Читать книгу In A Cowboy's Embrace - Charlotte Maclay - Страница 11

“He’s beautiful.” Inhaling the scent of baby powder, Tasha forced away a sharp stab of envy as she held three-month-old Jason Bryant Swain in her arms for the first time. Never again would she hold a baby of her own. And that knowledge formed an ever present ache in her chest she knew would always be there.

Cliff had dropped off Tasha and the children at the Swain ranch house early that morning. She and her sister had visited, waiting until Jason was awake and fed and ready for his day. Meanwhile, Melissa and Stevie had turned the front porch into a makeshift jungle gym, climbing on the railing and leaping off the steps to entertain themselves.

Stroking the baby’s soft cheek, Tasha swallowed the raw sense of disappointment at fate’s cruel trick. “You did good, big sister.”

Ella fussed with Jason’s knit cap, motherly pride radiating from her like a lighthouse beacon. “It wasn’t all my doing. Bryant contributed a few good genes, too.”

“From your glow, I’d guess he’s contributing more to your health and welfare than just a few baby genes.”

Ella’s healthy complexion took on the rosy hue of a woman in love and her eyes filled with mirth behind her big round glasses. “Let’s say marriage and motherhood agree with me.”

A couple of inches shorter than Tasha, her hair a shade or two darker, Ella had always been the smart one in the family. Tasha had spent her adolescence envying her sister’s good grades and the respect she’d received from being smart instead of simply pretty. But Ella’s hasty marriage last summer to Bryant Swain had startled everyone in the family. Tasha was glad the relationship was working out. A claim she couldn’t make about either her too young marriage to Robert Reynolds when she’d learned she was pregnant with Melissa, or her recent botched engagement.

Definitely time for her to swear off men. Her judgment regarding the opposite sex left a lot to be desired.

“We’d better go,” Ella said, picking up a light jacket from the back of the couch and slipping it on. “The kids are itching to get out to where they’re branding the calves. If we aren’t careful, those two are likely to head off on their own.”

“All the way from New York, Melissa’s been asking when she’d get to see real cowboys.”

Ella laughed. “We’ll take the truck.”

“Thank goodness we don’t have to ride a horse.”

“I’m not quite ready for that yet.”

They went out the back way—leaving the door unlocked, Tasha noted—and called the children around to the side of the house where the truck was parked. Well-kept barns and outbuildings suggested the ranch was a prosperous enterprise, though Ella had said raising cattle was always a risky business financially.

“Learning to ride is one of my goals for this summer,” Ella said. “When I get good enough, I may even take up barrel racing.”

“Ella! You wouldn’t!” Tasha choked on a surprised laugh, but was unable to suppress a ripple of fear that sped through her. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

Her sister grinned at her. “Well, if not barrel racing, there’s a women’s mounted drill team. Maybe I could do that instead.”

From Tasha’s perspective, that didn’t sound all that much safer.

Shaking her head, Tasha strapped Jason in his car seat and stood back while Stevie and Melissa clambered into the rear seat of the truck with the baby.

Whatever had gotten into her sister, moving from New York to California and then without warning all the way to Montana? This was a nice enough place to visit for a week or two, no doubt peaceful in a way that would help Tasha put the disappointment of the past few weeks behind her. But she was a city girl. Horses and cows—and all that went with them—weren’t her cup of tea.

Still, as she thought of the Swain brothers, she had to admit there was something very appealing about the rugged, outdoor men who lived in the West.

But that didn’t mean she was going to get involved with her handsome employer.

Speaking of which, she’d better see if Ella had some recipes she could share. Last night it was pretty obvious tuna sandwiches and soup weren’t going to hack it for a man who expended thousands of calories rounding up little doggies all day. And she didn’t think her typical salad greens and cottage cheese would cut it, either.

She grinned at the thought. Wouldn’t her modeling friends and fashion designer colleagues get a kick out of seeing her now, in jeans and sharkskin boots, bouncing in a pickup along nothing wider than a rutted trail en route to round up a bunch of cows destined to be turned into hand-tooled leather jackets?

DUST AND DIRT rose fifty feet straight up toward a cloudless sky before dissipating in a slight breeze. The noise was astounding—bawling cows, squealing calves and cowboys shouting X-rated obscenities children shouldn’t hear. The air reeked of smoke and burning leather.

“Mommy, look what they’re doing!” Melissa made a dash for the pen where they were branding the new calves.

Tasha snared her daughter by the back of her jacket. “Oh, no you don’t, young lady. Don’t you go running off on your own. Those cows will trample you if you’re not careful. You are to stay right next to me like we’re glued together.”

“But, Mommy!” Melissa whined.

Stevie had already raced ahead and was climbing the wooden fence surrounding the pen. “Stevie!” Tasha shrieked, envisioning the boy toppling over and falling beneath the hooves of the agitated animals.

Ella slipped little Jason into a sling across her middle and cuddled her baby next to her. “Stevie will be fine. He knows to stay out of the pen.”

Tasha lacked her sister’s confidence. The entire scene was as chaotic as the New York theater district right after the Broadway shows released their audiences, spilling them out onto the streets and sidewalks all at once. No one seemed to be in charge of the choreography. Cowboys on horseback darted through the milling herd, ropes twirling over their heads. Clutches of cows and their calves danced back and forth trying to avoid capture and separation. Swirling dust softened the edges of the scene, making it all look surreal. Or nightmarish.

Tasha would sooner make her way through Times Square on New Year’s Eve than journey into that chaos.

But Melissa, like an eager puppy on a leash, tugged her forward.

As they approached the fence, Tasha noticed one of the cowboys miss with his lariat, the rope falling harmlessly to the ground. Another cowboy twisted around in his saddle so quickly he nearly unseated himself.

“Watch what you’re doing, Shane!” Cliff yelled.

“Ri…ght, boss.” The boy’s voice cracked.

“Looks like the hands have noticed your arrival,” Ella said, amused.

“Next time I’ll wear a sack over my head.”

“Sis, with your perfect size six figure, it’s going to take more than a sack to get these men to ignore you.”

Tasha knew she drew the attention of men like pigeons to peanuts. It was both blessing and curse. She needed her looks because of her job, but at heart she was shy and wished—just once—that a man would admire her for something more than an accident of birth.

At least the swearing appeared to have subsided, she thought with relief.

Cliff reined his mount around, exiting the branding pen. He was no better than Shane had been. When Tasha had shown up wearing skintight jeans and a rhinestone-studded denim jacket, he’d almost dropped his teeth along with his lasso. Her langorous walk was sweet, hot sex on the hoof and capable of blowing holes in a man’s good sense with every sway of her curvy hips.

He rode to where she and her sister were standing. “Morning, Ella.” He tipped his hat to Tasha. She ought to be wearing a hat, too. But then he wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing her white-gold hair held back from her face with a couple of fancy combs and hanging loose down her back. “You two getting reacquainted?”

“It’s wonderful to have my sister here,” Ella said, tipping her head back so she could see from beneath her straw hat. “Thanks for looking after her.”

“I thought she was supposed to be looking after me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll do a good job of that, too.”

Cliff wasn’t quite sure what to make of Ella’s quiet, self-satisfied laugh or the gleam in her eyes. Maybe it was just a trick of the sunlight glancing off her glasses.

Straddling the fence, Stevie said, “Can I help you cut out the calves, Dad?”

“Sure you can. I’ve got Star Song all saddled for you.”

“You’re going to let him ride into that mess?” Tasha asked, her expression stunned, even a little frightened if Cliff read her right.

He shrugged. “Sure. Someday he’ll own part of the Double S.”

“But he’s only five years old.”

“Going on six,” the boy corrected, clambering down from the fence.

“I’m almost seven,” Melissa said. “Can I help, too?”

“You certainly may not!” Tasha admonished her.

Reaching down, Cliff gripped his son’s forearm and hefted him to the back of his horse. “You’ll have to wait till you learn how to ride, Melissa. Stevie’s been riding since before he could walk.”

Melissa’s angelic face soured into a pout. “Girls can do all the stuff boys can.”

“Sure they can,” Cliff agreed. Except Melissa and her mom weren’t likely to stay around long enough for either of them to become good riders. And that reminded Cliff he didn’t want Stevie to get too attached to either of them. Sometimes he caught the boy in the master bedroom studying his mother’s picture, his expression heart-wrenchingly sad. Cliff didn’t want his son to go through another emotional loss like that. Nor did he want to face the bleak sense of abandonment again that had dogged his own life since he and his twin brother were deserted by their biological mother. They’d been about four at the time and he still had a vague recollection of his mother crying.

He circled his horse, coming up beside Tasha, who quickly stepped away from him, placing Melissa safely behind her.

For the moment, Tasha was his housekeeper, and because of his need for child care Cliff had no choice but to treat her as such. Until she decided to move on or he made other arrangements. “I’ve got to work the four-to-twelve shift tonight. I’ll plan to take my dinner break about seven, if that’s okay with you.” Maybe if he gave her some warning, she’d come up with something more than tuna sandwiches for supper.

“That’s fine, but—” She glanced around as if she’d landed on an alien planet. “You mean to tell me you’re going to work all day punching cattle, or whatever you call it, then work another eight hours tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He thumbed his hat back on his head and added a big dose of drawl to his Western accent. “Can’t leave the good folks of Reed County unprotected from rustlers and other varmints just so’s I can stay home with a pretty little lady.”

She looked up at him slack-jawed.

“My daddy’s a deputy sheriff,” Stevie explained. “He catches bad guys.”

“You got that straight, bucko.” Though for the past year a band of rustlers had been operating in the area and neither he nor Sheriff Colman had been able to get a decent lead on them.

“All right. I’ll have dinner ready about seven.”

“Steak and potatoes would be good,” he suggested in the hope of avoiding another batch of tea sandwiches. “And when you’ve got a minute, Sylvia washed a bunch of my uniform shirts before she left for her daughter’s place but didn’t have time to iron them. Could you take care of that for me? They’re in the laundry room.”

That cute little inverted V formed between her eyebrows again. “Anything else you’d like taken care of, Deputy Swain?” she asked tautly.

Yeah, there was something else he’d like, but he wasn’t going to go down that path. In fact, he’d be better off if she decided she didn’t much like the idea of playing housekeeper, even if she did need the money—a topic they hadn’t discussed in any detail yet. Though, come to think of it, Ella knew what Cliff had been willing to pay. She’d probably mentioned the salary to her sister.

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.” With that, he tapped his heels to his horse and rode toward the remuda where the string of extra mounts were tethered away from the action.

Tasha blew out a sigh; her jaw ached from clamping her mouth shut instead of coming back at Cliff with a smart remark. “Are all cowboys that chauvinistic?” she asked her sister.

“They tend to be a bit arrogant, which is part of their appeal.”

Melissa wrapped her arms around Tasha’s waist, hugging her. “What’s chuff-in-istic, Mommy?”

“It’s when a man thinks all a woman is good for is to cook his meals and wash his clothes.”

Ella’s laughter rippled through the air, adding a high note to the masculine sounds of the roundup. “Oh, I think Clifford has something else on his mind when he looks at you, Sis, but it’s a little too soon for him to pursue that particular activity.”

“What’s Aunt Ella mean?”

Heat flooded Tasha’s cheeks. “Don’t ask, sweetheart. Just don’t ask.” The possibility that Cliff harbored the same sensual thoughts that had plagued Tasha since last night was unsettling. Despite what others might think of her, or how they judged her from her appearance alone, she didn’t engage in recreational sex. And developing a deeper relationship with Cliff would be beyond foolish. She was a New Yorker. He was a Montana cowboy. Speaking of which…

“How is it I got the distinct impression from what you told me that Cliff needed a nanny for his little boy, not so much a housekeeper? You wouldn’t be trying a little matchmaking in your spare time, would you, sister dear?”

“Moi? Why, whatever do you mean?”

Tasha glared at her sister. She’d been ambushed, darn it all, and she wasn’t going to stand for—

“Morning, missus.” A bowlegged cowboy had climbed the fence and dropped down beside Ella. He lifted his hat, uncovering a nearly bald head except for a curly fringe of carrot-red hair. Immediately Tasha recognized him from Ella’s wedding day—Rusty the ranch foreman.

“Hello, Rusty. Good to see you again,” Tasha said, extending her hand.

Giving her a big grin, and wiping his hand on his dusty trousers, he shook hands with her. “Welcome back to Montana, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Ella said, “Rusty’s been wonderful to me and Bryant. I don’t think the ranch could get along without him. I know I couldn’t.”

“You’d do jest fine.” He peered at the baby cradled in the sling across Ella’s chest. “He’s growing like a weed, ain’t he? He’ll be riding broncs with his daddy in no time, I reckon.”

Tasha shuddered at the thought, though she noted Ella didn’t seem disturbed by the possibility of her baby being tossed around on the back of a wild mustang.

“You planning to stay long, ma’am?” Rusty asked Tasha.

“Not really. In fact, I may cut my trip short.” The urge to escape Cliff’s superheated masculinity was a powerful one.

“You can’t,” Ella insisted. “How will Cliff run his campaign for sheriff if he doesn’t have someone to look after Stevie?”

“And fix his meals,” Tasha said pointedly.

“Now that boy is a real big eater, that he is,” Rusty said.

“Stevie?” Tasha questioned, momentarily confused.

“Nope, Cliff’s the one I mean. His brother, too, for that matter. Them two could put away a whole side of beef without any trouble at all when they was teenagers. Quite a sight to behold, it was. Kept their mama hopping in the kitchen, I can tell you that. I remember the time…”

He went on to describe when the adolescent twins had tried to outdo each other at Thanksgiving dinner and had been sick for days afterward. Somewhere in the middle of that story, Shane, the young man whose voice had cracked, joined in the conversation. Another couple of hired hands—Billy Bob and Dingle—sauntered over, happy to make Tasha’s acquaintance. A shorter man with a barrel chest wandered in to join the crowd.

Pretty soon Tasha noticed the cows weren’t putting up the ruckus they had been earlier. In fact, not much was happening as far as branding was concerned. The cows stood quietly chewing their cuds while the calves nursed or frolicked with their friends.

That was when both Cliff and his brother Bryant came riding into the midst of the crowd that had gathered around Tasha, cutting the men off as if they were calves being separated from their mothers.

“Gentlemen, you get paid for branding calves, not for chatting up the two prettiest women in the county.” Bryant leaned out of his saddle far enough to kiss his wife on the lips.

“What? Not the whole state?” she complained, laughing.

“Haven’t seen all the girls in the state yet, and I didn’t want to exaggerate.”

“Well, don’t you go lookin’, either, cowboy, or you’ll hear from me.”

Tasha was stunned by the exchange between husband and wife. Despite her big glasses, simple haircut and minimal makeup, Ella looked truly beautiful…and she’d shown more spark than Tasha could remember seeing in her intellectual sister. Marriage—and the love of a good man—had obviously changed her.

With a sinking heart, Tasha realized she’d very likely never have the chance to experience that kind of happy makeover. She might remain beautiful, though that would be an increasingly difficult battle as she grew older. But she’d never have that glow, the pure radiance Ella had achieved by simply being in love.

Tasha tried to suppress the envy that welled up in her but found she couldn’t. Instead, she turned away, her arm hooked over her daughter’s shoulder, and headed back toward Ella’s truck. She needed to start making calls to agents she knew in New York. She needed to get on with her life.

A few weeks was all she had promised Cliff. Even that might be too long if she wanted to protect her heart.

WHEN TASHA had driven through Reilly’s Gulch yesterday, she’d been concentrating more on finding the turnoff to the Double S than to the details of the town. Now, en route to find a grocery store to restock Cliff’s pitiful supply of fresh fruit and vegetables—and with the children pouting in the back seat because they had to leave the roundup before the last calf was branded—she cruised slowly down the main street checking out the buildings.

The local elementary school and the adjacent county building had matching flag poles out front, the flags fluttering gently in the afternoon breeze. The Cattlemen’s Association occupied a building next to what looked like abandoned railroad tracks.

The small business district didn’t look very promising, except for Sal’s Hotel, Bar and Grill at the end of the block where several pickups were parked out front. A gas station with repair bays sat opposite a feed store, a mechanic in blue overalls dozing in the sun.

Just as she spotted the grocery store, a red Mazda Miata convertible bumbled out of an alley in front of her and wheeled into the perfect angled parking space right at the door—the one she’d been planning to pull into.

She swore under her breath. The guy must be a transplanted Manhattan cab driver! At least it wasn’t the last spot in the city.

“Mommy, you’re not supposed to say bad words,” Melissa reminded her.

She glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’ll have to put another quarter in our piggy bank when we get back home.”

“We’re saving up to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center,” Melissa explained to Stevie.

“You wanna eat nuts?”

“No, silly. The Nutcracker’s a ballet.”

Tasha picked a parking spot two slots down from the Mazda and pulled in between a pickup and a Jeep.

“What’s a ballet?” Stevie asked as he followed Melissa out of the car.

Melissa did a pirouette on the sidewalk and pranced around on her tiptoes, showing off. Though, given she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the dance lacked a true classical flavor without the proper costuming. “Haven’t you ever seen a ballet?”

He jammed his hands in his pockets, hanging his head as if he’d missed something important in life. “Uh-uh.”

“Mommy, can we take Stevie to a ballet sometime?”

“I don’t think Reilly’s Gulch has those, honey.” A cultural hot spot, it wasn’t.

“Well, if it did, could we take him?” Melissa persisted.

“I suppose.” Cupping her daughter’s shoulder, she ushered her toward the grocery store and reached out for Stevie’s hand, too. “Come on, kids. We’ve got to get Stevie’s daddy something to eat for dinner.” And then she was going to have to iron, of all things. Hadn’t this place heard of dry cleaners? Or wash and wear?

An older gentleman wearing a sporty plaid beret and a frayed suit jacket met her at the grocery store entrance. He tipped his cap to her, revealing thinning white hair, and nodded toward her car.

“Mighty fine lookin’ Beamer,” he said.

“Thank you.” She considered skirting past him, but he was pretty well blocking the center of the double doors.

“That’s my Mazda.”

Vaguely recalling her sister had owned a Mazda convertible and sold it last winter, Tasha forced a smile. She resisted telling him what she thought of a man who’d steal a parking spot right out from under her nose.

“Red is nice,” she said noncomittally.

Aware of the dangers of talking to strangers, Melissa clung to her side.

Stevie charged forward. “Hi, Mr. O’Reilly.”

The older man shifted his wrinkles into a glad smile. “Hello, young Steven. Looks like you’re escorting two lovely ladies today.”

Stevie giggled. “These aren’t ladies. She’s our new housekeeper.” He pointed at Tasha, then indicated Melissa. “And she’s only a little girl, same as I’m a little boy.”

“You’re littler,” Melissa corrected. “I’m almost seven.”

Before an argument broke out, Tasha introduced herself to the gentleman, who she learned was Chester O’Reilly, descendant of the town founders, and the owner of the only franchised taxi service in Reilly’s Gulch. She thought the reason for only one such service in town was pretty obvious, but he seemed so proud of his community duties, Tasha didn’t see any reason to point out the probable lack of demand for cabs in this small town.

As she tried to excuse herself to get on with her shopping, he said, “If you decide to sell your Beamer, let me know. I’m thinking of expanding my taxi service.”

“You are?” That sounded like the height of optimism to Tasha.

“Yep. Billy Flynn turned over his ranch operations to his boys and he’s got some extra time on his hands. Figured I could keep him busy doing taxi work. Shoot, he’s only eighty-two, way too young to retire. And there’s lots of potential ’round here, you know. Only a question of time till I’m busier than flies on a fresh cow pie.”

“Yes, well…” She wrinkled her nose and mumbled something about keeping Chester in mind if she decided to sell her car while she was in town, then scooted herself and the children past him into the grocery store.

Reilly’s Gulch might lack for cultural amenities but the town certainly wasn’t short on characters. Tasha suspected Chester was only the tip of that particular iceberg.

She doubted the town was short of good-looking men, either. Unfortunately one in particular held a special attraction for her.

Clifford Swain.