Chapter 7

After work on Friday, Tori exercised Fudge in the indoor arena, sharpened her own skills by roping the plastic, steer-shaped dummy, then lingered beside Fudge’s stall after she’d put him up, leaning on the wood planks and listening to his rhythmic munching. She didn’t want to go inside. Not yet. Talking to Delon, picturing him out on the open road, had put an itch under her skin. She was well aware that a trucker’s life wasn’t as cool as it seemed, but the thought of packing up and rolling clear across the country…

To Duluth. She rubbed a shiver from her arms. Definitely over-romanticizing. Tori frowned, mentally replaying her telephone conversation with Delon. She felt as if they’d resolved something. She just wasn’t sure what. He clearly wasn’t thrilled by her presence. Why should he be? What they’d had might not have been an epic love affair, but it had left a mark. Literally, on a couple of occasions. Rug burn. Ouch.

Funny, how she could recall with perfect clarity the way her jeans had chafed on her raw knees, and yet feel only a vague shadow of the aching and yearning she’d been sure would be the death of her. Showed what she’d known about pain.

She sighed, pushed away from the stall, then paused at the barn door to watch a car crawl down the gravel lane. A lost soul about to discover they’d turned onto a dead-end road—a nice metaphor for her own life. To her surprise, the car turned into her driveway. Only her family knew where she lived. Her mother was still in Chicago. Her sister was either holed up in her lab at Stanford or sharing takeout with Pratimi in their cozy, Spanish-style condo in Palo Alto. And her father…

The silver Lincoln whispered to a stop and Robert Patterson’s lean frame unfolded from behind the wheel. Alone. He had half a dozen minions who were retained solely for the purpose of herding him directly from meeting to legislative session to press conference with no detours. He hadn’t made a surprise appearance since her third birthday, and she only remembered that because she’d seen the pictures. Her pulse thumped and the too-familiar bile of terror rose in her throat. Had something happened to her mother? Elizabeth? But no, his body language and expression were too relaxed for bad news. She tucked away the knee-jerk fear and studied him as he surveyed the house with its ratty scrap of lawn and spindly shrubs. He didn’t look down his elegant Patterson nose. Despite everything, he had very few pretenses, which made him wildly popular with the working class.

It saddened Tori to see the lines scoring his face, the gleam of silver in his blond hair. That damn job was making him an old man before his time. And if his supporters had their way, it would only get worse.

She stepped out of the barn. “Hey, Daddy. This is a surprise.”

“Tori!” His smile was immediate and genuine. “What are you doing out here in the dark?”

“Just finishing up the chores.” She made a show of peering into the empty car. “You’re alone? What did you do, chew through your leash?”

He blinked at her unaccustomed bluntness, then smiled again with a twinkle of mischief. “Climbed out the bathroom window during the debate about whether to order Mexican or barbecue for dinner. I’ve been in meetings all day in Amarillo, and at the rate that we’re running in circles, we’re going to be at it until morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Which part?”

She laughed. “What did I do to rate a jail break?”

“I wanted to see your place.” He rested one palm on the roof of the car, letting his eyes take another tour that ended where she stood. “And I wanted to see you. I’ve barely said hello since you’ve been home.”

She heard the guilt, also familiar, and answered with the usual shrug. “You’re busy.”

“That’s a piss-poor excuse.”

Okay. Wow. That kind of ruthless honestly was new. “It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not.” He drummed his fingers on the car roof, his jaw set. “I’ve missed too much. I should’ve known your husband better, Tori. Should’ve at least been able to come to his funeral.”

“I appreciate that you didn’t.” As much as she’d yearned to have him there, the publicity had been crazy enough as it was.

He angled his head in acknowledgment. “Still, I should’ve managed more than a couple of flyby visits in all the time you were married. I’m not going to make that mistake again, now that you’re here.”

“Okay.” Because really, what else could she say? “Do you want to come in?”

“I’d love to, but sooner or later those people will stop yelling at each other long enough to notice I’m not there. If I don’t dawdle I can use the Very Important Call excuse. Top secret, matter of national security, blah, blah. But I did bring you something.” He opened the rear door of the car with a flourish to reveal…a pet carrier? Oh, hell. He’d brought her a damn puppy.

“Uh, wow. I appreciate the thought, Daddy, but I really can’t—” A low yowl cut her off, a sound that vibrated with raw fury. Tori angled her head, squinting. “What have you got in there?”

“A cat,” he declared proudly.

Oh Lord. That was even worse. “I’m not really a cat person, Daddy.”

“I know. That’s why I got this cat.”

“Uh…okay. And this cat would be what kind, exactly?” She started to reach out a hand toward the carrier.

He caught her wrist. “Don’t do that!”

She jerked back.

“It’s a barn cat,” he said. “A stray, probably feral. The guy at the animal shelter said it’d be best not to try to touch her. She’s, um, very aggressive.”

The yowl sounded again, raising the hair on the back of Tori’s neck. “You brought me a deranged cat?”

He laughed, but his smile faded to dubious concern as he gazed at the crate. “Your grandfather firmly believed the only good cats are the kind that don’t want a damn thing to do with people.”

“That would explain why I’m not a cat person,” she said, recalling the hostile, skittish cats that had stalked their barns.

He reached in the car and hoisted the carrier at arm’s length. Claws flashed through one of the slats. “She’s spayed and she’s had all her shots.”

Including the tranquilizer dart to put her under so they could stuff her in that box, Tori assumed. She could see only a hunched shape the size of a large raccoon and the baleful gleam of yellow eyes.

“She’s just agitated from being carted around,” her dad said. “I’m sure she’ll settle right down. Keep a bowl of cat food up in your hayloft and you’ll hardly even know she’s here.”

His voice echoed with the sound of best-laid plans and all the disaster inherent, but what could she do? Tori followed along as he carried the hissing package to the barn door, set it down inside, and flicked open the latch. For an instant, nothing moved. Then the door slammed back and a streak of some nondescript color shot out and disappeared into the darkness, startling a snort out of Fudge.

“Well, that was easy enough.” Her dad closed up the crate, carried it back to the car, and handed her a twenty-pound bag of cat food. While she stood cradling it in her arms, he reached out to stroke her hair. “Call me if you need anything—a chore boy, company, somebody to fix a parking ticket. I’ll make the time, no matter what.”

“Okay.” Sure. When hell froze over, she’d drag him away from matters of dire national concern to hold her poor little hand. She shifted the bag to one arm so she could hug him with the other. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He hesitated, taking another long look around her dingy yard. “Tori…I don’t mean to pry, but have you tried…moving on? Seeing someone new?”

No. But the tawny, dark-haired image of someone “old” flashed much too quickly and easily into her mind. She shook her head. “It was too complicated in Cheyenne.”

“Are you ready?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I suppose it would depend on the man.”

And dammit, no, she didn’t mean one specific man.

He gave a single, thoughtful nod, then squeezed her shoulders. “Have a good night, sweetheart.”

If so, it would be the first in a year and a half. And now, on top of the ghosts of husbands and boyfriends past, she would have the company of the vague certainty that her father had decided to help.

Lord save her.