Читать книгу The Cowboy And The Ceo - Christine Wenger - Страница 7

How could she even think such a thing?

Stay here? She’d been counting on doing business, with a relaxing spa weekend on the side—not playing teacher at a kids’ camp. But here she was—trapped. And it was her own fault for volunteering.

“Susan, I’ll help you with your classes anytime. Day or night,” Clint said.

Now, that was a loaded statement. Clint was a flirt, and she was very rusty in the flirting department.

Standing, she walked to the door. Clint got the message and sauntered over to her. “I’ll be sure to call on you if I need you,” Susan said, then waited a few beats. “Day or night.”

He grinned. Tweaked his hat. “See you in the morning.”

She could hear the thud of his boots as he walked onto the porch and down the stairs. She locked the door behind him, then sat down on the couch.

She had to think of something besides Clint. The cowboy was getting under her skin, making her stomach flutter and her heart do little flips in her chest. For heaven’s sake, she was a businesswoman, not a freshman in high school.

Don’t think about him. Think about your class.

She’d just promised Emily that she’d teach arts and crafts, but she didn’t have a clue as to how to begin. Or even how to relate to the campers.

She’d never been a child herself.

But she never broke her word, not where kids were concerned. She’d been just about to tell Emily that she was only good at writing checks, when the “I’ll do it” had come rocketing out of her mouth—not once, but twice.

So she’d try to make her arts and crafts program a success. She would develop it like a business project with a workable plan, realistic goals; set some milestones and plot it all out.

With that decided, she walked over to the refrigerator, suddenly dying for a hearty gulp of leftover Chardonnay.

Her reflection in the window caught her by surprise. It was so dark outside. No streetlights, no marquees, no car lights or skyscrapers lit for night. No TV. No radio. Just darkness and silence. With this kind of peace and quiet, she’d die of boredom within fifteen minutes.

Unless she had a certain cowboy to amuse her.

Reaching in her purse, she took out her cell phone to call Bev at home and check on things at Winners Wear, but then she remembered the time difference. Bev was probably fast asleep. Checking her cell, she saw there was still no signal. With a sigh, she tossed the cell phone back into her purse.

She paced. She sipped some wine. She paced some more. Sipped. Paced. Sipped. Paced. Sipped.

Finally, she decided that she should try to get some sleep. Maybe in the light of day, she’d find her lost mind.

She checked to make sure the door was locked, then for a little extra security, she pushed a heavy chair against the door. She missed her myriad locks, dead bolts and chains.

Back in the bedroom, she changed into a pair of sweatpants and a long white T-shirt, and eyed the puffy comforter on the bed. Slipping inside the covers, she sighed as the delicious warmth enfolded her. The bed was perfect. Now for some sleep.

She turned the light off and couldn’t believe how dark and quiet it actually was.

There was no glare from the streetlights. No angry blare of car horns or revving motors. No shouting.

How did people live like this?

Staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, she tried to will herself to sleep, but Clint Scully kept intruding on her thoughts.

Cowboy. Handsome. Turquoise eyes. Boots. Sideways smile. Little dimple on the side of his mouth. Excellent butt.

She smiled and snuggled deeper into the bed when she heard a fluttering noise and felt the slightest breeze against her face.

“What?”

She thought that maybe the noise was a squirrel on the roof of the cottage. Did squirrels come out at night? What if it was a mountain lion or something with lots of sharp teeth? After all, this was the wilderness.

Something fluttered. And then again. Whatever it was, it was in her room.

Holding her breath, she flicked on the light and picked up her purse for protection.

A black bird flew by.

No. A bat!

She screamed. It flew by her face. She screamed again. Then again for good measure.

She sprang out of bed and tried to remember what she knew about bats.

Absolutely nothing.

She swung at the thing with her purse, ducking and dodging. The bat flew into the living room. On shaky legs, she turned on every light that she could find.

She screamed and swung again as it flew by her. She heard a series of knocks at the door—or perhaps it was her heart pounding against her chest.

“Susan? It’s Clint. Susan, are you all right?”

What a stupid question. “No, I’m not all right. There’s a bat in here!”

The door rattled. “I can’t get in.”

On wobbly legs, she managed to run over and unlock the door so Clint could squeeze in.

“Where is it?”

“Over by the fireplace.”

Clint squinted. “That little thing?”

“It’s a bat! Do something!”

“I will.”

He moved her away from the door. The bat flew out. He closed the door. “Gone.”

Her head became a little woozy and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying forward.

Then the shock of something cold and wet splashed on her face brought her around.

She gasped. “W-what are you doing?”

“There was a glass of water on the table, and I—”

“I know what you did, but that was wine.”

Clint grinned. His eyes didn’t move to meet hers, but were riveted to her chest.

She looked down. The wine had made the fabric of the white T-shirt cling to her breasts.

She rolled her eyes and plucked the material away from her body.

“Thank you for getting rid of the bat. Good night.”

She stood up to reach for a blanket, but her knees wouldn’t hold her yet. Just before they gave out completely, Clint caught her.

She let him hold her, enjoying how his hands roamed over her back and how warm his chest felt against her wet breasts. How his hard body felt against her.

Suddenly nervous, she stepped back, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself. Disappointment dimmed his eyes.

“How did you happen to be here?” she asked.

“I walked Mrs. D home and was just going back to my trailer when I heard you scream. Actually, I think they heard you up in Canada.”

She laughed. “Thanks, Clint. I’m glad you were here. I’ll be okay now.”

“Do you want me to stay with you? I’ll take the couch.”

Actually, she did want him to stay, but she just couldn’t deal with knowing that Clint was in her cabin. She’d never sleep.

“No, thanks. I’m just going to sleep with all the lights on. It’ll make it feel more like home.”

He grinned. “Suit yourself.”

He walked to the door, opened it, locked it again, and the cowboy disappeared into the dark Wyoming night.

The next morning, Susan awoke with the sun shining through the lace curtains. She swore she could see her breath in the frigid cabin.

She pulled the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then she searched the bedroom for a thermostat so she could turn up the heat, but there was none to be found.

From habit, she slipped on her watch and checked the time. Eight o’clock. She hadn’t slept this long in years. If she’d been home, she would have already put in about two hours at work.

She’d slept so soundly. Maybe there was something to this “clean mountain air” thing after all.

She tightened the comforter around herself, yanked on her fuzzy pink socks and walked into the living room.

She found the thermostat next to the fireplace, set it at seventy degrees and sat on the sofa, tucking her feet under her to warm them. It felt like December in New York instead of July in Wyoming.

She looked out the window in front of her and saw a kid go by on a horse. He had braces on both legs, and he was grinning and looking around as he rode, like a king surveying his realm. A cowboy walked beside the big horse, and her heart did a funny leap in her chest, thinking of Clint.

Control yourself, Susan.

She heard footsteps on the porch and soon heard a knock on her door.

“It’s Clint.”

In spite of trying to be in control, she felt her heart do a funny leap anyway. “Come in,” she said. She knew he had a key.

The door opened, flooding the room in sunlight. She squinted at Clint.

“It’s colder in here than it is outside. Why didn’t you open the windows?”

“I never thought of that. That’s not the usual way it works.”

“That’s the way it works around here.”

He walked around the cottage and opened the windows. Sunlight and warmth filled the room. She loosened the comforter. He was right. It was warmer outside.

Clint sat opposite her on a big leather chair and propped an ankle on his knee. “How’d you sleep after the bat?”

“Like a rock. I put the covers over my head and didn’t move a muscle.”

“Did you forget that we have a breakfast date?”

He studied her with a grin, and she knew she must look a sight. How come he looked so good in the morning? Judging by the crease marks on his long-sleeved pink shirt, it looked like he’d just taken it out of a package. His jeans were dark denim and also looked new, and he sported a belt buckle the size of a saucer.

He looked bright and chipper, and she felt as if she’d been run over by a double-decker tour bus. Life just wasn’t fair.

“And don’t forget your riding lesson,” he said. “I only have one day to make a cowgirl out of you.”

She hadn’t forgotten, but hoped he had.

“Let’s get moving—we’ve got a long day.”

What happened to the check-his-pulse, laid-back cowboy from yesterday?

“Is there coffee in the dining hall?” she asked.

“Buckets of it.”

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she said, springing up from the couch and running to the shower.

She figured she’d just get some coffee to go and maybe a bagel with cream cheese. Her stomach was jittery enough from the bat last night and now she had to get up on a horse and try to ride? It’d been ears since she’d been on horseback.

When she was ready, Clint opened the door for her and she stepped out into the bright sun. Halfway down the path and aiming for the biggest building, she heard a shrill whistle.

Looking around she realized that Clint hadn’t budged from the porch of her cottage. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“I always like the view from here.”

Curious, she walked back toward the porch and stood a few feet away from him, following his gaze to the mountains in the distance. Yes, they were beautiful. Not something she’d see back home.

She noticed several more buildings on the grounds. A long, wooden building had saddles hooked over the railing that surrounded it. To the left was a barn with a corral. The smiling boy she saw earlier was brushing his horse there. The cowboy who’d been with him sat on the wooden fence, watching.

“Smell that air,” Clint said. He took a deep breath.

She did. The scent of pine drifted on the air, but she’d rather smell coffee. “Which building is the dining room?”

He pointed. “Hang on a minute.”

He gave a shrill whistle and waved to the cowboy and the boy. “Morning, Jake. Morning, Tyrone.”

They waved back.

“That’s Jake Dixon. I guess you could call him the program director of the Gold Buckle. Tyrone is a camper.” He walked toward Susan, as if he had all the time in the world.

She groaned. “Coffee. Hurry.”

But he didn’t hurry. She waited for him and looked around. To her right, almost a city block away, stood a large ranch house that must have been the model for the dozen or so smaller cottages. From the beams of the wraparound porch, fuchsia-colored flowers cascaded from hanging baskets. Pink and red roses climbed on white trellises from a bountiful garden.

On one half of the porch was another set of stairs and a wheelchair ramp. A large sign on the roof proclaimed “Office.”

There were still more buildings. Some were weathered, others were whitewashed, and some were stone or brick. It looked like a little village.

Clint arrived at her side, and she felt his hand at the small of her back.

“It’s not like New York City, I suppose.”

She had to admit it was a pretty setting. “Manhattan looks incredible at night, but here there’s such wide-open space and all those trees and mountains. It’s breathtaking.”

“I never thought you’d notice.”

“I didn’t, until you pointed it out.”

Clint laughed and offered his arm. “Shall we dine?”

She hesitated a moment, then took his arm. “Sure.”

He motioned toward a chalet-type building with big picture windows. “That’s the dining hall, movie hall and all-round gathering place. And there’s always a pot of coffee on, day or night.”

The man knew how to get to her—forget the Chardonnay, bring on the caffeine.

“I think I should call my office first and see how things are going.”

“You’ve only been gone a day. Let’s eat first.”

“But I’ve never been gone a day before.”

He shrugged. “Give them some space. Maybe it would show you trusted them.”

Maybe he was right, but she was still going to call.

As they walked, Susan was very aware of his presence. She could feel his taut muscles beneath his shirt. The sound of his boots against the hard-packed ground reminded her of a hundred old western movies that her father used to watch on TV—when he was still around, anyway.

She studied Clint. He was clean-shaven, tanned and fit, and he was making her heart beat double time in her chest.

No one she’d ever dated had excited her this much. Admittedly, she’d always gone for typical Manhattan businessmen—stockbrokers, bankers, real estate developers—yet it was this cowboy who intrigued her the most.

Then again, she didn’t really know Clint. Heaven knows that she had more in common with the Manhattan singles. She loved to talk business with them. But none of them were for her. None of them could handle it when she left them waiting at the restaurant or the latest trendy bar a couple of times because she had to stay late at work.

Clint opened the door for her and she walked in. One of the first things she noticed were the long rows of picnic tables lined up end to end. The dining hall was crowded and noisy with a lot of laughter, the clang of china plates and the metallic clicking of silverware.

And full of kids.

Susan’s heart started to ache immediately. Yet these kids were smiling and laughing, yelling to one another. She could hear snippets of conversation about the horses they wanted to ride and what they planned to do during the day.

Black cowboy hats bobbed up and down, like a flock of crows pecking at seed. Every once in a while, a white hat could be spotted in the mix—a dove among the crows.

Under the hats were cowboys and cowgirls of all ages, wearing long-sleeved shirts, denim jeans and cowboy boots.

Uniforms. Cowboy uniforms.

She looked down at her designer clothes and her strappy Italian sandals. Maybe she ought to find a phone and give Bev a call, ask her to send a care package of western wear.

Clint steered her toward the back of the huge room to a cafeteria line, just like the one she remembered from high school. He plopped down an orange plastic tray in front of her and nodded to a tall, thin cowboy behind the counter. He had bristly white whiskers and a black baseball hat that read “Professional Bull Riders.” He wore a gray T-shirt, and on his arms were tattoos of the Marine Corps.

“She wants the works, Cookie,” Clint said.

Before she could tell him that she just wanted a toasted bagel with cream cheese, he handed her a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, ham and fried potatoes with onions.

“Come back for seconds or thirds if you want ’em,” Cookie said, grinning. “We got more than enough.”

Clint plucked a potato that had fallen off her plate onto the tray and popped it into his mouth. “Every once in a while, Cookie thinks that he’s still cooking for the marines.”

She looked down at her breakfast, floating in grease. “I see that he specializes in low-fat cuisine.”

Cookie handed Clint an identically heaped plate of food.

“The grease makes your hair shiny,” Clint said, leading Susan to an empty picnic table. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

“Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

She watched him walk to a round table supporting a coffee urn as big as a silo. Clint could really work a pair of jeans, and she could think of several designers who’d scoop him up instantly as a model, but her major concern was the fact that her coffee would be cold by the time he meandered back.

He finally returned and handed her a steaming mug of the coffee and she took a long sip. The strong, bitter brew slammed against the back of her brain and her eyes watered. She gasped for breath as her toes curled into her sandals.

“Good stuff, huh?” Clint said. “That’s cowboy coffee.”

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t speak.

“You’ll get used to it.”

She took a bite of bacon. It had a nice smoky flavor and she guessed it was the real cholesterol-laden thing.

“So what are you going to teach in arts and crafts?” Clint asked. “I’ll help you any way I can.”

She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to think about it yet. “Thanks, Clint. I appreciate the offer and will definitely take you up on it.”

He nodded and concentrated on his plate of food.

“How come nobody takes their hat off when they eat?” Susan asked.

“A cowboy never takes his hat off,” Clint replied. Then he winked. “Well, maybe there’s one thing that I’d take my hat off for.”

He winked again, and she felt a tingle in her belly. She might be rusty as to the flirting thing, but it was all coming back to her. “You’re bald under that hat, right?”

“Like I said, I only take my hat off for one thing, so if you want to find out…”

There was that annoying flip of her heart again.

Before she could think of a witty comeback, she noticed a little girl on crutches awkwardly making her way toward the table. And all she could think of was Elaine, as a pang struck her heart.

How was she going to survive this trip when she couldn’t escape her memories?