Before she could stop him, he named an amount that stunned her. It would be enough to pay off all their debts and leave plenty for her to start life over again back in Winding River, where she’d be with friends. It was tempting, more tempting than she’d imagined. Only an image of Caleb’s dismay steadied her resolve. Keeping this ranch was the debt she owed to him. She could never turn her back on that.
“I’m not interested in selling,” she said with finality.
“Not to me or not to anyone?” Grady asked with an edge to his voice.
“It hardly matters, does it? I won’t sell this ranch.”
“Because you love it so much?” he asked with a note of total disbelief in his voice.
“Because I can’t,” she responded quietly.
He seemed startled by the response. “It’s not yours to sell?”
“Technically, yes. But I owe it to my husband to stay here, to do what he would have done, if he hadn’t died so prematurely. This ranch will stay in Hanson hands as long as I have any control over it.”
For a moment, he looked taken aback, but not for long. His gaze locked with hers, he said, “I’ll keep coming back, Mrs. Hanson, again and again, until you change your mind or until circumstances force your hand. This place is wearing you down. I can see it.” He gestured toward the brochures. “Obviously so can your friends. Make no mistake, I’ll own the land…no doubt before the year is out.”
His arrogant confidence stirred her temper. “Only if hell freezes over,” she said, snatching the back door open and allowing a blast of wintry air into the room as she waited pointedly for him to take the hint and leave.
His gaze never wavered as he plucked his hat off the hook and moved past her. He paused just outside and a smile tugged at his lips. “Keep a close eye on the weather, Mrs. Hanson. Anything’s possible.”
CHAPTER 2
Grady hadn’t expected Karen Hanson to be as stubborn or as foolish as her husband. After the funeral he’d made a few calls to test the waters, but he had deliberately waited six months before going to see her. He’d wanted to give her time to see just how difficult her life was going to be. He’d guessed that by now she would be eager to get rid of a ranch that was clearly draining whatever reserves of cash she had. Obviously he’d misjudged her. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
More disconcerting than the discovery that she wasn’t going to be a pushover was the realization that she got to him. Those big blue eyes of hers had been swimming with tears when she’d opened the door. Her flushed cheeks had been streaked with them. Her lips had looked soft…and disturbingly kissable. He’d had an almost irresistible urge to gather her in his arms and offer comfort. For a hard man with little sympathy for anyone, it had been an uncharacteristic reaction that made him uneasy.
He grinned as he imagined her reaction to that. If he’d even tried to touch her, no matter how innocently, she probably would have grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door and clobbered him with it.
Even so, he hadn’t been able to shake that image of lost vulnerability. A lot of women who worked ranches side by side with their husbands grew hard, their muscles well formed, their skin burnished bronze by the sun. By contrast, Karen Hanson’s body was soft and feminine, her skin as pale as milk. The thought of that changing because she had to struggle to keep her ranch afloat bothered him for reasons that went beyond her refusal to give in and sell out to him.
He couldn’t help wondering what drove a woman like Karen Hanson. Well…loyalty to her husband, for one thing. There was no question about that. Pride. Stubbornness. He sighed. He was back to that again. It was hard to fight with someone who’d dug in her heels in defiance of logic.
But what did she long for beyond the travel that those brochures implied? In his experience most women wanted love, a family, the things he hadn’t had time for in his own life. Some wanted a meal ticket. Some had a mile-wide independent streak, needing little more than the occasional companionship of a man to make them content. Those were the ones who appealed to Grady. He had so many family obligations to the past, he didn’t have time to think about the future.
He tried to fit Karen Hanson into a tidy little niche, but she wouldn’t stay put. She was independent, no doubt about it, but her determination to fight her husband’s old battles said a lot about how she felt about family. Ironically, that very loyalty, every bit as strong as his own commitment to his ancestors, was likely to stand in his way.
He had derided himself on the trip home for trying to analyze the woman based on a half-hour meeting that had been rife with tension. He knew better. His grandfather—the single greatest influence in his life—believed in the necessity for walking a mile in another man’s moccasins before reaching conclusions about the choices they made. Thomas Blackhawk had tried to instill that same wisdom in Grady.
Unfortunately, Grady wasn’t usually capable of the patience required. He tended to make snap judgments. He asked straight questions, liked straight answers.
“And look where that got you today,” he muttered wryly. His grandfather would have been appalled, especially by the unveiled threat he had uttered on his way out the door.
He spent the evening taking stock, both of his own behavior and
