Читать книгу Cowboy Be Mine - Tina Leonard - Страница 7

Michael wasn’t jealous that Bailey was out with Gunner King. He would never stoop to such an emotion. Clearly, Bailey had thrown him over in favor of his rival, and that was her right. They’d had no commitment, no agreement that they couldn’t date whomever they chose.

He leaned back in the saddle and stared into an old pecan tree at an owl, which scrutinized him with unblinking interest. Of course, he would have thought that she wouldn’t step out with other men while the two of them were physically involved. That was it. They had shared a physical involvement. Nothing more, but did that mean they could date other people? Not once had the question, nor the desire, entered his mind the entire time Bailey had been coming around. He would have never thought to question whether their situation was monogamous. Plainly, she didn’t feel the same way.

If she was trying to make him jealous, it wasn’t going to work. His mother had tried to make his father jealous by making goo-goo eyes at Sherman King, Gunner’s ever-bachelor divorced father, but she hadn’t succeeded. Her husband had possessed an iron grip on his emotions, and so would her son.

He thought about Bailey’s mother as he rode slowly toward the house. Polly Dixon had loved her stargazing, painting, ne’er-do-well husband with every ounce of her soul. She would never have played games with his heart. He had been more than man enough where she was concerned. Michael had heard the ranch hands laugh every once in a while as they commented on the sagging porch and the peeling paint of the Dixon home, testament to Mr. Dixon’s uselessness. “Whatever ol’ Elijah Dixon lacks in muscle, he must make up for in other ways!” They’d laugh. “The ol’ guy must have plenty ’tweenst to keep his wife at home with all those young uns!”

Michael tried not to think about the crude remarks. He wouldn’t let himself wonder if he hadn’t possessed enough ’tweenst to satisfy Bailey, making her search for more interesting pastures.

No, he wouldn’t allow his mind to travel this torturous path. Life was about iron control.

He rode around the side of the house to the front and glanced toward Bailey’s house, the cross-timber rails separating her pie-shaped yard from his less sloped property. She and Gunner had returned, and Gunner was protectively helping Bailey toward her porch, wrapping her coat more closely around her to ward off the chill February wind.

Every ounce of Michael’s steely resolve turned into soft, bending ore at the sight of Gunner’s arm around his—Michael’s—woman. If this was how his father had felt when his mother had flirted with Sherman King, no wonder he’d turned into such a gnarly, difficult old man! “Red-eyed with jealousy, that’s what I am,” he muttered, as he went to unsaddle his horse. “So much for iron control.”

There was no controlling Bailey—she was as resilient and headstrong as her mother had been. She’d do whatever she wanted to do, and if she’d thrown him over for Gunner, then there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it except hope his insides didn’t feel like worms were tunneling through them forever. He didn’t think he could stand it.

When he left the barn, he refused to look at the rambling house again. It hurt too much. Keeping his gaze down as he strode to his porch, he jerked off his leather gloves finger by finger, as if he couldn’t remove them without carefully observing his hands.

So he missed the Rodeo Queen standing on his porch, holding a fresh-baked pie that smelled like peach as he hurried to escape inside his house, burning with indignation that Bailey knew he’d seen her date.

“Michael!” Deenie Day cried with delight. “I’ve been wondering where you were!”

“Out riding,” he replied, not liking her on his porch one bit. He could never think of her as anything except the Rodeo Queen, because she lived her title like some people wore clothes. He’d never seen her without lush, big hair sweeping her skull like a royal mantle and toxifying the air with hair spray fumes. He’d never seen her without her bright, white, toothy smile, as if a camera might pop out from anywhere to take her picture.

“Riding!” she exclaimed, loud enough for her voice to carry to the neighboring house. “It’s too cold for that, honey! Let’s go inside and let me warm you up with some of my delicious homemade pie.” She squeezed his biceps. “I want to know if it’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his tum-tum,” she said, patting him there with a hand that lingered.

He was not interested in eating Deenie’s peach pie. The Rodeo Queen wanted him to bite into something far more serious than pie, like serious courtship. There was no path to his heart; she and every woman on the planet could save their question for a man interested in answering it.

Five young Dixon children spilled out of the house toward their beloved Bailey, whooping and calling her name as if she’d been gone for a year instead of an hour.

“What a bunch of wild Indians!” Deenie exclaimed. “How can you stand living so near them, hon? All that noise would drive me out of my mind.”

He barely heard her, though he thought Deenie could match the children decibel for decibel. He watched Gunner swing the littlest Dixon into his arms and keep the rest from jumping up on Bailey. Smarting with jealousy, he saw Bailey and Gunner suddenly witness Deenie’s presence with interest, and though his mind warned him he really didn’t want to do this, he allowed her to pull him inside his house with a well-manicured hand.

“Now, then,” she said silkily, “you just sit right down and I’ll warm this up in the microwave so it’s good and hot.”

Michael stared into Deenie’s determined eyes and knew he was in big trouble. She had far more on her mind than getting the pie good and hot, and red-eyed idiot that he was, he had let her inside his house, his only refuge.

He wished uncomfortably that Bailey would make one of her appearances before matters got too far out of hand, before Deenie got to where she was really heated up, but as he glanced out the kitchen window while Deenie’s back was turned, he saw Gunner and Bailey go inside her house.

Michael was on his own.

BAILEY COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d gotten sick to her stomach in front of Gunner. It was so humiliating! She had hoped that her nausea would hold off for the time it would take her to discuss the employment opportunity Gunner was offering. Secretarial duties at his home office four hours a day during the week would bring her a badly needed income, and most importantly, keep her near the children. Though Brad was a wonderful caregiver and loved watching their siblings—he liked to sketch and paint them—five rowdy bodies under the age of ten was a lot for anyone to handle. They had agreed she should listen to Gunner’s offer. She’d gone with him to see his office setup and learn everything her job would entail.

And had been horribly ill not ten minutes after she’d walked into the enormous King mansion. The cook had been preparing sausage links and beef tacos for the hands, and though she’d tried to fight off the green sensation stealing through her insides, she had barely made it to the bathroom Gunner swiftly helped her to.

Gunner had brought her home and assisted her to the worn red-and-white check sofa to sit. Her mother had loved to sit here and gaze out the big window at her children playing while she folded laundry. Bailey felt a twinge sitting in her mother’s place, almost as if she could feel her mother’s presence.

I’ve let Mother down, Bailey thought sadly.

Gunner stood, staring at her with concerned eyes she could hardly meet. She had to tell him something. This was the most ill she’d been during her pregnancy. For a shaky moment, she thought about writing the condom company and telling them they had boasted about their product a bit too proudly, but mostly she wanted the awful moment to pass. She thought about telling Gunner she must have eaten food that didn’t agree with her or that she had a bad flu, but he’d soon enough begin wondering why a watermelon was growing under her coat. It couldn’t be much longer before she started to show. Gunner looked so worried she didn’t have the heart to fib for the sake of her pride.

“Gunner, I’m really not the candidate you need for your office job,” she said miserably, “as much as I would like to take you up on your offer. You’re very kind to try to help us out.” Gunner and everybody else knew that the Dixons were having huge trouble meeting the large inheritance tax owed on the property. “It’s just that I’m…expecting.” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she said the words.

Brad shooed the children from the room. Bailey heard them go upstairs as Gunner knelt in front of her. He swept a lock of hair from her face and dabbed at moisture on her upper lip. “Let’s talk about this later. You need to be in bed.”

She heard the kindness in his voice and wished desperately it was Michael offering her the same caring. “I think I’m fine. It seems to come and go like that, suddenly.”

He got up and sat beside her. “Bailey, you’re in a real pickle here. You’ve got to let me help you out. You can’t go on taking care of this house and these kids and yourself and be beating yourself up about the IRS, too.”

Embarrassment burned through her. She couldn’t speak.

“It’s Michael’s, isn’t it?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “How do you know?”

“By the look on his face tonight when he saw me with you. If looks could kill, I’d be hanging up for the vultures right now.” He laughed. “I kind of enjoyed getting his goat for a minute.”

“You guys have been at each other for years. My daddy used to say that if our house hadn’t been sitting right smack in the middle to keep your families apart, you would have been Fallen’s own Hatfields and McCoys.”

Gunner laughed again. “Nah. That was between his dad and mine. I got sent to the University of Texas, Michael got sent to A&M just so the rivalry could pick up another chapter, I believe. But I never paid any attention to it, and I hoped Michael didn’t. Except now that he’s seen me with you, no doubt a new chapter’s going to be written.”

“You don’t sound sorry about it.” Bailey tried to sound stern, but Gunner’s grin was too big not to return.

“I figure if Michael wants to sit in his house like a big damn bear with a chip on his shoulder, that’s his problem. He doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.” Bailey lowered her eyelashes. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

“Well,” Gunner said, getting to his feet, “I don’t know what you see in him, Bailey Dixon. I’ve never understood what any of the women saw in him. They must go for those strong, silent types.” He settled his hat onto his head. “You go rest. My offer still stands. In fact, I’ll make you another one.”

“You’ve already been more than generous, Gunner,” she said softly.

“If you can’t get that lunkhead across the way to marry you and give your baby a name, I’ll be more than happy to do it. You just say the word.”

Her lips parted as she stared into his brown eyes. “Gunner King! What are you saying?”

“What I shoulda said a long time ago. What I was trying to get to before your ma took ill.” The smile was gone from his face, the light dimming in his eyes. “I had just about worked up the courage to ask you out when I found out about your mother, Bailey. I thought it was best to wait. I knew you had all you could handle at the time. Now I see I should have spoken up sooner, but I’ve had my eyes on you, Bailey Dixon. I have for a long time.”

Bailey gasped. “Are you telling me this because you think Michael was upset that you were with me tonight? If this is some more rivalry stuff, I can tell you right now I’m not going to be caught in the middle!”

“No.” He took her chin between his fingers, shaking his head. “I told you, I don’t care about my father’s and Michael’s father’s antagonizing. I can’t stand to see you worrying when I could make your life so much easier.”

“I don’t love you, Gunner,” she said unhappily.

“I know that.” His lips thinned. “The girls always go for him. Women seem to like a man who presents a challenge. I’d not be much of a challenge for you, Bailey. And I would treat you like the ground you walked on was sacred.”

Her breath caught. She moved away from the fingers that held her chin so gently. “Gunner, I don’t know what to say.”

He nodded. “I figured as much. I’ll give you time to work out your situation with Michael. I gotta tell you, I don’t think he’s going to marry you.”

“I know.” She could feel the pink of mortification rising in her cheeks.

“Well, I’ve made my best offer.” He slapped his gloves against his jeans and pulled them on. “It’d be better for your baby to be with its real father, I know that. And I’d honestly like for you to take on my employment offer, because the truth is there aren’t a whole lot of people I’d trust with knowing the specifics of my finances. If it comes to be that you can’t get that stubborn old goat to go the way you need him, you let me know. Until then, our relationship remains strictly business.”

“Thanks, Gunner.” Bailey could feel her hands trembling from her astonishment. Never had she imagined Gunner felt this way! “I really appreciate that.”

“All right, then. If you want the job, start Monday. I’ll leave instructions as to what I need organized and what billings I want you to set up on a payment schedule. Your assistance will be greatly appreciated, I can assure you.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

“I’ll be out on the ranch, Bailey, while you’re working. I rarely have reason to come back to the house before lunch.” He tipped his hat to her. “Be seeing you.”

“Goodbye,” she murmured through stiff lips. She saw him to the door, managing a frozen smile as she closed the door behind him.

Then she put her head in her hands and told herself she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Not over Michael Wade.

The doorbell rang. Bailey stiffened, wondering if Gunner might have quickly decided to snatch back one or both of his offers. She pulled the door open again, looking out cautiously.

Chili Haskins stood on her porch, his white, bushy mustache like icicles above his lips. “Howdy, Bailey.”

“Hello, Chili.” She glanced behind him, but Michael was nowhere to be seen. “What can I do for you?”

“We—uh, I was wondering if you could come over to the Walking W for a minute. Fred Peters has got hisself in an embarrassing predicament, and the boss is, uh, busy, so we wondered, I mean, we hoped, well, with all these tykes running around, we figured you’re the one who has the savvy to help us out.”

She blinked, uncertain as to whether she wanted to step foot on the Walking W if the boss was busy with Deenie Day.

“Please, Miz Bailey,” Chili prompted, “we sure could use your assistance, sooner than later!”