The Cattleman's Bride. Joan Kilby

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 forearm flexed as he gripped his water glass in his fist. “Don’t mention her to me.”

      “Okay,” Sarah said carefully. “You’re angry with the aunt but don’t want to talk about it. Becka is upset about whatever it was that happened and can’t talk about it. I’m completely in the dark but should mind my own business because I’m a stranger here. Have I got it right?”

      Frowning, Luke nodded. “Nothing personal.”

      She glanced out at Becka, who was leaning morosely against a pillar. Wal came up and tried to lick her face, but the girl pushed him away. “You are going to talk to your daughter, I hope?”

      His scowl deepened. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

      He got up and stalked out of the room instead of going out to comfort his child. Or explain what was obviously incomprehensible to her, too.

      Sarah watched him go, shocked and saddened. It really was none of her business. But she’d had a father who’d never been there for her as a child or as an adult. And now he was dead and there was no possibility of reconciliation.

      Sarah knew she shouldn’t project her feelings of rejection onto the little girl who was crying on the veranda, but her heart ached for Becka. Although Sarah didn’t know a lot about kids, she remembered how much it hurt to think her father didn’t care about her. She’d seen the worry on Luke’s face last night when his daughter hadn’t been brought home on time. He loved Becka, but for some reason he couldn’t express it. Whether it was any of her business or not, Sarah knew she wouldn’t rest until she discovered what was wrong between Luke and his daughter.

      And fixed it.