Читать книгу Accidental Hero - Loralee Lillibridge - Страница 12

By the time she returned from the kitchen, Bo was lounging in a wicker chair near the porch steps. The sight of him sitting there looking right at home made her insides turn as cold as the ice cubes in the frosted glass she handed him. If only her hand would stop shaking. Her nerves were giving her fits lately.

“Much obliged,” Bo said and reached for the glass.

His fingers brushed hers. Warm, callused fingers. Sensual fingers. Abby abruptly hurried away to sit on the steps. Why, oh, why did I do this?

An awkward silence, broken only by the sound of ice clinking on the sides of their glasses, hung between them.

Abby fidgeted.

Mosquitos buzzed.

Bo inspected his drink. Cleared his throat. “So, what’s this horse therapy thing you’ve got going?”

Abby’s head snapped around. He was watching her through those damned dark glasses, and she stifled the urge to reach over and yank them right off his face. She hated being unable to see his eyes.

“Not therapy for horses, Bo. Therapy for anyone with special needs. Children, mostly, but there are a couple of young adults, also.” Slowly, deliberately, she emphasized each word. “It’s designed to give a sense of accomplishment and strength to the students. To make them proud of their achievement. Some have never walked, some have emotional as well as physical difficulties to overcome, but here with the horses, they’re no different from anyone else. Riding puts them on an equal basis. It helps them focus and learn to concentrate, not to mention that it builds self-confidence. There are numerous advantages to the program.”

She paused to catch her breath, realizing she must sound like an evangelist for the cause. “Sorry, sometimes I get carried away.”

Bo inclined his head. “And you accomplish all that by letting them ride horses?”

She struggled to keep her voice calm against the veiled pessimism in his question. She’d learned a long time ago that arguing with him never accomplished a darn thing.

“It’s more than just the riding. They learn about responsibility by taking part in the care of the animals, by remembering to put the tack away after their ride, by learning to give commands as well as follow them.” She looked at him straight on. “Even the students who can’t walk find a way to interact with the horses. It’s called trust.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Communication, Ramsey. A vital part of life. Something necessary in any type of relationship.”

When she saw him flinch, Abby was satisfied she’d made her point. She reached up to push a wayward strand of hair out of her face and tuck it back under her baseball cap. “Until you see one of the classes in progress, I suppose it’s difficult to understand.”

She wished he’d take those darned sunglasses off. Didn’t he know she could see his face anyway? The dark lens only hid his eyes, a fact that kept her on the edge of anxiety. She started to ask about Marla, but changed her mind when she realized Bo was actually listening to her.

His rapt attention pleased her. Satisfied an empty spot in her heart that longed for his approval, yet filled a need to prove to him she had survived their unexpected breakup, thank you very much. She had her self-esteem in place and her emotions carefully tucked away.

He removed his dark glasses as if he’d read her mind. His gaze zeroed in on her face. “You’ve done this all alone?”

Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. Almost as if he dared her to look at the jagged scar that snaked from his hairline to his chin, narrowly missing his left eye. But nothing could make her forget the way those sultry eyes could seduce with a suggestive flicker. The way they shuttered lazily when they darkened with desire. With raw need. How many times had she felt the heat of his gaze caress her naked body? How many times had he touched…?

“Abby?”

Bo’s soft drawl and hypnotic gaze held her captive. Kept her from rational thought for only a fraction of a second, but a millennium passed before she found her voice.

“Yes, alone…I mean no, I have Pop’s help. And volunteers. Lots of them. They’re invaluable. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to continue. There’s even a group of retired ranchers who come around once a week to help with repairs. And they bring feed when they can. It all helps.” Darn, she was babbling.

“I still don’t see how—” Bo was interrupted by a shout from Shorty before he could finish.

“Okay, Ramsey, let’s hit the road.” The rancher climbed in the truck and revved the motor. “See ya, Abby,” Shorty called over the engine noise.

Abby jumped to her feet, accompanied by a rush of disappointment. The unexpected sensation astonished her, but she was even more surprised at her next words.

“I have another class later this afternoon. Spectators are always welcome.”

Bo gulped a last swallow of tea and set his glass down. “No way,” he said so abruptly Abby cringed and stepped back. “But thanks for leaving the chili peppers out of the tea.”

She thought one corner of his mouth twitched right before he turned and carefully took the steps one at a time.

The X-rated way his hips swivelled in jeans so tight they should have been banned set off a meteor shower of white-hot desire zinging through her body as his uneven gait carried him to the truck. She took one final, greedy look before she bolted for the house.

The screen door banged shut behind her at the same time the raucous blare of a horn assaulted her ears. Swinging around, Abby saw a dusty black Tahoe pulling in the drive behind Shorty’s truck. The words Stuart C. Wilcox, DVM painted on the side of the vehicle in bold red letters reminded her that Buck had called the veterinarian earlier this morning about Jo-Jo’s swollen eye. She really didn’t feel up to dealing with the good-looking, totally nice, Dr. Stuart Wilcox right now. Especially with Bo still around.

Not that it mattered. In fact, if Stuart asked her out again, she might just say yes. Why not? Their last date had been enjoyable enough. Dinner at a charming little restaurant, a quiet drive through the hill country in Stuart’s sleek silver Lexus, followed by a nice, though somewhat uninspiring, good-night kiss at her door. No stress, no pressure. Nice was what she was looking for, right? And being with Stuart didn’t threaten her heart, a safety factor she rated right up there with smoke detectors and seat belts.

The Tahoe blocked Shorty’s truck, and from the shouts and honks coming from that direction, neither driver wanted to move. Abby put her hands on her hips. Now what? There was plenty of room out there to park a couple of semis. You’d think a decrepit, old vintage pickup and a shiny, uptown SUV could manage to share the space. Abby left the porch to referee, feeling a little like a pre-school teacher in the middle of a playground squabble. Where the heck was Pop? She could use some help here.

“Looks like someone forgot his manners,” she said, marching over to give Shorty her best “shame on you” look. “Dr. Wilcox needs to get on over to the barn. Can you pull up a little and let him go around you?”

Shorty shrugged, rolled his eyes and inched the truck forward.

Bo stood next to the truck, and Abby wondered if he was having difficulty getting in, or if he was just waiting while Shorty argued over the right-of-way. Something must have changed his mind, because the next thing she knew, he was standing in front of her, generating heat from his body like a kicked-up furnace. Would she ever stop reacting to him?

Bo jerked a thumb in the direction of the Tahoe. “He’s the vet? What happened to Doc Barnes?” The dark glasses were back in place, but there was no doubt his gaze was leveled at the latest visitor to the Houston ranch.

The challenging question made her frown. “He retired a year ago and Stu…I mean, Dr. Wilcox, took over his practice.”

“Stu, huh?” Bo shoved his hands in his pockets, cocked his head to one side. “Looks mighty citified for a country vet. He ever work with anything bigger than fancy poodles and cats with an attitude?”

Abby crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course. He’s worked with horses. Cattle, too, for crying out loud. He’s been helping the ranchers around here for quite some time. Ask Shorty. He uses the doctor’s services, too.”

Bo hesitated just long enough to take off his sunglasses.

“And you? Do you use his services?”

She bristled when he looked at her straight on. No hat hiding his face. No dark glasses concealing those soot-black eyes.

Her chin lifted. His subtle, double-edged question ticked her off, big-time. The defiant side of her nature wanted to punch his lights out. The practical side stifled that urge, but only after a struggle.

“If I do, Ramsey, it’s no concern of yours.” She kept her voice low, every word carefully measured. “My horses need the best care available. They’re old. One of them is nearly blind, and they all have aches and pains, just like a lot of people. Dr. Wilcox gives them excellent care.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Bo touched her arm. “I was out of line. Wilcox is probably quite capable of doing his job.” He turned to go, then said over his shoulder, “But if you ever need a gimpy cowboy to muck stalls, I know one who might be interested.” He climbed in the truck, jerked his hat down and slammed the door shut—hard.

“Let’s go,” she heard him tell Shorty.

The rancher swung the pickup around the Tahoe and made a new track down the drive.

Abby stared after them. Well, what brought that on? Certainly not jealousy on Bo’s part. He was a family man now. His sudden marriage to Marla had provided enough fodder for the town gossips. She certainly wasn’t going to give them any more by becoming the other woman. She’d been their object of pity long enough.

Heading for the barn, and Jo-Jo’s stall, she pretended not to see the inquisitive glint in Pop’s eyes as she passed him on his way to the house. She wasn’t going to answer his questions, either. She just wanted to be left alone.

“Looks like it’s only a minor infection, Abby,” the doctor said, looking up from where he’d been working when she entered the stall. His examination of Jo-Jo’s eye finished, Stuart set out a vial of antibiotic and readied the horse for an injection.

“This, along with the drops I’m leaving, should take care of it, but I’ll stop by at the end of the week to check it again, just to be on the safe side.”

Abby walked over and stroked the horse’s neck, trying to divert its attention—and hers—from the shot. She would never get used to the size of the needles necessary for the animals’ injections.

“I appreciate it, Stuart. I know I’m probably overly cautious about my horses, but it’s important for me to keep them as healthy as possible. They’re not exactly youngsters.”

“You know I’ll do what I can.” He finished with Jo-Jo, packed up his implements and headed for the clean-up area to wash his hands.

Abby leaned against the wall outside Jo-Jo’s stall and mentally added the cost of today’s visit to the balance she still owed the vet. Trying to figure out just how she was going to pay the mounting bill was keeping her awake too many nights lately. The more she delved into the mishmash of Pop’s on-again-off-again bookkeeping system, the more she realized she should’ve gotten involved sooner. Should’ve focused her attention on the business of the ranch instead of selfishly wallowing in the condition of her humiliated heart. How pitiful was that?

Lost in her disturbing thoughts, she didn’t hear Stuart’s approach. When he touched her arm, she spun around. He stood close enough for her to read the eagerness in his expressive face. Close enough for her to anticipate what he was about to suggest. She waited and tried to feel a measure of excitement.

“How about dinner tonight?” His cultured, calm voice didn’t threaten or demand, even as his thumb caressed the inside of her elbow. “There’s a new place on the outskirts of Austin I’d like to take you. I hear the chef does wonders with stuffed trout.”

Abby studied him—the sexy cleft chin, silver-gray eyes and thick, cropped hair that was neither blond nor brown, but shades of both. Even his physique was a photographer’s joy. He would be right at home on the cover of any top magazine. Smooth, polished, intelligent. A definite candidate for Texas’s most eligible bachelor list.

So, why didn’t she feel something here? Tingling nerve ends or goose-bumpy shivers? What kind of problem did she have, anyway? Why couldn’t she work up some good, old-fashioned lust? He’d made it clear on their previous date that he’d like to pursue their relationship, even though he didn’t push the issue. Were her hormones totally nonfunctioning? He was Mr. Nice Guy, for crying out loud. The type she’d convinced herself she wanted—deserved, even. The type that wouldn’t give her heart any reason to cry.

“Tonight? Well, I…” Abby took a step backward. Stuart slid his hand down her arm, entwining his fingers through hers.

“I know it’s Monday,” he said, “but we’ll make it an early evening, I promise. What do you say, Abby? Pick you up at six?”

There was nothing subtle about the desire in his voice or the admiration in his eyes, but he never overstepped the boundaries of good conduct. Stuart Wilcox was as honest and forthright as he was good-looking. She knew he wanted her.

“All right, six is fine.” Abby forced a smile and untangled her hand from his. “Now, I really need to fix Pop’s lunch and get ready for the afternoon class.” She hesitated. “I’d ask you to join us, but I’m afraid it’s only tuna sandwiches.”

His polite refusal nearly had her shouting with relief. The way he’d wrinkled his nose at the mention of tuna, she was pretty sure it wasn’t his favorite item on the menu. That little bit of information she tucked away for future reference and hurried on to the house. A quick glance at her watch reminded her of everything she had to do, and prompted her to contemplate how she could add a few more hours to the day. Instead of daylight saving time, she could call it sanity saving time. Specifically hers.

All afternoon, concentration eluded her as she struggled to get through the rest of the day. The hour-long classes were a blur, her attention scattered by mental arguments in Stuart’s favor and counterarguments from Bo’s intruding image. She really needed some alone time to sort out the disturbing thoughts that were making her unusually impatient and antsy. Not her normal self. By the end of the last session, she wondered if she had actually done any supervising at all. Thank goodness for the volunteers. She needed someone around here to stay sane.

And Pop. Bless him, he hadn’t even questioned her when she told him about accepting the dinner date with Stuart. Just raised his eyebrows in that way he had of silently asking if she wanted to talk. But when she hadn’t, he’d given her a hug and told her tomorrow would be better. The eternal optimist, her Pop. If only she could believe him.

She was ready when Stuart arrived exactly at six o’clock. He looked handsome in his charcoal slacks and gray silk shirt. Not at all like the man who had grubbed around in her horse barn that same morning.

“You look lovely, Abby,” he said. He opened the car door for her and she slid in.

She thanked him and wished she’d worn something a little snazzier than her navy silk shift.

“I hope you like this restaurant. It has a five-star rating,” he said when they reached the highway and sped toward Austin.

“I’m sure I will.” Abby leaned back against the leather seat and ordered herself to relax. She needed the break and Stuart was wonderful company. Wasn’t he?

“Tired?” He reached for her hand. “I wish there was more I could help you with.”

“It has been pretty hectic, what with the new students and all, but things are slowly coming together. Pop and I appreciate the care you’ve given our animals.” She let her hand remain in his. The feeling was nice, but there weren’t any of those delicious shivers tickling her spine. No rapid heartbeat, either. She sighed.

“I’d do a lot more if you’d let me.” Stuart’s attention briefly left the road. His sincere smile should’ve lifted her spirits. It didn’t.

“Thanks, Stuart, I appreciate the offer.” She eased her hand away, smoothed her skirt.

“Well, put your problems aside for a few hours tonight and leave everything to me.”

He exited the main highway and by the time he pulled the Lexus into the inn’s valet parking area, Abby had made up her mind to stop making comparisons between Stuart and Bo. She’d concentrate on having a good time. How difficult could that be?

Dinner passed comfortably. Stuart had been right—the food was delicious. “More wine?” Stuart said later, as he poised the bottle over her glass, when they had finished their meal.

Abby shook her head. “No more, thanks,” she said. “Two glasses are my limit.” She didn’t need any more of a buzz than she already had.

Wine was not her drink of choice, but Stuart had made such a to-do over the wine selection, she didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d rather have tea. Especially after her obvious dismay when the waiter served their stuffed trout entrée. Well, how was she to know the thing would be served with its whole face staring right at her? Give her a nice blackened catfish dinner with fries any day. She was relieved when the meal was over and they left the inn. She just wasn’t cut out for gourmet dining.

The moon cast a pale light on the ribbon of road leading back to Sweet River. Replete with the fine wine and the meal, Abby fought to keep her eyelids from drooping.

She heard Stuart slide a CD into the slot. Soon, Andrea Bocelli’s thrilling tenor voice filled the car with romantic Italian love songs. Abby couldn’t understand a single word, but the beauty of his music touched her heart.