“My momma will be pleased to hear you say that.”
She turned to him, blinking. “I didn’t think about seeing your family!”
He chuckled. “You ask for me, you get the lot of us. They’ll be mighty pleased to see ya too. But Pippa.”
Her gaze met his, a shadow creeping into the greenish gold depths.
“Don’t say anything about what happened to you. I’ll do that.”
She nodded and issued a slow breath. “How do I explain the fact I came with no luggage?”
“I’ll get Corrine on the matter. My sister loves to shop her heart out, and this is right in her wheelhouse.”
“Corrine. She was so little last time I saw her. How old is she now?”
“Just celebrated her twenty-first birthday last weekend.”
“Twenty-one…” She shook her head, sending her ponytail swaying over her spine.
He saw her nerves kick in as they pulled up in front of the garage. She didn’t move to exit the vehicle, and he faced her. “It’s okay, Pip.”
Her eyes widened at the nickname. “Nobody’s called me that in years.”
“I’ll always think of you as Pip.” He climbed out of the truck and by the time he reached the passenger door, she stood outside it. As he approached, he took in everything about her, from the black boots she wore, jeans that weren’t worn from hard work but in a dyeing process, and her white top, slightly crinkled from her flight and ordeal.
His gaze zeroed in on her throat, though. A blue stripe banded across her neck, marring her freckled skin. His gut twisted, and a fury hit him he wasn’t expecting.
“Fucking hell. Your throat,” he ground out, stepping closer to her.
She lifted a hand. “Is it bad?”
“Bad? Hell, Pippa. You didn’t tell me your attacker tried to strangle you!” He reached out and flicked her collar aside to see it in full detail. By full morning it’d be technicolor. No wonder her voice sounded that way.
She froze and dropped her gaze to his chest, refusing to meet his eyes.
He let his arm swing to his side. “Well, at least I don’t have to carry your luggage inside. C’mon.”
Her relieved expression told him that his joke had the effect he was going for. As he led her to the house, he kept her on his left so he could shoot with his right—his training so ingrained in him that he didn’t even think about it until they reached the front door. He ushered her in.
When she paused in the entryway, he shook his head. “Don’t take your boots off. You remember the rules of the house. No mud, you’re fine.”
“I might have some snow from walking across the driveway—” she began.
He planted his hand on her lower back and nudged her toward the living room.
* * * * *
Pippa’s breath caught at her first sight of the space she’d spent a lot of time in as a child. Soaring ceilings with rustic, exposed support beams. Three huge chandeliers dripping in tiers of glass set at perfect intervals. Tall windows showered the room in sunlight, made brighter by reflecting off the snow outside.
Two leather sofas faced each other over a coffee table almost the size of a twin bed. At one end of the table sat a stack of magazines she knew from memory would be on the topics of fly fishing, cowboys and ranching. In the center sat a huge spray of dried flowers as artful as ones that sat in expensive hotels in Europe.
One thing about Mrs. Wynton, she had a lot of class.
The room invited a person to sit—another testimony to the Wyntons’ famous hospitality. But Pippa stood with her boots rooted to the hand-scraped hardwood floors, her pulse thrumming with anxiety.
Ross threw her a look. “You good for a minute? I’ll go find Momma.”
She nodded and watched him stride from the room with all the confidence and bearing of a king. Which he might as well be. His family name was known as far as California, for the prime angus beef they sold to elite restaurants there.
A high-pitched cry sounded from somewhere in the house, and seconds later a woman ran into the living room. Pippa met Mrs. Wynton’s bright eyes but jumped when the woman let out another scream.
“You are here! Oh my God! Pippa, my dear woman. My land, you’re so beautiful!”
Heat climbed into her cheeks at the woman’s outburst, and then Mrs. Wynton ran up and threw her arms around her.
Enveloped by the scent of all the things she associated with this place, Pippa closed her eyes and embraced her in return. Tears threatened, but she swallowed them down. This was the closest thing she had to hugging her own momma, and the warm welcome filled her with affection.
Mrs. Wynton pulled away to look at her. She was tall as well, but not as tall as Pippa. A quick study of her face revealed more lines of age but the same health and vitality from leading a life of exercise, fresh air and the family she loved.
“I’m so shocked to see you. I thought Ross was fooling me.” She threw a look around for her son who did like to prank her in his youth, as Pippa remembered.
“It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Wynton.”
“Oh dear, we’re past those sorts of formalities. Your parents enforced the rule that you call me Mrs. Wynton. Call me Ginny. Please.”
“Ginny.” Her heart bloomed with warmth, but it didn’t thaw the coil of fear she’d traveled here with.
“Pippa could use something to eat and drink, Momma.” He eyed Pippa. His eyes conveyed a question. You’ll be okay?
She nodded to both the sustenance and the question.
Touched even more that he did care for her well-being, she followed Mrs. Wynton—it’d be hard to think of her as Ginny after all these years—into the spacious kitchen.
“Momma, is Corrine around?”
“In the barn with her horse. Where else?” She beamed a smile on Pippa and waved for her to sit down.
Pippa’s knees felt wobbly as she moved to the heavy wood barstool and sat. Ross left the room. She watched him vanish through the doorway. Right before he walked away, he’d glanced at her throat—a pointed reminder to keep quiet about her ordeal?
Wanting to conceal her bruises from Ginny, she waited until her back was turned and buttoned her shirt up to her throat. She hoped that would hide the worst of the bruise.
“Coffee or something cold?” Ginny asked.
“Something cold please.” It would feel good on her throat.
Ginny puttered to the big stainless steel refrigerator that could hold half a beef and unearthed a pitcher of iced tea. Pippa’s mouth watered. She remembered the famous sweet tea on the Wynton Ranch, made with just the right amount of sugar and a hint of mint.
“I can fix you eggs and bacon if you’re up for it.”
“I’m not that hungry, but thank you.”
When Ginny set a glass in front of her, along with a plate of fresh-baked cookies, Pippa choked back her tears.
She hadn’t cried once since she received that death threat. Not after she fled from the lab or following her attack. Now she teared up at a plate of cookies.
Through a blur, she reached for one. “Thank you, Mrs.—Ginny.”
The woman eyed her. “I see you have something pressing on you, honey, and I’m dying to help. But my son warned me not to ask any questions.”
Bringing a cookie to her lips, she nodded. Feeling like a child with her tears consoled by cookies, she nibbled the edge, but her appetite had been left in that lab when she found the words I will kill you scrawled on a note.