Читать книгу The Mcclintock Proposal - Carol Ericson - Страница 10

Callie’s attacker landed on top of her as they both crashed to the ground. The fall sucked the air out of her lungs and she gasped for breath. Inhaling grit from the sidewalk, she bucked and squirmed beneath the man to throw him off. She twisted onto her back and swiped at the man’s face, drawing blood.

She recognized him as one of Bobby’s associates, Clyde.

He cursed and rose to his knees, straddling her body. “You’re going back to Bobby, and I’m going to deliver you.”

Like some terrible, avenging superhero, Rod appeared, looming behind Clyde. Rod hitched an arm around Clyde’s neck and yanked him back. His weight shifted to Callie’s thighs and she reached over her head to grab a pole, trying to pull her legs free.

Clyde’s face above Rod’s corded forearm reddened as he choked and sputtered. After a minute of clawing at Rod’s unyielding arm, Clyde slumped to the side, slack-jawed.

Callie slid her legs from beneath his inert body. As she staggered to her feet, the driver of the Cadillac hooked an arm around her waist. He dragged her toward the open door of the car, lifting her off her feet. She drummed her heels against his shins and dug her fingernails into his arm.

Rod delivered a final blow to the prostrate lump on the ground and then charged the man holding Callie. He slammed his fist into the man’s face, which spurted blood.

“Damn you, stay out of this.” Her abductor released her and barreled into Rod, who welcomed his advance with a kick to the midsection.

As the driver doubled over, Rod grabbed Callie’s hand and they sprinted to his truck. Ever the gentleman, even in a time of crisis, Rod opened her door and lifted her onto the seat. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.

He pulled away from the curb, and a sharp crack propelled Callie about two feet off the seat. “What the hell was that?”

“Your scorned groom took a shot at us.”

“That’s not my groom. He sent his cohorts to do his dirty work.” Clutching her belly, she peered into the side mirror. “Are they following us?”

“Not yet, but let’s make it hard for them.” Rod skidded around the corner, and then another, before careening down an alleyway. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

She grabbed his arm. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not? Two men tried to kidnap you. Even ditching a wedding doesn’t justify that.”

“It’s not that simple, Rod.” She covered her face with her hands, massaging her temples with her fingertips. He had to know she’d given him only the barest of details. The way he’d studied her with his guarded green eyes told her that much. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Peeking at his bulging bicep through her fingers, she decided she’d chosen the wrong analogy.

Rod slammed on the brakes, and she lurched forward, straining against her seat belt.

“What are you doing?” She glanced at his profile, as rock-hard as his bicep, as he clenched the steering wheel with hands still bloody from the fight.

“You tell me what’s not so simple, Callie. I want to know everything. Right now.”

Licking her lips, she craned her neck around to look out the back window. “I’ll explain everything, but can we get out of Truth or Consequences first?”

He peeled away from the curb and headed for the on-ramp for I-25…south. She swallowed. “Y-you’re not taking me back, are you?”

He snorted. “Why would I want to deliver you into the hands of your irate groom and deprive myself the pleasure of strangling you myself?”

He jabbed a button on the console and classical music filled the truck as he dragged in a deep breath.

“You’re kidding…aren’t you?”

He snorted again, but he’d loosened his grip on the steering wheel and the harsh lines at the sides of his mouth disappeared.

The desert landscape whizzed by, and the cacti hunched like little alien creatures with their arms raised to the sky, begging to return home. She could relate—not that L.A. held any charm for her anymore, except for her foster child Jesse, but she wanted to get back to her makeshift studio. She had the perfect subject for her next sculpture. Her gaze slid to the silent man beside her, his thumbs tapping in time to the music from the CD.

Could she tell Rod everything? When she had his face beneath her hands, she knew he’d accept nothing less than the truth. When he’d rescued her from those three morons on the side of the road, she knew a woman could depend on him. And yet… The man had his own demons to slay. Years of photographing and sculpting faces had taught her a thing or two about reading people.

Yeah, like you did such a good job reading Bobby Jingo.

She’d been watching the highway since they left Truth or Consequences. When a pair of headlights came up behind, Rod would slow down until the car passed them. No white Cadillac so far. Had Bobby’s men continued north? She shivered and clutched her bare arms.

“Are you cold?” Rod turned down the music and flipped off the air conditioning.

“No.” If Bobby had tracked her down, what had he done to her father? She gripped her hands in her lap. She’d better find out. “Can I borrow your cell phone to call my father?”

“If your father was at the wedding, do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Even if Bobby’s monitoring Dad’s calls, what’s he going to do with your cell phone number?”

“Harass me.”

She held out her hand. “You’re a big boy. You just single-handedly disposed of two of Bobby’s goons. What’s a little harassment?”

Rod plucked his phone out of his shirt pocket and dropped it into her open palm. “Be careful. Don’t tell him anything.”

Nodding, she punched in her father’s cell phone number. Dad picked up after the first ring.

“Dad, it’s me.”

He coughed. “What are you up to, Slim?”

He’d never called her Slim before. Didn’t much bother with nicknames. “Is Bobby there?”

“Yep. I bet on that pony once. Why’d you bet on him? Why’d you do it?”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I—I overheard a conversation.” She sent a sidelong glance toward Rod. “After that, I couldn’t go through with it.”

“That pony put me in a tight spot.”

She clenched her jaw. “Are you okay? Has he hurt you?”

“Not yet. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t. What are you going to do now?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

Her father grunted, and then Bobby’s rough voice assaulted her over the line. “Where are you, bitch? I guess you found out that dear old Dad didn’t screw me over in a business deal. What else did you discover? My men told me you’re with some cowboy who rushed you off in his truck.”

“Did they also tell you that cowboy kicked their asses before we rushed off in his truck?”

Rod jerked his head around. “Is that him?”

Bobby cursed. “Nobody can protect you and nobody can protect your father. He owes me over a hundred grand for a gambling debt, and he’s going to pay. Then you’re going to—”

Rod snatched the phone from her hand. “Listen, you sonofabitch, the next time you send a couple of jokers after Callie, I’ll send them back to you with more than a few cuts and bruises. I’ll send them back to you in matching body bags.”

He snapped the phone shut and tossed it into the cup holder. Callie laughed. She grabbed the phone, powered down her window, and tossed it out.

Rod jerked his head around. “Why’d you do that?”

“Bobby might be able to trace your phone and track us down.” She brushed her hands together as if ridding herself of a pesky bug.

In the few months she’d known Bobby Jingo, she never heard anyone talk to him like that before. It gave her confidence that she could handle the man. Rod gave her confidence.

“Is your father okay?”

“For now. Where are we going?”

“Here.” He took the next exit toward Hillsboro. “Hillsboro is a ghost town, an old mining town.”

“You’re taking me to a ghost town?” Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She didn’t need any more scares tonight.

“Only one part of it is ghostly. People still live in Hillsboro. There are even a few art galleries.”

Leaning over, she peered at the digital clock on the dashboard. “I’ll bet you there’s nobody awake in Hillsboro at eight-thirty on a Saturday night. Except the ghosts.”

“We’re not going there to kick up our heels.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they tooled along Main Street. A few shops had their lights on, and Callie didn’t see one ghost.

Rod pulled up next to a church. They got out of the truck, walked up to the church and stood on the bottom step. “We can see every car that comes into town from here.”

“And if one of them is a white Caddy?”

“Bring it.” He patted the black fanny pack he’d buckled around his hips when he got out of the truck.

She raised her brows and smirked. “You’re going to beat them back with the contents of a fanny pack?”

“This is a gun bag, not a fanny pack, and the contents include one Smith&Wesson pistol.”

“Oh.” She gulped. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about those body bags. “Where’d you get that?”

“Beneath the seat of my truck.”

Good thing she didn’t see that when he first picked her up, or she’d have jumped out of the truck on the interstate. Now that cold metal made her feel warm and fuzzy.

He grabbed her hand and led her to the top step. “Do you want to go inside?”

“Are guns allowed in churches?”

“Ever hear ‘Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition’?”

She giggled, and it released a little knot in her chest. She could do this. She could trust Rod.

“I think I’d rather keep an eye on the road.” She sank to the church step, the skirt of the wedding dress billowing around her.

Right location. Right dress. Wrong occasion.

Rod perched next to her, his thigh brushing her leg. Her eyelids fluttered at the sweet sensation.

She couldn’t believe her good fortune when this hunk of cowboy strode out of his truck to rescue her. At least one bit of luck had scrabbled through the misery of her wedding day and the past six months of her life.

“Okay, start from the beginning. Come clean, so I know what I’m dealing with when I drive you into Albuquerque and see you on that train to L.A.”

“Bus.”

“Train. Circumstances have changed.”

She crossed her legs at the ankles and tapped her feet together. How could she start from the beginning? They’d be here until mass the next morning.

It all started with her lunatic grandfather and his draconian conditions of inheritance. But she had to start somewhere.

“I agreed to marry a loan shark, Bobby Jingo, to pay off my father’s debts.”

Rod twitched, his thigh banging against hers. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. But at the time, I didn’t realize Bobby was a loan shark.” Or a wannabe drug dealer, the worst of the worst, but she kept that deal breaker to herself. “My father told me he had promised some money to Bobby in a business deal, and thanks to my father’s mismanagement, the deal fell through and Bobby lost a lot of money because of it.”

“That shows an amazing degree of familial loyalty.” His rough hand cupped her face, and he turned it toward him so he could look into her eyes. She blinked, but met his gaze steadily. “Why would you do something like that?”

“I wanted to help out my father and maybe help myself a little, too. A few months before my father’s phone call, a fire damaged my studio in L.A. I lost all my art in that fire, and my home.”

Callie bit her lip. She also lost her opportunity to adopt Jesse, a foster child she’d met while giving art lessons.

He squeezed her shoulder. “Isn’t there another way you can raise the money? Get a loan from a bank? Sell a car? Take equity out of a property?”

She shook her head, drawing her knees to her chest. “Neither of us has any collateral or property…yet. I just couldn’t think of another way to help him.”

Rod grunted. “Maybe he doesn’t deserve your help. What kind of father allows his daughter to marry a scumbag to save his hide?”

“A bad one.” She lifted her shoulders. Even though she’d given up on a father-knows-best type of dad, it didn’t mean she could stand by and watch someone break his kneecaps—or worse. “Dad’s not all bad. It was my idea. He did try to talk me out of it.”

“Bull. He misrepresented the situation to you to rope you in. How much money are we talking about?”

“One hundred and thirty thousand, give or take a few grand.”

Rod whistled. “That’s some gambling habit. No wonder you can’t sell a car to pay back the money, unless you have a Ferrari.”

“Dad bets on the ponies, sports, loves Vegas. You name it, he’ll take odds. I should’ve known his debt involved gambling and not business.”

“Ah, I don’t mean to be insulting.” Rod cleared his throat. “But is this thug really willing to accept a reluctant bride in exchange for a hundred and thirty grand?”

“This is where it gets good.” She wrapped her arms around her legs and balanced her chin on her knees.

“It hasn’t been good yet?”

“Once I marry, I will have the money.”

Rod buried his fingers in his thick, sandy-blond hair. “Now I’m confused. Why will you have money when you marry Bobby Jingo?”

“I didn’t say I had to marry Bobby Jingo, just marry. My grandfather had some crazy ideas. He always wanted a big family, and he built a sprawling house on his ranch in Wyoming to accommodate it. Unfortunately, he and my grandmother had only one child, my father. Then my father turned out to be irresponsible and immature. He married several times, but he had only one child with his second wife—me. At least, I think Mom held the honored position of wife number two.”

“How many times has your father been married?”

Rod’s eyes looked a little glazed over, but he was obviously following the story without too much difficulty.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her arms breezily. “Four or five times.”

“So this lack of familial dedication to the old homestead gave your grandfather his crazy ideas?”

“You could say that. Before he died, he drew up a will stating that his sole grandchild, me, would inherit the ranch only when I married.”

“And Bobby Jingo obviously knew about this will.”

“My father told him.”

“Great guy, your father.”

“We’ve already covered that aspect of this story, but Dad didn’t believe I’d actually offer myself to Bobby. When he first called me, he was kind of hoping I already had someone in mind.”

“At the last minute you couldn’t go through with it, even to save your father?”

“I wanted to. I really did. I figured, once I married Bobby and sold the ranch, I could go back to L.A. But then I overheard him talking to someone and discovered he wasn’t the injured party in the business deal, or not exactly.” A tremble snaked its way up her spine, a sob escaping her lips.

Wrapping an arm around her, Rod drew her close. Her head dropped to his solid shoulder, and he smoothed her hair from her cheek. The warmth from his body soaked through the satin of her dress, and her fears evaporated.

She didn’t want the moment to end. She didn’t want to tell Rod everything she overheard that convinced her she couldn’t marry Bobby. She wanted to push the ugly truth into the background.

If she’d gone ahead with the marriage, she would’ve jeopardized her adoption of Jesse. She’d figured a marriage would improve her chances at adoption, but not a marriage to someone like Bobby Jingo.

The curve of Rod’s arm represented a safety and contentment she hadn’t experienced since her grandparents were alive. She hadn’t seen much of them growing up, because her mother didn’t like her in-laws, but they always hovered in the background of her life. They never forgot her birthdays, they paid for her braces and health insurance, and they socked away money in a college account for her. She didn’t get to thank them, since they were both dead by the time she started college.

Sighing, she burrowed deeper into the crook of Rod’s arm.

“You seriously considered giving up your grandfather’s ranch to a lowlife like Bobby Jingo?”

“It’s not mine to give up.” But Rod had a point. Grandfather Ennis had hated scum like Bobby, and Dad seemed to surround himself with those kinds of people.

“If you got married to someone decent, it would be yours. You’d be fulfilling your grandfather’s wishes, keeping the ranch in the family.”

Decent… She lifted her head from his shoulder and rubbed her eyes, an idea niggling at the edges of her brain.

“What happens to the ranch if you don’t get married?”

She pushed up from the church steps. “What?”

His brow furrowed. “What happens to the ranch if you don’t get married?”

“I—I don’t know.” She began pacing on the wooden porch, avoiding stepping on the nails with her bare feet. “It goes to an associate or something.”

She glanced at Rod, his long legs stretched in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. It just might work. She could make it work. An arrangement with an honorable man would save her father, save her grandfather’s ranch and save Jesse. She had to get that ranch.

Time to take action.

Standing up, Rod asked, “What’s wrong with you?” He wedged his shoulder against a wood post and regarded her with his head tilted to one side, a lock of russet-gold hair falling over his eye.

He looked so damned sexy, it sealed the deal. Callie straightened her spine and stood on tiptoes in front of him. “I have an idea. It might sound crazy, but I think it’ll work.”

Rod narrowed his green eyes and his jaw tightened. Callie faltered, falling back on her heels. He didn’t look so comforting right now, although the sex appeal rose as high as the church steeple above them.

“What kind of idea?”

Callie dragged in a deep breath and closed her eyes as she expelled it slowly. “Let’s get married.”