Читать книгу Home on the Ranch - Allison Leigh - Страница 9

The rain continued the rest of the afternoon, finally slowing after dinner, which Belle and Lucy ate alone. Cage had shown his face briefly before then, but only to tell Lucy to heat up something from the fridge and not to wait on him. Belle had seen the shadow in Lucy’s eyes at that, though the girl didn’t give a hint to her father that she was disappointed. And it was that expression that kept haunting Belle later that evening after Lucy had gone to bed. Haunted her enough that she didn’t close herself up in the guest room to avoid any chance encounter with Cage.

Instead, she hung around in the living room, knowing that sooner or later he would have to pass through the room in order to go upstairs. But, either she underestimated his intention to avoid her as much as possible, or he had enough bookkeeping to keep him busy for hours on end in his cramped little office beyond the stairs.

When she realized her nose was in danger of hitting the pages of the mystery she’d borrowed from the hallway shelf, she finally gave up and went upstairs. Walked past the bedroom that Cage had traded with his daughter. The door was open and she halted, took a step back, looking through the doorway. There was only the soft light from the hall to go by, but it was enough to see that the room was pink.

He hadn’t painted over the walls in Lucy’s original room as if she was never going to be able to return to it.

She chose to take that as a good sign. All too many people entered physical therapy without really believing they’d come out on the other side.

Though the room was pink, it still looked spare. All she could see from her vantage point was the bed with a dark-colored quilt tossed over the top, a dresser and a nightstand with a framed photograph sitting on it. The photo was angled toward the bed.

“Something interesting in there?”

She jerked and looked back to see Cage stepping up onto the landing. He looked as tired as she felt. “Pink,” she said, feeling foolish.

His long fingers closed over the newel post at the head of the stairs. He had a ragged-looking bandage covering the tip of his index finger. She’d noticed it earlier. Had squelched the suggestion that she rewrap it for him, knowing it wouldn’t be welcomed.

His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

She gestured vaguely. “The walls. They’re pink. I was just noticing that, I mean.”

“Luce likes pink.” His lashes hid his expression. “She’s a girl.”

“My sister likes pink.” Belle winced inwardly. What an inane conversation.

“And you?”

“And I…what?” He probably thought she was an idiot.

“Don’t like pink?”

“No. No, pink is fine. But I’m more of a, um, a red girl.”

His lips lifted humorlessly. “Pink before it’s diluted. You fixed pizza.”

She blinked a little at the abrupt shift. “Veggie pizza. There’s some left in the refrigerator.”

“I know. And I’m not paying you to play cook.”

That derailed her for half a moment. But she rallied quickly. Anyone with two eyes in their head could see the Buchanans could use a helping hand. “I didn’t mind and Lucy—”

“I mind.”

She stiffened. Did he expect her to assure him it wouldn’t happen again? “The whole wheat pizza and fresh vegetables, the fact that Lucy didn’t want to eat that leftover roast beef you told her to eat, or the fact that I dared to use your kitchen? Any other rules I need to know about?”

Apparently, he didn’t recognize that her facetious comment required no answer. “Stay away from the stables.”

“Afraid a Day might hurt the horses? Why did you even bother talking me into taking this job?”

“The horse that threw Lucy is in the stable. I don’t want her tempted to go there, and if you do, she’ll want to, as well. And the only thing my daughter needs from you is your expertise.”

“Which, by your tone, it would seem you doubt I possess. Again, it makes me wonder why you came to me, not once but twice, to get me to take on Lucy’s case for the summer.” The hallway seemed to be shrinking. Or maybe it was her irritation taking up more space as it grew.

“You have the right credentials.”

“Just the wrong pedigree.” Her flat statement hovered in the air between them.

Every angle of his sharp features tightened. “Is your room comfortable enough?”

“It’s fine.” She eyed him and wondered how a man she barely knew could be so intertwined in her life. “Sooner or later we might as well talk about it.” His expression didn’t change and she exhaled. “Cage, what happened was tragic, but it was a long time ago.” She ought to know.

Finally, some life entered his flinty features, and his expression was so abruptly, fiercely alive that she actually took a step back, earning a bump of her elbow against the wall behind her.

“A long time ago?” His bronze hair seemed to ripple along with the coldness in his voice as he towered over her. “I’ll mention that to my mother next time I visit her. Of course, she probably won’t mind, since she barely remembers one day to the next.”

Belle’s stomach clenched. Not with fear, but sympathy and guilt. And she knew he’d never in a million years accept those sentiments from her, if he even believed she was capable of experiencing it.

She’d heard he was overbearing. But he believed she was the daughter of a devil.

She folded her hands together. Well, she’d been warned, hadn’t she? “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come here. You…you should bring Lucy into Weaver. I will work with her there.” She didn’t officially have hospital privileges, but she had a few connections who could help arrange it, namely her stepsister-in-law, Dr. Rebecca Clay. And it didn’t matter where Belle and Lucy did the tutoring.

“I want you here. I’ve told you that.”

Belle pushed her fingers through her hair, raking it back from her face. “But, Cage. It just doesn’t make any sense. Yes, I know it’s a long drive to make every few days into town, but—”

His teeth flashed in a barely controlled grimace. “My daughter will have the best care there is. If that seems extravagant to you, I don’t care. Now, are we going to have this—” he barely hesitated “—discussion every time we turn around? Because I’d prefer to see something more productive out of your presence here. God knows I’m paying you enough.”

She sank her teeth into her tongue to keep from telling him what he could do with that particular compensation. Compensation they both knew was considerably less than she could have charged. “I’d like my time to be productive, too,” she said honestly. “I have no desire to spend unnecessary time under your roof.”

“Well, there’s something we agree on, then.”

Her fingers were curled so tightly against her palms that even her short nails were causing pain. “And here’s something else we’d better agree on.” She kept her voice low, in deference to Lucy sleeping downstairs. “Lucy doesn’t need the added stress of knowing you detest me, so maybe you could work on summoning a little…well, friendliness is probably asking too much. But if Lucy senses that you don’t trust me to do my best with her, then she’s not going to, either, no matter how well she and I got along when she was in my P.E. class.”

“I don’t need you telling me what my daughter needs. I’ve been her only parent since she was born.”

“And it’s amazing that she’s turned out as well as she has.” She winced at the unkind words. “I’m sorry. That was—”

“True enough.” He didn’t look particularly offended. “She is amazing.”

Belle nibbled the inside of her lip as thick silence settled over them. Should she have listened to her mother’s warning that she was getting in over her head? Not because of the skill she would require to work with Lucy—as her therapist as well as a tutor—but because of who Lucy was?

Probably.

She sighed a little and pressed her palms together. “Lucy is a great kid, Cage. And I really do want to help her.” That was the whole point of all this.

Mostly.

A muscle flexed in his jaw and his gaze slid sideways, as if he was trying to see the bedroom downstairs where his daughter slept. “If I believed you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

Which, apparently, was as much a concession as she was likely to get out of the man. For now, anyway. Fortunately, somewhere in her life she’d learned that a retreat didn’t always signify defeat.

“Well. I guess I’ll hit the sack.” She was twenty-seven years old, but she still felt her face heat at the words. As if the man didn’t know she’d be climbing into bed under his roof. She was such a head case. Better to focus on the job. The last time he’d come to her house—after she’d already refused Lucy’s case once—he’d admitted that he’d fired Annette Barrone because of her overactive hormones. Belle had assured him that he had no worries from her on that score.

As if.

“I went over and checked out the barn earlier,” she said evenly when neither one of them moved. “The setup is remarkable.” And another indication of his devotion to his daughter. Every piece of equipment that she could have wished for had been there, and then some. The hospital in town should only be so lucky. “I rearranged things a little. If that’s all right.”

Now, his hooded gaze slid back over her face. And she refused to acknowledge that the shiver creeping up her spine had anything to do with his intensely blue gaze.

“Use your judgment.”

She nodded. “Okay, then.” The door to her bedroom was within arm’s reach. Not at all at opposite ends of the hall from his. “Good night.” She wished he would turn into his own bedroom. But he just stood there. And feeling idiotic, she unplastered her back from the wall behind her and went through the door, quickly shutting it behind her.

A moment later, she heard the squeak of a floorboard, and the close of another door.

Relief sagged through her. After changing into her pajamas, she crossed to the bed and sat on it, dragging her leather backpack-style purse up beside her. She rummaged through it until she found her cell phone and quickly dialed.

A moment later, her sister, Nikki, answered with no ceremony. “So, are you there?”

Belle propped the pillow behind her and scooted back against it. The iron-frame bed squeaked softly, as if to remind her that it had survived years and years of use. It was a vaguely comforting sound. “Yes.” She kept her voice low. The house might be sturdy, but the walls were thin enough that she could hear the rush of the shower from the bathroom across the hall.

She stared hard at the log-cabin pattern of the quilt beneath her until the image that thought brought about faded. “The drive was hellacious in the rain.”

“Well, we’ve heard Squire say often enough that Cage Buchanan doesn’t like visitors, so there’s not a lot of need for him to make sure the road is easy.”

“I know.” Squire Clay was their stepfather, having married their mother several years earlier. She tugged at her ear. “Anyway, I know it’s late. You were probably already in bed.”

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have slept until I knew you hadn’t been beheaded at the guy’s front door.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Not bad to look at, maybe. I still can’t believe you took this job. What do you hope to prove, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Belle insisted. “It’s just a job to fill the summer until—” if “—I come back to the clinic.”

Nikki snorted softly. “Maybe. But I’m betting you think this is your last chance to prove to yourself that you’re not a failure.”

Belle winced. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nik.”

“Come on, Belle. What other reason would have finally made you agree to that man’s request?”

“That man has a name.”

Nikki’s sudden silence was telling. That was the problem with having a twin. But Belle was not going to get into some deep discussion over her motivation in taking on this particular job. “Speaking of the clinic,” she said deliberately. “How are things there?”

“Fine.”

Now it was Belle’s turn to remain silent.

“They still haven’t hired anyone to replace you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nikki finally said after a breathy huff.

“That’s something, at least.” And a bit of a minor miracle, given the number of patients the prestigious clinic handled. She still wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t because of the position her sister held as administrative assistant to the boss that Belle had been put on a leave of absence rather than being dismissed.

“And I know you’re wondering but won’t ask,” Nikki went on. “So I’ll just tell you. Scott’s only coming in once a week now.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt at the mention of him. A patient she hadn’t managed to completely rehabilitate. Briefly a fiancé she shouldn’t have completely trusted. “You’ve seen him?”

“Are you kidding? I hide out in my office. If I saw Scott Langtree in person, I’d be liable to kick him.” Nikki paused for a moment and when she spoke, her voice was acid. “She comes with him, now, apparently. Has most of the staff in a snit because she’s so arrogant. Not that I’m condoning what Scott did, but from what people around here are saying about his wife, it’s no wonder the man was on the prowl for someone else.”

Belle plucked at the point of a quilted star. “But you haven’t seen her?”

“Nope. And I consider that a good thing. I’d have something to say to her, too, and then I’d have my tail in a sling at work, just like you.”

Belle smiled faintly. Nikki was her champion and always had been. “Hardly like me. You’d never be stupid enough to fall for a guy who already had a wife.”

“And you wouldn’t have fallen for Scott, either, if he hadn’t lied about being married,” Nikki said after a moment. “Good grief, Belle. The man proposed to you and everything. It’s not your fault that he left out the rather significant detail that he wasn’t free to walk another aisle.”

“I caused a scandal there.”

“Scott created the scandal,” Nikki countered rapidly, “and it was half a year ago, yet you’re still punishing yourself.”

Belle wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Her relationship with Scott Langtree had caused a scandal. One large enough to create the urgent need for Belle to take a leave of absence until the furor died down. But it wasn’t even the scandal that weighed on Belle so much as the things Scott had told her in the end.

Things she didn’t want to dwell on. Things like being a failure on every front. Personal. Professional. Things that a secret part of her feared could be true.

“So,” she sat up a little straighter, determined. “Other than…that…how are things going at work? Did you get that raise you wanted?”

“Um. No. Not yet.”

“Did you ask for it?”

“No. But—”

“But nothing. Nik, you stand up for me all the time. You’ve got to stand up for yourself, too. Alex would be lost without you, and it’s high time he started realizing it. I swear, it would serve the man right if you quit.” But she knew Nikki wasn’t likely to do that. Alexander Reed ran the Huffington Sports Clinic, including its various locations around the country. He had degrees up the whazoo, and was a business marvel, according to Nikki.

Belle just found the man intimidating as all get-out, but had still worked her tail off to get a position there.

A position she was going back to, she assured herself inwardly.

“So, what’s he like? Cage, I mean. As ornery as everyone says?”

Belle accepted Nikki’s abrupt change of topic. Alex was too sensitive a subject for her sister to discuss for long. “He is not an ogre,” she recited softly.

Nikki laughed a little. “Keep telling yourself that, Annabelle.”

Belle smiled. “It’s late. Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Watch your back,” Nikki said, and hung up.

Belle thumbed off her phone and set it on the nightstand. She didn’t need to watch her back where Cage Buchanan was concerned. But that didn’t mean she would be foolish enough to let down her guard, either.

The bed squeaked again when she lay down and yanked the quilt up over her. Even though the day hadn’t been filled with much physical activity, she was exhausted. But as soon as her head hit the pillow, her eyes simply refused to shut, and she lay there long into the night, puzzling over the man who slept on the other side of the bedroom wall.

When he heard the soft creak of bedsprings for the hundredth time, Cage tossed aside the book he was reading and glared at the wall between the two bedrooms. Even sleeping, the woman was an irritant, and as soon as she was busy for the day, he was going to oil her bedsprings.

The last thing he needed night after night was to hear the sound of that woman’s slightest movement in the bed that was so old it had been ancient even when he’d used it as a kid.

He hadn’t noticed the squeaks before. Not with either therapist. Hattie McDonald with her militant aversion to smiles and her equally strong dislike for the remoteness of his ranch, nor Annette Barrone who’d made it clear she’d rather be sleeping in his room, anyway.

He climbed out of bed—fortunately a newer model than the one next door—and pulled on his jeans. He’d never been prone to sleeplessness until six months ago when he’d gotten the first letter from Lucy’s mother. A helluva way to kick off the New Year. She wanted to see her daughter, she’d claimed. A daughter she’d never even wanted to have in the first place. He’d put her off, not believing her threat that she’d enlist her parents if he didn’t comply. When he’d known Sandi, she’d wanted nothing to do with her parents beyond spending her tidy trust fund in any manner sure to earn their dismay.

Only she hadn’t been bluffing. And it was a lot harder to ignore the demand for access to Lucy when it came from Sandi’s parents. Particularly when it was backed up by their family attorneys.

Then came Lucy’s accident several weeks later and his insomnia had only gotten worse. In the past week, with Belle Day’s arrival pending, it was a rare night if he got more than an hour or two of sleep at a stretch. It was pretty damn frustrating.

He’d given up coffee, counted sheep and even drunk some god-awful tea that Emmy Johannson—one of the few people he tolerated in Weaver—had suggested. Nothing had worked.

And now he could add Belle Day’s bed-creaking presence to his nightly irritations.

Barefoot, he left his bedroom. He could no more not glare at her closed door than he could get a full night’s sleep these days.

He went downstairs, automatically stepping around the treads that had their own squeak, and looked in on Lucy. She’d kicked off her blankets again and he went inside, carefully smoothing them back in place. She sighed and turned on her side, tucking her hands together beneath her cheek in the same way she’d done since she was only months old.

There were times it seemed like twelve minutes hadn’t passed since then, much less twelve years. Yet here she was, on the eve of becoming a teenager.

That was the problem with baby girls.

They grew up and started thinking they weren’t their dad’s baby girl anymore.

He left her room, leaving the door ajar so he could hear if she cried out in her sleep. Since she’d been thrown off that damn horse he should have sent back to her grandparents the day it arrived, she’d been plagued in her sleep almost as much as Cage.

He didn’t need any light to guide him as he went through the house. The place was as familiar to him as his own face. Nearly the only thing that had changed since his childhood was the bed he’d just left behind and, if he’d had any foresight of the financial hit he would soon be taking with all manner of legal and medical costs, he wouldn’t have bought the thing last year at all.

He went out on the front porch where the air still carried the damp from the rain even though it had finally ceased. It was more than a little chilly, but he barely noticed as he sat down on the oversize rocking chair his mother had once loved.

If the room at the care center would have had space for it, he’d have moved it there for her years ago. There wasn’t much she hadn’t done sitting in the chair here on this very porch. She’d shelled peas, knitted sweaters and argued good-naturedly with Cage’s father when he and Cage came in after a long day.

But her room, while comfortable enough, wasn’t that spacious.

And the one time he’d brought her back to the Lazy-B, she hadn’t remembered the chair any more than she remembered him.

He leaned back, propping his feet on the rail, and stared out into the darkness. Strudel soon appeared beside him, apparently forgiving Cage for his banishment after dining on yet another pair of Cage’s boots. He scratched the dog’s head for a minute, then Strudel heaved a sigh and flopped down on the porch. In seconds, the rambunctious pup was snoring.

Lucky dog.

There were a lot of things Cage wished for in his life. But right then, the thing at the top of the list was sleep. He’d nearly achieved it when he heard a short, sharp scream.

Lucy.

He bolted out of the chair, leaving it rocking crazily behind him as he went inside. And he slammed right into the slender body hurtling around the staircase.

He caught Belle’s shoulders, keeping her from flying five feet backward from the impact. “Lucy—” Her voice was breathless. Probably because he’d knocked the wind clean out of her.

“She sometimes has nightmares since the accident.” He realized his fingers were still pressing into her taut flesh and abruptly let go. His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, picked up the pale oval of her face, the faint sheen of her skin. A lot of skin, it seemed. She was wearing loose shorts and some strappy little top that betrayed the fact she wasn’t skinny everywhere.

He deliberately stepped around her and went into Lucy’s room. But his daughter was already quiet again. Still sleeping, as if nothing had disturbed her at all.

He raked his fingers through his hair, pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. God, he was tired. Then he felt a light touch on his back and nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, pulling Lucy’s door nearly closed again. “What?”

His harsh whisper sent Belle backward almost as surely as their collision had.

“Sorry.” Her voice was hushed. “I thought…” He felt her shrug more than saw it. “Nothing.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He could smell her, rainwater fresh. The sooner she went back to bed, the better. He wasn’t interested in what she thought. Or how she smelled. Or why she couldn’t keep still for five minutes straight in that old bed. “You thought what?” he asked wearily. He wished the moon were shining a little less brightly through the picture window in the living room, because with each passing second, he could see her even more clearly. Definitely not all skinny.

She tugged up the narrow strap of her pajama top and hugged her arms to herself. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Fine. Then go to bed.”

She laughed—little more than a breath. “You sound like my dad used to.”

He knew it was an innocent enough comment, aimed at the order he’d automatically given. Knowing it, though, didn’t keep him from reacting. Before he could say something that might send her straight for the decrepit Jeep she’d arrived in—and away from any possibility of helping his daughter—he stepped around her and headed upstairs.

“Cage—”

He didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. She’d said the magic word, sure to remind him just who she was, and to what lengths he’d been driven for his daughter’s sake.

Dad.

“Just go to bed, Belle,” he said, without looking back.