Читать книгу My Montana Home - Ellen James - Страница 7

CASSIE WARREN STARED at the drop below her with a mixed sense of wonderment and panic. She knew the tree house stood no more than seventeen feet above the backyard of freshly mowed bluegrass. And climbing up the rope ladder had been so easily accomplished—egged on as she had been by her seven-year-old son, Zak. Yet now, to her chagrin, the rope ladder had disappeared, and Cassie had no idea how she could descend to terra firma without breaking her neck in the process.

“Zak!” she called again. “William Zachary Warren! I’m not kidding. I’ll count to ten and then…”

This morning had started out innocently enough—six o’clock alarm; twenty minutes of Jazzercise with her Fit or Flab video; a quick shower; then breakfast and some time with Zak before work. Only, that quality time with Zak had turned sour again, and mushroomed into what amounted to a full-blown therapy session—forcing Cassie to push back her first two appointments of the day and cancel lunch with her boss. Zak had withdrawn severely since the breakup of Cassie’s marriage over a year ago. She’d tried everything she knew in order to reach him, to get him to express the pain and anger he kept bottled up inside. So today, when Zak retreated into his usual forlorn silence, she’d been willing to do anything to spark a response in her son. Acting on sudden inspiration, she’d ascended with him to the one place where he seemed to feel safe and at home: this old backyard tree house perched high in a venerable oak.

Once ensconced, Zak had seemed to relax just a bit, answering her attempts at conversation with guarded monosyllables. Finally she’d settled back, allowing her eyes to drift shut. She’d been so tired lately, trying to juggle motherhood with a job at Child Services that drained her emotions while scarcely paying the bills. She’d been so worried, too—worried about her kid brother, Bobby, and all the trouble he’d been in. The drunk-driving accident he’d caused…the baby daughter he’d fathered at the young age of nineteen. And then there was Robert Maxwell, Cassie’s dad—an impossible man in so many ways, refusing to take care of himself the way he should…

Yet up here in the tree house, she’d left all that behind for a moment. It was so peaceful, with only the chatter of sparrows and a rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. No wonder she’d fallen gently asleep.

And meanwhile, her darling, infuriating young son had left her stranded. She knelt to peer once again at the drop below. Since he’d taken the ladder, there was only one way Zak himself could have made it to the ground—shinning down the tree trunk. Not exactly her idea of fun…

“Zak!” she hollered. “William Zachary! This isn’t funny. You’re in big trouble—major trouble.”

At last she heard the sound of footsteps approaching on the gravel path.

“Young man,” she said sternly, “you and I are going to have a very serious talk.”

“I’m listening,” remarked a voice. Not her son’s, though. It was a man’s voice, all grown up. Cassie craned her neck so she could see through the leaves. The man gazing up at her looked both gorgeous and bemused. He had rich dark hair, which this morning’s Montana breeze seemed to take delight in rustling about his forehead. From this distance, she couldn’t be certain about the precise color of his eyes, but his features were undeniably strong and decisive. Even perched as she was above him, he looked tall and ruggedly built—the perfect build, perhaps, to rescue a damsel stuck in a tree.

“In my day,” said the man, now standing in full view beneath her, “girls weren’t allowed in the tree house…because they were…girls.”

Cassie tried to send down a withering look. “I don’t suppose you have a ladder handy,” she said.

“Not on me,” said the man. “Sorry…didn’t realize I’d be involved in a lifesaving attempt today.”

“It’s hardly a matter of life or death,” Cassie began, then stopped herself. The situation was ridiculous. She considered her options. Maybe she’d just slide down the tree herself. She’d always been athletic—played soccer in high school and college. If she could bodycheck a goalie, she could certainly manage a simple tree trunk—

“I could call the fire department,” the man said helpfully.

“That’s for cats stuck in trees,” Cassie retorted. She eyed the branch several feet below and to the right. It looked substantial enough. If she could get that far, it shouldn’t be too difficult to clamber the rest of the way down…she hoped. She inched forward…

But then, quite naturally and almost effortlessly, the man began climbing toward her. He seemed to know just where to put his feet, and just which knot or branch would provide a perfect handhold. He also didn’t seem to mind that he was wearing an elegantly tailored suit in slate gray, hardly the attire for scaling a one-hundred-year-old oak. Before Cassie knew it, he’d reached the tree house, pulled himself up easily and was sitting beside her. She stared at him, a bit flustered by his sudden proximity. Now she could see his eyes very clearly. They were deep brown yet with a hint of gold…a color that made her think of dark maple syrup and autumn firelight.

Cassie drew in her breath a little, dismayed at the direction of her thoughts.

He regarded her soberly. “Feeling okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said more grumpily than she’d intended. “I just want to get down from this tree.”

The man seemed to be in no hurry. He glanced around, shrugging off his suit jacket. Next he loosened his tie and settled back, resting one arm on a knee. “I haven’t been up here in years,” he said reflectively. “Not since I was a boy. But it’s just the way I remember it. Snug and sturdy…with just enough room for your imagination. Gramps really knew what he was doing when he built it.”

Cassie finally collected her thoughts. “Of course,” she said. “You must be Andrew. Hannah’s grandson.” She paused, then went on more softly. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your losing Hannah.”

Elderly Hannah Elizabeth Rogers had been Cassie’s salvation this past year. The divorce had left Cassie cash poor, with virtually no financial assets—yet the most important asset of all, a son she loved with her entire heart. She’d been determined not to ask her wealthy, domineering father for help. From long experience, she knew he would have tried to take over her life. Instead she’d moved to Billings to start a new job, a new existence.

A chance meeting with Hannah had resulted in friendship, as well as an invitation to stay in the guest house on Hannah’s property. Cassie had paid rent…not enough, she’d often protested. But Hannah would hear none of it. She’d said that having Cassie and Zak around made her feel part of a family again. And young Zak, she’d said, reminded her of her grandson Andrew when he’d been a boy. Andrew, the beloved grandson who lived in Texas, and who Hannah visited every six months. Except that, on this past visit three weeks ago, Hannah had suffered a massive heart attack.

Now Cassie watched the expression of sorrow and wistfulness that played across Andrew’s face.

“She was a grand old lady,” he murmured. “Stubborn…funny…generous. Even when it came to her last wishes. On her deathbed, she made me promise no funeral…no mourning. She insisted everyone remember her alive.”

Hannah had been generous, especially with her time and affection. Zak had been lured from his shell by the stories she’d told him about her childhood in Montana during the Great Depression, and he’d even taken a fancy to the chocolate macadamia cookies she baked especially for him. Now that she was gone, he’d withdrawn even further than before.

Cassie stirred. “I must go find my son,” she said.

Andrew gave a slight smile. “Don’t suppose you’d be talking about a quiet little kid with red hair and freckles.”

“That’s the one,” she said ruefully. “Also identified by the rope ladder he absconded with.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Andrew said, “he’s the one who told me where to find you. And don’t worry—I loaned him a golf club and left him practicing his putt on the front lawn. That should keep him busy for a few minutes at least.”

Cassie raised her eyebrows. “You play golf?” she asked. Somehow it didn’t seem quite his sport. She would have pictured something more adventurous, more…physical.

“It’s from Hannah’s old set of clubs,” he explained. “I found them in the attic when I was poking around up there just now. I’d forgotten about the golf phase she went through in her sixties till I saw those trophies and clubs.”

Cassie hadn’t even known about Hannah’s golf phase. Of course, Cassie had never been part of Hannah’s real family, just someone who had enjoyed the old woman’s kindness for a time. With Hannah, things had been so uncomplicated…so different from Cassie’s relationship with her own family. Suddenly she felt very lonely.

“Well,” she said to Andrew. “I expected that you’d fly up from Dallas to settle your grandmother’s affairs. I just didn’t know you’d be here today. Zak and I will clear out of the guest house, of course. I’ve been looking for an apartment, and—”

“Relax,” Andrew said dryly. “I’m not going to throw you out on the street. I barely got into town a few hours ago—I haven’t even met with Hannah’s lawyer yet.” He settled back even more comfortably. “We’ve got plenty of time to sort things out.” A jay alighted on a branch above, wings a smoky blue. It stared at Andrew and Cassie for a moment, then skimmed away again. The breeze brought a faint scent of lilac.

“Kind of nice up here, isn’t it?” Andrew said. His gaze traveled over Cassie. He seemed to be taking his time, and enjoying it. She felt herself flush. Rather pointedly, she glanced at her watch.

“I have to get Zak to the sitter’s. And myself to work—”

“It’s Saturday,” Andrew said. “Nobody should have to work on Saturday.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “From what Hannah said about you, you’re not the type to take off weekends.”

“She always did tell me I worked too hard,” he said reflectively. “So now I’m trying to follow her advice. I’m trying to kick back.”

Hannah had shared quite a few tidbits about her grandson. He had his own law practice in Dallas, he was too involved in his job, he always seemed to date women who insisted they weren’t ready to settle down yet, but frankly he was the one with the settling-down problem….

Cassie made an effort to control her thoughts. His personal life was absolutely no concern of hers. She wondered just how long she was going to be up in this tree with him. Yes, it was undeniably pleasant, and the man was extremely easy on the vision, but still…she had a life waiting below.

“Who knows,” she said, “what damage my son will manage to do with a golf club. Children are alarmingly inventive. I really do have to get down from here.”

“Too bad,” Andrew murmured. “But, if you insist…I’ll go down first. Follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”

He began descending as expertly as he’d come up. Cassie tried to do exactly what he did—putting a foot here, finding a handhold there. The ground seemed much too far away.

“You’re doing fine,” said Andrew. “We’re almost there.”

“Let me guess,” Cassie muttered as she clung to the trunk of the tree. “Rock climbing’s your sport.” She inched her left foot downward, then her right. Her sneaker found an anchor, and she breathed a little more calmly. Andrew dropped to the ground, gazing up at her.

“Just a little farther,” he said.

She finally relaxed—and that was her mistake. Her sneaker slipped, and suddenly she was flailing wildly.

“Oh no!”

“HUNKS FALLING FROM TREES? Surely, Cassie, even you can think of a better one than that.”

“I’ve already told you, Gwen. I was the one who fell out of the damn tree. I landed sort of, well, sort of on top of him.” She glanced over to where Andrew Morris was seated.

Andrew was getting just a tad impatient. He’d been sitting in this examination room like an afterthought for the better part of fifteen minutes, waiting for the doctor to show—turned out Cassie had rushed him to the office of her son’s pediatrician.

“Right, right…you simply happen to fall into the arms of a ravishing male. Some girls have all the luck.”

“Luck,” said Cassie. “I don’t think falling on a man and practically killing him is good luck.”

Andrew’s finger hurt like hell, and he was starting to feel a little light-headed from overoxygenation—he had always used deep, steady breathing to cope with stress. It wasn’t so much the purple color of his finger that bothered him, nor the fact that it was now swollen beyond its normal size. No, what really bothered Andrew was the way his digit looked longer than any of the others, and it just sort of stuck out there on its own at an odd angle.

The doctor, Gwen-something-or-other, who had finally breezed into the examination room a moment ago, now slapped up some X rays and perused them. “I mean, if you’ve made a new gentleman friend,” she remarked to Cassie, “why not just come out and say so. No need to make up this fanciful story about falling out of trees.”

The doctor was definitely getting on Andrew’s nerves. Among other things, she had already given him a very painful painkilling shot in his hand. And, along with the fact that she treated him as if he was seven years old, she had stout blond hair that looked too big for the rest of her.

“He is not my gentleman friend,” Cassie protested. “Please, would you just tell me how much damage I’ve inflicted on him?” Cassie, unlike the doctor, had hair that was just right—vivid red, cascading haphazardly down her back. She also had hazel eyes, and the merest hint of freckles across her cheekbones. She was, in sum, beautiful. Too bad that Andrew couldn’t truly appreciate her at this moment. Too bad they weren’t alone in the tree house, before the…accident.

He cleared his throat. “Ladies—”

“Not broken. Just dislocated,” said the doc, giving Andrew an annoyingly cheerful grin. “We can be thankful for that, at least. Now, I am going to have to pop that joint back into place. Not squeamish, are you?”

He gave her a sour look.

“Tell you what,” she went on imperturbably, rummaging through a supply drawer. “Cassie’ll hold your arm steady—she’s not squeamish.”

Cassie gave Andrew an uncertain look, then glanced toward the door. “I’d better go see how Zak’s doing—”

“Your son’s fine,” said Dr. Gwen. “You know how he likes that new game on Lucy’s computer. No, you stay here and help me with your gentleman friend. Right, right, you’re going to tell me he’s not your gentleman friend. But, honey, after Jeff…you really shouldn’t let a good one get away.”

Cassie had flushed a bright pink. “Gwen,” she said in a warning tone.

The doctor came over next to Andrew with gauze, surgical tape and a splint. She gave him a conspiratorial nod. “Surely you’ve heard all about Jeff by now?”

Andrew stared at the lamentable condition of his finger. “Actually, I haven’t,” he said.

Now Cassie treated him to a warning glance.

“Jeff’s Cassie’s ex,” said Dr. Gwen as she positioned his arm. “Cassie, hold on to him right there…anyway, wouldn’t you know she ended up marrying Jeff even after her dad told her the guy was a flat-out loser. Of course, maybe that’s why she married him. I mean, what better rebellion can you have? Elope with a man your father despises…”

“Gwen!” Cassie exclaimed, a brighter pink than ever.

“Anyway,” Dr. Gwen went on relentlessly as she examined Andrew’s finger, “in case you’re wondering—I am a very reliable source of information when it comes to Cassie. I grew up in Paradise Corners, went to high school with Jolie…that’s Cassie’s older sister. Jolie pretty much kept to herself back in those days. It was the longest time before I found out we both had the same dream—becoming doctors. Well, here I am, and Jolie’s practicing medicine back in our hometown. Of course, Jolie’s married now, and I’m still single. Now, Andrew, dear, I’m afraid this is going to hurt like hell…and Cassie, get ready to hold as tight as you can. One…two…there! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You forgot to count to three,” Andrew said between clenched teeth. But he had to admit the lady was good. His finger was back where it was supposed to be, and Dr. Gwen was taping it to a small metal splint. Meanwhile, Cassie kept her viselike hold on his arm. He gazed at her, but she seemed to be making a determined effort not to look back.

“Of course, you’ve heard of Cassie’s family yourself,” Dr. Gwen went on. “The mighty Maxwells, and all.”

“Can’t say I have,” Andrew said. Now Cassie was glaring at him again.

“Goodness,” said Dr. Gwen as she wielded her surgical tape. “I thought everyone in Montana had heard of the Maxwells. They practically wrote the book on ranching. And Cassie’s dad…well, he’s practically written the book on being a patriarch. More than a little overwhelming, if you want to know the truth. I used to be scared to death of him when I was a kid, and I’d see him striding down Main Street like he owned it. The look he could give you… No wonder Cassie and Jolie and even Thea—the youngest—ended up rebelling against him… There! All set. I’ll put you on an anti-inflammatory and some pain meds. Don’t move that finger, and make sure you come back day after tomorrow so I can have a look. Now, Cassie, don’t scowl at me like that. I didn’t tell him anything he wasn’t going to find out eventually.” Dr. Gwen gave both of them a cocky grin, and vanished out the door.

“She kind of grows on you,” Andrew remarked, observing his bandaged hand.

Cassie muttered something under her breath and dropped his arm as if she’d just realized she was holding it. “Oh, look,” she burst out. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Relax. That’s about the twentieth time you’ve apologized. It was an accident. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“It was very…nice of you, trying to break my fall the way you did.”

“Don’t mention it.” Andrew liked the way she blushed, and she seemed to do it quite a bit.

She picked up her purse and fiddled with the strap. “When I was apologizing just now, it was about Gwen, too. This was just the first place I thought to bring you. She’s a wonderful doctor, but she does talk a lot—”

“So now I know you’re divorced, and you have a rebellious streak when it comes to your father,” he said mildly. “Hardly capital offenses.”

“I used to have a rebellious streak. Not anymore.” She sighed. “I don’t know why I’m explaining. What do you say we get out of here?”

It seemed an excellent idea to him. A few minutes later they were out on the sidewalk, beneath a brilliant blue sky. Dr. Gwen’s office was in downtown Billings proper. The building was a converted Victorian on an old-fashioned street, tree-lined, with other old houses that had been turned into offices or duplexes. Cassie’s son, seven-year-old Zak, walked ahead of them, his head bowed as if he was deep in thought. Cassie gazed at him worriedly.

“He’s an okay kid,” Andrew said.

“Yes, he is. He’s wonderful. But he’s…quiet.”

“A lot of kids are quiet,” Andrew said.

“He didn’t used to be this way,” Cassie muttered. “It’s only been since…since the divorce.”

The infamous divorce. He gathered that it was still a big part of her life. “How long ago?” he asked.

“Over a year. So, Andrew,” she said determinedly, “have you ever been married?” She couldn’t have made it more clear that she wanted to change the subject.

“No. Hannah always told me I was missing out.”

“All depends on who you’re married to,” Cassie said grimly. And then, as if concerned she’d directed the conversation to herself again, she gave him another glance. “How’s the finger?”

“I’ll live.”

“I really am sorry—”

“There you go again,” he said. “Apologizing.”

She gave an exasperated shake of the head. “You have to admit the whole thing’s been highly unfortunate.”

He didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t every day that a beautiful redhead fell into his arms—and dislocated his finger in the process.

“Why are you smiling?” Cassie asked suspiciously.

“No reason.” He found, surprisingly, that he was feeling pretty good. He didn’t know if it was because of Cassie Warren, or the unexpected turn of the day. Cassie, however, didn’t appear to share his optimism. She gazed at him for another moment, and then her expression grew shuttered. She might as well have put up a warning sign: Keep away. Don’t get too close.

She called to her son. “Zak, the car’s over here. We’re going home.” And then she turned to Andrew one more time. “At least—it’s home until Zak and I find an apartment. We’ll clear out just as soon as we can.”

Andrew felt a stirring of disappointment. And that, too, was unexpected.