches—but not much drifting.”

  “Down at the main ranch, I couldn’t even get into the horse barn this morning until I shoveled my way through a drift in front of the door.” Jess reached for his own coffee mug in the console cupholder of his truck. “So how are you holding up? This isn’t exactly like the glitz and action of a rodeo circuit with your buddies.”

  Tate laughed. “Nope. Not close.”

  Jess shook his head. “When I first left the rodeo circuit to come back and help Dad I thought the home ranch was boring. But this place is even more isolated and lonely.”

  Tate snickered. “You do know how to make a guy feel good about his lot in life, Jess.”

  “Just checking in, that’s all. You can always move down to the home place. We’ve got those three cabins just west of the house that are really nice now. Devlin put a lot of work into them. One is Chloe’s, for the weekends when she can get back from teaching, but the other two are open.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Tate took a long sip of his coffee and stared through the windshield. “If you’d asked me two months ago about how long I’d last in a place like this, I would have said two days. Max.”

  “And now?”

  “There’s something peaceful about being away from life on the road. All the crowds and lights and noise. I even look forward to seeing the herds of horses and Black Angus growing fat on Langford land this spring.”

  Jess’s eyebrows rose. “Those are words I never thought you’d say. Does that mean you want to stay, instead of trying to buy that rodeo company?”

  “Nope. I’ll definitely be leaving. But it’s good to be home and have a chance to help you out while I can. You gave up everything to come back and help Dad, so it’s the least I can do.”

  “Do you need help with anything up here?”

  “Not yet. I can’t start fixing fence until the ground is thawed enough to set some new fence posts, and I’m waiting for replacement windows to arrive for the second floor of the house.”

  Jess glanced beyond Tate’s truck to the house. “I’m still not convinced it’s worth saving. Have you figured out your reno plan?”

  “Partly, but I’ve asked Sara to stop by and look things over. She stayed here with her aunt and uncle quite a bit so I figure she might have some good ideas.”

  Jess’s eyebrows rose again. “The pretty little vet. So how are you two getting along? Is she going to rope you in and make you want to stay in Pine Bend for good?”

  Beneath the teasing tone Tate heard a hopeful note, and he firmly shook his head to dispel any misapprehension Jess might have. “We’re just old acquaintances at best.”

  Jess settled his coffee mug back in his cup holder. “Well, little brother, all I can say is that if you don’t wake up to what’s in front of you, you might be missing out on the best thing in your life. She seems like a really nice gal, she has a warm heart and she’s made a good career for herself instead of living off her parents’ money. Tell me you haven’t thought about her over the years.”

  “Did anyone ever mention that you were nosy?”

  Jess laughed. “So you have.”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Just keep in mind that your much wiser brother Dev didn’t miss out on his perfect match, and he’ll be getting married the end of May.” Jess shot a wicked sideways glance at him. “If you hurry, you’ll have time to make it a double wedding.”

  A dozen years back their banter would have triggered a wrestling match that lasted until they were both exhausted and laughing. Now, Tate just lifted his coffee mug in a wry salute. “Dream on. I’ll be thinking of you both while I enjoy being ‘footloose and fancy-free.’”

  * * *

  Sara finished examining the elderly basset hound—her last appointment of the day—and lifted him from the exam table to the floor. “He’s looking fine, Mrs. Groveland. He had excellent lab work and a good annual checkup.”

  The elderly woman’s diamond-encrusted rings and crimson fingernails flashed under the bright fluorescent lights when she took the leash. “I don’t know what I would do without my Elmer. What family I have left is only interested in my money, but he’s with me night and day.”

  “Well, he’s fortunate to have such a wonderful owner.”

  “I expect he will outlive me, and I know no one will ever love him as much as I do.” Her lower lip trembled.

  “Do you have a relative or friend who could take him? You could leave instructions. Maybe put them in your will.”

  The woman’s sharp laugh held no humor. “I know that if I left money for his care, my nephews would find a way to drop him off at the nearest shelter and squander every penny on themselves. They are thoughtless, selfish people and won’t be getting another dime from me. I know what happens to old dogs in those shelters.”

  “There are no-kill shelters in some of the bigger cities in Montana. Though, if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem to be in excellent health. I’m guessing you will far outlive your sweet dog.”

  “Then you’d be wrong, according to my doctors.” The woman lifted her chin with an air of defiance. “I want to know if you can make sure my sweet Elmer has a wonderful life after I’m gone.”

  Sara blinked, recalling all of the times she’d been asked the same question about other dogs. Cats. Ferrets. There’d been a few snakes and potbellied pigs and hedgehogs in the mix.

  “He’s a lovely dog, Mrs. Groveland. I can promise to try to find him a good and loving home. But if you’re talking about me taking him right now, at this minute, my home is at the breaking point and there’s little space here at the clinic.”

  “I guess I didn’t make myself clear.” She waved a hand impatiently. “My family owned a pharmaceutical company for generations. My nephews are, I’m sure, looking forward to their inheritance the day I die. I plan to surprise them when I do.”

  Sara guessed it was going to be a monumental surprise, to say the least. One that involved finding real jobs if they didn’t have them already.

  “I’ve earmarked most of my assets for cancer research, because cancer will take me before too long. But I found some lovely, scenic property not far from here. I want to establish a foundation to run a sanctuary for old, disabled and abandoned animals.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” Sara exclaimed.

  “I need a veterinary consultant during the planning of the facilities and then on retainer for regular care of the animals themselves. I’ve had a bit of research done on you, Dr. Branson. You were highly regarded during your three years at a major animal emergency clinic in Chicago. And I very much appreciate the rescue work y
ou do on your own. Are you interested?”

  Sara thought of all the animals she’d taken home for refuge or rehab, the ones that were difficult to rehome. There were too many for just one person to save. If this sanctuary truly came to be, it would be a great blessing.

  “I...I’d like to hear more,” Sara said cautiously.

  “Good.” The woman headed for the door, then turned back. “I want to leave this life knowing Elmer is still loved and that I’ve done something good. And I believe The Elmer Groveland Animal Sanctuary will be the answer to my dreams.”

  Chapter Ten

  Her mind still buzzing after the surprising encounter with Eleanor Groveland, Sara hummed as she finished tossing the romaine, sliced carrots and cherry tomatoes she’d picked up at the grocery store after work, then mixed the ingredients for a homemade ranch dressing.

  “It seems so strange to be here, cooking in Millie’s kitchen again,” she murmured as she watched Tate pour a little oil in a cast-iron skillet on the stove. “It’s been a long time.”

  Gleaming new appliances had been delivered just this afternoon, which gave the old kitchen a look of promise, though there was much more to be done.

  Tate turned the heat on high, waited until the pan was sizzling, then dropped two marinated rib eyes into the pan. After three or four minutes he flipped them, revealed a nice dark sear, poured melted butter over the top and seared the other side, then turned the temp to low. “Medium rare okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  He sprinkled flaky sea salt on top of each one, then moved the steaks to a couple of stoneware plates and pulled two baked potatoes out of the oven. “Butter and sour cream are on the table if you want them. That’s sweet tea in the pitcher.”

  After one bite she closed her eyes to savor the juicy, perfect steak and the pop of flavor from the crunchy bits of salt. “This is fantastic. Have you always liked to cook?”