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She hesitated, but only for an instant, before she ran to him. He hugged her close. “Welcome home, darlin’,” he said.
Bull caught the glint of a tear on Jasper’s cheek. Rose had been like a daughter to him—or maybe a kid sister, given their age difference. In the conflict over the land that was bound to come, Bull knew he could expect no help from his oldest friend.
After a moment, Rose broke away from Jasper and turned toward Bull. In the security light that flooded the yard, the striking eyes she fixed on him were the color of strong, dark coffee, framed by indecently long lashes and crowned by thick, dark brows. “Hello, Bull,” she said.
“Hello, Rose.” There were no embraces. He wasn’t glad to see her, and she couldn’t help but know it. After all this time, he’d hoped that maybe she’d found a man and settled down somewhere. But he should’ve known better.
“You must be hungry and tired,” he said. “Come on in. I’ll have Bernice rustle you up some supper.”
“Bernice?” She looked crestfallen. “I was hoping you’d married Susan. I was looking forward to seeing her again.”
Bull’s throat tightened. He glanced at Jasper for help.
“Susan passed away six years ago, Rose,” Jasper said. “Bernice is my sister. She came to take care of their two boys.”
“Oh—oh no, I’m so sorry.” Caught off guard, Rose showed a flash of vulnerability. She’d known Susan for only a short time, but Bull recalled that there’d been an instant connection between them.
“Those two boys would make any man proud,” Jasper put in, breaking the awkward silence. “Are your bags in the trunk, Rose? I’ll carry them inside for you.”
“The key’s still in the car,” Rose said. “Just bring the duffel, thanks. Everything else can stay.”
“Take her bag to the duplex. That’ll give her some peace and quiet,” Bull said, thinking it would also give him some peace and quiet. He needed time to come up with a plan to keep that thirty-acre parcel of land with its vital access to water.
Bull saw Rose hesitate, as if uncertain whether to fo
llow Jasper or stay. He jerked his head toward the house.
“Come on in and eat before you turn in, Rose. Jasper, you come, too. We’ve all got some catching up to do.”
* * *
Rose sat at the long table, thinking how much grander the place was than when she’d stayed here twelve years ago, cooking and helping with chores to earn her keep. There was matching china on the table and leather furniture in the parlor. A beautiful portrait of Susan in a blue dress and pearls hung on one wall.
By now, Rose had met Bernice, a chatty woman who already seemed to know a great deal about her. And Bull’s sons had come out of their room long enough to say hello. The two were as different as brothers could be. Nine-year-old Will was cast in the image of his father—dark hair, a sturdy frame, and a resolute look about him. Seven-year-old Beau was his mother’s child—fair and slender, a natural charmer with an easy smile.
Rose felt herself drawn to the motherless boys. But caution warned her back. A lot of things had changed in her absence, and there was no way of knowing whether the stern man who faced her across the table would turn out to be her friend or her enemy.
“How are things in Río Seco, Rose?” Bull buttered a slice of crusty sourdough bread. His tone was casual enough, but Rose could sense that she was being grilled.
“Things are bad,” Rose said. “A drug cartel’s taken over the town. Ramón and María are dead. Shot.”
A shadow seemed to pass across Bull’s rugged face. Ramón had always spoken well of him, as if they were friends. “And the boys, Raul and Joaquin?” he asked.
“No word from them in months, not since the last time they went off to work on that sheep ranch. I don’t know if they’re dead, too, or if they’ve gone over to the cartel.”
“I’m sorry,” Bull said. “I remember them well. They were good boys.”
“Yes, they were.” Ramón’s two nephews had been like older brothers to Rose, laughing and teasing, teaching her to ride, throw a rope, and herd sheep. But they were no longer boys and had gone their own way. She tried not to wonder what had become of them.
“So you can understand why I had to leave,” she said, knowing better than to mention what had happened last night in Río Seco.
“Sounds like you’ve been through a hell of a time, girl,” Jasper said. “But don’t worry. You’ve always got a home here, with us.”
Dear Jasper. Kind and loyal to the bone. He never changed. But Rose didn’t want to make a home on the Rimrock. She wanted to build a cabin on her own land and run some stock, or find some other way to support herself. Tonight, however, was no time to bring that up.
Instead she helped herself to another slice of pot roast, added a squirt of mustard, and folded it into a slice of bread to make a sandwich. “I can barely remember the last time I had beef,” she said. “Most of the time, if we had meat in Río Seco, it was mutton, or pork when we could afford it. Compared to beans and tortillas, this is a meal fit for royalty. And this house is a palace. It appears you’ve done well here, Bull.”
“We’ve managed, with a lot of work.” Bull fell silent. Rose sensed that he was waiting for her to bring up the secret that hung between them—the secret that must come to light if she was to stay.
