Читать книгу Temporarily Texan - Victoria Chancellor - Страница 9

Raven pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I’ll be glad to help with dinner.”

“Um, are you sure you can cook?”

“I cook for myself all the time!”

“I doubt I have any of the ingredients you’re used to.”

“I doubt that you do, either. Fortunately, I brought a supply of food until I can locate organic vegetables.”

He shook his head. “Good luck with that. Most folks around here believe in ‘better living through chemistry.’”

“I’m sure there are some people who grow their own produce without pesticides or chemical fertilizers.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll track them down.”

He held up a hand. “I wish you more luck than you had finding a motel.”

She took a deep breath, ready to argue some more, but all the steam when out of her. He was probably right about the vegetables. After all, he was from round here. She was the visitor, the outsider.

This was not a role she relished. She hadn’t enjoyed being considered “different” when she was a child, and she didn’t like it now. Back in New Hampshire, she fit right in. She had friends, business associates, acquaintances. She had like-minded e-contacts around the globe.

But in Texas, at least in this part of the state, she was definitely odd.

“If we can’t prepare a meal together, may I at least use your kitchen? I promise to clean up after myself.”

“Of course. I’d fix you a meal, but you probably wouldn’t eat it.”

She swallowed her affirmation. “I’m sure you’re a fine cook.”

“Beef, beef and more beef.”

“Yuck, yuck and more yuck. Do you ever think about how cruelly the cattle are treated?”

“It barely crosses my mind. And really, that’s a small part of their life. Most of the time, they get to graze in a pasture, hang out with their friends and eat all they want.”

“Before they are suddenly taken away from everything they know and placed in an overcrowded, dirty stockyard, then prodded into a slaughterhouse!”

“Look, I think of animals as animals, and you obviously want to give them human emotions. We aren’t going to agree on this. Can’t we just move on?”

Raven wasn’t so sure she could “move on” past his beef-obsessed views. However, she was a guest in his home and it was her duty to be more polite than she’d been.

“I’m sorry. You’re right—let’s just not discuss it.”

“Right. Now, would you like to go first?”

“What?”

“In the kitchen. That way, it won’t be…well, contaminated by my meal.”

“I don’t think your food is toxic. Well, not exactly. In the long term, perhaps.”

“And there we were, getting along so well,” he teased.

Raven sighed. “I’ll get the rest of my food out of Pickles.” She’d brought jars of homegrown food from New Hampshire—beans and potatoes, carrots, squash and vegetable soup—that she’d canned herself, plus bread and cheese she’d made. She’d been on one of these assignments before and knew she might not find any organic or wholesome food to eat.

“Pickles?”

“My car. Her name is Pickles.”

He muttered something that she couldn’t quite make out, and probably didn’t want to.

“Won’t be a minute,” she said, scooting around the desk.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No, that won’t be…” And then she thought twice. Those boxes and canvas satchels were pretty heavy, and Troy Crawford looked as if he could carry a lot on his big shoulders.

She reminded herself that she didn’t really like overbearing men who could pick up whatever, whenever they wanted. As if they were superior because they were stronger than nice intellectual males. And she especially didn’t like men who made teasing remarks about important issues!

All right, that was better. She was much more centered now. She and Troy had nothing in common, and even if they did, he wasn’t an academic or an artist.

“Yes, thank you,” she finally said. Being a gracious houseguest was much harder than she’d anticipated. She only hoped they could keep being civil to each other until the mix-up was resolved. Somewhere around here was a garden that needed her help, and she was going to find it before she bid a not-so-fond farewell to Texas—and Troy Crawford—forever.

RAVEN YORK WAS TRYING WAY too hard to be cooperative. Besides, she was too cheerful in the morning. She bustled around the kitchen before dawn making tea and toasting some dark, yeasty bread she’d brought from New Hampshire. As he’d filled bottles with milk for the calves, she’d asked twice how she could help him.

She wanted badly to feed those calves. He knew it, and he was standing firm.

“If you really want to do something, make a decent pot of coffee,” he finally answered as he pulled a flannel shirt on over his T-shirt.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“I do, but I’m not good at making it. So, like I said, if you want to be helpful, learn to make coffee.”

“I can do other things, too.”

Like feeding calves. “I’ve got it covered.” Being personable this early was too tough to handle, especially without decent coffee. He’d never admit it to anyone in Brody’s Crossing, but he missed his double-shot latte with the morning paper at the coffee shop near his condo in Fort Worth. He missed Starbucks in the airports when he traveled. Raven York probably thought he was a cowboy through and through, but in the past fifteen years or so, he’d become downright civilized.

“I’ll be back in half an hour,” he said, “then I’m grabbing some breakfast and coffee, and heading out for the morning.”

“Are you going to town?”

“No, the ranch hands will be here by then and we’re going to saddle up and check the fences. It doesn’t take much for the cattle to wander off.”

“Oh, that would be a huge shame,” she said with such deadpan sarcasm that he had to smile, but then he remembered why he had to get blisters on his butt.

“Yeah, until they get onto the highway and walk in front of a school bus full of children.”

“Oh.”

“Right. So, I’m checking fence.”

“I’ll attempt the coffee.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

As soon as the door closed behind Troy, Raven tackled the old metal percolator. Despite what she’d implied, she knew how to make coffee, she just didn’t drink it. As a matter of fact, she’d worked for a short time as a barista in a coffee shop in Manchester during college. Of course, the Crawford ranch didn’t have anything similar to the commercial espresso machine she’d used there. Still, a little cleanliness went a long way, and this percolator was proof that only men had lived here for many years. Now if she could just find some white vinegar and baking soda.

When Troy returned thirty minutes later, Raven poured him a steaming mug of coffee that even she secretly admitted smelled pretty good. Perhaps she’d see about some organic coffee beans…

“Thanks. What’s that smell?” He blew on the steaming mug, smiled, then added, “I mean, it smells great.”

“Almond butter on whole wheat toast, and scrambled eggs with a little goat cheese.”

She watched his smile fade. “Oh. Like I said, it smells…great.”

“It tastes great, too. Come on, be adventurous.”

“I’ve eaten goat cheese before. It’s just not my favorite. Give me a good sharp cheddar every time.”

“I brought this all the way from New Hampshire. I make it on my farm.”

“Okay, but it’s still from goats.”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t try to convince him that her goats produced the best milk, and consequently the best cheese, around.

He washed his hands at the sink while Raven watched his back. His wide shoulders and the muscles along his spine moved beneath the soft shirt, making her wonder what he’d look like without it. Which made her angry at herself for getting distracted by a tight body.

“You’re being awfully nice, cooking breakfast for me,” he commented, his back still to her as he dried his hands.

“I’m a nice person.”

“Even to cattlemen?” he asked as he turned around.

“I’m trying to be, but I’m not going to give up on changing your mind—on changing everyone’s mind—that eating meat is both bad for you and for the animals it destroys.”

“That fact is debatable.”

“Not by me.”

He sat at the table and picked up his fork, looking at the scrambled eggs as if they might suddenly jump up and run off the plate.

“You might as well taste them. The eggs have already sacrificed themselves for your breakfast.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! These aren’t fertilized eggs. We don’t even have a rooster.”

“It was a joke. Not a very good one, I suppose.”

“Joking about food is obviously not your talent. You do, however, make a good cup of coffee.”

“Why, thank you.”

He took a small bite, chewed, swallowed. Raven watched his jaw and throat move, watched the way the eggs slipped past his well-sculpted lips. She’d never thought eating scrambled eggs could be sexy, but apparently Troy Crawford accomplished that task with little effort.

“Not bad. The goat cheese is a little strong.”

“It has a different flavor to cow’s-milk cheese.”

“Hmm,” he replied, taking a bite of toast. He chewed, swallowed again, then said, “This is pretty tasty.”

“If you eat eggs, milk products, nuts and beans, you can get enough protein.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a vegetarian commercial.”

“It’s what I believe.”

“And I believe that ranching is an important industry in this state. In this country, for that matter.”

“There are other, better uses for land. Some studies show that production of cattle consumes more resources than it generates.”

“You can always find a study to support any theory.”

“Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

“No.”

“But what about those calves? They’re just babies—”

“I knew it! You’re trying to save them.”

She took in a deep breath and brought her chin up. “I’ll save any animal that I can.”

He walked over to the old percolator, refilled his coffee and raised his mug to her. “I’ll consider myself warned.” With that, he started to walk out of the kitchen.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to finish my toast in peace, then e-mail my brother in Afghanistan that instead of the cattle expert he wanted, we’re housing an animal-rights activist who intends to save his cattle from their cruel fate.”

“I’m not an animal-rights activist! I’m a farmer who happens to love animals for something other than food.”

“Right. That will make Cal feel so much better.”

She didn’t want to irritate Troy’s brother while he was away serving in the military, even if he was a cattle rancher in civilian life. “Perhaps you shouldn’t make your brother feel as if his ranch is being taken over by PETA.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And believe me, you’re not taking over.”

He was right, Raven admitted to herself as he strode into the office and shut the door. She was simply a guest until she found out where she was supposed to be or until Troy Crawford got tired of her opinions and tossed her out. Either way, she’d better come up with a plan.

AFTER USING TROY’S PHONE to call home and check on her animals, Raven took a shower, dressed in a calico skirt and peasant blouse, laced up her canvas sandals and drove into town. Pickles puttered along the two-lane road with predictable coughing on some of the turns. After driving just long enough to wonder if she was lost, Raven came across the town-limits sign, and then in another minute or so, Brody’s Crossing itself. She slowed down to the thirty-mile-an-hour speed limit as she passed a few run-down businesses and small homes, then a neat brick police station. She stopped on the corner at a flashing red light, right next to a bank that looked as if it could have been robbed by Bonnie and Clyde. On the other corners were a drugstore, a café and the town offices.

She drove around the two blocks that made up the downtown, seeing some thriving businesses, such as the beauty shop and café, and some that had obviously been vacant for a long time, like a dress shop and a furniture store. And, near the train tracks, a boarded-up hotel that at one time had probably been very nice.

She drove past some tidy frame houses with gardens out front and picket fences defining the sides and backyards. Then the houses became fewer and the yards bigger, until she was once again in the country. Only a few mobile homes dotted the landscape now, and as Raven pulled off the road to turn around, she had to admit that finding a place to stay in Brody’s Crossing wasn’t going to be easy. If she was staying in town, which she wouldn’t know until she talked to the heritage garden society.

The guest room at the Crawford ranch wasn’t luxurious, but it was available. And free. And there was one perk that couldn’t be duplicated even if she found a room for rent—Troy Crawford’s very distracting body.

TROY STILL DIDN’T HAVE A reply from Cal, so he shut down the computer and leaned back in the desk chair. His brother must be out on patrol or whatever they did during the day now. He tried not to think about how risky life could be in Afghanistan or he’d fret all the time about Cal, who really hadn’t expected to be called up or to be put in danger.

And Troy also had to worry about Raven, at least for a few more days. He didn’t believe she’d do anything to sabotage the herd, but he knew she wanted to “save” them. Couldn’t she understand that those Herefords were bred to be beef cattle and nothing else? That they were well treated, fed, wormed, and kept safe inside those fences that needed constant maintenance?

No, apparently she couldn’t. And he didn’t know how to get her off her soapbox about animal rights. All he wanted to do was look after this hopelessly antiquated ranch for his brother. Cal needed to have a place to come home to, not an eviction notice from the bank.

And Troy needed to know that he’d been the one to salvage the family ranch. Him. Not his father or his brother, but him. And if that was self-serving or arrogant or whatever, he’d just live with it. The old tried-and-true ranching practices were out of date. Maybe the association sending the wrong person was a sign that the time to act was now.

He pushed up from the chair. He’d been out riding fence in the one-hundred-degree heat. He stank and his butt hurt and he’d give one of his aching body parts for a thick, juicy steak and a baked potato. Which brought his thoughts back to his reluctant lodger. Where was she?

He looked in the guest room, kitchen and living room before searching outside. She was probably in the barn, knitting sweaters for the “poor little babies.” If she got attached to those calves, he was going to…well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he sure as heck wasn’t going to hold her and let her cry all over him when he’d warned her specifically not to get involved. Vulnerable baby animals could break your heart if you let them. She needed to toughen up, but he doubted she ever would.

On a hunch, before trekking to the barn, he checked the front of the house where she’d parked her Yankeemobile. Sure enough, it wasn’t there. However, her canvas tote bag and clothes were still in the bedroom, so she hadn’t left. Good. She was just out running errands or something. Lecturing someone else on the evils of eating meat, no doubt. Winning friends and influencing people. Yep, that was Raven York.

While she was gone and the place was quiet, he took a much-needed shower and shaved, which he did every day whether he was going someplace or not. He had nothing against the scruffy look, although he couldn’t stand the feel of stubble. He hoped Raven wouldn’t think he’d cleaned up just for her. Giving her the wrong impression wouldn’t be good for either of them, especially since she was only here for a few days.

He heard her close the back door just as he was checking his e-mail again. Still no reply from Cal. Maybe by tonight, which would be morning over there. Again he shut down the computer and went looking for Raven. He found her in the kitchen, rearranging things in the refrigerator.

“I wondered if you’d like to go into town to get a bite to eat in a little while,” he asked. “I was kind of hard on you at breakfast, and well, you might find something you’d enjoy on the menu at the local café.”

“Why?”

“I thought it would be nice to get away from the ranch for a while. You know, have dinner. Nothing more. No ulterior motive except to say I’m sorry for being rude. I’m not a morning person by nature and getting up before dawn is a stretch for me. Since I moved back to the ranch, I never had to get up early and be polite at the same time.”

“I’m sorry my presence is so disruptive. I tried to find someplace else to stay, but you were right. There’s nowhere. Believe me, I looked.”

“You want to leave that bad?”

“Well, I know I’m not what you were expecting. I’m sure if the heritage garden people phoned you’d let me know, no matter where I was staying. And I get on your nerves, as you’ve pointed out. I’m not shy about my beliefs.”

“Yeah, I got that.” He ran a hand around his neck. “Look, the truth is, since you arrived, things have been a lot more…interesting. Sometimes it gets kind of boring out here. You might irritate me occasionally, but you’re not boring.”

“Well, thank you very much, I think.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re welcome. So can we go to dinner? About five o’clock? The café closes early.”

“TROY CRAWFORD! HOW THE heck are you, son?” the booming cowboy asked as he squeezed Troy’s shoulder. They were sitting in one of the booths that lined each long wall of the café. Front windows faced Commerce Street, and the order desk and window to the kitchen made up the fourth side at the very back. Raven had hoped that the café wouldn’t be busy this time of day, but a surprising number of people were here for dinner.

“I’m fine, Bud. How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better, unless beef prices go up and gas prices go down.” The older man chuckled and looked at Raven. “I see you’ve got someone new in town.”

“Raven York, this is Bud Hammer. He’s a rancher.”

Raven extended her hand. “Hello, Mr. Hammer.”

“Just visiting our city boy, hmm?” he said with a knowing grin.

“Just a professional visit to the Crawford ranch,” she replied.

“Professional? What’s the problem, Troy?”

“Nothing serious. Ms. York is a consultant. She’s giving me some new ideas…for crops and feed, mostly.”

That was sort of true, she realized. They’d talked about what plants and products she thought everyone should eat.

“Oh.” Bud winked at Troy. “Whatever you say.”

“This is not a social visit.” Raven fixed her eye on Mr. Hammer. She absolutely would not have anyone thinking she’d come to Texas for a nonprofessional reason, no matter how good-looking Troy Crawford was.

“Quit teasing the young folks,” another older man said, clapping Bud on the back. “Who are you to question someone who’s an expert?”

“That’s right,” his companion, also about retirement age, added. “Troy ought to know what he’s talking about, since he works in the cattle industry.”

“Thanks, Mr. Maxwell. Hello, Rodney.”

“Call me Burl, Troy.”

“I still remember you as Mr. Maxwell, my math teacher. It’s hard to call you by your first name.”

“We’re all in the same boat now, aren’t we?”

“I’m going to get some dinner,” Bud said, “since y’all are having such a happy reunion.”

“Have a nice one,” Troy said, although Raven could tell he wasn’t sorry to see the man go.

“I’m Rodney Bell. My spread is a little west of the Crawford ranch. We’ve been neighbors for years.”

“And as Troy mentioned, I’m Burl Maxwell. I teach math at the high school and sponsor the 4-H Club.”

“Hello, I’m Raven York,” she introduced herself to the two men. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

The men smiled. They seemed genuinely nice. “How are you enjoying your visit to Brody’s Crossing?” Rodney asked.

“It’s very…different than New Hampshire,” she answered with a smile. “Troy has been a gracious host.”

“Cal asked me to get a consultant out to the ranch,” Troy explained. “Raven got sent here by mistake, but we’re making the best of it until we get the mix-up fixed. She’s trying to reform my wicked cattleman ways, and I’m trying to keep her from running off with all the calves.”

Both men laughed, but Raven felt surprise that Troy had divulged so much to them. And a little annoyed that he’d made her seem so very different. So odd.

“I specialize in heritage gardens,” she explained.

“That’s great,” Burl Maxwell said. “Too many of the old plants are being lost to modern hybrids and genetically engineered varieties. There’s a real art in traditional methods of cross-pollination and grafting.”

“Exactly! I’m so glad to find someone who shares my enthusiasm.”

She could practically feel Troy roll his eyes, but even Rodney Bell didn’t seem put off by her passion for plants.

“I remember back in the day,” he said, “the Crawford place had quite a vegetable garden, plus there were some climbing roses. You know, those little pink ones that have quite a smell?”

“Probably a floribunda,” Raven commented.

“Troy’s mother tried her best to keep it going, but you know, after…”

“Then she was gone, and I imagine the garden was completely lost,” Troy said, his tone flat.

Raven turned to look at him. His jaw seemed tight and his shoulders tense. What was the story with his mother?

“Well, we’d best get some dinner, too,” Burl said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Troy said.

“Thanks, but we’ll let you young people talk.”

“I’d value your opinion on some of my ideas for the ranch,” he said. “If not now, then how about coffee in a day or two?”

“It’d have to be after school,” Burl said.

“Throw in some pie and you have a deal,” Rodney added.

“Tuesday, then? Around four o’clock?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“See you then.”

The two men smiled and went back to another booth. They didn’t join Bud Hammer, Raven noticed.

“Nice guys,” she commented.

“Good neighbors, too. Maybe I’ll get some ideas from them, just in case the ranching expert doesn’t show.”

“That might be a better option anyway, since they know the area.”

“You’d think that, but it’s not what Cal wanted.”

“Do you have to do it Cal’s way?”

“Cal’s way or the highway,” Troy scoffed. “I shouldn’t be mean-spirited about this, but Cal is hell-bent on keeping our father’s traditions, down to the last, ill-conceived detail. The ranch is struggling, but all he cares about is having things the same as they’ve always been.”

“It must be frustrating for you.”

“Believe me, it’s beyond frustrating. Do I upset my brother while he’s dodging land mines and snipers in Afghanistan, or do I contribute to the failure of our family ranch?”

“You have to do what you feel is right.”

“Easy to say, not so easy to do.”

“If it were easy, he would have done it already.”

“Nothing is simple when it comes to my family.” He opened the menu, cutting off the conversation. “I think you’ll find something here to eat. They have some pretty good vegetables and a decent salad.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” But as she looked at her menu, she wondered if Troy would find some solution he could swallow when it came to the ranch.