Читать книгу The Cowboy's Second Chance - Christyne Butler, Christyne Butler - Страница 11

“Yeah, you heard me right. She’s the one in charge around here. We haven’t been properly introduced. Willie Perkins.” He stuck out his hand.

Landon took it, not surprised at the strong grip. “Landon Cartwright.”

“At least you know who ya are. Come on, I’ll fix ya up in the bunk—”

“No, thanks. I’ll stay here.”

Willie’s bushy white brows arched high. “In the barn?”

Landon pulled his hand free. “Yeah, I’ve slept in worse places. Believe it or not, I’ve been in fights before, too.”

“Now, why don’t that surprise me? We got enough trouble around here, you hear?”

“Look, old man. I didn’t ask for her help. Or yours. And trouble is the last thing I’m looking for.”

Willie stared back at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll park your truck by the house. You get the doors.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Minutes later, Willie walked by and tossed him the keys before disappearing into the bunkhouse. Pocketing them, Landon closed one barn door, then stopped. His eyes drifted across the yard to the light spilling from a window in the main house.

Who was this lady? Did she own this spread? Alone?

Willie hadn’t mentioned a husband, and she seemed pretty upset with Greeley back at the carnival. He couldn’t remember if she wore a wedding ring, not that a piece of jewelry kept someone faithful.

And this ranch.

Other than the outlines of a few buildings, including a one-story house with a wraparound porch, he couldn’t see much in the darkness. The quiet surprised him. The barn sounded as if it was full of horses, but except for Willie, there weren’t any other cowboys in sight, and only one other pickup besides his own.

Unusual for a Saturday night and a holiday…

Stop thinking so much. Landon shut the other barn door. You’ve got more important things to worry about.

His body was wracked with sharp twinges of pain as he moved toward the stalls. After closer inspection of G.W.’s leg, he was happy to see the swelling under control.

“Wish I had some liniment to help you out, boy.” He kept his voice soft as he rewrapped the leg with firm pressure. “We’ll have to rely on good ol’ cold and hot therapy until I can get more cash.”

G.W. responded with a flick of his ears. A twinge of guilt twisted through Landon as he watched his horse feed. After a week of foraging on the side of the road, it was clear the palomino was enjoying the fresh hay and water.

Landon left the stall and walked to the bench. A low groan escaped as he pulled off his boots. It took a minute for another wave of dizziness to pass before he emptied his pockets into the duffel bag. He kept the tarnished silver locket. It took all his strength not to open it and look inside.

Rubbing his fingers over the inlaid scrollwork, he stared at it for a long moment then shoved it back into his jeans. Not now. He couldn’t deal with any more pain tonight.

What was left of his shirt hung free and he undid the few remaining buttons before releasing the top button of his jeans. His shoulders and arms ached as he reached around to rub the scar tissue on his lower back. He could get the crap kicked out of him and the injury didn’t flare up. Then something as simple as changing a tire and—

Injury. Yeah, right.

Injury implied healing. Not this. This he would carry for the rest of his life. He peeled the shirt off his shoulders. A low creaking caused him to spin around.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She walked from the shadows, her arms filled with blankets, a pillow and a glass of water. “Willie called me from the bunkhouse and said you’d be staying…”

A rush of heat spread across Landon’s skin when her gaze trailed from his face, past his open shirt to his feet, then back again. Brightness shone in her emerald eyes. The pink on her cheeks matched her full lips and the memory of their imaginary kiss came rushing back.

He didn’t know if she was married or not, but the intensity of her stare was enough to start the pressure building behind his fly for the second time tonight.

“I guess I should’ve knocked first.”

Landon forced himself to relax. He tugged his shirt back onto his shoulders, thankful he still wore his hat. “It’s your barn.”

She held out the bedding in her arms and frowned. “Why sleep out here?”

“I already told your cowboy. The place is clean and the hay’s fresh. Better than where I’ve slept the last few days.” Landon’s heart pounded as he took the blankets, warm from her body. The now-familiar scent of fresh linen drifted around him. “Besides, most cowboys don’t welcome sharing a bunkhouse with an outsider. And I’m sure your husband isn’t too crazy about you bringing home a total stranger.”

He placed the items on the bench then turned to find her holding out the glass in one hand, two pills in the other and a faint blush on her cheeks.

“You might be right about the cowboys, but not the husband. I don’t have one.” She pushed the glass and pills at him. “Here, you must have one heck of a headache.”

No husband.

He ignored the jolt the news gave him, looked at the pills instead. He hesitated, hating how three years in prison had colored his view of people. He doubted the pills were anything other than pain medication. How could he refuse? She’d done more for him, a total stranger, than anyone else since he’d gotten out.

“You said your ranch hand checked me out?” He took the glass. “How did he do that exactly?”

“Willie served in the Korean War as a medic.” She dropped the medicine into his hand. “He has a bit of medical school under his belt, too. He’s helped a lot of people around here over the years.”

Landon nodded before he tipped his head back and pretended to take the pills. Instead, he slipped them into his pocket and washed the dryness from his mouth with the cool water.

“So, you all set?” She moved past him toward the horse stalls. “Got enough pillows, blankets…liniment?”

“Excuse me?”

“You told me those men didn’t hurt your horse.” She stood at G.W.’s stall and grabbed the top edge of the split door. “But I saw him favoring his forelimb when you brought him out of the trailer.”

He joined her, but stayed at arm’s length. “They didn’t hurt him. His injury happened about a week ago. Tonight’s excitement didn’t help.”

She took the glass from his outstretched hand. “Neither did riding in your trailer.”

G.W. shook his head and offered a nicker in response. She grinned and held her hand flat for the horse’s inspection before laying her palm on his nose and gently rubbing.

Another stabbing pain pierced Landon’s chest. This one didn’t hurt like the others. Laced with an edge of something carnal, it curled inside his gut.

He put more space between them and crossed his arms over his chest. The sawdust covering the concrete floor was cool against his feet. “He’s okay. I’ve got it under control.”

“I’ve got Dermcusal, but it might be too late.” She offered the horse a final pat before moving away. “Warming liniments might help. There’s a refrigerator and warmer in the tack room.”

“Lady, what are you—”

“Wait right here.” She disappeared through a door in the corner of the barn. He could hear the jingling of keys, then she returned with a jumble of small boxes and tubes that she handed to him. “Here, these should help. If you want, we can call Kali Watson in the morning. She’s the local vet, well, the practice is her and her husband, but he’s gone at the moment—”

“No.”

Landon’s reply was stronger than he intended, evident by how she skittered backwards. He looked at the medicine he’d been hoping for a moment ago. Medicine he couldn’t afford.

“Ah, no thanks.” His voice was softer this time. “I can care for him.”

“How? You said you didn’t have anywhere to go tonight.”

“I did? When?”

“Back at the fairgrounds when we debated whether you were fit to drive.” She took another step toward the side door. “That’s how you ended up here.”

Geez, he needed to clear the fog swirling in his head. What else had he said?

He again looked at the tubes of ointment and swallowed hard. “I appreciate this, but I’m passing through. I can’t…I don’t have the money to pay you.”

She waved off his words. “Don’t worry about it.”

Pride filled him. He’d always earned everything he’d gotten in life. Long before his time in jail, charity wasn’t something he’d ever taken lightly. “And the hay—G.W. can eat like there’s no tomorrow. Your hospitality—”

“Consider it a proper thank you for what you did for me tonight.” She reached behind her and opened the door. “You know, with all that’s happened you never did tell me your name.”

“Cartwright.” The word was out of his mouth before he thought about it. “Landon Cartwright.”

“Well, Landon Cartwright, my name’s Maggie Stevens. Welcome to the Crescent Moon. You’re invited to breakfast come morning if you’re still here.”

She hurried through the door, closing it firmly behind her. Landon remained rooted to the spot and stared after her before he dumped the meds on the bench.

Had he heard right?

He pulled the help-wanted ad from his jeans.

Yep, Crescent Moon.

Bam, bam, bam.

Maggie allowed one eye to open wide enough to look at the clock on her nightstand. A low groan escaped her lips. Despite the morning light filling her bedroom, it wasn’t quite six o’clock. Unlike most nights when she’d fall into bed already half asleep, it’d taken hours before she’d stopped reliving the events of last night. For a day that started so simply, it certainly ended with a bang.

More like an explosion.

She pictured the tall, handsome stranger sleeping in her barn and relived his soul-stirring, stomach-dropping kiss. The memory made Maggie’s insides plunge all the way to her toes.

The same as they did last night when Landon had grabbed her and pulled her close in his truck. She had seen his head snap back against the seat rest when Willie had hit the brakes. Her first instinct had been to make sure he was okay. His first instinct, evidently, had been to cover her mouth with his. She’d been so surprised by his actions and her response that it had taken a groan from him to make her pull away.

Racy was always telling her she needed a little excitement in her life. Nothing like breaking up a fight and bringing home a not-so-conscious sexy stranger to liven things up.

A stranger who cared very much for his horse.

Intuition told her the cowboy and G.W. were best friends, despite the sad conditions of both his truck and trailer. Maybe it was because he’d wanted to stay in the barn. Or the relief in his eyes when he’d first seen the medicine. A relief quickly hidden behind a mask of pride.

Bam, bam, bam.

Maggie groaned again and crawled from her bed. She crossed to one of the windows facing the barn. It had to be Hank. No matter how many times she’d told him it was okay to start the workday a little later on Sundays, he was always up at dawn. Thanks to ranch hands disappearing and the list of chores growing daily, she was up with the sun most days, too. Hank had agreed to do something away from the house until everyone else was up and moving. But not this morning. No, it sounded as if he was right beneath her window.

White eyelet curtains ruffled in the cool morning breeze, obscuring her view. She pulled them to the side and squinted at the cloudless blue sky and the promise of another hot summer day. She scanned the swimming hole in the backyard and the empty foreman’s cabin until her eyes came to rest on the tall figure wielding a hammer at the main corral.

That wasn’t Hank.

There was no way anyone could confuse her ranch hand, a shorter, solid, fatherly type, with the man outside her window. A lean, muscular body poured into a black T-shirt and matching jeans, stood tall in the morning light. His long hair was tied at the base of his neck under a black Stetson.

“Landon Cartwright,” Maggie whispered against the windowpane.

He dug into a pocket before dropping to a crouch. Her next breath came out in a low hum as the denim covering his backside pulled taut. His shirt did the same over muscular arms and shoulders as he lifted a wooden slat. He braced it with his knee, and then—bam, bam, bam—three blows of the hammer sank three nails to secure the board in place.

Okay, that was impressive.

He rose and circled the corral, stopping to test each section, making quick work of an important job she hadn’t had time to tackle in the last month.

Thanks to the work she’d done with a horse for Destiny’s mayor and the fact that his wife was a cousin of Tucker Hargrove, she’d won first crack at taming a horse purchased by the A-list movie star for his talented but spoiled daughter. Black Jack, a wild mustang who fit his name perfectly, was due to arrive the day after next.

Landon stopped and turned, his gaze narrowing on her window.

Maggie dropped the curtain and scooted to the side, bracing herself against the flowery wallpaper. Her heart raced.

“He’s a man doing ordinary chores,” she chided, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “Get over it.”

She wished it were that easy. His dark eyes and calloused yet gentle touch had haunted her deep into the night. Willie was right. She’d brought home another stray. Without a second thought to the pile of bills on her desk, she’d handed over medicine she should’ve kept for her own horses.

But she couldn’t stop herself.

The palomino was a beauty, with its golden coat, dark eyes, and white mane and tail. Its owner was a cowboy who’d stepped in when most would’ve minded their own business, and got the crap kicked out of him for his troubles.

A cowboy who was now finishing one of the many chores at her ranch.

A cowboy who’d kissed her, but likely wouldn’t even remember.

It was for the best.

With all last night’s excitement, she hadn’t given a second thought to what the loss of her ranch hands would mean until long after she’d crawled into bed. Once again, she toyed with the idea of talking to this stranger about the job. Lord knows she needed the help, but should she take the first cowboy that sashayed down the road?

The air remained silent. Maggie glanced past the edge of the curtain in time to see his knees hit the ground as he grabbed on to the side of the corral.

She raced from her bedroom, out the back door and across the cool, green grass and the dusty, dirt-packed drive. When she reached him, he was back on his feet, but bent at the waist.

“Are you all right?”

He took his time rising to his full height. One hand rubbed his stomach, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his chest. The other hung at his side, the hammer clenched in his fist. His dark eyes roamed over her, from her bed-head hair to her naked toes.

“Is that Clint Eastwood?”

Maggie followed his pointed gaze, and let loose a low groan, her face and neck growing hot. Her pajamas consisted of a tank top, emblazed with a head shot of the legendary actor, and matching loose cotton pants, covered with horseshoes and saddles, that hung low on her waist.

“They were a gift.” She fidgeted. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He tugged his Stetson lower. “Tired. I was up most of the night with G.W.”

“How is he?”

“Fine.”

Maggie waited for him to go into detail, but the firm press of his lips told her he was finished.

“But you’re not.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Maggie returned his gaze. With his dark skin and hat pulled low, it was hard to see the varying shades of the shiner around his eye, but at least he was able to open it. Her toes curled into the dirt under his steady gaze.

“I’m fine, too,” he said at last.

“Better than fine the way you wielded that hammer.”

“I didn’t know I had an audience.”

A flush of heat stained Maggie’s cheeks. “Things are pretty quiet around here on Sunday mornings.”

“Well, after waking to find a shotgun in my face—”

“What?”

“I think I surprised one of your ranch hands.” He shoved a hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I told him I had permission to camp in the barn. I guess he believed me because he let me help muck the stalls and feed the horses. He then saddled up and left.”

Maggie heaved a sigh. “Hank Jarvis. He’s my other hand. Did he say anything else?”

Landon cleared his throat. “He mumbled something about a soft-hearted do-gooder.”

“That would be me.” Maggie crossed her arms, conscious she wasn’t wearing a bra. “So, you want to explain why you’re fixing my corral?”

“I figured since I was awake I’d do something to thank you for the meds, putting me up last night…everything.”

“Last night was my way of thanking you for helping me with that pain-in-the-ass Greeley,” Maggie countered, “and getting beat up for your efforts.”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, you told me.” Maggie propped her hands on her hips. “Don’t let the fact I’m a natural blonde fool you. I’m not as dumb as I look. Not anymore, and—”

“Margaret Anne Stevens! What in the blazes are you doing out here half-naked? And talking with a stranger, no less!”

Maggie jumped and spun around. Her grandmother, five feet of wiry enthusiasm and pure white curls, stood on the back porch. “Nana B., you scared me!” Then she sighed, and turned back to Landon. “My grandmother. You might as well come meet her before she goes for her shotgun, too.”

His mouth twitched at one corner.

Maggie started across the yard, a hot prickle dancing across her skin. As much as she wanted to blame it on the July sun, she wondered if it was Landon’s heated gaze on her back.

And her backside.

“I’m not half-naked and this isn’t a stranger…well, not really.” Maggie pushed her hair from her eyes as she reached the porch. Turning, she found he’d stayed at the foot of the stairs. “This is Landon and he—ah, he and his horse needed a place to crash last night. Landon Cartwright, my grandmother, Beatrice Travers.”

“Ma’am.” He hooked one finger on the brim of his Stetson and nodded.

“Call me Nana B., everyone does.” Her grandmother shot Maggie a quick look then continued. “So, you’re the noisemaker. You look right at home with a hammer. We’re lookin’—”

“Nana B.!” Horror filled Maggie at her grandmother’s words. “Mr. Cartwright isn’t looking for work.”

“I’m passing through, ma’am.”

Nana B.’s back stiffened, then a bright smile danced over her aged features. “Not without washing up and some breakfast.” She headed back inside. “I’ll get started on the food, you two get wet.”

Get wet.

The two little words sent Maggie’s heart racing again. Last night’s fantasy of a midnight skinny-dip, present company included, flashed inside her head. Mortified, she bit her bottom lip, glancing toward Landon. “Ah, there’s a half bath inside if you want it.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. Something hot and powerful flashed in his dark eyes. Her nipples tightened against the soft cotton of her tank top. His eyes flickered to her breasts for a moment before looking away.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he focused on the horizon. “I should be heading out.”

A voice deep inside, frantic and desperate, cried out for him to stay.

Good Lord, where’d that come from?

“N-not without breakfast. My grandmother would skin me alive if I let you leave before tasting her blue-ribbon muffins.” She backed up until her butt hit the door. She pulled it open and stepped inside. “Besides, your horse is going to need—”

“I know what G.W. needs.”

The screen door banged closed between them at his abrupt words. Maggie didn’t know him from a hole in the wall. Her gut told her he was a good man, but hell, she’d been wrong before. Her body’s reaction was a poor barometer. She had her family and ranch to protect. Besides, it was clear he wanted to leave.

“Fine…do what you want.”

She forced herself not to look back as she made a beeline for the bathroom. The phone on the hall table rang. She grabbed the extension before it stopped. “Crescent Moon.”

“Mama?”

Joy flooded Maggie at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Are you okay? Did I wake you?”

“I’m fine, honey, and no, you didn’t wake me.” A tall, sexy-as-sin cowboy who’s no doubt packing his truck as we speak, did. “Why are you calling so early?”

A long pause filled the air. “I wanted to check on things.”

Oh, Anna. Maggie leaned again the wall and pressed a hand to her forehead. Eight years old is too young to be such a worrier. “Everything is fine here.”

“No accidents while we were at the carnival?”

“You know Hank stayed at the ranch while we were in town.” Maggie straightened and forced a smile into her words. “Did you and Julie have a good time last night?”

She listened to her daughter’s excited chatter for a few more minutes before ending the call. After lingering under the spray of the shower, she grabbed her robe and headed to her bedroom. Once inside, she paused at the door. Despite the nearness of her room to the kitchen, she didn’t hear a word of conversation.

Not her grandmother’s lilting pitch, which still carried a hint of her Irish heritage, or Willie’s gravel-filled murmur that reminded her of aged leather. And certainly not the low, smoky tone of her rescuer-cowboy.

Girl, you’ve got more important things to worry about than a cowboy and his lame horse. She closed the door and moved to her dresser. Like the financial standing of your ranch.

Financial leaning was a better way to put it.

After pulling on her boots, she used the hair dryer to blast her shoulder-length hair then pulled it into a ponytail as columns of figures from her so-called budget flashed through her mind. An upcoming vet payment to the Watson Clinic loomed, and her credit line at the feed store was near its limit. Not to mention the final balloon payment on the loan she’d had to get to buy her ex out of the Crescent Moon.

Balloon payment! What a stupid term for a financial dealing. Made it sound like something connected with a birthday party instead of a way for her to lose everything.

Lose everything? Over my dead body.

Maggie marched into the kitchen, drawn by the aroma of her grandmother’s cooking. Weaving her leather belt through the loops on her jeans, she walked right into a heated wall of muscles.