Page 82 of Wyoming Heart

She almost bit her tongue off as she forced a smile. “Of course!”

He chuckled. “I may have to learn, too, in my spare time. I don’t have much of that lately, with roundup starting on Latigo. We’ve also got some labor disputes in one of our mining concerns,” he added with a worried glance. “I may have to be away from home a bit. I’ll try to make sure it’s not excessive.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I can always...knit,” she said, almost choking on the word.

“Fair enough. Let’s get going!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MINA’SFIRSTGLIMPSEof Latigo was a revelation. It wasn’t what anyone would picture a ranch house looking like. The house was huge, two stories high, made of wood and brown stone in a design that melded into its landscape. There was a black wrought iron gate, which the driver opened automatically from a control panel over the windshield in the big Jaguar XJL that he was driving, with Cort and Mina in the backseat. The paved driveway led down through white-fenced pastures to a huge complex that featured the house itself, along with a garage, guesthouses, shade trees and a privacy fence made of stone, which surrounded the house complex. It, too, was gated.

“This ranch is unbelievable,” Mina exclaimed.

He chuckled. “Thirty thousand acres,” he said. “We have several thousand head of purebred Santa Gertrudis, on this ranch and another one in an adjacent county that we absorbed a few years ago, when its owner had to sell up.”

“Your mountains aren’t what I expected,” she confessed.

He chuckled. “Well, they’re not the snowcapped Tetons,” he teased. “But they’re mountains, just the same. We have miles of improved pasture here. The stables, and the barn, are farther out.”

“The house is enormous.”

“Ten bedrooms—each with a private bath—an indoor Olympic-size swimming pool, a conservatory with every sort of plant you can imagine and a kitchen with a walk-in freezer. It may look imposing,” he added as the driver pulled up beside the front door. “But it’s just home.”

“Just home,” she laughed.

There was a big gold Mercedes sitting at the steps, parked askew. Cort’s face tautened. “My father’s here,” he said curtly.

“It will be all right,” she said, putting her hand on his. “Don’t worry.”

“He can be a handful when he drinks.”

She just smiled. “I never told you, but so can Bill McAllister. They used to come and get me when he went wild in the local bar. I’d lead him out like a lamb.”

“Aren’t you afraid of people who drink?” he asked softly.

“I was afraid of Henry because he was violent, and he hated me,” she said. “Like my mother did. But it doesn’t bother me so much when I know the reason. Bill lost his only daughter in a wreck a few years ago,” she added. “He drinks because he hurts so much. I think maybe your father does, too.”

He drew in a breath. “He’s been morose since his new wife left him. But he’s not hurting you—I don’t care if he is my father,” he said firmly.

Her heart lifted. She liked it, that he was protective of her. He brushed his mouth against hers. She touched his cheek and kissed him back.

THEDRIVEROPENEDthe back door for them. Cort got out and helped Mina out. He didn’t let go of her hand as they moved up onto the porch, which seemed to go all around the house.

“It must be heaven to sit out here at sunset,” she remarked, loving the wicker furniture with its deep cushions and the porch swing.

“I wish I had time to do it,” he responded enigmatically. “Come on in.” He hesitated as curses echoed from the living room. His lips made a thin line. “Damn it! Mina, it might be better if you wait here...” he began.

She ignored him and went right into the hall and, from there, into the elegant living room with its crystal chandelier and Victorian furniture and big, open fireplace. A white-haired man, tall like Cort, was trying to pick up a table which he’d apparently overturned. He was staggering.

Mina went forward and righted the table as he finally got it back in place. She could almost feel his pain. She’d lived with alcoholics for a long time, but this one didn’t frighten her. She remembered what Cort had told her about his father. The older man looked down at her, his silver hair falling onto a broad forehead. Dark brown eyes met hers. He blinked. “Who are you?” he asked belligerently.

“I’m Cort’s wife,” she said softly.

He seemed disconcerted. While Cort looked on, spellbound, she reached for the elderly man’s hand. “Wouldn’t you like to sit down? You look very tired.”

“Well...well, yes, I am tired. A little.”

She led him to the sofa and waited while he sat down. She perched herself on the edge of a wing chair.

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