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Beau shrugged. He’d always been the handsome brother, with a runner’s long bones, light brown hair, and a roguish charm that matched his looks. Will, on the other hand, was chiseled in his father’s dark, solid image, and he was just as intractable as Bull had been.
Bull Junior, Tori had called her husband during one of their arguments.
“Special ladies take time,” Beau said. “And they expect things, like being told where you are, who you’re with, and when you’ll be home for dinner.”
“Sounds like a passel of excuses to me.” Tori gave him a roguish wink. “You’d make time for the right woman if you found her.”
Beau’s gaze traced the sun-streaked curl that trailed along her cheek. He knew better than to think Tori was flirting with him. They’d been friends most of their lives, but there was no romantic chemistry between them. And even though she was legally free, to him she would always be his brother’s woman.
“Maybe I’m just not the right man,” he said. “The kind of work I do can make you pretty cynical.” He gave the swing another push with his foot. Sex was something he could get any time he wanted it. There were plenty of single, pretty women in Washington, most of them ambitious as hell. For them, a roll in the hay was just a way to let off stress, or maybe a leg up to the next level of wherever they were headed. Beau had long since learned to settle for that.
An easy silence had settled over the porch, warmed by the afternoon sun and broken only by the creak of the swing and the hum of foraging bees. Beau let his gaze wander over the ranch yard and the big landscape that stretched away from it. Little had changed since he’d left the ranch better than ten years ago. For a moment he let the familiarity of it all, its sights, scents, and sounds, take hold of him. Endless times in Iraq he had called this image to mind, times when the pull of home had been strong. And the pull was strong now, forcing him to admit he’d missed being here and being a part of the ranch’s rhythms.
Before it could take hold of him, Beau shifted his position on the swing, angling more toward Tori. In the distance, barely visible, a white Toyota Land Cruiser had turned off the main highway and onto the long ribbon of gravel that led up to the ranch house.
“Remember back in fifth grade when Natalie put a garter snake in the teacher’s desk drawer?” Tori asked.
Natalie again. Beau forced a chuckle. “How could I forget? The teacher went straight to Mr. Warner’s office and quit.” Natalie, he recalled, had fessed up to save the poor snake and got three weeks’ detention for her crime. The little scamp had been unrepentant.
“How’s Natalie doing?” he asked. “Are the two of you still best friends?”
“Solid as ever.” Tori reached for her iced tea and took a sip.
“Last I heard, she was married.”
“Yes, to Slade Haskell. It’s been a few years now. No children. He runs a trucking business out of Blanco.”
Beau had tried to imagine the petite, quicksilver girl he remembered with the hulking Slade, who’d made it to college on a football scholarship, then dropped out after blowing out his knee in the first game. Somehow the picture would never come together.
“Do you think she’s happy?” he asked.
“You can ask her yourself. That’s her SUV coming up the road.”
Beau felt the catch in his chest. His feet dropped to the porch, stopping the swing. He was overreacting, he told himself. They weren’t nineteen anymore. And Natalie was a married woman.
“I’d planned on bringing her with me today, but she called at the last minute and said she had a foal to deliver.” Tori rose, stepped into her pumps, and smoothed her hair into place. “Looks like she made it after all. And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time I was checking on my daughter.”
As she vanished inside, Beau rose and walked to the porch rail. No doubt Tori had left on purpose. Given the way he’d treated Natalie ten years ago, their meeting was bound to be awkward. He couldn’t blame Tori for not wanting to be a part of it.
Guests had parked their vehicles along both sides of the road for a good fifty yards. The white Toyota pulled off and parked behind a ru
sty Ford pickup at the end of the line. Maybe he should go back inside, pretend he hadn’t seen her. But that would be the coward’s way. If the little spitfire still wanted a piece of his hide, he would take his punishment like a man.
He watched as the driver’s door opened, and a petite figure stepped out. From a distance, at least, the girl who’d been Natalie Russo hadn’t changed much. Doll-sized, with an unruly mane of black curls, she appeared to have come straight from her work. The black blazer she’d tossed on over her jeans and plaid shirt was her only nod to dressing for a funeral. But at least she’d come.
She must’ve known he’d be here. Had she made the effort because of him—or in spite of him?
When she froze in her tracks for an instant, Beau sensed that she’d recognized him. His feet propelled him forward, off the porch and down the road in long strides that ate up the distance. They met halfway, facing each other at arm’s length.
“Hello, Natalie,” he said.
Her lips trembled, forming a smile that didn’t quite reach her dark eyes. “There were a lot of people who didn’t think you’d come back for Bull’s funeral. I’m glad you did, though. It’s good to see you.”
She extended her hand. He took it gently, checking the impulse to imprison it in his big palm. Her fingers were small, her skin cool and lightly callused.
“It’s been a long time.” Beau cleared the thickness from his voice. “I hear tell you’re Mrs. Haskell now.”
“Doctor Haskell, if you please.” Her smile was almost real this time, deepening a dimple at the corner of her mouth—the dimple he’d once loved to taste. Beau forced that memory aside, knowing it was bound to return when he was alone.
