Читать книгу Rancher to the Rescue - Jennifer Faye - Страница 8

CASH PULLED TO a stop in front of his two-story country home and none too soon. Meg was giving him some strange looks—not the kind he experienced from the good-time girls in the local cowboy bar. These looks were deeper, as though she had questions but didn’t know how to phrase them. Whatever she wanted to know about him, he was pretty certain he didn’t want to discuss it.

This ranch had become his refuge from the craziness of the rodeo circuit, and now he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Here at the Tumbling Weed he could be himself and unwind. Though the house had been built a few years ago, he’d never brought home any female friends. He didn’t want any misunderstandings. He made it known that he was a no-strings-attached cowboy. Period.

“Thanks for everything,” Meg said, breaking into his thoughts. “If you hadn’t helped me I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“I’m certain you would have made do. You don’t seem like the type of person who goes long without a plan.” When she didn’t say anything, he glanced over. She’d bitten down on her lower lip. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by the comment. You’re welcome here until you feel better.”

“I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Have you looked at this house?” He pointed through the windshield. “I guess I got a little carried away when I had the plans drawn up. Tried to talk Gram into moving in but she flat-out refused. She said all of her memories were in her little house and she had no intention of leaving it until the good Lord called her home.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a down-to-earth lady.”

“She is. And the best cook around.”

He immediately noticed Meg’s lips purse. He’d momentarily forgotten she was some kind of cook. He’d bet his prize mare that Meg’s scripted cooking couldn’t come close to his grandmother’s down-home dishes, but he let the subject drop.

Meg reached for the door handle. “Before I leave I’d love to hear about some of her recipes.”

He’d met women before who only had one thing on their minds—what they could freely gain from somebody else. He didn’t like the thought of the Jiffy Cook using his grandmother’s recipes to further her career. If he had his way that would never happen. And the sooner he got her settled, the sooner she’d be rested and on her way.

“Shall we go inside? I’ll see if I can find something for you to change into.”

“That would be wonderful. Every girl dreams about their wedding dress, but they never realize how awkward it can be to move in.”

“I couldn’t even imagine.”

He rushed around the truck, but by The time he got there Meg had already jumped out. Seemed she’d gotten the hang of rustling up her dress to get around. The woman certainly had an independent streak. What had convinced her to chain herself to Harold?

Love. That mythical, elusive thing women wanted so desperately to believe in. He refused to buy into hearts and Valentines. There was no such thing as undying love—at least not the romantic kind. His parents’ marriage should have been proof enough for him, but he’d given it a shot and learned a brutal lesson he’d never forget.

He led Meg up the steps to the large wraparound porch. This was his favorite spot in the whole house. Weather permitting, this was where he had his mid-morning coffee, and in the evening he liked to kick back to check out the stars.

“This is really nice,” she said, as though agreeing with his thoughts.

“Nothing better than unwinding and looking out over the pasture.”

“You’re lucky to have so much space, and this view is awesome. How big is the ranch?”

“A little more than sixteen hundred acres. Plenty of room to go trail riding.”

“It’s like having your own little country.”

He chuckled. She’d obviously spent too much time in the city. “It’s not quite that big. But it’s my little piece of heaven.” He moved to the door and opened it. “Ready to get out of that dress?”

Color infused her cheeks and she glanced away. He tightened his jaw, smothering his amusement over her misinterpretation of his words.

Meg kept her head down and examined the dirt-stained skirt. “Shame that all it’s good for now is the garbage.”

“Why would you want to keep a dress from a wedding you ran away from?”

A flicker of surprise showed in her eyes and then it was gone. “If you would show me where to go, I’ll get out of your way.”

“The bedrooms are upstairs.”

She stepped toward the living room and peered inside. “This is so spacious. And the woodwork is beautiful.”

Her compliment warmed his chest, and whatever he’d been meaning to say floated clean out of his head. This was the first time he’d shown any woman other than Gram around the house he’d helped design and build. He noticed how Meg’s appreciative gaze took in the hardwood floors, the built-in bookcases and the big bay window with the windowseat.

Why in the world did her words mean so much to him? It wasn’t as if they were involved and he was out to impress her. She was merely a stranger passing through his life.

“I’ll show you upstairs,” he said, anxious for a little distance. “I’m sure I’ll have something you can change into. Might not fit, but it’ll be better than all of that fluff.”

“I’m sorry to put you to such bother. If you are ever in Albuquerque you should look me up. The least I can do is take you to dinner.” She followed him to the staircase. “Didn’t you say your grandmother is a fan of the Jiffy Cook?”

He stopped on the bottom step and turned. What was she up to? He hesitated to answer, but the twinkle in Meg’s eyes drew him in. “She watches the show religiously. That’s why she was thrilled to get an invite to the wedding.”

“So why didn’t you attend? You could have gone as her escort.”

His gaze moved to the floor. “I don’t do weddings.”

“Is that from personal experience?”

His hands clenched. What was it with this woman, making him think about things he’d rather leave buried in the dark shadows of his mind? Refusing to reveal too much, he said, “Marriage is for dreamers and suckers. Eventually people figure out there’s no happily-ever-after, but by then it’s usually too late.”

“You can’t be serious! I’ve never heard such a cynical view on marriage. And especially from someone who has never even tried it.”

“Don’t always have to try something to know it’s a sham.”

He didn’t want to go any further with this conversation. He didn’t want to think about the kids of those unhappy marriages that had no voice—no choice.

He turned his back and started up the stairs. Not hearing her behind him, he stopped to glance over his shoulder. She remained in the foyer and shot him a pitying look that pierced his chest.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

He knew better than to discuss romance and marriage with a woman. He’d thought a runaway bride would have a different perspective on the whole arrangement, but apparently today hadn’t been enough to snuff out her foolish childhood fairytales.

“There’s no such thing as Cinderella or happily-ever-after.” He turned and climbed the rest of the stairs, certain she would follow him with that silly dejected look on her face as if he’d just told her there was no tooth fairy or Easter bunny.

Her heels clicked up the hardwood steps. There was a distinct stamp to her footsteps, as though she resented him pointing out the obvious to her. True, she had had a hard day, but what was he supposed to do? Lie to her? He didn’t believe in romance. Plain and simple.

“Let’s get you settled,” he said, coming to a stop in the hallway. “Then we’ll see about grabbing some chow…if you’re up to it?”

“Actually, I’m feeling better now. And something to eat does sound good.”

He opened the door and stepped back to let her pass.

“Is this your room?” she asked. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“No. Mine’s at the other end of the hallway. This happens to be the only other bedroom I’ve gotten around to furnishing.”

“You decorated this?” Her eyes opened wide as she began inspecting the green walls with the white crown molding.

“It isn’t anything great, but I figured if I was going to have a shot at talking Gram into moving in here she might be persuaded by a cheerful room.”

“It’s definitely cheerful. You did a great job. And I just love the sleigh bed. It’s so big you could get lost in it.”

He nearly offered to come find her, but he caught himself in time. Apparently Meg’s thoughts had roamed in the same direction as color flared in her cheeks and she refused to meet his gaze.

He smiled and propped his shoulder against the doorjamb. “This room has its own bathroom, so feel free to get cleaned up. I’ll go find you something to change into. I’ll be back.”

“Thanks. Seems like I’ve been saying that a lot. But I mean it. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been at the church.”

One minute she was strong and standing her ground and the next she was sweet and vulnerable. She left his head spinning.

“I’ll get those clothes.”

He slipped into the hallway and strode to his bedroom. What in the world was he supposed to give her to wear? there really wasn’t that much to her. She was quite a few inches shorter than him. And he recalled spying high heels when she lifted her dress.

Then there was her waist. She wasn’t skinny, but still none of his pants would even come close to fitting. Not even if they were cinched up with a belt. No, he’d have to think of something else.

Cash rummaged through his closet but found nothing suitable. Then he started sorting through his chest of drawers. He made sure to dig to the bottom, hoping to find something he’d forgotten about. He couldn’t believe he was doing all of this for a woman who was obviously still in love with what’s-his-face. Cash’s hands clenched tight around the T-shirt he’d been holding.

So, if she still loved this guy, why had she run out of the church? He was tired of contemplating that question—he resolved to try again and ask her straight up what had happened. Get it out in the open. Once he understood he’d…he’d give her advice—you know, from a guy’s perspective.

With a plan in mind, he grabbed a pair of drawstring shorts and a T-shirt. He knew she’d swim in them but it was the best he could do.

He returned to the guestroom and found the door shut. he rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Meg?” He waited a few seconds. Nothing. “Meg? It’s me.”

He didn’t hear anything. Guessing she’d opted for a shower, he decided to leave the clothes on the bed before heading down to the kitchen to scrounge up some food.

With a twist of the doorknob he swung the door open and stepped inside. His gaze landed on Meg sprawled over the bed and he came to an abrupt halt. What in the world?

She was lying on her stomach in nothing more than white thigh-high stockings, a garter belt and lacy bikini panties that barely covered her creamy backside…

He swallowed hard and blinked. The sexy vision was still there. He shouldn’t be here, but his feet refused to cooperate.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, snapping him from the trance. He dropped the clothes on the cedar chest at the end of the bed and hightailed it out of the room. The image of her draped over the bed would forever be tattooed on his memory.