like it was radioactive—and this tree house filled one of them. Somehow, when the repairs were made and Harry couldn't be coaxed up the trunk, it was Chase who came out here on the occasional summer evening to think or read or watch movies on his iPad. Jayne and Matthew and Zane and Cal and Jimmy never came looking for him; they seemed to know instinctively when he needed to be alone out here.
Not that there would have been room, even if they'd wanted to join him. As Chase pulled himself up onto the wooden platform, he saw that Regina was sitting daintily, her skirt tugged as far over her thighs as it would go, and there was barely room for him unless he squeezed in right next to her. Which, he reasoned, was why he was here, so...
"Hey," she exclaimed as he bumped against her, easing his bulk down onto the plywood boards.
"Sorry," he murmured, though he was anything but. He sat with his legs sprawled out, his feet hanging over the edge, his hip next to hers.
If she minded, she didn't show it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Regina traced her fingers over the initials carved in the trunk that made up one wall of the tree house. Two more walls had been fashioned from boards nailed to branches, leaving the view of the fields beyond exposed. There was a crude roof overhead to protect from falling leaves and wind, but the little structure was defenseless against rain, and there were gaps between all the boards. It had been crafted with more love than skill, which somehow added to its charm.
"Who are EB and EB?" she asked dreamily, touching the carved heart around the two sets of letters.
"Earl and Elaine Brackens. They owned this place—both of them gone now. They were the third generation of Brackens to live out their lives here. Earl buried his wife down by the creek, alongside the rest of his relatives. Mimi—the woman who owns this spread—was his second wife, and since he never had any kids, the whole place went to her."
"You sound like that's a bad thing."
Chase shrugged.
Regina studied him, trying to read the expression that clouded his eyes. Sadness, tinged with something else.
"It's a shame, I guess—a place like this ought to belong to someone it means something to. Someone who appreciates it, who's willing to work hard to keep it up."
"Somebody's working that land," Regina said, pointing at the rows of young plants in the fields below, the tender leaves gently ruffled by the breeze.
"Oh, sure. Don't get me wrong, Mimi makes sure the acreage is all leased, what's left of it. Course, she's sold off a lot of it—the ranch is down to just over a hundred acres. Most of what you see belongs to other people now."
"But you would have liked to see it all stay in one family."
Chase frowned and shifted almost imperceptibly away from her. Regina had been very much aware of his body next to hers, the contrasting texture of the rough denim of his jeans and the soft cotton of his shirt brushing against her arm.
"What I want, and the way things are—I learned a long time ago that there's a big difference between those two," he said gruffly.
Regina wasn't sure what to say to that. She settled on saying nothing at all. It was strange. With most people in her business, silence was in short supply. Take Carl, for instance—widely acknowledged as having the most successful one-man agency in the business—he could talk his way into or out of anything, and he did it by keeping up a steady patter, always staying one step ahead. Whether he was dealing with a client, a producer, or a booking agent, he had a way of subtly shifting every negotiation so he ended up with the bigger piece of the pie, and he did it by driving the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go.
Their brief engagement was a perfect example. Regina had her doubts. Carl was widely known for the string of broken hearts he'd left all over town. But he laid out his proposal so convincingly that when he was done describing the wedding they'd have and the
Not that there would have been room, even if they'd wanted to join him. As Chase pulled himself up onto the wooden platform, he saw that Regina was sitting daintily, her skirt tugged as far over her thighs as it would go, and there was barely room for him unless he squeezed in right next to her. Which, he reasoned, was why he was here, so...
"Hey," she exclaimed as he bumped against her, easing his bulk down onto the plywood boards.
"Sorry," he murmured, though he was anything but. He sat with his legs sprawled out, his feet hanging over the edge, his hip next to hers.
If she minded, she didn't show it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Regina traced her fingers over the initials carved in the trunk that made up one wall of the tree house. Two more walls had been fashioned from boards nailed to branches, leaving the view of the fields beyond exposed. There was a crude roof overhead to protect from falling leaves and wind, but the little structure was defenseless against rain, and there were gaps between all the boards. It had been crafted with more love than skill, which somehow added to its charm.
"Who are EB and EB?" she asked dreamily, touching the carved heart around the two sets of letters.
"Earl and Elaine Brackens. They owned this place—both of them gone now. They were the third generation of Brackens to live out their lives here. Earl buried his wife down by the creek, alongside the rest of his relatives. Mimi—the woman who owns this spread—was his second wife, and since he never had any kids, the whole place went to her."
"You sound like that's a bad thing."
Chase shrugged.
Regina studied him, trying to read the expression that clouded his eyes. Sadness, tinged with something else.
"It's a shame, I guess—a place like this ought to belong to someone it means something to. Someone who appreciates it, who's willing to work hard to keep it up."
"Somebody's working that land," Regina said, pointing at the rows of young plants in the fields below, the tender leaves gently ruffled by the breeze.
"Oh, sure. Don't get me wrong, Mimi makes sure the acreage is all leased, what's left of it. Course, she's sold off a lot of it—the ranch is down to just over a hundred acres. Most of what you see belongs to other people now."
"But you would have liked to see it all stay in one family."
Chase frowned and shifted almost imperceptibly away from her. Regina had been very much aware of his body next to hers, the contrasting texture of the rough denim of his jeans and the soft cotton of his shirt brushing against her arm.
"What I want, and the way things are—I learned a long time ago that there's a big difference between those two," he said gruffly.
Regina wasn't sure what to say to that. She settled on saying nothing at all. It was strange. With most people in her business, silence was in short supply. Take Carl, for instance—widely acknowledged as having the most successful one-man agency in the business—he could talk his way into or out of anything, and he did it by keeping up a steady patter, always staying one step ahead. Whether he was dealing with a client, a producer, or a booking agent, he had a way of subtly shifting every negotiation so he ended up with the bigger piece of the pie, and he did it by driving the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go.
Their brief engagement was a perfect example. Regina had her doubts. Carl was widely known for the string of broken hearts he'd left all over town. But he laid out his proposal so convincingly that when he was done describing the wedding they'd have and the
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