He’d said: “You again.”
Nate still wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wished she didn’t remind him so much of his previous life and circumstances, and he brushed away any thoughts that her return meant something, because if so, he wasn’t prepared to grasp the implications.
Over the previous three months since he’d found the old structure up on the ridge, he’d built the mews, replaced the doors and windows, chinked the logs, shingled the roof, and reinforced the rafters. He was pleasantly surprised to find out how sound the rock-and-concrete foundation was, and how well constructed the fireplace turned out to be once he cleaned the birds’ nests from the chimney and sanded the facing rock clean of soot.
The cowboys who had built the place decades before knew what they were doing, he thought, which was rare for cowboys. There was a permanence about the place that defied cowboy logic.
Nate had a propane tank delivered, as well as a propane-powered electric generator that was housed in an ancient meat cellar, where it could be run almost soundlessly. Inside, the wiring was still exposed and the woodstove needed to be cleaned, blacked, and leveled, but he was days away from renovating the place well enough to withstand the winter, which was coming.
And so was the visitor. He caught flashes of a vehicle moving up the old logging road in the trees, and he narrowed his eyes and reached out to touch the grip of his revolver. When the pickup got closer, he recognized it as a white Sand Creek Ranch GMC. There was a single occupant inside. He knew from the profile who it was, and he went back to fitting on the pipe.
“Ah,” she said, parking the truck next to the loafing shed and getting out. “It’s peaceful up here. No wonder you stay away from the ranch. It’s a madhouse down there, and this morning… whew!”
Her name, Nate had learned the first time he met her, was Liv Brannan. He guessed her first name was short for Olivia, but he hadn’t asked. She was trim, compact, and athletic, with a thick dark shock of ebony hair pulled back in a heavy French braid. She had mocha skin, a heart-shaped face, a wide mouth, and startling green eyes. She wore tight faded jeans and a red down coat with the ranch logo — the outline of the castle lodge — and SAND CREEK RANCH embroidered underneath it.
He assumed Brannan was some kind of executive assistant to Templeton and had been in place for a number of years. There was no doubt she was competent, efficient, and well connected. Other staffers showed Brannan deference, although he never saw her throw her weight around. When he asked about ordering building materials for the line shack and the delivery of a tank, propane, and the generator, she knew instantly who to call and had said, “Consider it done.” Other than Liv Brannan, Nate had no interest at all in the workings of the ranch itself, or the hierarchy and inevitable infighting of the staff.
His arrival was the first and last time he’d seen the ranch executive staff in one place — ranch foreman “Big” Dick Williams, Liv Brannan, Guest Services Manager Jane Ringolsby, the man who ran the Black Forest Inn and game-processing facility, and the two locals who headed up Sand Creek Ranch Outfitting Services, Bill Critchfield and Gene Smith.
Whip was not there at the time and no one mentioned his name. Whip lived by himself in the largest of the guest cottages. Liv had offered Nate the second largest, but he’d turned it down. So far, Nate and Whip had managed to avoid each other on the grounds since he’d been hired.
“I heard you were back,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the front fender of the truck.
He felt no need to respond to such an obvious statement. The pipe was fitted on tight, and he grunted as he turned it slightly so he could line up the holes he’d drilled in the pipe and chimney fitting. He dug a sheet metal screw out of his jacket pocket and started it into the first hole, twisting it with his fingers until it caught the sleeve inside and was tight enough that he could reach for the screwdriver.
“I heard the plane come in two nights ago,” she said. “I kind of looked around for you at breakfast the last couple of days, but then I remembered you don’t ever show up. So I figured you were up here working on your cabin.”
“I am,” Nate said, screwing in the first screw. “So now you can leave.”
She laughed in response. “No way,” she said. She had a pleasant southern accent — Louisiana? — and would slip a bit into dialect when she was making a point. She knew she was attractive and, given the location, extremely exotic. “I’m not going back down there until the smoke clears. So you’re stuck with me for a while.”
“Oh, good.”
“I see three birds in that cage of yours,” she said, pointing at the mews. “I swear there were only two the last time I was up here.”
“There were.”
“How’d you get another one?”
Nate sighed. “She just showed up. We were acquainted with each other a couple of years ago.”
Liv Brannan closed one eye and contemplated that, then said, “A bird you owned just found you?”
“A falconer doesn’t own his bird. A falconer and the falcon are partners,” Nate said.
“Kind of like a loyal bird dog or something?”
“Not at all. More like hunting partners.”
“How do you make them come back when they fly?”
“You don’t.”
“Then why do they come back?”
He sighed. “I don’t have time to explain an ancient art right now. I have a cabin to fix before the snow flies.”
“So the bird just kind of shows up,” she said. “Kind of like me.”
“Except the bird doesn’t keep talking,” he said, flapping his fingers and thumb together in the air to mock her.
She ignored him. “I’d like to see what these birds do one of these days. Are you gonna invite me to come watch?”
“Not likely.”
She laughed again. “Is it true sometimes you climb up a tree and just sit there naked? That’s one of the rumors going around down at the ranch.”
Nate paused and looked up. “Too cold right now,” he said.
She whooped and clapped her hands together. “So it’s true. Don’t you get bark-burn or something on your tender white skin?”
He didn’t respond. He had the second screw secure and shifted his balance so he could put some muscle into twisting the screwdriver.
“Tell me again where your people come from?” she asked.
“I didn’t tell you the first time.”
“Mine are from Houma, Louisiana, in the Terrebonne Parish. Five generations’ worth. We’ve got some real characters down there, too, but nothing like the folks that’ve been coming around here. Especially this morning. That’s why I needed to get some space from ’em.
“So I decided to come up here and see you,” she said with a flourish.
Nate grunted.
She laughed and shook her head from side to side, as if amazed. “Most men usually don’t try to get rid of me so damn quickly.”
“Well, there you go,” Nate said.
She pushed herself off the bumper and approached the cabin. Nate thought for a moment she intended to climb up the ladder and join him on the roof. He didn’t like that idea. Instead, he saw the ladder move and he snatched his weapon from where it hung before she carried the ladder away and leaned it against her truck.