Page 24 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
As he said it, she saw him scan the group of people helping to clean up—including the Highwaters,The Defendereditor Ken Herdmann, and matriarch Maggie Rafferty and her sons—and she could almost hear him comparing this to what he was used to.
She didn’t think she was wrong about the expression of longing that crossed his handsome face.And when he looked back at her, his smile was the same kind, a wistful sort of thing that tugged at her heart.
“I’m really thankful you sold this piece of land back.They told me you buying it helped them through a rough patch.”
She shrugged.“I loved the idea ofThorpe’s Therapy Horses.I’m glad I was able to do it.”
He was looking around again.“Sometimes,” he said, so quietly it was as if it was almost to himself, “it seems like nobody would do that back in L.A., unless they were getting a lot of headline credit for doing it.”
She wanted to ask him how on earth he could go back to that, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Chapter Twelve
Miles supposed heshould be glad he’d gotten back home a few hours before the Santa Anas had kicked up and would have made the plane landing…interesting.The hot, dry winds turned November into summer heat wise, but added in a restless, itchy sort of feeling that made it hard to settle to any task.
And this go round wasn’t just the average annoyance of unseasonable heat, noise, kicked-up dirt, dust, and brush—this was a big one.He could feel it, and he’d lived here long enough to make a good guess that these howling gusts were pushing 100 miles per hour.
Fortunately there were no wildfires in the region at the moment for the all too familiar winds to spread far and wide, destroying everything in their path and sending choking smoke over everything between the blaze and the ocean.But that might well not last.One blown-over power pole with live wires is all it would take to set off one of the conflagrations so familiar to those who had lived here any amount of time.
To one who had grown up here, it was just something that happened.If you were lucky, it didn’t affect you directly other than blowing stuff around.Well, that and breathing in fire smoke, which was bad enough, but still lucky.
Because if you weren’t so lucky, one of those fires took everything from you.
He dropped the pen he’d been using onto his desk and stared at the forms on his computer screen.A screen that seemed to be looking back at him in a nagging sort of way.They needed this song forEastside—they’d all agreed on that—but the virtual paperwork involved in getting the rights to use even a minute of the four-minute opus was exhausting.Or at least it felt that way right now.
He rubbed at his eyes, dry from those same winds that were rattling the windows of his office.Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped here right after landing.Maybe he should have gone straight home.
He grimaced at the word he’d used.Home.Not referring to his apartment several stories above where he now sat, in the L.A.high-rise that housed both him and his office.Not that the place wasn’t nice, fairly spacious, and quite modern.It was all that.It also looked out on nothing but concrete and steel and traffic.Plus some other even less desirable elements of life in L.A.these days.
And it wasn’t what he thought of as home.
Come back soon, Uncle Miles.
Jeremy’s clearly sincere plea ran through his mind once more, along with the image of sweet Maverick giving him a goodbye swipe of his tongue along with some fierce tail-wagging.
With a heavy sigh he gave it up.Maybe he was just too jet-lagged to focus.Too tired.But if he was so tired, why was it that the only thing he wanted to do was go right back down to his car and head for the beach house?He only had to walk about twenty feet to the elevator, and he’d be at his front door in less than two minutes.
Problem was, that wasn’t the door he wanted to be at.
He ran through it in his head, because that was the way his mind worked.Orderly, thorough, covering all the bases.He had plenty of clothes at the beach house.Food-wise plenty of staples, but nothing fresh.Normally he’d raid the fridge here, but there wasn’t much to choose from there either.Knowing he’d be heading out for the weekend for Jeremy’s party, he’d let it run down to empty drawers and shelves.
He’d make a delivery order.That part was easy.
Question was, delivered where?The parsimonious side of him—which survived despite the ridiculous costs of the business he was in—said order it for here, because at the beach the cost and expected tip would rise exponentially.He was probably one of the few who would even think of that, but he’d learned the lesson early and it was deeply ingrained.Although these days the business was changing so fast that some of those who never expected to have to pay attention to expenditures even in the millions were having to rethink their approach.
Finally deciding he should at least set foot inside his apartment here, he shut down the office computer.He got to his feet, grabbed the carry-on bag he’d dropped just inside the door, locked up the office and headed out to the elevator.He made a mental grocery list as he took the short ride to his floor.He made the call for the grocery delivery as he walked down the hall to his front door and was done shortly after he was inside and had the door securely locked.
Jackson and Nic didn’t even lock their door.Neither did her parents.It wasn’t necessary, they all said.He didn’t know if it was because of the trek from the road to their homes, or because any fool who broke into a Texas ranch house was liable to find out how stupid he was the hard way.And even if he survived the break-in and almost inevitable confrontation with an angry Texan, he’d then have one of Chief Shane Highwater’s crew to deal with, and Miles didn’t think that would end well for anyone who tried to rip off a Last Stand resident.
He’d been a little puzzled by how that worked, coming from a place where jurisdictions were laid out so strictly.And while the town of Last Stand was fairly small population wise, they made up for it in size.“Overcompensating after the fight,” Nic had joked.
She had also explained that if any part of your property was in Last Stand territory, Shane considered it his responsibility.“Not surprising,” she’d said, “given he’s the guy who gave up his life plans to come back and see to his family after his father was killed.”
She’d told him the rest of the Highwater story then, about how Shane’s youngest brother had blamed himself for that death, and the years he’d spent running.Years the remaining Highwater family had spent looking for him, never quitting the search.
His first reaction had been awe.His second had been that the story would make a great TV series.
