Chapter Two
Larissa realized she should have chased after Matt last night before he left the bar and apologized to him then. Gotten it over with.
If she had, she could have made a quick run to see Reba this morning, then turned her car west by noontime so she could be in Vegas at midnight.
Of course, it was easy to see the wisdom of that plan in the bright light of a clear summer morning with the cold mountain air blowing into her ancient Toyota. She’d picked up the car for cheap after selling her furniture and, although she was pleasantly surprised that the sedan with high mileage had gotten her this far, she was pretty sure she’d gotten the worse end of the deal. But she’d been in a hurry to leave her apartment in Brooklyn, and she’d taken what she could get for it.
Now, she could hardly see out the rear window for her clothes and dishes boxed up in the backseat. A hip injury last year had cost her a spot in a musical still actively running on Broadway—the kind of show with the potential to pay her rent for years. She’d recovered but she still didn’t feel the same when she did a fan kick. She used to have great turnout. These days? She felt cautious. Tentative. That could lead to more injuries if she didn’t get a handle on it soon.
This morning wasn’t about worries or regrets though. She hadn’t seen her old home in eight years and she felt a flutter of anticipation as she urged the four-cylinder up the last rise before the big barn that housed the tractors.
For years, she’d told herself she didn’t miss this place. It might have wide-open spaces and breathtaking vistas, but the lack of new people and cultural experiences had felt isolating sometimes. All the more so after her mother died unexpectedly from a cancer relapse, sending her dad into deep mourning. Even then she hadn’t been certain she wanted to leave Wyoming. She’d always loved cool summer mornings like this that would turn warm by noon.
Sure, she enjoyed dancing, a pursuit her mother had championed for Larissa from her earliest toddler ballet class, but raising sheep had been a pleasure, too. But in that long year after her mother passed Larissa had always known she’d just been marking time until she moved to New York the way her mom wanted.
She’d received a mandate to live her dream on Broadway, even before she’d been entirely certain it was her dream. Even through the worst of her mother’s cancer treatments, she’d carted Larissa to competitive dance events and extra classes to help Larissa set herself apart.
When the red barn came into view, the first thing she noticed was that it was no longer red. Not that the paint color mattered. But it wasn’t just painted a non-red shade. The big barn had been completely re-sided with varnished red cedar wood and re-roofed to look like a show place.
“What the hell?” It wasn’t her business what the Hendersons did with the outbuildings. So not her business. But holy crap. “Is that my house?”
Stomping on the brakes, Larissa halted the car in the middle of the county road as she gawked at the massive ranch house that bore no resemblance to her childhood home. No, wait a minute. The four-car garage to one side of the mammoth two-story Craftsman house was most likely the place where she’d grown up. They’d gutted her old bedroom for one of those four fancy bays.
She pulled into the driveway, glad she’d called ahead and spoken to Amy Henderson when she’d been clear-headed and articulate. If she’d shown up at this house without having laid the groundwork for her visit, she would have been too tongue-tied and, yes, disappointed, to get the words out.
An hour later, however, she sat with Reba outside one of the sheep barns. She fed the ewe a carrot and stroked her face, wondering if there was any recognition at work. Research had shown sheep could distinguish at least fifty other sheep faces. Didn’t it make sense that Reba would commit hers to memory?
Of course, seeing her only reminded Larissa of the night her former pet had been born. Matt had spent the night in the barn with her, knowing she was nervous about the old ewe in the lambing pen. Matt was everything a woman could want in a ranching partner—committed, warm-hearted, loyal. Plus, he’d understood more about ranching at twenty-two years old than some old-timers she’d met. He could handle pissed-off bulls and broncs as well as any roughstock rider, even though he’d never saddled up for a rodeo. She’d seen him croon to scared mares and motherless lambs, too. He was just damn good with animals.
All of which would have been wasted on her since she didn’t have a stake in the agriculture business anymore and she’d hungered to get far, far away from a land that had brought her too much hurt.
She heard a screen door slam and looked up toward the big—huge—house to see Amy Henderson tromping down the landscaped flagstone steps toward the sheep barn. The woman was in her fifties, but she looked like she’d walked out of a catalog for dressage attire with her fitted jacket and jodhpurs. “It looks like Reba remembers you.”
The woman had been good to Larissa when she’d been at a loss for where to go next in her life, so she tried to set aside the resentment that the Hendersons could afford to transform a humble sheep farm into a showplace.
“I missed her,” Larissa confessed honestly. “Thank you for letting me spend some time here today.”
“Arthur and I were so pleased you called.” Amy worked her leather riding gloves onto slim hands. “And I don’t mean to rush you, so stay as long as you like, but I wanted to let you know I got a call from Callie Briggs a moment ago.”
Matt’s sister.
“Oh?” Her hand stilled on Reba’s downy ear.
“She mentioned seeing you last night and wanted to remind you to stop by the Briggs Ranch today. Apparently her grandmother is excited to see you, too.” Amy’s smile never faltered. “You were very close with the Briggs boy at one point, I remember.” The woman winked as she slid a dark riding helmet over her strawberry-blonde hair.
Ugh and double ugh. How could she ignore Matt’s grandmother? Hattie Briggs was sort of a Cheyenne institution. She’d competed head to head against male bull riders in an era where women just didn’t do that kind of thing. Her name was in record books, and she’d only slowed down to have kids with an equally notorious Cheyenne legend—Cliff Briggs, who held the record for most championships in the roughstock events during that same time. Although the story the old cowboy told most was the one event where Hattie had beaten him and he’d told everyone at the San Antonio Stock Show that he was going to marry her.
That was before he’d even met Ms. Hattie.
“They are a nice family,” Larissa responded, not ready to discuss Matt this morning. Bad enough she still had to make amends with him before she left town. She wasn’t going to share the story with the rest of their neighbors. “I should probably head out soon anyhow. I can stop by the Briggs’s place before I leave for Las Vegas.”
“No one says no to Hattie, do they?” Amy patted Reba awkwardly on the head, clearly still not a big fan of sheep. “And I hear her granddaughter is just as tough and headstrong.”
Larissa thought about the young woman Callie had become and the shy teen she’d been back when Larissa had dated Matt. “Those qualities will only serve her well.”
“Especially when she moves to Reggie Montgomery’s ranch in Casper. Her family’s going to miss her at the Briggs’s place. I don’t know how Matt manages both Split Fork and his family’s property since their dad passed last fall.” Amy straightened, her expression thoughtful. “That reminds me I ought to stop over there this week and see if I can do anything to help with the wedding plans. No doubt they’ve got their hands full.”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate that.” Larissa guessed the remark was meant more as a nudge to her to contribute some time and help to the family.
With one last hug to Reba the Merino sheep, Larissa walked out of the barn with Amy, her eyes on the newly remodeled house. She had an open invitation to see Matt and she couldn’t allow her pride to get in the way of telling him why she’d really come to Cheyenne.
“What do you think of the house?” Amy asked, apparently catching her staring at the gargantuan new home on the site where Larissa’s humbler abode used to be.
The day had warmed considerably in the couple of hours that Larissa had visited the barns. The sun shone brightly through a clear blue sky, making the colors in the mountains, grass, and buildings all crisp and vibrant.
“It’s beautiful,” Larissa told her honestly, even if her heart missed the sight of a slightly crooked roofline and the big wraparound porch with a floor that sagged from—she liked to think—the family spending the most hours there. “I know you weren’t thrilled to move out here at first,” Larissa reminded Amy, a Seattle native who handcrafted willow furniture and sold it online. “But has it grown on you over time?”
“Building the house helped,” the other woman admitted. “I enjoy having a space that’s my aesthetic where I have a workroom for refinishing furniture and selling some of my pieces.” She bit her lip. “I’m embarrassed to say I still have no idea what to do with the sheep, but I’m happy that Arthur is happy. I promise you, he’s very good to the flock. You taught him well.”
The words chased around Larissa’s head as she got in her car to drive over to the Briggs Ranch. At first, she thought Amy was just being nice to say she’d taught her husband anything about sheep ranching as a twenty-year-old girl. But maybe she had. Driving through the stands of mountain ash interspersed with open fields of sagebrush, she remembered things about life in Wyoming that she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on in the last eight years.
The beauty, for one thing. Drawing in a deep breath of clean mountain air, she tasted the green and growing things on her tongue. More than that, she remembered how she used to feel when she lived here. Before her family dissolved. There’d been a time she’d felt rooted. Connected to the animals and the ranch like they were a part of her. Maybe she had taught Mr. Henderson a few things about raising sheep.
Yet if she hadn’t freed her feet from the rich Wyoming earth, she would have never danced on Broadway. She wouldn’t have the lights of Las Vegas waiting for her even now. Cheyenne might have been home once, but it was a long way from the future she still craved.
Once she saw Matt and explained it to him, she’d be on her way again. And if the wisdom of her girlfriends back in New York applied, she’d be able to face her future with a clear conscience and an open heart. Maybe she’d even find love again, because it sure had eluded her ever since she’d walked away from Matt.
*
You would think a celebrity had arrived in town to hear Callie tell it.
Matt listened to his sister explain to her fiancé over her Bluetooth that they were adding a few more wedding guests. She glossed over the half dozen new friends she’d made during the course of her bachelorette party and focused on Larissa Martine.
“She’s a dancer on Broadway, Reggie,” Callie articulated with emphasis as she brushed the coat on Sergeant Spots, the Appaloosa she’d named as an eight-year-old. “Not some stripper star at the Shake Your Tail Feather.”
Matt wished like hell he could unhear that as he checked the hooves on his own mount after a ride with Callie that morning. He’d been shocked she’d been awake as early as him after her night out with the girls, but apparently she’d been feeling guilty about not spending more time in the barns with the wedding prep. That part was great. His little sister’s ease in discussing local strip clubs by name? Less great.
Especially since thinking about Larissa and stripping in the same mental space was not what he needed this morning.
“She’s totally legit.” Callie paused to rub Sergeant—the Appaloosa’s shortened name for most of its life—around the ears. “She had a feature role in A Chorus Line. And, um, some other thing. But it was good.”
Matt set down his horse’s hoof and straightened from the job. He hadn’t known about A Chorus Line. Clearly his sister had kept tabs on Larissa even though she’d never shared as much with him. Not that it mattered. Larissa would be leaving town again and this week of hearing about her—seeing her in person—was an anomaly. She’d made her decision to leave Wyoming. To leave him.
And he’d moved on. Although he couldn’t explain why he’d gone and dreamed about her all damned night after seeing her at the Thirsty Cow.
“She won’t come to the wedding, you know, regardless of how much you pressure her,” Matt announced, finishing up with Clyde. His father’s horse. There was something wrenching, even after all these months, about spending time with Clyde without Matt’s dad. His father’s absence seemed all the bigger when they were both missing him.
He took the tack brush to the utility sink to rinse it out and let one of the ranch hands lead him toward the pasture gate. Clyde stuck closer to the barn these days, but he liked the small pasture near a ridge that offered protection from the sun and—some days—the wind. Matt saw him out that way often when he was close to the main house.
“Of course she’s coming,” Callie answered, barely breaking stride in her conversation with Reggie as she let Sergeant join Clyde for a trip to the small pasture. “Reggie, don’t worry. I’m calling the caterer next and we’ll make it all work. A wedding is supposed to be about our friends and family, right? We can always shave off a day on the California trip if we need to cut costs.”
Matt rolled his eyes, knowing his sister didn’t care much about the honeymoon her fiancé had planned. But it was the guy’s dream to do a road trip up the California coast in an old convertible and see the sights.
He left the soon-to-be newlyweds to converse in private while he stalked up the road toward his truck for the short drive to the main house. He’d promised his mother he’d stay for dinner tonight, and he had enough chores to keep him busy around the place until then. The first of which was a meeting with the head foreman to figure out where they were going to get the capital to invest in new breeding stock for the spring, along with some heavy equipment purchases that couldn’t be put off any longer.
He had the feeling it would mean he’d have to use his own assets from Split Fork to keep the Briggs Ranch going, a financial burden his own ranch manager wasn’t going to appreciate now that Split Fork was successfully turning a profit. But Matt’s father would have done the same for him.
The foreman was waiting for him outside a toolshed close to the main house. Matt parked his truck and joined him at a worktable his mother used to use for repotting plants back when she gardened more. Another reminder of how the ranch wasn’t being used and enjoyed the way it had been when Matt was a kid.
An hour into the meeting—long enough for him to feel twitchy as hell about making all the improvements the old foreman had flagged as “essential”—Matt heard the tires crunch on gravel nearby. He leaned away from the table to see who was here while two of the farm dogs raced to greet the newcomer. A small sedan well past its prime had pulled up near the foreman’s mud-spattered ATV.
It could have been anyone on Saturday afternoon. But the warning sensation across the back of his shoulders told him it wasn’t just anyone. The door opened with a rusty squeak, and a pair of red leather boots hit the gravel. Matt followed the outline of dark denim legs to the slight curve of feminine hips, knowing who he was going to find.
Larissa Martine stood in the front yard of Briggs Ranch. Who would have thought he’d see the day?
Matt called an end to the meeting. “Jeb, I’m going to send these figures over to my accountant and see what we can do. I’ll have an answer for you, one way or another, by the weekend.”
The old foreman’s gaze followed Matt’s to the front drive. Was it Matt’s imagination, or did Jeb recognize Larissa as she made friends with the farm dogs? Her dark hair slid forward over her shoulder while she pet Golda’s head and reached for the stick that Gerda dropped at her feet.
She’d won them both over fast enough. Matt reminded himself he had more sense than a couple of cattle dogs, even if his eyes happened to be glued to her. Her red T-shirt and worn red leather boots shouldn’t be a turn-on. She was dressed to ride or work, same as his sister had been this morning. But there was nothing brotherly about the heat Larissa inspired.
“Sounds good, Matt.” Jeb shoved his papers and a digital tablet in a rucksack that he carried around with him on the ATV. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate with the wedding, but if we wait much longer, we’re going to lose out on that deal on the breeding stock.”
Matt nodded. “I agree it’s a good deal.”
He’d just committed to making some big decisions in the days ahead. All the more reason to keep his mind on business and not the runaway cowgirl tossing Gerda a stick. Except right then, Larissa burst into laughter at the cattle dog’s joyful jump before it tore over the yard to retrieve the stick. Her pleasure in something so ordinary, so native to this way of life he loved, made him wonder how in the hell she’d ever left.
Why hadn’t she missed all this? Forget him, for a minute. The fact that she’d been able to turn her back on the ranching, the open air, the vistas that stretched for miles and the wind that whipped for days on end… That told him how dead wrong he’d been about her to start with. She wasn’t made for life here.
Which meant, no matter how damned well she wore a red tee and boots, she wasn’t right for him, either.