Part 16 (2/2)
He started across the empty intersection. ”I was going through a rough time. It wasn't getting old that bothered me.”
Suddenly it hit her. His wife had probably died near his fortieth birthday. ”I'm sorry, Bobby.”
”We all go through rough times.”
He shrugged off his pain, a little too easily, and she sensed his wife was still a guarded subject.
Maybe in time, he would open up and share his feelings. Wasn't that what true friends.h.i.+ps were based on? Honesty? Emotion? Long, quiet hours of heartfelt talks?
”My grandmother lived to be ninety-three,” he said, pulling her back into their earlier conversation.
”Really? And here I am, griping about being forty. Maybe if I were Cherokee, I'd have some pride in the aging process.”
”You've got some Cherokee blood in you,” he said.
She gave him a perplexed look. ”I do?”
”Yeah.” He grinned and motioned to her lap. ”You're carrying my kid, aren't you?”
She smiled and touched her stomach. ”Yes, I am.”
And that was why she was here, moving toTexas, starting a new life.
Within ten minutes they reached Elk Ridge Ranch. He steered the truck past the lodge, took another small road and parked in front of an impressive cabin.
The windows were tall and paned, trimmed with flower boxes overflowing with summer blooms. A jutting redwood deck offered a stone hearth for outdoor warmth and cozy table to enjoy the elements.
Julianne couldn't wait to see the interior. ”This is beautiful, Bobby.” A cabin that appeared to he transformed into a homestead.
He unlocked the door and they stepped inside.
Cathedral-like ceilings arched in a wooden dome and sunlight spilled across hardwood floors. The living room presented Aztec prints andlodgepole pine furnis.h.i.+ngs. She headed for the kitchen and found an equal dose of charm. Copper pots, modern appliances and bold, bright colors were mixed with warm, rustic woods.
She turned and saw Bobby standing behind her.
”I a.s.sume you like it,” he said.
Like it? She loved it. ”I can't believe I'm going to live here.”
”There are three bedrooms, two baths, a den, a breakfast nook and a formal dining room.” He motioned to the back door. ”The mudroom is that way.”
”I'm overwhelmed. What's in here?” She peeked into a small room off the kitchen and discovered a pantry with a long counter and a small sink.
”This was originally built for drying herbs,” Bobby said as he followed her into the tidy works.p.a.ce.
”It's perfect. I can dry flowers. I can make my own potpourri.” She smiled at him. ”I dried the Cherokee
rose.” Like a crush-crazed teenager, she'd kept it as a memento, a reminder of the man who'd given it to her.
”You wear the bracelet, too,” he remarked, glancing at her wrist.
”Yes.” Julianne fingered the slim gold chain. She never took it off. ”It suits me. And so does this cabin.”
She went back to the kitchen and leaned against a butcher-block isle. ”This is some guest accommodation.”
Bobby merely shrugged. ”It used to be my house.”
”Your house?” She tried to contain the shock jarring her bones. ”When?”
”I had this cabin built soon after Michael turned eighteen. I lived in his farmhouse when I was raising him,
but he wasn't a minor anymore.” Bobby paused, hooked his thumbs on the waistband of his jeans. ”He was an adult, and he was bringing girls home to spend the night. Staying with him was getting awkward.”
”Were you married then?”
”No.”
”So you met your wife later? After you built this place?”
”Yes.”
”And now you live somewhere else,” she said, pressing him for more information than he seemed inclined to give.
”After my wife died, I burned her belongings and moved to a smaller cabin.”
Julianne's breath hitched. ”You burned-”
”It's the traditional Cherokee way,” he explained before she could finish. He gazed past her. ”Most of
this furniture is mine. Or it was. I decided to leave it here.”
”So for the past three years, your former home has been used as a rental for the ranch?”
”It's no big deal.”
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