Читать книгу A Cowboy For Clementine - Susan Floyd - Страница 10

CLEM JERKED AWAKE as they rode up to Dexter Scott’s ranch, then stiffened when she realized she’d relaxed against him. He obliged her new posture by loosening his arm, though she could still feel his hand on the top of her hip. A dingy, two-story Victorian came into sight, along with dead patches of grass and flower beds long overgrown with wild roses and native plants. Dexter Scott apparently cared more for the comfort of his horses than himself, because three well-placed, well-kept stables and a barn made the old Victorian look more faded.

Clem couldn’t help studying the layout of his training area. She smiled when she saw a corral of horses only a mother or Dexter Scott could love. How different than what she’d anticipated. She’d imagined a ranch rather like an elite racing stable with glossy-coated handsome horses prancing across acres of green lawn.

Glossy coats, yes. Handsome, no. Dexter Scott’s horses sported eyes set too close or ears too big or markings just plain wrong. Rather than giving these horses an endearing quality, the physical imperfections made them look as if they were genetic throw-backs of the worst possible mix. Clementine refused to be disappointed. Now that she’d found him, she was going to make sure Dexter Scott was the legend she needed him to be.

“Guess I must’ve dozed off. I was driving all night,” she apologized, mentally climbing a thicker branch of hope. First impressions were rarely the measure one should use to judge the character of a person or a situation, right? And she shouldn’t judge the horses, either.

A large hand slid under her thigh.

“Off you go,” Dexter said as he boosted her leg over the saddle horn. With his arm still around her waist, Clem was gently set down on the ground. From this perspective, Dexter Scott was enormous. He swung himself out of the saddle and led the horse to one of the stables. The horses in the corral tossed their heads in greeting. Clem stood for a moment, looking around, trying to get her bearings. Then, even though he didn’t invite her, she followed him.

Dexter Scott was sliding the door with one hand, and just as she’d suspected, it opened with a quiet swish perfectly balanced on its rails like a finely made dresser drawer. She followed him as he led the horse to an empty stall. Yes, a man who kept his stables so clean could be an elite cowboy.

“So,” Clem began. She climbed up on the lowest slat of the stall in order to see him better. “I need your help.”

“Grab that hard brush for me, will you?” he asked her as he untied the leather knots of the saddle. He tended to his horse with practiced, methodical movements. With an easy heft, he put the saddle on a stall rail before he folded the horse blanket. Then with complete absorption, he ran his hand up and down the horse’s back, up and down his legs, feeling for small stickers or other irritants.

A moment later Clem got the brush and handed it to him. With even circles, he began to curry the horse, getting rid of the dirt, gravel and bits of desert sand that had worked their way up under the saddle. After a protracted silence, Clem wondered if he’d actually heard her.

“I need your help,” Clem repeated, mesmerized by his movements. His right hand brushed, while his left hand followed behind, lightly. Every so often, he paused to dig through the coarse hair to investigate before continuing. The horse stretched with the care and Clem could see the muscles ripple on its withers. With each stroke, Clem felt even more certain that this was the man she wanted, the man she needed.

After he finished one side, he moved to the other and as if synchronized, Clem picked up a softer finishing brush and went to work. The horse whinnied softly. Dexter Scott just kept brushing and feeling, feeling and brushing. Clem wondered if he paid attention to his wife the same way he paid attention to the horse.

“It’s taken me a month to find you,” Clem remarked, trying another way into the conversation. “I’ve driven all night from Los Banos.”

His hat obscured everything but his mouth. “I know Los Banos.”

Clem took that as an opening. “My dad has a ranch southwest of the city, right up against the Diablo range.”

After another extended silence, Clem tried again. Maybe he was waiting for her to finish her thought.

“We have a few cows roaming up there I need to get down.”

“A few?”

If she could see his face, she’d probably watch one of those dark eyebrows arch up.

“Well, six hundred.”

He didn’t say anything.

Finally, he pushed back the brim of his hat and asked, “What kind?”

His eyes were moss-green now. Clem looked away and brushed her side more vigorously, trying to cover the flush that was working its way up her neck. She muttered, “Don’t really know.”

For the first time, he stopped what he was doing and evaluated her. “How can you not know?” Curiosity tinged his voice.

DEXTER SCOTT HAD TO ADMIT he was interested. By the way she rode and brushed, she knew her way around horses. She also knew her way around gates. Some of his gates were constructed more than a hundred years ago, though the one closest to the property was new. That one he locked.

He took advantage of the fact that she wouldn’t look at him. On closer examination, she didn’t resemble Joanna so much. Her hands, for instance. Joanna’s hands were like a basketball player’s and since she’d never wore gloves, they were as weathered as old leather. But this woman’s hands were smooth, soft, just showing signs of wear. Joanna would also have been able to tell the breed of a cow a hundred yards away. Who was she? Dexter realized he didn’t even know her name.

“Who are you, anyway?” he demanded, appalled that his voice sounded as if it erupted from his belly.

She stopped currying as the flush spread from her slender neck to her ears. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier. Clem. Clementine Wells.”

Clementine.

“The song or the orange?”

She made a face, then shrugged slim shoulders and smiled a smile that revealed white, even teeth. “I think the song, but I know my mother is partial to tangerines.”

Dexter couldn’t think of anything to say, but he was grateful that her name wasn’t Joan or Jo or Jess.

Clementine. Clem.

They continued to brush.

“I’d be indebted if you’d just come to the ranch to look at my problem. See if there’s anything you could do. There’s a fortune waiting for anyone who can do this.”

Dexter didn’t need a fortune. He had more than enough money to exist.

“I’d offer you, er, forty percent of what you bring in.”

Dexter, against his will, wanted to laugh. She wasn’t a tough negotiator. In fact, she looked so hopeful Dexter thought that if he was a different kind of man, he’d take the forty percent and then some. But as it was, forty percent, fifty percent, a hundred percent meant nothing. He didn’t need the money. Rather than prolong her misery, he said, his voice as abrupt and definite as he could make it, “I told you, I’m retired.”

She blinked and Dexter noticed her eyes were the same color as the blue horse blanket he’d just removed. He didn’t want to see the hope there dull, but it was necessary. He didn’t work anymore and that was all there was to it.

There was another silence.

Finally, she said, still hopeful, “I have more than six hundred cattle out there, all weighing more than a thousand pounds. You’d have enough money to fix up your house.”

Dex flinched at her insinuation that he was struggling financially. He had plenty of money to fix up the house. The cans of paint that Joanna had bought for the exterior were still in the basement, dusty, untouched. He was glad the pick in his hand didn’t falter as he used quick, short movements to clean New Horse’s back right hoof.

“It’s a beautiful house.”

He ignored her, wondering why this woman didn’t seem put off.

“It’s a shame that it should be so run-down. I imagine it was quite a showpiece in its day.”

She stopped talking, but the barn wasn’t silent to Dexter. He could hear the blood rushing through his head, New Horse’s breathing, the woman’s movements as she put away the brushes. He worked his way through the other three hooves, concentrating on a grooming ritual that he’d completed a thousand times.

CLEM WATCHED THE MAN straighten from his chore.

“No.” The single word bit into the stillness.

“What?” Clem asked, pretending to play dumb. Maybe it had been wrong to make a remark about his house, but it was the truth. And she just couldn’t accept “no” for an answer.

“No,” he enunciated, and straightened. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m retired. You have a safe drive back, ma’am.”

She watched him look around as if he’d suddenly realized he’d finished the grooming, then stride out of the stall, having to wait impatiently for Clem to exit before he could shut the door. He walked out of the barn, heading for the house.

Clem stood there, her mind whirling as she sought a solution. It wasn’t going to end this way. It wasn’t. There must be something that he wanted that she could give him. She hadn’t driven all night to be flicked away like a fly on the potato salad. His long stride had already taken him to the Victorian, where he climbed up the creaking steps, his arm extended to open the screen door.

“Hey!” she called in desperation. “Can I at least use your bathroom? It’s a heck of a drive back.”

She didn’t think he heard her, but he stopped with his hand on the screen. He moved it back and forth, back and forth. Finally, without turning, he gave a quick nod and then disappeared into the house, the door banging behind him.

Clem smiled. If she got in the house, she would at least have another shot at convincing him.

When she stepped into the house, two things struck her; the darkness and the aroma of frying sausage and pancakes. Her stomach rumbled. She was starving. She’d driven all night and the only thing she’d eaten that morning was a quick sandwich and a cup of coffee at a fast-food restaurant in Barstow. What she wouldn’t give for some of those pancakes and sausages.

“Hello?” she inquired, peering into the shadows, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.

No answer.

She supposed Dexter Scott figured she’d find her own way to the bathroom and then her own way out. She walked down the hall, looking at pictures that were covered in more than a layer of dust. Cobwebs strung the frames together, and Clementine frowned. What a sad, gloomy house. If she didn’t know that he lived here, she would have thought it was abandoned. Any happiness that it had once known had long since leached out, leaving just a shell of a house. Maybe that was what was wrong with Dexter Scott—the fun, the adventure had leached out of him.

Clementine took a deep breath. All the more reason he should help her. It’d probably do him good not to have to live in this house, day in, day out.

She heard the clattering of dishes and the pleasant rumble of male voices. Surely that couldn’t be Dexter Scott.

With a deep breath, she walked in to find him and two other cowboys seated at the rickety dining table, elbows up as they talked, washing their food down with dark coffee.

“Hi,” she said.

Her words had the effect of a pause button on the VCR. All activity stopped; forks poised in the air, a cup of coffee stopped at a mouth. She felt as if they were watching her every move, but she didn’t let that deter her.

“Hey, there.” She greeted them. “That looks really good.”

The motion started up, as the two cowboys—obviously related—exchanged glances. Forks came down, coffee was sipped, then white teeth gleamed.

“Ma’am,” the one closest to her said with a nod.

“Hi, I’m Clementine Wells.” She stuck out her hand to the one who had addressed her.

“Randy. Randy Miller.” A big hand, slightly sticky, engulfed hers, but the grip was very gentle.

“Miller?” Clem felt some hope flare. They were part of the Dexter Scott package. They were the rough ones who’d done jail time that she should steer clear of. “Of the Russell Saloon fame?”

The brothers exchanged glances. Randy grinned and poked a thumb in the other cowboy’s direction. “That was Ryan’s fault.”

“I was defending your honor.” Ryan stood up and extended his hand. “Ryan Miller. Glad to meet you.”

Less sticky but just as gentle. Clem felt a whole lot lighter. She ventured a quick glance in Dexter’s direction. He was stirring milk into a cup of coffee, hard enough to create a racket with his spoon.

“The bathroom’s down the hall. Second door to your right.” He stopped stirring.

Randy grinned and Clem realized she did have to use the facilities. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

“Then you’ll be on your way,” Dexter said, his voice rough.

“Mmm-hmm.” Clem hedged her bets. Maybe she could get a breakfast out of this. And another opportunity to convince him.

“SO WHERE DID SHE COME FROM?” Randy asked as he leaned over the table.

Dexter stuffed a forkful of pancakes in his mouth even though they tasted like straw. He swigged some of the coffee and then added more syrup to the stack and took another bite.

One trait that this woman, Clementine, and Joanna had in common was the fact they couldn’t take “no” for an answer. Even when he’d said “no” to Joanna, she’d thought it meant “maybe,” and then through sheer persistence made him change the “maybe” to an “I’ll think about it,” eventually ending up with an “okay, with stipulations,” which Joanna had ignored, anyway.

He didn’t want to smile, but he couldn’t help it. Joanna had been the only person who really knew him, who could see past his dark moods, who could make him laugh at the most dire of times. Seven years older, he’d taken care of her forever, shielding her from their father’s abuse, telling her stories about their long-gone mother. Those stories were lies. Their mother had left them when Joanna was just a baby. Their father had never been the same. And when he’d taken an unnatural interest in Joanna’s ten-year-old body, Dexter had left with Joanna in tow. They’d ridden three buses to get to Las Vegas, where Uncle Grubb, their father’s older brother, had met them at the bus station and brought them here. For the first time ever, Dexter and Joanna had known what it was to live in a real home, the same Victorian their father had grown up in. Dex had slept in the attic Grubb had remodeled, because he believed a teenage boy needed his privacy, while Joanna had lived in a fairy-tale alcove.

Since Grubb didn’t have children, he showered a lifetime of love on his newly acquired niece and nephew. When he died, he’d made Joanna and Dexter equal partners in the ranch. At the time, Dex and Ben Thorton were getting their business together. Joanna met Randy and Ryan and talked them into joining. Convincing Randy had been easy. Soon he and Joanna were inseparable.

After Joanna’s death, the ranch had become as desolate and bleak as Dex felt. He certainly didn’t need some woman with a stubborn chin and big blue eyes lighting up a room that he’d dimmed on purpose. He’d hoped she’d gotten the message and would be gone as soon as possible.

No such luck.

Before he could think to protest, Randy had invited her for some pancakes, which she accepted, seating herself right next to him.

He stared at the nicks in the table.

“I’m starving,” she confessed, with a shy glance toward him, which he tried to ignore as well. That didn’t seem to daunt her at all. She just held out a plate toward Ryan, who heaped it full with sausage, scrambled eggs and pancakes.

“Enough!” Clem protested with a giggle. “I’ll waddle my way home.”

It almost hurt to hear feminine laughter.

“You’re leaving after you eat those,” Dexter told her.

She stared at him with those large eyes fringed with dark lashes, and then nodded, her eyes cast down in acquiescence.

Dexter didn’t believe it for a second. To make sure that she left after she ate, he would escort her out to her vehicle himself and watch until he couldn’t see her taillights any more.

“And where is home?” Randy asked her.

“Los Banos.”

“Pretty country,” Ryan commented.

Clem nodded. “I’ve just moved back to my father’s ranch. He and my mother retired to Arizona last summer.”

“And what brings you way out here?”

There was a long pause, and Dexter found that he’d stopped eating, because even though he knew what she had to say, he liked the way she spoke, as if she had to force herself to speak louder to be heard.

“I bought some cattle that’ve gone feral on me in a year.”

“Really, now?” Ryan perked up. “How many?”

“Lots. Over six hundred.”

“And?” Randy asked, his voice speculative.

“I’ve come to ask Mr. Scott if he’d like the job.”

“Dex’s retired.”

Dexter bristled. Funny, how he’d spent the morning trying to convince her that she was barking up the wrong tree, and now that Randy had confirmed it— Well, hell. He didn’t need Randy talking for him.

“You are retired, aren’t you, Dex?” Ryan asked, a speculative look in his eyes.

Dexter didn’t say anything. He knew what his friends were doing. They’d been trying to get him back into the business, telling him life went on even after death. Randy had said as much, but Dexter didn’t want to believe it. It still hurt too much—not just Joanna’s death or the massive hole that her presence left, but the undeniable knowledge that he’d caused it.

“Even ballplayers come out of retirement,” Clementine said. Then she took one look at his expression and turned her attention to Randy. “Since Mr. Scott isn’t available, maybe you and your brother would think about taking the project on. I’ve heard just as many good things about you. I’m offering forty percent.”

“How big did you estimate those cows were?” Randy asked.

“Conservatively— A thousand pounds. I think there are several up to fifteen hundred pounds.”

“In a season?” Ryan was skeptical. “I don’t think so.”

Clem shrugged. “I didn’t think so, either, but unless there were six hundred cows with our brand that we forgot to pick up last year, these are the ones I put out in October.”

“When would you need us to start?” Randy asked.

Dexter had been doing fine with the conversation. He’d been eating breakfast, minding his own business, disregarding the pointed looks his friends gave him, ignoring the fact that if he didn’t look down he’d be staring at the soft curve of Clementine Wells’s neck. But he coughed with Randy’s question. No. Randy couldn’t be thinking about taking the job.

“I thought you guys had sworn to take a couple weeks off before starting up again,” Dexter finally said.

All eyes turned to him.

Clem ignored his outburst. “I’d really like to get the cows in before Thanksgiving. I know that doesn’t give you much resting time, but my parents are coming back for the holiday, and it’d be nice to have this problem taken care of.”

Ryan grinned. “Thanksgiving? It’s only September.”

“You don’t know these cows,” Clem said, her voice ominous.

“You have any men to help us?”

Dexter made a noise of protest, but no one acknowledged that, either.

Clem nodded. “Three, I know I could call on if we had real work. I could ask around.”

Randy looked at Ryan for confirmation. “No. I think the five of us can do some considerable damage. Ryan?”

Ryan shrugged. “Why not?”

“Okay, Ms. Wells.”

“Clem, call me Clem, please.” She gave them a relieved smile and attacked her stack of pancakes. “Thank you. You don’t know what your help means to me. Thank you.”

Dexter couldn’t stand her effusive gratefulness anymore. He got up and went outside without a word.

THE ORANGE JUICE IN THEIR cups vibrated from Dexter’s abrupt departure, and a silence fell over the table. Clem ate as rapidly as she could, trying not to mind that he’d left so quickly.

“You should slow down,” Ryan cautioned her. “You’ll get indigestion.”

Clem looked up into his sympathetic eyes. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“It’s not that,” Randy told her. “You just caught him by surprise. You caught all of us by surprise.” He studied her face. “Though I’m wondering if this isn’t the best thing for him.”

Clem wiped her mouth and then stood up to take her dish to the sink.

Ryan intercepted her, taking the plate from her. “Don’t worry about that, we’ve got it.”

“Thank you so much for the breakfast and for considering the job. It seems as if I’ve searched a long time for men like you.” Clem scribbled her name and phone number on a scrap of paper by the sink. “You’ll call me when you’re ready to come?”

The brothers nodded. “Probably by the end of the week.”

“Where’s your car?” Randy asked.

“Truck,” Clem said. “Out by the last gate. I walked in. Well, rode in, when I found the brown horse.”

Randy looked at her hard. “What brown horse?”

“The nice one with the white star,” Clem smiled. “He’s a sweetie.”

Both brothers snorted.

“What?” she asked.

They exchanged glances with each other. Then Randy laughed with a rueful shake of his head. “I bet that stuck in his craw. New Horse doesn’t usually like to be ridden. Ms. Wells—”

“Clem, please.” Clementine insisted.

“Clem, I’ll drive you back,” Randy said, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

“Thank you. You will call, right?” She looked for affirmation from one or the other, but both nodded at the same time, wide smiles transforming their faces.

“Expect us at the end of the week.”

When Randy pushed open the screen door for her, Clem saw Dexter leaning up against a porch rail, staring pensively at the corral of horses. He didn’t look up.

“I’ll just be running Clem back to her truck,” Randy said, keys rattling.

Clem didn’t even think Dexter heard until he pulled himself off the rail. He put an arm out to block Randy’s way.

“I’ll take her” was all he said.

Clem looked over her shoulder at Randy, who just smiled and shrugged. Without waiting for her, Dexter Scott had already taken the three steps off the porch and was striding toward his truck.

“You coming?” he asked as he paused at the passenger side, yanking open the door.

Clem forced herself to walk, not trot, to where Dexter was putting a shotgun on the rack behind the seat. The shortness of his movements screamed his impatience.

“Thank you,” Clem said as he boosted her up. Lord, he was strong. She could feel his fingers, as if they were each individually imprinted on her upper arm. “I could have ridden with Mr. Miller.” Clem pushed the assortment of papers on the seat across to the middle before she sat down.

“I want to make sure you’re going to leave,” he said as he climbed in next to her. He indicated the wad of oil-stained rags Clem held in her hands. “Just put those on the floor.”

Clem dropped them at her feet.

“I am leaving.” She hunted for the seat belt. It was the dustiest truck that she’d ever been in, clearly not equipped for passengers. She was sure there would be bottom imprints where she sat. Disposable soda cups were everywhere, giving Clem a good idea what fast food he favored when he was on the road. She lifted off the seat and pried out a pencil from the seam between the seat and the back-rest, before positioning herself as far away as she could get from him, keeping her posture very straight. His quick glance told her that he noticed.

“I did find your horse for you.” Clem couldn’t keep the asperity out of her voice as he turned the key.

The engine revved.

“And I did provide you a way home, so you didn’t have to walk,” Clem reminded him.

When he spun the truck into a tight turn, she held on to the pipe that he’d rigged as a door handle.

“And I know first aid, so if you were hurt, I was prepared to patch you up.”

With that said she lapsed into prim silence.

It didn’t matter one bit that he wasn’t going to respond, though she did notice that contrary to the fast spin, they were moving at an awfully slow pace toward her truck. She glanced at his speedometer. Their speed didn’t even register.

“The faster you go, the faster I’ll be out of here,” she said, and braved a full look at him.

Her heart stopped.

He was smiling, or at least she thought he was smiling. There were crinkles in the corners of his eyes and his lips were definitely tilted up.

“And in return, I didn’t shoot you,” Dexter replied.

“Well, that’s true,” Clem agreed. “But that was because I had your shotgun.”

“I was close enough to get it back, if I wanted it. I could have shot you out in the desert and left you for dead.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Clem was positive. Even though he’d been none too friendly, his smile did odd, fluttery things to her chest.

He gave her a sidelong look. “And what makes you so sure? You know, a female all alone isn’t necessarily safe.”

She’d had that thought herself. But she’d forced herself to keep going. She’d found him, even though he didn’t want to be found. “Sometimes it’s not always a good thing to be safe.”

“Safety is a human need,” he said.

Clem nodded and saw that her truck was indeed closer, even though it seemed as if he’d actually stopped. “True. But I’ve been safe all my life. This was one time that I thought more about what I needed to do than what would be safe. And I got what I wanted. Your friends are coming to help me.”

There was a long pause. Clem could hear the tires crunch over the gravel.

Finally, Dexter admitted, “They’re good men. The best. If you have a cow problem, they’ll be able to fix it.”

Maybe it was a note in his voice, maybe it was the way that he furrowed his brow, but something made Clem want to reach out and pat his arm. Instead, she blurted, “You sure you don’t want to come, too?”

For a moment, no longer than it took to blink, Clem swore that he did. He studied her and Clem felt the familiar flush creep up her neck.

“You blush easy.”

Clem didn’t know how to answer that. “It’s because I’m so fair.”

“Or you’re shy.”

“Maybe. That’s safe, too, huh?”

“Shyness?”

She nodded. “Sure. If I’m shy, I don’t have to risk meeting new people. Shy is like those gates that you’ve got. They minimize the chance of people intruding. Seems as if we’re alike that way.”

Dexter didn’t say anything, and after a moment they were at the gates.

Clem struggled to open the door.

“The old handle broke,” he explained. “Let me.” He leaned over, his arm brushing up against her legs. With an easy jerk, he popped the door open. While he was at it, he unclipped her seat belt.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She saw him getting out and assured him, “I’ll be fine. I promise I won’t bother you anymore.”

“How are you going to get through the gate?” he asked, his voice dry.

“The same way I got in. I’ll climb over it.” She gave him a big grin.

He held up a key. “Save your energy. You’ve got a long drive back.”

She waited as he crouched down next to the lock. It was hard to believe that she was never going to see him again. She resisted the urge to lay her hand on his shoulder, to run the back of her hand along the soft skin under his collar.

He released the padlock and stood up, swinging open the gate. “There you go, ma’am.”

“I guess I should thank you for not shooting me.” She made her tone as light as possible, as she stepped past him, but it was hard because her lips felt dry and dusty. She licked them, not at all sure why she was possessed with the overwhelming urge to kiss this man. Was it the loneliness in his eyes? Her heart thumped harder at the thought. She knew about being lonely even when surrounded by other people, about being lonely even when you were married or sleeping in the same bed with someone. Maybe Dexter Scott had chosen solitude. Maybe he’d chosen to erect the fences around his property, but no one, not even Dexter Scott, would choose loneliness.

His eyes were trained on her face, as if he could read her thoughts. She focused on his lips.

It’d been so very long since she’d had a real kiss. There’d be nothing to regret, because kissing Dexter Scott would be merely a crowning regret on the top of the six hundred regrets running around on her father’s property.

Besides, she’d never see him again.