Читать книгу The Mcclintock Proposal - Carol Ericson - Страница 9

The crystal beads bounced on the hardwood floor and scattered in all directions. Callie Price hung over the windowsill, her legs, tangled in silk organza, dangling toward the ground. She bicycled her legs, the toes of her white satin pumps grappling for purchase on terra firma.

She tumbled into the flowerbed, the train of her dress burying her beneath layers of white froth. Scrambling to her feet, she jumped out of the flowers, leaving one of the pumps in the moist dirt.

For a scumbag, Bobby Jingo sure liked his flowers.

She slipped off the other shoe and tossed it at its mate. She never could run in heels.

The damp grass squished beneath her feet as she backed away from the window. Then she spun around and took the corner of the house at high speed. She collided with a teenage boy, knocking the cigarette from his lips and a can of beer from his hand.

“Whoa!” He held up his empty hands, his eyes widening as his gaze swept from her veil to her bedraggled train. “Aren’t you the bride?”

Callie glanced at the red vest and pert bow tie, incongruous over a pair of black jeans and motorcycle boots. Her eyes flicked to the can on the ground, spewing foam. “Aren’t you one of the valet parking attendants?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, the boy squared his shoulders. “C’mon, I had two sips, and I need to get paid for this gig tonight. I owe my friend some money.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Huh?”

“Tell you what.” Callie yanked off the veil and dropped it on top of the smoldering cigarette, then kicked it toward the beer. Starting a fire wouldn’t be a great idea right now. “You get me some transportation out of here, and I won’t tell anyone you’ve been drinking on the job.”

The teen gulped, his Adam’s apple prominent in his pencil-thin neck. “Are you kidding?”

She pointed to her feet encased in shimmering hose and the dirt-smudged train. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. “Are you running out on the wedding?”

Real genius, this one, but he just might be her savior. “Yeah, I’ve got pressing business elsewhere.”

“Sweet.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the back of the house. Pointing to a beat-up motorcycle leaning precariously on its kickstand, he said, “Take it.”

“Is—is it yours?” The boy sure seemed eager to part with his bike, or maybe he wanted in on the adventure.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key. As it dangled from his finger, it caught the light and winked at her. No time to analyze his motives, she knew.

She snatched the key from his hand, lifted up her skirt and rushed toward the bike. She called over her shoulder, “How do I get it back to you?”

He waved an arm. “Leave it on the side of the highway or something. It has a full tank—almost.”

Reaching beneath her dress, she peeled off the silk pantyhose and hung them on a cactus. She shoved the key into the ignition and turned back toward the teenager, his mouth hanging open as he wrestled another cigarette out of a pack. “One more thing.”

“Do you want me to show you how to start the bike up and keep it going?”

“I know how to ride a motorcycle.” She tugged at the train hanging from her backside. “Could you rip this damn thing off my dress?”

FIVE MINUTES LATER, shoeless, veilless and trainless, Callie roared north on I-25 away from Las Cruces.

Once she got back to L.A. she’d figure out another way to save her father. She just hoped she could come up with something before Bobby hurt Dad.

Who was she kidding? After the stunt she just pulled, Bobby might hurt her, too.

ROD MCCLINTOCK WORRIED THE toothpick at the side of his mouth as his gaze drilled the highway, shrouded in purple dusk. The horses he looked at in Austin would be a good start for the dude ranch, but he hated incurring so much debt.

He needed an infusion of money, land or a fairy godmother. Or maybe all three.

Through a layer of dust, a shimmering white shape appeared on the side of the highway. Either his fairy godmother just appeared or he could use a drink.

Easing off the gas pedal, he swerved to the left and peered out the passenger window. An old Honda bike tilted on its kickstand, and a woman in a long white dress stood beside it, waving her arms over her head.

A couple of cars had already sped past her, and a few cars behind him slowed down to take in the spectacle. He’d let one of those drivers take care of the stranded motorist. He didn’t need any more problems in his life.

He watched his rearview mirror as a black SUV pulled behind the woman and the motorcycle. Three men tumbled out of the car, clutching bottles. Rod made for the shoulder of the highway and threw his truck into Reverse.

By the time he jumped out of his truck, the three men had formed a circle around the woman, the white wedding dress swirling around her legs. Her long, blond hair whipped in the hot wind from the speeding cars on the highway.

“Hey, baby, did your groom ditch you by the side of the road or something?”

The woman tilted up her chin, digging her fists into her hips. She looked ready to make a run at the guy.

“Take a hike.” Rod stepped between the man and the stranded woman, jerking his thumb toward the idling SUV.

“Are you the groom?” The moron twisted his head over his shoulder and snorted at his two buddies.

Rod grabbed a handful of the man’s sweat-dampened T-shirt and yanked him forward. The man’s head snapped back around, his mouth slack with a dribble of beer at the corner.

“Get moving.” Rod bunched his fist and drew it back to emphasize his point.

The man pedaled backward, bumping into his two friends, already scrambling for the security of the car. “Sure, man. We’re not looking for trouble.”

Only with a little blonde in a wedding dress and…bare feet.

The men piled into the SUV and shot down the highway.

Holding up his index finger, Rod pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to 911, giving them the license plate of the SUV. He snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into his shirt pocket. “Don’t want those guys plowing into a carload of kids.”

She gathered her billowing hair in one hand and twisted it behind her. “Who are you, Sir Galahad?”

“You’re welcome.”

A pink blush washed over her cheeks beneath the grit and grime. “Thanks. I appreciate your help. I was so happy someone pulled over—until I saw The Three Stooges climb out of the car.”

“You’re in a dangerous situation.” His gaze narrowed. “What is your situation?”

“I ran out of gas.” She aimed a dirty, pink-polished toe at the tire of the Honda 550, but stopped short of kicking it.

Running out of gas didn’t tell half the story of a barefoot, bedraggled bride in the middle of New Mexico. He tapped the phone in his pocket. “Do you want me to call a roadside service to bring you some gas?”

The woman laced her hands in front of her and dropped her chin, glancing up at him through lowered lashes.

A practiced look, if he ever saw one.

“Not really. I was kind of hoping for a lift. It’s been a hell of a ride in this wedding gown.”

“What about the bike?”

She shrugged, the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder. “It’s not mine.”

Rod crossed his arms and dug his boot heels into the gravel. If she stole the motorcycle, he’d turn her in, too, with those jackasses in the car.

She peered at him through the veil of hair that hung over her face, and then jerked her head up. “I didn’t steal the bike. Someone loaned it to me.”

He cocked his head. This one looked like a package of trouble tied up with a white bow; but curiosity nibbled at his gut. He hoped to hell that curiosity wouldn’t land him in the same condition as the cat.

“How are you going to return the bike to your…friend?”

“He told me to leave it on the side of the road when I ran out of gas, and he’d get it back.” She nibbled at her bottom lip and crinkled her brow, as if the logic of this plan escaped even a barefoot woman standing in the middle of the highway in a dirty wedding dress.

His gaze tracked over the motorcycle—no saddlebags, no pouch, no nothing. “Do you have a purse with you? Money? Change of clothing?”

She threw her head back and laughed at the darkening sky. Then she doubled over, her shoulders shaking as she clutched her stomach. Was she having a breakdown?

Rod stepped toward her, his boots crunching the gravel, and her head shot up. Tears streamed down her face, and she swept them away, creating streaks of dirt on her cheeks. But she was still laughing.

“Do I look like I have anything? Just a few bucks and my driver’s license.” She patted the side of her breast, encased in the tight bodice of the wedding dress. “Wouldn’t want to get a ticket for driving without a license.”

A carload of teenagers screamed and yelled out their car window, and the woman rubbed a hand across her nose. “Can we get off of this godforsaken highway now?”

“After you.” In a grand gesture, he swept his arm toward his truck. “Where are you headed?”

Taking a few tentative steps on the chunky gravel, she called over her shoulder, “North is good.”

Rod resisted the urge to sweep her off her feet, which must be hurting. Better to let her tough it out than suspect him of improper designs on her. Although accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem to bother her.

Reaching the truck, she grabbed the door handle before he could, and pulled herself onto the running board. Nudging her hand out of the way, he opened the door for her. She launched herself inside, dropping onto the leather interior of his truck with a rustle of silk and a soft sigh.

By the time he slid into the driver’s seat, the woman had adjusted the seat back as far as it would go, stretched her legs out and closed her eyes.

He studied her face in the creeping gloom, the headlights of the passing cars illuminating its planes and curves. She’d obviously ditched a wedding and, judging by her dress, it was her own. But why the full-scale flight in complete bridal regalia? She couldn’t stop to change clothes, grab a credit card, get her own car? The whole thing smelled worse than a truckload of manure.

She opened one eye. “Are you going to put this behemoth in gear and get moving?”

For a woman in her position, she didn’t show much gratitude. He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Rod.”

She placed her delicately boned hand in his and, with the grip of a truck driver, she said, “Callie.”

He extracted his fingers from hers and cranked on the engine, Bach immediately cascading from the speakers. She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and he jabbed the button to turn off the CD player.

Blowing out a breath, he pulled onto the highway. “So, how’d a nice girl like you wind up on the roadside in a wedding dress?”

“Who said I was nice?” She clicked open his glove compartment and rummaged inside with one hand.

“Looking for something?”

“Food. I’m starving. Didn’t stick around long enough for the canapés at the reception.”

Despite being an intruder, she’d made herself right at home in his truck. “There’s a bag in the backseat with some granola bars and beef jerky, and a cooler with some bottled water.”

“Even that sounds good to me right now.” She unsnapped her seat belt and twisted in her seat to paw through the paper bag on the floor of the truck.

Rod shot her a sidelong glance as she ripped into a piece of jerky with straight, white teeth. If he had any sense, he’d turn around and deliver her back to the bridegroom. Poor sap. What kind of woman leaves her man stranded at the altar?

She chugged the water and then rested the bottle against her cheek, staring at the highway as his truck gobbled it up. Her pretty blue eyes, shadowed by the dark interior of his car, had a haunted look. Her porcelain skin stretched too tightly over her high cheekbones, and her full lips pursed into a tight knot.

Okay, maybe she didn’t dump a poor sap. Rod always jumped to the most unsavory conclusions about women and their motives—a legacy from mommy dearest.

He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry? Because I’ve been driving all afternoon, up from Austin, and I could use a meal.”

Callie flashed him a smile, and his heart almost came to a crashing halt in his chest. The woman could crack wise with the best of them, but that smile didn’t contain an ounce of artifice or bitterness.

“That would be great. And once we get to the next town, maybe you could loan me some money so I can hop on a bus, or at least loan me your cell phone to call a friend back home to wire me some money or something.”

“Back home? You’re not from around here?”

“L.A.”

His brows shot up. “What’s an L.A. girl doing in New Mexico?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She tugged at the sides of the wedding gown, ripping off a little more lace.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and flexed his fingers. “You came out from L.A. to New Mexico…Arizona…Texas to get married, decided you couldn’t go through with it, hightailed it out of your own wedding and hopped on a motorcycle to escape. Is that about right?”

She flashed him two thumbs up. “You got it.”

“So, are you heading back to L.A. now?”

“Uh-huh.”

He didn’t believe half of that story, but once he dropped her at the next bus stop, her story wouldn’t matter anymore. Then he could get back to his own problems of raising enough money to turn his working ranch into a dude ranch.

Since his father and stepmother moved to Palm Springs, taking most of the capital out of the ranch for their retirement, he’d have to rely on loans to get his dude ranch up and running. He hated being indebted to anyone, even a bank.

The McClintock spread had enough space for a modest dude ranch, but he needed more land to really make a go of it…. Not that he could afford to buy more land. Or more horses.

He rolled his shoulders and glanced at his silent companion. It didn’t look like she had any intention of satisfying his curiosity, but at least she had a plan. He didn’t want her depending on him to come to the rescue.

“Truth or Consequences.”

“Huh?” She swiveled her head around and held up her hands. “I’m not up for playing any games.”

He chuckled and pointed to the illuminated sign looming ahead. “That’s the name of the next town. Ever been there?”

“No. How’d it get a name like that?”

“Has something to do with the game show. It used to be called Hot Springs.”

“What a relief. I thought the name might be a requirement for entry into the town.”

Rod curved around the off ramp to Truth or Consequences, gripping the steering wheel. Callie definitely had something to hide. He didn’t find it surprising that a woman had secrets. He never met a woman who didn’t, but he couldn’t figure out why he was so hell-bent on discovering hers.

He pulled into the parking lot of a casual restaurant on the main drag. “I’d offer you some other clothes, but all I have is a sweatshirt. Do you think you’d look more, or less conspicuous with a sweatshirt pulled over that dress?”

Callie pulled down the visor and flipped up the mirror to check her reflection, the first time she did so since climbing into his truck. Pretty women usually worried more about their appearance. Of course, she had other issues on her mind.

Wrinkling her nose, she plucked some tissues from the box in his console. She dabbed at the few smudges left on her face and ran her hands through her tangled hair.

“Sitting at a table, nobody will even notice the bridal attire. I’ll take the sweatshirt.”

Rod reached into the backseat and dropped his gray sweatshirt into her lap. She shook it out and read the front. “Texas A&M. Your alma mater?”

“Yep.” He got out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door for her while she struggled to pull the sweatshirt over her head. “Let me help you. You’re trying to put your head through the armhole.”

He shifted the sweatshirt so that a crown of golden hair appeared at the neck, and then yanked it down. Running his hand under what hair was still stuffed in the sweatshirt, he swept it free. His fingers lingered in the soft strands before he jerked his hand away, as if scorched.

She blinked and tossed her blond mane over one shoulder. Did she notice his reluctance to relinquish her hair? At least she didn’t have a smart-ass comment for the occasion.

He pointed to her bare feet. “I hope that won’t be a problem. The dress is long enough that your lack of foot-wear may not be noticeable.”

“I’ll shuffle along behind you.” She jumped down from the truck, her feet landing on the asphalt of the parking lot with a slap.

A few curious looks and a couple of smirks meandered their way as they entered the restaurant and settled into a booth by the window, but the waitress didn’t seem to notice anything awry. They ordered sandwiches and fries, and iced tea for her and a beer for him. He needed that drink now.

Callie excused herself to wash her face and hands in the ladies’ room. When she returned, Rod dug his elbows into the Formica table, resting his chin on his hands. “Since we’re in Truth or Consequences, how about some truth? Why’d you run out on your own wedding?”

She looked up from dumping artificial sweetener in her tea. “I decided I didn’t want to marry my fiancé.”

“Just like that?”

“The idea had been stewing awhile.” She held the empty package of sweetener close to her face, as if studying the ingredients.

“Why didn’t you call it off before the actual wedding day?”

“It’s complicated.” She crushed the package in her hand and flicked it across the tabletop.

“And why the escape on a motorcycle? That’s a little dramatic.”

He shifted in his seat as her lips puckered around a straw. If this woman left him standing at the altar, he’d be consumed with anger, worry and…frustration for missing out on the wedding night.

“I guess I chickened out. I couldn’t walk in there and tell everyone I decided to cancel the wedding, so I took off. One of the valet parking attendants loaned me his bike. The rest is recent history.”

It still seemed like an odd way to cancel a wedding. “Will your scorned groom follow you to L.A.?”

Her eyes widened. “He knows better than that. Enough about my boring story. What about you? Where are you headed?”

If Callie thought ditching a wedding and fleeing on a motorcycle in a wedding gown constituted boredom, his life would put her to sleep.

“I’m heading back home after looking at some horses in Austin. Seeing you on the side of the road in that dress spiced up my journey.”

She tilted her head. “You have a fantastic face.”

His beer went down the wrong way and he choked. “What the hell does that mean?”

She extended her arms, her wiggling fingers inches from his face. “A strong, proud face. Do you mind?”

He had no idea what she planned to do, but he nodded anyway. For some crazy reason, he found it almost impossible to deny this woman anything. Good thing he intended to drop her at a bus stop soon.

Her smooth fingertips traced along his jawline, and then the pads of her fingers danced across his cheekbones. She ran her thumb down the bridge of his nose and caressed his forehead. Despite her light touch, he felt her probing his depths, reading every line on his face. He didn’t want it to end, but people were beginning to stare.

He caught her wrists. “What are you doing?”

Hunching her shoulders, she grinned. “I’m a sculptor. Sometimes I get carried away when I see a great face.”

An artist? That explained a lot. The few artists he knew lived scattered, self-centered lives. He dropped his hold on her and wrapped his hands around his sweating bottle, welcoming its coolness.

“Why do you need horses?”

She always managed to shift the focus back to him. “I own a ranch.”

“A ranch?”

“I’m planning to turn it into a dude ranch. You know, riding lessons, roping cattle, that kind of thing? It’s hard to make a profit on a midsize, working ranch these days.”

The waitress set down their plates with a clatter, and Rod grabbed his sandwich and took a big bite. He’d never admitted that to anyone outside his family. Maybe Callie’s reticence led him to fill the gap with his own personal revelations.

He may be in Truth or Consequences, but that didn’t mean he had to play the game. He wiped tomato juice from his chin with a napkin and asked, “What do you sculpt?”

“Interesting faces.”

THEY SPENT THE NEXT HALF HOUR talking about art and ranching in general terms. Callie skirted and danced around personal facts like a pro. He recognized the maneuvers as ones he used himself.

As Rod paid the bill, he asked the waitress the location of the nearest bus depot.

“If you go about two blocks up the street and make a left on Navajo, there’s a bus stop on your right. You can catch a bus there to the depot in Albuquerque, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“That would be perfect. If you could loan me the bus fare to L.A., I’ll pay you back when I get home.” Callie grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and a pen from the check tray. “Give me your address and I’ll send you the money to pay back the loan.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to pay me back.”

She gripped the pen, her knuckles turning white. “I always pay my debts.”

Rod covered her hand with his, smoothing his thumb across her silky skin. “It’s not a loan. It’s a gift…a wedding gift.”

Her fist unclenched, as one corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “There was no wedding, remember?”

“How about a thank-you gift then, for breaking up a long, tedious journey.”

“I guess I can accept that.”

He excused himself to use the men’s room, leaving her at the table doodling on the napkin. When he returned, her presence almost surprised him. She seemed as elusive as a puff of dandelion on the wind.

His visceral response of pleasure when he saw her surprised him even more. It had been a long time since he’d had more than a superficial interest in a woman.

They climbed back into the truck and crawled down Main Street, looking for Navajo. As they rounded the corner toward the bus stop, Rod said, “I can drive you to Albuquerque.”

“No. You’ve already done more than enough—a ride, a meal, bus fare. I don’t want to put you out more than I already have. I’ll be fine once I get on that bus.”

Rod helped her out of his truck for the last time and reached for his wallet. “If you have time in Albuquerque, and the bus depot is near a store, you should buy yourself some shoes.”

Callie stood on tiptoe to read the bus schedule while he thumbed through the bills in his wallet. He had no idea how much a ticket to L.A. would cost, but it had to be more than the cash in his wallet.

“How much longer do you have to wait for the next bus to Albuquerque?”

She squinted at the sign. “About forty-five minutes.”

“Good. That’ll give me some time to run across the street to that ATM to get some more cash, and then maybe we can find you some shoes.”

“Rod, please. You have to let me repay you. You would be home with your wife and kids by now if you hadn’t stopped to rescue me from those idiots in the SUV.” She tilted her head, studying his face.

She seemed to be making a lot of assumptions. He never told her where his ranch was located. For all she knew, it could be up in Montana. And he definitely didn’t tell her about any wife and kids.

“I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids that I know of, although in my family, that doesn’t mean much.”

She drew her brows together, and he laughed. “Long story about my brothers. Stay here while I get some money.”

He waited for a few cars to pass before jogging across the street. He’d come a long way from when he first passed Callie on the highway, but he never could leave a damsel in distress—which usually led to problems. Whenever he rescued a woman, she usually expected something more from him, and he never wanted to deliver on that something more.

He felt differently about Callie, probably because in another forty-five minutes she’d be out of his life forever. No expectations there.

The ATM sucked in the card and he punched in his code. Just as the machine began spitting twenties at him, he heard a squeal of tires.

He glanced over his shoulder at a white Cadillac with spinning rims pulling up to the bus stop. His mouth dropped open as Callie lifted her skirts and took off in the opposite direction of the car.

Grabbing his card and cash, Rod spun around and sprinted across the street. A man burst out of the Caddy as it lurched into a U-turn. The stranger lunged for Callie, her long dress encumbering her escape.

The man grabbed a handful of Callie’s dress and yanked her backward. She tottered for a moment, like the bride on top of a wedding cake sinking into the frosting, before tumbling sideways. As she fell, she screamed, “I’m not going back.”

Rod’s heart thundered in his chest. Callie’s bridegroom had tracked her down.

And he wanted a bride.