Wendy Douglas - Shades Of Gray

That doesn’t mean you have to love it the same way, Derek reminded himself. He doubted that he ever would. He didn’t have enough emotion left within him for that. But it was the perfect answer, for now.

He had more than twenty-five years behind him as Jordan Fontaine’s son. And later, he’d survived four long—agonizingly so at times—years of civil war. In his life, he’d faced enough strife, enough pain…enough everything. He just wanted a little peace and quiet.

The Double F would give him that. The space and freedom to be alone, to forget…to heal?

Well, no. He shook his head and urged his horse to move faster. He wouldn’t go that far. He knew better. But maybe, if he had any luck left to him at all, he might get the chance to discover if there was anything left of the man named Derek Fontaine.

“Riders comin’.”

Amber Laughton heard the call but held her response, choosing to concentrate on her work for another moment. Separating the troublesome weeds from the healthy plants in her fledgling dill bed didn’t take that much thought, but the mindless chore gave her a chance to think.

The Double F Ranch rarely welcomed visitors these days. Invitations were no longer extended or accepted, and she could think of no one interested in seeing that change. No one, perhaps, except Derek Fontaine, arrived at last.

“Amber-girl, you hear me? Riders comin’.”

She looked up, shading her eyes with one hand. High, thin clouds gave the day a deceptively overcast appearance, but they didn’t entirely stop moments of fierce brightness. Blinking, she picked out Micah standing at the corner of the house.

She smiled softly. The little man, as much grandfather as friend to her after so many years, stood as straight and tall as his size and aging body would allow. Alternately he stared out toward the curved front drive, then sent her sharp, pointed looks, intended no doubt to make her take him seriously.

She did, and he had to know it. “I heard you.”

“You expectin’ somebody?”

“And who do you think I’d be expecting?”

“Them crazy Andrews brothers ain’t been out here in a while. It could be them,” Micah suggested, scowling.

“That doesn’t mean I’d be expecting them. Clem and Twigg come to see Whitley, and you know it.” Amber dropped the last few weeds into a dilapidated wooden bucket, already half full of wilting green plants, and stood, wiping her hands on her stained apron. For once she had remembered to put on her gardening apron, and she refused to change it now simply to impress uninvited company. Even if it was Derek Fontaine.

Besides, a dirty apron hardly mattered under the circumstances; she looked every bit the part of the hired housekeeper she was. Her plain brown cotton dress and sturdy work shoes hadn’t been new in years. She’d pulled her hair back into a serviceable, tidy bun early that morning, but tendrils had loosened by now and clung with damp persistence to her forehead and neck. Her hands were red and chapped from the scalding hot, then icy-cold water and strong lye soap of yesterday’s laundry, while her fingertips seemed permanently tinted to a faded black from the rich dirt in her garden.

“They might say they’re comin’ to see Whitley,” said Micah, disapproval wrinkling his already weathered brow, “but they don’t care nothin’ that he’s their nephew. They just wanna stick around till you invite them to supper.”

“Well, if it’s them, they’ve run out of luck today.” Amber stepped around the bucket and headed in his direction. “Whitley went to town again, and I don’t have time to entertain them until he gets back.”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s them, anyway.” Micah narrowed his eyes. “That don’t look like their horses.”

She rounded the corner of the house and stopped next to him, shading her eyes with one hand as she looked out across the prairie.

There were two of them.

Amber swallowed the words, along with a clipped gasp for air—or thought she did, until Micah demanded, “What’s wrong with you, girl? Course there’s two of them. I said riders comin’. We was talkin’ about the Andrews brothers, fer cryin’ out loud. Addin’ them esses at the end of a word usually means more’n one.”

“I’m sorry. I…don’t know what I was thinking. I assumed it would be Derek Fontaine, but I thought he’d be alone.”

“Fontaine!” She might have said Jesus Christ for all the stunned amazement that crackled in Micah’s voice. “Why d’you think it’s him now? We been wonderin’ fer durn near a year iffen he’d come.”

She shot a weary glance at the old man. His wide, rheumy eyes and gaping mouth matched his astonished tone. “I got a note from Frank Edwards a few days ago,” she admitted.

“You shoulda told me! We coulda got things ready fer him.”

“What difference does it make? It’s his, no matter what condition it’s in.”

Micah’s gaze raked her with uncomfortable deliberation. “What’s wrong, Amber-girl? This is Richard’s nephew. You loved Richard an’ he was good to both of us. How come you don’t want Derek here? You don’t even know him.”

Amber sighed. It might shock him to realize it, but Micah didn’t know everything about her. He thought he understood her, and she would never tell him any differently—for both their sakes. She couldn’t face him if he knew all her secrets.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I haven’t slept well the past couple of nights.”

He nodded. “It’s the change in season. Spring ain’t your fondest season anymore.”

Turning, she watched the newcomers approach ever nearer. As a child, spring had always been her favorite time of year, and part of her still marveled to see the earth renew itself. But spring had also seen an end to much that she held dear, and she could no longer take the same joy in it.

“No.” Her answer, finally, was clean and simple, allowing her to concentrate on the new arrivals. “I don’t suppose it is.”

The riders reached the edge of the crushed rock-and-shell driveway, close enough that she could make out the first details. The men both appeared to be thirty or thereabouts, lean and fit. Their features remained indistinct, but they rode well, straight and easy, one on a gleaming red sorrel and the other on a powerful black stallion. The horses looked healthy and lively, even from a distance.

Pausing at the front of the house, they shared a brief exchange that didn’t carry before Micah caught their attention with an abbreviated wave and a sharp “Halloo.”

The man on the sorrel led the way around back. “Is this the Double F Ranch?”

Amber lost, in that moment, any doubts that may have lingered about the man’s identity. It was Richard’s voice asking the question, Richard’s face looking down at her. His eyes remained shadowed under the brim of his dusty brown hat, but that changed nothing. Derek Fontaine was clearly his uncle’s double, though separated by a span of thirty years.

She had never given much thought to Richard’s looks; he had simply been her father’s friend. Suddenly, though, looking at Derek and his younger version of Richard’s face, she discovered with some surprise that he was quite possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen. The high curve of his cheekbones gave his face an elegance that was apparent even under a reddish-brown beard and mustache. The whiskers provided a subtle accent for his full, finely drawn lips, but at the same time concealed the cut of his jaw. His nose presented the only unremarkable feature on his face.

“Ma’am?”

Amber blinked and swallowed. For pity’s sake, what was the matter with her? Standing here, staring at this man—any man—like a smitten schoolgirl.