Читать книгу How To Train A Cowboy - Caro Carson - Страница 10
ОглавлениеGraham had no idea what he was doing.
His plan had been set: he was checking out of the world, going to live in isolation on a cattle ranch, which sounded like going to live in Siberia. Good. He was battered and tired and ready to retreat from the human race. He’d be done with society and all the empty social niceties, officially, tomorrow.
And yet here he was, standing in the crisp, clean air with his arms around a woman who was warm and beautiful, young and full of the future. What the hell was he doing?
Starting tomorrow morning at sunrise, he’d report for duty, so to speak, at the James Hill Ranch. His uncle Gus was the foreman there, and had been for a long time. Word must have traveled through the family that Graham had left the Marine Corps, then left the corporate business world, and now left grad school. For thirty years, Uncle Gus had been a benignly neglectful bachelor uncle, but he must have decided it was time to pay attention to his nephew. The offer had come out of the blue.
Graham didn’t know anything about horses. The closest he ever got to cattle was seeing them out the car window as he drove the highways between military bases. That meant he was coming to his new job with no skills, so he’d only be good for the grunt work. He was going to get worked as hard as he’d ever worked in the Marine Corps, digging ditches and hauling sandbags like the lowest-ranking new recruit.
It had been a long time since he’d been the low man on the totem pole. Graham had left the service at the rank of captain. He’d been a company commander, personally responsible for the training and well-being of two hundred Marines, charged with leading them on every assigned mission, anywhere in the world they were sent.
No longer—and that was fine. Graham looked forward to the oblivion that hard labor would grant him. He’d be responsible for no one and nothing. He’d be bone tired every night; he’d sleep. He’d wake up the next day and do it all over again. He expected nothing more out of life.
So why was he standing here with one light and lovely Emily Davis in his arms?
Some of the crowd had started to go back inside. Graham watched as they hustled right back out again. The sound of men shouting and bottles shattering mixed with the hyped-up chatter of the outdoor crowd.
“It sounds like a war zone in there,” Emily said.
Not quite. But Graham had no desire to start dredging up memories from Afghanistan, so he said nothing.
“The poor Keller family. They bought this place just a few years ago. I went to high school with their son, Jason. Sounds like they aren’t going to have much furniture left.”
“So you’re a local?”
He could have bitten his tongue out. What was he doing? Making small talk? Trying to get to know her?
“Sometimes,” she said. “I was born in San Antonio, but I’ve got family around here. I grew up going between San Antonio and Austin, Austin to San Antonio. I never went beyond that little hundred-mile stretch until I started college in Oklahoma.”
He said nothing.
“I’m nearly done there. Nearly. Not soon enough.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. A college girl with her life ahead of her. His was so empty in comparison. He shouldn’t have his hands on her, not even in an innocent prom pose.
“How about you?” she asked quietly, and he could tell she’d turned her head to look at him.
He opened his eyes. “Just passing through.”
Glass shattered inside the bar.
“We may be here awhile.” She sighed and relaxed into Graham’s arms just as easily as if they were old friends who hung out together all the time. “Every time it sounds like it’s quieting down, it spins right back up again.”
The blue ruffles at her waist tickled the inside of his wrist.
Old friends. Sure.
The last time he’d held a woman in his arms for any length of time, he’d been in bed and they’d just shared some very satisfying sex. He didn’t mind falling asleep like this with a woman, spooning when they were still appreciative of each other’s bodies. He couldn’t remember the specific woman and the specific bed of the last time, though. Not at the moment, not with his arms full of Emily. It had been a long while, he knew that much.
He’d gone long stretches before, of course, due to deployments: a year in the Middle East, half a year on an aircraft carrier. He was a civilian now, no geography forcing him into celibacy, yet he’d had no interest in any of his fellow grad students while pushing through this past semester. Working for his uncle on a ranch far from civilization wasn’t going to require much of a sacrifice when it came to his social life. He didn’t have one, and he hadn’t cared.
Until now. The night before he was about to bury himself in the middle of nowhere, he was holding a woman who was making him remember things that were worth living for.
Maybe this was like quitting smoking. One planned for it, wanting it and dreading it at the same time, until finally, the night before officially quitting, one last cigarette, better than all the ones that had come before, was savored.
Emily Davis was his last cigarette.
He wasn’t going to sleep with her. Even if she’d have him, he would be all wrong for her. He wanted to make sure she got out of this bar safely and back to her bright life, and then he’d drive west two more counties and find the ranch where his uncle worked.
But in the meantime, whether he had minutes with her or hours, he’d savor this woman who was buoyant and charming—and unafraid to tell a man to go to hell—before he began his self-imposed exile.
There couldn’t be any harm in that.
* * *
Emily felt something change in the way Graham was holding her. It wasn’t a big difference, just an ease in his shoulders. His hand relaxed, fingers resting on her hip.
She could stay like this forever, but he’d said he was just passing through. The disappointment almost hurt.
You’re leaving for college in three days. Did you expect him to be waiting here for you when you came back on spring break?
She sighed, which only made her sink more cozily into his arms. How terrible, to be so fascinated by a man whom she might never see again.
Might never see again. It depended where he was going. It depended where he’d come from.
“You’re just passing through on your way to where?” she asked.
The roaring of motorcycle engines made an answer impossible. Five motorcycles or maybe more pulled in, from what Emily could see through the thin gaps between the wood planks of the fencing. The moment they killed their engines, the patio conversations resumed.
Not hers. She felt the tension return to Graham’s body. He let go of her, keeping only one hand on her waist, the position he’d taken just before they’d run from the bar fight.
“We should go,” he said.
“Bikers stop here all the time. They like to ride out here because there’s no traffic. It’s scenic in the daytime.” She hated to see him this tense again. She smiled, but she refrained from giving him another reassuring horse slap. “They aren’t as scary as they look. They’re just hanging out with their clubs. They’re sure going to be surprised when they open that door and walk in to that fight.”
Graham didn’t smile with her. “They’re not out for a Sunday ride. There’s a difference between a club and a gang. Whichever these men are, there are at least two different groups here tonight. Two different jackets.”
She looked around the patio crowd. Even Jason had come outside, abandoning his bar after calling the police, no doubt. None of the bikers had come outside. “You think this is a fight between gangs?”
“It’s no coincidence more bikers just showed up. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”
Graham had that aura of readiness about him again, the one that said danger was coming. He’d been right last time. She wasn’t inclined to question him now. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
“Is there anyone you came with that we need to get out?” Graham asked.
Just as she said no, there was another commotion at the doorway. Mike came barreling toward them, crashing into Foster, pushing him another foot closer to Emily.
“Where were you? Where the hell were you, Foster? Doug?” Mike was spitting out their names. His lip was bleeding. His eye was swelling shut. “You gotta get me out of here, now. They’re pulling out brass knuckles and chains. Knives, man, knives.”
“Is he a friend of yours?” Graham’s voice was back at her ear, level and patient, but his stance was ready to move, chomping at the bit to head for the fence.
“Not really. We go to the same college.” But Mike looked like hell, and she felt sorry for him, so she stepped just far enough away from Graham to tap Mike on the shoulder. “Hey. We’re leaving. Follow us.”
Then Graham’s hand was at the small of her back as they walked directly toward the section of the fence he’d already chosen. He escorted her as courteously as if she’d been dressed in high heels instead of cowboy boots. But since she was in boots, she made a little run at the fence when they were still a few feet away, wanting a bit of speed so she’d have the momentum to run halfway up and reach the top with two hands. To pull herself over, she had to walk herself up the planking, hoping for some traction between the leather of her soles and the grain of the wood. She felt one strong, warm hand on her backside, giving her that extra lift that made it easier to haul herself up and over. She dropped onto the dirt of the parking lot on the other side of the fence.
She tugged her dress back in place. More hands grabbed the top of the fence. Mike’s battered face appeared at the top, but he, too, was struggling to get over. One second later, he got almost too much of a boost to handle. He landed next to her, barely keeping on his feet. Foster came over next, same way. Doug.
The police arrived, red and blue lights shining on the planks of the fence as sirens screamed through the parking lot, passing them on their way around the building to the front of the bar. Emily shielded her eyes from the flashing and looked up to the top of the fence. When it was dark once more, Graham came sailing over the top, just one hand on the fence, clearing it cleanly, as if he’d flipped himself up and over a ten-foot fence a hundred times before.
You, Tarzan. For sure.
Mike grabbed Foster’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s go. I can’t get a police record. You know what my father would do.” Doug and Foster took off toward the parking lot with him, but Mike suddenly changed direction and stuck his hand out to Graham for a quick shake. “Thanks, man.”
Then Emily was alone with Graham in the dark. The planking of the fence was all that stood between her and the sounds of turmoil and outright violence on the other side. She stood next to Graham and felt safe.
“Where’s your car parked?” he asked.
Her heart fell a little. She didn’t want him to pack her off in her car, but what was the alternative while the police raided the bar? To hide here in the shadows of the red and blue lights and continue their little get-to-know-you chat?
“I’m parked around front.”
More motorcycles entered the parking lot. Another sheriff’s car pulled in right behind.
Graham’s hand on her waist came as no surprise. “Mine’s back here. I’ll drive you around the front.”
Ask me to go somewhere else with you to get a drink.
But he didn’t. His car was actually an SUV, new and expensive, an exotic European brand. He shadowed her all the way to the passenger door, shutting her into the leather-upholstered luxury before jogging around the front of the vehicle to reach his own door.
The upscale SUV meant two things to Emily. First, Graham had money, which she should have guessed. He was a man who knew what he was doing and how to handle the world around him. It made sense that he’d be on top of his financial world, too. Second, the sexiest man in her world really was just passing through. No one drove a vehicle like this in ranch country. She sat in her bucket seat, feeling a million miles away from him on the other side of the extra-wide console.
He started the engine. “What kind of car am I looking for?”
Ask me to go out for a bite to eat.
“I drive a pickup truck.” Not the most feminine thing to drive, but she did live in ranch country—or she would, when she finished her degree and her mother had no more leverage to wield over her choices.
Graham’s hands looked strong on the smooth leather of the steering wheel as he casually backed out of the parking spot. Emily would have hated to get a scratch on the paint, but he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his vehicle cost as much as some people’s houses.
“That doesn’t narrow it down much,” he said. “Three quarters of this parking lot are pickup trucks.”
“Mine’s red,” she said.
With a hitch to tow a horse trailer, because, unlike you, I am from around here.
She told him the make and model, an entry-level truck. She’d bought it from her brother-in-law, a bargain with only seventy thousand well-cared-for miles on it. She’d added another ten thousand miles, driving it to Oklahoma and back at the start and end of every semester, and from her mother’s house to her uncle’s ranch every chance she got—like this weekend. She’d come to spend her last weekend of the winter break back at her uncle’s ranch. She’d be mucking out stalls tomorrow morning. Voluntarily.
Emily flicked one of her ruffles into place. Yeah, her girly evening was rapidly coming to a close. Being taken care of by a man who was tough and strong had been sexy. Being taken care of by a man who was tough and strong and rich should have been even better, but instead, it only drove home that this was a fantasy with no hope of becoming anything else. He wasn’t from around here. He wasn’t staying around here, and he wanted to drop her off so he could get on his way.
At Graham’s soft curse, she looked up from her ruffles. The entire front parking lot was flooded by police cars and motorcycles. Her poor truck was one of an entire row stuck behind a fleet of sheriffs’ vehicles. Graham stopped the SUV. She wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
She glanced at Graham. His eyes were closed. He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand, disgust written all over his face.
Her heart had already been sinking. Now it hit bottom. The man did not want to be stuck with her all night long. It hurt, because she would have loved to spend more time with him.
Her pride rose to deal with the pain. He didn’t want to be stuck with her? Luckily for him, he wasn’t. She wasn’t helpless.
Say good-night, Jane.
“Well, thank you again for helping me get out of the bar. And for helping me get over the fence. Helping all of us get over the fence.” As long as she was relying on her own pride, she wanted to point out that the guys had needed boosts, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” she said, imitating his earlier words. She didn’t want to hear the man apologize for not wanting her company. She slipped her fingertips into the top of her left boot and under the edge of her calf-high sock, where she’d stashed the key to her truck. “You travel safely to wherever you’re going. I’m... I’m glad I got to meet you. Thanks again.” She opened the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Good night, Graham.”
“You can’t leave.”
As if she’d stay now, when he’d wanted nothing more than to put her in her truck so that he could get on to wherever he was going. She slipped off the high seat to land on the ground outside, nice and solid on her own two feet, her smile plastered in place as if her disappointment wasn’t choking her. As she closed her door, she caught a glimpse as Graham threw his gear shift into park and opened his door. He was fast; she’d taken only a step in the direction of her red truck before he rounded the hood of the SUV.
“Get back in the truck.”
She almost, almost obeyed that tone of voice, reaching for the door handle before she snatched her hand back. “Did you just give me an order?”
“You can’t stand out here.” He wasn’t looking at her, but over her, that sharp gaze on the police scene behind her.
“I’m not going to stand anywhere. I’ll sit in my truck until the police leave. My phone’s in there. My jacket’s in there. I won’t freeze.”
“It isn’t safe.”
“I’ll be just fine as can be. No one is going to bother me with this many cops around.”
He yanked the door open. “Your truck isn’t bulletproof. Let’s go.”
“Bulletproof?”
Wow, the poor man really was too much on alert—but then Emily heard the hoarse voice of a cop from behind her, sounding like something from a movie: “Let me see your hands!”
She whipped around to see cops running from the bar back to their cruisers, opening their doors and crouching behind them as they drew their guns.
“Put your gun on the ground!” ordered the hoarse cop, who was still standing, his weapon drawn and aimed at the front door of the bar.
Two hands on her waist yanked her back toward the SUV. Graham practically tossed her into the cab headfirst, then she felt his hand squarely on her rear end, shoving her farther into the cab. “Go. Get behind the wheel.”
She scrambled over the center console as Graham crowded her, climbing in behind her. She was still twisting around to get her butt in the seat when he slammed the gear shift down to the number one and pointed toward the field beyond the parking lot. “That way.”
The SUV started rolling forward in first gear. The driver’s seat was set for him, too far back for her to reach the pedals well, so she had to sit on the edge and hang on to the steering wheel to reach the brake. In the passenger seat, Graham ducked his chin to look into the side view mirror, then he turned around to look through the center seats and out the back window.
She’d just gotten her foot on the brake when she heard the unmistakable sound of a police megaphone. “Come out with your hands up.”
“Jeez,” she said, and switched to the gas pedal, steering with one hand as she used her other to feel around for the seat controls. The only way out of the parking lot, thanks to the patrol car barricade, was to drive cross-country through the scrub brush. “Your paint job is going to take a beating.”
“It’ll be just fine as can be.”
Wait—that was something she’d said. Was he being a smart aleck? She didn’t have time to decide; she was adjusting the driver’s seat with one hand as she steered toward the edge of the parking lot with the other, all while glancing from the view out the windshield down to the unusual drivetrain indicator. “How do you put it in four-wheel drive?”
“You don’t need to. It’ll adjust to the terrain.”
“Okay. Hang on.”
He braced one hand against the roof as they left the parking lot for the fields. They were bounced out of their seats a time or two, but she could feel the vehicle’s drivetrain adjusting, each wheel gripping individually when it got traction as she drove over hardened grooves in the earth, the muddy remains of a creek bed and the sandy soil beyond. She slowed once they’d gone the distance of a football field or so, but Graham gestured for her to keep moving while he kept watch out the back window.
“Take us all the way out to the highway.”
She hesitated.
“Bullets fly more than a hundred yards,” he said.
“If I remember rightly, we’re going toward a creek that probably isn’t dry.”
“It’ll wash the dirt off the paint job.”
Definitely a smart aleck.
“You might want to fasten your seat belt, then.” She let the SUV roll forward as she pulled her seat belt across her chest and buckled it. “You’re going to find out how good your suspension is the hard way.”
He looked at her instead of the parking lot scene for a moment, one of his infrequent smiles touching one corner of his mouth. “She’s more than a pretty paint job. She was built for this.”
“So I’ve heard.” The manufacturer was legendary for getting its start building safari vehicles. Emily put her boot on the gas again, pushing their speed a little more. “If I didn’t feel like I was running for my life, I’d be enjoying this.”
Graham turned around to face front and pulled his seat belt across his chest, too, as she drove on in silence. She couldn’t say he relaxed, but he wasn’t keeping a constant lookout behind them any longer. That had to be a good sign. Her knowledge of bullets was limited to her uncle’s rifles on the ranch. She didn’t know how far a police handgun could fire—and no one knew if the fighters in the club were armed, or with what. But if Graham was less concerned now, then so was she.
Foolish little Jane, putting all your trust in this man who just swooped in out of nowhere.
But gosh, he’d done just that. She was so very aware of him, of the size of him, the energy of his body in the close interior. Aware of the smell of his warm skin dominating the vehicle’s cool leather. Of the strength in his arm braced against the ceiling, the same arm he’d braced against the iron-edged bar to protect her when the only thing they’d known about each other had been their names.
She knew more about him now: how he reacted in an emergency, how he helped strangers without a second thought. How he’d tried not to be too handsy at a school dance, once upon a time, because he’d listened to his mama’s advice, like a young man should.
She liked everything she knew—except for one thing. He was only with her because the police had given him no choice.
If it weren’t for that, she’d really be enjoying this.
