Unforgiven

Cherry had been surprised that his sister preferred living in the two-story log house instead of the mansion their father had built. Carson understood only too well. But he would have made the old man build him his own house, something new and modern and even farther away. Clearly, he wasn’t his sister.

The twilight cast a soft silver sheen over the land, making the dark pines shimmer as he crossed the cattleguard and approached the house. This far north, the sun didn’t set in the summer months until almost eleven. Now, though, it was getting dark by eight-thirty. Soon it would be dark by five.

The wind had picked up even more, he noticed distractedly. Something was definitely blowing in. The wind was so strong in this part of Montana that it had blown over semis on the interstate and knocked train cars off their tracks.

It was worse in the winter when wind howled across the eaves and whipped snow into huge sculpted drifts. He remembered waking to find he couldn’t get out to help feed the animals because the snow had blown in against the door. Often he’d had to plow the road out so he and Destry could get to the county road to catch the school bus.

It had become a state joke that while other states closed their schools when they got a skiff of snow or the thermometer dropped below zero, Montana schools remained open in blinding blizzards and fifty-below-zero temperatures. Carson remembered too many days when the ice was so thick on the inside of the school bus windows that he couldn’t see outside. He hadn’t missed the cold, especially enjoying winters in Las Vegas.

He reminded himself that, with luck, he and Cherry would be back there before their vacations were up.

Carson found his sister unloading firewood from the back of a flatbed truck and stacking it along the rear of the house. As a kid, she’d always turned to hard work or horseback when she was upset. He watched her for a moment. She was working off something, that was for sure.

“I thought we had hired hands for that?” he asked, only half joking.

She grinned and tossed a sawn chunk of log in his direction. He had to step out of the way to keep it from hitting him.

“Think you got enough wood there?” he asked as he fell in to help stack the truckload of logs along the back of the house. Firewood had been stacked in that spot for as long as he could remember.

“Takes quite a few cords to get through the winter with this latest weather pattern,” Destry said.

“I can’t imagine what it must take up at the Big House.” He’d heard her call it that and thought how appropriate it was to compare WT’s mansion with prison.

“Dad doesn’t heat with wood,” she said. “Went with a gas furnace. The wood fireplaces are just for show.”

He stopped, already winded from the exertion of trying to keep up with his sister. “Why do you stay here?”

“You know I’ve always loved this old house.”

“I’m not talking about this house. I’m talking about this ranch, Montana. I gave you some good advice before I left.” He’d told her to go away to college and not come back. To run as far away from WT as she could get. She should have listened. “You obviously didn’t take it.”

“But I appreciated the advice.” Destry stopped throwing down wood long enough to smile at him. “I was able to get my degree in business and ranch management and still stay around here, so it all worked out for the best.”

“Destry, what’s here for you but work?”

“I love this work.” She looked out at the darkening land beyond the grove of trees for a moment, her expression softening. “I couldn’t breathe without open spaces.”

He wondered what had happened either before she’d left to see about the cows—or while she was gone. Maybe it was just his return that had her upset. “Destry, you know I can’t stay here.”

She jumped down to stack logs, making short order out of the pile she’d thrown from the truck bed. “What does Dad say about that?”

“What do you think he says?” He felt his blood pressure rise. “I don’t know how you can put up with him. I can’t.”

“What will you do?”

He shook his head. He didn’t have a clue. The old man definitely had him between a rock and a hard place. Destry was in an even worse corner, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her.

She stacked more of the wood for a moment. “I’ll pick you up early in the morning,” she said, stopping to study him. “Be ready.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He smiled at his sister. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”

* * *

RYLAN HAD JUST THROWN a couple of elk steaks into a cast-iron skillet sizzling with melted butter. A large baked potato wrapped in foil sat on the counter since the steaks wouldn’t take long.

The secret with wild meat was not to overcook it. He’d learned that at hunting camp when he was a boy. At least today he wasn’t cooking over an open campfire. The wonderful scent of the steaks filled the cabin, and for the first time in weeks, he felt as if he was finally home.

The knock at the door made him curse under his breath. He really wasn’t in the mood for company.

When he went to the door, he was shocked to find Destry standing outside on the wooden step. He tried to hide his surprise as well as his pleasure in seeing her again. Leaning his hip against the door frame, he studied her for a moment as he waited for her to speak—that was until he remembered his steaks and swore as he hurried back to the stove.

When he looked up from flipping the beautifully browned steaks, she had come in and closed the door behind her. The cabin immediately felt smaller. Too small and too warm.

“I assume you’re not here for supper,” he said, wondering what she was here for. Being this close to her jolted his heart, reminding him of things he’d spent years trying to forget. “I’m a pretty good cook if you’re interested.”

“No, thanks.” She appeared as uncomfortable as he felt in the tight quarters, which surprised him. He’d only seen her lose control of her emotions once. The reminder of their night together did nothing to ease his tension. He pulled the steaks off the stove, his mouth no longer watering for them, though, and gave her all his attention.

Destry was the only woman he knew who could make a pair of jeans and a flannel work shirt sexy. Her chestnut plaited hair hung over one shoulder, the end falling over her breast. He remembered the weight of her breasts in his hands, the feel of her nipple in his mouth. His fingers itched to unbraid her hair and let it float around her bare shoulders.

“I’ll make this quick since I don’t want your steaks to get cold,” she said. “Thank you for changing your mind about going to the W Bar G earlier.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. You don’t know how close I came.”

“You stopped before it was too late,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, but that was today. I can’t make any promises about tomorrow.”

Her blue eyes shone like banked flames. Even in the dull light of the cabin, he could see the sprinkling of freckles that arced across her cheeks and nose. She looked as young as she had in high school. The girl next door, he used to joke. And that was still what she was.

Only now she was all woman, a strong, independent, resilient woman who made his pulse quicken and heart ache at the sight of her. Pain and pleasure, both killers when your heart was as invested as much as his was.

He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, to kiss that full mouth....

“Enjoy your steaks,” she said, turning toward the door.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, certainly not something that would make her stay. He listened to her get into her pickup, the engine cranking over, the tires crunching on the gravel as she drove away.

He dumped his steaks onto a plate, but he’d lost his appetite. Destry was determined to make him a saint when he was far from it. Now he wished he’d kicked Carson’s butt.

But he figured Destry would have still ended up on his doorstep tonight—only she wouldn’t have been thanking him. She would probably have come with a loaded shotgun and blood in her eye.

* * *