Читать книгу A Cowboy For Clementine - Susan Floyd - Страница 11

AS CLEARLY AS IF SHE HAD already kissed him, she could feel his stubble under her hand. Heat reflected off his clear eyes and she stepped toward him. As if choreographed, Dexter met her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the solid muscles. He flinched just slightly and she remembered his tender shoulder.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“What for?” His voice was right in her ear, low, husky. She could feel the moist warmth of his mouth right at the curve of her jawline.

“Your shoulder.”

“It’s fine.” He held her tighter as if to prove to her there was nothing wrong with his shoulder. The weight of his arm against her waist was reassuring. His hand was splayed across the small of her back, warming her. It had been a long time. Perhaps a lifetime. She didn’t remember having this feeling with Nick, not ever. Not even on their wedding night.

Dex’s face was so close she could see the individual pores that the rough stubble grew out of. She inhaled, smelling saddle wax, sweat, dust. It was a dangerous combination. Clem became fascinated by the slight cleft in his chin, the indentations in his profile, the distinct cupid’s bow, the dimple that flickered in and out. He seemed to have stopped breathing and was waiting.

Simply waiting.

“This isn’t what shy women do,” he informed her with a low, guttural whisper. “Kiss strange men.”

His words should have jerked her back to reality, but right now, she couldn’t think, all she could do was feel the strength of his arm behind her, the heat of his body in front of her, the brush of his powerful thighs, supporting the both of them, because she was certain that if he let go, she’d fall over.

“I haven’t kissed you yet.” She searched his eyes, which he tried to shutter.

DEXTER FROZE. Instead of letting go, as he intended, he found himself pulling this woman, this Clementine, closer to him, just to feel her press up against him.

Let go, his rational mind hollered at him. Just let go and step back. Okay, it finally conceded, if you can’t step back, just let go. You can step back in a second.

Too late.

He felt her lips graze his, the heat of even that slight contact exploding in his chest. Bad idea. This was what playing with fire meant. He felt like a moth, fluttering up against a stark lightbulb, drawn to the very thing that would cause the destruction of all his walls. He didn’t move, but rather lowered his head. If exploring that tender bottom lip of hers was going to be his destruction, then so be it.

His mouth covered hers, tentatively at first and then with the intensity of a moth that had been too long without light. She moaned and pulled herself onto her toes, her fingers stroking his neck and shoulders in a concentric circle that was making it hard to think. His eyes began to flutter closed, and then she was gone.

CLEM JERKED BACK, gulping for air, trying to pretend the kiss wasn’t the best kiss she’d ever had and wondering what else she’d been missing. If someone had told her Dexter Scott would one day kiss her the way he just had, she would have never married Nick. She would have waited for Dexter Scott, even if it took him years to find her. Incredible. What an incredible kiss. Clementine felt her cheeks burn.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me,” she apologized. She hunted around in her jacket pocket for her keys, too embarrassed to even look at him.

“Don’t be.” The words were gruff.

She looked up and saw that his pupils were dilated. He took the keys from her hand and walked the two steps to her truck and opened up the door.

Wordlessly, Clem climbed in, unable to sort out the feelings churning inside her chest. She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to see him again. Then she laughed. Los Banos and Barstow were far apart. A long-distance relationship would never work. She rolled down the window and then started up the truck.

“I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

“I guess so.”

“You sure you don’t want to come out and see my cows?”

There was a long pause.

Finally, he shut her door with a controlled slam and said, his voice short, “I’m retired.”

WITH CURIOUS ANTICIPATION Clem stepped into a clean pair of just-for-company blue jeans. When she’d gotten home the other day, she’d slept for sixteen hours. It was the first good sleep she’d had in a long time. Randy Miller had called her the following afternoon to confirm their arrival time today. She would be so glad to see them, so glad that she would be able to hoist this particular burden onto their very capable shoulders. She didn’t ask about Dexter Scott, or invite him again, but she couldn’t help but think that it was his phone number Randy had given her. After this was over, she could always call him.

And then do what?

She was as inept at this as a sixth grader.

She shook off thoughts of Dexter Scott and his kiss as she fastened around her neck a gold heart locket that her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. She needed to focus on her guests. Ryan had phoned earlier and told her to expect them at four o’clock. She’d spent most of the late morning and early afternoon cooking a supper she hoped would make her mother proud. A roast was slow simmering along with new potatoes, boiler onions and carrots. She’d made up a batch of coleslaw and prepared green beans, then she’d baked plenty of buttery garlic biscuits.

She hurried down the stairs, giving the dining room table another critical look. Her grandmother’s china and silver looked nice on the lace tablecloth. It was a big table for three, but the floral centerpiece she’d had specially made in town compensated for the expanse.

Clem pulled open the kitchen door to check on the roast. Frijole, her elderly tabby, was lying in a particularly comforting sunbeam and meowed her disapproval. She got up, arched her back and gave a languid stretch, her front paws fully extended, her toes splayed. Then she straightened and looked expectantly at Clem.

“Sorry, girl,” Clem said, and picked up the tabby. Clem felt her pulse slow considerably as she stroked Frijole. “Don’t you know company’s coming?” She buried her face into the soft fur. Frijole had absorbed many tears these past few years.

With the roast simmering and nothing left to do, Clem sat in her parents’ living room and stared at the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Should she start a fire? She nixed the idea. It wasn’t cool enough yet. A moment later, she found herself hopping up to the door to see if she could detect any activity on the dirt road. At four-thirty, she moved to the porch, where she’d have a much better view of on-coming vehicles. Frijole joined her, plopping her twenty pounds on Clem’s lap. When the sun started to fade, she fingered the cell phone number Randy had given her.

Clem got up and paced the length of the porch. She’d faxed them a detailed map, and they’d assured her they were familiar with the area. The phone rang inside the house, startling her as it echoed off the high ceilings. Cowchip, her parents’ toothless fifteen-year-old Australian shepherd, began to bark. Clem shot through the door and lunged for the phone.

“Hello?” Clem asked breathlessly.

“Gate’s locked.”

Clem felt her heart clog her throat as adrenaline rushed through her veins. The voice sent a dozen light fingers down the fine hairs on her nape. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“W-what?” Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was just Randy or Ryan.

“Gate’s locked,” the voice repeated. “Can’t get through.”

She wasn’t mistaken. That voice was branded into her mind along with his kiss.

“Mr. Scott.”

“Ms. Wells.”

“I thought you were retired.”

“Gate’s still locked.” He evaded her comment. He was here. He’d ventured outside the safety of his gates.

“Climb over,” she joked.

The silence on the other side told her he didn’t find that funny.

She added, “I’m coming right out. I thought I left it unlocked. Maybe one of the neighbors saw it and closed it up.” She was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. She was just so excited.

She hurried to her truck, pausing a moment to boost Cowchip into the back.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered as she bounced down the road. She didn’t know what she was thanking him for, the help or Dexter Scott. Nine miles and two gates later, she arrived at the fence just a mile off the main road and laughed with relief when she saw one pink and one dusty-brown truck, both with trailers hitched behind. The men were standing outside, talking and chuckling, their hats tilted low on their heads.

“Hi!” she said as she slid out of the cab of her truck. Cowchip hopped out with her to greet the strangers. She brushed her hair back, unintentionally making eye contact with Dexter. Her face hot, she bent down to find the lock. Clem felt her hands tremble as she fumbled to put the key in it.

Cowchip had managed to wriggle through the fence, and dogs started to bark in the back of one of the trailers. Horses whinnied. Cowchip snuffled Dexter Scott’s jeans and boots, her tongue hanging out in happiness as Dex leaned over to scratch her behind her ears. Clem couldn’t help watching. Even Cowchip fell victim to those hands, competent and calm, able to lull any unsuspecting being into a state of sedated rapture.

“You made it.” She couldn’t stop the breathy quality in her voice, and she tried to cover it up by yanking off the lock and swinging open the gate.

Dexter straightened, uncurling to stand at his full height, his shoulders expanding like the wingspan of a hawk. The smile he had for Cowchip disappeared, replaced with a look much more speculative as his gaze flickered up and down, pausing at the heart locket. Her hand came up to touch it. He continued to stare, as if he were taking in every detail of her, his eyes finally settling on her mouth. He remembered the kiss, Clem realized. If possible, her face felt hotter. Clem turned to the Miller brothers.

“Are you a sight for sore eyes,” Clem said, leaning over to shake their hands heartily.

Randy laughed. “I bet we are. I figured you wouldn’t mind if we brought along extra baggage.” He elbowed Dexter in the back, but he ignored Randy and got back into his truck and then gunned the engine.

Clem took that as her cue. She moved her truck on to the gravel road so they could pull around her. Then she shut and relocked the gate before jumping into the truck to catch up with them. At the next gate, she felt as if she was all fingers, knowing Dexter was watching her every movement. When she finally got the latch undone, she glanced up at him and he tipped his hat in acknowledgement, then drove past her.

By the time they’d gone through the last gate and arrived at the house, Clem was very relieved. They got out of their trucks, looking around.

“Beautiful area.” Ryan whistled.

Clem nodded. “Thanks.” She walked toward the main house. “Come in, please.”

Randy shook his head. “We need to let the horses and the dogs out. They’ve been cooped up for long enough. They need a good stretch. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to let the horses out in the corral for a while, just to get the kinks out of their legs.”

“Of course,” Clem agreed. “Do you need help?”

“No. We’ve got it.” Randy was already starting to unlatch the trailer. Ryan was right behind him, letting the dogs out the side door.

The dogs barked with enthusiasm and raced up and down the courtyard, releasing hours of pent-up energy.

“Any preferences where we put the horses?” Ryan asked, leading out a beautiful mahogany horse, obviously not one of Dexter’s.

Clem shook her head. “Either corral is fine.” She pointed west. “I emptied that stable for all your horses. I hope there’s enough room. If not, you’re welcome to any free space.”

Dexter looked up at the sky. “A few can stay out. They might prefer it. Give them a chance to get used to the air.”

A shrill, terrified screech grabbed their attention. The dogs were chasing Frijole, who moved quite swiftly considering her bulk, scrambling under the trailer ramp, only to startle New Horse, who was being led out by Randy.

“Quince! Bam-Bam! Dell! Come!” Dexter commanded, sharpness in his voice.

Then a sharp epithet shot out of Randy as he clutched his face. New Horse was free.

Clem ran toward New Horse, who was intent on trampling Frijole. The cat squalled in defense, teeth bared, her body hunched, prepared to both attack and retreat at the same time. Clem walked with careful purpose toward the brown horse, crooning to him, reassuring him that the cat wouldn’t hurt him. But even though the horse’s ears pricked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes were wild and his hooves were ready to flatten the cat.

As if in slow motion, Dexter saw New Horse rear again when Clem stepped in to rescue the cat. And he felt raw fear trickle down the back of his neck like sweat.

What the hell was she doing?

She was going to be crushed.

Fear became terror. He was suffocating as he stood there watching her sweep up the cat and duck under New Horse, the horse’s hooves just inches from her head. She stumbled, barely clinging to the cat and her balance. But somehow, she kept her footing.

“It’s not the horse’s fault,” Dexter heard in a fog as Clem reassured the cat. “He’s just a little spooked. I’d suggest, Frijole, if you want to live out the few lives you have left, you keep clear of the dogs and the horses while they’re here.” With a quick kiss to the furry head, Clem let go of the cat, who sensibly took off for the safety of the bunkhouse. Then she walked up to the frenzied horse and caught his reins.

Dexter saw her arms strain against the power of the horse, but she kept crooning to him as she moved as close to him as she could.