Page 15 of Return of the Rancher

Four

Farris was in hell. How else could he explain the fact that he could see and taste and touch heaven and yet not really hold on to it?

He wanted to ride for miles, far beyond the boundaries of his own property. The sensation of infinite peace—intermingled with driving lust—was both wonderful and torturous. As long as he kept moving, India would be his. With her body pressed against him, he felt invincible.

She was nervous around him. How could he blame her? In her wary gaze, he saw distrust—of his motives, his words, his intentions. It was surprising she had come to Aspenglow at all. Only the bond between India and his mother had wrought this miracle.

He was selfish enough to relish the result of his machinations, even if the enjoyment was temporary.

When they returned to the ranch, only a pink stain remained in the sky. He dismounted outside the barn and helped India down. When he put a hand to her cheek, he frowned. “You’re freezing. I’m sorry about that.”

In the dim light of dusk, he couldn’t read her eyes. She took a step backward, breaking any connection, physical or otherwise. “I enjoyed the ride,” she said. “Your ranch is lovely, Farris.”

When she turned and headed for the house, he felt a jagged rip in the region of his heart. He was supposed to be so damn smart. Why, then, had he destroyed the single greatest investment he ever made?

India was cold through to the bone. Part of her discomfort was the result of too much time spent outside in the frigid Wyoming winter. Harder still to combat was the despair that shrouded her in hopelessness.

She hadn’t gotten over Farris. She had been lying to herself for five years. Denial was a kind of self-preservation, but still.

How had she believed such a ridiculous fabrication? Today, with her body so close to his, the truth had been impossible to miss. She still wanted her ex-husband. But it was even more than physical. After all these years, she hadn’t stopped loving him. Maybe. To acknowledge such a thing would be to admit that her life was ruined.

While Farris’s amazing horse had been carrying them over the landscape, the minutes had almost felt like flying. Her life back in New York, the life she told herself was fulfilling and wonderful, seemed like an odd dream.

She was in so much trouble. Instead of worrying about Dottie, India should be worrying about herself. The trap was clear. If she stayed—and of course she must—she had to figure out a way to keep her distance from Farris.

Not physically—that was impossible. They were living under the same roof. But emotionally. No more cozy horseback rides. No in-depth conversations about the past. Nothing personal at all.

To put it another way, she and Farris were like a divorced couple sharing custody, in this case of a grown woman.

She left Farris to care for his horse and escaped into the house, going in search of Dottie. Farris’s mother looked much better now that she had taken a good rest.

India paused in the open doorway. “Are you ready for dinner?”

Dottie ran a brush through her hair and stood. She’d been at the small vanity, fussing with her makeup. Her color was good, and her eyes were bright. “I’m starving,” she said. “I usually like a snack midafternoon, but I slept right through.”

“Something smells wonderful,” India said.

On the way toward the dining room, Dottie linked her arm with India’s. “How was the horseback ride?”

India stiffened unconsciously. “You knew about that?”

Dottie looked at her oddly. “Farris sent me a text, so I wouldn’t worry.”

“Of course,” India said, feeling foolish. “It was a cold ride, but interesting. He showed me all the improvements he’s made since I was here last.”

“He’s worked hard,” Dottie said. “Sometimes I think the boy never sleeps.”

The boy joined them just as the housekeeper brought in bowls of hearty beef stew, along with homemade corn bread. On such a cold night, the comfort food was welcome. India didn’t enjoy hers as much as she should have. She was too occupied with studying Farris out of the corner of her eye.

He barely looked at her, his attention focused instead on Dottie. As mother and son chatted, India ate in silence. Farris’s demeanor was no different than usual. But when he finally glanced in her direction, his expression was closed off, much like those last months of their marriage.

She hated that expression on his face. She’d had nightmares about it, had cried over it. Why had Farris shut her out? Why had he gone from indulgent husband to haughty stranger in a matter of weeks? Five years ago, she had wanted to ask the question louder and louder still until the truth exploded from him. In the end, to preserve her sanity, she had convinced herself that the answer didn’t matter, because he had clearly stopped loving her.

Now those same nausea-inducing questions burned in her gut. She had thought she was over him, damn it. She desperately wanted to be over him. Why, then, was she suddenly unsure of herself? And why did old, painful questions seem relevant again?

The evening didn’t improve. Over dessert—warm apple pie with ice cream—the master of the house dropped a bombshell. “I’m flying to New York in the morning. I’ll be up before dawn, so I won’t see either of you before I go.”

Though India was startled by the abrupt news, it was Dottie who quizzed him. “Why, son? You were just there ten days ago.”

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