Читать книгу Deal Me In - Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

BRADY HUNG HIS HAT on a hook in the mudroom and left his boots by the back door. After washing his hands at the utility tub, he went to the kitchen where he snuck up behind Ruby, the woman who’d been the family cook since he was a boy, and kissed her warm brown neck. She swatted at him. “I knew you were back there,” she said. “You can’t surprise me anymore. Not since you’ve grown four feet and put on a hundred pounds.”

He laughed. “I guess a six-foot-three man has lost some of the upper hand when it comes to surprise attacks.”

She tried not to smile. “You wash those hands?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You hungry?”

“You need to ask?”

“Go on in the sunroom. Your daddy wanted lunch in there today. I’ve got it set up on the buffet.”

He went down the hallway past his father’s study, a guest bathroom and the formal dining room and entered the cheerful six-sided glassed-in area his mother had designed when the house was built. She referred to it as the conservatory and filled it with hanging ferns and philodendron, but everyone else called it the sunroom.

Marshall set down his newspaper and looked closely at Brady. “Late night?” he said.

“You could say that.”

“Did you win at least?”

“Came out okay despite having a lot on my mind.” He glanced at his father’s plate and the remains of something once smothered in gravy. Another test for Brady’s arteries, but whatever was in the chafing dish smelled too good to pass up. He headed to the buffet table. “I’m guessing stew,” he said.

“Ruby’s specialty. And mighty tasty.”

Brady ladled two helpings onto a plate, picked up a couple of biscuits from under a cloth napkin and chose a seat across the table from his father. “Where’s Mom?”

“Still sleeping, I guess,” Marshall said. “I was beat when we got home from Henley’s last night and turned in early. Angela was still in the den. I don’t know what time she came upstairs.”

Brady was sorry to hear this news. Before he’d left for the poker game, he’d come to the house to tell his mother about Amber Mac. It was after dark and he’d found her in front of the television. She was staring vacantly at an old black-and-white movie and he saw a drink in her hand. It only took a minute for him to realize she’d obviously started drinking at the cocktail hour and had continued with rum and Cokes well into the evening. Her interest in the new colt had been cool at best.

“Are you still having the hoedown on Sunday?” The annual event, which began at Cross Fox twenty-nine years ago to celebrate Marshall’s thirtieth birthday had become a Carrick family tradition. Brady figured his dad might cancel the party if Angela wasn’t up to hosting.

Marshall furrowed his brow. “Of course. Folks expect it. Besides, a man can’t stop living just because…” He never finished his thought and instead went to the buffet, filled a bowl with peaches and poured heavy cream over the top. “Are any of your friends from the poker game coming?”

Brady had invited Blake, Cole, Jake and Luke, the four regulars on Texas Hold ’Em nights. “Yes, they’re coming. Along with their girlfriends and wives.” Marshall knew Blake’s wife, Annie. She was a reporter for the River Bluff newspaper and expecting their first child. And Brady figured his dad would remember Rachel Diamonte, a former River Bluff prom queen, who’d recently come back to town. She and Jake had a history to mend, but since he’d hired her to renovate the bar they’d worked out their differences and were planning a future together. But he’d never met Tessa, the new love of Cole Lawry’s life.

“So Jake’s coming to the party?” Marshall said.

“Yep. Mom’s just going to have to accept that.”

“It’ll be all right. Your mother likes Luke, at least. There’s no better people than that whole Chisum clan.”

They ate in silence until Marshall scooped the last of the fruit from his bowl. He sat back. “Did you time those three-year-olds on the half mile this morning?”

“Sure did. Jodie’s Girl cut five seconds off her previous time. I breezed the two stallions with her, but they didn’t improve. In my opinion, though, Jodie’s ready for a claiming race.”

Marshall nodded. “She’s a good strong filly. How’s Amber Mac today?”

“Seems okay. I’m going to feed him when I’m done here.”

“Not too much. He’s not showing hog fat, but we’ve got to trim him down anyway.”

“I know, Dad. We talked about this. I won’t overfeed him.” Brady sopped up a pool of gravy with a biscuit. “At breakfast I went over the vet reports on him again. His vaccinations are up-to-date and his vitamin regimen seems appropriate for his age and weight.” He pushed his plate back and stood. He shouldn’t have to prove himself to his father every time they talked, yet he constantly felt the need to. “I’ve got to go, Dad. See you later.”

Marshall picked up his paper and resumed reading.

Brady returned to the mudroom for his boots and hat. He left by the back entrance and headed across the two hundred yards of lush green lawn that separated the stables from the house. He regretted not taking the golf cart…his knee was acting up. But he believed in the old-fashioned theory that pain can be walked off. Dodger, the family’s Jack Russell terrier yapped at his heels. “Where did you come from? I didn’t see you begging for scraps at lunch.”

The dog alternated between scuttling on his belly and nipping at the hem of Brady’s jeans. “Calm down. And stop that barking. We’re almost at the stables. You’re supposed to be a horse’s companion, not his biggest aggravation.”

They reached the stalls and Brady told Dodger to stay put, out of sight of Amber Mac. Predictably, the terrier didn’t pay any mind. Instead, he scratched at the bottom half of Mac’s door and resumed yipping. Amber Mac reared, hitting his rump against the back of the stall.

At the sound of laughter behind him, Brady whirled around. Dobbs picked up Dodger, set him in the yard, put his hand up in front of the animal’s face and said, “Stay!” Dodger didn’t move and Brady experienced renewed admiration for the trainer. And a bit of jealousy.

Dobbs walked over to him. “That’s what comes from a dog not knowing his place in the scheme of things around here,” he said. “In the daylight, that crazy pup is out here at the stables, then come evening, Angela gives him a bath in perfumed shampoo so he can sleep on a velvet pillow at the foot of her bed.” Dodger hadn’t moved, but was panting with excitement, probably anticipating his next opportunity to sneak back to the stalls. “You don’t know where you belong, do you, boy?” Dobbs said. He clucked his tongue a few times at Amber Mac and coaxed the animal to the door. “He’s acting skittish. I think it’s more than Dodger bothering him.”

“He’s probably hungry.” With a slow, deliberate motion, Brady lifted his hand to stroke the thoroughbred’s nose. “Time for lunch, fella.”

Mac jerked his head out of reach.

“Okay, so we’re not best friends yet.”

Dobbs handed Brady a feed bucket. “He’s only getting a pound of oats,” Dobbs said. “He’s been on grass and doesn’t need any more than that.”

Brady poured the oat pellets into the feed bucket. The horse immediately began to eat.

“Let’s leave him be,” Dobbs said, motioning for Brady to follow him. “Don’t get discouraged. This is only his first full day at Cross Fox. He needs a good week or two to adjust to his new environment, even if these are the luxury accommodations.”

Brady stopped halfway to the house and looked back. Dobbs turned to see what had caught his eye. The stables, built of brick and pine, stretched in a U-shaped arc with a stone statue of a thoroughbred in the center. Dutch doors opened onto each twelve-by-twelve stall. In the summer, when temperatures soared above ninety degrees, fans circulated continuously, keeping the horses cool and flies at bay.

Two full-time grooms cleaned brushes and kept the horses’ coats glossy. A pair of stable hands washed feed buckets and mucked stalls twice a day. An industrial washing machine was constantly running, keeping blankets, bandages and wraps sanitary. The Cross Fox gardener manicured the lawn around the stable until it resembled a putting green and kept oak planters in front of each stall. This month they were still filled with the brilliant red poinsettias of the holiday season. Marshall spared no expense.

Amber Mac’s accommodations were the best of the best. His stall opened onto a private paddock so he could come and go at will, allowing him the exercise needed to trim to an acceptable weight.

Brady crossed his arms and watched as Mac, finished with his meal, trotted into the paddock and stood with his head over the fence. “He’s got it pretty good.”

Dobbs started to comment but the sound of a car’s laboring engine interrupted him. “You expecting company?”

“Not me.” Brady peered down the half-mile drive. A rolling speck of white approached in a cloud of dust. “Who do we know who drives a tiny foreign thing like that?” he asked Dobbs.

“Nobody I can think of.”

But suddenly Brady knew. Strands of dark brown hair whipped from the driver’s window. George Strait blared from the radio. “Uh, Dobbs?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember seeing that car in Cliff’s parking lot?”

The car stopped two-thirds of the way around the circular drive, just past the entrance to the house. “Damn, Brady,” he said. “That sure looks like our Molly.”

“Shit, no, it can’t be.” Brady pushed his hat back from his forehead. “Sweet mercy, Dobbs, it’s her. And she’s got somebody else in the car.”

Molly shut off the engine. Dust settled over the car, turning the faded exterior a gritty beige. She raked her fingers through her mussed hair, gathered it into a bunch and deftly wound some sort of band around it. She stepped out of the car and leaned an elbow on the top. “You told me not to wait too long,” she said. “I guess this should be quick enough for you.”

He tried to think of something to say, but his head was filled with the chug of her car as it came up the drive and the snorts of amusement coming from Dobbs. Not to mention the appearance of a woman who looked entirely different from the demure waitress in a red dress. This Molly filled out a pair of jeans about as well as anyone could. Her long-sleeved blouse opened at her neck revealing a turquoise charm dipping from a silver chain all the way down between… He looked up like a kid caught with his eyes on a centerfold.

She stepped away from the car and smoothed her hands down the sides of her jeans. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“You could have called first,” he said, and resisted the urge to slap his hand against his forehead before something else equally inane came from his mouth.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. We pretty well sealed the deal yesterday.”

Had they? Well, yeah, he supposed she was right. But he hadn’t expected her to actually show up. Yet here she was, standing in his driveway, her car loaded to the tops of its windows with stuff. And something else. He pointed. “Who’s in the car?”

She leaned into the driver’s window. “You can get out, Sammy. It’s okay. This is the place I told you about.”

The passenger door opened and a kid emerged, his sneakers crunching on the fine white gravel of the Carricks’ drive. He stood there, the brim of a Dallas Mavericks ball cap shadowing his eyes and nose. A worn cotton horse, its hind legs squeezed in the kid’s fist, dangled beside him. In the other hand, he gripped a plastic Slurpee cup. A T-shirt emblazoned with Prairie Bend Elementary School hung to the knees of a pair of husky-sized jeans.

Molly hurried around the car and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Say hi to Mr. Carrick and Mr. Dobbs.”

The horse jerked upward, its front legs wiggling. “Hi.”

“This is my son,” she explained, as if it made perfect sense for her to descend on Cross Fox Ranch with family in tow. “His name is Sam.”

Dobbs stepped forward and grinned at the kid. “Hello, Sam.”

Brady acknowledged him with a nod. A silence which might have become uncomfortable was broken by Dodger. The dog darted around Dobbs and ran at the kid, barking excitedly and wagging his stub of a tail.

Molly yanked the boy behind her. “Keep the dog back, will you?”

Brady released a snort of laughter. “That dog’s not going to bite.”

“I don’t know that.”

Dobbs called Dodger back and did his magic hand thing again to quiet the animal.

Brady stared at Molly. “I thought you said you didn’t have any family.”

“I believe I said I wasn’t leaving behind anyone that matters. That’s true. I brought Sam with me.”

“A kid isn’t part of the deal.”

She settled her hand on Sam’s ball cap. “No, he isn’t.”

“But how…?”

“You let me worry about that. It’s not your problem.”

“Like hell—” She scowled at him, and he clamped his mouth shut.

“If you’d like to discuss this later, I’d be happy to,” she said. “Now’s not the time.”

If ever a man felt like he was being rail-roaded, this was it. When Brady got up that morning, he never thought he’d be trying to figure out what to make of Molly. He never believed he’d actually end up teaching her the ins and outs of poker. And he never figured that if she did show, she’d bring a carload of baggage that included a lot more than a few suitcases of clothes.

Brady reached in his back pocket and took out his wallet. “What’d it cost you to get here, Molly? I wouldn’t want you to make the drive back today so here’s enough for a motel room and dinner tonight. There’s a nice place in town…”

She took a couple of steps toward him. “I don’t want traveling expenses. I want the lessons. That’s what you told me I’d get.”

He frowned. “That was yesterday. And you brought a lot more to the table than you ever told me about, so why don’t you take the money, head on back to Prairie Bend and we’ll call the whole thing off.”

She breathed deeply and spoke so low he had to lean in to hear her. That damn silver chain glinted in the sunlight and he had to remind himself to keep his eyes off it. “Okay,” she said, “maybe I should have told you about Sam.”

“You think?”

“But if I had, you wouldn’t have offered me the deal.”

“Damn straight.”

She rolled her eyes to Sam. “Language.”

Somehow he reined in his temper. “Why don’t you take Molly’s son for a walk?” he said to Dobbs.

“Sure. I can do that.”

It was a great plan in theory, only the kid wouldn’t budge. “Sit in the car, honey,” she said to him. He got inside and sucked on the Slurpee.

Molly turned back to Brady. “Look, I’m sorry about blindsiding you, but Sam’s going to start school soon. And when he’s not in school, he won’t be any trouble. He’s a well-behaved boy. I will need to spend time with him, of course, but I’m sure you and I will find all the opportunities we need to study.” Sensing he wasn’t convinced, she added, “And I’m a fast learner. Really, I am. And I want to do this. I’m prepared to study hard and listen to everything you tell me.”

He slanted a suspicious look at her. “Just exactly why do you want to learn poker, Molly? What do you want the money for?”

She parroted the line he’d given her the day before. “It’s personal.”

“I didn’t get away with saying that yesterday,” he said. “Why should I let you get away with it today?”

“You don’t need to know,” she evaded. “I did need to have answers about your motives. I’m the one taking a chance. I’m the outsider.”

“You’ve got to give me something, Molly.”

“I need a fresh start.” She stared intently at him, like she’d done when they first met in the diner. “All you need to know is that when this is over, I’ll leave. Like you explained yesterday, win or lose, I’ll be out of your life. I give you my word.”

Her word? What did Brady know about the word of a woman he’d just met? And yet he believed what she was saying. Unfortunately, believing did not mean he was ready to take on the responsibility of a newly unemployed waitress and her silent, overweight kid.

“What’s going on out here?” Marshall’s booming voice captured everyone’s attention. He strode out the front door, crossed the veranda and came down the steps. Stopping at the edge of the drive, he looked at the overstuffed vehicle that Brady had now identified as an older model Honda, bent to check out the boy inside and turned his focus to the three adults several yards away. He thrust his hands on his hips and said, “Damn, if you didn’t show up after all.”

“Hello, Mr. Carrick.”

He jutted a thumb at the car. “Is the kid yours?”

“He is.”

He shook his head. “Double damn.”

Molly glanced at the car. “Please, Mr. Carrick, can’t you men say anything without swearing?”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Begging your pardon.” He focused on Brady. “I guess the bet’s in full swing now, isn’t it, son?”

Brady frowned. “We’re still working out the details. I wasn’t exactly prepared for their arrival.”

“You shoulda’ been. She told you she was coming.”

“Yes, but I thought she was just… Besides, I didn’t know she’d have a…” The boy was staring out the window, probably hearing every word.

“He’s just a tyke,” Marshall said. “I can’t see that he’ll be much trouble.”

Molly’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Mr. Carrick. That’s exactly what I tried to tell your son.”

The front door opened again, and Angela appeared in a long flowing dressing gown with ostrich feathers fluttering at the hem and the ends of the sleeves. “I heard a car,” she said. “Do we have company?”

“Mom, this is Molly,” Brady said as she floated down the steps. “I met her yesterday. She’s come to work with me on a special project.”

Angela blinked rapidly several times. “What kind of project?”

“Has to do with poker,” Brady said.

Angela put her index finger to her bottom lip and stared at Molly. “How interesting. I’m sure you’ll give me more details later, won’t you, Brady?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your last name, dear?”

Molly turned away from Brady and answered Angela’s question. His mother’s small mouth rounded with interest. “Are you related to the Davises from King William Street in San Antonio?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. My maiden name is Whelan and I come from a small town outside Dallas.”

“I’m sure that’s nice, too.” Angela stared over Molly’s shoulder at the Honda. “Who’s in the car?”

“That’s my son, Sam.”

“What an angelic face,” Angela said. Brady didn’t know how she’d come to that conclusion, since he couldn’t see anything but the boy’s mouth and plastic straw from where he stood.

Angela turned to Brady. “Where are these people staying, dear? And for how long?”

Brady fumbled for a response. “A few weeks, maybe,” he said, still uncertain as to whether or not that was true. “And I don’t know where they’ll stay. They just got here.”

Angela looked at Dobbs. “Have you hired a new stable foreman yet, Trevor?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Molly and Sam can stay in the apartment over the tack room.” She looked at Brady and noted his less than enthusiastic reaction. “What’s wrong? The apartment was recently refurbished. It’s convenient if you’ll be working together.”

How could he tell his mother that her impulsive suggestion was just another example of the way her mind had been working lately. Since he’d come home from Vegas, Angela either approached situations with misplaced enthusiasm or bland indifference. He would have preferred indifference today. “I think we should let Molly decide,” he said.

Chastised, her pale lips pulled into a frown, Angela murmured, “Of course.”

They both looked at Molly. “I think it’s a very generous offer,” she said. “I’m sure Sam and I could be comfortable there.”

Angela smiled. “Good. It’s settled.” She gathered the excess folds of her robe around her slim waist. “I’m going in now. I need coffee. Is breakfast being served in the conservatory?”

Marshall took her arm. “I’m afraid you’ve missed breakfast, Angela. You’ll have to settle for a late lunch.”

As they went toward the front entrance, Brady heard his mother ask, “What time is it, Marsh? I can’t imagine it’s much past nine.”

His answer was muffled as he led her inside.

Brady scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and looked at Molly. “So, do you want to see the apartment?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“You can drive around to the front of the stables. I’ll meet you there.”

As he turned away from her, he heard Dobbs say, “Welcome aboard, Molly. I think you’ll like it here.”

It occurred to Brady that he hadn’t yet said anything remotely welcoming to Molly. And he was a long way from doing so. He had no idea what her angle was but he was certain that a woman who gave up everything to follow a crazy bet had to have one.