Читать книгу In Name Only - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 7

A black cat streaked in front of the diner’s entrance and directly across Troy Jacobs’s path. Startled, Troy stumbled to a stop, then frowned as he watched the cat dart around the side of the building and disappear from sight. Well aware of the superstitions associated with black cats, he knew he should probably turn right around and head in the opposite direction.

But he didn’t.

He figured a black cat crossing his path couldn’t hurt his current run of luck. It was already running so low on the downside of bad he didn’t think it could possibly get any worse.

With a rueful shake of his head, he pushed open the door, stepped inside and bumped into the Corley brothers who were just leaving.

He nodded a greeting to the cowboys as he pulled off his hat.

Rudy, the older of the two, clapped a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “Too bad about that steer you drew tonight. I’ve never seen one drop and cut behind a hazer as fast as that one. Didn’t even give you a fair chance to throw him.”

Troy nodded his agreement. “Yeah, well, seems as if I’m drawing all the strange ones lately.”

Rudy wagged his head sympathetically, then grinned and gave Troy a friendly punch on the arm. “But, hey, your luck’s bound to change soon, right? This losing streak can’t last forever.”

Troy tried to force a game smile—though he certainly didn’t feel the sentiment—but he couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm required for the action. After putting up entry fees for three months without any wins to offset his expenses, it was hard to find anything to smile about. “I sure hope so,” he said with a resigned sigh, “because if it doesn’t, I might have to break down and sell my horse.”

Rudy hooted a laugh and slapped Troy on the back. “If it comes to that, you give me a call. I’ve always admired Danny Boy. There’s not a horse around with more heart.” Rudy snugged his cowboy hat over his head and reached for the door, touching a finger to the hat’s brim in farewell. “See you around, Troy.”

“Yeah,” Troy replied with a jerk of his chin. “See you.”

Road noise from the highway that stretched in front of the truck stop rushed in as the Corley brothers left, then dulled to a low roar when the door closed behind the two men.

Wishing he’d arrived earlier so that he could’ve shared a meal with the two cowboys and avoided eating alone, Troy looked around the nearly empty room, searching for a hostess. He didn’t see one, but at this hour of the night, he wasn’t surprised. The only customers remaining were a couple of truck drivers huddled at the counter, nursing thick porcelain mugs of steaming coffee, and a woman who sat alone in a booth on the opposite side of the room. When Troy glanced the woman’s way, he found her staring at him, but she quickly looked away when their gazes met, a blush staining her cheeks.

She was a pretty little thing, he noted absently. Blond, with big blue eyes, a peaches-and-cream complexion…and from what he could see, a nice figure. If Pete was with him, Troy knew his friend would already be hustling over to her table and striking up a conversation. Pete did love women. And women seemed to love Pete.

He smiled inwardly as he thought of his friend, wondering if he ought to mosey over and try one of Pete’s tactics on the woman and see if she’d be willing to share her table with him…but he quickly discarded the notion. He wasn’t like Pete who could charm the skin off a snake and the clothes off a woman’s back, and he’d rather suffer the agony of eating alone than take a chance on being rejected.

Instead, he plucked a menu from the rack on the wall and dropped down in a booth near the front door, placing his cowboy hat crown side up on the seat beside him.

He flipped open the menu and studied it, wishing Pete and Clayton, his traveling buddies, were with him. He hated like hell eating alone. But Pete was still at Clayton’s ranch, keeping an eye on things, while Clayton chased after his wife in hopes of talking her out of leaving him. Personally, he hoped Clayton was successful. He liked Rena, though he wondered sometimes why she’d put up with Clayton’s indifference for so long.

“What can I get you, cowboy?”

Troy looked up and found a waitress standing beside the booth, the stubbed point of her pencil poised over a pad. He offered her an easy smile. “What would you recommend?”

She tucked the pencil behind her ear and shifted her weight, lifting a foot to rub it along the back of a calf that he was sure was aching after a long day waiting tables. “Meat loaf’s fresh and it comes with a side of green beans, mashed potatoes and a square of cornbread. Six-fifty, or seven dollars if you order a drink.”

Troy closed his menu and handed it to her. “Sounds good to me. And I’d like a cup of coffee, when you have the time.”

“Sure thing.” Dropping the pad into her apron pocket, she headed for the counter.

Troy turned his face toward the window and stared out at the highway, watching the occasional eighteen-wheeler roar by. Superimposed on the glass was a reflection of the café’s interior. In it he saw the waitress snag a pot of coffee from the warming plate and head back his way. Turning, he reared back to give her room as she upended a porcelain mug.

“Did you compete in the rodeo tonight?” she asked as she filled his cup.

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

Straightening, she rested the pot of coffee on the edge of the table and looked at him suspiciously. “You a bull rider?”

Troy chuckled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. There’s not enough money in the world to persuade me to climb on the back of some rank bull.”

She returned his smile, revealing a gold-capped front tooth. “I didn’t think so. The bull riders who pass through here are a cocky bunch. And they sure as heck don’t have your manners,” she added wryly.

Troy tossed back his head and laughed. “You can thank my grandmother for the manners. She pounded them into me from an early age.”

She shifted her weight from one crepe-soled shoe to the other. “If you’re not a bull rider, then what are you?”

“A steer wrestler.”

She arched a brow. “Really? I’d think steer wrestling would be as dangerous as bull riding.”

With the long stretch of loneliness that awaited him on the drive ahead, Troy was glad for the company. Settling in for a visit, he wrapped his hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth, and lifted a shoulder. “Not to my way of thinking. If a man’s got a good horse and a good hazer, he narrows the odds some in his favor.”

A shiver shook her thin shoulders beneath a uniform about a size too big for her bony frame. “I can’t imagine jumping off a running horse and wrestling a horned steer to the ground. I’d be afraid one of those horns would run straight through me.”

Troy chuckled. “It happens, now and again, but not as often as a bull turning on a rider he’s thrown and goring him.”

When a bell pinged impatiently, the waitress glanced over her shoulder and saw the truck drivers waiting beside the cash register. She offered Troy an apologetic smile as she tipped her head toward the counter. “Duty calls. I’ll get your order out to you quick as I can.”

“No hurry, ma’am.”

She winked and gave his hand a motherly pat. “The next time you see your grandmother you tell her she did a fine job raising you.”

Troy watched the waitress hustle over to the cash register, sobered by the reminder of his grandmother. Then, with a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the window. Yeah, he’d tell Granny all right, he thought sadly. But he doubted his grandmother would even recognize him, much less understand the compliment enough to appreciate it. Alzheimer’s had stolen a mind that had remained sharp for more than seventy years, and overnight had turned his grandmother into a stranger to him. He always came away from the nursing home where she now lived, wondering how life could be so cruel to a woman with a heart as big as hers. She’d worked hard all her life, and when she should’ve been enjoying her golden years, she’d taken in Troy to raise after his mother had died.

He caught a movement on the window’s reflection and saw that the waitress was heading back his way, juggling his dinner. Shaking off the melancholy thoughts of his grandmother, he leaned back and forced a grateful smile for the waitress as she slid the plate and basket of cornbread in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

He glanced at the generous helpings on the plate. “No, ma’am. This’ll be fine for now.”

As she went back to her duties, Troy unwrapped his silverware, shook out his napkin and spread it over his thigh. His mouth watering at the tempting scents that rose to meet his nose, he lifted the fork and dug in.

He’d cleaned about half his plate when he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He glanced over and caught the woman in the booth on the opposite side of the room staring at him again. Her expression was an odd mixture of appraisal and desperation, which he found a bit unnerving. But damn she was a pretty little thing. All soft and feminine and innocent, much like the angels he remembered pictured in the family Bible his grandmother kept on the coffee table in the front room of the home they’d once shared.

Baffled by the intensity with which she was studying him, he dabbed the napkin at the corner of his mouth, wondering if he had food on his face or something. He nodded a quick, embarrassed greeting, then turned his attention back to his meal.

He hadn’t taken more than two bites when a shadow fell across his plate. He looked up and found the woman standing beside his booth. She was even prettier up close, but she had a scared-rabbit look about her that concerned him.

“I apologize for interrupting your dinner,” she said, her fingers clutched tightly around the strap of a shoulder purse, “but would you mind if I join you for a minute?”

Her voice was as sweet as her face, but there was a quaver in it that confirmed his suspicion that something was bothering her.

He rose and gestured to the bench opposite him. “No, ma’am, I sure don’t. In fact, I’d welcome the company.”

She slipped into the booth and waited for him to take his seat again. Once he had, she stretched a hand across the table. “I’m Shelby Cannon.”

He wiped his palm down his thigh before taking her hand in his. Small. Delicately boned. His own work-roughened hand swallowed her smaller one. “Troy Jacobs,” he returned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Her eyes sharpened when his fingers closed around hers, and he couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same kick to the system as he had when their palms first met.

Slowly she withdrew her hand, then fisted it with the other on her lap. “Mr. Jacobs—”

“Troy,” he insisted, and smiled, hoping to put her at ease.

She inhaled deeply. “Troy, then,” she said, and forced a polite, if tremulous, smile in return. “I know this may seem presumptuous of me to approach you in this way, but I’m running short of time and forced to be blunt.” She drew in another deep breath, then leaned toward him, leveling her gaze on his. “Are you married?”

The question came out of left field, catching him totally off guard. He wondered if she was planning on trying to pick him up, though she certainly didn’t look the type. “No ma’am,” he replied cautiously.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank goodness. I didn’t see a ring, but I had to make certain.”

“Are you?” he asked, thinking he ought to establish her marital status, since she’d considered his so important.

She shook her head, then leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, earlier, when you were talking to those two men who were leaving.”

“The Corley brothers?” At her nod, he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. Me and the Corleys go way back. They’re steer wrestlers, too, and we’ve competed against each other over the years. Lately, though, they’ve been collecting all the winnings.”

She closed her hands around the edge of the scarred table and drew herself forward, her expression growing more earnest. “I heard you say that you might have to sell your horse if your luck didn’t change pretty soon.”

His ego took a beating, knowing that she’d overheard that. Not that he was desperate for money. He wasn’t. The comment had been made in jest. What embarrassed him was that she was aware of his current losing streak. He dropped his gaze and stirred his fork through his mashed potatoes. “My situation’s not quite as bad as it sounds.”

“How much is your horse worth?”

He jerked up his head to peer at her. “You’re wanting to buy my horse?”

Obviously startled by the question, she shook her head. “Oh, no! I don’t want to buy your horse. Heavens!” She laughed weakly and placed a hand over her breasts, as if the idea alone was enough to bring on a heart attack. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a horse. I’ve never even been on one.”

“So why do you want to know how much he’s worth?”

“I…I—” She pressed her lips together and forced her chin up a notch. “I’m just interested, is all.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Twenty-five thousand dollars!” At Troy’s nod, she sank weakly against the back of the booth. “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she repeated, then closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

When she opened her eyes, Troy would have sworn he saw tears in them.

“I don’t have that much money,” she said, her voice heavy with regret. She pushed to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Troy. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He stretched a hand across the table, stopping her. “Hold on a minute.” She glanced at the hand that gripped her arm, then back at him and slowly sank back down, her gaze now watchful. Realizing he’d frightened her, Troy released his hold on her. “I thought you said you wanted to buy my horse?”

“Oh, no! I just wanted to know how much he was worth.”

“Why?”

She shifted uneasily on the booth. “Well,” she began, then averted her gaze, her cheeks turning pink again. “I was hoping that I could…well, that I could make a trade with you.”

“If you don’t want my horse, then what is it you want me to trade?”

He watched the pink turn a brilliant red. She plucked a paper napkin from the holder on the table and kept her gaze on her fingers as she began to shred it.

“Your name,” she said in a low voice.

Troy leaned closer, sure that he’d misunderstood her. “My name?”

A tear rolled over her lower lashes and down her cheek. She swiped at it furiously with the shredded napkin. “Yes. Your name.” Another tear quickly fell to replace the first.

Troy lifted a hip and worked a handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sniffing as she blotted the handkerchief beneath her eyes.

“Why would you want my name?” he asked in confusion.

“Not just your name, actually.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Frustrated, Troy shoved aside his plate and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Maybe you should tell me just exactly what it is you want from me.”

She pressed the handkerchief against her lips, then fanned it in front of her eyes when they filled with tears again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. It’s just that I had so hoped you would agree to marry me and let me use your name.”

Troy was sure that he had stepped into a scene from the Twilight Zone. “Did you say marry you?”

She pressed the handkerchief beneath her nose and nodded. “I’d pay you, of course,” she hurried to explain. “I’ve got the money.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “But not $25,000. I only have about $5,000 in my savings account.”

Troy braced his hands against the edge of the table, pushed himself back against the seat and released a shuddering breath. He stared at her a long moment, trying to figure her angle. “And why would a pretty young lady like yourself want to marry an old cowboy like me? Hell,” he said, gesturing at her. “You don’t even know me.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, no! I don’t want to marry you—I mean, at least, not in the sense you must think. I just need your name. My plan was for us to marry, go our separate ways, then divorce after the baby is born.”

Troy choked, his eyes going wide. “Baby?” he gasped hoarsely.

Tears filled her eyes. “Yes…baby.” She pressed her hand over her stomach, her lips trembling. “I’m pregnant.”

He dropped his gaze to her hand and the flat stomach beneath it. The Twilight Zone, he told himself again, swallowing hard. He’d landed himself in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Or maybe he’d been set up for one of those television shows where they caught an unsuspecting person in an unbelievable situation and filmed his response for all of America to laugh at later. He glanced quickly around, looking for the hidden camera. But all he saw were empty booths and the waitress working at the counter, refilling salt and pepper shakers.

Slowly he brought his gaze back to Shelby’s.

“Baby,” he repeated dully.

She nodded.

“Why don’t you just ask the man who fathered the child to marry you?”

Her shoulders hitched and she pressed the handkerchief over her mouth to stifle the sob that bubbled up. Then she looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with a heartbreaking mixture of pain and humiliation. “I…I did, but h-he refused.”

Frustrated by the entire conversation, Troy didn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice. “You should’ve thought of the consequences before you slept with the guy. Or at least taken the necessary precautions. Pregnancy is easy enough to avoid these days.”

Her chin came up at his accusatory tone, and her eyes turned a steely blue. She cut a glance toward the waitress to make certain his comment hadn’t been overheard, then leaned across the table and narrowed her eyes. “I did,” she whispered angrily. “But unfortunately not all precautionary measures are 100 percent fail-safe.” She tossed his handkerchief on the table. “Oh, just forget it,” she snapped as she scooted from the booth. “I thought this might be the perfect solution to both our problems, but I can see that I was wrong.” Stalking to the door, she pushed her way furiously to the outside, sending the cowbell hanging over the door clanking loudly.

Frowning, Troy watched her through the window as she marched across the parking lot, her shoulders square, her head high. Not your problem, Jacobs, he told himself as he watched her jerk open her car door and slip inside. The vehicle rocked hard when she slammed the door behind her. Not your problem, he told himself again when—to his surprise—she wrapped her arms around the steering wheel and buried her face against it. He watched the sobs wrack her slim shoulders…and a fist closed around his heart and squeezed.

His name. All the lady wanted was his name, for God’s sake. Was that so much to ask? It wasn’t as if she had asked him to donate a kidney, or something. And it was only for a couple of months, just long enough to give her baby a name and save it the shame of being labeled a bastard. And who could understand better than Troy Jacobs the stigma attached to being born out of wedlock? Maybe his own life would have been a bit different if his mother had done what this woman was trying to do.

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. He grabbed his hat and rammed it on his head and pushed himself from the booth. Digging his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the table. “Much obliged,” he called to the waitress and waved to her as he pushed through the door.

When he reached Shelby’s car, he grabbed the door handle and swore again when he discovered it was locked. He slammed a fist against the window. “Open up,” he ordered angrily.

She turned her tear-streaked face to glare up at him. “Go away,” she sobbed, and buried her face against her hands again.

Troy pounded his fist on the glass. “Either you open the door or I’m busting out the glass. Your choice.”

Her face twisted with fury, she sat up and rolled down the window. “Say what you have to say, then leave,” she ordered tersely. “This isn’t your problem.”

Scowling, he reached inside and unlocked the door himself. “I don’t think you want what I have to say broadcast all over the parking lot.” He bumped his hip against her side, forcing her to scoot over. “And no, it’s not my problem,” he said as he sat down on the seat still warm from her bottom. He felt around for the release and shoved the seat back, giving him room to stretch out his long legs. He slammed the door with the same degree of frustration as she had, then twisted around on the seat to face her. The fact that she shrank away from him, didn’t go unnoticed. It even shamed him a bit to see a woman cower from him. “How much?”

Startled, she stammered, “W-what?”

“How much?” he repeated angrily. “How much are you willing to pay me for my name?”

Slowly she sat up straighter, her gaze fixed on his face. “Five thousand dollars.”

“And how long do we have to stay married?”

“Until the baby’s born.”

“When’s it due?”

“The fifth of March. I’m three months along.”

Amazed, he glanced down at her stomach where she’d unconsciously pressed a hand, then slowly lifted his gaze to hers again. “But you’re not even showing.”

She dipped her chin and smoothed a hand across her abdomen. “No. Thankfully. But I will be before long.”

Setting his jaw, he frowned at her. “What would be expected of me?”

“Nothing,” she assured him quickly, then caught her lip between her teeth as if catching herself in a lie. “Well, I do need you to do one thing.”

“What?”

“Go home with me and meet my parents. Otherwise,” she hurried to explain, “they might not believe I’m really married.”

Troy groaned and slumped down in the seat. “I have to meet your parents?” He rolled his head to the side to look at her. “Couldn’t you just show them the marriage license?”

She clamped her lips together, frowning. “No, I can’t just show them the marriage license,” she mimicked sarcastically. “My father is going to be angry enough that we didn’t marry in the church. He is the pastor, after all, and—”

Troy snapped up his head. “The pastor!” he shouted. “Your daddy is a preacher?”

She gulped and shrank away from him, nodding.

Troy dropped his head back and groaned. “A preacher,” he repeated miserably. “Pete and Clayton are never going to believe this. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it myself!” Sighing, he turned his face to the side window and stared out at the darkness beyond. From the far side of the parking lot, a pair of green eyes peered back at him.

The black cat.

Maybe I should’ve turned around and headed the other way, he thought miserably.

But it was too late now. Seemed he’d just agreed to sell his name to a pregnant preacher’s daughter to the tune of five thousand dollars.