A stifling breeze dried the perspiration gathering over her flesh.
Lifting her hand to knock on the door, she recoiled, dropping her arm to her side. Nerves tumbled in her belly. She waited for a moment, allowing courage and determination to gather force. Ember tried again, only this time pressing her finger to the doorbell.
The door opened and she was greeted by a round elderly woman wearing pressed jeans and a crisp red button-down shirt with the Walker Ranch logo. Her gray hair cut pixie-short, and sun-chapped complexion, brought out the beauty of her simple features.
“That’ll be the last time you use the doorbell, hon.” The sweet-faced woman flashed a genuine soft smile, greeting Ember in a quick embrace. “Welcome to Walker Ranch. I’m Mrs. Montgomery, but you can call me Bee. It’s nice to have you here.”
Ember reached out, clasping the woman’s hand, giving it an easy shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Bee. I’m Ember. Ember Thompson.”
“I’m the caretaker of the Ranch, so whatever you need, you just let me know. I cook, clean, and do the doctoring for the ranch hands,” she proclaimed proudly cutting through any small talk, guiding her inside the entrance and shutting the door. “We’ll go over the weekly schedule later, but for now, let’s get you settled so you can get familiar with this place.”
“Okay. I’ve got a few boxes in the trunk of my car. Where should I put my things?”
Bee waved a hand toward the long hallway. “Let’s just drop your things in your room for now, then you can unpack after I show you around.”
Ember’s sweaty hand gripped the handle of her luggage, dragging it alongside her. The repetitive dull sound of wheels catching on every wide plank of flooring echoed down the long wide hall. Bee extended an arm, inviting her into a large bedroom with its own private sitting area and bathroom.
Ember sucked in a small gasp. Lifting a hand, her fingers caged over her mouth attempting to mask her shock as she took in the enormous space. A king-sized bed crafted from chunky beams sat in the center of the room, flanked by large picture windows highlighting the scenic landscape beyond the glass. Solid pieces of thick pine stacked on top of each other all the way to the ceiling, created a dramatic headboard and the perfect backdrop for a gorgeous colorful painting of a calf and its mother. The rich brown suede-like comforter, and distressed turquoise pillows trimmed in leather, topped the enormous bed with the perfect pops of color and rustic atmosphere.
Drawn to the vibrant subject matter of the simple, yet telling, painting, Ember moved closer to the bed. “Wow, this is beautiful.”
“Mr. Walker painted that.”
“He—my father—was an artist?”
“He was a man who enjoyed wearing many hats.” Her voice was thick with pride. “Most of the paintings on the walls are his work. There’s a variety of size and style, but all of them were inspired by the beauty of this property. Several are from the last few years when he was sick.” Her eyes glistened and emotions contorted the hard-lined features of her face. “Toward the end, it was the only thing he had the strength to do, but it brought him a lot of joy. He appreciated the solitude.”
A ping of loneliness tore at her heart and the weight of grief sat heavy on her chest.
The father she’d never known was gone.
Ember was left with no connection to build on, no memories to look back on, just a large void in her history that left her mourning a father she, until now, never realized she desperately wanted to know.
Feeling her legs begin to wobble, Ember shifted toward the colossal sofa at the far side of the bedroom, slowly sinking into the deep cushions. Tears needled her nose and a slick of wetness gathered at the rim of her lashes. She dabbed the pad of her middle finger to the corner of her eyes.
Bee made a tsk sound, sitting beside her, taking her hand in hers. “The last thing your father would’ve ever wanted was to see you cry.”
“You know, I never had a father growing up. My mother never married,” Ember stated in a daze, her face a blank slate. “For the last week, I’ve been telling myself it’s been no big deal because I didn’t know him anyway. It’s like I was supposed to grieve the loss of someone, or the idea of someone, that I created in my mind when I was a little girl. But now, it just feels so different…so real…being here in his home, surrounded by his belongings.” Her eyes were wide with confusion and sadness. She wanted to ask a dozen questions, but turned to the older woman, stating, “I don’t know anything about him.”
“Hon, sometimes we grieve for things we’ve never had, and things we wished we had, and the things we’ve lost. There’s no fixin’ that, but you come from a line of Walkers, so I’d imagine you’re a might bit tougher than you realize.”
Ember’s brows arched casting a look of reservation.
The word tough and Ember Thompson had probably never been used in the same sentence.
“His soul will live here forever.” Bee stood, smoothing out the creases in her shirt. “There’s no better place to learn about the man than this ranch. Let’s get you acquainted.”
“Okay,” she croaked, clearing the nerves from her throat, rising to her feet.
Afternoon sunlight streamed in through three sets of French doors along the back of the home, brightening the modest interior. All the major rooms, living, dining and kitchen, flowed into the other, creating an uncluttered open floor plan. A web of massive wooden beams spanned the ceiling end-to-end, looking as if they’d been erected over a hundred years ago, setting a rustic tone for the décor. Several stunning colorful paintings of Texas landscape, all created from her father’s hands, dressed the cream-colored walls.
“I expect you’re a might hungry after the long drive,” Bee said, entering the pristine kitchen.
“Thank you, but I’m not that hungry at the moment. Maybe in a bit.” Ember wanted to add that her stomach was too stressed out to even consider eating but kept it to herself.
Rich, earthy tones lent a casual atmosphere to the estate, but the lavish hickory cabinets and Texas sandstone covering an alcove surrounding an eight burner Viking stove, indicated a sophisticated retreat.
“I have all kinds of sandwich fixins in the fridge. You just let me know when you’re hungry and I’ll prepare lunch for you. Supper is usually served between six and six-thirty.”
Ember couldn’t stop her eyes from pulling wide from shock. A slow awkward smile hooked the corner of her mouth. “You cook dinner every night?”
“Yes ma’am. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day except for Sunday. That’s the Lord’s day.” The elderly woman inched toward Ember, inspecting her features. Curious interest filled her gaze. “Well, I’ll be. You have your daddy’s smile.”
Some sort of strange sentiment, pride mixed with surprise and a hint of annoyance, robbed her of her voice. Ember lifted her chin, attempting to acknowledge the unknown truth.
Other than a brief introduction at a busy restaurant in Austin, she had no idea what the man even looked like. She wondered how long it was going to take to get over the fact that she’d stood in his presence and never even took a good look at him, asked him questions, or got to know the man whose blood ran through her veins.