Читать книгу Lone Star Baby Scandal - Lauren Canan - Страница 8

Two

“I thought I would find you here. What do you want for lunch?”

When he merely shook his head, she said, “Then I’ll have Rose grill a steak and throw some sides together. It should be ready in about thirty minutes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s too bad. You’ve got to eat. Nothing good is going to come out of you sitting around with your head in the clouds.”

“I was thinking, not daydreaming.”

“Thinking, huh? I’ll bet. More than likely thinking about that old bull and how you would do it better if you had a second chance.”

He glared. “I’ll be in for lunch in a few.”

She tapped her watch as a silent way of saying she would expect him sooner rather than later.

Damn, she was beautiful. For reasons he couldn’t understand, she chose to tone down her natural beauty, pulling the amber hair into a ponytail and using very little, if any, makeup. Not that she needed any. Her sky-blue eyes couldn’t hide behind the glasses always perched on her nose. And those full, slightly pink lips... A man could lose himself in them. And he had done exactly that almost two months ago, the night of the Texas Cattleman’s Club masked ball held at the Bellamy Hotel.

It probably shouldn’t have happened but that was one thing he would never regret. As his eyes had surveyed the large ballroom and the people seated at the linen-covered tables, Sophie stood out like a diamond set against dark granite. He hadn’t been able to resist taking her hand and pulling her out onto the dance floor. Sophie had protested and he understood her side. She felt herself to be only a secretary who had no place dancing with her boss. He didn’t give a damn.

She’d driven him crazy for most of the time she’d worked for the company, deflecting his teasing in complete innocence. If she had given him so much as a wink or a beguiling smile, he would have jumped her bones in a heartbeat. But the ever-proper Sophie never did even though he sensed a few times she wanted to. The attraction between them was there. The sparks went off like static around them every time they got close. He’d just never been able to get her to admit it. At the ball, with her in that dress, he hadn’t cared. He had to have her. Period.

As much as she was beautiful, she was also about as ornery as a mule. His father had called her persnickety. Let Miss Sophie get her hooks into something and she would not let go no matter what. For the years she’d worked for him, those talons had grabbed hold of his hide and she was damn near vicious in her efforts to guide him in the direction she wanted him to go. She’d been there ever since that day in the hospital, his lowest day, when she’d stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, and calmly stated with absolute resolve if for one second he thought he was just going to lie in that bed and rot away, he could think again. Giving up was not an option. If he didn’t agree with her, he was a jackass. And he was going to have to fight her tooth and nail, day in, day out, before he would be allowed to just give up. It was time for the pity party to end. They had work to do.

She’d never strayed from his side. Even on his worst days when his self-pity and self-loathing overcame his common sense, she was there, taking the verbal punches and flinging back a few of her own. Clay didn’t know of another human being who could talk to him the way she did that day. Not and get away with it.

And it continued through the months of therapy. She accepted no excuses, daring him to shut her out, and with each day his respect for her grew. What she ever saw in this broken-down, scarred ex-cowboy he would never know. It wasn’t about money. She had never asked for a raise in salary and had, in fact, purchased some office supplies out of her own pocket and never said a word about it. He’d happened to find a receipt. When questioned she’d said only that it wasn’t very much so why bother anyone for the money? He had insisted she set up an account at the local office supply store, then had to make her promise to use it.

Most people tended to cower at his anger and between his injuries and the stab in the back of his ex-bitch from hell, he’d had plenty to feel angry about. Rage often filled him but even when he lashed out, Sophie never batted an eye. He owed her his life. That was a fact no one could dispute. And that made her even more tempting than she’d even been before.

He had given considerable thought to the possibility that his attraction to her was because for him, she’d become a nurse, a psychiatrist, a trainer, a cook and sometimes a shoulder to cry on. All wrapped in one beautiful package. But it wasn’t because of anything she’d said or done. It wasn’t just because she was hands down one of the most beautiful and intelligent women he’d ever met—and yet it was all of those things and more. Clay wanted her. In his house. In his bed. Twenty-four-seven. And he’d tried. But for reasons he didn’t understand, Sophie refused. Nor would she let him touch her again. Damned frustrating. If this was some kind of misguided ploy to get him to notice her—to want her—it was working. But when was it going to end?

Instead of returning to the house, she joined him on the bleachers without a word, resting her arms on her knees and fiddling with a wild flower she’d found somewhere.

“So what’s on the schedule for today, boss?”

She knew the answer: nothing. But she asked anyway. She always did.

When he didn’t answer, she proceeded to give him a few choices. “You’ve left your cloud-computing business in the hands of others far too long. It’s past time you picked up the reins.” He sniffed at the pun and watched her grin before she continued. “The cows are calving. You have six new foals on the ground. Jonesy said they all looked top-notch. After lunch, why don’t we head to the foaling barn and check them out? I love seeing the new foals.” And you used to, she didn’t say. After two years, he’d learned what Sophie didn’t say held as much weight as what she did say.

“Okay.” He shrugged, knowing full well she would badger him all day if he didn’t agree. He hadn’t been down to the foaling barn since the accident. It had been a place where he’d grown up. A place to plan his future, to dream about all the things he wanted to do in his life. But no more. That life, as he knew it, was over.

“I’ll go and check on lunch and give you a ring when it’s ready. Can you make it down the stairs by yourself?”

The glare he gave her produced the full grin he loved to see on her face.

“Oh, you poor old soul,” she teased, hopping down from the bleachers. “I’ll have Nathan come and carry you to the house.”

“Not unless you want Nathan hurt.”

She giggled and turned toward the house. Nathan was the ranch hand she had called when, just after returning home from the extended stay at the hospital, Clay fell and couldn’t drag himself back onto his feet. At six-foot-four and two hundred and eighty-five pounds, Nathan was a close match to Clay in physical size and stamina. He had Clay up and on his way in a fast minute. Since then it had become an inside joke between them. If Clay got stubborn and refused to get out of his chair or dismissed a call to dinner, she threatened him with Nathan. She was playing on his ego. He knew exactly what she was doing, but he let her get away with it most of the time. He was not a damned invalid. He might not be able to swing his leg over a saddle—yet—but he could damn well make it up the stairs by himself.

He recognized that Sophie was well-intentioned. He was almost back to 100 percent except for the limp that would take years to overcome, but she knew that implying he was an invalid pushed his buttons. Few things stuck in his craw like that one did. He had come to accept her methods and her teasing without flinging some nasty remark back in her direction, but many times he’d had to bite his tongue to achieve that end. Her nature was that of a mother hen and one of her chicks had fallen out of the nest. Well, peep, peep. He swung his legs over the edge of the stairs and followed her to the main house, cane in hand.

* * *

“You received an email from someone named Conrad Drexler,” she told Clay as Rose set a beautifully seared steak in front of him. “It sounded important. He wants you to call him at your first opportunity.”

“Yeah, I’ll call him after lunch.”

“Clay, what’s going on? You’ve been closed up in your office for over a week. Is there something I should be doing? Has something happened?”

“Nope. Not a thing. All’s good.”

He wasn’t telling the truth. She’d learned to look for a slight pulsating under his left eye if he was upset, angry or concerned about something. It never failed. And right now the tiny vein was pulsing for all it was worth.

“Well, everything appears to be going as it should. Everest stock is soaring and the people I’ve spoken with seem genuinely happy with the quality of service they are getting.” She smiled at him. “Word has spread and it’s growing unbelievably fast. But I guess you know that?” The business’s success had propelled him to the rank of billionaire. After putting his days as the world’s top cowboy behind him, he’d also started several other companies and all were doing well, although not as well as Everest.

“Yeah,” he answered as he began to cut into the perfectly grilled steak. “So far Everest is doing all right.”

When a company stopped gaining and growing at a rate Clay thought was acceptable, he did as he had always done in the rodeo arena: he studied. And studied some more. He’d compiled statistics on every working bull in the circuit and its method of removing a rider from its back. Was the bull a spinner, a kicker, did it rotate its shoulders and if yes, in what direction and to what degree? What were its weaknesses and its merits? He took into account age and lineage and any other factor he could find on any one cow and by the time he pulled up to the rodeo arena, he knew every bull in the lineup inside and out. It didn’t matter which one he drew, he knew more about it than the owner did. The same went for the industries where he did business.

But knowledge was only a part of the puzzle. Where it ended, Clay’s tenacity took over. When he set his mind on something, accomplishment was usually just around the corner. He had a knack for business, was a genius with numbers and statistics, and developing and running a company came as naturally to him as breathing was for everyone else.

But something was going on. If she couldn’t figure it out, she would have to wait on Clay to tell her. Oftentimes that wasn’t until he had managed to solve the problem. She wasn’t usually called in unless things were nearly out of control and he needed her help. She supposed all she could do at this time was watch his body language and be prepared for anything.

“Aren’t you going to finish your lunch?” Cole asked as she stood and walked toward the door.

“Not really hungry. See you later.”

“You pulled me all the way back to the house with a lecture on eating right—then you don’t eat?”

She shrugged. “I’ll get something later.”

With a sigh of frustration Clay picked up his full plate, a napkin, cutlery and his drink and disappeared inside of his office, closing the connecting door between their offices. Drexler was one of the men who’d helped Clay develop Everest. What the exact purpose of his call was, Clay hadn’t said. He played his cards pretty close to his chest until his idea took root or problem was solved.

If anyone called him an entrepreneur to his face, he would laugh it off and respond by saying he was just an old cowhand who had run into some luck. In truth he was a shrewd and intelligent businessman who seemed to have a natural ability to turn dust into gold.

The bull that changed his life years ago didn’t merely crush his leg and open his belly. It figuratively ripped open his heart, challenging his mind and his spirit. As his injuries healed, inside he’d carried frustration, rage, sadness, a touch of hopelessness and always a hint of the bitterness he tried to hold back. Emotions he managed to conceal from most people he couldn’t hide from her. Sophie knew that handsome face better than she knew her own. She could tell when he thought someone was lying, when he was holding back his anger, when he thought something was inappropriately funny. She knew when the sparkle that lit his emerald-green eyes meant to come forward or turn tail and run. Most women made the mistake of running the wrong way—straight into his arms. A few weeks later, whatever they’d had—or thought they’d had—was over and no doubt they were still wondering what had happened.

She hoped she would never again see the pain Clay tried to hold inside. Or the fury. But some of it was still there. The hurt, the bitter embarrassment and pure rage that his ex-fiancée had caused. Sophie had to surmise that was the reason he still hadn’t dated very much since the accident.

He was the most intelligent man she knew. He had a remarkable sense of humor that was slowly coming back. But it was his deep emerald-green eyes and the rare smiles on a face that still took her breath away even after the five years she’d been an employee. His hands, callused and powerful, could be gentle when he touched a woman, as if he were stroking a newborn foal. The spicy cologne mixed with his natural scent drew females like bees to a flower. Except Clay Everett was certainly no flower. He was hard, raw and pure male.

The accident and subsequent changes he’d had to make in his life shortened his temper and did nothing to improve his attitude. If anything it gave him a dangerous edge, which ironically, to most women, was even more appealing. The same power that held a one-ton bull beneath him was still harnessed inside him; in the bedroom a woman knew it was there. And Sophie knew firsthand just how sexy the man could be after that night of too many cocktails and too many steamy looks at the masked charity event in May.

The next morning, as the sun appeared over the distant hills, she had slipped from the room, dressed and headed for her car. It had taken all weekend to shake herself loose from the spell he’d cast, and even then her life would never be the same. She could feel it. But Monday morning when it was time to report to the Flying E for work, she’d done so with her head held high. She’d brushed past him straight into her office space with a brisk good-morning and refused to look straight into his eyes. That night had been a mistake and it would not be repeated. If he had any ideas to the contrary, the quicker he forgot them the better for all concerned.

It was just too bad no one had given Clay the memo.