Читать книгу Home on the Ranch - Allison Leigh - Страница 10

Belle propped her hands on her hips and counted off a slow inhale and an even slower exhale. It was far too beautiful a morning, all promising with the golden sunrise, to let annoyance ruin it already. “Cage, I need to go over a few things with you about Lucy. I wanted to last night, but we never got to it.”

His long legs barely paused as he passed her in the kitchen and headed out the back door of the house. “I’ve got a water tank that needs fixing.” His tone was abrupt, as if he begrudged providing even that small bit of information.

Clearly, that somewhat approachable man she’d encountered in the middle of the night was banished again.

She hurried after him, letting the screen door slap shut noisily after her. She darted down the brick steps and jogged to keep up with him. She raised her voice. “Lucy told me yesterday that you haven’t worked with her on any of the exercises she’s supposed to do on her own.”

He stopped short. Tilted his head back for a moment, then slowly turned to face her. The shadow cast by his dark brown cowboy hat guarded the expression in his blue eyes, but even across the yards, she could feel the man’s impatience. “I can’t be in two places at once, Miss Day.”

She mentally stiffened her spine at his exaggerated patience. So much for his one slip of calling her Belle the night before. “I’m aware of that, Cage. But you hired me to help Lucy, and—”

“I didn’t hire you to lecture me on my ability to parent my own daughter.”

Her lips parted. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

His eyebrow rose, making him look even more sardonic than usual. “Weren’t you?”

“No!”

“You weren’t so reticent before Lucy’s accident when you accused me of being unreasonable where she’s concerned ’cause I wouldn’t let her go on that god-forsaken field trip to Chicago.”

She glanced back at the house where Lucy still slept. The truth was, she had thought he was being unreasonable. But that was half a year ago and there were more important things on the agenda than eliciting his approval for a simple school field trip. “Look, maybe we should just talk about…things.” She’d thought so all along, but hadn’t had the courage to do so. Hadn’t had much of an opportunity, either, given their brief conversations about Lucy where Cage had firmly kept control.

His expression hadn’t changed. “You’re here for one reason only, Miss Day. It’d be better all around if you’d remember it.”

Her jaw tightened uncomfortably. “I’m not the enemy, all right?”

His expression went from impatient to stony.

Her hands fell back to her sides. “I see. I am the enemy.” Of course. Resulting from long-past history neither could change.

“If you need something that strictly pertains to Lucy—whether it’s her therapy or her schoolwork—I have no doubt you’ll let me know. Other than that—”

“—stay out of your hair?” Her tone was acid.

“That’s one way to put it.” He slapped the leather gloves he held against his palm. “Excuse me.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

Belle stuck her tongue out at his back, and returned to the house. She yanked open the aging avocado-green refrigerator door. Maybe it was wrong of her, but she took great delight in making breakfast out of a leftover slice of pizza.

For Lucy, however, she set out an assortment of supplements on the counter, and then prepared a real breakfast. After peeking in the girl’s bedroom to see that she was still sleeping, Belle pushed her feet into her running shoes and went back outside.

Even though the sky was clear, the dawn air still felt moist from the previous day, as she set off in a slow jog. Well beyond the simple brick house stood the sizable barn, doors open. She didn’t want to wonder if Cage was in there. She wondered anyway, quickening her pace and then had to tell herself that she was being a ninny. The man ran a ranch. If he was in his barn, so what? Better there than in the house, bugging her and Lucy. Might present a problem when she and Lucy went to the barn to use the equipment, though.

She didn’t doubt that he wanted the best for Lucy, which she certainly couldn’t fault. Nevertheless, she’d never met a more antisocial man in her life. But, then, she’d been warned well enough before she took on this job, so complaining about it now was only so much wasted energy.

She figured she’d run a good hour by the time she returned to the house. She darted up the brick steps and went in through the front door, peeling out of her sweatshirt as she went. Surely the bathroom wouldn’t still hold the lingering scent of Cage’s soap by now.

The bathroom was no longer steamy, true. But she still took the fastest shower in her life before changing into fresh workout clothes. Then she went and woke Lucy. While the girl was dressing—something she didn’t need assistance for—Belle wandered around the cozy living room.

She peered again at the silver-framed black-and-white photos hanging above the fireplace mantel. Cage’s parents. And a young Cage. She sighed faintly as she studied the Buchanan family. She knew only too well that he’d been a teenager when he’d lost his father, and for all intents, his mother, as well. She ran her fingernail lightly over the image of the solemn-looking little boy. Were there any photos of him smiling?

Did Cage Buchanan ever smile? Ever laugh?

“Hey, Belle. I’m fixing waffles for breakfast. You know the fruity kind with whipped cream? Those frozen waffles are really good that way. Like dessert.”

Belle looked back to see Lucy rolling her chair into the kitchen. She headed after her, and hid a smile at Lucy’s disgruntled “Oh.” Obviously, she’d seen the breakfast that Belle had already set out for her. There would be no frozen waffles.

She stepped around Lucy’s narrow chair, tugging lightly on her gilded braid along the way. “It’ll be good, I promise.”

“Dad calls breakfasts like this ‘sticks and weeds.’”

At that, Belle laughed softly. “Well, these sticks and weeds are a lot better for you than just a frozen waffle out of a box. It’s a bran mix. And the strawberries on top are plenty sweet already without adding cream or sugar. But I could fix you eggs if you’d rather.” She refused to wonder what Cage had eaten.

Lucy’s perfectly shaped nose wrinkled. “Eggs. Gross.”

“Yeah,” Belle agreed. “I used to think so, too. But they’re good for you, and there are lots of ways to fix them. So, what’ll it be?”

Lucy eyed the table for a moment. Then she shrugged, and started to wheel forward. Belle casually stepped in her path and held out her hands expectantly.

And she waited.

And waited.

Finally, Lucy put her hands in Belle’s. And she stood, her weight fully concentrated on her uninjured leg.

Belle winked cheerfully. Lucy wasn’t the first patient she’d ever had, and certainly not the first who was leery of leaving the safety net, no matter how much they wanted to. But there was absolutely no reason why Lucy should still be depending entirely on the chair. “Stiff?”

Lucy nodded. There was a white line around her tight lips. Belle supported her as she twisted around and sat at the table. Then she tucked the wheelchair out of the way and sat down across from Lucy.

“Aren’t you having any twigs?”

“Ate earlier. Not everyone sleeps in until noon.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.” She picked up the spoon and jabbed at her food. Gave an experimental taste. When the girl gave a surprised “hmm” and took another taste, Belle busied herself by filling a few water bottles and putting away the dishes they’d used and washed the night before as well as the stack that had already been there. She refused to feel guilty about it, either. It wasn’t as if she was stealing the Buchanan family silver. She was just washing some crockery.

Lucy was nearly finished with her breakfast before she spoke again. “Did you see my dad this morning?”

“Yes, for a few minutes.” Belle folded the dish towel and left it on the counter next to the sink. “He was heading out to fix a water tank.”

“Oh.” Lucy passed over her dishes.

Belle took them and set them in the sink. She flipped on the faucet to rinse them and glanced at Lucy. “Were you hoping for something different?”

Lucy shrugged but couldn’t quite hide her diffidence. “He works the Lazy-B mostly by himself, you know.”

Belle did know. She also knew that he hired on hands as needed, and that he usually didn’t much want to admit to needing anything.

The man gave loner new meaning.

“I know.” She smiled gently and moved the chair back around for Lucy. “Come on. It’s beautiful outside. Let’s go for a little walk.”

“No exercises yet?”

Lucy looked so hopeful that Belle had to smile as she helped the girl back into her chair. She crouched in front of her. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she confided lightly. “Exercise comes in all sorts of forms. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re doing it.” She grazed her fingertips over Lucy’s injured leg. “So. What do you say? A walk?”

Lucy nodded. Satisfied, Belle rose and handed Lucy a bottle of water, took one for herself and they headed out the front of the house, where Lucy’s ramp was located.

Before long, Belle had to push the chair for Lucy because of the soft ground. The morning was delightfully quiet, broken only by the song of birds flirting in the tall cottonwoods that circled the house.

They walked all the way down the road to the gate then headed back again. “Do you like living on a ranch?”

Lucy lifted her shoulder, her fingers trailing up and down her braid. “It’s okay, I guess. I used to spend part of the week in town. During the school year. Dad pays my friend Anya Johannson’s mom for my board for part of the week. She teaches me piano and takes me to my dance lessons after school and stuff. Well, that’s what we used to do.” She tossed her braid behind her back.

They were within sight of the large red barn before Lucy spoke again. “You grew up in Cheyenne. Right?”

“Yup. Until I took the job at your school last year, and when I went away to school, I’d always lived in Cheyenne. My sister, Nikki, still does. And my mother’s been living at the Double-C Ranch since she married Squire Clay a while back.”

“Were your parents divorced?”

“No. My dad died just before Nikki and I turned sixteen.”

“Does she look like you? Nikki?”

Belle grinned. “Nah. She’s the pretty one. Likes to shop for real clothes, not just jeans and workout gear. She looks like our mom. Auburn hair, an actual figure.”

Lucy made a face, looking down at herself. She plucked the loose fabric of her pink T-shirt. “Yeah, well, I’m never gonna get…you know…boobs, either.” Lucy’s pale cheeks turned red. “Not that you don’t, uh—”

Belle laughed. “It’s okay. I do. But believe me, my sister got the larger helping in the chest department. And you’re only twelve. You’ve got oodles of time yet.”

“I’m gonna be thirteen next month.”

Belle renewed her grasp on the handles of the chair, pushing it harder over the gravel road. “Why sound so glum about it? Are you going to have a party?”

“And do what?” Lucy thumped her hands on her chair.

“Who needs to do anything? You’re going to be thirteen. I remember when Nik and I turned thirteen. We sat around with our friends and talked boys and makeup and music, and ate pizza and popcorn and had a blast.”

“Doesn’t matter. Dad’s not going to let me have a party, anyway.”

“Has he said that?” She would be upbeat if it killed her. “It never hurts to just ask. What’s the worst that could happen? That he’d say no? You’ve already decided that, anyway. And he might surprise you.” Whatever she’d seen or heard about Cage, the man was admittedly doing back flips for his daughter. What was one small party?

“He doesn’t want me to do anything,” Lucy insisted flatly. “Ever since my accident, he’s been—” she shook her head, and fell silent.

“Worried about you, perhaps?” Belle maneuvered Lucy’s chair through the opened barn door.

Lucy didn’t respond to that. But she did respond to the changes Belle had made inside the barn. Most particularly the portable sound system she immediately flicked on. Banging music sounded out and Belle looked past Lucy’s slack jaw as she handed her a sizable stack of CDs. “Hope there’s something you like in there. I brought a little of everything.”

Lucy flipped through the cases. Pulled one out. “Dad would like this.”

Belle glanced over. Beatles. Drat. Her own personal favorite. “Anything you like?”

“Classics.” Lucy shrugged diffidently. “Weird, huh?”

She felt as if she’d hit a treasure chest when she leaned over to flip down several more CDs in Lucy’s lap and the girl laughed delightedly. “Beethoven. Pachelbel. Rachmaninoff. A little of everything.”

Belle took the stack and set it on a crate next to the portable boom box. She slid in a CD and the strains of Mozart soared right up to the rafters.

Cage could hear the music a mile away. It was loud enough to scare his prized heifers out of breeding for another two seasons, and certainly loud enough to put his daughter in hearing aids before her next birthday. He wanted to race hell-bent for leather to the barn the way Strudel was, but he kept his pace even for Rory’s sake. He was walking the horse back to the stable, hoping Rory’s lame leg wouldn’t require more than some TLC and rest. He knew the vet would come if he called, but it sat wrong in Cage’s belly to keep looking at the balance of his bill with the man, knowing he wouldn’t have it paid off anytime soon.

Naturally, the music grew even louder the closer he got to the barn and it showed no sign of abating even after he’d tended to Rory. He strode inside, only to stop short at the sight of Belle and Lucy. His daughter was lying on the incline bench. Not an unusual sight. But she was laughing, her head thrown back, blond hair streaming down her thin back, her face wreathed in smiles.

And Belle was laughing, too. She sat on the floor in front of the bench, her legs stretched into a position he thought only Olympic gymnasts could obtain, and she was leaning forward so far her torso was nearly resting on the blue mat beneath her. The position drew the tight black shirt she wore well above her waist, and for way too long, he couldn’t look away from that stretch of lithe, feminine muscle.

Neither his daughter nor Belle noticed him and he felt like an outsider all over again. He liked it no more now than he had the previous day.

Then Belle turned her head, resting her cheek on the mat, and looked at him.

Not so unaware, after all.

“Come on in,” she said. And even though she hadn’t lifted her voice above the music, he still heard her. Her brown gaze was soft. Open.

She didn’t even flinch when Strudel bounded over to her, snuffling at her face before hastily jumping over her to gleefully greet Lucy.

Safer to look at the slice of Belle’s ivory back that showed below the shirt than those dark eyes. Maybe.

He deliberately strode to the boom box and turned down the volume. “Trying to make yourselves deaf?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t that loud.”

He wished for the days when she hadn’t yet learned to roll her eyes at him. “I’m going in to get your lunch.”

“Belle already did.”

At Lucy’s blithe statement, Belle pushed herself up and drew her legs together, wriggling her red-painted toes. He saw a glint on one toe. She wore a toe ring. Figures.

“We left a plate for you,” she said, apparently trusting that he wouldn’t lecture her about her “place” in front of Lucy.

In that, she was correct. For now, at least. He eyed her for a moment. “Then I’ll go down to get the mail.”

Lucy ignored him as she flopped back on the slanted bench. Belle’s gaze went from him to Lucy and back again. “If you have some time this afternoon, maybe Lucy could show you a few of the new exercises we’ve been working on.”

He nodded and resettled his hat as he left. In the seconds before someone—his daughter probably—turned up the volume of the music again, he heard Lucy’s flat statement. “He won’t show. He never does.”

It was an exaggeration, but that didn’t stop the words from cutting. But he was only one man. As he’d told Belle, he couldn’t do it all. Keep the Lazy-B going and spend hours with his daughter when he’d already hired a therapist for her for that very purpose. He whistled sharply and Strudel scrambled out of the barn, racing after him. The dog might have promise, after all.

He drove the truck down to get the mail. There was a cluster of boxes belonging to the half-dozen folks living out his direction. His place was the farthest out, though. The box was five miles from the house. Usually, he swung by on Rory. Not today.

Back in the house, he dumped the mail and the morning paper on the kitchen table and yanked open the refrigerator door. Sure enough. A foil-wrapped plate sat inside. The woman made pizza with whole wheat. Whole wheat? He wasn’t even aware that he’d had any in his house. Either she’d brought it in her suitcase, which was entirely possible since she had no qualms about thinking she knew best where his family was concerned, or the stuff had been lurking in his cupboards courtesy of Emmy Johannson, who periodically brought groceries out for him.

God only knew what lurked on that plate under the foil. He ignored it and made himself a roast-beef sandwich, instead. He was standing at the counter eating it when he saw Belle through the window over the sink striding up to the rear of the house. He turned a page of the newspaper and continued reading. Something about a chili cook-off.

It wasn’t engrossing stuff, but it was better than watching Belle. The woman had a way of moving and it was just better off, all around, if he didn’t look too close. He didn’t like her, or her family, and she was there only out of his own desperation. So he needed to get over the fact that she turned him on and he needed to do it yesterday.

The screen rattled as Belle pulled it open and popped into the kitchen. His gaze slid sideways to her feet. Scuffed white tennis shoes—a different pair than the wet blue ones the day before—now hid the red-painted toes and the toe ring. He looked back at the newspaper and finished off the sandwich.

Only Belle didn’t move along to the bathroom, or to do whatever it was she’d come in the house to do. She stood there, her arms folded across her chest, skinny hip cocked.

He swallowed. Finished the glass of milk he was drinking.

She still hadn’t moved.

He sighed. Folded the newspaper back along its creases. Crossed to the table to flip through the mail. Too many bills, circulars advertising some singles’ matchmaking network, an expensive-looking envelope with an all too familiar embossed return address. He folded the envelope in half and shoved it in his back pocket. “What is it now?”

“I noticed that Lucy is still depending exclusively on her wheelchair.”

The one remaining nerve not gone tight at the sight of the envelope now residing next to his butt joined the knotted rest. He opened a cupboard and grabbed the bottle of aspirin that had been full only a few weeks ago. He shook out a few, the rattle of pills inside the plastic sounding as sharp as his voice. “And?” He shut the cupboard door again only to find her extending a condensing bottle of water toward him.

“And it concerns me, because it’s encouraging her to keep favoring her injury.”

“She’s not supposed to use her leg, yet.” He swallowed the aspirin.

“She’s not supposed to use it completely,” Belle countered. “But she should have been up on crutches weeks ago, yet since I’ve been here—”

“Twenty-four hours now?”

“—I haven’t even seen a pair of crutches. She does have them, doesn’t she?”

Cage strode over to the tall, narrow closet at the end of the kitchen and snapped open the door. Inside, along with a broom and the vacuum cleaner, stood a shining new pair of crutches. “Satisfied?”

Her lips tightened. She flipped her long ponytail behind her shoulder and brushed past him to remove the crutches. He looked down at her, clutching the things to her chest. The top of her head didn’t reach his chin. In fact, she wasn’t much taller than Luce.

The realization didn’t make Belle seem younger to him. It only made his daughter seem older.

He pushed the closet door shut and moved across the room. “She says that she still hurts too much to use ’em.”

Belle nodded. “I understand, believe me. But getting on her feet with these is a major component of her recovery. And the longer we wait, the more it’s going to hurt. You’re going to have to get over trying to protect her, Cage. Her recuperation is not going to be pleasant all the time, but she does have to work through it before it’ll get better.” Her hand reached out and caught his forearm, squeezing in emphasis. “And it will get better.” Then, seeming to realize that she was touching him, she quickly pulled back.

“Easy advice,” he said flatly. “You ever watch your child trying to straighten or bend a leg that doesn’t want to do either despite two separate surgeries that should have helped it? To steel yourself against the pleading in her eyes when she looks at you wanting permission to…just…stop?” If he’d expected her to look shocked at his unaccustomed outburst, he was wrong. Shock would’ve been better, though, than the expression softening her eyes. It was easier to take when she figured he avoided Lucy’s sessions because of the never ending needs of the Lazy-B.

“I haven’t watched my child,” she said. “Since I’ve never even had one, that would be difficult.” Then she suddenly lifted her foot onto one of the kitchen chairs and whipped the stretchy black pants that flared over her shoes up past her knee. The scar was old. Faded. It snaked down from beyond the folds of her pants on the inside of her taut thigh, circled her knee and disappeared down her calf. “But I have dealt with it myself.”

The water and aspirin he’d just chugged mixed uncomfortably with his lunch. Lucy’s healing surgical scars were bad. But when they healed, he knew they would look far better than Belle’s.

“Not pretty,” Belle murmured, and pulled her pant leg back down. “My hip doesn’t look quite so bad.”

“What happened?”

It was hard to believe it, but her brown eyes looked even darker. “I thought you knew.”

“I suppose that’s why you went into physical therapy,” he surmised grudgingly.

“Yes.” She sucked in one corner of her soft lip for a moment. Her expression was oddly still. “I was with my dad that night, Cage. The night of the accident.”

He’d been wrong. His nerves could get tighter. “I didn’t know you’d been hurt.” He couldn’t have known since her family had been living in Cheyenne at the time.

She studied the crutches she held. “I was lying down in the back seat. I didn’t have on my seat belt, which my dad didn’t know. When…it…happened, I was thrown from the car. Metal and flesh and bone. Don’t mix well usually.” She lifted her shoulder slightly. “Which is something you know only too well, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. I thought you knew,” she said again then fell silent.

She looked miserable. And damned if he could convince himself it was an act, though he wanted to.

“Look, Cage, it’s not too late for me to go. I know Lucy knows about the accident between our parents and she doesn’t seem to hold it against my family. But everyone warned me this would be just one constant reminder after another.” Her gaze whispered over him, then went back to the crutches. “I can hold my own against those opinions.” Her voice was vaguely hoarse. “But if your feeling the same way gets in the path of Lucy’s progress then my efforts here will be for nothing. Are…are you sure you want me to stay?”

No. He stared out the window. Lucy was sitting in her chair just outside the barn, Strudel half in her lap while they played tug with a stick. “Lucy still needs help.” His voice came from somewhere deep inside him.

He heard Belle sigh a little. “I could talk to the people I worked with at Huffington. Maybe I could find someone willing to—”

“No.” He couldn’t afford to bring someone else out to the ranch, to pay their full salary. Belle had been willing to agree for less than half what she deserved, and he knew it was only because of her fondness for his daughter. Something he’d deliberately capitalized on. The fact that she’d be able to provide the tutoring Lucy needed was even more of a bonus. “You came to help Lucy. I expect you to hold to your word.”

“All right,” she said after a long moment. She tucked her arm through the center of the crutches and carried them to the door. Then paused. “I’m really sorry your father didn’t survive the accident, Cage.”

“So am I,” he said stiffly. He’d lost both his parents that night, even though his mother had technically survived. Apparently, the only one to escape unscathed that winter night nearly fourteen years ago had been the man who’d caused the accident in the first place.

Belle’s father.

And even though he’d died a few years later, Belle was, after all, still his daughter.