Читать книгу Roping the Rancher - Julie Benson - Страница 11

Chapter Three

When Stacy placed her hand in his, the calluses on his fingers brushed her wrists. She almost gasped when excitement rippled down her spine. That is, once she recognized the emotion, which was hard to do considering she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt anything resembling interest in a man. Once she could speak, she joked, “Good thing, because my pride’s sure shot.”

“I bet it’ll recover.”

Her reaction to the cowboy was out of whack. A born and bred California girl, she’d been attracted to well-built surfer types. Something about their daring, how they challenged those giant waves drew her. Maybe because she’d always been so cautious, but then she’d realized all they cared about was catching the next wave.

She’d dated a few actors she’d worked with over the years. A movie pulled them together, but those relationships never worked. Actors had a way of slipping into their characters almost 24/7 during a film. When filming ended and she came to know who he really was, she often realized she’d been more attracted to the character he’d been playing than the real man.

A few times she dated businessmen, but they became frustrated with the travel and long absences associated with her job, but cowboy guy here? The rugged outdoorsman type never even showed up on her radar. So what about this cowboy got her all hot and bothered?

There was something about his eyes. Clear and blue, they shone with mischief and determination definitely, but something else. The look of an old soul haunted his gaze for brief flashes.

That combination in his steely gaze told her this man would be trouble. No doubt about it.

* * *

WHEN THE WOMAN at his feet clasped her delicate hand in his, their gazes locked and his breath hitched. Blond hair. Blue eyes that sparkled like a mountain spring under the morning sun. A woman who could look this pretty while sprawled in manure had to be trouble.

He glanced between her and the teenager waiting by the car. A teenage boy who needed a walker. His stomach tightened. Unless Colt missed his guess, Stacy and her brother Ryan had arrived.

He’d expected her to be beautiful because all the bachelorettes on Finding Mrs. Right had been knockouts, but he’d expected more California high-maintenance style. Not a woman with natural, understated makeup wearing jeans. Granted they were fancy designer ones with sparkly things instead of sturdy rivets and she had on stiltlike heels, but he wouldn’t have pegged her for a Hollywood actress.

After he helped her stand, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out a bandana and handed the cloth to her. “It’s not much, but this will let you wipe off a little. I’m Colt Montgomery. Are you by chance Stacy and Ryan?”

“A little worse for the wear, but that’s us.” She laughed. The rich sound raced up his spine.

Colt strolled to where the teenager stood at the edge of the road, and shook hands with the kid. This he knew how to deal with. “How about you help me get these knuckle-headed animals back where they belong?”

For a minute the kid’s eyes widened with surprise before he masked the emotion, but before he could respond his sister piped in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The first thing Healing Horses needed to work on was getting Ryan’s sister to quit treating the kid as if he would shatter right before her eyes.

“I wouldn’t ask if he couldn’t handle it.”

“You don’t know him. I do.” She crumpled his red bandana in her fist. “Plus, these cows are huge. What if one of them charges?”

“A car heading straight for them won’t budge these things, and you’re worried they’d suddenly get the gumption to charge?” He shook his head. City folks and their harebrained notions. “These aren’t the bulls that run in Pamplona.”

“I don’t know. A couple of them look like they could be troublemakers.” One of the cows raised its head and turned toward her. She pointed at the animal. “That one’s been giving me the evil eye. I think she has it in for me. Can you personally vouch for her character?”

Her attempt at humor almost made him smile. Almost. This woman appeared to have more than one trick up her sleeve to disarm a man, but then what did he expect from an actress? She could pretend to be anyone she wanted to.

Ignoring Stacy and her pretty blue eyes that he suspected could see straight inside him, he turned to Ryan. “What do you say, sport? You up for this?”

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Wait a minute. Are you sure that’s a good idea, Ryan?” Stacy stepped forward, but then stopped and smiled at her brother. “Be careful.”

“Ryan, you head over there to the opening in the fence. Stand right beside it and make sure the cows don’t make a last-minute break for it.” Colt knew once he got the animals that far, they weren’t likely to find the energy to go anywhere. “They probably won’t. It’s more likely they’ll get all bunched up. If that happens just swat them on the rear to speed them up.”

“Got it.”

Ryan clutched his walker and tried to find a level spot. Once he did that, he moved his walker and stepped. He repeated the process again. Colt glanced at Stacy. Her gaze locked on her brother as she stood there, her body rigid, her hands clasped in front of her, nibbling on her lower lips. She wants to help, but she knows he needs to do this on his own. Maybe there’s hope for her.

A couple of steps later Ryan wobbled. Colt glanced again at Stacy. When she stepped forward he shook his head and she froze, concern clouding her beautiful features. Sweat beaded on Ryan’s face as he worked his way out of the ditch to the hole in the fence. Once there, Colt walked up to the ring leader and slapped the cow on the hind quarters. “Move!”

In fewer than five minutes he had all the cows back in the pasture. That job done, he tugged the fence until it and Stacy’s rental car created a temporary barrier. “This should hold them until Charlie can fix the fence.” Colt strolled to his three-wheeler, crawled on and then glanced back at the pair. “Ryan, hop on the back with me. Stacy, ride in wagon and hold the walker.”

Ryan headed toward him, but Stacy stood rooted in her spot glaring at him. “Why do I have to ride in the cart?”

“Your butt’s covered in manure.”

“Ryan, won’t you switch—”

“I’m not having manure all over my seat.”

She appealed to her brother again.

“Sorry, sis. I’m siding with Colt on this one.”

Hands on her hips, she said, “You’ve got to be kidding?”

“It’s either the wagon or walk,” Colt replied.

She shook her head, dropped her hands off her hips and walked toward the wagon. “Men.”

* * *

WHEN STACY ARRIVED at the Rocking M Ranch she found herself thankful that the jolting ride over in the cart hadn’t loosened her teeth.

They stopped in front of a mocha-colored wood-and-brick house with trees that stood guard around the structure. The house, while not huge, wasn’t too small, either, and was in pristine condition. When they reached the front porch, she discovered a rocking chair. She could envision Colt’s long frame seated there as he surveyed the beautiful land around him.

This wasn’t a house. It was a home.

Once inside the living room, Colt turned to Ryan. “You can hang out here while I show your sister where to clean up. Then we’ll head for the barn and I’ll show you around. We’ve got a few things to take care of before your first session, like picking out a horse for you.”

“Shouldn’t I be there for that?”

“He’s seventeen. He’ll be fine.” Colt motioned for her to follow him. “I’d let you use my daughter’s room, but you know how teenagers are about their privacy.”

At the mention of his daughter, she glanced at his left hand. No wedding ring, but then a lot of guys, especially ones who worked with their hands, didn’t wear one. “Ryan said he met your daughter at school. How old is she?”

“Almost sixteen. I’ve got three months until D-Day.”

“Huh? I don’t get it.”

“She gets to date and drive when she turns sixteen in three months.”

“You look tough. I bet you can survive it. I did with Ryan. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but it can be done.”

“Guys are different.”

She thought about his comment. In some ways she’d had it easier with Ryan. Guys didn’t get pregnant. They weren’t victims of date rape. There were a hundred other horrors parents of teenage girls had to worry about.

At the end of the upstairs hallway Colt opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter. Stacy walked into the room and stared. Never in her life had she seen such a neat, well-organized bedroom. Not a speck of dust lay on any of the large rustic furniture. The bed was not only made, but there wasn’t a wrinkle anywhere on the dark brown comforter. No clothes on the floor. No shoes for someone to trip over. Not even any change tossed on the nightstand by the massive bed. “Either your wife spends all her waking time cleaning or you’ve got an amazing maid.”

“I’m not married, and you’re looking at the maid.”

That explained the no ring. Was he divorced? A widower? Whatever his situation, between that and being a war vet, the man probably carried more baggage than a 747. She didn’t want to know.

She craved average and uncomplicated.

Knowing about a person’s life led to attachments and caring, which led to emotional entanglements, responsibilities and expectations. All of which usually ended up with her getting disappointed. She thought about her past relationships. Whenever she started having expectations or wanted more out of the relationship, her boyfriends suddenly stopped calling.

She and Colt had a business arrangement. He was to help Ryan overcome his physical disabilities. Period.

But she couldn’t miss the similarity of their situations. She was raising a teenage boy and half the time she felt clueless. While he was raising his daughter alone, and from his comments, she suspected he often felt out of his league, too. Men and women saw the world differently, and no matter how she tried, they couldn’t really stand in each other’s shoes.

She could imagine how much harder it would be for a guy to raise a teenage girl alone. Dealing with female hormones and emotions which caused bigger ups and downs than an amusement-park roller coaster, her developing body and the sex talk issues. The man must be made of titanium.

“You need something to wear while your clothes are in the washer.” He walked to his closet door. Inside were neatly folded shirts, organized by color, even the plaid ones, stacked on metal closet organizer shelves. He selected one. Then he grabbed a pair of jeans and a belt and handed the items to her.

She stared at him. He was easily six-two and solidly built. “You’re kidding, right? Have you looked at me?”

A slow grin spread across his face, as his gaze scanned her from head to toe. And not a quick look, but a slow inspection that let him take his time to check out all the assets. She, who was used to guys staring at her as if they could see through to her underwear all the time in auditions and on the set, blushed at the intensity in this man’s gaze.

“What in particular am I supposed to notice?” His low, husky voice slid over her, making her tingle. Really? Tingle? Men didn’t make her do that. What was up with her reaction to this guy? He wasn’t even close to her type. He was too strong. Too imposing. Just plain too much.

But there was something about him. An honesty and a confidence she found compelling. He’s real. What a woman saw was what she’d get.

Stop it. He’s the last thing you need right now.

She cleared her throat. “I’m built a little bit different than you are.”

“Thank the good Lord for that.”

She pinned him with her best no-nonsense, we’re-not-going-anywhere-on-a-personal-level stare. “These will be huge on me. I’m not sure your belt has a hole tight enough to keep the jeans from falling off. Doesn’t your daughter have something I could borrow?”

“I can’t loan you anything of Jess’s without written permission. My luck, whatever I gave you would turn out to be her favorite pants. You’d fall in another cow pie or snag them on something in the barn, and I’d be a dead man.”

His words said with a straight face and a tinge of fear rippling in his voice made her smile. Humor? What an odd, but not unpleasant, combination with his take-charge attitude.

“You’re afraid of a sixteen-year-old girl?” she teased back.

“Damn right. You were that age once. Don’t you remember what you were like with your clothes then?”

“What was I thinking?” At that age she’d been on a hit TV series. Her image had been everything, and yes, she’d been fanatical about her clothes.

“A smart man knows when not to press his luck.” He took the clothes from her and placed them on his enormous bed. Then he pointed to the door opposite the closet. “There’s the bathroom. The towels are in the linen closet and the soap’s in the shower. My robe’s on the back of the bathroom door. Try the clothes or put on the robe. I don’t care which.”

Then he told her where to find the washer and dryer, and said to join him and Ryan when she could. He was out the door before she could even comment.

Stacy found Colt’s bathroom in the same pristinely clean and organized fashion as his bedroom. After she washed up, she grabbed the forest-green terrycloth bathrobe off the hook and slipped the garment on. An earthy smell mixed with a spicy scent flowed over her as if the man had wrapped her in his strong arms.

Not good.

Wearing his robe was way too intimate. She smoothed her hand down the fluffy fabric. How could she feel a connection with a man by putting on his bathrobe? It was silly, but in slipping into the garment, she felt exactly that—connected.

A vision of Colt, strong and confident, standing in this room, wearing this same garment filled her vision. While the robe reached her ankles, the garment would hit him just below the knees. She could see him, the robe gaping to reveal his muscled chest, standing in front of the sink shaving that stern chin of his. Then she saw his clear blue eyes focused on her as a woman in this room.

Wrong move. Afraid of the ache pulsing in her body, she scooped up her dirty clothes and headed for the bedroom door. She had to get out of his room. Intent on escape, she flung open the door and almost barreled into a dark-haired teenager with caramel-colored eyes, a Chihuahua clutched in her arms. Except for her strong chin, she looked nothing like her father.

She must be the exact image of her mother.

“Are you Jess?” After the teen nodded, Stacy continued to introduce herself. “I’m Ryan’s sister. Thanks for showing him the ropes at school.”

“He told me about the movie you’re making. I can’t wait to see it in the theater. Maggie said I can be an extra in a couple of scenes.”

Not knowing what else to say, Stacy said, “Cute dog. What’s its name?”

“Thor.”

“That’s an interesting choice for a name.”

“I know. It drives people crazy.” Jess tossed Stacy a saucy grin. “You were one of the finalists when Griffin was on Finding Mrs. Right.”

“That was me.”

“Getting dumped on national TV had to suck.”

Sure did. Thanks for bringing up the pleasant subject. Being on that show and some comment about the disastrous finale would end up on her tombstone. Some bad decisions kept on giving. “It wasn’t a lot of fun. For a while I was the punch line to some pretty nasty jokes.”

“It hurts when you get made fun of for someone else’s choices.”

She knows because she’s been there. The words to ask what had happened with Jess sat perched on her tongue. No, she wouldn’t ask. No attachments, remember? She was only here for ten weeks. Get in. Do the job. Get Ryan the help he needs and get out.

“Luckily there’s a new scandal every five minutes in Hollywood, so everyone moved on pretty quickly.”

“Dad sent me to see if you need anything.”

“I’m good, but thanks for asking.” Stacy nodded toward the wadded clothes in her hands. “I was just going to put these in the washer. I’m not sure I can salvage them, but I’m going to try.”

“I heard about your fall. The first thing I learned when we moved here was to always watch where I step.”

“I could’ve used that info earlier,” Stacy joked as she followed the teenager downstairs to the utility room where they tossed her clothes into the washer. “I’m a little taller than you are, but I could also use something to wear. Maybe some sweatpants and a T-shirt? Your dad said he couldn’t loan me anything of yours without written permission.”

“He knows better than to mess with my clothes. One time I put a load of my stuff in the washer before I left for school. He came along and put them in the dryer. I didn’t talk to him for a week after my favorite jeans shrank so much I looked like I was ready for a flood.”

“That hurts. A shirt can be replaced. That’s easy, but jeans?”

“I know. It’s about impossible to find a pair that fit right and look good.”

Stacy nodded in feminine understanding. “Guys don’t get that.”

“Especially a cowboy. Any pair of Wranglers is fine with them.” Together they headed upstairs again. When Jess opened the door, Stacy realized looks weren’t the only way this girl differed from her father. Clothes, books and papers littered every surface. Obviously she hadn’t inherited her father’s neat-freak tendencies.

After digging through her dresser, Jess pulled out a pair of gray knit yoga-style pants and a plain white T-shirt. “These should work and don’t worry about getting them back to me right away. I only wear them to sleep in.”

“Thanks. I want to see how Ryan’s doing, and I can’t go to the barn in a bathrobe.” Jess handed her the clothing. “Your dad said I could put on a pair of his jeans and one of his shirts.”

Jess laughed. “Sure, that would work. The pants would end up around your ankles.”

“That’s what I said.” Stacy shook her head. “His solution was to hand me one of his belts.”

“My dad’s a great guy, but sometimes he’s such a guy.”

That was one thing Colt Montgomery was. All man.

* * *

IN THE BARN, Ryan leaned on his walker and looked at Colt. The haunted look in the teen’s gaze reached out to Colt, reminding him of the look he used to see in Reed’s eyes at that age. This kid had seen way too much and been hurt a time or two.

“Thanks for telling my sister to lighten up. She’s gotten a little overprotective since my accident.”

“I picked up on her being the worrier type, but I bet it’s only while she’s awake.”

Ryan smiled, and some of the tension left his face. His shoulders relaxed, too. “She’s always watched out for me. Our dad died when I was a baby and our mom’s worthless. It was just the two of us.”

Like him and Reed. Two kids clinging to each other through the storms of life that tossed them around. Now her protectiveness made sense.

“That’s why we went to court to get her named my guardian.”

Colt wondered about why she’d legally taken on the parent role with her brother when he read the application. That told him a lot. How many sisters would do that? She could’ve turned eighteen, moved out of the house and went on with her life without giving her brother much thought. She could’ve left him to fend for himself.

Like he’d done with Reed.

Until recently, Colt hadn’t known how bad things had been for his brother after he left home and enlisted. One night things got so bad Reed nearly beat their old man to death. Then damned if the bastard didn’t want to press charges for assault. If it hadn’t been for Nannette’s husband, Ben, Reed would’ve been arrested for assault. Ben McAlister had been one damn fine man. He’d been there for Reed when Colt hadn’t been.

Unlike him, Stacy stuck around for her brother.

“She’s especially concerned about me doing this therapy,” Ryan continued. “Our father was thrown from a horse on a movie set. That was how he died.”

“And she’s letting you get on a horse? How did you talk her into that?”

“It wasn’t easy, but she knows this is my best chance to walk on my own again.”

Still, that took guts on her part. Then he thought about the movie Maggie was making, The Women of Spring Creek Ranch. “The movie she’s starring in is about female ranchers. Won’t she have to ride a horse for the movie?”

“She said none of her scenes have anything to do with horses.” Ryan’s hands tightened on the walker handles. “Do you think you can help me get rid of this thing?”

“A local physical therapist and I went over your doctor’s report to develop activities geared toward your physical issues. I can’t promise you’ll get rid of that thing by the end of your sessions, but I know we can help you.”

“I bet you’re wondering why I’m here, cause you see people who are so worse off than me.”

“Everyone has the right to get the most he can out of his life. We help whoever needs us whether it’s a little or a lot.” He motioned for Ryan to follow him. The tap-scrape of the walker echoed through the barn. “Being a teenager is tough enough without having to deal with medical issues. What were you into before the accident?”

“I ran track and played basketball. My friends and I used to rock climb a lot.”

The unsaid words hung in the air between them. And now they do, and I can’t.

“I have a couple of good buddies who were hurt in Afghanistan. It’s a tough adjustment. It changed their lives completely.”

Being there changed mine, too. Just not in the same way.

“I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour,” he said to Ryan. “We’ll get some of the busy work out of the way. Then you can have your first session tomorrow.”

Colt led Ryan into the tack room in the center of the barn where the shelves were stacked with helmets. He handed one to the teenager. “Try this on.”

“I’m seventeen and have to use a walker. Now you want me to wear this? Dork of the month calendar, here I come.”

The kid still had spirit. Good. That would work in his favor. “Sorry. It’s the rules. Every rider wears one.”

Ryan tossed on the helmet and snapped the chin strap. “If a picture of me in this thing ends up on Facebook, I’ll kick your ass.”

Colt laughed. “Fair enough.” Then he checked the fit. Two tries later, and they had the right one. “Our next step is picking out a horse for you. How tall are you? About five-eleven?”

“I guess.”

“I think you and Chance will get along well. Come on. I’ll introduce you.” They walked through the barn to the horse’s stall. The animal sauntered over and pressed his nose against the window bars. Colt rubbed the animal’s head. “You ever been on a horse before?”

Ryan shook his head and moved closer to the stall. “Can I touch him?”

Colt nodded, and explained what the therapy would entail. “You two are going to become good friends. You’ll be working on using your body to direct Chance. That will help you regain control of your own body.”

“Ryan, where are you?” Stacy called out.

“Over here,” Ryan responded.

“We’re in the first row of horse stalls.”

A minute later she joined them, but she shied away from the stall door, keeping as close to the larger open area as possible. “I see Jess loaned you some clothes.” Ones a bit too small for her. His daughter’s knit pants and T-shirt molded to Stacy’s lush figure, leaving no doubt about her feminine curves. A body like hers could make a man break out in a cold sweat and damned if Colt wasn’t doing just that.