Rough Road Home (The Circle D series) (20 page)

“Where did you get that idea?” Gabe leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. “The only headache I’ve had is wondering when you’d get tired of the road and come home. All these years we’ve wondered what’s kept you away and never came up with a plausible answer.” Gabe wrapped his hands around his mug and stared into the steam rising from the liquid. “Spill it. What gives?”

Gabe made it sound so innocent. After all the pain and heartache he’d caused the family, Nick didn’t know if he had enough courage to catalog all his sins…or the desire to do so. Too much time had gone by. Even if they forgave him, they’d never forget. And seeing the judgment or worse, pity, in their eyes everyday for the rest of his life was a hell he’d rather not endure. He’d rather cast his lot with the bulls. “I’m not made for this.”

“Not made for what?” His brother snapped around faster than a prairie dog out of his hole. “You have more Circle D running through your veins than me and Zac combined. You grew Davidson Enterprises into the success it is today. We’ve been flying loose here, trying to figure out what you’d do next. You love the ranch, your house, the cattle, the PR—”

“How can you say that after the countless fights with the Bouchles over Stephanie? I’m a monster, remember? I killed their little girl. I have no heart.” As he spoke, the years dissolved and he was back in the court battles — the murder charges. “I not only dirtied the family name, I mashed it into the ground.” Jamming his fingers through his hair, Nick turned and faced the window as snowflakes blew in a vicious wind. “How can you say I made this company? I tore it down.”

Silence hung in the air. His arms shook as his fingers curled along the edge of the sink. He’d held it together for so long, he’d almost convinced himself he no longer cared about the past. The lie smacked him the face with as much force as the blizzard that had blown through the ranch compound the night before. Swallowing hard, Nick tried to stuff all his emotions back into the dark places of his soul, desperate to regain the illusion of peace he’d fabricated over the years.

“The charges held no ground,” Gabe said quietly. “It was all hype ignited by wretched grief. You know that.”

The chair scraped across the floor and the solid steps of his brother drew closer. A strong palm gripped his shoulder and Nick tensed at the touch. Gabe may have held it together with the bits and pieces he’d been told, but Nick knew the whole story and it wasn’t pretty. He turned until he faced his brother, a cold sweat drenching his neck and back. He captured his brother’s gaze. “Maybe the allegations are true.”

Gabe didn’t miss a beat. “No.”

“Are you certain? How do you know?”

“Because I know you and I knew Stephanie. She was the only child of a modern day cattle baron. Spoiled to the hilt. We watched you give her everything she wanted, no matter the cost to yourself. It was hard to watch.” Gabe stepped closer and draped his arm over Nick’s shoulder and they both turned toward the kitchen window. “I won’t speak ill of the dead. You gave her all you could, Nick. There was no give and take between you two. She never seemed to understand the responsibilities in being married and creating a life with her husband. She wanted the best of all her worlds.”

Long suppressed emotions balled up in Nick’s throat. That was his job, to give his wife all the best. “I failed her.”

“If ever two people were unequally yoked, it was you and Steph.” Gabe dropped his hand from Nick’s shoulder and stood beside him at the counter as he had since they were boys. “I’m not saying it was wrong, she just wanted a life much different than the one she’d married into. She did her best to turn you into her father.”

Nick couldn’t deny a word of it. Steph wanted it all and living on the high of successful marketing campaigns for Davidson Enterprises, Nick thought he could give it to her. He’d lived for the satisfaction his cattle breeding programs produced; she lived the glamour of the stockholders parties. He worked cattle all week and rodeoed all weekend; she either moped around the house or packed her bags to vacation with her folks.

They never found the perfect balance together, but he hadn’t planned to give up trying.

Rafters creaked as the wind gathered momentum, driving a sheet of snow into the kitchen window. Storms like this were common along the Elk Mountain Range. A dime a dozen every winter. Just like years ago when Steph ran out the house and drove away. The frigid temps; the blizzard conditions.

And he hadn’t stopped her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After a night and morning of heavy snow and ominous clouds, the sun had broken through and revealed a snow-covered wonderland complete with pine trees, their boughs sagging with the weight of the snow. Mountain peaks glistened in the distance and cattle trudged through drifts eager for an anticipated feeding.

Rachel’s fingers clamped onto the belt loops of Nick’s jeans through the pocket of his down jacket. A couple of bumps threw them skidding off the side of the road. She pressed her cheek so tight against his back, they might as well have been one. Ice crystals stung her cheeks as they drove beneath low hanging pine boughs. The ATV labored through the snow until it found traction and they broke out onto the road once again.

“Hoowee!” Nick laughed into the sunshine as he shifted into a higher gear. “This is great.”

The four-wheeler hit another rut buried beneath the snow sending clumps of packed snow in the air. Rachel ducked, hiding her face in the nylon and down filling stretched across Nick’s broad back. “Take it easy, will you?”

“Take it easy?” he called over his shoulder. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the week.”

Crazy man. Rachel dug her chin into his back.

“Ouch.” He twisted in her arms trying to slough her off. “What are you doing?”

She clung tighter, her cheek smoothing over the divot she'd ground into his back. “Stop it, Nick.”

In a fluid motion, the ATV down-shifted and the chains on the tires ground into the snow like a tractor. “Just one more turn here and we’ll follow the road straight up.”

Rachel relaxed her nerves, if not her grip. Grace Davidson had claimed they’d shown signs of cabin fever and suggested they go out for a ride. At the time, Rachel thought it a good idea. When she discovered the transportation would be an all-terrain four-wheeler custom fitted for the snow, she looked forward to making tracks through the pristine fields surrounding the ranch house.

She never thought they’d follow a service road only mountain goats could navigate.

Despite the protection of dense underbrush and pines, the back road sported over a foot of snow. Once in its stride, the four-wheeler plowed through the half mile stretch like a trooper. They broke through to a clearing where a modern log house stood. Nick pulled up to the porch and cut the engine.

Rachel loosened her death grip on Nick. The bright sunlight reflecting on the open field after the mile of shaded road practically blinded her. Gloved hand to brow to shade her eyes, she studied the two-story log house complete with a wrap around deck and upper balcony. Drifts older than the recent snowstorm barred the front door. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

Squinting against the sunlight, he nodded. “I am now.”

“This is your house?”

Swinging his leg over the throttle, he slid off the four-wheeler and offered her a hand.

Rachel gave a low whistle. “You know how to live right, cowboy.”

“Just a house.” Flipping up his collar to the stiff breeze, he started walking toward the side of the house. “C’mon, let’s get in before we freeze.”

Rachel followed his tracks through the snow, stretching to match his long-legged stride. He rounded the corner and stopped in a shielded alcove between the house and garage. Nick kicked at the snowdrift before turning the knob.

“It’s unlocked?”

“I never lock it.”

“Right.” She bonked the side of her head with the heel of her palm. “What was I thinking?”

Grinning as he stepped inside, he hung his jacket up on the peg rack by the door. “You were thinking you’ve lived in the city too long.”

“Just what I was going to say.” She hooked her jacket next to his in a mud room complete with large capacity washer and dryer. Rubbing her arms, Rachel thought twice and reached for her jacket. “It’s colder standing in here than running through the snow.”

"It won't be in a minute."

She followed him into a gourmet kitchen straight out of an interior design magazine. Nick stood beside a plank oak table with intricately turned posts for legs. Studying a piece of paper he’d snagged before dumping his stuff, his brows drew together in the familiar way she recognized, a warning he wasn’t happy.

“Invitation to a birthday party you missed?” She tried to look over his shoulder.

“Mitch called Gabe.” Nick flipped the paper over to see if anything was written on the other side.

“Gabe left you a note telling you that?” She nodded toward the picture window that framed a dense forest with trees ladened with snow. They’d arrived the day before with a blizzard in full swing. “There weren’t any tire tracks leading up here.”

“My guess is Mitch called Gabe as soon as I went down. Probably told him to expect me.”

That didn’t make sense. “But I kidnaped you. Uncle Mitch didn’t have anything to do with you coming home.”

He cocked his brow at her. “How long have you known Mitch Cauldwell? We must have played right into his plans.”

The conversation she and Uncle Mitch had about cowboys and letting them make their own decisions burned in her mind. He knew all along she’d bring Nick home. He hadn’t wanted to look like the bad guy squashing Nick’s dreams.

Uncle Mitch had thrown her under the bus.

Nick shook his head as he crumpled the paper and tossed it into a lined waste basket. “The note says the wood box is full.”

“Good to hear,” she mumbled, trying to rub some warmth into her arms. “So, where’s that wood box?”

“In the living room.” He led the way around the corner. “I’ll have the place warm in no time.”

Rachel trailed Nick into the comfortably appointed room displaying its over-sized leather furniture and haphazardly scattered throw rugs over hardwood flooring. A massive fireplace towered up the wall, the rugged stone work offering random ledges for assorted southwestern style ceramics. The overall atmosphere cozy and inviting.

“Nice place.” She crossed to a wall of glass sectioned into a combination of windows and doors. Sunlight reflected off the snow in every direction. Familiar with the Colorado mountains, Rachel wasn’t surprised the deck faced a picturesque view of rock-rimmed mountain and pines, clear testimony to the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains. The view was no less spectacular than the man. Rugged and capable, Nick wore his convictions with confident and timeless ease.

The dull thud of wood against the hearth made her turn back in time to see Nick bent over a chunk of pine, hatchet poised to chop the piece in two. His jeans hugged a muscular physique. The long sleeves of his cream flannel shirt were rolled to the elbows revealing strong, bronzed arms. Even with his swollen eye and bruised cheeks, Nick Davidson embodied the essence of every wild west fantasy spun by dreamy girls and impassioned women everywhere.

Longing she’d never expected to experience crashed over Rachel. The physical attraction to Nick she couldn’t deny. Physical had never been enough to sway her. Her father perfected the mold of the handsome and rugged cowboy, but he’d lacked the emotional understanding Rachel coveted in her heart. She needed companionship, understanding, and trust. She needed a man whose soul touched hers. She needed a man who placed God first in his life, not a Brahma bull.

Oh, Lord, she’d had her life all figured out. Well, she’d just spent the last few weeks reassessing her life and working out kinks. Now, she was happy with her new plan of action. God…family…work. That was the hierarchy of importance. Now nothing made sense. Least of all her attraction to Nick Davidson.

“So, Nick.” She cleared her throat hoping to clear the path of her thoughts. “This is a beautiful house.”

The blade of the hatchet chopped into the chunk of wood he balanced with a definitive whack. “It’s a house.”

“You live here all by yourself?”

He carefully placed the kindling in the hearth as the echo of wind whistled in the flue. “I own the house. I don’t live here.”

“Makes sense to me.” In a way, his point made sense. The room bore definite feminine influence. His wife’s death probably made it difficult for him to come home.

A fledgling flame danced around the kindling. Sparks snapped as he fed larger sticks into the fires. “Does it?”

“Of course.” She scrambled for words. “Tragedy shrouds happy memories. I don’t blame you for not wanting to confront the past.”

“The past wasn’t made up of happy memories.” His gaze was fixed on the flickering flame. “No matter what spin you want to put on it.”

A spin? Was that what you called helpful people trying to explain a tragedy in the best light? An alternate ending to a story because you didn’t like the way the first turned out?