Читать книгу Shotgun Vows - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 8

It was rumored that Griffin Fortune knew three hundred ways to kill with his bare hands. How could you say no to someone like that?

“You’re absolutely sure you want me to watch out for your sister?” Dawson Prescott asked again.

He studied Griffin, sitting across the desk from him. Dawson wasn’t afraid of him; he was a friend. In spite of Griff’s dangerous reputation, Dawson liked him and his brothers. It was their sister, Matilda, who rubbed him the wrong way.

Griff brushed a hand over his dark brown hair. The short, military cut didn’t move. “You heard me right,” he said. His Australian drawl did nothing to soften the words. If anything, his “down under” accent added intimidation. “I want you to watch over Mattie while I’m gone. We had this discussion already.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dawson said. “I just didn’t think you were serious.” Hoped he wasn’t serious would be more accurate. But Dawson suspected Griff never said anything he didn’t mean.

“Dead serious,” he answered, confirming the suspicion. “If I could put off this job, I would.” He met Dawson’s gaze squarely and a predatory glint crept into his brown eyes. “But I have to go.”

Dawson knew he would say no more about it than that.

Here in the plush carpeted, wood-accented office at Fortune TX, Ltd. where he worked as a financial analyst, it was hard for Dawson to imagine what the other man did when he disappeared. But Dawson had quickly come to like and respect him. Whatever it was that took the man out of town, Dawson instinctively knew Griffin Fortune was one of the good guys.

Dawson pushed his cushy leather chair away from the desk, leaned back, and linked his hands over his abdomen. “But again I have to ask—why me? My baby-sitting skills leave something to be desired.”

“If she were a baby, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Griff said, his Aussie drawl thickening with irony.

As much as he wanted to, Dawson couldn’t argue with the fact that Matilda Fortune was no baby. Every time he heard her name, he instantly thought of her long, shapely legs encased in denim—followed quickly by a flash of those legs wrapped around his waist. He’d only ever seen her in work clothes with her shirt pulled out and hanging loose. If the rest of her was as good as those legs, and he ever got a look at the package, they would all be in trouble.

The weird thing was that in the looks department she was nothing to write home about. Ordinary braided blond hair, average gray eyes, and pale skin all added up to a woman as plain as her name: Matilda. Who thought that up? Dawson only knew that she pushed some of his buttons—all of them wrong. But it was unlikely that anything personal would ever happen with her. Ever since they had laid eyes on each other, sparks had flown between them—and not the good kind.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but isn’t she twenty-one? Why does she need looking after?”

“She’s been sheltered. She trusts everyone and has never met a stranger. My four brothers and I have always watched out for her. But she’s changed since she got to Texas. What do you people put in the water?”

Dawson blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There’s something going around and it’s called Matrimony. Seems to be catching. Soon my brother Brody and Jillian will be tying the knot. But it all started with my brother Reed when he married your sister.”

Dawson and his half sister Mallory hadn’t grown up together. Different mothers. But his gut told him his sister’s match with Griff’s brother was a good one. “I’ve never seen her happier.”

“Reed, too.” One corner of Griff’s mouth lifted as he sat up straighter in the chair. “On top of that, Mattie’s been acting strange ever since she found out that Jillian is going to have a baby. I overheard her tell Jillian that she wants one of her own soon. I wouldn’t put it past her to run off with one of the ranch hands at the Double Crown.”

Dawson couldn’t remember ever hearing Griff string together that many sentences. Obviously the guy was really concerned. With a sister of his own, Dawson could understand the protective instinct. But he was a financial analyst for crying out loud. Granted, he worked for the family company, Fortune TX, Ltd. But surely they wouldn’t expect him to nursemaid Matilda Fortune, the troublemaker cousin from Australia.

The assignment was definitely above and beyond the call of duty. He worked on spreadsheets… Bad choice of words. Instantly he thought of Matilda’s long legs and tangled bed sheets. Damn, this was a bad idea. He’d agreed reluctantly, and only because he’d never actually expected Griff to take him up on it. Now he wished he’d never said yes.

The question was how he could gracefully get out of this. Here goes, he thought ruefully.

“She doesn’t like me much, Griff. Surely you’ve noticed. If looks could kill, I’d be a chalk outline on the floor. Wouldn’t it be better if you found someone else for guard duty?”

“There are three things that make you an ideal candidate for this assignment.” Dawson didn’t miss the harnessed strength in the other man’s wrist and forearm as he held up three fingers. “One—Reed is on his honeymoon, and Brody is too preoccupied with his own upcoming wedding and becoming a father in a couple of months to do the job justice. Two—you’re practically a Fortune, being my cousin Zane’s friend and all. Three—you’re right. She hates your guts.” He grinned. “That makes you perfect for the job, mate.”

“I’ve got number four.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“She’s just a kid.”

He was eleven years her senior, a fact he’d pointed out at his first meeting with the Australian she-devil. Not that he was old. She’d figured that out all by herself. They’d accompanied Reed and Mallory to the rodeo. All Dawson had said was that he hadn’t expected Reed’s sister to be so young. That had instantly gotten Matilda’s back up, and she’d fired off her own verbal shot.

Even if Dawson were attracted to her—at least the “her” that was separate from those dynamite legs—the disparity in their ages was something he would never get past. After his parents had split up, his father had married a much younger woman—a fact that had angered and embittered his mother. She’d had her nose rubbed in the fact that she was no longer young and had no weapons to fight for her man. Dawson had vowed that he would never use a woman and toss her aside like yesterday’s meat loaf. Furthermore, he would never make the same mistakes his father had.

He wasn’t like his father. He would never be like him.

Griff nodded. “By process of elimination as well as default, you’re the ideal candidate.”

Dawson knew he had no choice, and the thought rankled. He wasn’t a man who liked being backed into a corner. “How long are you going to be gone?”

Griff shrugged. “There’s no way to know for sure. I’ll do my best to get back before Brody and Jillian’s wedding.”

That was just over three weeks away, the weekend before Thanksgiving. Dawson figured he could handle Matilda Fortune that long.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t run off with a cowboy.”

“Good. One favor, Dawson.”

“I’m already doing you a favor.”

“Then do yourself one. Don’t let Mattie know what you’re up to.”

“She wouldn’t like it?”

Griff laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That’s an understatement. She doesn’t like being treated like a kid. She’s a grown woman, she says.”

“Yeah, that message got through loud and clear,” Dawson commented.

“Then if you know what’s good for you, don’t let on that I asked you to keep an eye on her.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised.

Satisfied, Griff held out his hand. “I owe you, mate.”

And then some, Dawson thought, hoping he wouldn’t live to regret this. It was the first of November and the promise he’d made just about guaranteed that he could kiss off having only good days for three-quarters of the month.

Matilda Fortune listened to the clunk of her boots on the foyer tile as she made her way to the Double Crown Ranch’s great room. She stopped when her heels sank into the thick carpet. The large open hearth held a cheery fire. On the other wall, French doors opened to one of the house’s two courtyards. Large leather couches and comfortable chairs in groupings that invited intimate conversation were arranged in several places in the large room.

Since her arrival from Australia several months ago, she found it was her uncle Ryan and aunt Lily’s custom to spend the evening in the great room. Tonight was no exception. They were sitting side by side on one of the leather sofas, having after-dinner drinks with their other houseguest, Willa Simms. She was Ryan’s goddaughter. Willa’s father and Ryan had been best friends in Vietnam, a bond that remained strong until her dad died of cancer. She was still very close to Uncle Ryan—like one of his children.

Through an archway to her right she could see the dining room and the living room beyond. A huge painted armoire, and Western-style pieces including antler lamps and Native American prints, gave the room warmth and personality. She liked the house in spite of its intimidating size and the fact that she always felt as if she brought the outdoors inside as soon as she walked in.

Mattie moved farther into the room until she faced her aunt and uncle. “I didn’t see Griff’s car outside. Does anyone know where my brother is?”

She knew the answer even as the words came out of her mouth. If Griff’s car were here, she would have known his whereabouts. He was joined at the hip with her. Her shadow. Her keeper. If his car was gone, he must be on one of his mysterious trips.

“He left on business, dear,” her aunt said, confirming Mattie’s guess. “He wasn’t sure when he would be back, but asked me to tell you not to worry.”

“From his mouth to God’s ear.” Mattie whispered her usual fervent prayer.

Telling her not to worry was like asking the wind not to blow. Griff would never confide details to anyone in the family about what he did when he was away. He said the less they knew, the better. How could they not worry when someone they loved said that?

But she smiled at her aunt and uncle, not wanting to upset them or let anyone know her feelings. There was nothing they could do or say to ease her mind.

Mattie studied her aunt and uncle, thighs brushing while holding hands. As always, she was struck by what a handsome couple they were. She knew they were both in their early fifties, but neither looked it. Lily’s eyes were the color of a moonless night, and her shiny black bob, along with the beautiful bone structure in her face, revealed her Spanish and Indian heritage. She was still a lovely woman and must have been a stunner as a young girl.

Uncle Ryan was definitely his wife’s equal. With his dark eyes and hair showing a bit of gray at the temples, and a still-muscular physique, he must have made female hearts flutter in his younger days. And at least one female heart still fluttered, Mattie thought as she saw the glow in his wife’s eyes as she looked up at him. The two were obviously in love, obviously soul mates.

Like her own parents.

Mattie sighed. Would she ever find someone who would love her like that? A man she could respect and care about and raise a family with? A soul mate of her own?

It was her most cherished dream. Unfortunately, her brothers frightened away anyone who showed even the slightest interest in her. That made it darn near impossible to make her fairy tale come true. If Prince Charming didn’t have the guts to face down the Fortune brothers, then she didn’t particularly want to set up housekeeping in his castle. No wimp for her!

When her aunt and uncle had visited Australia and invited her to their ranch in Texas, she’d thought it was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. She’d taken them up on the offer and fallen in love with the state, the air, the wide-open spaces. The men that all the wide-open spaces would hold.

Since horses were her life, where better to find the man of her dreams than a Texas ranch? So many cowboys, so little time. The bad news was that Griff never left her side. The steely-eyed looks he gave any man who even glanced in her direction were enough to make monks out of them.

But Griff was gone. What was that American saying? Make hay while the sun shines. How appropriate on a ranch! And she finally understood the meaning. She would worry terribly about Griff, but with him away, it was definitely hay-making time.

Tonight the Double Crown cowboys held their weekly poker game. She’d almost forgotten, having dismissed the earlier casual reminder because she knew there was no way Griff would let her go. Or worse, he would accompany her—and then no one would have any fun. This was her first chance to join in. Maybe she could finally get one of them to notice her.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t hold dinner for you, dear,” her aunt said.

“No worries,” Mattie answered.

“I just love your accent,” Willa chimed in. “It’s so cute.”

“Thanks.” Mattie smiled at her, then looked back at her aunt and uncle. “I’m sorry to be so late. I just couldn’t tear myself away.”

“Your brothers say you have a way with animals, Mattie,” Willa said. “They say when they have a problem horse, you’re the one they go to. That’s such a gift. I’m a little afraid of an animal big enough to stomp me into roadkill without a second thought.”

“You traveled all over the world with your father, Willa,” Uncle Ryan said. “There was never time or opportunity to learn about horses.”

“I’d be happy to work with you and show you some tricks,” Mattie said. “Then you would be more comfortable around them. There’s no reason to be afraid of horses. I can find just the right animal—one with a nature as sweet as yours.”

Willa smiled. “How I envy your ability to do that.”

Not as much as I envy you. Mattie barely held in a sigh. Willa was so petite and pretty. Even her wire-rimmed glasses couldn’t disguise her beautiful blue-gray eyes. Tonight her shoulder-length auburn hair was secured on top of her head with a clip. Mattie made a mental note to ask how she did that. All thumbs herself, she never fussed with her hair. A braid was easy, fast, and worked just fine. That clip contraption wouldn’t hold up when she was riding. But if she had a date, it could work just fine, she thought.

Lily sipped her brandy. “Rosita put the leftovers in the fridge for you, Mattie.”

“Thank you.”

Then she was free. No big brother watching. Whatever was she going to do with all this independence? The pressure was on. She didn’t know how long Griff would be gone. The possibilities were endless. But tonight there was that poker game. Exhilaration surged through her, lifting her spirits.

The coast was clear!

Rosita Perez, the Fortunes’ sixtyish housekeeper, entered the room. Her black hair was pulled back, highlighting the one white streak that started at her forehead and disappeared into the bun at her nape. Mattie liked the motherly woman who dished out hugs almost as plentifully as food. The downside was that she was followed by a man in business clothes.

Mattie felt two parts excitement and one part irritation when she recognized Mr. Stuffed Shirt in the expensive suit. Dawson Prescott.

He hardly looked at her as he walked briskly past her to Uncle Ryan and shook hands. He nodded to her aunt and Willa, then gave Mattie the briefest of glances. Boy, that chapped her hide. Just like their first meeting when he had said she looked eighteen. Ever since, he’d ignored her, as if she didn’t exist. Every time she’d seen him around the Double Crown with her cousin Zane and her brothers, he hadn’t even glanced her way. Cheeky devil, she thought. She tried not to let it bother her, but it damn well did.

“I brought the portfolios for you to look at, Ryan,” he said to her uncle.

“Didn’t I tell you that I trust your judgment? I’ve put together a dynamite staff, the best there is, one that I trust implicitly to handle money matters. Mostly family, I might add.” He looked at Dawson. “Or practically family.”

His wife smiled lovingly at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that pride, even in staff that is practically family, goes before a fall, my darling?” she teased.

He put his arm around her. “Yes. And when mine comes, it’ll be a humdinger. I can only hope there’s a bungee cord attached when it happens. But I trust Dawson. It wasn’t necessary to bring this out here tonight.”

Lily looked at the newcomer. “But since you did, the least we can do is feed you. Have you had dinner yet, Dawson?”

Tell her yes, Mattie said to herself. Yes, yes, yes.

“No, I haven’t,” Dawson answered. “But it’s not necessary—”

“There are plenty of leftovers,” Lily continued. “Can we warm something up for you?”

Say no, Mattie thought. No, no, no.

“That would be great,” he said. “But I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

Perverse man, Mattie thought. Completely ignored her mental telepathy. She would have to work on that.

“It’s no trouble, dear,” Lily said. “As a matter of fact, Matilda just walked in, and she hasn’t had dinner yet, either. So now she won’t have to eat alone.” The older woman smiled brightly.

The evening had just gone downhill in a big way, Mattie decided. And it had started out so promising…. Now she was cornered. She wouldn’t insult her family by not extending hospitality to another guest in their home. She would set a record for fast food-consumption, then say her farewells and head for the bunkhouse.

She forced herself to smile at Dawson. “I’m going to go clean up. Then I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Don’t rush, dear,” Lily said. “We’ll entertain Dawson while you freshen up.”

During her shower and then a quick combing and braiding of her hair afterwards, all Mattie could think was, Why me? Why did she draw the short straw and get stuck with the dude? Although if she had to be stuck with someone she didn’t like, at least he wasn’t hard on the eyes. She hadn’t been that close to him since their first verbal sparring. Then she’d been too annoyed to notice. But tonight, being in the same room with him, she couldn’t miss the intensity that made his hazel eyes seem more green, or the way the light picked up the sunstreaks in his brown hair, or how wide his shoulders looked in that white dress shirt, wrinkled after a day’s work.

“Work?” she said to herself, slipping on a clean pair of jeans. “Number cruncher,” she said disdainfully as she put on a long-sleeved white cotton shirt. She couldn’t think of a more boring or lonely way to make a living. In fact, she might even feel sorry for him—if he was anyone but Dawson Prescott.

She glanced one last time in the mirror, and sighed as she noticed the blond wisps of hair that curled around her face. No matter how hard she tried, her hair had a mind of its own. So she’d quit trying to make it do anything other than braid. Was it her imagination, or did her eyes look a deeper gray than usual? Must be the anticipation of that poker game, she thought.

Mattie made her way to the kitchen. The floor of the large room was tiled with Mexican pavers. A distressed-wood table with eight ladder-back chairs stood in a cozy nook at one end of the room. At the other end was a center island work area, a counter cooktop set into the cream-colored tiles, and a built-in oven. Not to mention the largest side-by-side refrigerator she had ever seen.

That was where she now saw Dawson, half bent at the waist as he scoped out the contents. She noticed that his gray slacks pulled tight across his legs, revealing muscular thighs. She wondered how he managed to produce all those muscles while poring over numbers all day.

“See anything good?” she asked.

“Lily and Ryan said to make myself at home,” he answered, as he continued to study the interior.

Then he looked at her, and she thought his gaze lowered to just about her knees. No doubt he was trying to think of something to say to cut her off just about there. She resolved not to rise to any bait he might set out. She would be the lady her mother always scolded her into trying to be.

She pointed to the open door. “I think pot roast and mashed potatoes were on tonight’s menu. If you’ll allow me?”

He backed away with an outstretched palm. “Be my guest.”

“Actually, I believe you’re my guest.”

“Look, Matilda—”

She held her hand up, palm out. “Stop right there, buster.” She tried to add a teasing note to her voice. “My aunt expects us to keep each other company for this meal. That implies making conversation. To do that you need to get my attention. Especially if I have my back turned. I’ll answer to ‘Hey, you,’ or ‘Yo, babe.’ You can even grunt if you’d like. But I despise being called Matilda. I let my family get away with it sometimes. But never ever, under any circumstances, call me that. Mattie is fine. Tildie will do. But if you call me Matilda, life as you now know it will cease to exist.”

“Tilde?” He stepped back so that she could pull the leftovers from the refrigerator. “That funny little sideways squiggle used in words to indicate nasality? Or in logic and mathematics to show negation?”

She was pulling two leftover dishes out, but stopped to shoot him an impatient glance. “I thought you had more to do at work.”

“How’s that?”

“You must have a lot of time on your hands if you can remember such useless, insignificant information. How do you do it?”

“It’s a gift,” he said with a shrug. “But I could ask you the same thing. How do you do it? Training horses is a lot of work.”

She thought about that as she took two plates and put meat, potatoes, gravy and string beans on them, then put them in the microwave to warm. Then she turned to look at him. “I can’t explain it. I just love animals—especially horses. I study their body language and mentally file away their disposition and character. They have traits, you know. Just like people.”

“So you sort of do what I do. Tuck information away in your head. Some of it useless, some of it not,” he said.

Damn the man. He had her there. Aunt Lily was right. Pride did indeed go before a fall. Her mother was right. She should behave like a lady and be gracious. She would eat a lot less crow that way.

“I guess you’re right,” she said as sweetly as possible. “But you’ve had so many more years than I’ve had to gather information. How do you remember it all?”

He folded his arms over his chest. A very impressive chest, she noted with a small surprising flutter of her heart.

“A world-class memory,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. “And fortunately, I’m not ready to take up residence in the geriatric ward yet.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that what you do boggles the mind. I’ve never been very good with numbers myself. I’m in awe of anyone who can make sense of it.”

“A lot of what I do is guesswork and instinct. Just like you,” he said.

She grinned. “But I bet your numbers don’t give you love and affection like my horses do.”

He laughed. “You win that round. But I have no emotional investment in my numbers the way you do your horses. They can’t break my heart.”

She saw a black look in his eyes. A remembered pain? She would have sworn that’s what it was, and in spite of who he was and how he tweaked her temper, she did feel sorry for him.

“Who broke your heart?” she asked, automatically softening her tone as if she were working with one of the horses.

Instantly the vulnerable expression was gone, replaced by a teasing grin. “What makes you think someone broke my heart?”

“Mother says a person doesn’t get through life without some heartbreak. And you’ve lived so very, very long,” she said teasingly. “Surely there are skeletons in your closet.”

“Only on Halloween.”

“Isn’t there a saying in your country—no pain, no gain?”

“I think I’ve heard that one.” He shrugged. “Either I’m emotionally backward, or I’ve managed to gain without the pain part. What about you? Was your mother right? Have you had your heartbreak in the year-and-a-half you’ve been on this earth?”

“Cute. I’m not that young.” What she was was inexperienced, thanks to her brothers. Except for one single, painful episode. But a stampede of determined Texas mustangs couldn’t force her to share the details of that humiliation with him.

“From where I’m standing, you look hardly more than a baby.”

Her back started to rise at his comment, making her want to show him that she was a full-grown woman. Her next thought was that he’d turned the conversation away from himself and back to her. Interesting. The words were spoken in a joking manner, but she sensed currents of emotion in him. Had someone broken his heart? Or was his pain from something else? She instinctively knew that if she asked, he would put her off.

Instead she watched him, mostly his eyes, then noted the tension in his square jaw. Noted also that he was a very good-looking man, in an older, businessman sort of way. Her heart began to beat very fast, and she grew warm all over. She hadn’t felt this way but once, when she had been hardly more than a baby. Barely sixteen, she’d managed to elude her brothers long enough to develop a crush on a boy. The incident was a disaster.

But Dawson was a man—the first she’d ever been alone with as a woman. Surely that was the reason her body responded this way when she was near him. That, and the fact that she was ready to become a woman in every way. She’d been ready for a long time, but she had way too many brothers who took turns never letting their guard down. The explanation for her reaction to this man had to be that simple. Because Mr. Prescott was absolutely not her type.

But one thought struck her above everything else: her uncle Ryan’s comment about his “dynamite” employees. She had a feeling that if she wasn’t careful, this particular very male employee could light her fuse and blow up her whole world.