He dragged a hand down his face.
The suspense rattled her nerves. “Spit it out, Royce.”
“Your father’s dead.”
She opened her mouth to suck in air, but nothing happened. Her lungs froze as her body processed the shock. After several seconds, her chest thawed, and she gulped a lungful of oxygen.
“I’m sorry, Heather.” He leaned forward again and squeezed her hand.
Numbly, she stared at the tanned hand, wondering whether the rough, calloused touch of his skin against hers or the news of her father’s death shook her more.
“How—?” Her eyes watered, surprising her. After all these years, she didn’t think she had any emotion left for her father. That she still felt something for the old man made her stomach queasy.
“A fire.”
Her gaze flew to his face. “The feed store burned down?”
He tugged his hand loose, and she bit her lip to keep from protesting the loss of his warmth and gentleness.
“The trailer caught fire. The county fire investigator believes it was accidental.”
No need to explain the gory details. As a child, how many times had she gone to bed, only to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and find her father asleep on the couch, a lit cigarette dangling from between his fingers?
“A tourist passing by called 911. By the time the volunteer fire department got there…” Royce shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. “Nothing but a burned-out shell remained.”
“When?”
“Late yesterday afternoon.”
Her father was dead. She was alone in the world. Really alone. But maybe that was okay. Even when her father was alive she’d been alone. Still, Royce had always been there.
And he’s here now.
Royce stood. “I’ll wait in the truck while you pack.”
Dazed, she mumbled, “Pack?”
His eyebrows dipped. “For the funeral.”
“Funeral?” Why wasn’t anything making sense? She rubbed her temples, wincing at the onset of a headache.
He lowered his voice. “There’s usually a funeral after someone dies, Heather.”
“Why bother? No one will show up.” Not one person in Nowhere had liked her father, including her. The man had been an alcoholic, chain-smoking, card-gambling jerk.
“People will want to pay their respects to you.” He moved toward the door. “We’ll keep the service simple.”
“Simple.” She laughed at the absurdity of the whole situation. “I guess good ol’ Dad handled the cremation himself.”
Royce’s eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. “I realize you didn’t have the best relationship with the man. But there are times when you have to do what’s right. This is one of them.”
Wondering if he could see the steam rising from the top of her head, she popped off the bed. “Ever since my mother ran off, you’ve pestered, nagged and lectured me! Well, I’ve had enough. Find yourself another hopeless cause to champion.”
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him, then a shuttered look crept into his eyes. “Pack your bags, Heather.” His tone could have freeze-dried a whole cow. “You’re coming home.”
Home? She’d never considered the filthy, rattrap trailer she’d grown up in a home. Now, thanks to her father, there wasn’t even that.
And why would the good folks of Nowhere want to pay their respects to a girl who’d done nothing but cause them grief during her rebellious adolescent years? She wouldn’t last ten minutes in town before they ran her out. “No funeral. I’m not going back with you.”
Mr. Responsibility pinched the bridge of his nose, and guilt stabbed her. Undoubtedly, he’d already put in a hard day of ranching, then stuck his mayor cap on and solved the town’s problems, after which he’d driven three hundred miles to College Station. She didn’t doubt he’d return to the ranch tonight, wake up at dawn and start the whole boring process all over again.
“I’ll make the funeral arrangements. All you have to do is show up.”
She shook her head, hating the way her throat swelled and tears burned her eyes. Darn! She would not cry for her father. He didn’t deserve one single tear from her.
Royce’s brown eyes turned stormy. “You might consider yourself a grown-up, but when are you going to start acting like one?”
Ashamed to shove the burden of her father’s burial on Royce, she forced the words past her lips. “I’m not going back.”
The muscle along his jaw ticked. “What about the feed store?”
As far as she cared, the building could sit and rot before she’d ever set foot inside it again. “I don’t want the business. Sell it.”
“You don’t have to decide right this minute.”
“No, really. Just get rid of the place.” She lifted her chin, determined to stand her ground.
“Think about it some more. In the meantime, I’ll contact a Realtor.”
When he headed for the door, her heart skipped a beat. Part of her wanted him to leave so she could sort through the mishmash of emotions knotting her insides, yet part of her yearned for the comfort of his physical presence. Darn! She’d handled his visit badly. But for the life of her she didn’t know how to make things right.
“Royce.”
He stopped but kept his back to her.
“Thank you. For coming all this way.”
A quick nod, and then he was gone.
Just gone. She should be happy she’d escaped without having to suffer through one of his infamous hour-long sermons. Why then did she wish he’d stayed and lectured her?
Because you still haven’t gotten over him!
She flung herself across the bed and buried her face in the pillows, fighting the sting of more tears. Deep in her heart she believed she’d made the right decision not to go back with Royce. Summer classes started soon. And any day now she’d hear about the job at the law library.
Then an image of Royce’s tired face behind the steering wheel of his truck flashed through her mind. She rolled off the bed, went to her desk and lifted the check he’d left there. A thousand dollars! Her eyes zeroed in on the memo line in the bottom left-hand corner…Happy 25th birthday, Heather.
He hadn’t forgotten that tomorrow was her birthday.
She threw herself back on the bed and burst into tears.
Chapter Two
Oh, hell.
Royce hefted the last hay bale into his truck bed, then stopped to watch the cloud of dust trailing the Ford pickup that barreled toward the barn. After checking on the cattle this morning, he’d called the fire inspector and received permission to have the damaged trailer hauled to the dump. The inspector had officially closed the case, declaring Melvin Henderson’s death accidental. Royce had hoped he’d get out of here before his nosy foreman returned from an overnight visit with his ailing sister. No such luck.
Guilt nagged him at the uncharitable thought. Luke was like family. The foreman had hired on at the ranch ten years ago when Royce’s uncle had been diagnosed with cancer and been given only a few months to live. At the time Luke was fifty-five. Royce’s uncle had died in August, and the following winter his aunt had succumbed to pneumonia. After Royce had buried his aunt,