Читать книгу The Truth About Plain Jane - Roxann Delaney, Roxann Delaney - Страница 10

Sinking onto the leather chair behind the massive oak desk that proclaimed him head honcho, Trey Brannigan ran a hand down his face. The day wasn’t over yet. Plenty of time for more to go wrong.

Now that he had all but one of the Triple B’s guests deposited and settled in their respective cabins, all he wanted was some peace and quiet. But the view from the office window of the rust-eaten Mustang coming up the drive was a sure sign that it wouldn’t happen until he’d settled the last of his guests.

Shoving himself from the chair, he headed outside to greet the latecomer. As he descended the wide steps of the ranch house porch and made his way to the parking area, he was subjected to the sight of a flower-covered backside at the open rear door of the ancient car.

Trey smiled to himself. It only stood to reason that the latecomer was a woman. Women were good for a lot of things, but one thing was certain—they were inevitably late.

He chuckled to himself as he neared the tardy female. Her taste in clothes left a lot to be desired. Neon green, orange and yellow flowers danced invitingly before him as she wrestled with something in the back seat of her car. The sight would have been enticing if it hadn’t been for the blinding colors.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

She jumped at his greeting and smacked her head on the door frame, causing him to wince. Rubbing a head of short, mousy brown curls, she backed out of the car with care and turned. One corner of his mouth went up in a half-smile as her bespectacled gaze moved from his boots up to his face.

But his smile froze before it reached the other side of his mouth when his gaze collided with hers. Behind huge owlish glasses were eyes as green as summer grass, surrounded by long dark lashes. Trey’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know how long he stood staring into the emerald depths of her wide eyes. A thud at his dust-covered boot brought him back to his senses, and he looked down to see an overstuffed nylon bag at his feet.

“Let me—” he said, bending down to retrieve the tote.

“I can—” she said at the same time, whacking her head into his.

The blow brought him back to normal. He breathed in a sigh of relief that he’d broken contact with her hypnotic gaze. The scent of a summer garden drifted toward him. Intoxicating. Still bent over, he took a step back and was brought to a halt by the open car door. Grabbing the bag, he straightened, shaking his head to clear it from an unaccustomed buzzing sound, and glanced up at her.

She shoved the bridge of her glasses up with delicate fingers that trembled. “I—I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay,” he said, making sure he didn’t look directly into her eyes. Sidestepping around her, he reached inside the car for two suitcases that were propped on the seat. “You must be M. Chastain,” he said over his shoulder as he pulled the luggage out of the car and set it at his feet.

“My, uh, trunk lock is broken.” Her tone was apologetic, and she quickly moved out of his way when he swung around to face her.

He simply nodded, avoiding a direct hit from her eyes, and then gestured with another nod in the direction of the cabins. Stuffing the tote they’d knocked heads over under his arm, he picked up her other suitcases and led the way. “You’re in number four.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He slid a look at her as she caught up with him, baffled by his reaction to her. It was hard to tell what was under her colorful outfit. Her flowered skirt hung loosely almost to her ankles, and even those were hidden by neon orange socks. The green top she wore was baggy, without even a suggestion of womanly curves beneath. Which was fine with him.

Stepping up onto the tiny cabin porch, Trey set down one suitcase to reach for the door. “What’s the M for?” he asked.

“Um… Margaret.”

He opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass into the room. “Friends call you Margie?”

Her throaty chuckle sent shockwaves through him as she stepped past him. He attempted to swallow and found he couldn’t.

“No, just Margaret,” she answered. “Or Meg. Sometimes.”

He managed to clear the thickness from his throat. Still unable to think of a reply, he placed the suitcases inside the door and watched her. Something about the way she moved held his attention.

“It’s a very nice cabin,” she said from across the room.

Determined to be the kind of cowboy people expected to find on a Texas ranch, Trey touched the brim of his hat and grinned. “Glad you like it, ma’am,” he said with an exaggerated drawl. “You might want to jingle your spurs a little. They’ll be servin’ supper at the chuckwagon any time.”

One perfectly arched eyebrow raised in a dark point over one eye. “I guess I wouldn’t want to miss that, would I?”

Avoiding her eyes, but with his attention still on her face, Trey noticed her flawless complexion. It didn’t go with her mousy hair color at all. Or those fascinating eyes. And her mouth—full lips curved in a slight smile. The thought passed through his mind that it would be mighty nice to have a taste of those lips.

He shook his head at the crazy notion, even as his pulse quickened. Get a grip, Brannigan. Taking a backward step out the cabin door, he pulled off his hat, twisting it in his hands. “Well, I’ll be leavin’ you to…uh…if you need anything…”

“Yes?” she asked in a breathy voice that sped up his heart rate a little more.

“You just ask one of the hands,” he finished in a rush, jamming his hat back on his head. Turning, he made for the steps on feet that didn’t want to cooperate, and headed across the yard in the direction of the barn.

What the hell was wrong with him? Trey Brannigan tongue-tied? The idea was dumber than a day-old calf. Even his brothers, Dev and Chace, had never been able to render him speechless. Hell, what he needed was a stiff drink. And he’d have one, just as soon as he checked on the status of the stock. He needed to clear his mind and straighten it out again. Women didn’t get to him—hadn’t in all his thirty-one years. Except once, and that mistake wouldn’t happen again. He’d be damned if he knew what had gotten into him now.

Stunned by the cowboy’s sudden departure, Meg Chastain moved to the doorway and watched him cross the expanse of well-tended grass between the guest cabins and the ranch’s outbuildings. Forcing herself to close the door on the view, she leaned back against it and took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she had thought. Merciful heaven! The man moved like his joints were greased with saddle oil, his hips rotating with each step. She’d never get the image out of her mind.

Forcing herself to move, she pushed away from the door and crossed the room, making mental notes of the amenities and ambiance of the cool blue-and-green room. But even in the air-conditioned cabin, an unaccustomed warmth mixed with the heat from her long drive. Fanning herself with one hand, she wondered if she would she ever be cool again. Sweat had glued a curl of hair to her forehead and trickled between her breasts. She blew at the curl but it remained stuck. A quick swipe with the back of her hand moved it away, only to have it dip back down and stick again. Exasperated, she reached for her mop of curls and grabbed a handful, pulling off the wig. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders, damp from the sweat caused by the heat she’d endured during her two and a half day drive.

Men sweat, women perspire, she imagined her Aunt Dee telling her. Meg smiled at the thought. She’d been listening to her aunt’s sage advice and quaint sayings for most of her twenty-seven years, and they still never failed to make her smile.

“Sorry, Aunt Dee,” she muttered under her breath. “You try driving in this Texas heat in a car with no air-conditioning.” If the change in arrangements hadn’t been made at the last minute, she would’ve flown. She was almost two hours late, but at least she’d made it to the Triple B Dude Ranch.

After tossing the glasses she wore only for effect onto the bed, she located the shower and availed herself of its soothing spray. The water did wonders for her aching muscles. But the image of the cowboy popped into her mind again. Those scuffed cowboy boots and worn blue jeans, hugging a pair of muscled thighs, had taken her breath away. The memory of faded chambray draping a pair of broad, solid shoulders still made her catch her breath, while his strong, rugged features and bright blue eyes had almost rendered her speechless.

Her groan filled the small confines of the shower. She knew better than to dwell for even a moment on the fine specimen of pure cowboy maleness that had greeted her on her arrival.

When she finally felt human again, she finished up and dressed. Slipping the wig and glasses on, she checked her reflection in the mirror, smiling at the image staring back at her. No one would pay the least bit of attention to a mousy woman with little knowledge of ranches. Any questions she would ask would seem perfectly normal.

“Now to find Mr. Buford Brannigan.” Stepping out into the lengthening shadows of the evening, Meg squared her shoulders and started walking in the direction of the sprawling two-story ranch home.

“You’d better hustle on over for some grub,” a slow Texas drawl interrupted her thoughts.

Meg’s stomach fluttered at the sound of the deep, smooth baritone, and she turned to see her cowboy walking toward her. Her cowboy? She shook her head and silently scolded herself. Considering her reaction, it might be wiser to ask someone else about Buford Brannigan. She’d be smart to keep her distance from this particular cowboy. She wasn’t here to get involved with a ranch hand. She was here to do a job.

She noticed a group of people gathered around what appeared to be a covered wagon, and the delicious aroma of barbecue caused her stomach to rumble.

Before she could take a step in that direction, the cowboy approached her, stopping a few feet in front of her. “Hungry, Miss Chastain?”

Was he for real? This was supposed to be a working dude ranch. But could this good-looking hunk, his dark hair curling beneath his gray cowboy hat, be nothing more than a transplant from back east? It wouldn’t be the first time dude ranch guests had been fooled.

“The food smells wonderful,” she answered.

He looked over his shoulder, then turned back to her. “Looks like there’s still a few places to sit.”

“Are you joining us?” she asked, praying he wasn’t. He was a distraction she didn’t need right now.

“Maybe later. I—” He looked down at a little girl of about eight who had appeared at his elbow and was tugging at his shirtsleeve. “Howdy,” he said, giving her his attention.

She looked up at him with deep brown eyes that widened. “Are you a real cowboy?”

“Yep.”

“Do you ride a horse all day?”

He grinned at her. “Not all day. There’s lots of work to do on a ranch besides ridin’ horses.”

“Like what?”

“Makin’ sure the stock’s taken care of.”

“Stock?”

“You know. Cows, horses. The animals. And we’re expectin’ some new kittens any day.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes wide. Ducking her head, she scuffed the toe of her shoe in the dirt.

Meg noticed the girl’s hesitation and stuck out her hand. “My name’s—” She hesitated for a moment, quickly reminding herself why she was there and who she was supposed to be. “My name’s Margaret Chastain, but you can call me Meg. What’s yours?”

“Carrie Winston,” the little girl answered.

“Do you know how to ride a horse, Carrie?” the cowboy asked.

Carrie shook her head.

“What about you, Miss Chastain?” he asked, turning his attention to her. “Do you like to ride?”

Meg looked up at him. “I—no, not very much.”

“Maybe you just need a good teacher.”

Meg’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t what he’d said, it was how he’d said it. There was a hint of a promise in his voice and a suggestion of something in his eyes, just before he pulled his hat down, hiding the top half of his face.

“Maybe Carrie can take riding lessons,” Meg suggested, forcing herself to breathe again. “They’re offered here, aren’t they, Mr…?”

“It’s Trey, ma’am.” He touched the lowered brim of his hat, and she could feel him studying her in the dimming light.

Carrie tugged on his shirtsleeve. “Can I? Can I take riding lessons?”

“Sure you can. I’ll let Ellie know.” Trey nudged his hat back, grinning at the child, and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Ellie’s our riding instructor. Pete, over there, is our head wrangler,” he said, nodding in the direction of two men—one of them a cowboy, true to form, the other a tall, lean man in gray slacks and a sports shirt. “Ellie must be busy with the horses. Why don’t I mosey on over there and talk to Pete about those lessons? You ready to start in the morning?”

Carrie looked up at Meg, excitement shining in her eyes. “Oh, yes! I have to tell my grandmother!”

As Carrie skipped away, Trey turned to Meg. “How about you, Miss Chastain? Are you interested in lessons?”

Meg hesitated. Ride a horse? The idea made her want to run for the rugged hills that framed the ranch, but she held steady. Riding would be expected of the guests, and she had signed up for the trail ride at the end of the week. Geraldine had insisted on it, even though this entire trip was an effort made in desperation. But Meg didn’t care. She needed this. Without it, things wouldn’t get better. And they had to.

“I’m game if Carrie is,” she finally answered.

“I’ll get you both set up, then,” he said, with another touch of his hat. He turned to leave, and Meg couldn’t stop herself from watching him.

When the cowboy had ambled across the dining area and disappeared, Meg let out her breath in a slow whoosh. As if in reply, her stomach rumbled again, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten. There were only a few empty seats left, so she hurried to the chuckwagon to fill a plate. Her late arrival had put her at a disadvantage. She had missed the small welcome party that had been advertised in the ranch’s brochure. Besides Carrie, Meg hadn’t had a chance to meet any of the other guests. She needed to make up for lost time. Later, during the campfire, she hoped to learn as much as she could about the Triple B Dude Ranch.

But as she took her seat on the bench at the long trestle table set up for the evening meal, she realized she had a direct view of the main ranch house. She could see the cowboy, who was now walking up the steps of the porch, and it was impossible to drag her gaze away. She would have to be careful around him. The way he looked at her, as if he could see beyond her disguise, it wouldn’t take long before he guessed the truth. She couldn’t risk that. With luck, she would soon be in a better position to help Aunt Dee. Once she had the means to move them to a climate where her aunt’s asthma would be better, they could both begin to relax and enjoy life. But that would happen only if she kept her mind on her reason for being here, not on a sexy ranch hand.

After making sure everything was back to normal following the disasters of the morning, Trey stepped off the porch and crossed the yard, his heart swelling with pride at the view. Situated on a rolling field that edged the rugged Banderas terrain, the main buildings glowed golden. The sun’s descent toward the horizon offered a breathtaking panorama. A man couldn’t ask for much more, except maybe to be a success.

Aromas from the best food south of the Mason-Dixon made his mouth water. Smiling and nodding at guests, he approached the chuckwagon. Satisfied that everything was now running smoothly, he grabbed a plate and filled it, then turned to search for a seat at the long trestle table. But the only spot available was on the end, and directly across from Meg Chastain.

Trey considered carrying his plate to the barn, but it would only put off the inevitable. He couldn’t entirely avoid the woman for a full week. He needed to get accustomed to her green eyes, or discover what it was about her that sent a fog through his mind—and a blaze through his body that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

She was talking to a young couple seated on her right when he placed his food on the table and swung first one leg over the bench, then the other. An older woman on his right was deep in conversation with another couple.

“Howdy,” he said to no one in particular, picking up his fork. He eyed the tender ribs on his plate, determined that the woman across from him wouldn’t get to him this time.

“Hello,” she said. “I see you decided to join us after all.”

He took a bite of a rib, dripping with barbecue sauce, and looked up—right into Meg Chastain’s emerald eyes. He was caught again, and barely noticed the older woman beside him leave the table. All he could do was concentrate on getting past the effect those eyes had on him.

Knowing that conversation was required, he quickly swallowed. “Business. I had some ranch business to take care of.”

The woman beside Meg smiled at him. “It’s just beautiful here. Ted and I are so impressed. And this food!”

The man next to her nodded. “My hat is off to whoever cooked this wonderful meal.”

Trey nearly sighed out loud with relief when Meg’s gaze moved to the couple, giving him the chance to clear his head and answer. “That would be Theresa. She’s the best.” He mentally went through the names of the guests. “Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, right?”

They smiled at each other. “Why, yes, that’s right,” Mrs. Henderson answered.

But Trey’s relief was short-lived when Meg smiled at them. The warmth of it nearly knocked him over. He recovered quickly and was ready when she turned back to him.

“How long has Theresa cooked for the ranch?” she asked.

“Always. We wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Mr. Henderson stood and helped his wife to her feet as she navigated the table and bench. “I can’t blame you for that,” he told Trey. “But it wouldn’t surprise me if someone tried to steal her away,” he added with a chuckle. “With meals like this one, I’ll need all the exercise I can get this week. Is it all right if Janet and I take a walk around the place?”

“Please do,” Trey said, standing to extend his hand. “And if you need anything, just let any of the staff know. Hope to see you both at the campfire later.”

Henderson took the hand Trey offered and shook it. “Thanks. We’ll be there.”

The couple spoke briefly to Meg, and then walked away, looking satisfied. And leaving Trey alone with the one woman he didn’t want to be left alone with. “Nice folks,” he said, filling the silence.

“Everyone I’ve met is very nice. And to echo Janet Henderson, it’s beautiful here.”

“I’d be a fool to disagree with that,” he replied with a grin.

Falling silent while they both finished their meal, Trey did his best to focus on the plate of food before him. But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his supper companion from time to time, trying to figure out what kind of woman she was. He divided women into two types. The first included the ones with dynamite curves, who were out for a good time. They were the women he felt most comfortable with, because the second kind was the settlin’down type. He enjoyed his freedom too much to get caught up with one of them. Not that he didn’t like them, but he had learned it always led to someone getting hurt. The first type understood him. The second type wanted to tie him down. Meg had him baffled as to where she fit. But it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have time for a woman right now. Either kind. And even if he did, he’d let his brother, Chace, be the one to enjoy married life. Trey liked his own footloose and fancy-free.

Rolling his napkin into a ball when his plate was empty, he prepared to leave, wondering what he should say to the woman across the table from him. The things he wanted to say—the things he normally said to a woman he was attracted to—were on the tip of his tongue. Lucky for him, that was pretty much still tied in a knot.

While he continued to watch her, Meg carefully placed her utensils on her plate and touched her napkin to her mouth. “When did the ranch open for business?”

He tore his gaze away from the simple movement and concentrated on her left earlobe, where he felt fairly safe. “Eight months ago, in December last year.”

“Is it cold here in the winter?”

“Pretty mild. It gets cool, but not downright cold. How about yours?” he asked, wondering where she hailed from.

“Cold,” she said with a wry smile. “Very cold.”

“You’re from back east?”

She shook her head. “More like up north, with lots of ice and snow. I wouldn’t know it was winter without it.”

When she looked at him again, their gazes locked, and she blushed. Staring into her eyes, even for a moment, left him breathless.

“Well,” she said, standing and gathering her supper things, “I guess I need to get unpacked. Thank you for keeping me company.”

He felt both relieved and bereft when she looked away. “Let me take care of that.” He stood and took the plate from her, adding his own. “Don’t forget the campfire, in about an hour,” he said, touching the brim of his hat and turning to leave.

As he walked away, he could feel her watching him. It wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. Women usually liked him as much as he noticed them. But this time, it felt different somehow. Exactly how, he couldn’t say. Just…different.

He shook off the sensation and strode with purpose to dispose of the remnants of their supper, determined to end the day better than it had started. He’d had nothing but bad news since early that morning, when his two best ranch hands had gotten themselves run down by the new Brahma bull. The animal was now loose in the south pasture, along with the dozen and a half calves who’d managed to escape their pen. Because of that, he’d been doing double duty, welcoming guests to the Triple B Dude Ranch and covering for his injured men. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, the ranch’s secretary hadn’t shown up for work…again. It was understandable that he was exhausted. Maybe that explained his foggy-headed feeling.

There were more important things to be thinking about than a woman with a pair of devastating green eyes that seemed to see inside him, clear down to his soul. There was the Triple B. That’s where his heart was. It was the most important thing in his life. And it always would be.