Читать книгу Lone Wolf - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 11

Primed for battle, Hawk forgot all about being calm and rational. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Archy made a slow turn, meeting Hawk’s gaze. He stood tall and well built, a man fit and trim for his age. “I brought you some business.”

“Really?” Hawk’s voice oozed with sarcasm, his blood running cold. “Now, why would you do that?”

“To see if you’re any good.”

Pride, pure and primitive, gushed through his veins. “Of course I am. I’m an Apache. We’ve always been better horsemen than your kind.”

Archy lifted a bushy brow, his clear blue eyes sparkling with challenge. A custom-made cowboy hat rested casually on his head, and his skin was tanned and weathered. Hawk refused to see himself in the other man, even if their height and the breadth of their shoulders were the same.

“My kind?” Archy asked finally.

“Rich, useless Texans.”

The wealthy rancher gestured to the trailer, his tone tight and tough. “If that’s how you feel, then accept the work I’m offering. Prove how good you are, Apache.”

“I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you.” Nor did he want his father’s tainted money. “You’re nothing to me.” Nothing but the womanizer who’d taken advantage of Hawk’s mother and then refused to acknowledge Hawk as his son. “I’d rather do business with the devil.”

“Well, as it happens, you’re not bearing Lucifer’s name. It’s mine you’re using, and I have the right to know if you can break a horse the Wainwright way.”

“I don’t do anything the Wainwright way,” Hawk said, keeping his voice steady and his fists clenched. “And the only reason I’m using your name is because my mother wanted me to. Now get the hell away from me, old man. And don’t ever come back.”

“You’re a cocky bastard, I’ll say that much for you.” Archy turned his back on Hawk and headed for his truck.

Yeah, I’m a bastard, Hawk thought. But I was once a little boy, an innocent kid who wanted his daddy to care.

The puppy barked at the Wainwright rig, giving Archy a piece of his mind. Of course, the older man was already behind the wheel, his door closed, his windows secure, but the show of loyalty made Hawk feel good just the same. The dog’s youthful voice had lowered an octave, the hairs on his back rising.

Hawk’s hackles were up, too. He’d run into his dad off and on throughout the years, chance meetings neither had orchestrated. But Archy had never come gunning for his son. He’d never looked Hawk straight in the eye and challenged him to prove that he deserved the Wainwright name.

And his doing it today made Hawk hate him even more.

Once Archy’s truck and trailer disappeared down the road, he picked up the pup.

“Let’s go home.” Hawk needed to unwind, to jump in the shower and allow the water to pummel his body. “And then I’m downing a few beers to take the edge off,” he told the dog. “And fixing both of us something good to eat.” He wasn’t about to let Archy twist his stomach into a knot and destroy his appetite.

Twenty minutes later Hawk pulled into his driveway, killed the engine and cursed. He’d just remembered that he hadn’t returned to the market. His fridge was empty.

Damn it. He didn’t have the energy to drive back into town. He couldn’t deal with a public place, all the noise and people.

He wanted to be alone, wanted to shower, drink a few beers, grill a thick, juicy porterhouse and reward the dog with table scraps for barking aggressively at Archy.

But now it seemed Archy had won.

Weary, Hawk leaned against the seat and caught movement through the passenger window.

It was Jenny, he noticed, watering her plants. He sat quietly, just watching her, letting her image soothe his soul. She looked so pretty, so angelic, her floral-printed dress billowing in the breeze.

The puppy stood on his hind legs, determined to check out the view. Hawk smiled. Even the dog wanted to see her.

And then the image spoiled.

Mrs. Pritchett, the snoop from across the street, was heading straight for Jenny.

The older woman glared at Hawk’s truck, telling him all he needed to know. She’d seen him pull up, and now she was going to warn Jenny about him.

He knew exactly what she would say. Watch out for that one, dear. He’s just like his mama. She seduced Archy Wainwright, ruining that poor man’s marriage.

Hawk closed his eyes. His mother had died a long time ago, but her name was still being dragged through the mud.

And Hawk, of course, had created his own scandal, the kissing escapade Jenny was sure to hear about.

Jenny felt someone nearby. She turned and saw a gray-haired woman making determined strides to reach her.

Sensing trouble, she adjusted the hose nozzle, shutting off the water. The lady wore an old-fashioned housecoat and a pair of white sneakers, her face pinched in a superior expression. She wasn’t collecting for a charity or selling door-to-door cosmetics. This busy bee had “nosy neighbor” written all over her.

“I’m Mrs. Pritchett from across the way.” She pointed to a prim yellow house. “And I’ve been worried about you. The way that man watches you.”

Jenny’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Did this have something to do with Roy? Had this lady see him lurking about? “What man?”

“Why, that Indian, of course.”

Jenny’s heartbeat stabilized. Roy wasn’t the man in question. “You mean Hawk?”

“Who else would I mean? I saw what he did last week. He carted you right into his house.”

“I wasn’t feeling well that day,” she explained, defending her neighbor. “I’d spent too much time in the sun, and I fainted. Hawk was kind enough to help me.”

Mrs. Pritchett motioned to his driveway. “He’s sitting in his truck, watching us right now. Or watching you, I should say.” She pointed a bony finger, a gesture not unlike the one the Wicked Witch of the West used on Dorothy. “I’d stay away from him if I were you. He isn’t the type a pretty, young thing like yourself should trust.”

Jenny glanced quickly at Hawk’s truck, catching a glimpse of him behind the wheel. “He was a perfect gentleman,” she countered, even though his rugged good looks and dark, penetrating eyes made her much too aware of being female.

“How would you know? You were unconscious.” The other woman cleared her throat. “Do you know who he is? Who his parents are?”

No, Jenny thought, but you’re just dying to tell me.

“His mother is dead now, but she went by the name Rain Dancer. She was tall and slim, with hair down to her rear.”

Was long hair a sin? Jenny wondered.

“Well, Rain Dancer set her sights on a married man. A rich, prominent rancher, no less. And being the way men are, he couldn’t resist her. Slut that she was.”

Jenny flinched. She hadn’t expected Mrs. Pritchett to be quite that cruel. “So this wealthy rancher is Hawk’s father?”

“That’s right. Archy Wainwright. Surely you’ve heard of him.”

Stunned, Jenny widened her eyes. She hadn’t just heard of him, she was indebted to him. The Wainwrights were founding members of the Lone Star County Club, and it was Archy who’d recommended her to Joe Turner, the architect overseeing the renovations at the club.

Mrs. Pritchett moved closer, delighted by Jenny’s reaction. “Hawk isn’t a legitimate member of the Wainwrights, even though he uses their name. They don’t recognize him as one of their own. But who can blame them? That half-breed is trash, just like his mother. Why, a while back he actually kissed two white girls in a bar, one right after the other. Spicy kisses, if you know what I mean. Then he walked out of the place without uttering a word.” Mrs. Pritchett moved closer still. “It was quite a scandal, considering those young ladies were high-society types.” She snorted. “No one knows why he provoked a scene like that. But I’ve heard several theories. Some say—”

A vehicle door slammed.

Jenny and Mrs. Pritchett turned simultaneously.

Hawk had exited his truck and now trapped Jenny’s gaze from across the yard. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what Mrs. Pritchett had been saying.

“Oh, my.” The older woman took a step back. “He’s coming this way. Why, the nerve.”

Yes, he was coming their way—all male and all muscle, the puppy from the market at his heels.

“Hello, ladies,” he said. “Jenny. Mrs. Snitchett.”

“Pritchett,” the old woman corrected, glaring at him with her wicked-witch sneer.

“Of course.” One corner of his mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. “Mrs. Bitchett.”

The old lady huffed. “I don’t have to stand here and take this.”

“Then don’t,” Hawk said.

Mrs. Pritchett pointed her finger at him. “I warned her about you.” She turned to Jenny, her finger still raised. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, she stalked across the yard, holier and mightier than thou.

Hawk and Jenny stared at each other. Suddenly neither of them knew what to say. She chewed her bottom lip and he stood like a statue, the feather on his hat lifting in the breeze.

“She’s a malicious old woman,” Hawk said finally.

“She certainly doesn’t like you.”

“No, she doesn’t.” He paused, then blew out a breath. “But I would appreciate it if you reserved judgment and formed your own opinion of me. You know, instead of letting the gossip sway you.”

Jenny nodded. “I think that’s only fair.”

“Thanks.”

He sent her one of those fleeting smiles, and she felt an uncomfortable stir of attraction. Did he really kiss those two girls?

“I guess I should let you finish watering.” Hawk glanced at the flower beds. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

Jenny turned and saw why he was apologizing. His new pet had uprooted every last one of Jenny’s geraniums and was grinning at both of them like a mischievous hyena. And to top it off, the dog was covered in mud.

“You little scoundrel.” Hawk grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck, the way a scolding mother dog would do. “I’ll buy you another batch of flowers, Jenny.”

He gave the dog an exasperated glance, and the little scoundrel swished his tail, spraying his master with mud.

Hawk cursed, and Jenny stifled a giggle. A second later they both burst out laughing.

“Will you help me hose him off?” Hawk asked when their laughter faded. He still held the dog by the scruff, but the pup squirmed something fierce.

“Sure.” She turned on the water and decided she liked Hawk Wainwright. But then, she liked his father, too. She stole a glance at Mrs. Pritchett’s house, certain the old woman watched from her window.

Was it true that the Wainwrights didn’t acknowledge Hawk? It did seem odd that he lived in a modest home, while Archy and his family resided on a sprawling ranch.

“Can you adjust the water level?” he asked.

“Oh, of course.” Jenny turned the flow to a mild spray, and between the two of them, they got the puppy clean.

Hawk still had flecks of mud on his jeans, but she noticed he was smiling.

Jenny smiled back at him, and the moment turned soft and gentle. The puppy rolled in the grass, kicking up his feet and exposing his belly.

“Will you have dinner with me?” Hawk asked.

Jenny’s breath lodged in her throat. Was he asking her on a date? A quiet meal, companionable conversation, a good-night kiss?

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—

“I’ll order a pizza, and we can sit on my porch,” he suggested.

Her breath returned, and she pulled oxygen into her lungs. Pizza on his porch. That sounded safe enough.

“All right,” she heard herself say.

He smiled again, and she wished his smile wasn’t so charming. Roy’s smile had been charming, too. He’d been her white knight, the man who’d swept her off her feet. And then dragged her into a dungeon of pain.

“What do you want on it?”

Still lost in thought, she gave him a blank look.

“The pizza,” he clarified. “What toppings would you prefer?”

Suddenly she couldn’t focus on something as simple as pizza. Not with the dungeon lurking in her mind, the dank, cold reality of knowing Roy was out there somewhere. How often did she wake up screaming? Or hug her knees to her chest and cry?

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Order whatever you want.”

“Of course it matters. You must have a preference.”

Did she? She used to eat what Roy told her eat, dress in the clothes he told her to wear, be the wife he wanted her to be.

“Pineapple,” she told Hawk. Roy hated pineapple on pizza. “And Canadian bacon.” Her ex-husband detested that, too.

“You got it. Now I better hop in the shower. I’ll come by and get you when the food arrives.”

He picked up the puppy, and Jenny watched him walk back to his house. The dog peered over his shoulder, and she smiled, feeling a spark of freedom, a shimmer of independence.

But when she went inside to bathe and put on some clean clothes, she panicked. Roy would kill her if he knew she was having dinner with another man.

Not figuratively kill her. He would actually put his hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her.

But Roy wasn’t here, she reminded herself. And they were divorced. She had every right to share a pizza with her neighbor.

Her tall, gorgeous neighbor. The man who made her heart beat much too fast.

Hawk told himself he wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t a schoolboy with a foolish crush. He was a grown man who’d quit dating ages ago.

Hawk had occasional sex of course. Quiet, discreet affairs with women from his own race, women who accepted the lone wolf in him. But he didn’t date. And he especially didn’t court blue-eyed, color-treated blondes.

Like Tanya.

He’d been on the verge of falling in love with Tanya, of losing his heart and soul. But he was just a game to her. She’d only wanted him because he was dark and forbidden, the Indian stud, the back-street lover who was supposed to service her. And her roommate.

He picked up the pizza, balancing two cans of soda on top of the box. Jenny wasn’t anything like Tanya. Blue eyes and bleached hair didn’t make them the same.

Hawk headed for the door and felt something nudge his boot. He looked down and saw the pup, eager to go with him.

“I don’t think so, pal.”

The puppy whined, and Hawk felt like a heel. “All right. But behave yourself. We’ve got a lady to impress.”

The dog grinned, and Hawk narrowed his eyes. Was he being conned?

“I’m not sure I can trust you.”

He received an innocent bark in return, a sound that translated to I’ll be good. I promise.

“You better mean that.”

Another gentle bark. I do.

“You won’t take off running once you get a lick of freedom?”

“Woof,” the dog said again, his green eyes big and beguiling. No, sir. Not me.

Hawk opened the door, and the ball of fur flew past him. He cursed and nearly dropped the pizza.

Chasing the damned dog wasn’t possible, so he placed the food and drinks on a small table on his porch and strode across the lawn to Jenny’s house.

The puppy was already waiting on her doorstep, where he’d left muddy footprints. He wasn’t covered in the stuff, but he’d obviously taken a detour through the flower beds to reach his final destination.

“Don’t you dare grin at me,” Hawk warned.

The dog sniffed a fern, instead.

Jenny’s porch was cozier than Hawk’s. She’d decorated it with a gathering of potted plants. A swing that had been there for years creaked in the breeze.

He knocked and waited for her to answer.

She appeared in a white blouse and jeans, her gold-streaked hair fastened in a ponytail. The ribbon-enhanced style made her look sweet and girlish.

And it made Hawk feel as if he was fifteen again, too tall for his age, with sweaty palms and boyish desire that heated his loins.

“The pizza is here,” he said.

“Okay.” She knelt to pet the dog and laughed when she spotted his dirty feet. “He can’t keep those socks clean, can he?”

Hawk was still stuck on how pretty she looked, on how mouthwateringly good she smelled. He detected the faint aroma of raspberries, dipped in just a hint of custard. Or whipped cream. Or just plain feminine skin.

“You smell like dessert.”

She looked up at him, her voice suddenly shy. “It’s one of those body mists. I bought it at the market today.”

“I like it.”

She smiled, barely meeting his gaze. “Thank you.”

They walked side by side to his house, the puppy dancing around them.

He offered her one of the cedar chairs and handed her a soda and a slice of pizza, then realized he should have brought a couple of plates outside, not to mention a napkin or two.

Well, hell. He probably seemed uncivilized, like the barbarian most people thought he was. “I’ll be right back.” He left and returned with the plates and napkins.

Jenny accepted both gratefully. He sat in the chair opposite hers and went after two slices of pizza. He was starving, his stomach grumbling at the mere sight of food. He took a hearty bite and frowned at the dog. The little scoundrel was begging.

He tore a corner of the crust and handed it over. He’d already scrambled the puppy the last two eggs in the fridge, but now the pooch wanted pizza, too.

“I’m buying some dog food tomorrow,” he said. “And I’m going to train this guy to behave.” Hawk looked at Jenny. “I’m good with animals.”

She watched the dog hit him up for another bite. “Yes, I can see that you are.”

“They don’t usually take advantage of me. In fact, they never do.”

“Which one of us are you trying to convince?” she asked. “Me or him?”

“You.” Hawk smiled at her. “He already thinks he can con me.” He shifted his gaze to the dog. “But you’re in for a rude awakening, you mangy mutt. Enjoy your last few hours of freedom, because in the morning, you’re headed for boot camp.”

The dog yawned, and Jenny laughed. “Have you thought of a name for him yet?”

“No.” Hawk opened his soda and took a swig. It felt good to be near Jenny, to look into her eyes and see a glimmer of friendship brewing. “I’ll probably name him the Apache way.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’ll give him a temporary name until he earns another one.”

“I think he’s already earned a name.”

She pointed to the dog’s feet, and Hawk grinned.

“Muddy,” they said in unison, laughing like a couple of kids who’d just shared a private joke.

But all too soon, their laughter faded. They sat across from each other, their gazes locked, the sun setting in the sky like a rebellious streak of fire.

Heat crackled between them, the kind of energy that stilled the air.

She twisted the napkin on her lap, and he felt like a dumbfounded fifteen-year-old all over again.

“I think Muddy is a perfect name,” he said, grasping for something to say.

“So do I.” She latched on to his words like a life-line, glancing at the dog for a diversion. “It fits him.”

“Yeah.” He told himself to keep the conversation going, to not let the heat come back. Not now, while they were still stumbling into a newfound friendship.

“Do you want to come to the South Texas Raptor House with me sometime?” he asked.

She made a puzzled expression. “What’s a raptor?”

“A bird of prey, like eagles, owls, falcons and hawks. I volunteer at a center that’s dedicated to rehabilitating injured raptors and releasing them back into the wild. Of course they have some permanent residents, too. Amputees and other birds that can’t survive in the wild.”

She studied him as though analyzing his association with the center. “Did you earn your name, Hawk?”

“Yeah, I did. But I was just a boy at the time. I came across a Cooper’s hawk that had been hit by a car. I wanted to scoop it up in my jacket and take it home, but somehow I knew better. I sensed that I wasn’t qualified to handle it.”

“So what did you do?”

“I ran home and told my mom, and she contacted the Raptor House. They cared for it until it was well enough to be released.” He smiled at the memory. “I felt like I’d done something really important, like I was part of that hawk’s survival, part of its spirit. My mom called me Hawk after that.”

“And you learned to work with raptors when you were old enough?”

“That’s about the size of it.” He took another swig of his soda. He was glad she hadn’t questioned him about his birth name. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been named Anthony Archibald Wainwright after his father. Of course Jenny probably didn’t know anything about Archy, other than what Mrs. Pritchett might have told her. Jenny didn’t run in the same social circle as the Wainwrights, of that much Hawk was certain.

“So, are you interested in a tour of the center?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but I have a busy week coming up.”

“There’s no rush.” Sooner or later he would get to know Jenny Taylor, who she really was and why she seemed so secretive.