Ann Evans - That Last Night In Texas

“As I mentioned to you on the phone, I’d like to put this sale on the fast track. Financing is already lined up. It will be a cash deal.”

The woman looked practically giddy with excitement. “Wonderful! Financing and the land survey are really the only holdup these days, and the property was surveyed last year. The title company should have no problem with providing a clean deed. I’d say this can be a done deal in less than two weeks.”

“Perfect. That would leave me almost two months to have the place up and running by the middle of June.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem. You’ve done so much of the preliminary work already, you barely even need me!” Meredith frowned, aware that, for the sake of her commission, she should have left off that last statement. She recovered quickly, smiling up at Ethan. “Why don’t we see if I can get a little negotiating room in the price?”

“You know the owner?” he asked, canceling the impulse to admit that he already knew this was McGuire land.

“I’ve lived in Beaumont for only a couple of years, so I can’t say we’re tight, but everyone knows the Flying M. Shall we go talk to the seller?”

They got back into the car. Meredith left the area in a swirl of dust as the vehicle bounced onto the dirt road. Ethan remembered that, from here, the Flying M was no more than a three-minute ride.

He wanted to see what information he could get from Meredith about the McGuires, but before he could lead her into answering questions she went off on problems she was experiencing with her own horse, a pinto named Goody that wouldn’t walk through standing water.

Ethan nodded and listened with half an ear. He tried to convince himself that he was calm inside, but there was no denying his heart was racing about as fast as a Thoroughbred coming down the homestretch.

Thirteen years since he’d left this place, and only once had he ever come back. He’d changed so much since that frantic, frightening night in Beaumont’s E.R. Sometimes the year he’d worked on the Flying M seemed like a blur, a dream.

Especially when he thought about Cassie.

He had walked out of the hospital and out of her world, broken and bloodied, but determined not to be defeated. At first, bad luck had dogged his heels like a faithful hound, and everything he’d touched had turned to shit. He hadn’t much cared. A hollow feeling had lain inside him, as though someone had scooped out his vital organs. He’d thought he would be part of Cassie’s future, and the next thing he knew, he’d been drop-kicked into her past.

There was no denying that a part of him had embraced bitterness and an irrational desire to prove himself. Leaving Cassie and the Flying M behind, he was back at square one, which meant doing whatever it took to survive.

He soon realized that the most dangerous, least desirable work often paid the most. Hazardous jobs in remote, unpleasant places became his bread and butter.

Eventually he found his way to a new life. A college degree, a few solid investments that paid off. Somehow, he beat the odds. Somehow, he made a modest success of himself, one he was damned proud of.

With savage pleasure, he’d spent long hours envisioning a time when he would return here and show Mac McGuire how wrong he had been to discount him. When Cassie would see what she had thrown away.

What will you think when you see me now, Cassie? Good enough for you?

The day after the accident, he had called Josh Wheeler from a bus stop in Oklahoma. Nothing that happened to him in the intervening years had ever seemed as scary as waiting for the young rancher to tell him the outcome of Cassie’s surgery. After hearing the news that her leg had been saved, Ethan thought he could face anything, including a murky future.

Two weeks later, he’d called Wheeler again. Cassie would soon be moved into rehabilitation; one corner of the ranch house had been outfitted with therapy equipment. She’d probably always have a limp, but she was healing. There wasn’t much more Ethan could ask for than that, and in spite of his resentment and anger, he was relieved.

But like a child unable to stop scratching a painful itch, it hadn’t been possible to leave it alone. He had to see for himself.

Three months after that disastrous night, Ethan had contacted Josh Wheeler one last time. The man had been a little more distant this time, but he’d eventually told him that Cassie almost never left the Flying M. She had thrown herself into her rehabilitation, and only occasional doctor visits to town interrupted her self-imposed seclusion.

Knowing he would never be welcome by Mac McGuire, Ethan had hitchhiked back to Beaumont and the ranch. He’d walked up to the house without a soul seeing him. Just as he’d been preparing himself to march up to the door and knock, Cassie and her father had come outside. Ethan had slid back into the shelter of trees beside the house and watched as McGuire helped Cassie into the company truck.

She’d said nothing, not even offering one of her dynamic smiles to her father. Her face was thinner, paler. She’d leaned heavily on a cane, and her limp was very pronounced. Once she’d settled in the passenger seat, she had seemed carved out of stone and lost in her own thoughts.

Ethan had no idea where they were headed, but the time was right to approach. He’d step out of the shadows, despite knowing McGuire would pitch a fit. But Ethan had to find a way to talk to Cassie, to make her talk to him.

As it happened, no part of his less-than-brilliant idea had panned out. Not because father and daughter had driven away too quickly. Not because McGuire had had him tossed off the property the moment he’d seen him.

It hadn’t taken place because Ethan just couldn’t do it. He’d stood in the protection of the trees and realized that he couldn’t let go of his pride, his sense of being treated unfairly, his anger at being considered unfit to be part of Cassie McGuire’s life.

As much as he’d longed to talk to her, he couldn’t humiliate himself that way, begging for scraps from people who were no better than he was. He would always regret the part he had played in Cassie’s injury, but she was recovering. She obviously didn’t need him, didn’t want him. It was time he left her alone and moved on.

As the years had passed, he’d deliberately resisted the temptation to check up on her. But now, as he and Meredith reached the front drive to the ranch, he couldn’t help wishing he’d at least bothered to do an Internet search or make a few calls. Anything to keep from arriving blind like this.

Two iron arches with winged Ms announced that they were on McGuire land. It hadn’t changed much. Broad pastures spread out behind wooden perimeter fences on either side of the drive. Black-eyed Susans clustered around the base of both entrance posts. Cassie had loved flowers. Had she planted those? Had her recovery been complete enough to allow her that kind of mobility?

Up ahead, the big, handsome house Mac McGuire had built came into view. All log and glass beneath a sky bright and almost tropically blue.

Ethan felt his gut tighten. It was finally here, the moment he had imagined for so long. He could feel excitement flickering through him like an electric current. Something inside him was hungry for this.

“I lived here once,” he found himself saying.

“Here?” Meredith asked, turning her head to give him a curious glance. “At the Flying M?”

“When I was twenty-one. Mac McGuire hired me to wrangle stock.”

“The place probably hasn’t changed much. Although I understand that Cassie’s father died some time ago. Since then, she’s kept the place running as best she could, considering.”

The knot in Ethan’s stomach turned into a spasm of dread and panic. It hadn’t occurred to him that Mac McGuire could be dead, and he suddenly didn’t want to know what Meredith might tell him about Cassie. “Considering what?” he managed to ask.