Читать книгу The Restless Virgin - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 10

Two

"You are going to give barrel-racing lessons?”

Sam hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’m qualified,” she muttered and started around her sister.

Mandy flattened a hand against Sam’s chest, stopping her, then leveled a finger at Sam’s boots. Grumbling, Sam backed up a couple of steps, hooked a heel in the bootjack by the back door and levered off first one boot then the other.

Satisfied, Mandy stepped aside and went back to the sink where she was peeling potatoes for their dinner. “Yes, you’re qualified, but you also have a veterinary practice that keeps you running from one end of the county to the other. How on earth will you ever find time?”

Sam padded across the kitchen to the refrigerator. “I’ll make time. If I don’t, her daddy’ll have her horse put down.”

Mandy whirled, her eyes wide. “He wouldn’t!”

“That’s what he said.” Sam one-hipped the door closed and carried the jug of milk to the counter. “The horse threw her. Or so he says. Colby insists she just fell off.” Grabbing a glass, Sam filled it with milk, then reached for a brownie from the pan cooling on a rack.

Mandy slapped her hand away. “You’ll ruin your dinner.”

Sam had to smile. Though they were only separated by a year in age, at times Mandy acted more like a mother to Sam than a big sister, and even more so since Mandy had married. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll clean my plate.” She snatched a brownie before Mandy could stop her and took a healthy bite, ignoring Mandy’s disapproving frown. “Anyway,” she continued around a mouthful of the gooey chocolate, “I have two months to prove to him that his daughter can handle the horse, or else the horse goes.”

“Who is this guy? Simon Legree?”

Though Sam was tempted to agree with her sister’s assessment of Nash Rivers, she had to be honest. “No, just an overprotective father. His name’s Nash Rivers. Ever heard of him?”

Mandy paused in her peeling as she stared out the window, running the name through her mind. She lifted a shoulder and went back to her peeling. “No, but then if he’s new to the area, I probably wouldn’t.”

Sam turned her back to the counter, leaned against it and took a sip of her milk. “They moved here about a year ago from San Antonio. Nash inherited his father’s ranch, but plans to divide up the land and sell it.”

Mandy nodded sympathetically. “That’s happening more and more often. People are having a hard time making a living at ranching.”

“Judging by the looks of the place, I’d say he didn’t even give it a try. It’s going to break the kid’s heart when she has to move.”

Mandy turned her head slowly to peer at Sam. “You sure seem to know a lot about these people.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Thanks to Colby. The kid could talk the hair off a dog.” She shook her head, remembering. “She even suggested that I marry her daddy so that she could have a mother.”

Mandy chuckled, then sobered when Sam narrowed an eye at her. “Sony,” she murmured. “I just had this mental image of you changing diapers.”

“I can change diapers,” Sam replied indignantly. “I certainly changed enough of my nephew’s to prove that. But thankfully, Colby’s long out of the diaper stage.”

“How old is she?”

“Six, going on sixteen.”

Mandy chuckled, dropping the last potato into the pot. “Interesting assessment.”

Sam blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t believe this kid. She can carry on a conversation like an adult, yet throw a tantrum that would rival that of a two-year-old.”

“And you willingly volunteered to spend time with her?”

Sam frowned. “Yeah.” She turned, propping her forearms on the counter, and stared out the window, holding the glass between her hands. “She kind of reminds me a little bit of myself at that age. She’s a tomboy and crazy about her horse. You wouldn’t believe how she lit in to me when she heard her daddy order me to put him down.” Sam chuckled as the image built. “Took all my strength to hold her back. And she lost her mother before she even had a chance to get to know her, just like we did.” She stared a moment longer, than gave herself a firm shake. “Not that I intend to serve as a surrogate mother, mind you. I’m just going to help her improve her riding skills so her daddy will agree to let her keep her horse.”

Mandy watched Sam, her instincts going on red alert. “What about her dad? What’s he like?”

“Nash?” Sam snorted. “He’s a suit.”

At Mandy’s quizzical look, Sam pushed away from the counter to pace. “You know the type. Brooks Brothers suit, Italian silk tie, Rolex watch, Mercedes. And all business. I bet he even schedules trips to the rest room on his day planner.”

Mandy lifted a brow. She’d never known Sam to get this worked up over a man. “Is he handsome?”

“If you like pretty boys. Merideth would love him,” she added, using their younger sister’s taste in men as a reference point for Mandy.

“So he is handsome.”

An image formed in Sam’s mind of Nash standing at the fence, the wind lifting his carefully combed hair then dropping it carelessly down on his forehead. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing muscled forearms dusted with dark hair. Carved cheekbones, a stubborn jaw. Gray eyes leveled on her, eyes that seemed capable of stripping her down to her most vulnerable core.

A shiver chased along her spine.

“Yeah, I guess,” she replied vaguely, dumping the rest of her milk down the drain, her appetite suddenly gone. “I really didn’t pay that much attention.”

Three days later, Sam was in the barn at Rivers Ranch, saddling Whiskey in preparation for her first lesson with Colby, when she heard a car door slam in the yard. She lifted her head, turning slightly, and bit back an oath when Nash stepped inside the barn. Wearing a navy blazer and khaki pants, he looked as out of place as he had the first time she’d seen him.

“Where’s Colby?” he asked.

“In the house, changing clothes.”

He glanced at his watch, frowning. “So when do we start?”

“We?” Sam repeated, arching a brow his way as he strode down the alleyway toward her.

His frown deepened. “Yes, we. I intend to be present at every lesson.”

“Great,” Sam muttered under her breath. She stooped and caught the rear girt, buckling it into place.

He stopped and braced his hands on his hips. “We didn’t discuss the details of this arrangement, so I think we need to do so now. How much are you charging for these lessons?”

“Nothing. I’m doing this for Colby.”

His eyes widened then narrowed. “Colby isn’t a charity case. I paid her last teacher forty dollars an hour. I’ll pay you the same, plus an additional ten dollars for the trip out.”

“Keep your money. I don’t want it or need it. Like I said, I’m doing this for Colby.” She stooped and picked up Whiskey’s hoof. “Who’s your farrier?”

“Cletus Boggs. Now, about your fee—”

“Better call him. This rear shoe is loose. And tell Cletus to use shoes with rims for the front hooves. It’ll help give Whiskey more traction on the turns.”

“Fine. And I’m paying you, whether you like it or not.”

Sam dropped the hoof and picked up a currycomb, taking out her frustrations with Nash on the burrs matted in the horse’s tail. “Your money would be better spent on repairing Whiskey’s stall. There are some loose boards he could injure himself on. And you need a new load of shavings for the floor.”

“Is that an order or a suggestion?”

The challenge in his voice had Sam cocking her head to look at him. Seeing the hostility in his gray eyes, she tightened her fingers on the comb. “Take it however you want, but the horse deserves the best care you can give him.”

“Hi, Daddy!”

Sam and Nash both turned at the sound of Colby’s voice. Nash’s frown disappeared as Colby skipped down the alleyway toward them. “Hey, sunshine!” He held out his arms and she ran the last few steps and vaulted into them.

Planting a kiss on his cheek, she curled an arm around his neck and reared back to look at him. “Are you going to watch me ride?”

“Yep. Are you ready?”

Colby’s mouth puckered into a pout. “I’ve been ready for hours, but Sam made me go back to the house and put on jeans.”

Nash shot Sam a questioning glance. She lifted a shoulder as she dropped Whiskey’s tail, then tossed the currycomb back in the bucket. “She had on shorts. I was afraid the saddle would rub sores on her legs.”

Nash turned his gaze on his daughter. “Sam’s the boss. What she says goes.”

He couldn’t have said anything that would have surprised Sam more. From the moment he’d announced his intention of being present at the lessons, she’d prepared herself to have to fight him at every turn. Not trusting this unexpected display of support, she eyed him warily. “We’re burning daylight,” she mumbled. “Let’s get started.”

Nash swung Colby onto the saddle, then untied the reins and led the horse out into the arena. Sam followed, pulling her cap lower on her forehead to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight.

“Okay, Colby, let’s warm him up,” she instructed, anxious to get the lesson underway. “Circle the arena a couple of times at a walk, then have him trot. And I want to see you use your body to give him the change of command. Understand?”

Colby beamed at Sam as she took the reins from Nash. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sam positioned herself in the middle of the arena, placing herself as far from Nash as possible, while still being able to keep an eye on Colby. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him at the fence, shrugging out of his jacket. As he leaned to hook it on a fence post, the stretch of starched white cotton across his back revealed muscles that Sam would have preferred not to have noticed. But she did notice and, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. With his back still to her, he cocked a hip slightly, then lifted a hand and unbuttoned a cuff. He carefully folded the sleeve back two turns, then lifted the opposite hand and started on the other. As each turn revealed another three inches of bare skin, Sam’s mouth grew dryer and dryer until it was as parched as the ground beneath her feet.

Ignore him, she told herself, and turned away. Determined to do just that, she folded her arms beneath her breasts and focused on Colby. “Okay, move him up to a trot,” she called out.

Colby leaned forward, lifting the reins, and repeated the voice command. Sam nodded her approval, turning slowly in a tight circle as she monitored Colby’s movements around the arena...and nearly jumped out of her skin when she made a complete circle and Nash’s chest filled her field of vision, inches from her face and blocking her view of Colby. Unaware that he’d even moved, she cried, “What are you doing?”

He lowered his gaze to hers, one brow arched higher than the other, then glanced back over her head toward his daughter. “Watching.”

Sam huffed a breath and took a step back, stuffing her hands into her back pockets. “Watch somewhere else. You’re in my way.”

“It’s a big arena. I’d think there’s ample room for two adults to watch without any trouble.”

“Fine,” she snarled. “You can stay here. I’m moving.” She stalked off, headed for the far end of the arena...and could’ve sworn she heard Nash chuckle. The idea that he would laugh at her made her that much more angry. “Okay, Colby,” she said irritably, “lope.”

Whiskey responded immediately, charging forward. “Slow him down,” Sam yelled. “This is a lope, not a race.”

Colby dutifully obeyed, giving the reins a sharp tug, and Whiskey settled into a slow lope. Sam nodded her approval as she hitched a boot on a rail behind her. She tucked her fingers into her front pockets and settled her shoulders against the fence. Nash stood where she’d left him, his hands braced on his hips, his dress shirt a shocking white compared to the faded barn behind him. A little too white, Sam decided. A slow, devious smile chipped at one corner of her mouth.

“Take him to the middle, Colby,” she ordered, “and give me a fast stop.”

Dust churned as Colby swung Whiskey around, then rose into a cloud when the horse slid to a stop on his haunches inches from where Nash stood.

Choking on dust and fanning the air in front of his face, Nash sputtered, “Dam it, Colby! Didn’t you see me standing here?”

Colby’s chin quivered. “I was just doing what Sam told me to do. You did say that she was the boss.”

Nash turned to glare at Sam, and though she tried her best not to smile, she failed miserably. Serves him right, she told herself, for being so dam stubborn.

Brushing at the dust on his shirtfront, Nash shifted his gaze back to Colby. “Well, next time, look where you’re going.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He heaved a deep breath, then lifted a hand to pat her knee. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

Enjoying herself immensely, Sam shouted, “That was a good stop, Colby. Now let’s see some figure eights. Trot him once through the pattern so you can show him what you want him to do, then lope. Remember to keep his nose tucked to the center and use your legs to keep him shaped.”

Sam smothered a laugh as she watched Nash jump out of the way, then hustle to the side of the arena as Colby followed Sam’s directions.

After a series of seven or more figure eights, Sam instructed Colby to walk Whiskey a couple of laps to cool him off while she set up the barrels. Crossing to the third barrel she tipped it over and rolled it into place. The barrel was old and rusted from years of exposure. As she righted it, she caught a glimpse of Nash watching her, frowning... and another idea occurred to her. “How about you set the first one,” she called to him.

Still frowning, Nash gave the barrel closest to him a nudge with his shoe and sent it toppling over. Leaning over, he gave it a shove, rolling it into position, then caught the top rim and levered it upright. Opening his hands, he stared down at the rust and dirt that covered them. He twisted left and right, searching for something to wipe them on.

“What’s the matter, Nash?” Sam mocked. “Haven’t you ever gotten your hands dirty before?”

He turned to scowl at her, then plucked a white handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped furiously at his hands. Sam tossed back her head and laughed as she headed for the remaining barrel. Whistling happily, she turned it over, gave it a push with her boot and sent it rolling.

Nash watched her, his eyes narrowing. Damn woman! She was trying to make a fool of him, he was sure. “Well, two can play at this game,” he muttered under his breath. While Sam was still perched like a pelican, ready to give the barrel another shove, Nash stole up behind her, hooked a foot around the boot that was planted on the ground and gave a sharp tug. Sam yelped, beating wildly at the air in an attempt to regain her balance, but ended up facedown on the ground. She came up spitting dirt, her hands doubled into fists at her sides as she whirled to face Nash.

He smiled sweetly. “What’s the matter, Sam? Haven’t you ever gotten your hands dirty before?”

“You overgrown juvenile delinquent!” she muttered through clenched teeth.

“Me?” he asked innocently, touching the pad of a finger to his chest. “Isn’t that a little like the pot calling the kettle black?” He stepped closer and thumbed a speck of dirt from her face, then left his hand there to cup her cheek. His lips quirked in a teasing smile. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

Sam felt the blood drain from her face as the pad of each finger, the swell of flesh at the base of his thumb burned into her cheek. Though she expected the familiar panic to set in, she was aware of nothing but the gentleness of his fingers, their underlying strength, and the clear gray eyes that smiled down at her. Heat burned through her and lit a fiery path all the way to her lower abdomen where it settled into a burning pool of fire. The sensation was a rare one for Sam and so unexpected she didn’t know what to do with it. Falling back on her anger, she hauled off and took a swing at him.