Читать книгу Courtship, Montana Style - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 11

Elizabeth knew the instant Walker entered the living room. It was as though he radiated a magnetic force that drew every eye in the room, most especially hers. She suspected he’d get the same reaction at a fancy charity ball in San Francisco as he did here, every woman drawn to him.

There was no sign of Speed, who she assumed must have gone to the bunkhouse after the kitchen cleanup. Or maybe even into town, such as it was with a business district no more than two blocks long.

Bean Pole, who was sitting awkwardly on a foot-stool in front of Scotty and the baby, complained, “Scotty won’t let me and Fridge hold Susie-Q.”

“She’s asleep. You don’t want to wake her, do you?” Scotty insisted, speaking softly but with an air of superiority as the resident expert on babies.

Deciding she needed to regain control of the parenting duties, Elizabeth rose from the couch. She felt Walker’s appraising gaze and wondered what he was thinking. Men often found her attractive; she recognized the look. But she saw something else in Walker’s eyes that didn’t bode well for her scheme—the shadow of suspicion.

“Let’s put Susie-Q back in the car seat,” she said to the boys. “She’ll nap for a while and then will want to play again before she goes down for the night.” She carried the car seat to a quiet corner of the room out of the bright light, signaling Scotty to bring the baby. “When she’s ready for her last feeding, Fridge can give her a bottle.”

“Doesn’t she eat any real food?” Bean Pole asked.

“Not yet. In another month I’ll start her on cereal and some vegetables.”

The three adolescents formed a protective semicircle around the baby, watching as though she were the most fascinating thing in the world. Elizabeth agreed with that assessment, of course. In the past three months, she’d spent a good many hours observing Suzanne in every situation imaginable. But to have teenage boys find her baby equally intriguing surprised her.

Lazily Walker strolled the rest of the way into the room. “A watched pot never boils, boys.”

Scotty glanced over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“I mean, you might as well relax and let the baby sleep.”

“Maybe there’s wrestling on TV,” Fridge suggested, glancing at the twenty-four-inch set strategically placed on a bookshelf near the fireplace.

Scotty gave him a thumbs-down on that idea. “The noise would wake her up.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Fridge argued.

“You always start yelling ’n’ stuff,” Bean Pole said.

“You’re the one who—”

Elizabeth winced as the bickering rose in volume. Insults were hurled. One shove became two, and she suddenly worried the wrestling match would take place right in the middle of the living room, putting Suzanne at risk of becoming an innocent victim.

But before she could take action, Walker intervened.

“That’s it, boys.” He didn’t shout or react in anger. Even so, the adolescents responded instantly, freezing in midmotion, their mouths slamming shut. “Settle down or take it outside where it belongs.”

Her admiration for Walker’s ability to handle rambunctious teenagers kicked up a notch. Raised as she had been in a family where decorum reigned as gospel, she could barely imagine the day-to-day physicality of living with three adolescent boys. Yet Walker hadn’t flinched. He was every inch a match for the three of them combined.

That thought gave her a little shiver of apprehension. Walker was so big, so strong, a woman would have no choice but to yield to his strength if he demanded it.

Yet, like the boys, she sensed an inner gentleness in Walker. A woman would have no reason to fear him, at least physically.

Protecting her heart would be a different matter.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, arms folded across his chest, Walker leaned against the doorjamb of the sewing room watching Lizzie as she tucked the baby in for the night. A mighty pretty picture she created bending over the playpen but a puzzling one.

A woman with a wedding gown who wore no rings and acted like a debutante not a housekeeper.

The house was quiet now. The boys had gone back to the bunkhouse after lavishing attention on both Lizzie and the baby, hanging around the house until Fridge had his chance to give the ten o’clock bottle.

But the time had come for Walker to get down to business. He couldn’t put off asking his questions any longer.

“The boys sure have taken a liking to you and the baby, Slick,” he said.

Her head came up as though she’d forgotten he was there. “They’re sweet. All of them.”

“I usually describe them as ornery, rebellious and stubborn. Typical teenagers with pasts that haven’t been easy.”

She gave him a faint smile. “It’s obvious you’re doing a good job with them.”

About twenty times a day he questioned both his sanity and whether he was doing right by the youngsters. Still, he did the best he could. He couldn’t ask more than that of anyone.

Giving the baby a final caress, she stepped away from the playpen.

“Will she sleep through the night?” he asked.

“I hope so. But with so much excitement and being in a new place, it’s hard to say.”

He moved away from the door, and she followed him into the hallway where a low-wattage lightbulb cast muted shadows up and down the corridor, disguising the worn wallpaper and carpeting.

In contrast, Lizzie glowed with quiet vitality, her silver-blond hair shiny even in the dim light and her cheeks blooming with a trace of color. There hadn’t been a woman living in this house in more than thirty years. Suddenly that felt wrong, almost as though the house had been incomplete all these years and no one had noticed.

Aware his thoughts were leading him in an unwanted direction, he cleared his throat. “You and I need to talk.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s late. Would you mind if we waited until tomorrow? If Suzanne wakes up—”

“Tonight would be better. I don’t want the boys interrupting us.”

Her gazed flicked to his face for a moment, then she glanced back over her shoulder at the sleeping baby.

“Susie-Q will be fine,” he said. “If she wakes up you’ll be able to hear her downstairs.”

“I wish you had a baby monitor.”

“We’ve never had any need. Teenage boys can yell pretty loud.”

She hesitated again. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“We can talk in your bedroom, if you’d rather. Or mine.”

With a quick shake of her head, Elizabeth rejected both of those options. If she was going to be grilled by a sexy cowboy she didn’t want to be anywhere near a bed. She was already far too aware of Walker’s elemental maleness and the fact that they were alone in the house. She wasn’t about to tempt fate.

She turned on her heel. “Downstairs will be fine.” Her sandals slapped on the worn carpeting as she strode ahead of him. Now was the time to stay calm so she could keep her story straight. This was a perfect place to hide out. Except for the hum of tension she felt whenever Walker was near, the solitude of the ranch and the wide-open range were ideal for serious thinking.

And for learning how to be the woman she wanted to become.

Even the presence of the boys provided a sense of normalcy that would help her focus on what she wanted for her daughter’s future and her own. Help her find the strength she needed to stand up to her family.

Walker was the only fly in the ointment. He was simply too unsettling for a woman’s peace of mind.

She walked into the living room that was still strewn with baby equipment—Suzanne’s car seat, a receiving blanket, the diaper bag—all of which she’d have to take upstairs. She started to gather them up.

“Speed tells me there’s a wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”

Her head snapped up. Damn! She’d forgotten all about the dress.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, faking a bland expression.

“Not unless a groom shows up here toting a shotgun.”

“That’s not likely to happen on my account.”

“Why? Because there isn’t a groom? Or he doesn’t know where you are?”

Heat crept up her neck. Despite the current situation, she wasn’t used to lying. It made her ill to her stomach. The pork chop she’d eaten for dinner did a roll in her midsection and threatened to do worse if she didn’t come clean. Which she didn’t dare. “What makes you think it’s my gown?”

He eyed her skeptically. “Is it?”

“I was taking it to the cleaners’ for my sister,” she blurted out.

“Try again, Miss Thomas. People who are telling the truth don’t blush.”

The heat on her cheeks grew even more intense. “People who are being grilled by a great big lummox of a cowboy might do a lot of blushing.”

He lifted his dark brows, etching his forehead with a double row of creases.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. Wherever had her manners flown? Ever since she’d been able to walk and talk, her parents had drilled politeness into her head. Doing what was expected of her. Behaving properly. In the past three days she’d forgotten every lesson they’d taught her. Or more to the point, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, she’d finally decided to rebel against everything she’d ever known. To take charge of her own life—for Suzanne’s sake as well as her own.

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “No insult taken. What I’m after is the truth.”

Which was exactly what she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She didn’t trust him enough for that. “If you’d like, you could call the Merry Maids corporate office to check my references.”

“No one’s likely to be around the office at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Purposefully he walked over to the big native-rock fireplace, picked up the poker and jabbed at a charred log left over from the last fire. “I’d like to know what’s going on now so I don’t have to start making phone calls on Monday morning.”

At least he wasn’t threatening to call the police. So far.

Bending over, she scooped up Suzanne’s blanket and stuffed it in the diaper bag, frantically trying to come up with a story Walker would buy. It’s not like she had a whole lot of experience lying, a serious omission in her liberal-arts education, she now realized.

“Have you ever heard of the witness-protection program?” she ventured.

He stared at her with narrowed eyes but he didn’t immediately dismiss her latest ruse. “Are you saying you witnessed a crime and are hiding out from the criminals?”

Perhaps with enough practice, she’d get prevarication down to a credible art form. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.” And she really, truly didn’t want to risk her family finding her just yet.

It was bad enough her hasty departure might place her family’s ambition to see her brother Robert successfully launched in a political career in jeopardy without Vernon’s support. She didn’t want to deal with her guilt on that subject.

Sliding the poker back into its holder, Walker closed the fireplace screen and considered Lizzie’s latest story. Assuming she really was from Nevada as her license plates suggested, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d come across a criminal element. Hadn’t he heard about the mafia taking over Las Vegas? But he’d thought the state had cleaned up its act. Not that he paid much attention to any news that didn’t involve the weather or the price of beef.

Maybe she had witnessed a crime. Or maybe she’d been scheduled to marry some mafia hit man and had run away at the last minute with her gown in the trunk.

But the way she still couldn’t meet his gaze told him she’d lied to him again.

He walked over to the couch and picked up a cloth diaper she’d used for a spit-up rag, handing it to her.

“Have you broken the law?”

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Nothing like that.”

For the first time, he believed her. Her response had been too quick, too insistent, to be a lie. He exhaled, surprised by the sense of relief he experienced.

“How ’bout Susie-Q? Is she really your baby?”

“Oh, my God! Did you think—of course she’s my baby!”

He nodded. “I don’t doubt it. She’s got your smile.”

“Don’t you like babies?”

“I like ’em fine, I guess. But it seems to me, being a housekeeper and taking care of your baby at the same time wouldn’t be easy.” With each of her answers, he had new questions.

“I’m sure a lot of stay-at-home moms would agree with you.”

“How about Susie’s father?”

“He…he died.” Her throat worked as though she were trying to tamp down her emotions. “About a year ago.”

“I’m sorry. But are you telling me you’ve been driving around for a year with your wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”

“No. I was going to marry someone else. It was a mistake and I…”

“You’re not really a housekeeper, are you?”

She shook her head. “Not really. But I can learn, I’m sure of it.” As though his interrogation had been too tiring, she sat down at the end of the couch and leaned back, closing her eyes in a gesture of defeat. “Are you going to send us away?”

A part of him knew that’s exactly what he ought to do. If she really was in the witness protection system—which he didn’t believe—the government should have been responsible for putting her in a safe place.

But whatever was happening, she was in some sort of trouble. A woman didn’t run away with her baby on a whim, bridal gown or not. From what he’d seen of her, Lizzie was a good, loving mother. He gave her points for that.

But the fact that a groom had been left at the altar was troubling to say the least.

Even so, the irrational part of his brain argued that she should stay on the Double O for reasons that had nothing to do with the wedding gown, a groom or her baby—or any real or imagined witness-protection program—but simply because he wanted her here. Wanted the sultry scent of her to linger in a room after she left. Wanted to see the quick flash of her smile, even when it wasn’t directed at him. Wanted to hope she wouldn’t always be sleeping in the bed across the hall.

Damn it, he was getting ahead of himself. Sure, he lusted after her. She was a beautiful woman. But the truth of the matter was she and that little baby brought out his protective instincts. He couldn’t turn away a person in trouble or in need. He had an idea she was both.

In frustration, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “You and Susie-Q can stay for now. But if you bring trouble down on the Double O, you’re outta here. Is that understood?”

She lifted her head, her eyes a deep navy-blue and glistening with unshed tears. Slowly she pursed her lips then licked them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

He already was sorry, but mostly because he didn’t have the right to carry her upstairs and do with her what his libido had been demanding since she showed up in his driveway with her classy BMW, sophisticated airs and a chubby baby girl a man would be proud to call his own.

“Lizzie—”

“Yes?”

“Most of the boys who come here lie to me about one thing or another at first. Eventually they learn they can trust me. I hope you will, too.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she turned away, diaper bag in hand, and headed up the stairs.

He watched her go. Having Lizzie in the house was going to make changes in his life.

Including a hell of a lot of cold showers.