Still Irresistible

“No. No. Let me get you some tea.”

“No thanks, I’m just—” The woman looked so nervous and desperate, he said, “Sure. Half a cup, I guess.”

She handed it to him.

Praying for peppermint, he took a sip. Score. “Very nice.”

“Sit, sit,” she said, eager to entertain someone, it seemed. “So you saw Callie already? She’s such a pretty girl.”

“She is that,” he said, sitting across the table from her. Which only made her more annoying.

“Calvin is so happy to see her.”

“I imagine he would be.” Since his heart scare, Cal seemed to miss his daughter more. He should have told Callie he was in the hospital, Deck thought. She would have rushed out, screw the big party he claimed she had to manage. Callie was a good person at heart, despite her silly job. She called her father every week and visited every few months.

“I hope she’ll take the pressure off Calvin.”

“I’m sure she will.” Ironically enough, that had been Deck’s intention when he’d decided to buy the ranch. He’d figured Cal wanted out, and the Lazy J money was just gathering dust in the bank. The very afternoon he stepped into Cal’s office to make an offer, the man announced Callie was coming home to fix up the place, his grin as big as his face.

Too late. Deck had moved too late. Now Callie’s harebrained scheme could wreck the Triple C. Maybe if he treaded lightly, she’d figure that out and hightail her pretty ass back to New York where she belonged, and he could take over after all.

Deck was a patient man. He would wait and see. Animals took time. Crops, too. Biology didn’t turn on a dime. Every worthwhile thing took its own sweet time.

The clock ticked loudly in the silence. Deck sipped. Dahlia stared and fidgeted. Where the hell was Cal? “So, uh, I took Brandy out again, but I don’t think she’s quite ready for a new rider.”

“She’s not? Oh, that’s too bad. Thank you, anyway.” But the woman looked faint with relief. She had no interest in the ranch, from what Deck had seen. She’d distracted the hell out of Cal, dragging him to Tucson whenever a health-food restaurant invented something new with tofu. He’d been late with bills, slow on repairs and like molasses with decisions.

As a result, the Triple C was in trouble, according to Callie. Deck should have spoken up sooner. “I should be going.” He stood. “If you could just tell Cal about Brandy for me? And could you remind him of the meeting—”

“He’ll be here any second, I’m sure. So…you’ve known Callie a long time?” She must be nervous about whatever Callie and Cal were saying about her upstairs.

“Since we were kids, yeah. We went to school together.” But they ran in different circles. Callie had been a star in tiny Abrazo. He didn’t blame her for wanting to swim in a bigger pond. Once he’d gotten past the tequila-soaked shame of that August night, he’d wished her well.

Except for one thing. She’d felt sorry for him. That still burned. No one pitied Declan O’Neill. Losing his father had been hard, but he’d worked the ranch the way his dad would have and watched over his mother until she got her footing again. He’d gotten past that bad time when he’d almost cashed it in. He never thought about that. The memory froze him stiff.

“We’re lucky she could leave her company for so long to come out here. She does such exciting work. Parties with celebrities and socialites and big companies…”

“So I hear.” From what he could tell, Callie spent her days sampling cakes, choosing dance bands and turning goldfish bowls into centerpieces.

“She’s really made something of herself.” Dahlia beamed.

“Seems that way.” He had no doubt she was good. Callie was a sight to see on full throttle. But party planning?

Truth be told, Deck expected more of her. She’d been a firebrand in high school, smart and funny, full of ideas, impatient to fix any injustice. He figured she’d head a corporation, work for a cause. Hell, go into politics.

Maybe he’d just built her up in his mind.

She thought less of him, too, no doubt. To her, he’d gotten stuck in a hick town, spending his days babysitting cattle, his nights in a trailer, his life a pure waste.

She was wrong. There was solace in hard work and reward in the tangible outcomes of his efforts—a healthy herd, well-managed pastures, well-trained horses, spirited and smart.

Nothing wrong with that.

Still, Callie made him think of missed chances and open horizons. Seeing her made that sliver of restlessness he’d felt lately itch like a horsefly bite.

That was a pure trap. The grass always seemed greener in the next pasture, until you got there and found the same goat heads and dry patches you’d thought you’d escaped.

The truth was that he and Callie plain rubbed each other the wrong way.

They sure as hell used to rub each other right.

“Yes? Is something funny?” Dahlia asked.

“Uh, no.” He didn’t expect to be laughing anytime soon.

“Maybe I’ll go up and see what’s keeping them.” Before she left, she poured him more tea.

What could Deck do but drink it?

2

STARTING DOWN THE HALL of the owner’s quarters, Callie noticed her father’s bedroom door ajar, so she set down her bag and the basket and tapped before leaning in. “Dad?”

“Huh?” Her father sat up on the bed. “Uh…Oh, sweetheart, you’re here…good deal.” He sounded groggy.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“Just waking up.” He pushed out of bed to hug her, then regarded her warmly. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Seeing you in the doorway, you looked just like Colleen when we first met.”

“I’m glad,” she said, happy to resemble her mother, though the reminder made her ache. “I miss her, too, Dad.” Tears made her nose sting. How stupid.

“What you resist persists.” The school counselor kept saying that whenever Callie tried to escape her probing questions. She’d itched to get away. Run, run, get out was her mantra. Leaving for college had been the first moment of true relief.

She lunged in for another hug, noticing that instead of the usual Old Spice, her father smelled of eucalyptus and menthol. “Are you wearing liniment?”

“It’s an ointment for arthritis Dahlia cooked up.”

“You have arthritis?”

“I’m a little stiff in the mornings is all. It’s nothing. I think herbs are fine for teas and face goop, but for curing you? Not so much. It makes Dahlia happy, so I use it.”

“That’s kind of you.” She felt the same way he did about herbal remedies.

“It’s so good to have you back,” he said, looking her over tenderly. “When you’re here, the place feels right again.”

She stiffened. What an odd thing to say. He never talked like that. Five months after her mother’s death, he’d insisted Callie go to New York University as planned, even when she claimed she wasn’t ready, which was a lie. She’d been worried about him living all alone. Her father would not hear of it. It was her mother’s dream for her daughter, and he would be busy working the ranch. She belonged in college, period. She had her own life, and her independence made him proud.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” she asked gently.