Читать книгу Desert Wolf - Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAs Grant Wade pulled the truck away from the curb, it dawned on Paxton that there might be a downside to remaining in his presence.
From where she sat, on the opposite side of the truck, she still felt the impression of his hand on her elbow, left over from when he helped with her bags. When she had looked at his face, searching for more hints about his character, what she’d found was a man who might not be as happy to accommodate her visit as he seemed.
They were at odds about Desperado, and Grant Wade showed signs of discomfort. Although he rested one arm casually on the window frame and the other on the wheel, those bronzed forearms were corded with tension.
Were those arms sexy? Yes.
Did that matter? No.
So, why had she even thought of questions like those?
Truth was, Paxton wondered what that smooth golden skin would be like to touch and chastised herself for thinking she’d like to find out.
Her reactions to Grant Wade were as automatic as breathing. In her defense, most women liked strong, sexy men who didn’t overtly try to overpower with all that testosterone. Men who could easily take control of any situation, yet sometimes knew better than to try. Handsome men at ease in their own skins who radiated self-confidence and looked exactly like Grant Wade did, from Stetson to scuffed boots.
Weren’t those things tied to what constituted wet dreams for women? Because surely she was going to have a dream like that about this guy tonight, no matter how far apart they stood on her father’s deal.
“Name your poison,” he said to her as the truck rolled past a few strip malls and gas stations, its engine purring like a well-tuned tractor.
“Iced tea. Heavy on the ice.”
He gave her a sideways glance.
“I don’t think alcohol would further my cause much. Do you?” Not wanting to relax, Paxton leaned back against the leather seat, liking the masculine smell of the truck. The trip to Arizona had been taxing. She would have given anything to be able to close her eyes.
“Hotel choices,” he said. “Big or small?”
“Cheap.”
He nodded.
“Then you’ll give in and buy me out of all that acreage. Or vice versa,” she added.
“You’re pretty confident one of those two things will happen?”
“Aren’t you?”
Her companion didn’t reply to that question and angled the truck into a parking space beside a small roadside café.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Famished, actually.”
“I hope you like burgers.”
“Not unless they come with fries.”
“Then you, my fine lady, are in luck,” Grant Wade said as he turned off the engine. “Though you will have to sit across from me.”
“I’ll manage somehow,” Paxton returned.
The café was nearly empty this time of day. A few small tables ringed a linoleum patchwork floor and three faded red booths hugged the windows. The only waitress in sight, dressed in faded jeans and an apron, eyed them curiously when she and Grant slid into a booth. After Grant returned the glance, the waitress ambled over.
“I guess I’m conspicuously foreign,” Paxton said when their order went in.
“This is a place for regulars. Anyone new is suspicious.”
“Maybe she likes you. She’s staring.”
“Nope. Shirleen is just curious. She has imprinted with...” He stopped there without finishing the strange remark.
“Does that mean she’s engaged to someone?” Paxton asked.
Her cowboy nemesis took a swig of the iced tea Shirleen had brought over. “Yep. Western slang for people coupling up.”
Paxton didn’t share how much she might have liked to couple up with Grant Wade after first laying eyes on him, since that wasn’t going to happen. She hoped to get the paperwork signed and be back on a plane.
They ate in silence, an unspoken truce, of sorts, with the curious waitress looking on. Grant didn’t seem to notice the scrutiny, but Paxton couldn’t get much of her burger down. She was relieved when Grant took care of paying the bill. By the time they headed for the truck, evening was settling in with a pink glow on the horizon.
“It’s quite beautiful,” she said, staring at the landscape for a few minutes before getting into the truck. “I had forgotten about that. Maybe I was too young to notice.”
“You remember being here?” Grant Wade asked.
“I remember a few small things. Mostly unimportant stuff.”
“Like pretty sunsets?”
She nodded. “Yes. Like that.”
“There’s no place better for showy horizons than this one,” he said.
“Not even in Texas?” she asked, testing her new theory on Grant Wade being that former Texas Ranger.
“Similar, but not the same,” he replied, opening her door and playing the gentleman card well. He added, “You know about Texas?”
Paxton shrugged.
“Know thine enemies?” he suggested.
“Hopefully you aren’t one of them.”
“Hopefully not,” he agreed, waiting for her to climb in. “We just shared fries.”
More silence ensued as they drove to the edge of town. What more was there to say without getting back into the argument over the property? Grant had asked for time to consider everything she had suggested. That was fine, if he didn’t take too long.
“I’d like to go there tomorrow,” she finally said when a tiny motel on the edge of a wide expanse of desert came into view.
“Back to Maryland?”
She shook her head. “Desperado.”
He took a beat to reply. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”
“You’ll be driving over my property every time you go in or out of that old town. I think you owe me a look, don’t you?”
His hesitation wasn’t subtle.
“I can always rent a car,” she persisted. “I wouldn’t be trespassing if I stopped at the gate. I won’t bother the ghosts.”
When he offered no comment, Paxton got the impression Grant Wade might be hiding something out there in the desert that he didn’t want anyone to discover. Had he found gold?
“You said valuable,” she noted.
He glanced at her.
“You mentioned that my father left you something valuable.”
“Did I?”
She waited him out, wondering what kind of actual reason there could be for keeping her away from the old town. Maybe Grant was planning on reopening Desperado as a tourist attraction and didn’t want to mention that. Perhaps his deal with her father had been to make the old place live again and earn Grant Wade, former Texas Ranger, a decent living. If so, the deal was terribly shortsighted, since everyone involved had to realize that no one could reach Desperado without her permission granting the right-of-way.
Surely her father’s lawyer would have pointed out to Grant that buying her out would be to his benefit? The truck had stopped without her noticing. Grant got out, took her bags from the back and again came around to open her door.
“Small and cheap,” he said with a nod to the motel.
Funny, Paxton thought. That’s exactly what she felt like as she watched Grant Wade enter the lobby of the two-story U-shaped building ahead of her. Small and cheap. She’d sell the land for a song if it meant getting back to her life without taking Grant Wade up on whatever emotion he hid behind those sunglasses.
Reluctantly, she followed Grant to the lobby, trying hard not to stare at the way his jeans emphasized his magnificently compact backside and how his auburn hair, badly in need of a trim, brushed his shirt collar. Taking stock of those things made her uneasy. Still, she had to assess her opponent and hope that the best person would win this argument.
As the hot wind caressed her face, Paxton felt even stranger, in a déjà-vu kind of way, as if it wasn’t actually possible for a person to get over their beginnings.
She looked at her feet, then tipped her face toward the motel’s neon sign. Her gaze flicked to the light of the lobby’s open doorway, filled at the moment by Grant Wade. He was waiting. But what, exactly, was he waiting for—the woman to tag along behind him, or the completion of a deal in his favor?
Maybe she was just projecting her own thoughts on the matter, because, damn it, the man was messing with her sense of justice. Grant Wade, in the flesh, suddenly seemed like the perfect guy to manage a ghost town in the Old West.
And he was looking at her in that way he had, making her feel as though she was the only woman in the world on his mind.
