Page 38 of The Promise
The corral, the out buildings, all of it. Clune.
"When did your grandfather buy it?"
"I don't know for sure. I think his father bought it actually, sometime in the '20's. The 1920's," she added sheepishly.
"Do you know whose it was before that?"
"Not really. It belonged to one of the founders of the town, I think. Someone named Preston."
"Prescott?" Michael felt the hair on his arms start to rise.
"Yeah. That's it. The library's named after him." She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "I don't think he was the original owner, though. I think some Scottish fellow homesteaded it." She met his gaze. "I'm sorry, I…" Recognition dawned. Her eyes dropped to the sgian dubh fastened to his belt. "You're Scottish. Macpherson. My grandfather's ranch is yours?"
He nodded. "Clune."
"Oh my God."
"Do you still own it?"
"Yes, but I lease it to some people who've turned it into a retreat for fishermen. That's why I live up at the cabin."
His head was spinning. How had Owen wound up with his ranch? Had Patrick sold it to him? The boy was never interested in ranching. Another more sobering thought occurred to him. Maybe something had happened to Patrick. Patrick and Owen had always been close. Especially after his mother left. If anything happened to Patrick, his brother would definitely leave the ranch to Owen.
Not that Owen would have any particular interest in it. But Owen was a sentimental man. He'd keep it just to remember. Michael ran a hand through his hair, alarm racing through him. What the hell had happened? Unanswered questions rattled around in his brain. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to run, to try and get home.
He felt a hand on his arm and looked down into clear green eyes.
"I know this is hard for you. I wish I knew what to do to help."
Get me the hell out of here. He shook his head, dispelling his panic and pulled her close, inhaling her soft scent, letting her warmth soothe his soul. Tomorrow he'd find out what he could and then head back to the tunnel. But right now he wanted to be here, with Cara.
"Can I seeThe Promise?"
Cara tipped back her head, trying to focus on his words not his body. "Of course. It's the only one still not crated." She led the way to the back, a work area separated from the gallery by screens. Her head still reeled with the knowledge that her grandfather's ranch—her ranch now—had actually belonged to Michael.
"We call it the Meadows."
"What?" Michael's breath was warm on her neck as he stopped behind her.
She turned, looking up into the deep blue velvet of his eyes. "The ranch, it's known as the Meadows now."
Michael smiled and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. She resisted the urge to capture his strong fingers in hers. "Clune is Gaelic, Cara. In English, it means meadow."
"I just can't believe I grew up in your house. That somehow, my home is?—"
"Myhome. It seems we're attached in more ways than we even imagined." He traced the curve of her lip with his thumb.
She sucked in a breath and tried for a lighter note. "The Promiseis behind you."
She watched as he turned slowly around, his shoulders tightening as he took in the scene depicted in the painting. She wanted to rub the tension out of his shoulders, to soothe the worry away, but she couldn't find the courage to move. This was so far beyond anything she had ever experienced. And if she felt overwhelmed, she could only imagine what Michael was feeling.
"There's nothing left."
At first she was confused, but then she realized he was talking about the painting. "No. It's almost gone. I'm surprised I even found it."
"Maybe you were supposed to find it. You said you felt drawn to it, maybe it wasn't just a feeling."
A shiver ran up her spine and she suddenly felt chilled. "Is it your father's mine?"
