Homeward Bound. Marin Thomas

      “We’re back on our feet again.” Not living in luxury, but the last of the loans and bills got paid off this past Christmas.

      “If things were so tight, you shouldn’t have sent me money.”

      Not once during her years away at college had Heather phoned or written him for money. He’d sent checks in her birthday cards, and Christmas cards, but she hadn’t asked for a dime. “I wouldn’t have given you the money if I couldn’t have afforded to.”

      He turned off the county road and drove under a rickety wooden arch with the name Full Moon Ranch burned into the wood.

      “The place hasn’t changed much.” Heather lowered her window, then stuck her head out.

      With a critical eye, Royce studied the land. For once, the ruggedly beautiful terrain did not soothe him. Since his accident three years ago, things had lost their rosy glow. As the truck reached the top of a small incline, the east border of the property, which butted up against the towering pines of Atlanta State Park, came into view. To the west and north, he owned a thousand acres.

      Two corrals, three outbuildings and the stereotypical red barn dotted the ranch yard. From this distance the gray, two-story house stood majestically beneath several sugar maple trees. But up close, the home lacked a grand appearance. The exterior hadn’t been painted in twenty years and the sagging wraparound porch begged for tender, loving care. Except for new appliances and a television set for Luke’s bedroom, nothing inside had been updated since he’d landed on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep twenty-three years ago.

      “Wow. Even the house is the same. Ever think about painting the place a different color? Maybe yellow with green shutters. Lots of Shasta daisies along the front and rosebushes by the steps would make the house more festive.”

      Festive was Heather’s middle name. “If I have time this summer, I just might do that.”

      “I could lend a hand.”

      He conjured an image of Heather in cutoff jeans and a tank top, standing on a ladder, wielding a paintbrush. “You’ll be too busy with the store.”

      As he pulled up to the house, he spotted Luke resting in the chair on the front porch, Bandit stretched out at his feet. Royce had lost count of the number of times he’d found the foreman and his useless dog snoozing away in the middle of the afternoon.

      Aw, heck. He didn’t care if Luke slept the whole day. After ten years of helping Royce with the ranch for little more than minimum wage, a bed and free meals, the old codger had more than earned his retirement.

      Before Royce had even shifted the truck to park, Heather opened her door and hopped out. “Hi, Luke! Hi, Bandit!”

      “Well, if you ain’t the prettiest thing these ol’ eyes have seen in a long time,” Luke called as he shoved himself out of the chair and hobbled to the steps.

      Heather met the foreman halfway.

      With veiled envy, Royce watched Heather and Luke hug and laugh and smile at each other. Even the mangy dog got into the action, nudging Heather’s hand with his head. She went down on one knee and ruffled the fleabag’s fur as if they were long-lost friends. Her happiness at seeing Luke and his hound unsettled Royce. Three years ago she had wanted to spend the summer at his ranch, but his stubborn pride and aching heart had made sure she stayed away.