Читать книгу Meeting Her Match - Debra Clopton, Elizabeth Wiseman Mackey, Debra Clopton - Страница 9

Pace Gentry placed a few more pieces of wood on the campfire and watched the embers flutter as he settled into his bedroll for the night. Clasping his hands over his chest he relaxed and gazed up at the canopy of stars glittering above him. He could have slept inside the cabin, but tonight he needed to be outdoors.

He needed the connection to what he’d left behind.

He needed to feel the breeze whispering across the pastures to the north of him, hear the lonesome song of the coyotes and the occasional bawling of the cattle that grazed in the dark pastures surrounding him.

The sounds that made him feel at home.

The sounds that made him think for a moment he was back in the Great Basin, lost in the high desert of the Idaho range. Alone, with nothing but himself, God, his herd…

And his horses.

He loved his horses. It was in his blood. Nothing would make him happier than to die an old man as his dad had, atop a good ride. His dad had lived and died on his terms. Like his father, Pace understood bronc breaking was a tough way to make a living. He’d chosen it anyway.

Lived and breathed it.

With his dad’s nomadic way of living, Pace hadn’t ever really known any other life, but it hadn’t mattered. Even if he’d turned out to be the worst cowboy around, he figured he’d have found a way to keep at it.

Pace watched a shooting star travel across the sky—something he’d have missed if he’d been inside. The howl of the coyote rippled into a full-blown serenade. Pace was forever grateful for the life he lived. Or had lived, he reminded himself, his gut shifting momentarily with doubt. He was on a new path. Like a surly bronc, for the first time in his life he felt the bit in his mouth and was fighting hard to get used to the feel of it.

If his earlier encounter was a measuring stick of how his transition was going to go…things weren’t looking so good. Pace was the first to admit that he had some rough edges. Animals he could deal with, but people—he had little patience with interfering people. Meeting his pushy neighbor had proven those edges hadn’t smoothed out on the long haul from Idaho to Texas.

He’d been his usual blunt self, a reaction he was going to be hard put to change.

Pulling his Stetson down over his eyes, he crossed his booted feet and settled in for the night. He figured the Lord had his work cut out for Him when it came to smoothing this rover’s edges. But then, God was God, and if He could create the universe Pace figured, He could whip an ornery two-bit buckaroo into shape, too.

Pace just had a streak of buck left in him, and like the mustangs he was about to tame, that natural wildness was an instinct strong and deep in his soul.

Despite Pace’s new commitment to change, more than likely this transition promised to be a rough ride.

“Rise and shine, Sheri,” Lacy sang. “The mustangs are coming!”

Sheri bolted up from a dead sleep and squinted at the figure of Lacy standing in the stark light she’d flicked on as a wake-up call. Blinking and having murderous thoughts she peered at the red lights of her alarm clock. “Lacy! It’s five o’clock in the morning. Are you insane?”

“Aww, now don’t be that way,” Lacy laughed.

Slamming her eyes shut, Sheri plopped back onto the bed with a thud and covered her face with her pillow. She didn’t do early morning…and predawn—well, that wasn’t even a time frame she acknowledged.

A fact Lacy was well aware of, but obviously ignored.

“C’mon, girlfriend. Up and at ’em. The mustangs are coming, and I want you to be there when they arrive. Here we go—”

Sheri yelped when her pillow and covers were abruptly yanked away, leaving no barrier against the hundred-watt bulb glaring at her from above. She needed to change that light, pronto.

Like a turtle without a shell, Sheri glared accusingly up at Lacy. Her pale blond hair stuck out from beneath her orange ball cap like pie meringue gone bad. A picture Sheri could easily visualize since right then and there she would love nothing more than to splatter a cream pie right smack in the dead center of her beaming face.

Of course, she wouldn’t. “It’s too early,” she groaned instead.

“Get out of that bed, woman!”

Okay, maybe she would like to toss a pie, she thought, popping an eye open, watching Lacy drop the covers to the floor. When Lacy spun and reached for her hand, Sheri scowled at her as the fluffy cream pie sailed across her mind’s eye.

“C’mon, Lacy, give a girl a break,” she groaned again but couldn’t help chuckling at the look Lacy gave her. The I’ve-heard-that-before look.

Nowadays, no one would realize that Sheri had been an extremely shy child until Lacy had befriended her. After being tugged along on Lacy’s escapades, Sheri, the shy girl who’d learned to blend into the wall and not be seen, had slowly come out of her shell. It had totally been an act of survival.

But there were times, like now, that Sheri had to remind herself how grateful she was that Lacy had come along and changed her life for the better. Sheri dug her feet in at the bathroom doorway and stared at Lacy. “You know, I’m going to get you for this,” she yawned.

“Trust me, Sheri. I have a hunch you’re going to thank me once you down some coffee and see exactly what’s waiting at the horse pens. Now get on in there, and I’ll have you some coffee made when you get out. But you have to hurry, hurry, hurry!”

Before Sheri could make a comeback, Lacy gave one last shove and yanked the door closed between them. “Just think, Sheri. Wild mustangs! Real, live American heritage at our ranch. It’s the coolest thing.”

“Yippy yiyay and yada, yada, yada,” Sheri said softly as Lacy’s chattering and the clunk of her boots retreated across the hardwood floor.

Peace and quiet at last. Sheri sighed. Slumping against the door, she raked her fingers through her hair, yawned, and thought about coffee.

Lacy made good coffee….

After a quick shower, she headed toward the kitchen feeling a bit more human. Although she wasn’t sure she looked more human. For the sake of time and the early hour, she’d opted to yank her hair into a ponytail and slap her pink ball cap over it. And forget makeup. She and Lacy would just be a mess together, because no matter what—it was way too early in the morning to worry about appearances.

“Okay, girlfriend,” she said, entering the kitchen. “Why did you drive all the way over here to wake me up and drag me all the way back over to your ranch? Especially when you know how grumpy I am at this hour.” She latched on to the steaming mug Lacy held out to her, held it beneath her nose and let the rich aroma seep into her senses.

“Because with all the talk focused on you and J.P., I didn’t have a chance to tell you about Pace and the horses. They’re going to be in the pens around the corner from your house.”

Sheri took a sip of coffee, only to wince at the reminder of the cowboy. “Speaking of which, I tried to call you about that last night. How could you not tell me someone was moving in over there? Is that place even fit for someone to move into?”

“Hey, I was goin’ to tell you.”

“Goin’ to don’t cut the mustard, sister.”

Lacy made a face at her. “I can’t help it. The girls came in and started up about all that J.P. business, and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I did tell you that Clint’s friend was moving to town to start a horse-breaking business. It was a while back, though, and believe me, from what Clint says that shack is a palace compared to what Pace was used to living in back in Idaho. Why, the man practically lived like a caveman.”

“That I would believe.”

Lacy smiled. “You met him, huh?”

Sheri did not smile. “Affirmative. The guy is definitely a Neanderthal. He’s like, like…angry.”

“He’s not angry.”

“So says you. The man is a grizzly. An angry grizzly.”

“Sheri, he’s just used to being alone. And he, well, he is here under duress, but he’s willing, so he’s not angry. He’s just a fish out of water, so to speak.”

“Maybe a barracuda.” Sheri took another drink of coffee, ignoring the memory of those serious gray eyes.

“But he’s cute, huh?”

Sheri rolled her eyes as she headed toward the door.

“Come on. Admit it, Sheri girl. He’s, like, a hunk, and since when have you not noticed a hunk within a ten-mile radius?”

Since I very nearly got my heart trampled, that’s when.

Sheri pushed away the thought and walked out onto her porch, shocked all over again by the darkness and the fact that it was, by all appearances, still snoozing time. “Lacy, we’re up before the roosters. Do you realize that?”

“Hey, it’s good for you.”

“Hay is for cows. And daybreak is for roosters,” Sheri grumbled, opening the passenger door of Lacy’s beloved 1958 pink Caddy. Not wanting to lose a precious drop of her coffee, she waited while Lacy sprang over to the driver’s door in her usual Bo Duke style. Once she’d landed with a happy thud, then and only then did Sheri sit down beside her—a routine learned after many cups of sloshed coffee and speckled shirts.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to deny Pace Gentry is a hunk,” Lacy continued as she backed the big car around and headed out of the driveway.

Sheri had learned over the years that it was best to keep some things to herself, or she would hang herself with incriminating evidence. With the matchmakers on red alert, now was not the time to admit that, despite his lack of manners, Pace Neanderthal Gentry was about the hunkiest hunk she’d ever seen. Even if that did sound childish and immature, it was the truth.

A thin, glowing line marked the horizon as they raced the hundred yards down the gravel road and around the corner to the cattle pens. She realized she’d been sleeping like a rock earlier because she hadn’t heard any trucks passing by her house, and there had obviously been a parade of them.

There were cowboys milling around all over the place as Lacy guided the big car over every rut she could find. Grinning mischievously, she watched Sheri fight to keep her coffee in her cup.

Sheri chuckled. “Like I said earlier, I’m going to get you back for this. You know that, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t. At least you’re looking a little perkier.”

“Thanks to the coffee, I might make it,” Sheri said as the car came to a jolting halt.

“Hey, Sheri,” several cowboys shouted in greeting as she slammed the car door shut.

“Mornin’, boys,” she called while waving, always happy to acknowledge a good-natured cowboy, even if the posse had practically put a Husband Wanted poster out on her behalf.

“How many horses are coming?” she asked, her gaze snagging on the one cowboy who might be a hunk, but could never in a million years be classified as a good-natured anything. He was standing beside the wooden corral talking to Clint. Grudgingly, Sheri admired them. Together they made a formidable picture of pure strength and manliness. Both were well over six feet, lean at the hips, wide at the shoulders. Extraordinarily handsome. But it was Pace her eyes fixed on, noting his steely gaze following her as she moved to stand beside Lacy. Sheri had to admit, she hadn’t ever seen a better-looking man. But there was more to a good man than his looks, and this one—well, something was missing in the good-man category. That was for sure.

This morning he had on jeans and shorter chaps that came just below the knees with a wide band of fringe and silver conchos running up the sides. Oddly, Sheri thought they were cute. They added a little flash to his otherwise rugged outfit. Feeling defiant, she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He might have dismissed her the day before, but he had another think coming if he thought slamming a door on her meant she was done.

He tilted his head, acknowledging her wave, but that was it. There was no smile. Not that she’d expected one, but there was not even a hint of a change in Pace’s facial expression. What was his problem? The man was certainly peculiar.

“Clint said about twelve mustangs,” Lacy was saying. “You can only adopt four mustangs a year but Clint and Pace got special permission from the Bureau of Land Management to get a few extra, though they won’t get papers on all of them this year. The government is very protective of the mustangs. Pace has plenty of horses to train. People are lining up waiting on him to work with their horses because he’s so good. Sheri, are you listening to me?”

“Ah—yes, sure.” She yanked her gaze away from Pace, hoping Lacy hadn’t noticed her staring at him. Then she wondered why she cared. She could stare if she wanted to.

The distinct sound of an 18-wheeler could be heard growling around the bend. Lacy, along with everyone else, turned toward the sound.

“Speaking of Pace, what’s this guy’s full story?” Sheri asked. Her gaze skipped back to the cowboy who was now watching the truck’s approach. Despite his bad manners there was no denying that he intrigued her. When she looked back toward the truck, she met Lacy’s gaze. Drat, she’d been caught. The last thing she needed was Lacy getting any ideas. But Lacy wasn’t smiling. Instead, a thoughtful gleam shone in her eyes.

“I don’t really know much,” Lacy said, shaking off her serious look, “except what I already told you. How he lived in that cabin in Idaho alone for months is a mystery to me. I’d climb the walls. Can you imagine—no telephone, or water? He washes his clothes in the nearby river. The ice-encrusted river. He’s really like a mountain man. But we’re talking huge ranches here. Like five hundred square miles or more, not acres. Miles of barren, lonesome land. That’s why he lived in the little shack like that. They need men spread out watching over smaller sections over the winters. Even in the summers he doesn’t see much more than a handful of people. Not me, I couldn’t handle that. I’ve got to talk to people.”

Sheri knew that was right. She could live alone much easier than Lacy. Lacy would talk the bark off a tree if she didn’t have people around to absorb her chatter. If Lacy were to live like Pace—oh, boy, the cows snowed in with her alone over a long winter would probably know the English language come springtime. Sheri smiled thinking about it.

The big truck and its huge trailer pulled to a halt, the sound drowning out their voices; Sheri leaned in close so Lacy could hear her question. “So he’s going to lease the land and break horses?” She was curious. She told herself it was only because he was going to be living beside her. But she knew it was because, despite everything, there was something about the guy that she found appealing.

Lacy nudged her in the ribs, and Sheri realized she’d been staring at Pace again. So shoot her, she liked to look at him. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but also his stance was that of a man who was very comfortable in his skin. That was a major attraction to Sheri.

“It’s like this, Sheri. Clint says Pace is one of the best there is at breaking horses. So when he called Clint and said he’d decided to go into business for himself but needed a place to start, Clint jumped at the chance to get him to Mule Hollow. He offered the lease in trade for Pace breaking some colts for him. They’ve worked something out. Plus, according to Clint, they go way back. His dad used to break horses some summers for Clint’s dad.”

Sheri found herself watching Pace again; she couldn’t help herself. He strode across the lot to the big truck, his hat was pulled low over his eyes, and there was this little hitch in his stride that made the fringe of his chaps dance and the spurs on his boots sing.

Okay, so the man was fascinating.

So was a porcupine. Both could sting a person if they weren’t careful.

The horses in the huge trailer were whinnying and cutting up something fierce. Sheri wasn’t thinking about the mustangs, however, as Pace untied his horse from the trailer and stepped up into the stirrup. In one graceful move, he was seated in the saddle.

Sheri lost her breath at the sight. It just whooshed right out of her. If ever there was a man meant for the saddle, it was this one. Wow. Tall and straight as a rod, he sat with a command that took Sheri straight back to the heroes of the Old West. She just couldn’t shake that image of him. She swallowed and fought off the sigh that tried to escape her lips. Get a grip, girl.

“Come on, Sheri, let’s get up to the fence so we can watch them unload.”

“Um, right,” she said, blinking. Following Lacy to the corral, she climbed up onto the second rung and hung on to the top board with one hand. She drank the last of her now-cold coffee as she watched the action.

The air crackled with energy as Pace rode his horse into the corral, then moved to the side as the truck doors were pulled open. When the first black mustang exploded into the pen, Sheri was immediately struck by what she was seeing. This was a part of history. Majestic and wild the proud horses galloped out of the interior of the transport trailer. Heads held high and manes flying, the horses were utterly beautiful as they trotted down the ramp and loped around the circle of the large pen. It was awesome. Awesome!

“Pace, he’s going to break these horses?” she gasped. Suddenly, it seemed a shame to tame something so untouched. The word break just held a connotation that seemed almost criminal when used in reference to these proud animals. They were supposed to be wild and free—

“Clint says no one can do what Pace can do. He’s the best there is at giving a horse manners while still letting it retain its dignity and character.”

“So that’s his excuse,” she said softly.

“What’s does that mean?” Lacy asked, looking at her funny. Only then did Sheri realize she’d spoken out loud.

She smiled. “He’s been reading the wrong book.”

“Huh?”

Sheri laughed. “From the way he was acting yesterday it’s obvious that Cowboy Pace has been spending too much time reading the book on horse manners and hasn’t even cracked open the one on cowboy manners.”

Lacy looked from her to Pace and back again, a sparkle in her eye. “Well, Sheri, maybe he needs someone to open the book for him.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Sheri stepped down from the fence shaking her head. “I know trouble when I see it. That man might be easy on the eyes, but he’s a heartbreaker.”

Lacy followed her as she walked away from the pen. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Lacy, it’s written all over him. That guy would shy away from commitment quicker than…” Sheri paused and thought about what she’d just said.

“You?” Lacy finished, grinning as if she’d just won the cow chip toss. She always won the cow chip toss.

“Yeah,” Sheri admitted, turning back to look at her neighbor with an entirely new perspective.

Sheri wasn’t one to think that the Lord paid much attention to her needs. In all fairness, she’d stopped trying to get any special attention from Him a long time ago. Lacy was the one with the direct line to Him. For years Sheri had coasted on her coattails when it came to all that. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that it bothered her some. Maybe at one point a lot. But it wasn’t as if she was going to beg anybody for attention and certainly not God.

Anyway, she understood that when it came to trying to please the Lord, Lacy had that wrapped up. Lacy lived to please Him, and Sheri couldn’t really blame the Lord for giving Lacy more attention. Sheri loved Lacy like a sister and knew she could never have the heart that Lacy had. Why pretend? Some people were good enough to have priority in the Lord’s eyes, and some weren’t. No matter what people might say, that was the way it worked.

Still, if she’d said a prayer for the Lord to send her someone to get the posse off her back—well, she figured Pace Gentry might be the answer to that prayer.

But since she hadn’t asked the Lord for His help and Pace had turned up anyway, she knew it was only a coincidence. Still, she was no dummy. She wouldn’t throw away a golden opportunity when it rode right up to her. Look out, Mule Hollow Matchmakers, the game was on.