“Gabe should be here attending to the ranch, not off on the other side of the world.”
“But Gabe told me this was the quiet time.”
“There is no quiet time,” Claire said firmly. “There’s a mountain of things to do.”
“Then you’ll just have to show me.” He assumed a droll manner. “I’m a quick learner. I’m honest and tidy and-and I don’t eat much,” he finished triumphantly.
To his delight she gave a choke of laughter before she could bite it back. It lit up her face brilliantly, and he was fascinated. Then it was gone as though she’d slammed the shutters down, but Randall continued to regard her with pleasure.
“Why are you staring at me?” she demanded.
“I was wondering where you got that ravishing red hair.”
“No idea. I was a foundling. Thought you knew.”
“That’s right, I did. Gabe found you in a box on the back porch when he was seven.”
“Right. There was a note saying that someone called ‘Abe Stevens’ was my father. He was a hand that had worked here, but he was long gone by that time.”
Randall grinned. “I remember Aunt Elaine saying how Gabe took you under his wing, acted like you were an unusual sort of puppy sent for him to play with.”
Aunt Elaine had contacted the authorities, agreeing to care for the baby until the mother could be traced. But she never was.
“Gabe even chose my name,” Claire said now. “And he badgered his Mom and Dad until they said I could stay.”
Twenty-four years later she was still here. No wonder, Randall thought, that she was devoted to her “big brother.”
“So nobody knows who I am,” Claire said. “I could be descended from thieves, murderers-” She tossed the dubious possibilities at him defiantly, almost challenging him to say that she wasn’t good enough to associate with a lord.
But she’d mistaken her man. Randall had met inverted snobbery before, and he knew how to deal with it. “Kings, queens, sultans,” he supplied. “Your blood could be bluer than mine. And let me tell you something about blue blood. It doesn’t start out that way.”
“How do you mean?”
“The Stantons were some of the shadiest characters you ever saw. Gamblers, thieves, cutthroats, all of them low-life with an eye to the main chance. They made their money in various villainous ways, and when they had enough they bought their title and their big house, and pretended they were real aristocrats. Actually, of course, they were still as common as muck, but within a few years everyone who remembered that was dead. That was when their blood turned blue.”
Claire gave another unwilling laugh. On the pretext of refilling his plate, she studied Randall, not knowing what to make of him anymore. She wasn’t used to men who talked like this. Gabe’s humor was loud, up-front and boisterous. So, for that matter, was everyone’s on the ranch. Even Aunt Elaine.
But Randall spoke with a quiet, fine honed irony; “British” humor, no doubt. It annoyed her to discover that she enjoyed it.
Randall looked up, grinning. “Don’t let anyone fool you with that ‘aristocrat’ rubbish, Claire.”
The grin was delightful. She looked away quickly. “Who’s fooled?” she asked. “I saw through you at the start.”
“I sure hope so.”
He wished she would laugh again. It made a light come on inside her, revealing things he wanted to know about. Why did she switch it off so fast?
“This food’s good,” he said. “Did you cook it?”
“It’s just a stew.”
“Best stew I ever tasted.”
Instead of appreciating the compliment she rose and threw some more logs on the floor.
“It’s been snowing on and off for the last few days,” she said, “but I reckon tonight we’ll have the big one.”
She removed his plate and set another one, bearing a large piece of cherry pie, in front of him. Before he could stop her she scooped ice cream from a tub and dumped it on his plate.
“Hey!” he protested. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”
“Gabe eats ice cream like there’s no tomorrow, and he never gets fat.”
“But I’m not Gabe,” Randall reminded her gently.
She set down the tub abruptly. “That’s right.” She removed the ice cream.
“Why don’t you tell me about the mountain of things to do?” he invited.
“The big chore in winter is feeding the stock,” she said. “They can’t graze as they would in summer because the snow covers the grass, so we bring them in closer, to where we can keep an eye on them and take hay out to them every day.”
Randall nodded. “I do the same with mine.”
“You-personally?”
“No, I have stockmen. Does that matter?”
“I just wondered how used you were to turning out into the snow. You’ll probably prefer to stay here and keep warm.”
“No, I’d prefer to come with you,” he said at once.
She was immediately conscience stricken. “Look, there’s no need. I mean, just because I riled you-”
“You don’t rile me, at least, not enough to make me do anything I don’t want to do.” He added wickedly, “But you can keep trying.”
She was too wise to answer this directly.
“Tomorrow we’ll take two trips, the first before breakfast.”
“I’ll go out with the second,” he said. “I’m not a glutton for punishment.
“We go to bed early in winter,” she said, “and get up at first light.”
Randall yawned. “Suits me.”
“Frank’s away clinching a deal for Gabe at the moment. You’ll meet the hands tomorrow.” Claire hesitated. “You may not find them easy to get to know.”
“I’ll try not to let them intimidate me. Thanks for the warning.”
They went upstairs together. In the corridor he said, “No need to escort me to my room. I’ll try to remember the way.”
“Fine. Goodnight.” Claire opened the door to her own room, but stopped as if she remembered something. “You’ll find some extra blankets in the closet. It gets real cold out here. Randall?”
He was staring over her shoulder at the little table by her bed. Claire followed his gaze, said a hasty “Goodnight” and shut the door.
Randall went on to his room, sunk in thought at what he’d seen. Right by Claire’s bed was a photo of Gabe wearing his most wicked and appealing grin.
