Читать книгу From This Moment On - Debbi Rawlins, Debbi Rawlins - Страница 8

NIKKI BURIED HER FACE deeper into the pillow. The windows were closed and she’d shut the blinds tight before she’d crawled into bed at four this morning. So where was the light coming from? And the noise…Outside men were talking while horses were doing whatever annoying things horses did…besides terrify her. How was a person supposed to get any sleep?

She blindly felt around the other side of the queen bed, found the extra pillow and plopped it on her head. It helped to mute the sounds but not enough. Oh, man, maybe she hadn’t closed the windows. Her bedroom was too chilly. Even in June, at this altitude, the nights and early mornings had a nip in the air that had her thinking twice about staying for the week much less indefinitely.

With a groan, she flopped onto her back and stared at the digital clock on the oak nightstand—10:16 a.m. Okay, this was a ranch and she knew people had work to do but really, did they have to be so loud?

Her problem could be solved if she just got up and checked the windows. It seemed a simple fix until she tried to swing her legs off the side of the bed. They felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each. So did her head. She wasn’t the least hungover, even though it felt that way. After work she and Sadie’d had one lousy shot. That was it. And Nikki doubted she would’ve had anything to drink if Trace had come to the bar last night.

That got her heart pumping faster and her eyes fully open.

Okay, maybe she was coming out of a blackout because that was the stupidest thought ever. She glanced around her room, spotted her phone where she’d left it to charge on the massive dresser and forced her feet to the floor. She had to squint at the screen in order to focus on the date. Yep, it was Saturday. Last time she’d seen Trace was Thursday when the blonde had chased after him.

Come to think of it, Nikki hadn’t seen the woman last night, either. Only the friend she’d come with two nights earlier. Which probably meant that she and Trace were…

No. She didn’t care what Trace was doing. She didn’t. Thinking about him at all would make her a fool. Or maybe it was a form of therapy…or avoidance…transference…something like that. She couldn’t think about Trace and Wallace at the same time. If she tried, Trace won.

Sometimes she missed the rinky-dink Houston community college that had been close enough to work that she could walk.

She’d loved studying psychology until she learned how much schooling it took to actually get a useful degree. It could’ve been fun and challenging but she was nothing if not realistic. Higher education required money. And that was something she’d never have to spare.

She set the phone down, lingering to touch the smooth oak.

Matt said the hand-carved dresser had been in the family for over a hundred years. She wondered if that meant it was an antique. Or just old. She never could figure out the difference. One thing she knew for sure, the obnoxiously big mirror mounted on the back was newer and really had to go if she stayed much longer.

Staring at the dark smudges under her eyes because she’d been too lazy to remove her makeup was not how she wanted to wake up. Her hair was a mess. She’d worn it in a ponytail last night rather than iron out the two stubborn kinks that had appeared as it dried on its own. And oh, yeah, they were still there.

Hearing voices, she turned to the window. She’d meant to close it when she got up. Now she could swear she heard Trace.

But he wouldn’t be here. He had too much to do at the Sundance, and besides, she doubted he’d step foot on Lone Wolf property. Not as long as Wallace owned it.

She shoved the curtain aside and yanked the cord to raise the closed blinds. Matt and Trace stood near the walkway below, talking, but her impatience with the blinds drew their attention.

Trace tipped his head back, and with his forefinger, pushed up the brim of his Stetson. With the sun shining on his tanned face, his green eyes seemed to sparkle. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, his mouth curving in a grin.

Nikki knew exactly what she looked like and her first instinct was to jump back and jerk the curtain closed. But giving in would only tell him she cared how he saw her. And that was so much worse. “God, can you be any louder? Some of us have to work at night.”

“Have to?” Matt lifted an eyebrow at her. Apparently he wasn’t in the best mood. He hated that she worked at the Watering Hole instead of adjusting to the ranch, though lately he hadn’t said much. “I’m pretty sure you could’ve gone to sleep earlier than four.”

Her heart sank. If he knew when she’d turned off her lamp, that probably meant he’d been up with Wallace. In fact, Matt looked drawn and tired. She was the worst sister in the whole world. How did he put up with her?

“Would y’all like some coffee?” Her neckline had slipped down her shoulder and she pulled the nightshirt back in place. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Sure.” Matt rubbed his eyes, then frowned. “No, that’s okay. I wasn’t thinking…Go back to bed.”

“I’m up. It’s no trouble.”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup.” Trace wasn’t smiling anymore but he was staring up at her.

Her nightshirt was made of thin yellow T-shirt fabric and she wasn’t wearing a bra. No, he wasn’t being obvious or horrible but he’d noticed all right. “Cream and sugar?” she asked, stepping backward.

“I like my women sweet, my coffee not so much.”

Nikki rolled her eyes and noticed Matt trying not to smile. “Is that your oh-so-charming way of saying no sugar?”

“You got it, darlin’.”

She hated when he called her that, and he knew it. The smile was back, and he might’ve winked, she wasn’t sure with the sun in his face. Very tempting to renege on the offer, go back to bed and let them get their own coffee. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never go back to sleep knowing he was just outside. She only wished she knew why he was here.

“Okay, give me a few minutes.” She pulled the curtain closed and grabbed a pair of jeans she’d tossed on the blue upholstered chair last night.

It took her a minute to sift through her underwear drawer before she realized he wouldn’t actually see that her bra and panties matched. Sighing, she plucked a black thong from the pile along with the most unflattering white bra she owned. She found a clean red T-shirt, washed her face, brushed her teeth, then twisted her hair up and clipped it.

She hurried to the kitchen, still wondering what Trace was doing here. All she needed was for him to flirt with her like he did at the bar. She didn’t know how Matt would react. He liked Trace but Matt was protective of her and he’d seen how Trace behaved around the Sundance guests.

But then Trace already had kind of flirted with her earlier. Or maybe that was just how a guy teased his friend’s kid sister. In many ways, having a brother was still new to her. Little things surprised her, like how Matt worried that she drove home alone at midnight. It was that sort of reaction that made her realize Matt didn’t truly understand how she and her mom had lived. Because Nikki would feel a whole lot safer with a pack of coyotes than she’d felt in her old neighborhood.

Holding three mugs made it hard to open the front door. She managed, but pulling it closed was trickier. If only she had someplace to set down…

In seconds Trace was at her side. “I figured you went back to bed,” he said, closing the door and reaching for a mug. “Which one’s mine?”

“The blue.” She held it out to him.

He wrapped his hand around the cup, his warm fingers brushing against her knuckles. It had to be deliberate, the way he let the tips trail along the backs of her own fingers before he took the mug from her.

She stared down at his hand. “You have calluses.”

“What?” He gave her a funny look. “I work on a ranch, you know. Here, I’ll take Matt’s.”

“I didn’t mean anything. I was just—” She let go of the coffee with cream and sugar, and this time, he was careful not to touch her. “Trace?”

He’d already started walking toward Matt and acknowledged her with a quick glance over his shoulder.

It was too awkward to talk with all that space between them. Plus Matt would hear her fumbling to explain that the calluses had surprised her and she had no idea why. She followed him in mute frustration wishing Matt wasn’t standing so close to the corral where two mean-looking horses had been kept yesterday. No sign of them now, but Nikki was already edgy and she preferred a vast distance between her and where any animal the size of a horse might be. Dogs and cats were fine. She’d always wanted a cocker spaniel or a cute little poodle. But people’s fascination with horses? She didn’t get it. Those beasts were huge and dangerous.

“You said something back there.” Trace had already given Matt his coffee, and he was leaning against the railing watching her as she joined them. Well, sort of joined them…by stopping a good six feet away. “Sorry, I didn’t catch it.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” She cradled her mug with both hands and sipped from it, sweeping a gaze toward the barn and stable.

“You haven’t been out here before, have you?” Matt asked, and Trace laughed.

She could see why he thought it was a joke. They weren’t that far from the walkway, but still farther than she’d ever ventured. The area between the front door and where she parked the truck on the side of the house, now that was her turf.

“No,” she said, and had to clear her throat and try again. “I haven’t.”

A pair of hired hands left the barn on noisy ATVs so no one bothered to say anything. Trace drank his coffee, watching her, his brows puckered in a slight frown. She hoped he wouldn’t ask why she hadn’t been to the corral, because she didn’t really want to answer in front of Matt. He didn’t know about her fear of large animals. It had only started after she’d watched him compete in the Houston rodeo last year.

He was a professional bull rider, with fancy belt buckles and millions in prize money. Nothing intimidated him. He’d been calm and cool sitting on top of that fifteen-hundred-pound bull. She was pretty sure his eight-second ride had knocked a year off her life. That had been the first and last time she’d gone to a rodeo.

Matt kept glancing toward the stable as if he were waiting for someone. Trace apparently preferred to stare at her. It made her nervous, and she pretended not to notice, but what annoyed her most was that she would’ve liked the chance to check him out.

He wasn’t dressed all that differently from when he came into the bar. If he owned more than one pair of pants that weren’t jeans she’d be shocked. And he seemed to like T-shirts. He wore them all the time, even in this chilly morning air. Twice he’d come into the Watering Hole wearing cool Western-cut shirts. But the other guys gave him so much crap about it she knew it wasn’t a normal thing. The cowboy boots and Stetson seemed to be daily requirements.

When the ATV engines had faded and they could be heard again, Matt spoke first. “Do you know if Wallace is awake?”

Nikki shrugged, feeling a bit defensive. No reason for it because Matt never criticized or pushed. He accepted her refusal to have anything to do with the man.

“How’s he doing?” Trace asked.

Matt shrugged. “Depressed. Not even interested in drinking, if you can believe that.”

“I believe it,” Trace murmured.

“Yeah.” Matt sighed. “Right.” He knew Trace understood because his own father had died of cancer years ago. And Nikki knew this only because Matt had told her.

It got quiet after that. She wondered if Trace was thinking about his father. The McAllisters were a close family, but she didn’t know anything about Trace’s relationship with the man. Or much about Trace, really.

The night Matt had gotten beaten up was the only time she’d spent alone with Trace. She’d had a bit too much to drink and he’d driven her home. He’d been a perfect gentleman, not even trying for a good-night kiss, though she knew he really wanted to.

She wasn’t used to guys like him. He’d kind of rattled her at the time. But when she thought about it, all he’d really done was show restraint. And only because she was Matt’s sister.

Trace’s mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile.

She blinked, her insides fluttering with the realization that she’d been staring at him as if he were a hot fudge sundae. And he was loving it.

“What are you doing here anyway?” she asked, wishing she could just disappear. “Don’t I see enough of you at the Watering Hole? You have to come sniffing around here?”

“Jesus, Nikki.” Matt frowned at her. “You need more sleep. I phoned Trace. He’s here to help me.”

She looked from her brother to Trace, who was still smiling.

“It’s true,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. “Though I’m always happy to see you, Nikki.”

“Oh.” She took another sip, sorry she’d gotten out of bed. “So I’m interrupting.”

“Nope.” Trace casually glanced over his shoulder. “We’re just waiting.”

“For who?”

“Petey,” Matt said. “He’s our best man, been here for over twenty years. You met him yet?”

“Is he the really big guy with the shaggy beard?” she asked, and when Matt nodded, she said, “I’ve seen him around but I haven’t actually met him. He always seems to be working with the horses.”

“That’s what a wrangler does, though we can count on Petey for just about anything.”

“Nowadays we use ATVs a lot,” Trace said. “Back when I was a kid, everything was done on horseback and the horses had to know how to work around the cattle. You needed a good wrangler so you didn’t spend half your time with your ass planted in the dirt.”

Matt nodded, grinning. “Now they even use helicopters for roundups and drives. The job’s gotten too cushy.”

“Hey, as soon as we start seeing profits again, we need to chip in, start a co-op and buy a chopper,” Trace said. He put his mug on the corral post, then flexed his shoulders as if trying to get the stiffness out. “We’ve already got ourselves a pilot. That’s half the battle, right?”

She knew he meant his brother Jesse, but she didn’t understand the remark about profits. According to Matt the Lone Wolf was doing great. The Sundance seemed to be doing well, too. But watching Trace arch his back and stretch his arms in that snug black T-shirt, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but his broad chest and muscular biceps. She’d never thought of him as the type to work out but he had to be lifting weights or something to account for the flat belly and ridges of muscle.

Trace straightened and let his arms fall to his sides, so she could finally relax. If he’d caught her staring she didn’t know it because her gaze never made it higher than his chest.

She forced herself to look toward the barn where someone was moving out bales of hay. “What’s that equipment called?”

They both looked, but Trace answered first. “It’s just a Toolcat,” he said. “Good for small jobs and tight places.” Nikki felt a little guilty when she caught Matt’s pleased expression. He thought she was finally showing interest in the place when all she really wanted was a distraction.

“Okay, here he comes.” Matt’s tone was all business, even his posture had changed as he peered toward the stable.

Trace turned his attention to Petey. He wasn’t alone. The big grizzly looking man was leading the brown horse—the mean one from yesterday—toward them. As big as the wrangler was he seemed to be having trouble holding on to the animal when it reared up.

“He’s a beauty,” Trace murmured, slowly bending to slip between the wood railings into the corral.

Nikki tried to grab his arm and missed. “What are you doing?”

“Hey.” Matt drew her back. “You have to be quiet.”

After a brief struggle, Petey got the horse through the open gate. She watched in horror as Trace approached them from the opposite side. The horse put its head down low, arched its back and leaped into the air. Both men stepped clear as the animal came down on stiff legs.

Trace reached for the lead. “I got him,” he said in a calm voice.

“God, Matt, don’t let him do this,” she whispered, her throat tight and raw. “Please.”

“Trace knows what he’s doing. Nobody’s better with mustangs. But he doesn’t need to be distracted. Understand?”

No, she didn’t. How could she comprehend any of it? The horse’s nostrils were flared and his eyes wild…He looked as if his mission was to kill Trace. She couldn’t watch. If she’d had it in her power to make Trace leave the corral she would have.

She backed up slowly, covering her mouth because she didn’t trust herself not to scream or do something equally stupid. All eyes were on the mustang, so she turned and ran to the house.