“Let’s get Thatcher back over here and talk more about the vaccination.”
Beckett gave a curt nod. “Will do, boss.”
Grabbing his coat off the end of a pitchfork, where he’d tossed it, Sterling opened the barn door to the blackness of the night, broken by the light of the half-moon in the cloudless sky. It was well past midnight, probably already one or two in the morning.
The barn wasn’t heated, but the natural warmth from the livestock kept it from getting too cold. The well-constructed walls blocked the wind.
Without the protection, frosty air hit his face, bringing with it the scent of damp soil after the snow they’d had a few days ago. A gust whipped at him, the frigid bite stinging his face and arms.
He shrugged into his coat, then picked up his pace as he crossed the ranch yard. His boots crunched against the frozen ground, the only sound except for the occasional snort from the cattle penned into the pasture closest to the barns. The night noises from insects and other small critters were gone, since most animals had migrated to lower elevations for the winter or were hibernating.
The house windows were all dark, not a single lantern lit to help guide the way—not that he needed the light. He was familiar enough with the ranch to get around blindfolded if need be. Even so, his chest squeezed with the loneliness that had been bothering him lately. Maybe that was another reason he wasn’t keen on everyone abandoning the ranch for the winter. Because the loneliness had a way of creeping up on him whenever he was in the house.
Even their faithful maid Jo-Jo was gone. She’d accompanied Mom, Dad, and Scarlet for their trip to Coleman’s college graduation. At twenty-five, Coleman was finishing law school and following in Dad’s footsteps, the dutiful son who had done everything Dad had wanted by going to college and getting an education.
Sterling knew he’d been a disappointment to Dad by refusing to go. His dad had argued with him that he would have more opportunities with a specialty and by bettering himself. He’d wanted more for Sterling than just the ranch. But Sterling had insisted the ranch was all he’d ever need, and he’d vowed to his dad that he could make the ranch successful without an education.
He stifled a sigh. Right now, with the number of cattle dying, he was failing to live up to his vow. He didn’t want Dad to arrive home and find the ranch worse than ever. No, he wanted his dad to return home to a thriving and even bigger ranch.
Ultimately, Sterling needed to prove he hadn’t made a mistake in staying at the ranch instead of going to college the way Dad had wanted. More than anything, he didn’t want his dad to look at him with disappointment and sayI told you so.
Thankfully, Sterling still had time to turn things around. While his family was in the East, they planned to also visit Paxton at his college and meet up with some of Dad’s friends from his law-school days. After that, they were heading by train to stay with relatives in Wisconsin, where they would spend the holidays and the rest of the winter before returning to Colorado in the spring.
At least Hazel was living on High C Ranch only two miles away. Sterling saw her once in a while, mainly at church on Sundays. She was happily married to Maverick Oakley, his best friend, and she was still the broodmare manager and planned to keep working until she had her baby in the spring.
Sterling slowed his steps as the outline of the large home took shape, with its Victorian-style flourishes and design. Painted white and trimmed in black, the beautiful house had been built a few years after they’d started bringing in a profit from their ranch. With five bedrooms upstairs, it had been more than adequate for their large family.
His gaze snagged on the front window of the formal parlor, the largest room—the room where he’d planned to marry Violet.
“No,” he whispered harshly. “No thoughts of her.”
For months after she’d run off, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from dwelling on how much he despised her for what she’d done. Doing so had only made him all the angrier so that he’d thought about her more.
Finally he’d decided he had to cut all ties to her, even the negative ones, and pretend she’d never existed. To do so, he’d worked himself until he was so tired he couldn’t think about anything. Eventually, he’d dwelt on her less and less until she’dfaded to the background. He’d been doing well over the last several months, keeping his mind from veering into unwanted territory.
Until last week…when at church, Hazel had let it slip that Violet and Hyacinth had returned from the East. Apparently their mother had died, and they’d come back to live with their father.
The moment Sterling had heard the news, he’d felt a momentary pang of sorrow for Violet, knowing how close she’d been to her mother. Of course, he hadn’t wanted to feel anything for Violet—not even sympathy—but it had been there anyway.
Ever since Sunday, thoughts of her had been coming with more frequency. Maybe that was the reason why he’d been staying up every night with the sick cattle—to have a diversion, something to hold his attention, anything to keep him busy.
Now the minute he was done working, his mind went right to her.
He halted on the flagstone path that led to the porch spread across the front of the house. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about Violet for the rest of the short night. He’d already given enough to that woman, and he didn’t owe her another thought, not even the tiniest one. That’s why he was considering skipping church this week, so that he didn’t run into her there. He didn’t want to see her again and would have been happy if she’d never returned to Summit County.
He blew out an exasperated breath.
Should he consider the possibility of finding another woman? His sister Scarlet had told him multiple times over the past summer that he should move on to someone else.
The problem was, he hadn’t been ready for another relationship during the summer. Maybe he’d still been reeling from Violet’s running away from the wedding. Maybe he’d beenscared of being rejected again. Maybe he’d been hoping time would heal him.
Whatever the case, it was obviously time to force himself to be ready—to go to social gatherings and to mingle with women again.
Or maybe he should send away for a mail-order bride the same way Beckett had. The bride was planning on coming in the spring, and Beckett intended to have built a small home for her by then—a home on the ranch so that he could continue to be the foreman, a home close to where Sterling had planned to build his.
The veterinarian had also put an ad into one of the matrimonial catalogs and had been expecting his bride to arrive all autumn. Unfortunately, she hadn’t shown up yet.
With the way men outnumbered the women in the high country, the marriageable young women were snapped up so quickly it was difficult for even stellar men like Beckett and Thatcher to have a chance at finding a wife.
