Читать книгу The Wrangler - Pamela Britton - Страница 11

Her parents were dead?

“What?” Clint asked.

“They died four months ago,” she said. “Just before Christmas.”

Damn. No wonder Gigi had taken an instant shining to her. His grandmother’s maternal instincts were legendary. Crap. It’s what’d gotten him through the death of his own parents.

Gigi had never truly recovered from the death of her only child. To be honest, Clint had never truly recovered, either. Even though he’d lost his mom and dad years ago—ten, to be exact—he still missed them every day of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his gut twisting as he recalled his own grief. “I know what that’s like. It’s not easy.”

She nodded, Red shifting beneath her, but she controlled the horse beautifully. He was an honest man—something he prided himself on—and she had one of the nicest seats he’d seen on a woman in a long time, and he wasn’t talking about the seat she sat on. Although that was nice, too.

“You should stay with us.”

Clint jerked his head up. He’d been leaning against the top rail of the gate and he damn near stumbled backward when he heard Gigi say the words.

“What?” Samantha asked.

Gigi nodded toward the woman on horseback. “You should say with us,” she said again. “You can help us prep for the gathering in a few days.”

“Gigi,” Clint said in a low, furious voice, hoping the woman behind him was hard of hearing. “Are you crazy? We just met her today.”

“Clinton McAlister,” Gigi said, turning toward him. “I can’t believe you would say that. Just look into that child’s eyes. She’s still grieving.” And this time it was his grandmother who lowered her voice. “And you know better than most what that’s like. Don’t be a complete ass.”

Ass?

His grandmother spent entirely too much time on the Internet.

“Fine,” he said, because what else could he say? If he kept on protesting he would, indeed, end up looking like an ass. “But she stays in one of the bunkhouses.”

His grandmother shook her head. “The boys’ll be using that next week. She can’t be staying in a bunkhouse with men. She’ll stay in the house.”

“Gigi!”

“Don’t you Gigi me,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “I’ve swatted your butt a time or two before and I’m not afraid to do it again.”

“Wait.” Gigi and Clint turned to face Samantha. “You don’t need to open up your home to me, Mrs. Baer.”

Her home? It was his home. But, of course, Samantha didn’t know that. Or maybe she did. Frankly, he didn’t care. She couldn’t stay with them. That was that.

“Don’t be silly,” Gigi said. “If you’re going on the roundup, you’ll need to stay here. We don’t leave until later this week and there isn’t a hotel within twenty miles.”

“Yes, but—”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Gigi said, holding up a hand.

He would take no. “Gigi—”

“You can sleep upstairs,” she added. “In the room next to mine.”

“Gigi,” he repeated, and then lowered his voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s plenty of other rooms for her to choose from.”

Which gave his Gigi the wrong impression; that he was okay with Samantha staying with them.

“Fine,” Gigi said, a smile settling upon her face. Obviously, she felt as if she’d won this particular battle. “You can pick your room, Samantha,” she said.

“Call me Sam,” the woman on horseback said with a smile. “Nobody calls me Samantha except used car salesmen and telephone solicitors.”

“Sam,” his grandmother said, “there’s plenty to choose from.”

“Well, I—” she started to say, until Red put his head down and let loose a snort that drowned out her words.

“What was that, dear?” Gigi asked.

“I think she said no,” Clint pointed out.

“Actually, I said I don’t want to impose,” Sam explained, pulling on the reins because Red was trying to sniff the sand in the arena.

“You wouldn’t be imposing. We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we, Clinton?” Gigi asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said jovially. “I’d love to have you.”

His grandmother elbowed him again, the expression on her adorably wrinkled face clearly warning him to behave.

“I just don’t think it’s a smart idea,” Sam said.

“Clinton,” his grandmother said, “now that that’s settled, why don’t you untack Red here? I’ll show Sam to the house.”

“Gigi, she just said she didn’t think it was a smart idea.”

“Nonsense. Sam, hop on down from there. Clint can take care of Red.”

“But, I—”

“Best do as she asks,” Clint advised. “Once she gets an idea in her head, you’re not going to get it out.”

“Are you sure?” she asked Gigi.

“I’m sure, honey. Now hop on down from there.”

“But I can untack him.” Sam slipped out of the saddle.

“Excellent idea,” Clint said with his own bright smile—though his was false. Okay, maybe not false, more like wolfish. He’d spotted the blush on Samantha’s face, the one that had flared at his “I’d love to have you” comment. “Maybe we can both do it together.”

“Clinton,” his grandmother snapped in warning. “Quit teasing her. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Obviously, his grandmother had spotted the blush on Samantha’s face, too. He looked at Gigi in question. He hadn’t seen her so protective in…well, he couldn’t remember when she’d taken someone under her wing so thoroughly, and in such a short amount of time. She must like Samantha Davies a lot. Then again, he supposed that was to be expected. He and Gigi had been through more than their fair share of grief. First his parents, then her own husband five years ago to a heart attack. His grandmother had deeded the ranch to him, she’d been so stricken by grief. For a time there, Clint wasn’t sure she’d make it through. But she’d managed to recover. And now she had that light back in her eyes.

“I’m sure Sam’s tired from her drive. You can take care of the horse.”

“That’s okay, Mrs. Baer, I can do it myself—”

“Gigi,” his grandmother said. “Everyone calls me that.”

Everyone? The only person to call her that was him.

“Gigi, I’d really like to untack and brush him myself.”

“She could untack and brush me,” Clint said under his breath.

His grandmother shot him a look and muttered out of the side of her mouth, “What you’re after is a piece of ass, and don’t think I don’t know it.”

“Gigi!” Clint said, pretending to be horrified. He opened the gate for Sam and smiled up at her. “Seriously,” he said to Samantha, “I’ll help you out.”

Maybe he could scare her into going away.

SHE COULD UNTACK AND BRUSH ME.

Had he been flirting with her when he’d said that? Somehow she doubted it. And why didn’t he want her to know who he was? Earlier, when she’d been talking to his grandmother, it’d been clear that he’d wanted Eugenia to introduce him as a simple ranch hand…and not as his grandson.

Why?

“Clint,” she said. “I, uh…I know you’re Eugenia’s grandson.”

He stopped so suddenly Red tossed his head. “You do?”

She nodded.

“Did Gigi tell you?”

She shook her head. “I knew from the first moment I met you.”

“Oh,” he said. She could tell he was trying to hide his surprise from her.

Moisture still hung heavy in the air. A breeze played with her short hair and it blew the scent of him toward her.

He smelled like a man.

And she was attracted to that scent. It made her recall—perfectly—what he’d looked like with his shirt open. Those cords of muscle, the tan hue of his skin, the way she’d caught him looking at her earlier, as if he’d like to—

Sam!

“She’s really a special lady,” she said through a throat gone dry with—okay, she should just admit it—lust. She hadn’t been with a man since the Mesozoic era.

“Yes, she is.”

But she wasn’t the type to indulge in an affair although if there was one time in her life when it might be okay to do something impulsive, that was now. Sex with him would be something to remember for a lifetime, and since she was going blind…

Blind.

She couldn’t breathe for a moment, forced her lungs to pump air to her heart. The sad truth was that she couldn’t imagine it. She could only try her best to prepare for it. She’d been left behind for some reason. She had to believe that reason would present itself at some point in the future.

Maybe it was the Baer Mountain Mustangs.

“Tell me about them,” she said, their entrance into the barn giving Sam a second or two of panic when her vision dimmed. But it was only her eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness.

“Tell you about what?”

She led Red to the cross-ties. “The mustangs.”

He didn’t say anything. She swiveled around and grabbed Red’s halter from the hook Clint had hung it on.

“Yeah,” he said. “About the mustangs.”

She slipped the bridle from Red’s head, before turning back to him. The horse spat the bit out as if he was aiming for a spittoon.

“What about them?”

“Gigi can be too trusting sometimes. Gullible. Naive.”

“So can we all,” she said, remembering a time when she’d thought life would never change. It had only been last December. She was too young—just barely twenty-six. Her parents had still been young, too, and healthy. They’d had years ahead of them. Or so she’d thought, four months ago.

“She likes you,” he said. “But the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned.”

She slipped the halter over Red’s head. “That’s not what it seemed like earlier,” she said as she buckled the crown piece. Though she was losing more and more of her peripheral vision, she’d been having trouble focusing up close, too. She worried about what that might mean, then shook her head. What did she have to fear? That she was going blind? She already knew that for sure.

Enjoy every day.

Her doctor’s words echoed in her ears. She would enjoy every day. That was going to be her motto from here on out. So when she finished, she faced Clint with more bravado than she truly felt. Maybe it was the gut-wrenching realization that she would be unable to see him in the not-too-distant future. Maybe it boiled down to good, old-fashioned lust—God, she’d never forget what he looked like tapping that pole into the ground—but for some reason, she felt like playing with him.

“You mean you can take me to the mustangs, but then you’ll have to kill me?”

“I, well, I—” He frowned. “No. Of course not. I’m just not taking you anywhere until your background checks out.”

“So you’re going to do a background check on me?” she said, closing the distance between them. He seemed to lean away from her. Or maybe he didn’t. But his pupils flared, his chin lifting a bit when she got too close. Like a horse about to turn and run, Clint’s muscles tensed. She could see the cords of his neck pop out, watched as his eyes narrowed.

She would never forget his luminescent blue eyes.

And hungry.

He was attracted to her.

“You could be a reporter for all I know,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Just what are you then?” He scooted closer to her, turning the tables.

He leaned into her. Sam couldn’t breathe. And then she sucked in a breath…and got a mouthful of musky-smelling Clinton McAlister.

“Who are you, Samantha Davies?”