chapter Two
Noelle cranked on the old truck and gave it some gas this time. It sputtered and died—again. She pounded the steering wheel, as if that could help.
A tap on the window almost sent her through the roof of the car. She jerked her head to the side and met the tawny eyes of the long, lean cowboy she’d spotted in the grocery store. She’d noticed him cruising the aisles but hadn’t gotten the full effect of his gorgeousness.
She powered down the window. “It won’t turn over.”
“I noticed.” He tipped his head toward the hood of the car and a lock of golden-brown hair slipped from beneath his cowboy hat over one eye. “Do you want me to have a look?”
She studied his strong face and the easy smile that relieved it of too much seriousness. He didn’t look like a serial killer. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind a bit.” He parked his grocery cart next to the lamppost and ambled toward the front of her car. He tried the hood and then made a clicking motion with his fingers.
Idiot. She hadn’t released the hood. She reached beneath the steering column and yanked on the release lever. The hood popped, and the man thrust it up with a creak.
She could see his hands moving among the innards of her truck, but not the rest of him. Maybe he was making the situation worse so she’d break down and be at his mercy.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep, cleansing breath of the cold, clear Colorado air. That might have happened in D.C. where strangers stalked you and broke into your apartment and where roommates disappeared without a trace and nobody seemed to care, but she’d relocated, temporarily at least, to laid-back Colorado. Those kinds of things didn’t happen here...did they?
He slammed the hood, and she flinched. “Give it a try now.”
She turned the ignition and the truck growled to life. Good-looking and handy. She poked her head out the window. “Thanks. How’d you do that?”
“You had a loose fuel clip.” He wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I tightened it up, but you should have a mechanic check it out so it doesn’t happen again. You might need a new fuel pump.”
“Thanks again.” She chewed her lip. Should she offer him money? Invite him out for coffee? She’d promised herself a fresh start and that meant being open to new relationships instead of hiding in a hole.
He smacked the roof of the car, and she flinched again. “No problem, but get it checked out. Looks like it might snow, and you don’t want to be stranded on the road.”
She shivered in her jacket. “That’s for sure.”
The man retrieved his grocery cart and wheeled away with the wave of his hand and a long stride.
She’d missed her opportunity to thank him properly, but maybe he was in town for the skiing and she’d see him again. She could buy him coffee then—even if he had a wife or girlfriend with him because, honestly, that man couldn’t possibly be available.
She allowed herself a small smile as she navigated through the parking lot. It had been a long time since she’d wondered about a man’s marital status. Dr. Eliason would see it as progress.
The old truck rumbled along the road out of Buck Ridge, along with other vehicles heading away from the ski resort and back to condos and cabins for the night. She hadn’t been back to the old homestead in several years, and the activity around the ski resort had surprised her—in a good way.
She’d worried about the loneliness of retreating to the empty ranch house. Her father had died years ago, and Mom, frail and increasingly plagued by her obsessive-compulsive disorder, had moved in with Aunt Kathy down in Scottsdale.
And her brother, Ted? No telling where he’d been holing up for the past few years.
So the ranch had fallen to her. There’d been a time when she and Alex had planned to live at the ranch and paint and sculpt and sell their stuff to tourists.
Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped the back of her hand across her nose. Even if some thief hadn’t murdered her husband, Noelle knew they would’ve never made it to their golden years together.
That had made Alex’s death even harder to deal with—the guilt.
The truck hiccuped a few times on the way back to the ranch, but the cowboy had done a good job.
She passed the entrance to the Bar N Ranch, and on a whim, made a U-turn at the next turnout. Her friend Tara Nettles had moved back home a few years ago after her divorce. They’d run into each other on Noelle’s first day back in town and had lunch, and Tara had told her to drop by anytime.
The truck churned up dirt on the road to the house. Too bad the cowboy wasn’t here to make sure the truck started again when it was time to leave.
Tara must’ve seen her coming because she was heading down the front steps before Noelle even stopped the truck. Noelle slid from the front seat and hopped to the ground.
“You said anytime, and I was passing by. Do you want me to come back another time?”
Tara flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. “Perfect timing. I just took some cookies out of the oven.”
“I can smell them from here.” Noelle sniffed the sweet scent of vanilla on the air. “Didn’t take you for the baking kind, Tara.”
“I’m a regular prairie home companion out here even though we have mountains instead.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on in. Mom’s been anxious to see you ever since I told her we had lunch.”
Tara took her by the arm and led her up the porch steps. “Ma, look who dropped by.”
Noelle followed Tara into the kitchen, cheerful with its yellow walls and blue-and-yellow chintz curtains. Mrs. Nettles sat at the kitchen table, cradling a cup of something hot. She lowered her glasses to her nose. “Noelle Dupree. You still look just like my Tara.”
“Don’t get up.” Noelle bent over the older woman and kissed the papery skin of her cheek. “You look great.”
Mrs. Nettles waved her hands. “I look like hell. Hasn’t your mother told you that growing old isn’t for sissies?”
“Something like that.”
“Of course, neither is life.” Mrs. Nettles tilted her head. “Tara told me what happened to your husband, dear. What a tragedy.”
“Yes, it was.” Noelle blinked. Mrs. Nettles didn’t know that the real tragedy was that Noelle hadn’t loved her husband enough. Maybe if she had that whole night would’ve turned out differently.
“Cookies?” Tara held up a plate piled high with lumpy rounds.
Noelle wrinkled her nose. “What I said before about you not being the baking kind? It doesn’t look like you are.”
“These?” Tara thrust the plate at her. “They may not look perfect, but they’re yummy. Right, Ma?”
“They’re oatmeal, chocolate chip.” Mrs. Nettles shrugged her thin shoulders. “She thinks everything tastes better with a few chocolate chips thrown in.”
“I agree.” Noelle reached for a cookie and took a bite. “Mmm, perfection.”
“Told you.” Tara pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. Do you want some coffee?”
“I can’t stay long. I have groceries in the car.”
Tara tugged her sweater around her body. “Nothing’s going to spoil in this weather.”
“So how does small-town life compare to Chicago?” Noelle licked some chocolate from her fingers. When Tara and her husband had divorced, she’d left him in Chicago and returned home to take care of her mother. And apparently take up baking.
“Of course, it’s a lot slower, but the popularity of that ski resort has changed things up a bit from when we were kids. People lock their doors now, for one thing.”
“Crime in Buck Ridge?”
“Mostly around the resort. Like any ski resort, it attracts drifters and partiers and scammers.”
And which category fit the cowboy?
“Then how much longer before Buck Ridge lures that brother of yours back here?” Mrs. Nettles wagged her finger.
“Half brother,” Noelle answered automatically.
“Don’t worry, Ma.” Tara dragged a finger along the inside of the mixing bowl and popped some cookie dough into her mouth. “I don’t have the hots for Teddy Dupree anymore.”
Mrs. Nettles eyed her daughter over the top of her glasses. “I should hope not. One bad relationship in a woman’s life is enough. Look at Noelle and that sweet boy. That marriage would’ve lasted a lifetime.”
“Maybe Noelle doesn’t want to talk about Alex, Ma.” Tara mouthed sorry to Noelle behind a cupped hand.
“It did last a lifetime—his.” Noelle pushed off the counter. “I’d better get those groceries home. Goodbye, Mrs. Nettles.”
Tara trailed her to the door and slipped out onto the porch with her. “Sorry about my mother. She thinks everyone’s relationships are better than mine.”
“They’re not. Alex and I—”
Tara held up her hands. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. What happened to Alex...and you was horrible. Whatever your relationship was, it shouldn’t have ended like that.”
Noelle puffed a few breaths into the cold night. “I’ll let your mom believe in fairy tales.”
Tara gave her a quick hug and watched her walk to the truck. “Are you going to drive that old thing around while you’re here or get something else?”
“The truck’s okay. I’m not going to be here long enough to buy another car—just a month or two.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Drive carefully. It got dark while you were inside, but at least the snow hasn’t come in yet.”
Noelle waved and climbed into the truck. Holding her breath, she turned the key. The engine turned over with a rattle, but it did turn over. That cowboy knew his stuff.
She eased the truck back up the dirt road and turned onto the two-lane highway. It was more deserted now, but still several headlights from town caught up with her and followed her along the highway.
She signaled well in advance before aiming the truck between the posts that marked the entrance to the ranch. Her ranch. When Mom had moved in with her sister, she’d signed the property over to Noelle.
No reason for her mom to leave anything to Ted, since Noelle’s half brother wasn’t her mother’s blood. Dad could’ve provided for his son before he had died, but he had figured Ted would gamble it, drink it or drug it all away.
Probably figured right, but that didn’t stop Noelle from feeling bad that their father hadn’t left anything to Ted. Her mother had probably had a hand in that decision.
Noelle had left a light on in the house, but not the porch light since she hadn’t planned to stay out after dark. She swung the truck in front of the house, illuminating it with her headlights.
Cutting the engine, she left the headlights on so she wouldn’t kill herself going up those rickety steps. The moon had disappeared behind leaden clouds that threatened snow.
She lifted one bag of groceries from the back of the truck and picked her way across the dirt and gravel that littered the path to the front door. She set the bag on the porch and fumbled for her keys.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open, stooping to scoop up the grocery bag on her way in. Two steps into the room and she stopped. The smell. Cologne. Men’s cologne. The same cologne favored by her late husband.
Squishing the bag against her chest, she glanced around the living room. Her gaze darted from the magazines she’d stacked on the coffee table, now askew, to the sweatshirt she’d hung by its hood on the doorknob of the closet. It now hung by the back collar.
Panic pumped into her system, and she released her breath in short spurts.
Not again.
Clutching the bag, she spun around and made a beeline for the front door, which still gaped open. When the cold air hit her face, she dropped the bag and stumbled over it.
The headlights blinded her now, and she held her hands in front of her, clawing her way back to the truck and safety.
Until she collided with a body.