A Montana Cowboy. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
you, Cassie. See you shortly.”
He retraced his steps to get his bags out of the Explorer. When he walked inside, the delicious aroma of strawberries filled the house. He moved through the foyer and dining room to the kitchen. She’d been making jam. Trace didn’t realize her housekeeping duties extended to actually putting up fruit in a house where no one lived.
There were several dozen jars on the counter already filled and labeled. The sweet smell reminded him of times he’d played with the Bannock brothers as a boy before his parents’ divorce. The last summer he’d lived here while he was still happy, he remembered going over to their grandmother’s house where she was putting up jam and jelly. She’d let them pile butter and fresh jam on homemade bread and feast their heads off.
The wonderful memory pierced him. Soon after that time he’d learned his parents were divorcing and he’d have to move away from friends like Connor and Jarod Bannock, who lived next door. That turned out to be the darkest day of his young life. He’d been searching for happiness ever since. Being a pilot had given him thrills and purpose, but life had a habit of getting in the way.
He left the kitchen and walked across the hall to his bedroom to get rid of his bags. The same framed photographs of family that had always hung there lined the walls. It hurt to look at them. On the way he passed the other two bedrooms. One was his father’s. The other was a spare bedroom, but when he looked inside, he received a shock rather than a surprise.
Cassie lived here?
Trace had assumed she’d moved back to the Bannock ranch with her family after her husband’s death. Their wealth meant she wouldn’t have financial worries. Maybe his kindhearted father had allowed her to stay on for a time while she worked through her grief. That was something he would do. If that were the case, then Trace’s plan to sell the ranch would come as a blow to her while she was attempting to get through the worst of her pain. Hell...
That was another subject to talk over with his father when he arrived. But right now Trace was starving. The thought of a tuna fish sandwich on American soft white bread sounded so good, he headed straight back to the kitchen.
* * *
CASSIE HAD WATCHED his tall, well-honed physique, dressed in khakis and a crewneck shirt, disappear around the corner of the house. Trace Rafferty had been born an exceptionally handsome man. Judging from the photographs Sam had shown her after his son had gone into the military, time had only added to his male attributes. He’d inherited his mother’s black hair and smile. But his rugged features and those searing hot blue eyes fringed by black lashes had come straight from his father.
Sam was so proud of his son, who’d served in many places around the globe. In or out of uniform, Trace Rafferty, still unmarried, possessed killer looks that would always cause him to stand out.
Cassie had been putting up jam for the past week, a little at a time. It always made the house smell good, so she’d decided to put up some more today to make his homecoming a little more welcoming. After that she’d started dinner with a pot roast in the oven and homemade rolls that were still rising.
According to Doc Rafferty, Trace hadn’t been out to the ranch since his father had gotten married last year. On his last leave, he’d stayed in town with him and his new wife at their condo in White Lodge.
Perhaps it had been too painful to return to the home that was now empty of all family. But Sam had left it to his son and hoped he would make his life here now that he was out of the air force. She knew Sam’s heart. He’d missed his son horribly over the years. To have him back home to stay would thrill him.
After finding as many ripe strawberries as she could, she made her way to the back door through the laundry room to the kitchen. Trace could have them fresh for breakfast if he wanted.
The minute she stepped in the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was the smell of tuna fish mingled with the jam aroma. Looking around she discovered Trace over in the corner at the breakfast table eating sandwiches. He’d already drunk half a quart of milk without the aid of a glass.
He flashed her a smile that gave her an odd, fluttery sensation. “You’ve caught me.”
Troubled that his smile had any effect on her at all, she put the basket of berries on the counter. “It’s your house. You’re entitled to do whatever you want.”
“I didn’t know you were still living here.”
Uh oh. “After Logan died, I didn’t plan to stay on, but your father insisted because he wanted the house kept up while no one was living here. Now that you’re home, I plan to leave tonight after I’ve served you two dinner.”
Though she hadn’t told Sam yet, she’d already made arrangements with her cousin Avery to stay with her and her husband, Zane, until she found another place to live and work.
He shook his dark head. “Since I just arrived and don’t know my own plans yet, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to move out.”
“But—”
“No buts. You were hired to take care of the house. From what I’ve already seen, you’ve done a fantastic job.”
“Thank you.” She checked on the roast, then started to leave the kitchen, almost faint with relief that she didn’t have to give up this job quite yet.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m taking the horses for their daily exercise.”
Trace emptied the milk bottle. His eyes played over her. “How do you manage that?”
She couldn’t help but smile at the remark. “I ride Buttercup and string Masala along. He goes where she goes.”
“So he has a crush on her?”
A chuckle escaped her. “No. But he has no choice if he wants to leave the paddock. He’s a wild mustang my cousin Connor tamed and gave to us. Besides Connor and your father, my husband was the only other man to ride him.”
He continued to study her. “All you Bannocks are expert horse people. I’m surprised you haven’t won that horse over yet.”
She averted her eyes. “Masala preferred Logan.”
Since when did that matter when according to Trace’s father she was an expert horsewoman? He got up from the table. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you and take a look around the property. Maybe Masala will let me ride him. If not, I’ll hold the rope and lead him around as we walk. After my flight, I need to stretch my legs.”
Cassie preferred to be alone, but she didn’t see how she could turn down Trace’s offer. “Won’t your father be here before long?”
“I don’t know. Clive Masters said he’d gone out on an emergency. I’ll text him to let him know we’ll be back soon. If he’s hungry, I made enough tuna fish for him to have some, too.”
“He’ll like that,” she said. It seemed Trace had made up his mind. He had the confidence and authority of a man who was comfortable in any setting. “I’ll meet you at the barn in a few minutes.”
After she left the kitchen, Trace cleaned up the mess he’d made and went back to his bedroom to put on jeans and a T-shirt. His room was exactly as he’d left it. The framed pictures of him, a couple with his dog, some with his parents and some with Jarod and Connor out horseback riding, still hung on the wall.
He found his old pair of cowboy boots and put them on. With the exception of the last time he’d been home, he and his father had always gone riding after chores were done.
His ancient black cowboy hat sat on the closet shelf. He dusted it off and shoved it on his head. Once he’d sent his father a text, he headed for the barn. Cassie was already out in the paddock astride her horse.
Buttercup was well named. Between Cassie’s hair and the palomino’s golden color that included a white mane and tail, they made quite