Читать книгу Cowboys and Cabernet - Margot Dalton - Страница 11

WITHIN the cool shadowed depths of the Longhorn, afternoon coffee time was in full swing. The place was crowded as usual. Most of the regulars were already there, including the people from offices like Martin Avery, a busy lawyer, and Vernon Trent, a real estate agent.

A few local ranchers were present as well, in town for supplies and gossip. Tyler noticed Bubba Gibson and Brock Munroe sitting around with hats pushed back and booted feet extended, shouting and wrangling cheerfully with veterinarian Manny Hernandez and Sheriff Wayne Jackson.

They seemed to be arguing over the intricacies of setting up a football pool for the Super Bowl, which was coming up on the weekend. Apparently one group favored a richer payoff while the opposing faction wanted more opportunities for each entrant to win.

Tyler grinned privately, thinking that the coffee-shop crowd fought about the same thing every single year and never came to any firm conclusion.

When he entered with Ruth, the men fell abruptly silent for a moment, staring and nodding at her with bluff respect. A few even touched hats and caps while Bubba, with his usual showmanship, swept the Stetson from his shaggy gray head and placed it soulfully over his chest as he greeted the newcomers.

Texas men just hadn’t moved into the modern world, Tyler thought, gesturing toward the nearest booth, then smiling at Dottie and ordering coffee and doughnuts for two. These men still made a firm distinction between “ladies” and “gals,” and what was more, their instincts were remarkably consistent.

When someone like Ruth Holden appeared, they greeted her with respectful deference. But if Bubba’s current flame, Billie Jo Dumont, came sashaying into the coffee shop, she’d be met with lewd jokes and slaps on the rear. And these men would probably be outraged if anyone suggested they were doing anything out of line.

While Tyler was pondering the socialization of the Texas male, his companion was gazing around with parted lips and wide eyes, clearly enchanted by the Longhorn and its genuine fifties ambience. Tyler stole a glance at her, and felt another surge of impatience with himself.

Why had he made that stupid remark about caring for nothing but money?

They’d been getting along so well up to that point, but he’d sensed a chill as soon as he uttered the words. He could almost feel her disappointment in the way she’d turned aside and deliberately excluded him, gazing out the window with concentrated attention as if he were simply a hired cabdriver, not worthy of her further attention.

Tyler had been enjoying her company so much, and now he regretted the rift between them. He almost considered apologizing for his words, but a kind of stubborn annoyance kept him from doing so.

For one thing, it was true, what he’d said.

He did like making money and seeing the books balance, and what was so terrible about that? Tyler’s sister reacted the same way as Ruth. She loved her horses passionately and was always outraged if somebody suggested actually making money by selling a horse for profit. But it was the people who earned the money who made it possible for the horses to exist at all, to be kept on the ranch even at a loss to the company.

And besides, Tyler did love something with real passion. He loved the Double C, the ranch that had been home to him all his life. Sometimes in the darkness of his bed he’d stare at the ceiling and tremble, even feel hot, embarrassing tears stinging in his eyes at the thought of losing the place.

What if finances ever got so bad they’d have to give up the rolling ten thousand acres that were the heritage of the McKinney family? His children, and Cal’s and Lynn’s, would never ride across the green hills or fish in the river, or feel the warm Texas wind in their hair….

But he wasn’t about to share something so deeply private with a woman he’d just met and didn’t even know. After all, such emotions were difficult for Tyler to express even to the people who were nearer and dearer to him than anybody on earth.

He shifted restlessly on the worn vinyl of the booth seat, wondering if a woman like Ruth Holden expected that kind of openness in a man.

Maybe she did. Probably she hung around with sensitive guys in silk shirts and neck chains, who studied their horoscopes every day and were in touch with their feelings.

“Hey, Tyler, whadda ya think?” Wayne Jackson called across the room. “Ten bucks a square, an’ the winner gets a case of whiskey?”

“Two bits a square,” Tyler called back firmly, “and the winner gets a free beer. The problem with you guys,” he added, grinning at Ruth, “is that y’all are just so damn greedy.”

Ruth’s cheeks colored faintly when he said this and she met his eyes with a startled look, then glanced quickly away, wondering if the man had somehow read her mind.

Not likely, she thought. Tyler McKinney didn’t have enough sensitivity to read any woman’s mind. He was probably like a lot of people, always quick to criticize something in others that was actually one of his own worst flaws.

She dismissed the thought and returned to her examination of the coffee shop with its red-checked cloths, its chalkboard and big vinyl menus and miniature jukeboxes on each table.

“Care for a tune?” Tyler asked, flipping though the numbered pages and squinting at the various musical offerings while a pleasant young woman delivered their coffee and pastries.

“No thanks,” Ruth said automatically. She smiled up at the waitress and wondered who’d chosen the song currently playing, a noisy wailing number in which some errant husband was apparently pleading with his wife to open the door and let him in.

While they were eating Ruth gazed curiously at the other patrons of the coffee shop, mostly bluff hearty men with hats and boots. But there were a few women, too, secretaries enjoying afternoon coffee breaks and young ranch wives in town for a day’s shopping with their babies.

Two women sat in a booth near the back, and Ruth grew interested in them when she realized that the younger of the pair was studying her and Tyler with unwavering attention.

She was actually just a girl, Ruth realized, probably in her late teens. She had a pale pretty face, carefully made up, and a cloud of dark curly hair. Her eyes were her most arresting feature, large and shining and such a light blue that they were almost transparent, giving her a remote, ethereal look. The young body was ripe and full-breasted, probably destined to become hefty with advancing years. But Ruth didn’t realize until the girl shifted in the booth that her pink gingham shirt was actually a maternity smock, curving neatly over a small swollen abdomen.

The girl had a strangely passionate, concentrated look about her, an avid expression that was unsettling in its intensity. She seemed sly and secretive when she met Ruth’s glance, like some small predatory animal peering out from behind dense cover, pondering whether to attack or escape.

The woman with her was entirely different, tall, plain and rawboned, with a gruff sensible manner and large work-worn hands. Her hair was mostly gray, hacked off carelessly around her ears, and she wore a man’s shirt and jeans. Still, there was a mysterious similarity between the two, a likeness in bone structure and features that told Ruth they were probably mother and daughter.

While Ruth watched, the two women finished their fries and paid the bill, then gathered up handbags and parcels and walked toward the door. They passed close to Ruth and Tyler, and the younger one gave them another look of such intensity that Ruth was startled, even a little troubled.

“Tyler,” she whispered when the two had gone by, “who are those women?”

Tyler peered at the departing pair, frowning as he searched his memory. “I think their name’s Hill, something like that,” he said finally. “There was a big family of them, about eight kids, living in a little shack on the outskirts of town. Their daddy wasn’t good for much, just drinking and odd jobs. He got killed on the road a few years back, run over by an oil truck when he was walking home one night, and she moved the kids over to Lampasas. I think she’s working for a turkey farmer up there.”

“And the girl? Is that her daughter?”

Tyler nodded. “Must be the oldest girl. She’s all grown-up now. I remember her as a scrawny kid with a bunch of little brothers and sisters trailing after her. Come to think of it,” he added thoughtfully, “somebody told me she was back in Crystal Creek, working for Ralph Wall over at the drugstore. I forgot about it till you asked.”

“She looks like she’s pregnant.”

“Looks like,” Tyler said with a grin. “Why? What’s so interesting about those two?”

Ruth hesitated, wondering whether to tell him about the girl’s fixed scrutiny and the disturbing light in her eyes while she watched them.

“Oh, nothing,” she said finally. “You’re right about one thing,” she added, trying to sound cheerful. “These are just the most wonderful doughnuts in the whole world.”

“I told you,” Tyler said. “Dottie makes ’em fresh every morning. Well, are you ready to leave, Ruth? It’s probably safe to go home now, and I want to show you my plans for the vineyard.”

Ruth nodded automatically and gulped the last of her coffee, then waited while Tyler paid the bill and escorted her toward the door with its cheery curtain of red gingham.

She shivered when he took her elbow and pressed close behind her, disturbed by his nearness and the feel of his body against hers. No matter how she felt about Tyler McKinney, Ruth told herself again, there was certainly no denying the man’s physical appeal. She’d have to be careful to…

But she didn’t have a chance to finish the thought. When she and Tyler emerged onto the street in the slanting afternoon sunlight, the mother and daughter from the restaurant were standing just a few doors down, looking in the window of a clothing store while the older woman held forth on the exorbitant prices of children’s clothes these days.

The young girl looked at them and quickly fumbled with something that looked like a camera, then turned away with deliberate composure, rummaging in her big patchwork handbag and answering a question from her mother.

Ruth paused nervously and glanced up at Tyler to see if he’d noticed. But he was laughing and chatting with a young cowboy who’d slowed his pickup truck on the street to call out a greeting, and had apparently missed the whole incident.

Still feeling unsettled and troubled, Ruth walked beside Tyler in silence and allowed him to help her into the waiting Cadillac, while the pregnant girl in the pink smock stood on the sidewalk, watching their departure with those smoldering pale blue eyes.

“JODIE HILTZ, what in the world do you think you’re doin’?”

“My name is Jacqueline,” the dark-haired girl said, strolling along the street and gazing dreamily at her reflection in the store windows. “Jacqueline Hillcroft.”

“Like hell it is,” Marg Hiltz said coldly. “Your name is plain Jodie Hiltz, and you’d better stop puttin’ on all these phony airs, girl. They’ll bring you nothin’ but grief.”

Jodie ignored her mother. She smiled to herself as she patted her small bulging abdomen, then frowned angrily when a teenage boy with headphones and a skateboard careered past her, almost jostling her from the sidewalk.

“You took a picture of them people,” Marg said after an awkward silence.

Jodie remained silent, reaching up to pat her dark curls, tucking a strand of hair thoughtfully behind her ear.

“Didn’t you?” her mother persisted.

“A baby has a right to know what his daddy looks like,” Jodie said in a soft voice. “He’ll say, ‘Mama, what did my daddy look like when I was born?’ And I’ll show him the picture and say—”

“You’ll do nothin’ of the sort!” Marg stopped in midstride and reached out a big hand to grip her daughter’s arm, leaning forward to glare at the girl. “And what’s more,” the older woman added, glancing furtively over her shoulder and dropping her voice to a harsh whisper, “you better stop sayin’ things like that, Jodie Hiltz. You’re fixin’ to get the whole family into trouble, talkin’ such nonsense.”

“I’m not talking nonsense,” Jodie said calmly, shaking her mother’s hand away and resuming her march up the street.

“Tyler McKinney is not that baby’s father, and you know it,” Marg muttered furiously. “I got no idea who is its father, but it’s damn sure not one of the McKinneys! You’re just crazy, girl.”

Jodie gave her mother a placid secretive smile. “I know what I know,” she said.

“You know nothin’,” Marg said forcefully. “An’ if you got any brains at all, you’ll come back to Lampasas with me an’ help with the other kids, and forget this nonsense.”

“I’m staying right here. I want my little baby to grow up close to his daddy,” Jodie said with imperturbable calm. Marg shook her head helplessly, glancing at her oldest child and wondering what on earth ailed the girl…besides being pregnant, of course.

The fact of Jodie’s pregnancy was something that Marg dismissed quite casually. These things happened. In fact, Jodie had happened to her at just about the same age, though these days Marg certainly looked older than her years.

Raising eight kids with no money could do that to you, Marg thought philosophically. But she wasn’t complaining. The kids were healthy and if truth be told, life was really a whole lot better since Joe was gone. Now she could save a bit, and the kids could have a few nice things in return for all that hard work.

The prospect of another mouth to feed didn’t worry Marg. If Jodie would just quit her silliness and move back home they could make do when the baby came along, just as they always had. It would even be nice, Marg thought wistfully, having a sweet new little one around the house again. She’d always loved babies.

But Jodie was getting to be a real worry. Just last year she’d quit high school a few courses short of her diploma and announced that she was moving back to Crystal Creek to get a job. Then had come this pregnancy, though Marg had had no idea her daughter even had a boyfriend. And suddenly, just a month or so ago, she’d confided to her mother that Tyler McKinney, of all people, was the child’s father.

Marg didn’t know what to make of it. She couldn’t bring herself to believe the girl’s story, and yet there was Jodie’s calm unshakable conviction, and the clear absence of any other male in her daughter’s life, at least none that Marg could see on her visits to Crystal Creek.

They paused by the bus depot and Marg squinted at the sun. “There’s another bus leaves in a couple hours,” she said hopefully, “an’ Tommy promised he’d look after the chores for me tonight. I could just go on over to your place for a while, Jodie, have a mug of coffee an’ see what your—”

“No,” Jodie said quietly. “You better catch the early bus, Mama. Tommy’s awful young to be looking after the chores all on his own.”

Marg looked at this pretty daughter she’d never really understood, even when she was just a little bit of a thing.

“You don’t want me at your place, do you, Jodie?” she asked sadly. “You been there for months, livin’ on your own, an’ you never let me step inside. I call that real mean.”

“A person is entitled to their privacy,” Jodie said with her usual air of impenetrable calm. “I don’t let anybody into my place, Mama. Except Tyler,” she added with a small faraway smile. “Anytime Tyler likes, he can come into my place.”

“Tyler McKinney has never once set foot in that shack of yours,” Marg said, her voice rising. “An’ you know it, Jodie.”

“He’ll come,” Jodie said dreamily. “When his son is born, he’ll come and bring me flowers.”

“More likely he’ll bring you a summons for tellin’ lies about him.” Marg hesitated, gazing unhappily at her daughter’s pale withdrawn face, searching for words to bring the girl back to reality. But the bus was pulling in, its dusty sides glinting in the fading afternoon light, and there was no more time.

Reluctantly Marg climbed on board, handed her ticket to the driver and found a seat by the window where she could see Jodie. But the girl didn’t even linger for a parting wave, just turned and headed briskly up the street without a backward glance.

Marg settled back against the soiled upholstery with a troubled sigh and closed her eyes, hoping to snatch a few minutes of welcome sleep before she got home.

JODIE HEARD the rumbling growl behind her as the bus pulled out and lurched around the corner, heading for Lampasas. She felt a surge of relief, though her pretty face remained impassive. It was getting increasingly awkward when her mother visited, with all her stupid questions and warnings.

Her mother didn’t know anything. How could Marg Hiltz give advice about Jodie’s life? Only Jodie knew.

And Tyler…

Jodie’s pale eyes glistened and she began to quicken her steps, ducking through a gap in the ragged hedge and running around behind the drugstore. In the vacant lot at the rear of the store was an old building, originally a stable, then a garage and storage area. Recently, hoping to attract an employee who would stay a while, the drugstore owner had converted this ramshackle building to a small self-contained living area with an old couch that doubled as a bed, a sink, toilet and hot plate, and an old bar fridge beneath the makeshift counter.

With a glow of proprietary pride, Jodie took the key from her big colorful handbag and let herself inside the old building, then switched on the naked light bulb that hung from the ceiling.

She glanced around with satisfaction at the small shuttered space where she lived. The single room was very neat, and attempts had been made to brighten the rough interior with plastic flowers, a couple of travel posters on one wall, a few stuffed animals on the lumpy ancient couch.

There was one window opposite the bright posters, heavily muffled with cheap drapes, and the other two walls were covered with pictures and newspaper clippings featuring Tyler McKinney. Most of the pictures were Polaroid snapshots, like the one that Jodie now took from her purse and tacked carefully on the peeling mildewed wall.

The photographs showed Tyler in a variety of candid poses, getting in and out of vehicles, striding along the street, sitting at the cattle auction, riding his horse on the ranch, even whirling through the steps of a square dance. It was obvious in all the pictures that he hadn’t realized he was being photographed, though the images showed a degree of rudimentary skill in the matters of framing, timing and composition.

But the success of the pictures was clearly accidental; it was obvious Jodie wasn’t concerned with technical issues. She stepped back and gazed at the new picture with cold narrowed eyes, then, removing it from the wall, she went to a drawer, took out a pair of scissors and cut away the image of the slim woman in the white suit who stood next to Tyler on the street.

With quick savage strokes Jodie slashed the woman’s face and body to ribbons and tossed the scraps of paper in the wastebasket. Then she moved slowly back across the room and replaced the photograph, her pale eyes dreamy with love, touching Tyler’s face in the pictures and reading the yellowed newspaper clippings.

Some of the clippings were originals, cut from recent issues of the local paper and describing the comings and goings of the McKinney family, their prizes at the stock show, the awards won by their quarter horses, J.T.’s recent wedding.

Others were older, photocopied from past issues of newspapers at the library, going all the way back to Tyler’s days as a high school athlete and his brilliant college career.

Jodie’s special favorite was a clipping that dated from about the same time Tyler McKinney had first held her in his arms, three years ago at a community square dance. They’d been doing a circle dance called Sadie Hawkins, where all the men danced in a ring looking out and the women circled them in the opposite direction, facing the men. When the music stopped, you grabbed the man directly in front of you and he was your partner for the next dance.

Fifteen-year-old Jodie had found herself opposite tall handsome Tyler McKinney, and he had come laughing into her arms and swept her across the floor as light as thistledown.

Jodie could still remember the dreamy joy of that night, the marvelous feeling of being in Tyler’s strong arms and drifting through the steps of the dance like a princess.

“Your daddy’s just the most wonderful man,” Jodie whispered to the small bulge of her abdomen, caressing it gently. “Just the most wonderful.” As if he could understand her words, the baby stirred and moved beneath her fingers. Jodie smiled, suddenly radiant with happiness.

She’d first felt this quickening only a week ago. It had come exactly when her mother said it would, just about halfway through the fifth month when the worst of the morning sickness was finally over. Now the baby moved every day, reminding Jodie of the sweet precious burden she carried and how Tyler would want her to take care of their child.

Still smiling, she went to the tiny fridge, took out a carton of milk and poured herself a glass. Jodie sank onto the old couch and drank the cold liquid with deep childlike gulps while Tyler’s handsome face smiled warm approval at her from the crowded walls.

AT ABOUT the same time that Ruth Holden and Tyler McKinney were enjoying coffee and doughnuts at the Longhorn, jealously watched by Jodie Hiltz, another coffee break was under way in the big kitchen of the Double C ranch house.

“Gawd,” Lettie Mae Reese sighed, sinking heavily into a chair and smiling across the table at Virginia Parks. “What a day.”

Virginia nodded agreement, then gazed into the distance with a worried frown. “Lettie Mae, did somebody think to clear all those paint cans and newspapers out of the front closet? I forgot to check if—”

“They’re gone,” the cook said comfortably, stirring cream into her coffee with weary satisfaction. “Just relax, girl. We got it all done as best we could, and not a minute too soon, I’d say.”

“You impertinent child,” Virginia said comfortably. “Almost ten years younger than I am, and you’re still calling me ‘girl.’ Show some respect.”

Lettie Mae grinned and shoved a plate of sliced fruitcake across the table toward the housekeeper. “Seven years younger,” she said. “And I’ll call you anything I like, missy. Especially when you got paint smudges on your nose.”

Virginia gave her friend a rueful grin and rubbed at her small shapely nose. She was an attractive woman of sixty, pleasantly plump, with vivid blue eyes in a sweet gentle face and shining gray hair that she wore in a casual pageboy.

With her fair prettiness, Virginia presented a sharp contrast to thin energetic Lettie Mae. The ranch cook was an arresting woman with a lean alert face, rich brown skin and graying black hair that sprang from her head with the same kind of electric vitality that characterized everything she did.

“Lordy,” the cook muttered, munching on a piece of cake and taking a thirsty gulp of coffee, “I never saw such a hullabaloo in all my days. What was J.T. thinking of, inviting the girl to visit in the middle of all this mess? Miss C.’s just having fits.”

Virginia gave the other woman a brief grin. “Not too long ago you’d have been loving the idea of giving her fits, Lettie Mae.”

Lettie Mae’s vivid face clouded slightly. “I know,” she confessed. “I was awful to her. We all were, Ginny. Funny how things change, isn’t it? When the lady first came, I’d have enjoyed seeing her all worried and flustered like this. Now it just seems to tear at my heart a little bit.”

Virginia nodded and looked wistfully at the rich sliced cake. “I know I shouldn’t,” she said, her face puckered with guilt, “but…”

“But you always do, so stop being silly,” Lettie Mae said cheerfully. “You worked hard today, hauling all those wallpaper rolls around and keeping the tray filled up.”

“The dining room looks nice, though, doesn’t it?” Virginia said. “I really didn’t like that paper at all when Miss C. first showed it to us, but I have to admit it’s perfect with the new furniture.”

“She’s one classy lady, that one,” Lettie Mae said. “She knows what she wants, and she’s got a real good feel for things like that. This old house is going to be a sight for sore eyes when she gets done.”

Virginia’s pretty face clouded and she sipped moodily at her black coffee. “But it won’t even be the same house, Lettie Mae. It’ll be so different in a month or so that Miss Pauline wouldn’t recognize it if she came back.”

“Ginny, Miss Pauline is never coming back,” Lettie Mae said gently. “And life is moving on, and we should move on with it.”

Virginia was silent, munching on her cake.

Lettie Mae stared out the window, her dark face suddenly moody. “But I surely do hate all this ruckus,” she said abruptly. “It’s real bad for Miss C. right now.”