Читать книгу Porcupine Ranch - Sally Carleen - Страница 9

Clayton studied his new housekeeper curiously. Her disjointed response to his job offer was the oddest he’d ever encountered. While he resented his banker’s pressure tactics, at the same time, he’d been relieved that his search was over. He was ready to hire the woman and be done with it.

His comment that he didn’t have time to interview a lot of applicants had been a gross understatement. This was the busiest time of the year as well as the most expensive, what with the extra hands. Every minute he spent interviewing cost him money—and money was something that was in short supply, especially with the continuing drought.

He hadn’t had any doubts about hiring Hannah Lindsay until he’d opened the door and seen her standing there, looking terrified and completely out of place.

She was a little taller than average, but so slim he was afraid the first strong west wind would blow her away. Big brown eyes peeked out from masses of shiny, dark brown, curly hair that almost hid the rest of her face. How was she going to keep that hair out of her eyes when she leaned over to scrub floors? Her clothes weren’t very housekeeperish, either—a blouse with long, puffy sleeves, a vest and a long flowing skirt. She looked like some kind of an artist, much too unworldly and fragile to handle the ranch.

She’d come into the stuffy old house trailing the scent of roses, and she had a look about her that made him think of a spiderweb with a drop of dew on it, quivering in the morning sunlight. He wanted to touch her, feel the translucent skin of her delicate face.

Clayton clenched his callused hands and mentally ordered them to keep away from that porcelain skin. He’d threaten the other guys within an inch of their lives if they got out of line with her, too. From the looks of her, he didn’t think she’d be able to deal with the rough characters he’d hired for spring roundup.

Nevertheless, this Mr. Taylor had given her a great reference, and, even if he had a choice after Glen Ramsey’s persuasive phone call, he was desperate.

“My banker said Mr. Taylor has already closed up his place and left for Europe, and you’ll be able to move in and start work immediately.” Those big eyes got bigger. Did she not understand what he meant? “Can you start work soon? Tomorrow? Today?”

“Tomorrow?”

He wasn’t sure if she was repeating something she didn’t comprehend or agreeing to start tomorrow. He elected to put the positive slant on it. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Morning?”

She really did have some major communication problems. Thankfully, cooking, washing and cleaning didn’t require a lot of communication. “As soon as you get up, you get dressed and then come on out here.”

He stood.

She stood.

“Would you like to see your room?”

She shook her head, the motion jerky but a definite negative.

“In the morning, then. I’m very pleased to have met you, Ms. Lindsay.” He offered his hand to shake and after a second’s hesitation, she took it.

Her hand was slim, smooth and soft in his. Again the word fragile came to mind. And tantalizing as that concept might be to Clayton’s male ego, it wasn’t a good one for a housekeeper on a ranch in Texas brush country. Out here, only the strongest survived.

Reluctantly Clayton turned her hand loose even as he fought an urge to pat it and smile and reassure her…and not hire her to take care of his house.

He moved to the door and opened it.

She came to life then and, with a wild-eyed look, darted out the door, across the yard, into her car and peeled away in a cloud of dust.

Clayton shook his head as he watched her go. Such a pretty girl. Too bad she was so odd. Maybe her mother didn’t take enough vitamins when she was pregnant.

He made a quick check to see if they had enough lunch meat and bread for dinner. Damn! They were running low on mayo. Thank goodness he could stop worrying about things like that come tomorrow.

So what if Hannah Lindsay was a little strange, a bit off center? She had great references.

From an elderly man who lived in a condo, not a crew of half-civilized cowboys on a completely uncivilized ranch.

Determinedly ignoring the nagging voice of doom, Clayton went out to continue vaccinating the hundred plus head of cattle they’d rounded up that morning. The men would work even harder knowing they’d soon have decent meals.

Hannah went straight to Samuel’s apartment, ignoring her own door across the hallway. She banged on the door with one fist while she repeatedly jabbed the doorbell with the other.

The older man opened the door almost immediately. “Did you meet him?” he asked before she had a chance to say anything. Just seeing him standing there looking so hopeful took the heat from her self-righteous anger.

His physical resemblance to her own grandfather was superficial, but the kindness in his blue eyes, his uncritical acceptance of her, his caring attitude were hauntingly reminiscent of the man who had been her world. She wanted to return his caring, to do everything she could for him, all the things she hadn’t been able to do for her grandfather because he’d died too soon.

“Come in and tell me about my grandson,” he said. “How did he look? What did he say?”

“How could you do this to me?” She tried to force indignation into her tone. “You called somebody at the bank and lied to him, and now I’ve got the job as your grandson’s housekeeper!”

“But Hannah, you agreed to do it for me.”

Hannah spread her hands in frustration. “I agreed to apply for the job, but I never dreamed I’d get it! I told you I wasn’t going to lie about my qualifications.”

“And that’s very admirable of you, but not very practical. That’s why I had to lie for you. If you didn’t get the job, how could you get to know my grandson? How could you smooth the way for me to meet him in person and not just in this cold, flat picture my detective took of him?”

Samuel looked so sad, so lonely. In the six months since he’d moved in across the hall from her, he’d become a dear friend, and she knew how much this meant to him. She wanted to help him.

But she couldn’t.

She’d already crumpled under the impact of Clayton Sinclair’s disapproval. She’d had more than enough disapproval in her life. Working as Clayton’s housekeeper guaranteed she’d give him plenty of occasions for more.

“Samuel, you know how hard it is for me to talk to people I don’t know.”

“You didn’t know me when I moved in here.”

“But you were so friendly, and you reminded me so much of Granddad. It wasn’t like you were a real stranger.”

“You’ll get to know my grandson even faster since you’ll be living there.”

Hannah shook her head remembering the way Clayton looked in his blue jeans and western-cut shirt, the way he’d crossed one booted foot over his knee, the easy air of strength and masculinity. She’d love to get to know him…in another lifetime, of course, when she’d be a confident, sexy woman whom he could be interested in.

But she couldn’t tell Samuel that.

“You know I don’t even like to go to the grocery store. I’m only comfortable when I’m home with my computer, designing my games.”

“I know that. I also know the company in Dallas wants you to make personal appearances in an advertising campaign to demonstrate the latest game you’re working on and you told them no. That proves it’s time you get out into the world, get away from the computer and experience life. Going to Clayton’s ranch and doing this for me will be a great place to start.”

Hannah shook her head. She’d thought Samuel understood that she was experiencing the only life she wanted to experience.

Opting to change her approach, she turned, walked over to her own door and flung it open. “Look in here and be logical. How can you possibly expect me to clean house and cook for anybody?”

Samuel came to stand beside her and survey the controlled chaos that was her home—stacks of papers, drawings for graphics pinned to chair backs and thumbtacked to walls, books sprawled here and there with protruding bits of paper marking pertinent pages, articles of clothing sprinkled throughout and other odds and ends.

“Look,” she repeated, waving her hand through the air. “Not one empty chair. Clean houses have empty chairs. I haven’t seen my carpet in so long, I don’t remember what color it is. I live on peanut butter sandwiches, chips and dips, frozen dinners and colas because I don’t know how to cook.”

Samuel wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “There you go again, underestimating yourself. You can do anything you want to do. How many times have you told me that everything anybody needs to know can be found in books? I just happen to have a book on cleaning house as well as a cookbook.”

Good grief! He had this all planned out! Just like the call to the bank!

“Even if I could do it, I already have a job! I’m under contract for Unicorn in the Garden. They’re willing to live without me being a part of the advertising, but they do want the game finished in time to feature it in their fall catalog of computer games. I have a deadline!”

Samuel took her arm. “Please, Hannah. I’m counting on you. Let’s go over to my place where I’ve got empty chairs. I’ll fix you a nice cold cola, and we can talk about this.”

“No.” This no wasn’t quite as firm, she noticed with dismay. Surely she wasn’t going to let herself be talked into this insanity.

“It’ll only be for one day, maybe two.”

“Oh, right. Like he’s not going to notice by the end of the first day that I haven’t done any cooking or cleaning.” But she found herself allowing Samuel to lead her into his apartment. Saying no to him was so difficult, just as she’d never been able to say no to her own grandfather.

Beyond that, she realized with a sinking feeling, some perverse part of her actually wanted to go back to Clayton’s ranch and prove to him that she could do everything Mrs. Grogan had done. To see approval in those piercing eyes.

Jeez! She really had lost her mind.

* * *

Shortly after ten-thirty the next day, Hannah’s teeth rattled as she drove over the cattle guard onto Clayton’s ranch.

In the back seat she had two of the outrageously expensive suitcases her mother had given her for high school graduation, the large one full of clothes and the small one containing Samuel’s cookbook and housekeeping manual.

No doubt about it. She’d slipped a gear, gone mental—she was, in the vernacular, nuts.

Especially considering she was halfway—well, maybe a quarter way—excited about this venture, about seeing Clayton Sinclair in his faded denims and scuffed cowboy boots again, even if she could only grunt or gurgle at him.

A giant ERROR message flashed across her mind at that thought. She’d feel Clayton out about his grandfather, tell him how sick with grief Samuel had been, convince him Samuel would never have deserted Clayton’s mother if he’d known he had a grandson on the way, and then she’d get out of there quick. Before night.

She focused on the road stretching ahead, a dry, colorless ribbon leading to the house. A glance in the rearview mirror showed nothing but a giant cloud of dust roiling in her wake, following her. As omens went, it didn’t seem like a very good one.

Clayton swore under his breath as he tried to herd a group of ten normal cattle plus one rambunctious young bull who seemed to think this was all a game.

Usually he kind of agreed with the bull.

Cattle could be difficult creatures, and trying to raise them in the tough brush country only made it worse. Nevertheless, he loved everything about the life, every ornery cow, every dry bit of sand, every prickly cactus, every twisted mesquite tree.

His mother, born and raised in the hill country of Austin, had hated their home as passionately as he loved it. As a child, Clayton had resented her attitude, had almost taken it as a personal rejection. But he’d come to realize that the land was simply too harsh for her. She’d have escaped years ago if she hadn’t been left alone and pregnant, the despised ranch, belonging to her dead husband and missing father-in-law, her only home and means of support.

Gradually Clayton had taken over the management, but it was only when he reached the age of twenty-one that she’d turned over the books to him. He’d discovered then how badly she’d mismanaged the ranch, even taking out a mortgage on the place.

He’d never blamed her. She’d done the best she could. She’d just been unsuited for the ranch.

He took a great deal of pride in the fact that he was pulling it out of debt in spite of everything.

The long drought was taking a heavy toll. With most of his herd under optimum weight, he desperately needed rain. But even without it, he’d manage. This was tough country, a worthy opponent, and that was what he loved about it.

Normally, working the cattle, mending the fences—any of the necessary tasks—brought him contentment and took his mind off all the problems. But today had gotten off to a lousy start and hadn’t improved a bit so far.

He’d wasted most of the morning hanging around the house waiting for Hannah Lindsay, his taste buds anticipating his first hot meal in three weeks.

Not to mention that he wouldn’t mind seeing a pretty female face after looking at nothing here lately but unshaven, ugly cowboys and hairy, smelly cattle. Even if she couldn’t talk, Hannah was real easy on the eyes.

She was also a no-show. Hadn’t even phoned to say she wasn’t coming. She’d probably realized she wouldn’t be able to hack it out here and had run for her life.

He forced himself to pay attention to the task at hand and finally got the young bull headed in the right direction.

He’d take this group to the corral, then go back to the house and make ham sandwiches again. It was ten-thirty already, and last night he’d promised the over-worked men that they’d have real food for lunch. Now he would have to disappoint them.

As he neared the corral, he saw a cloud of dust rolling toward his house. That was strange. The only visitor he expected today had been Hannah Lindsay.

Irritation and disappointment washed over him anew at the memory of her failure to show up. He’d been right about her. She was too much like his mother, her soft fragility unsuited to the land’s harshness.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed that the rebellious bull, apparently taking advantage of Clayton’s momentary distraction, had separated from the group again.

Cursing Hannah Lindsay and whoever was stirring up that cloud of dust, he went after the bull.

When he finally got his cattle settled in the corral, Clayton headed toward the house. As he approached, he recognized Hannah’s little white car.

His first impulse was delight. She’d come after all.

Several hours late, he reminded himself, his guard automatically going up. Being late for the first day wasn’t a good sign. Out here they didn’t have the luxury of being late, especially in the mornings.

He tried to push his doubts aside. Maybe she’d had car trouble. Maybe she’d gotten lost. Considering the peculiar way she’d acted yesterday, that was certainly a possibility.

The important thing was, Hannah was here. He had a cook and housekeeper. That was the only reason he was so glad to see her.

Then he saw her slim figure heading across the yard, back toward her car. Was she leaving? No, he couldn’t let her do that! He urged his horse to a full gallop.

She stopped with the car door open and looked toward him, apparently hearing the sound of his horse’s hooves. Her dark, luminous eyes were visible even from a distance.

He reined up beside her and dismounted, amazed at how excited he was to see her in spite of his earlier misgivings. But he supposed that was understandable. He was as tired of eating sandwiches as the men were. Not to mention that he was running out of clean underwear.

“Hi,” he greeted her, smiling as he pulled off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow in one practiced movement. “When you didn’t show up this morning, I was afraid you’d decided not to take the job.”

She looked puzzled, pushed the car door closed then checked a large, black-banded watch that was much too big for her thin wrist. At least it was practical; not one of those thin gold things. He told himself that was a good sign.

And with that observation, he realized that he was looking for good signs. He was desperate for good signs, and Hannah didn’t carry many with her.

She lifted her deer-caught-in-a-headlight gaze from the watch to him. “It is,” she said. “Morning.”

Clayton bit the inside of his lower lip and clenched his hands. This was not a good sign.

“I don’t know what kind of a schedule your former employer had, but around here, morning comes quite a bit earlier, like about 5:00 a.m.” He spoke as softly and calmly as possible. He didn’t want to scare her off.

Nevertheless, she flinched as though he’d slapped her.

“Five? Is the sun up then?”

Oh, brother. They were in trouble. And yet he felt like a jerk just for telling her the hours she was expected to work.

That was a dumb thing to feel. If she couldn’t handle it, she had no business being here.

Taking a deep breath, he slid his hat back onto his head, momentarily blocking his view of her. It was easier to scold her when he couldn’t see that vulnerable look on her face.

“No,” he said. “The sun isn’t up at that hour. We have to get an early start. I should have told you yesterday. Never mind. You’re here now. Think you can put together a quick lunch?”

“Lunch?”

Well, he wasn’t hiring her to make speeches. Surely her cooking skills were better than her verbal ones.

“Where are your bags?”

Reluctantly, it seemed, she looked toward the car. “In there.” Her voice sounded as if her throat needed to be oiled.

He took the key from her, opened the car door and hauled out two designer suitcases. He wasn’t paying her what she’d earned before if she could afford bags like those.

But by the end of the season, he should have the mortgage paid off. Then next year he’d turn a profit, and he’d make it up to her.

As though she was likely to be around next year. Mrs. Grogan had lasted for three years. Except for his mother who hadn’t had anywhere else to go until she met her new husband, that was pretty much a record. His father and grandparents were gone before he even arrived on the scene. Most people didn’t fare well out here. Nothing was permanent except the land and him.

But he could hope Hannah would last a year or two. Hiring and training new employees took time away from work.

“Come on. I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen. Mrs. Grogan always stayed pretty well stocked up, but if you need anything, you can order it this afternoon and it’ll be delivered in the morning. I know that’s harder than going to the store and getting things yourself, but we’re so busy this time of the year, nobody leaves the ranch unless it’s an emergency.”

“Nobody leaves?” Hannah repeated, somehow managing to fill each word to bursting point with panic.

What on earth was the matter with her? Clayton wondered. She sounded as though she’d been sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. She’d just taken the job. Surely she wasn’t already planning to leave. That would set a new record, even for this ranch.