Читать книгу Marriage At Circle M - DONNA ALWARD, Donna Alward - Страница 5

WHEN MIKE GARDNER came walking up the path in just that way, Grace knew she was in trouble.

And when he stopped at the foot of her stepladder, hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and squinted up at her, she gripped her paintbrush tighter so as not to drop it. Mike was all long, lazy strides and sexy smiles, and despite her best intentions, she’d never been able to remain immune to his charm. Not since she’d hit puberty, anyway.

“Mornin’, Grace.” The words weren’t exactly drawled, but were drawn out just enough to give that impression.

Grace straightened her shoulders and did her best to look nonchalant as she swiped another stripe of white paint over the window trim. “Hello, Mike.”

Great. Now why in the world did those two words come out all breathless, anyway?

She had to remember that it wasn’t all that long ago that she’d made a fool of herself where Mike was concerned. It had been years since there had been anything between them. But she’d had a little too much punch, there’d been a little too much giggling and she’d blurted out one very ill-thought-out sentence. She still felt the heat of her embarrassment and every time they met now, she did everything she could to assure him—to assure herself, even, that Mike Gardner was completely resistible. Lord knew he didn’t need her fawning over him the way the rest of the female population seemed to. Without thinking, she tucked an errant strand of blond hair back behind her ear, leaving it streaked with paint.

“You’re up with the birds,” he commented, a lazy smile creeping up his cheek as she chanced a look down at him.

“And you knew I would be, or you wouldn’t be here so early.” She pointedly checked her watch. “It’s 7:46.”

“It is?” His chin flattened ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, I thought it was later.”

“You’ve likely been up and done chores already.”

“Yes.”

Darn him. She couldn’t just stand up on the stepladder like an idiot, carrying on a conversation that was barely holding its own. Besides, she was all too aware that his height, paired with her distance up the ladder, put his line of vision right at her backside. She sighed, put her brush across the top of the paint-smeared can and took a step down—and her dew-slick sneaker slipped on the metal step.

His hands were there to catch her.

“Whoa, there.”

She shrugged off his touch. It felt far too strong and too good. “I’m not one of your horses, Mike.”

He laughed. “No, ma’am. You sure aren’t.”

It wasn’t fair. She’d had a thing for Mike since she was fourteen, but he’d tended to treat her like a kid sister. An annoying one. For a brief time, when she’d been in high school, they’d been more. But that seemed a lifetime ago. For him to flirt now…weeks after she’d made a complete idiot of herself, it was too much. That one little slip of the lip was the only time she’d ever come close to telling him how she felt, and at the time he’d only laughed at her.

She was older…and far wiser now at twenty-seven. There was no room in her life for schoolgirl crushes. She planted her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Look, you obviously didn’t come around for idle chitchat. Tell me what’s on your mind so I can get back to work.”

Mike had to turn away to hide his smile. She was good and irritated, he could tell. And besides that, she looked wonderful this morning. Her blond hair was tucked into some sort of strange clip, and little pieces tangled around her ears. Her eyes flashed at him now, icy blue with annoyance. Looking up that stepladder at her slim, tanned legs had almost made him forget why he was here. And steadying her with his arms as she’d slipped had wiped his brain clean of any other thoughts whatsoever. He liked the feel of his hands on her skin.

He stepped back, ignoring her jab, instead turning to survey the small yellow bungalow she called home.

It had seen better days, but Grace had a way of making it welcoming. A caragana hedge flanked the west side of her paved drive—a driveway that was in need of some serious patchwork. He recognized the bleeding heart shrubs, next to some sort of bushes with tiny white flowers. Everything was dressed up by circles of lilies and stalks of purply blue flowers he remembered from one of his foster homes. The peeling trim on the eaves would soon be gleaming and white like the sections she’d already painted. Somehow she’d taken a plain, aging bungalow and made it home.

“You’re painting.”

She kept her eyes front as if refusing to look at him. “Your powers of deduction astound me. What tipped you off?”

He ignored that bit of sarcasm, too. She had to be tired, after all. The drips down the side of her paint can were fresh; she’d obviously been at it a while before he showed up. And he knew for a fact that she’d been up late last night, because her lights had been on when he’d been on his way back from town at nearly one o’clock. He wished…He wished she didn’t have to work so hard for everything. But he was the last person who could make things better for her. At least for right now he was.

“How do you find time to do everything, Grace? Whenever I see you you’re busy at something.”

By getting up at 5:00 a.m., she thought. Instead she shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts. “It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Then I sure hate to ask what I’m about to.”

Mike was serious, she realized, pushing away the urge to use sarcasm as a shield against him. Normally he said nothing at all or what he did say was disarming and funny. But Grace had known him long enough to know when he was troubled. And the tone of his voice right now told her something was definitely going on. When he merely stared at her house longer, she wrinkled her brow and went to him, gently placing a paint-splattered hand on his forearm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Connor took Alex to the hospital yesterday afternoon.”

Grace’s eyes clouded with worry, a strange twisting in her belly at the news. Mike and Connor were like brothers, so much more than business partners. When Connor had to slaughter his beef herd, he and Mike had become partners in Circle M Quarterhorses.

“Is it the baby? Are they okay?” Alex had a baby due in a few months.

Mike didn’t seem to be able to look at her, but she could feel the worry emanating from him. His arm was tense beneath her fingers and his jaw clamped tight. “She went into early labor, so they’re keeping her in for a while. Doc says she’ll be on bed rest from here on out. That’s all I know for now.”

“What about Maren?” Grace looked up at his profile. Maren was the couple’s toddler, a princess with raven curls and sky-blue eyes like her mother’s. “Is that why you’re here? Do they need someone to watch her for a while?”

“No, no.” Mike turned to her then, his lips relaxing just a little. “Connor’s grandmother is looking after her. But…it’s not fair of me to ask, but I was wondering, I mean we were wondering, if you’d consider coming back and doing the books for the farm for a while.”

If it had been a less serious topic, Grace would have made a quip about that being a regular speech for Mike. Instead she just nodded. “Of course I will. I don’t mind at all.”

“I know you’re already busy, and…”

“Mike, it’s fine. Alex and Connor are my friends, too. I’m happy to help.”

His relief was clear. “Thank you, Grace.”

It was her own fancy that made his words sound like an endearment. But Mike didn’t think of her in that way anymore. He only looked on her as a friend, she knew that. He’d made it abundantly clear long ago.

She’d already let girlish fantasy rule once in her life and look where that had gotten her. A few troubled years, a whole lot of hurt and then back here in small-town Alberta with a tiny yellow bungalow and a double bed with one pillow.

“You’re welcome. I’ll try to stop by tomorrow and get things up to speed.”

The morning sun grew warmer as they stood on her front lawn, the dew evaporating off in the heat. This was just what she needed. To torture herself further by seeing Mike day in and day out at Circle M, a reminder of wanting what she couldn’t have. But the truth was, she needed to do some repairs to the house and money was scarce. What she made by doing the odd book work and cleaning jobs didn’t leave her with a lot extra at the end of the month. Besides, Mike wouldn’t be there all the time now, would he?

“I guess I should be going,” he remarked quietly. “I have a few errands and then, well, we’re a man short at the ranch. And the building crew comes at nine.”

Grace’s head swiveled back to him. “Building crew?”

For the first time, Mike really smiled. The effect was devastating, making her heart thump ridiculously. Darn him for being able to cause such a reaction simply by smiling. His grayish-blue eyes lit up as he ran a rough hand through disobedient, coppery hair. “Yeah. We’re breaking ground for my new house today.”

How did I miss that bit of information? Grace wondered. Mike Gardner, with his own business and now a home. Was the eternal drifter really settling down? Wonders never ceased, it seemed.

“Anyway, if you need anything, just call Windover.” Mike called the house by its rightful name, even though the now defunct beef ranch was home of Circle M Quarterhorses. “I’m staying there while the house is going up.”

Not only at the ranch, but living in the house, too. So much for not seeing him, then. And for wanting what she couldn’t have. Surely she could stay immune to him for the short term, though, couldn’t she?

Grace’s hands were devoid of the white paint now, but bits of it still colored her hair. She pulled it back from her face, anchoring the twist blindly with pins at the back of her head. The heat lately had been cloying, and the only way to keep the tender skin of her neck from breaking out was to keep her heavy hair up.

She sighed, turning from the mirror and picking up the light cotton skirt from the foot of the bed.

The reason she kept busy…the real reason she kept taking odd jobs wasn’t really for the money, no matter how much it came in handy.

It was, simply, to keep occupied. To have idle hands meant admitting how empty her life was. How empty it would likely always be. She only had herself to worry about, and that wasn’t about to change. And so rather than sit at home, frittering away the time, she worked. Keeping her hands busy helped her forget about the disasters of the past. It gave her less time to sit and think about how everything could go wrong in the blink of an eye. Doing bookwork for the ranch again would fill even more hours.

And she absolutely wasn’t putting on a skirt today because she was going out to Circle M, she told herself. The light cotton print was simply cooler than anything else she had in her closet.

As she rolled down the windows of her car, she admitted that extra money wasn’t something to scoff at. The vehicle was past its prime and had only been a base model in its newer days. As a result, she had no air-conditioning and nothing more than an AM/FM radio with inconsistent reception. She pulled out, heading west out of town toward the ranch. The brakes squeaked as she stopped at the intersection to the highway. One of these days she knew the car was going to up and die without any apology.

The drive to Circle M was a pretty one. Now, in late August, there was a hint of gold on the cottonwoods, and hay lay in giant green rolls in the fields. Depending on the turn of the road or the elevation, she caught glimpses of the Rocky Mountains, snow-capped and the unforgiving color of steel. It was, to Grace’s mind, an almost perfect time of year. Another few weeks and the temperatures would mellow, the leaves would start to fall and everything would change from the dry, frantic heat of summer to the mellow, filling warmth of prairie autumn.

Turning north, she smiled at the pastures that had once held Black Angus and now held quarter horses, their hides gleaming in the sun, tails flickering at the flies hovering. Ahead, the main house at Circle M—Windover—stood tall against the azure sky.

It didn’t look any different from the outside. But everything else at the ranch had changed.

The barns that had once housed beef cattle now held livestock of the equine variety. Windover Farm, as it had existed for over a hundred years, was no more, and in its place was Circle M. The disease crisis of a few years back had meant the destruction of Connor’s BlackAngus herd, which was almost as surprising as the fact that Mike finally stopped rodeoing and settled down to a full-time, lucrative business.

Seeing Mike on a more regular basis had inspired more than a few dreams on Grace’s part. As she pulled up in front of the house, she pressed a hand to her stomach. It had been easier when he hadn’t been in town that often. She’d been able to forget about their brief relationship…if it even could have been called a relationship. She’d been seventeen and he’d been twenty-one. For a few weeks they had been more than friends. For a few weeks she’d been blissfully happy.

But when the rodeo season started up again, he went with hardly a word. She’d been okay about it for a long time, or so she thought. They’d gone back to being the friends they were before, the few times their paths had crossed. Now that he was back to stay, seeing him so often brought back longings she thought were dead and buried. She got tongue-tied and bashful. Fiddled with her hair.

No one man should have the power to cause a girl to get so fluttery, and, well, girly. She was supposed to be past that by now. She left girly behind when she and Steve had signed the divorce papers. When she realized that happily ever after didn’t really exist.

The house was quiet when she knocked, so she wandered around to the side of the house in case someone was outside.

She was in luck. Johanna, Connor’s grandmother, was kneeling at a small flower garden with the curly-topped Maren babbling happily at her side.

“Good morning, Mrs. Madsen.”

Johanna’s head turned, a smile lighting up her face. “Grace, dear. It’s so good to see you.” Rising, she brushed off the knees of her slacks and held a hand out to the toddling baby beside her. “Maren, you remember Grace, don’t you?”

Maren suddenly fell silent and popped a thumb into her mouth, and Grace laughed.

“She probably doesn’t remember me. I haven’t been around much.”

“That’s about to change, isn’t it?”

Grace nodded at Johanna, the two exchanging a solemn look. “I thought I’d stop in today and get up to speed.”

“Connor and Mike are both out, but you’re no stranger to the setup. I know they’re both happy you’re here.”

“How is Alex, then?”

“Being monitored.” Johanna picked up the baby and climbed the steps to the deck. “So far she’s doing okay, but at thirty-two weeks…”

“They want to buy her—and the baby—some more time.” Grace followed Johanna inside, standing back as Maren was placed in her high chair.

“Exactly. The doctor said that even another couple of weeks can make a big difference with the baby’s lungs. Of course Connor’s worried sick.”

Johanna put a sippy cup in front of Maren. “Connor’s spending almost all his time at the hospital, and Mike isn’t meant for bookwork, so I’m glad you’re here to help.”

“I’d do anything for…to help,” she finished, coloring at her almost mistake. Even if she knew she’d do anything for Mike, she didn’t need the rest of the world to know it. Thankfully Johanna seemed oblivious as she busied herself making cool tea.

The front door slammed and Grace jumped. When Mike strode into the kitchen, she took a step back, her gaze drawn undeniably toward his.

God, he looked fabulous. All coiled strength in his faded jeans and corded muscles beneath a blue T-shirt. His hat, the cream-colored Stetson he never worked without, was on his head, but when he saw her standing there he automatically reached up to remove it.

His hair clung to his scalp in dark curls and Grace watched as one solitary bead of sweat trickled from one temple down his jaw.

Maren smacked her cup on the tray of her chair while Johanna watched, clearly intrigued with the silent interplay between the couple.

“Grace.”

“Mike.” His name sounded strangled to her as it came out of her mouth. And she knew she was glad she’d chosen a skirt and pretty blouse after all.

“I, uh, just came to get something to drink.”

“I think Johanna’s making some iced tea.”

Still their gazes clung and she remembered the feel of his hands on her arms yesterday morning. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Goodness, they were staring at each other like idiots.

He broke away first. “Iced tea sounds perfect, but you’re not here to look after me, Mrs. Madsen.”

Johanna poured three glasses without batting an eye. “I’d like to know where all this Mrs. Madsen nonsense came from all of a sudden. I’ve known both of you so long I used to wipe your runny noses, so call me Johanna or Gram like everyone else.”

Mike’s lips quivered as he struggled not to smile. The Madsens were as close to family as he had, not counting his cousin Maggie.

Johanna took one look at Maren and plucked the girl up from her chair. “I’ll just go change the baby,” she suggested blandly. “Grace, I’m sure you remember your way to the office.”

“Of course I do. I’ll sort things out, not to worry.”

“I’m sure Mike will help you. Won’t you, Mike?”

His lips pursed together and he let his eyes twinkle at the older woman. “Indeed I will…Gram.”

Her rusty laugh disappeared with the baby and he was left with Grace.

She looked beautiful today. As usual. But he thought he saw hints of purple beneath her eyes. Lord only knew what work she’d taken on now. She was always working. And now he’d helped her exhaustion along by asking for a favor. He should have found another way.

But another way would have meant that he wouldn’t have an excuse to see her. And after she’d let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, at the Rileys’s anniversary party, he thought about seeing her more and more. He’d been shocked to say the least, but not unpleasantly. Knowing Grace still felt some attraction for him seemed to legitimize his own for her. He’d let her get away once before, and had always been sorry. But knowing she still thought of him in that way changed everything. Heck, not that he’d admit it to her, but he’d made the excuse for a midmorning drink just because he’d seen her car pull into the yard.

Her hair was sneaking out of the twist, curling around her temples in damp tendrils. The warmth of the morning gave a glow to her skin. To him, she was a picture of femininity, of innocence, purity. Certainly too fine of a woman for a man like him to tangle with.

“You’re looking tired. I hope this extra work won’t put unnecessary strain on you.”

That was it? Grace tried to keep her lips from falling open but failed. All those long stares and all he came up with was “you’re looking tired”? Her elation at seeing him flew out the window.

“Your compliments make a girl all warm and fuzzy.”

He at least had the decency to look chagrined. “I didn’t mean to say you looked bad.”

“Even better. You know, I can’t imagine what the women around here see in you.”

It was out before she could think better of it and she instantly flushed. They both knew it was a lie. He knew very well that she was one of those women. She’d said it herself as they’d danced. She covered the slip with more offensive:

“But I can assure you I can handle a little unnecessary strain, as you put it. I’m not made of china, Michael.” She used his full name and watched his lip curl a little. She knew how much he hated being called Michael.

Mike had put his hat back on, the brim shading his eyes and making him look even larger than his six-foot-two frame.

“Is there anything I can do to help you then?”

Grace looked up and saw his eyes were earnest even though his tone was cold, and she nearly backed down. She acknowledged the attraction, but that was where it stopped. Mike didn’t feel anything for her, that much was clear. Men who were interested told you how nice you looked, gave you compliments instead of remarking on the presence of bags beneath your eyes or asking you to balance the books. She’d done the longing gaze thing for far too many years, and it had gotten her nowhere. It hadn’t been enough before. And it wouldn’t get her anywhere in the future, either. Men didn’t want women like her, not once they realized that she was more than the quiet, girl-next-door that they thought she was.

“Yes, Mike, there is something you can do for me. You can get out of the way and let me do my job.”