Читать книгу Almost Perfect - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 11

Maggie turned off the highway at Winchester, the small Texas town that neighbored Buckaroo Ranch.

Winchester hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. A streetlight had been erected on the corner of Main and Second, and Roy’s Grocery was now the Main Street Market. Other than that, everything looked much the same.

She turned right at Avery’s Feed Store and followed the old county road south, passing cattle grazing in green pastures. She and her stepfather had driven along this same road many times, and he never failed to complain about the money her paternal grandmother had paid for Maggie’s summers at Buckaroo Ranch.

Why doesn’t that old lady just give us the cash? You’d rather stay cooped up in your bedroom reading, anyway. Sending a lazy kid like you to a fancy camp is a waste of money.

Maggie had never responded to her stepdad’s tirades, mostly because he wouldn’t have put up with her arguments, but also because there was more to her grandmother’s offer than he knew.

Crippling arthritis had confined Gram to a convalescent home at the age of sixty-three, so the only escape from a dysfunctional home she could offer her granddaughter was three summers at Buckaroo Ranch.

The last, five-mile stretch passed quickly, and Maggie soon drove under the Ponderosa-style signpost that bore the name of the posh dude ranch Jake now owned.

Since this wasn’t Sunday, the beginning of a Buckaroo week, there was no sign of the buckboards that carried guests and luggage from the parking lot to the plush cabins in which they would reside.

In the past, Rascal, the one-eyed cattle dog, had run beside the wagons, greeting those arriving with a bark and a wag of his stumpy tail, but he’d been an old dog then. With Sharon gone and Jake undoubtedly busy with the responsibilities that were now his, there wouldn’t be a familiar face to welcome her to Buckaroo Ranch.

A pang of disappointment struck. As much as Maggie hated to admit it, she’d thought a lot about Jake in the past few days. Too much, in fact. She’d close her eyes and see the flirtatious glimmer in those intense blue eyes, feel the heat of his touch, relive the knee-weakening kiss.

She blew out a heavy sigh. She’d had enough psychology to know that her ex-husband’s rejection had triggered a need to feel loved and worthy again. The attraction she felt for the grown-up Jake was entirely out of line, and the sooner she got the sexually charged thoughts under control, the better.

Instead of freshening up after six hours on the road, she gave only a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. She and Jake were old friends, for goodness’ sake. There was no reason to primp.

Maggie grabbed her suitcase from the back seat, slipped the strap of her tote bag over a shoulder and shut the car door. She followed the shadow-dappled pathway that led to the house. Several of the outbuildings lay ahead—the hair salon and spa for those wanting more of a luxury vacation, the dining room where guests ate gourmet food while seated family style at long, wooden tables.

Nearing the house, she spotted an older man dressed in cowboy garb leading a mounted group along the riding trail that bordered the indoor arena. He looked a bit like Earl Iverson, the man who’d managed the ranch fifteen years ago, although grayer and much heavier.

She climbed the steps to the rustic front porch of Buckaroo Ranch, feeling as though she’d stepped into a time warp of Twilight Zone proportions. Everything seemed the same, yet eerily different.

For a moment, some of the old childhood insecurities crept back into the forefront of her mind.

Get a grip, she told herself. The gangly teen who had once perched awkwardly between woman and child no longer existed.

She lifted her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could rap on the carved-oak entry, the door swung open.

“Thank God, you’re here.” Jake took her bags, dropped them onto the floor and quickly swept her into his arms, accosting her with his scent of leather and musk.

Her heart did a swan dive, and her knees nearly gave out. But before she could react or speak, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house.

They crossed the Spanish-tiled entry, the leather soles of his boots clicking, her tennis shoes squeaking. Maggie briefly scanned the spacious living room, where the adult guests of old had always gathered for the cocktail hour. Other than a new cream-colored sectional in the corner and a few toys scattered on the floor, the room looked the same.

When Jake led her into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but gasp.

A cyclone, it appeared, had swept through, causing major damage to the kitchen. Dirty dishes lined the counters and filled the sink, and splatters of food littered the walls and floor.

A towheaded toddler sat in a high chair, chocolate ice cream smeared across the tray like finger paint. The boy smiled in greeting, screeching and raising his spoon in a sticky fist.

“That’s Sam,” Jake said, nodding toward the messy little boy.

Sam offered a chocolaty smile, and Maggie couldn’t help but grin. Had she ever enjoyed ice cream with such barbaric abandon?

“And this is Kayla,” he added.

A little redheaded girl sat at the kitchen table, an open coloring book before her. She wore her curly hair loose and parted at the side, a red-and-black ladybug hair clip holding a large lock away from her face. Kermit-green eyes gazed at Maggie with wisdom beyond the little girl’s years. All signs of the mild to moderate cerebral palsy that plagued Kayla appeared to lay dormant.

Five years ago, shortly after Kayla’s birth, the pediatrician’s diagnosis had rattled Sharon. Maggie had offered as much long-distance counseling as she could, before referring her friend to national support groups and online resources.

Extending a hand to Sharon’s daughter, Maggie smiled warmly. “I’m glad to meet you, Kayla.”

The little girl accepted the greeting, but continued to peruse the adult she’d been introduced to.

Such a solemn expression for a pretty little girl. Maggie wanted to put the child at ease. “Kayla, you look a lot like your mother.”

Mentioning Sharon worked. The little girl smiled. “Thank you. Did you know my mommy?”

“I sure did. We were friends when we were kids.”

“Kayla,” Jake said. “This is Dr. Templeton. She’s the one I was telling you about.”

The girl, a pink crayon held in one hand like a scepter, furrowed an auburn brow. “You’re a doctor?”

Maggie, who’d worked hard to earn the distinguished title, didn’t expect friends to refer to her as such. “Why don’t you just call me Maggie?”

“Do you give shots?” Crayon still raised and brow still furrowed, the little girl nibbled on her bottom lip while awaiting Maggie’s reply.

“Only when absolutely necessary, but remember, I came to visit as a friend, not as a doctor.”

“Maggie’s going to help us until Rosa gets better,” Jake explained.

The task suddenly looked a bit overwhelming, and Maggie couldn’t help but scan the room again. Hadn’t he been cleaning up after each meal?

Her eyes settled on the chocolate-covered toddler in the high chair. She’d always encouraged parents to let children feed themselves, but she now wondered whether chocolate ice cream should be an exception.

Jake leaned against the counter, next to the sinkful of dirty dishes, and crossed his arms. He looked windblown, tussled. And too damn sexy for his own good. Her heart did a little flip-flop, and she had to remind herself of her resolve to keep things on a platonic keel.

“Boy, am I glad you came,” he said.

“I’ll bet you are. You definitely need reinforcements.” Maggie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and surveyed the kitchen again. “Should we draw straws to decide who’s going to tackle the cleanup?”

“We don’t have to decide that yet. I’ve still got some dishes left in the cupboard.” He laughed, then blew out a deep breath and nodded toward Sam. “I’m more concerned about cleaning up the little piglet. Would you mind helping?”

The poor kid was covered from the tips of his downy fine hair to the mismatched socks he wore. Apparently, Uncle Jake hadn’t taken time to put on his shoes. Or maybe they’d been lost in the clutter.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t arrived?” she asked.

He shot her one of those bad-boy grins. “Taken him out back and hosed him off, I guess.”

Maggie lifted a brow and scrutinized her handsome cowboy friend. “Are you kidding? You haven’t been hosing him down in the yard, have you?”

“No.” He laughed again. “I was joking, Maggie. Actually, I’ve been filling the tub with warm, soapy water and swishing him around.”

Uncle Jake was undoubtedly out of his element. The past few days must have been comical, and Maggie wished she could have witnessed them firsthand.

“Doctor,” Kayla said, her voice far more serious than that of her uncle. “Do you read stories to kids?”

Maggie smiled at the girl. “I haven’t had too many opportunities, but if you have some storybooks, I’d be happy to read to you.”

“Goodie,” Kayla said. “Because uncles don’t like to read.” Kayla shot an exasperated look at Jake, and Maggie realized it had been a bone of contention between the two.

She could certainly understand Kayla’s frustration. Kids loved to listen to stories. Parents who didn’t read to their children did them a huge disservice. Maybe she would have to work on Jake. Some people didn’t believe an old dog could learn new tricks, but she disagreed.

“I’ll just have to talk your uncle into reading you a story once in a while.” She slid him a sly smile.

And Jake did his damnedest to return a grin, even though he wanted to scoff and stomp outside. Kayla was always grumpy when he refused to read aloud.

“Reading to children is good for them,” Maggie added. “It helps them develop learning skills, not to mention a love of books.”

Jake didn’t doubt that for a minute. Heck, he felt like a real jerk whenever he told Kayla he didn’t have time to read or just plain didn’t want to. It wasn’t like he was illiterate. He read just fine—quietly and to himself. But he still remembered the humiliation of stuttering over simple words when forced to perform in front of an audience: the snickers of kids who could read better than him, the way Mrs. Bridger cleared her throat and told him to start all over at the beginning of the passage.

His refusal to speak out loud in class served his pride well, but it also resulted in regular visits to the principal and hours of detention.

“Guess what,” Kayla said to Maggie. “I already know my letters and sounds. And I’m not even in kindergarten yet.”

His niece was smart; that was for darn sure. Rosa had tried to talk Jake into letting her start kindergarten this year, but he’d said no.

He’d told Rosa that Kayla needed time to get used to the other changes in her life, which was true. But he worried about sending her off to school, especially with her disability, and wanted to protect her for as long as he could. Next year, when she was six, would be soon enough.

“After I get your brother cleaned up and the kitchen scrubbed down,” Maggie said, “we can take time for a story or two.”

Kayla clapped her hands. “I’m glad you came to help us.”

Maggie slid Jake another teasing smile, one that suggested she intended to prod him until he took Sam and Kayla on his lap and read them a story each night before bedtime.

Before he could come up with a retort or change the subject, a shrill voice called from the entry.

“Yoo-hoo!”

Victoria Winston. Jake blew out a heavy breath. Not her. Not now.

“Jake, are you in the kitchen?” Victoria called.

Maggie raised her brows, asking, it seemed, for some kind of explanation, if not an introduction. But she’d figure it out soon enough.

“Yeah, Vickie. I’m in here.”

Maggie watched, as an attractive woman dressed in designer Western wear sauntered into the kitchen, filling the room with a heavy dose of Chanel No. 5. Expensive denim hugged her hips, and a low-cut blouse flaunted perky breasts no bra could contain.

The tall, leggy brunette must be one of the wealthy guests of the ranch, Maggie suspected. But the sexually charged smile she slipped Jake indicated she was more than a guest.

Maggie crossed her arms. The faded jeans and old sweatshirt she wore suddenly seemed blousy and oversized, and she wished she would have taken time to at least put on some lipstick.

The woman scrunched a makeup laden face at the mess, but when she spotted Maggie, her smile lit up like a Macy’s department store on Christmas Eve. “Oh! Looks like the baby-sitter finally arrived.”

The baby-sitter? Had Jake told the woman that Maggie was coming to look after the children? Had he implied she was hired help and not just a friend offering a favor?

Vickie scanned the length of Maggie, smiling as though she’d passed some kind of inspection. She winked at Jake, in a sly, foxy way. “You should have a lot more free time now.”

Maggie had a sudden urge to clobber them both, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Vickie, this is Dr. Templeton. She’s a pediatrician and an old friend.” Jake turned to Maggie. “This is one of our guests, Victoria Winston.”

Vickie didn’t seem to be the outdoor, dude ranch type. A high-class spa would seem to be her style. But her obvious attraction to Jake indicated she’d planned her vacation well.

It seemed this sly, female fox had a plan to capture a prize hound dog. It was an age-old game, and Maggie wondered whether Jake would take the bait.

Years ago, back when Maggie used to be a guest herself, one of the lady guests had made an obvious play for Jake’s uncle. Maggie had always figured the lonely woman had set her sights on sleeping with a real live cowboy and signed up for a stint at the dude ranch with that sole purpose in mind.

Back then, she’d thought it kind of funny. But there didn’t seem to be anything humorous about Vickie the vixen and her obvious attraction to the cowboy with his share of female conquests.

“Well, now,” Vickie said. “A nanny with a medical degree is just the kind of sitter I’d hire, if I were inclined to have a few rugrats of my own.”

Maggie doubted the woman would risk marring her body with stretch marks, let alone any of the other subtle differences brought on by childbirth. She seemed too showy, too self-absorbed, too groomed to perfection.

Vickie extended her arm, gold bangles clanging upon a sparkling tennis bracelet. “How do you do?”

Maggie took the proffered hand, noting the cool, silky texture and polished nails that boasted of regular manicures. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Jake, honey,” Vickie said, batting mascara-thickened lashes. “Now you can take me on one of those late-night rides that was advertised in the brochure. Last time I asked, you mentioned not having someone to look after the kids.” Tinted lips curled into a sly, take-me-to-bed smile.

The vixen turned to Maggie. “You work full-time, right? And the kiddies will be sleeping….”

Maggie shot a glance at Jake, wondering what he’d tell the busty, can’t-wait-to-get-naked-in-the-moonlight brunette.

“Rosa’s hospitalization has set me back. I’ve got a lot of things I need to do. I’m afraid the late-night ride is out of the question. Maybe next time.”

A cherry-red bottom lip pooched out in a little-rich-girl pout.

What would Jake have told the vixen had Rosa not been out on disability? Had Maggie not been witness to the woman’s blatant attempt to spend some late-night hours with the good-looking cowboy?

Sam squealed, then began to grunt and squirm out of the high chair.

“Would you mind watching the kids, Maggie?” Jake asked. “I need to talk to Vickie outside.”

“By all means.” Maggie feigned a smile as Jake and the vixen stepped out the back door.

Of all the… She’d meant to help Jake with the kids, make things easier on him, not so that he could find time to fraternize with the guests.

She grumbled while pulling out drawers until she found a dishcloth she could use to wash off at least some of the chocolate Sam wore like body paint, all the while mumbling under her breath.

At least she hadn’t thought she’d spoken aloud.

“Did you say something about reindeer?” Kayla asked.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder at the girl. “Reindeer? No.”

“But you said, ‘Vixen,’ and that’s one of Santa’s reindeer.”

Maggie couldn’t quell a wry grin from forming. “Yes, I suppose I did. That lady reminds me of a reindeer, the way she prances and dances around your uncle.”

Kayla laughed. “Does Uncle Jake remind you of Santa Claus?”

“Not really,” Maggie said. But she thought Victoria Winston was hoping to sit on Cowboy Claus’s lap and get her name on his naughty-girl list. “Kayla, it was rude of me to think about that, let alone say it out loud. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” the little girl said. “I don’t like her, either. She just walks in the house all the time, even when the other people are doing fun stuff like riding and swimming.”

That didn’t surprise Maggie. Victoria Winston had set her sights on good old Uncle Jake.

She wondered whether the hound dog would succumb to temptation.

Vickie sidled up to Jake as he escorted her outside and down the walk toward the barn.

He sidestepped her. “I’ve made it a point not to date or become involved with any of the guests at Buckaroo Ranch.”

“Why’s that?” she asked, closing the space he’d tried to put between them. “I’m not asking for any kind of commitment. Maybe just a visit or two to my cabin late at night, when the others are sound asleep. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

It was hard not to think about sex in front of Vickie. She all but wore a sign around her neck saying Ready, Willing and More Than Able. But shoot, he was a family man now. A role model, albeit a tarnished one.

“Oh,” she said, noticing something on Jake’s face and licking her finger. “What’s this? Looks like chocolate. I’ll get it off for you.” She rubbed the skin above his brow, then slipped an index finger into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around it and slowly pulling it out. “Mmm. Good.”

Her eyes told him she wanted to taste more than chocolate.

Was everything a sexual innuendo with the woman? Part of the fun of having sex was in the chase. Vickie didn’t let a guy get out of the starting blocks.

She gave him a kiss upon the forehead, right where the chocolate had supposedly been. “Think about it, honey. You won’t be sorry.”

He was sorry already. High-maintenance women like Vickie were a dime a dozen. He’d become adept at kindly brushing off their propositions, but he wasn’t used to dealing with them in front of his niece and Maggie.

Vickie was pushing his patience to the limit.

“What about the party on Friday? Surely you can find time for a dance.”

The hayride and barn dance were the highlight of a Buckaroo week. As long as Jake had committed to fulfilling the reservations his sister had made over a year ago, the weekly event would go on as planned.

“All right,” he told her. “One dance.”

But something told him that wouldn’t be enough for Victoria Winston.

Now if he could just get the woman to go back to her cabin or encourage her to have a facial. Maybe catch one of the sunset rides into the canyon. But he doubted that any of his suggestions would work and opted to bow out gracefully. “You’ll have to excuse me, Vickie. I’ve got to get things lined up inside. Then I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Sure, Jake, I’ll excuse you. But don’t forget about the dance on Friday night.”

“No, I won’t forget.” Jake tipped his hat, then headed back to the house.

When he stepped inside the kitchen, Maggie was busy wiping Sam’s face and hands. She had her back to him and didn’t speak when he entered. Something told him that wasn’t a good thing.

Kayla, on the other hand, giggled out loud.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You got a big, red, reindeer kiss on your face.”