Cade Coulter's Return. Lois Dyer Faye
since the old man died,” Cade said as he shrugged into his coat. “I’ll have to look at the books before paying you whatever salary you’re owed but if anyone needs an advance for the next few days, I have cash.”
Relief lit the two men’s expressions.
“I’m almost out of pipe tobacco. I could use fifty,” Pete told him.
“Me, too,” J.T. added.
“I can wait until you’ve had time to review the payroll accounts,” Mariah said. “They’re on Joseph’s desk in his office.”
Cade nodded and took out his wallet, counting out bills before handing them to Pete and J.T.
“Who’s been doing the bookkeeping?” he asked, sweeping a glance over the three.
“Mariah,” Pete answered, gesturing at her. “She’s better at math than I am.”
“Better than me, too,” J.T. put in.
Mariah tucked her hair behind her ear and didn’t comment. Cade’s face had tightened at the other men’s comments and she didn’t have to be a mind reader to guess that her new boss wasn’t happy she’d been the one keeping track of the ranch’s financial records.
“Come up to the house tomorrow morning,” Cade told her. “You can explain the system to me.”
“I’m at the café until eleven but I should be home by noon.”
He frowned. “You’re eating breakfast in town?”
“No, I have the early shift tomorrow.”
“You’re working in town and here—holding down two jobs?” His stare was piercing.
She nodded but didn’t elaborate further. She wasn’t going to explain that without her waitress job, the three of them—her, Pete and J.T.—would have gone hungry over the last few months.
Fortunately, Cade didn’t ask any more questions.
“All right, stop in when you get back,” he said tersely.
She swallowed a sigh of relief. “Sounds good. If there’s nothing else you need me for tonight, I’ll head for home. I have to be up at four o’clock.”
“No,” he said brusquely. “There’s nothing else.”
She said good-night and slipped into her coat, tugging on gloves as she stepped outside and halted on the porch to pull on a knit hat. To her surprise, Cade joined her, pulling the door closed behind him, shutting Pete and J.T. inside.
Mariah glanced up at him, his face shadowy beneath the brim of his hat. “I turned up the heat in the ranch house earlier. We’ve kept the furnace set on low so the pipes wouldn’t freeze but it wasn’t enough to keep the rooms warm enough to be comfortable. And I put clean sheets on the bed in the front corner room upstairs,” she added.
Cade glanced at her sharply. “Thanks,” he said.
Her brown eyes searched his. “You’re upset that Joseph left me the house by the creek,” she said with calm certainty.
Anger flared over the hard lines of his face but quickly disappeared.
“I’m more interested in why he left it to you. It’s surrounded by Coulter acres and essentially landlocked.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I have to drive past your house to get to the highway. Joseph said he was going to give it to me so I’d always have a home.” Because Joseph had known how badly she needed a place to belong, she thought. She’d drifted without an anchor in the years after her father died, the home of her childhood sold to pay medical bills long before his death.
“And what did you do for him that earned you a house?” His voice was toneless yet Mariah felt his cynicism.
She stiffened. “I rode fence, cared for newborn calves, cooked meals and valued his friendship. Joseph Coulter was a second father to me. He treated me with kindness, respect and consideration.” Her voice was cool but a thread of anger ran beneath her words.
“Good to know he was a kind father to somebody.”
The implication that Joseph hadn’t been one to his own sons was obvious.
“I’m sorry if you didn’t feel the same about him,” she said stiffly.
“I didn’t.” Cade was blunt. “He was a mean drunk who took his misery out on his sons. He started drinking after my mother died and got worse with each year that passed. As soon as Eli finished high school, we all left home to get away from him. So, no, it’s fair to say Joseph Coulter never treated me or my brothers with kindness or respect.”
Mariah caught her breath, stunned by the harsh words. She was more shocked, however, by the lack of emotion in Cade’s voice. He was as casual as if he were telling her his favorite food was a cheeseburger and fries. “That’s not the Joseph Coulter I knew,” she said softly. “He never drank during the years I worked here. I’m sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry—it wasn’t your fault.” He waved a hand at the two shallow steps. “I’ll walk you to the cabin.”
“You don’t have to,” she protested. “I walk home every night on my own.”
“Well, now I’m here and you don’t have to walk alone.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Very well.” Mariah gave in and moved down the steps ahead of him. As they followed the gravel road past the barn toward the creek and the cabin tucked into the trees, she was vividly aware of the big man prowling beside her. “Where did Ned Anderson finally locate you?” she asked, curious.
“Mexico,” he replied, turning his head to look at her.
“Really?” She met his gaze with surprise before her mouth curved in amusement. “I’m guessing you weren’t happy about leaving the warmth of Mexico for a chilly March in Montana.”
“It was already getting hot there,” he said. “Too hot.”
“What part of Mexico were you in?”
“Chihuahua. I was working on a ranch—riding fence, working cattle.” He glanced around them, his gaze sweeping the moonlit pasture beyond the creek. “It’s a relief to be farther north with weather cold enough that I’ll need a jacket.”
Mariah couldn’t help but smile at the satisfaction behind his words. “I hope that means you’ll stay here in Montana, on the ranch.”
“I was born and raised here.” He turned his head, his gaze sweeping the horizon. “I’d like to stay on this land—maybe see my nieces or nephews grow up here.”
“Nephews or nieces?” Curious, she searched his profile, etched by moonlight against the darker shadows of night. “Not your own son or daughter?”
“I’ll never have kids.”
His flat statement surprised her. “You sound very sure,” she replied, curious. “I am.”
She stared at him. “You don’t like children?”
He shrugged. “I like kids. But given who my father was, I’m not taking any chances I might turn out like him.” He caught her arm when she stumbled.
“Careful.”
His big hand cupped her elbow but he released her as soon as she steadied. She wished he hadn’t—the contact was electric and exhilarating, distracting her from his comment about Joseph. They reached the cabin and she climbed the steps, pausing at the door to turn and face him.
“Thanks for walking me home.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “My pleasure.”
Mariah felt the faintly gravelly tones of his drawl shiver over her skin and for a moment, she thought, hoped, he would