Read The Ranch She Left Behind for Free Online Page B

thirty-four, not fourteen.
    And yet, when she kissed him, every atom in his body had leaped to attention, as turned on as if he actually were that breathless fourteen-year-old. For about three incredible seconds, time had stood still in a glittering pool of sexual awareness.
    And then she was gone. Just as well. Ellen hadn’t seen the kiss, but she was an eagle-eyed little thing, and she was always spoiling for a fight, always looking for proof that she wasn’t important to Max. If the kiss had gone on much longer…
    He couldn’t help wondering whether he’d see the woman again. Silverdell was a small town, so unless she’d been passing through, another meeting seemed inevitable. And awkward.
    It might be better if she was merely a tourist stopping for a respite from driving. It would be oddly disappointing to meet her and discover she was a fake, or a fool, or a mother of four.
    He’d far rather remember their encounter as a rare, mystical moment when his cynicism had evaporated, his “responsibility” had dropped away, and he’d kissed a fairy forest creature.
    “Are you done yet?”
    Ellen’s voice, impatient, wafted into the basement. He snapped back to reality.
    “Not yet. A couple more minutes.”
    He refocused, though he hated to mentally return to this shadowy, dirty basement where the water heater stood, its silver cylinder winking oddly, picking up whatever light broke through. He hated basements. He always had, even before Mexico. But responsible parenting meant he couldn’t succumb to his aversion.
    And, in the end, the basement was just a big, dusty rectangle of concrete. He could leave anytime he wanted. Funny how often he reminded himself of that when he entered tight spaces or underground rooms. The doors were open. His hands and legs were free.
    He could leave anytime he wanted.
    He double-checked the garden hose connection on the drain valve one more time before letting the hot water through. He hoped to heaven Ellen continued to obey him, staying inside the house while he worked. The water probably wasn’t hot enough to hurt anyone—the timer had been set to off when they arrived an hour ago—but he refused to take any chances. If she stood downhill from the draining water…
    She could be burned. Not likely, but it could happen. And these days he didn’t take the slightest of chances. Ever since Lydia’s death… No, even before that. Ever since Mexico, really.
    No wonder he drove Ellen crazy. He didn’t understand anything that mattered to her. He didn’t watch reality TV, where people voted away those who annoyed them, instead of learning to coexist. He could listen only so long to whether stripes or prints were “in” this year, or which of her friends would have to buy a bra first.
    And that boy singer she idolized… The girlie little princess made Max want to laugh, frankly. As did Ellen’s fixation with getting her ears pierced and wearing eyeliner. At eleven? Hell, no.
    But Lydia would have let her wear it. Buy it. Watch it. Listen to it.
    So not only was he stuffy and dense about why “people like them” didn’t fix their own water heaters, he was a traitor to Lydia’s memory.
    “Mom said I could.” “Mom promised, as soon as I turned eleven.” Mom said. Mom said. Mom said…
    But Mom was gone. And that, of course, was Max’s real sin. He wasn’t Lydia. He never would be. And he couldn’t bring Lydia back. Just as he hadn’t been able to save her.
    He gave the valve a final twist, watching the hose hiccup as the water surged through it. A few drops glistened around the fitting, where the metal didn’t quite meet, and pooled in the dust.
    The basement hadn’t been used, obviously, in months. It smelled of dead bugs, and grime, and something oily—a leaking lawn mower, an unwashed chain saw, a toppled can of WD-40….
    A tremor shimmered down his arm, and he slammed a mental door on the memory. All basements smelled the same. Mexican basements, Colorado