Good Together Page 3

  She and Wes had had their “talk” shortly after eight in the morning.

  By noon he had left, most of his clothes packed in two suitcases, along with his damned iPad, the check-book, and a box of files he’d removed from the office. She had no idea where he’d gone. She could send him a text message or e-mail if she needed him for something, he’d said on his way out the door.

  The implied message was that he was hoping not to hear from her at all.

  And he hadn’t.

  Despite composing numerous messages to him in her head, from you lousy jerk, to, what did I do wrong? she had maintained silence. Every time she felt the urge to reach out to him, she thought about his eyes and how empty they had seemed when he looked at her. As if all the laughter and love that they’d shared had bled out of them.

  He no longer saw her as Mattie, the love of his life, but as Mattie, the woman who was standing in his way.

  And God, but it hurt. Her husband and this ranch were as much a part of her body and soul as the twins were. How could she survive the loss of all of them? What would be left, who would she be?

  And what about Portia and Wren? In about five weeks they’d be flying home for Thanksgiving. What would she tell them if their father wasn’t here? Or if he lived up to his promise to put the property for sale? She was so afraid of this happening that she hadn’t answered the phone all week.

  Not even calls from her daughters. She’d texted them instead, silly messages like, “Busy right now. Love you lots!” She’d even missed their regular Sunday Skype call yesterday, sending yet another text message. “Computer on the fritz. Getting it fixed. Skype next week?”

  An out-and-out lie.

  She was ashamed. But also desperate. One look at her face—she’d hardly stopped crying all week, even when she played cards the tears streamed down her cheeks—and they’d know something awful had happened.

  She couldn’t trust her voice on the phone, either. She’d tried calling Sage earlier—and been forced to hang up and send a text message. “Sorry, I had to hang up before you answered. I’ll try calling later in the week.”

  Thank God for the impersonal text message. It was saving her butt, big time.

  But she couldn’t put off the people she loved forever. Eventually she was going to have to face them. How would Portia and Wren cope? It wasn’t fair for their first year at college to be spoiled by something so dreadful as this.

  Damn Wes—how could he have written off his children as if they simply didn’t matter anymore? At one time he would have done anything to protect them.

  And her.

  Mattie reached for the tissue box. She’d scavenged them from every room in the house and this last one she’d taken from the drawer of Portia’s nightstand. The tissues smelled faintly of Portia’s white sandalwood perfume.

  Which only made her cry harder.

  Just eight weeks ago the four of them had sat down to dinner together, celebrating the girls’ last night at home before college. Not that Mattie had felt like celebrating—tears kept popping into her eyes as she prepared all of their favorites. Broccoli soup for Wren, ribs for Wes, lemon pie for Portia. The occasion had to be marked, she was determined about that.

  Never had she guessed that it might be the last time the four of them would eat together as a family.

  That thought started another spate of tears. Mattie tenderly dabbed her cheeks, avoiding the raw area around her nose. She ought to take a shower and change out of her sweats. Prepare herself a proper meal. Go out and buy a few essentials.

  Instead, she crawled under the quilt she’d moved to the living room sofa. It was old, she’d found it in the linen cupboard, something she’d taken with her when she moved from the Circle C to her new home with her husband. Her grandmother Bramble had stitched together the quilt—she’d made one for all of them, except Callan who’d been born after their grandmother’s death.

  Mattie liked to imagine that some of the squares of fabric on her quilt were from old clothing of her mother’s. She’d been twenty-two when her mom was killed in a ranching accident. Already married, with babies of her own. But her mother’s death had shattered her. Even then, though, she hadn’t fallen apart like this.

  Mattie pressed the soft flannel backing against her cheek. She wished her mother was here now, to comfort her. What would she say? Mattie knew her parents had gone through rough patches too. Yet their marriage had survived.

  Was it possible hers would too?

  Blissful relief shot up in her heart every time she considered this. But the hope never lasted long.

  Wes wasn’t the kind of man who acted on impulse. He considered long and hard. And when he acted, he rarely turned back.

  How long had he been thinking about leaving her? She felt that she should know the exact second he’d first considered it. Had they been together at the time? Maybe she’d said or done something annoying to him...

  Stop it! She was driving herself crazy.

  She tried to summon the energy to get off the sofa. She spent all her nights here now, unable to face either the room she’d shared with her husband, or the girls’ abandoned beds. Not that she slept much. When she became too tired to play solitaire, she turned on the TV and watched old re-runs of Gilmore Girls.

  What she needed was fresh air. And work. If her father could see her right now, he’d be disgusted. Which she totally deserved. She had animals out there depending on her... and yet, she couldn’t make herself go out and face them—or Jake. Not when she knew Wes was planning to sell. For all Jake’s talk about heading South for the winter, he’d be lost without this job.

  When the doorbell rang, the sound was so foreign it took her a moment to realize she must have a guest. Jake had been by a few times this week to check on her, but he always knocked.

  So who could this be?

  She’d just be quiet and wait for them to leave.

  The doorbell rang again, and then a knock sounded on the door. Whoever was out there was being damn persistent.

  Mattie went to the powder room across from the foyer. She was expecting to look bad, but what she saw shocked even her. Matted hair, blotchy skin, puffed eyes, red nose—and wrinkled sweatshirt. She bet she smelled bad, too.

  There was another knock, loud enough that it made her jump. Then a man’s voice. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay, Mattie.”

  That was Nat Diamond’s voice. What was he doing here? Jake must have said something—there could be no other explanation. Unless Wes had been talking to him? Maybe sounding him out to see if he wanted to buy the ranch.

  A sob caught in her throat, and she put a hand to her mouth. It came away damp. She was crying again, but there were no more tissues, so she pulled off a long piece of toilet paper, then went to the door.

  Nat Diamond was a good neighbor. In the old days, when they’d had more horses, he’d been generous about letting their Tennessee Walkers graze on his land in the late summer when their own pastures were picked over. He’d been known to stop and warn Mattie when a storm was moving this way, or to help her unload a truckload of feed when Jake’s back was troubling him.

  He never put on airs, despite the fact that he owned the largest and most successful ranch in the county. Wes was a good-looking guy, but Nat, he was handsome enough to be a movie star. He didn’t smile much, or flirt, but he had charisma all right, and aside from a brief period of time when he’d been married to a very beautiful woman from California, he’d been the most eligible bachelor of the county by a long shot.

  And he’d always been sweet to the twins.

  But Wes had never liked it when he heard Nat had been around and so Mattie had learned to keep her distance. She didn’t think Wes was jealous—he just felt guilty when he heard Nat had been helping them out. He didn’t like the idea that he couldn’t be counted on to look after his own ranch, and his own family.

  But the simple fact was—sometimes he couldn’t be.

  As for right now, well,
telling Nat what was going on just wasn’t an option. Mattie was low—but she still had her pride. And no one—no one—was going to see her this way.

  She went to the door and sank onto the slate-tiled flooring. She could feel a cool draft from outside. The weather stripping needed replacing. Another chore to add to the list. “Nat, this is Mattie. I don’t know what Jake told you, but I’m fine.”

  “Then invite me in.”

  “I’m not presentable.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  She groaned. Damn it, why were all the men in Montana so intractable? Wes, her father, Jake—and Nat. “I’d really rather be alone right now.”

  “According to Jake you’ve been alone for a week. He’s worried. So am I.”

  She closed her eyes, touched by the concern of her foreman and her next door neighbor. Had Wes given a thought to her after he’d walked out? Had he wondered how she was doing—if she was falling apart? He couldn’t have, since she hadn’t heard a word from him. This callous unconcern, more than anything, proved that he really didn’t love her anymore.

  There was a long pause before Nat spoke again. This time, his voice was softer, but she still had no trouble making out the words.

  “Mattie, I know Wes is gone, and not to another rodeo. If this is pride talking, then just remember I’ve been in the exact same place as you.”

  He was referring to when his wife left him. It had been somewhat of a scandal, because Julia had taken up with some rich dude from New York City—met him on the Internet of all things. It was all anyone could talk about for several weeks, but despite all that, Nat held his head high and calmly went about his business. No, the man who had lived through that was not going to cut her any slack over Wes.

  “Then you know I’m not fit for company. If you really want to help, I could use some tea and a few boxes of tissues.”

  “Tea?”

  She could hear him chuckling. Damn him for finding that amusing.

  “I hope you haven’t been drinking it black. You aren’t that far gone, are you?”

  “Damn it, Nat. You’re annoying.”

  “I try.”

  She smiled then, just a little smile, but enough to make her dry lips hurt.

  “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go get that tea, but when I return, you’ll let me in. We’ll knock back an entire pot of tea and get all crazy sad and depressed together. You can even cry on my shoulder if you want.”

  Oh, Nat. What had ever possessed Julia to leave a man like you? “It’s a deal. But be warned. I look like something from The Walking Dead.”

  He chuckled again. “You forget. I’ve seen you on horseback in the driving rain after a day out on the range.”

  Good point. She rarely looked her best when she was with Nat Diamond. Which was probably for the best.

  “I’ll bring something with me to fix that weather stripping,” he added. “Though I have to admit, the gap in your door has certainly been useful today.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “First things first,” Nat said when he returned an hour later. He didn’t look at Mattie too closely—didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. But one quick glance was enough to confirm that she’d been crying all week. She had showered, however, and her chestnut-colored hair fell in gleaming waves to her shoulders. She was wearing clean jeans and a button-up shirt that had been tailored to follow the depression of her waist and the curving out of her hips.

  Pretty as a descriptor didn’t do justice to Mattie Carrigan. She had the kind of beauty that could withstand driving rain, hard work, exhaustion, and yes, even a week of crying. If anything, the ravages of the tears only made her eyes seem brighter, her mouth more tender—and kissable.

  Nat wasn’t the kind of man to covet his neighbor’s wife. And he sure wasn’t the type to take advantage of a damsel in distress. But he couldn’t deny what was right before his eyes.

  Mattie was a very desirable woman.

  He had four grocery bags in one of his hands, a tool box with his hacksaw and rubber mallet in the other.

  “This is for you.” He passed along the groceries. He’d bought, not only tea and tissues, but some fresh fruit and veggies and a steak for her dinner. The food had been a smart addition. She looked like she needed a decent meal.

  Before she could thank him, he added, “I’m holding you to that pot of tea, so you’d better put some water on to boil.”

  Then he started to remove the front door from its hinges. “That little draft will feel a hell of a lot colder in a few weeks. I picked up a replacement weather-strip at Ace Hardware.”

  “Nat—that was nice of you. I can pay you back for all of this—the groceries and the kit. And I can do the install, as well. I’ve done it before.”

  He couldn’t help but be impressed. Mattie was nothing if not self-reliant. But then, she’d had to be, with her husband on the road so damn much.

  “Just make the tea. By the time it’s brewed, I’ll be finished.”

  The job actually took a half-hour to complete, but when he was done the door opened and closed smoothly and the draft was gone.

  Mattie had put on some music, and when he came around the corner to the kitchen, Mindy Smith was singing her version of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” Mattie was at the sink, her back to him, but he could tell by her hunched shoulders that she was crying again. No wonder. The music was so unbearably sad that he couldn’t take it either. The docking station was on the counter, bracketed on one side by the home phone and on the other by a pile of Western Horseman magazines. He moved ahead to the next track, only to get another song written in a minor key.

  “What is this playlist? Songs to slit your wrist by?”

  He was going to make another change when a message popped up on the screen, along with the opening strains from “Modern Family.” This wasn’t an iPod. It was Mattie’s phone.

  And the message, he couldn’t help reading it, said, “Are you OK Mom?”

  “From one of the girls, I think.” He dislodged the phone from the docking station and handed it to Mattie.

  She grabbed a fresh tissue and wiped her eyes before she turned around. “That’ll be Wren.”

  Of course she’d have different ring tones set up for each of her daughters.

  She glanced at the screen, then replaced the phone, selecting a different playlist this time—rock from the seventies. The Bee Gees started singing, How deep is your love... .

  “Oh, God. I can’t win today.” She hit the off button. Sighed.

  “Aren’t you going to reply to Wren’s message? She sounds worried.”

  “I’ve made up every excuse I can think of. First, I told them my computer was broken so I couldn’t talk to them on Skype as usual on Sunday evening. Then I pretended one of the horses had the heaves and that’s why I wasn’t answering the home line...” She slid onto a stool, sagging her arms onto the island.

  He found the remote control for the TV and put on the Weather Channel for background noise. And also because, he liked the Weather Channel.

  “Maybe you should be honest with them.”

  “I can’t give them the news that their father left me over the phone.” Mattie sank her head down on the counter, into the nest she’d made with her arms.

  He put a hand on her back. “Is that what happened?”

  She blinked very rapidly. “I think so. It was so fast. One minute I was asking Wes if he’d bought any yearlings in Billings. The next he was saying he wanted to sell the ranch and move on. Without me.”

  “Sell the ranch?” Nat hadn’t expected this complication. “You sure?”

  She nodded. “I half expected you to already know. I mean—” She pulled her body upright with some effort, and looked at him curiously. “It occurred to me that Wes might have already approached you to see if you were interested in buying him out?”

  It made sense. If you wanted to sell land, the first people you talked to were your neighbors. Often someone was happy for the ch
ance to grow their operation. Or, at the very least, prevent the sale of adjacent land to someone with massive development plans like... oh, say, a retirement village or an eighteen-hole golf course.

  But in this case, “No. Wes hasn’t talked to me. Or anyone else.” If he had, Nat would have heard about it. This kind of news traveled fast. “How do you feel about selling Bishop Stables?”

  The look she gave him was pure misery. “I hate it. I probably love this place more than he does. Well, I guess that’s obvious. And while neither one of the girls has shown any interest in working here, or maybe taking over one day, that could change. They’re so young right now, and they deserve a chance to get out and see a little of the world. But who knows—in ten or fifteen years, they might realize that this is where they want to be after all.”

  “Maybe,” Nat agreed. But odds were against it. Most of the kids who grew up around here tended to move away when they finished school. There just weren’t that many jobs or careers to entice them to stay.

  Still, as Mattie said, generally families at least gave their children a chance to take over if they owned a farm, orchard or ranch. Wes didn’t seem prepared to do even that.

  Then again, maybe he needed the money. To finance his divorce. And his new start in life.

  Nat kept those thoughts to himself. Mattie was already coping with enough.

  “Oh,” she said, getting up from the stool as she remembered the tea. “I put a cozy on the pot. I hope it isn’t too cold.”

  She poured the tea into solid white mugs and as she took her first sip, her eyes flitted around the room. Was she wondering how much longer she’d be living in this house? She looked so forlorn, it almost broke his heart.

  What she needed was something to look forward to.

  “We’re moving the cattle next week. Want to come?”

  Usually Mattie jumped at these offers. In all the years she’d been living here, she’d only missed out on a handful of roundups because the girls were sick, or once, when Wes was only home for a few days before heading out to his next rodeo.