The Cattleman's Bride. Joan Kilby

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СКАЧАТЬ around the edges, pale and gloopy in the center. Maybe if she switched on the electric stove and put the pizza under the broiler…

      Irritably, she wiped a smudge of flour from her nose and blew the hair off her forehead with an exasperated sigh. Canned tomatoes were no substitute for sun-dried, even drained through a sieve. And the closest she could get to paper-thin parma ham was a thick rasher of bacon complete with rind and little bones.

      But the burned dinner was a mere annoyance. The thing that set her teeth on edge and had her jumping out of her skin was the total absence of decent coffee. The instant stuff Luke made last night was okay once or twice, but she needed something more. She needed full flavor and rich aroma. She needed concentrated caffeine and lots of it. It was humiliating to admit, but she was addicted. Throwing down the hand towel, she strode down the hall to her room.

      She snatched up her cell phone, jabbed in her mother’s home number, and almost wept with relief when Anne answered the phone. “Mom! Thank goodness you’re still up.”

      “Darling, what is it? Is something wrong?”

      “I need coffee. Real coffee. Beans, freshly ground, covered with briskly boiling water. Frothy, steaming milk. Espresso, French roast, cinnamon hazelnut, cappuccino, café latte—”

      “Sarah, Sarah, are you all right?”

      “What was that noise?” Sarah demanded as she paced back to the kitchen. “I heard a slurping sound. Are you drinking something?”

      “Just a cup of herbal tea. Really, darl’, get a grip.”

      “I can’t. You’ve got to send me some coffee.”

      “I know Murrum isn’t exactly the center of the civilized world, but they do have coffee.”

      “Instant coffee. At least that’s all Luke has.” Sarah checked the broiler to see if it was hot and slid one of the pizzas under it. “Mother, please.”

      “Consider it done.” There was an odd hint of laughter in Anne’s voice. “How is the homestead? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Have you been down to the creek yet?”

      “Er, no. There’s so much to do in the house I haven’t had a chance to get out.” Sarah wrapped her free arm around her waist. She wasn’t going to tell her mother she was afraid to go outside the yard. It was too ridiculous.

      “So is it very run-down?” Anne sounded wistful.

      “A little shabby. Don’t worry, I’ll have it looking fabulous in no time. But Luke may not be as amenable to selling his half as I’d hoped. He’s really dug in here.”

      “Well, he’s been there long enough. What’s he like, do you think, as a manager? Would you say he’s trustworthy?”

      She pictured Luke—squinting into the sun, bare chested at the sink, grinning in the dark of the veranda at some private joke. “He doesn’t say much, but he looks you in the eye when he says it. I went over the photocopies of the station accounts before I left Seattle. They seem perfectly okay. In fact, I don’t know how the place survived on what they’ve pulled in the past couple of years.”

      “It’s a tough life.” Anne paused. “You said you met Len.”

      “He remembered you right away, but when I told him I’d give you his regards, he clammed up.”

      “Oh, well, it was all a very long time ago. No point in dredging up ancient history.”

      Sarah listened for disappointment, but Anne’s voice was neutral—too neutral. “I’ll bet he was a babe and a half in his day.”

      “I believe he’s married, darl’. Er, about that old notebook of mine…tuck it away somewhere safe, will you? There’s nothing of interest in it. Just the typical angsty ramblings of a teenage girl—”

      “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t read it.” Sarah paused to check the broiler. Yikes! The pizza was done, all right. The surface looked as though it had been charred with a blowtorch. On the plus side, the tomatoes were definitely dry.

      “I’d better go,” she said. “Dinner’s…uh, ready. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

      Sarah heard the Land Cruiser drive up and put the pizza on the table, trying in vain to hide it behind the salad and the garlic bread. Surely it didn’t look too bad.

      A stony-faced Luke strode into the kitchen, trailed by a sullen young girl with blond braids who dragged her overnight bag on the floor.

      “Sarah, this is Becka. Say hello, Becka.”

      “H’llo.”

      “Hi, Becka. Nice to meet you.” Sarah smiled, hiding her shock at the girl’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes and the tears staining her freckled cheeks. There was an awkward pause before Sarah said brightly, “Dinner’s ready.”

      Luke sat down. After a second, so did Becka with a loud scrape of her chair on the slate floor. Her face was set mutinously and she wouldn’t look at her father.

      Sarah took her seat and tried to keep the conversation rolling as she dished up the pizza. “It’s not exactly a gourmet delight, but there’s salad, too. And with the leftover dough I made garlic bread.”

      Luke took a big bite of burned pizza. He chewed and swallowed without seeming to notice what he was eating.

      “How is it?” she asked.

      “Good.”

      Now she knew he hadn’t tasted it. She turned to Becka. “What do you think?”

      Becka shrugged and picked off the tomatoes.

      Sarah ate salad and wished she could show Luke there were things she could do really well. Why, she could work the bugs out of a software program in the blink of an eye. She was a good manager, too. She organized a team of six and oversaw all technical aspects of their designs—

      She stabbed a piece of red pepper and crunched it down. What was she thinking? The things she was good at meant nothing to a man like Luke. Why should she care what he thought, anyway?

      “Did you have a good time at your aunt’s house?” she asked Becka.

      Tears flooded from the girl’s eyes. Instead of answering Sarah’s question, she turned to Luke and shouted, “Why can’t I see Aunt Abby again? Why? You hate me, don’t you?”

      “Becka, you know that’s not true—” Luke began.

      “It is true! You said I can’t go back to Aunt Abby’s, but you won’t even tell me why.” Blinking ferociously, Becka pushed away from the table and went through the sliding doors onto the veranda.

      Sarah turned to Luke. “Oh, dear. What happened?”

      “Kids,” he said with a dark scowl, and took another bite of charred pizza.

      Sarah put down her fork. Clearly, more was going on than he was prepared to tell her. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t mention Becka’s aunt to her?”

      Luke’s СКАЧАТЬ