Читать книгу The Cowboy's Gift-Wrapped Bride - Victoria Pade - Страница 7

Too much snow had already fallen for the plow to get down to bare pavement on the roads. Instead it had left them densely snowpacked with new drifts piling up to replace the old.

But inside Matt McDermot’s truck the heater was on and the view through the windows was of pristine white flakes swirling in a mesmerizing dance.

And even though Jenn tried to stay awake, she just couldn’t.

So one minute she was staring out at the golden swath the headlights cut through the snow and the next thing she knew Matt McDermot’s deep molasses voice was saying, “Jenn? Wake up. We’re here.”

She apparently hadn’t been asleep long enough to have forgotten who he was or the fact that they were going to the McDermot ranch where she’d been offered refuge because when she awoke it wasn’t to any kind of startled confusion about where she was or whom she was with. Instead she slipped out of sleep to the irresistible lure of that rich voice that seemed to roll over her in a sweet, beckoning refrain. And Jenn’s first thought was that she should probably feel less comfortable and at ease with this man whom she had just met.

She didn’t, though.

When she did open her eyes this time it was to the view from the passenger side window. And what she saw was a big ranch-style house with a covered porch that wrapped around twin wings stretching out on either side of the main entrance. All the porch railings and pillars were wound with evergreen boughs and tiny white lights, and more tiny white lights dripped from all the eaves, turning the snow that blanketed the place into glimmering crystal.

It was a warm, welcoming sight.

“When Buzz Martindale owned this ranch the house was only a small two-bedroom farmhouse,” Jenn said, the words spilling out as if from a speech she somehow knew by rote. “But after he turned the place over to his grandchildren—and you all became wildly successful with a new breed of hardy cattle—the original house was turned into not much more than the entryway to the addition that made the place one of the nicest homes in Elk Creek.”

“Maybe in your real life you do a nightclub act as a psychic,” Matt said with a slight, stunned laugh. “Are you having visions of this stuff or what?”

Jenn shrugged. “I don’t know. The information is just there. Nothing else is, but these thoughts keep popping into my head from out of nowhere.”

“Does the place seem familiar? Maybe you were here before for some reason?”

“Sorry,” she said as if another negative answer would disappoint him.

“Well, you’re right about it, anyway,” he confirmed, being a good sport.

“Buzz moved away with his wife for a while—if I’m not mistaken—and that was when he gave the ranch up to his grandchildren.”

Matt nodded. “My grandmother was sick and they moved to Denver to be nearer the hospital where she was being treated.”

“And after she died he stayed on in Denver,” Jenn continued, “until he broke his leg and couldn’t care for himself anymore.”

“He broke his knee. His right knee.”

“And he’s been back here ever since. Doing well.”

“Amazing,” Matt said, more to himself than to her.

“And weird,” Jenn added, wondering at herself as much as he obviously was.

She’d been looking at the house the whole time but now she turned her head to find Matt studying her through the darkness that was only broken by the Christmas lights on the house.

His expression made it evident he was curious but he didn’t appear to be suspicious. Although she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had been. It suddenly occurred to her that if she kept it up she might cause him to be.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say these things out loud,” she said, thinking the minute the words were spoken that maybe she shouldn’t have said that, either.

“I figure you shouldn’t stifle whatever comes into your mind. You never know when one thing might spark memory of another or give us an idea of what’s going on with you and why you’re here.”

She was grateful for that. Not because it seemed important that she be able to go on with these bouts of trivia but because he didn’t think she was some kind of lunatic or con artist pulling a scam—what he could well have thought if he were another sort of person.

But as it was, those dark green eyes of his merely scanned her face as if she were a riddle he was trying to figure out and a clue might be there for him to read.

And as the intensity of that gaze washed over her, Jenn felt a tingling response sluice along her nerve endings. A response she didn’t understand any more than she understood what was going on with her memory.

But the one thing she did know was that this was no time to be basking in a man’s glance. Or voice. Or company.

“Shouldn’t we go in?” she asked then in an attempt to escape the close confines of the truck cab and the enticing scent of a citrusy, clean-smelling aftershave that was only making it more difficult for her to think straight.

“Sure,” Matt agreed.

He turned off the truck’s engine and got out without a moment’s hesitation, coming to the passenger side from around the rear to open her door.

When he had, he offered her a hand to help her down, and before she’d considered whether or not it was wise to take it, Jenn did.

But that physical contact didn’t help her already jumbled thoughts because the moment her hand connected with his much larger, callused one, more of that odd tingling sensation began, shooting all the way up her arm this time.

The reaction didn’t make any more sense to her now than it had when she’d experienced it as a result of nothing more than his gaze. The only conclusion she could come to to explain it was that something purely elemental, something perfectly primitive, was afoot.

But why now and not when he’d placed a steadying hand to her shoulder at his brother’s office when she’d tried to sit up and felt faint?

In the office there hadn’t been bare skin against bare skin the way there was now…?.

Jenn was tempted to indulge in the feeling, to let her hand stay nestled within his, to go on letting the heat of that naked flesh seep into every pore.

But the temptation—along with the pleasure that was skittering all through her—was also very alarming. After all, this man was a stranger to her and certainly the circumstances they were currently in—or at least the circumstances she was currently in—were not conducive to any kind of attraction between them.

So the moment her feet were firmly planted on the ground she pulled her hand out of his as if she’d just been singed by hot coals. For surely it seemed as if she was just as likely to get burned.

If Matt noticed anything amiss in her withdrawal, he didn’t show it. He just stepped around her and grabbed her suitcase and purse from the truck’s bench seat.

Then he closed the door, turned to face the house and said, “Ladies first,” in a friendly way that held no hint that he’d had the same response to her that she’d had to him.

But then, why would something as innocuous as their hands touching affect him the way it had affected her? It was only things in her head that were haywire.

Accepting that as a fact she couldn’t do anything about at the moment, Jenn opted for ignoring it and took the lead to the house, being careful not to slip on the walkway that had been shoveled at some point but was once again covered in snow.

When they reached the double front doors with their elaborate ovals of stained glass in the top halves, Matt went ahead of her to open one for her.

“There you go,” he said to urge her inside.

Jenn stepped into a big brightly lit foyer and felt a blast of heat that chased the chill back outside before Matt closed the door.

“We’ve missed supper by now,” he said then. “So how about I show you to your room and give you half an hour to settle in? Then we can meet in the kitchen and I’ll rustle us up something to eat.”

There were voices coming from somewhere toward the rear of the house and what sounded like post-meal cleanup. No one was in sight but Jenn was having another of those informational blips about who those voices likely belonged to.

Not that they seemed familiar, but for some reason she had a pretty good idea of who lived in this house.

She opted for keeping it to herself though and merely said, “That sounds good.”

Matt pointed his dimpled chin to the left where Jenn was reasonably certain a hallway that matched the one on the right would take her to the left wing she’d seen from outside. “I’ll put you up in the room next to mine. It’s straight down there, the third door.”

Again he waited for her to precede him.

Old-fashioned cowboy courtesy, Jenn thought.

It was nice. And as she once more took the lead down the hall, she wondered if he was this way with all women and if he was, why someone hadn’t snapped him up for herself by now so they could be treated like royalty all the time.

“Each one of these is a private suite,” Matt said as he opened the third door for her. “We—that is, my grandfather and all my siblings—use the kitchen, dining room, living room and rec room—they’re communal. But we each have a suite with a bedroom and a private bath, along with a sitting room so we can hole up in our own space if we’ve a mind to. There are even doors from the suites out to the porch if anybody wants to come and go that way, too.”

Jenn entered the sitting room portion of her newly appointed rooms. A pale blue overstuffed couch and chair and an oval coffee table monopolized the space, positioned to face a stone fireplace on the outside wall where French doors did indeed lead to that wraparound porch.

It was a cozy room, especially with the window on the other side of the fireplace framing a view of a huge oak tree whose branches were all snow-kissed.

“The bedroom’s in here,” Matt said, taking her suitcase through another door that connected a large room furnished with a queen-size bed covered in a downy blue checked quilt. There was also a desk and dressing table, a large bureau with a mirror above it, and another full-length mirror on the opposite door that apparently led to that bathroom he’d mentioned.

“Make yourself at home,” Matt said after he’d set her suitcase and purse on the bed. “Will you be okay on your own for a while?”

“I’ll be fine.” She marveled at the stroke of luck it had been that someone like Matt McDermot had found her on the side of the road. She really wasn’t clearheaded enough to have fended for herself and another person might have taken advantage rather than looked after her so conscientiously and generously.

But before she could tell him how much she appreciated all he was doing for her, he said, “You can get to the kitchen by going the rest of the way down that hallway we just used. You’ll pass the rec room and then you can’t miss the kitchen. I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

He left and Jenn felt a little like Alice after she’d gone through the looking glass.

Trying to get past how dazed she still felt, she took off her coat and stared down at her clothes, realizing for the first time that there were blood spatters on her white blouse and gray slacks—blood spatters that matched those on her coat—from where her head had been cut open in the accident.

She certainly didn’t want to stay in stained clothing so she slipped off her black loafers and intended to shed the rest of her soiled garments when she suddenly wondered what she looked like. Because now that she thought about it, she didn’t have a clear image in her mind of even that.

So she crossed to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door for a look.

She wasn’t tall—that was the first thing that registered. Probably about five-four if she stood straight. She was just about average weight. Except that her feet were somewhat on the large side and her breasts weren’t.

Her skin was clear and not so pale that it had a bluish tinge the way the skin of some redheads did. But still she was pretty fair. Her complexion was clear though, which pleased her. And her features were devoid of any enormous flaws. Well, maybe the cheekbones were on the high side, but that was good.

Her eyes were a nice shade of dark blue. With lashes that were long enough to be notable.

Probably the thing she liked best in her assessment of herself was her hair. It fell a few inches past her shoulders in a thick, wavy mass of burnished red that had a richness to it rather than an orange tint.

Of course at that moment it was kind of a mess, between the accident, the blood from the cut that had matted it just inside her hairline and then the haphazard washing it had taken at the doctor’s office.

She would have liked to shampoo her whole head before she went out to see Matt again but that couldn’t be done in half an hour so she decided it would just have to be brushed well and pulled back.

With that—and getting a change of clothes—in mind, she went to open her suitcase where Matt had left it on the bed.

While she was rummaging around in it for a hairbrush, she kept an eye out for any clue as to who she was, what kind of life she’d left behind, or why she’d come to this small town.

But she didn’t see anything remarkable or unusual inside the suitcase. It held only ordinary clothes, mostly jeans, sweaters and turtleneck shirts, with the exception of a simple jumper and a pair of velvet overalls.

There was also a pair of casual black suede slip-on shoes and a pair of low-heeled pumps. A few lacy bras and matching panties. Some socks, and that was about all.

But after suffering a little disappointment that there hadn’t been anything very telling in the suitcase she realized that there were some things the items didn’t say that were an indication of what wasn’t going on with her. For instance the only nightgown and robe she had were plaid flannel and there wasn’t a single slinky, sexy dress in the lot. So clearly she hadn’t come to Elk Creek for a romantic rendezvous.

She finally found a clear plastic makeup bag in one of the suitcase’s side pockets and even before she took it out she could see a comb and brush in it, along with some makeup and toiletries. But when she pulled the bag free of its cloth cubby she found something else behind it. Something that seemed odd.

A beat-up shaving kit.

The brown leather was soiled and ashy, and one side showed signs of having been crushed and then pulled back into a semblance of its original shape.

Jenn pulled it out, reassessing the other articles of the suitcase to be certain that nothing else in it belonged to a man.

It didn’t.

So why did she have this ratty old Dopp kit?

She set it on top of the other things in the suitcase so she could open it. It wasn’t easy. The zipper was rusty and stubborn. But she finally managed to force its teeth apart.

And when she did, what she found inside was not shaving gear.

The kit was full of money.

Lots of it.

Jenn turned the shaving kit upside down and shook it, causing a fluttering green rain of bills to fall onto the quilt.

There wasn’t anything else in the kit. Just cash.

She did a quick count—$2,157—none of it in anything larger than a twenty.

Traveling money? Her savings? Or maybe moving money? Maybe she’d been on her way to Elk Creek to live.

But would she have traveled with so much cash? And if she’d been moving to Elk Creek, why did she only have one small suitcase rather than a whole carload of belongings?

Maybe she’d come to Elk Creek to buy something. But why in cash? If she were making a large purchase wouldn’t she use a check or a credit card?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the seller wanted cash.

But the one thing that made none of those possibilities click in her mind was that something about the money triggered an unpleasant feeling in Jenn. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she had the sense that it wasn’t hers.

And that gave her pause.

Because if the money wasn’t hers, then whom did it belong to? And why did she have it?

Of course just a sense that it wasn’t her money and a bad feeling about it didn’t make it true. Maybe it was hers but it was all she had in the world because she’d lost her job and needed to start a whole new life. Maybe what she’d been feeling before the accident was depression or despondency or natural concern and so the money had triggered a negative feeling now as a remnant of all that.

But somehow she didn’t believe it.

She didn’t feel any kind of ownership over the cash. Instead she felt as if she wanted to hide it away. As if she were ashamed of it.

And why would she be ashamed of it unless it was ill-gotten gains of some kind?

That thought didn’t sit well, either.

Was she a thief?

Oh dear.

What if she was a horrible person who had stolen money? Or swindled someone out of it? What if she hadn’t been headed to Elk Creek at all but had just been on her way through it to somewhere else? Somewhere she was running to escape something terrible she’d done?

Except if that was the case, why did she know so much about Elk Creek and the people who lived there? But then that had been the million-dollar question all along.

Or maybe it was just the $2,157 question.

So what was she going to do with it? she asked herself as she stood there staring down at all that cash on the bed.

She didn’t know much, but suddenly she was very sure of one thing: It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell Matt McDermot or anyone else about it.

It was possible that she couldn’t really trust everyone around her, that someone might help themselves to the money if they knew it existed.

Okay, maybe now she was being crazy. She didn’t actually believe anyone—especially Matt McDermot—would take anything from her.

On the other hand, she couldn’t help being concerned with what Matt might think about it—and her—if she also let him know her negative feelings about the money.

Sure, he might give her the benefit of the doubt. To a man with his kind of wealth $2,157 wasn’t that big a deal. It probably was just traveling money to him.

But what if he didn’t think that? What if he thought she might have come by it by less than honest means?

It was bad enough to worry that she might be a thief, but to have Matt even consider that a possibility, too? To have his opinion of her tinged?

She just couldn’t stand that idea.

Not that it had anything to do with that warm, tingly feeling she’d had earlier in the truck on the way home or when she’d taken his hand to get out of it, she reassured herself. Those feelings had just been part of the mental fog she’d been in since regaining consciousness.

She just didn’t want to inspire any mistrust on his part. After all, she was a guest in his house. A perfect stranger he was allowing into his home, around his family.

And she needed his hospitality. His help. Certainly she didn’t want to alienate him.

So that was all there was to it. She was sure of it.

She gathered up the money in a hurry, as if someone might come in any moment and see it, and she stuffed it back into the shaving kit. Then she hid the shaving kit deep beneath the clothes in her suitcase.

Maybe the sense that the money didn’t belong to her was a mistake anyway, she thought as she did. It wasn’t as if she were cooking on all burners. She was recognizing people she didn’t know even while she couldn’t remember her own name. She was attracted to a man she’d just met. A man she’d just met under the worst of circumstances. So who was to say that nothing more than a bad feeling about the money gave any credence to its origin or what her having it meant?

“It’s probably nothing awful,” she said out loud, as if that would chase away her negative feelings.

It didn’t, though.

Something about that money rubbed her the wrong way.

But it was better that it rubbed her the wrong way than that it rubbed Matt McDermot the wrong way.

Because as much as she wished it weren’t so, the one thing she knew without a doubt was that she cared a whole lot about what he thought of her.

A whole lot more than she wanted to care…?.