B00DVWSNZ8 EBOK (8 page)

A swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach all the way to the bathroom.

The
tiny bathroom couldn’t have been much more than five feet by eight. It had an equally tiny vanity taken up almost entirely by the sink, a commode and a shower/tub combo. A lemony cleaning product smell mixed with the same pleasant scent she had smelled on Brady. She spotted a bottle of something blue-green on the edge of the tub, picked it up, opened it and smelled it. SEABREEZE the label said. “Nice,” she mumbled.

E
verything—fixtures, walls and counter—appeared to be freshly scrubbed, though evidence of the wear and corrosion caused by hard water was abundant. Bad water was a West Texas blight. A plumber from Lubbock seemed to be constantly repairing or replacing something at the Circle C ranch house or its other buildings. But to most Willard County residents, frequent plumbing replacement was an unaffordable extravagance. Most people just lived with plugged fixtures or perforated pipes until the inconvenience became an emergency.

When she returned to the kitchen, two sandwiches sliced into neat halves on two plates
sat on the table. Each plate had two pickles beside the sandwich. A roll of paper towels lay in the middle of the table.

"Have a seat," he said. "Want a glass of milk?"

"Sure."

She eased onto a chair at the table, relieved to sit down. Already, she was sore everywhere and the day was only half over. He was right in that she had never before done the kind of work she had done all morning. The boards were wide and heavy. Because they were also long, they were awkward to manhandle.

He poured two glasses of milk and set them on the table, then took a seat adjacent to hers. He tore two paper towel sheets from the roll and handed one to her, smiling. "Sorry, no napkins. This is the best I can do."

Jude had been a teacher in an underfunded public school full of students from low-income families
who could scarcely afford paper towels, much less napkins. If Brady hadn't brought the substitution to her attention, she would hardly have noticed, though she had never seen the Circle C dining table without napkins. "No problem," she said, and looked into his face for a few extra seconds.

At last, she could really see his eyes and take the time to study them. And they were most interesting
—sky blue irises surrounded by a navy blue ring. With beautiful blue eyes and long black lashes, he was truly a handsome man. A vision of long lines of women popped into her mind. Had he been unfaithful to his wife? Had he had a girlfriend? Was that why he was divorced? With his looks, he could have had a harem.

The
n in a eureka moment, the quality about him that fascinated her came to her. He had a confidence about him. It had nothing to do with his good looks, but everything to do with his maleness. He reminded her of a testosterone-driven stallion that just knew by instinct he was the boss horse the mares wouldn't reject.

"What do you hear from Cable?" he asked.

“Very little.” She bit into her sandwich and chewed. It wasn’t a bad sandwich. No worse than what the school cafeteria served routinely. “I'm surprised you haven't run into him. He bought a rope-manufacturing company somewhere near Fort Worth quite a while ago. Lariats, you know?"

"There's several of those
companies around Fort Worth."

She was growing more impatient, waiting for him to reveal that he had hired on as a Circle C cowhand. Finally,
her curiosity got the best of her. "Daddy said you're going to work for the Circle C."

He sat back in his chair, just looking at her and chewing, as if he were peering inside her.
That tinge of mockery came into his eyes again. He picked up his glass, and her eyes fixed on his corded neck as he swallowed a long drink of milk.

He set the empty glass back on the table but looked at his sandwich instead of her. "I was wondering when you were gonna get around to saying something. So that's what you're doing here. Being nosy."

"I'm not being nosy. To tell you the truth, I don't know what I'm doing here.” She shrugged and gave him a weak smile. “Daddy said you aren't starting until Monday."

"I told him I need to get
down to Stephenville tomorrow and pick up my horses and the rest of my stuff."

"But the ranch will furnish your mounts. You don't have to ride your own horses."

"I don't intend to. But I want my horses here with me. A friend's been pasturing 'em for me. Now that I've got a place to keep 'em, I want to get 'em out of his way."

"How many horses do you have?"

"Three."

"Ranch horses?"

"Yep. Good ones."

They would be good ones. He just looked like the type of man who would have good horses. "I can't remember the last time I was in Stephenville."

He stopped chewing and looked at her again, wiping his mouth with the sheet of paper towel. "Don't tell me you're volunteering to help me move my stuff from Stephenville."

The notion hadn’t occurred to her before, but suddenly, helping him move
his things seemed like a good idea. "Why not?"

He laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Darlin', I appreciate the offer, but it's a job I can do easier by myself. Besides, even if I needed the hel
p, J. D. Strayhorn would skin me alive and can me before I ever get started if he thought I hauled you with me over to Stephenville. Hell. I'm wondering what he might do if he knew you were here right now."

"
I’m almost thirty years old. He doesn't tell me what to do."

"Maybe not, but I'd bet my best saddle he doesn't want you fraternizing with the hired help."

Her father could never be called snobbish in his attitude about the men and women who worked for the Circle C, but he and Grandpa condoned her mixing with the male help only to a point. Daddy had always told her to stay away from the bunkhouse and not to invite trouble. She hadn't understood that as a child, but now that she was grown, she had to acknowledge that the practice was a good one. Other than the families who lived a distance away from the main house and the Mexican household help, all of whom were married, she was the only female on the place. Brady Fallon's insight into Daddy's and Grandpa's attitudes left her without a rebuttal.

"I've got the time right now," she said, "but in a few more weeks, I'll have to get ready for school."

"You’re not out of school?"

"High school. I teach biology. And help coach girls' sports."

"The hell you say."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I'm just surprised is all."

"I have to do something. I don't want to be worthless.
” She laid her sandwich on her plate and looked into his face. “Look, I’m trying to be a friend. I can see what you're wanting to do here will be hard. I just think you can use all the help you can get."

Just in time, she kept herself from
blurting,
I know you don't have any money. I know you can't afford to hire anyone.

She cautioned herself to be
careful what she said. She did want to help Brady Fallon—her whole life, she had rallied around underdogs—but after what Grandpa had told her about his own plans for the 6-0, she
couldn't
betray his trust.
Damn.
She had put herself in a delicate position.

"This is gonna be a nonstop working trip, darlin'. I've got to clean out the trailer house where I've been living so
another hired hand can move in. That'll take me most of tomorrow. Sunday morning, I'll load up my horses and gear and come back."

She opened her palms and held his gaze, as if it were perfectly normal and usual for her to agree to an overnight trip with a cowboy she hardly knew.
“It isn’t entirely true that I don’t know you. There’s the childhood connection and Jake told me you’re a good guy. That’s enough for me.”

"Look, you're a grown woman," he said. "If you say your dad doesn't care what you do, I accept that, though I'm not sure I believe it. I guess you're welcome to go with me if you want to, but I don't mind telling you, I don't want your dad and granddad to know about it. I need that job at the Circle C. At least until I can figure out what to do next."

As if a stranger had taken control of her tongue, she said, "Great. And don't worry. Daddy won't know. I'll figure out something to tell him."

Chapter 7

Jude dragged herself home from the 6-0 just in time to shower and dress for supper without a minute to spare. No time left to drop into her father's office for a drink before the evening meal. She met him and Grandpa in the dining room. A mix of mouthwatering aromas wafted from the kitchen and made her stomach rumble. After nothing more than a bowl of cereal for breakfast and the bologna and cheese sandwich for lunch, she was starved.

"Looks like you got some sun today, punkin," Daddy said, pulling out her chair at the table.

She had worked without sunscreen. A cap had done little to prevent the merciless sun from cooking her face. If she hadn’t had Brady's shirt to wear, her neck and shoulders would have been as red as a boiled lobster. She took her seat, then pressed a palm to her cheek. The skin felt warm against her hand. "There isn't much shade around Suzanne's barn," she said.

She winced inside
. That small fib was an extension of the greater lie in which she had participated since this morning. Guilt was an unfamiliar and burdensome emotion. Until she had become obsessed with the 6-0 ranch, she had lived her life openly and honestly and hadn't needed to lie about anything, large or small.

Windy and Irene began bringing out dishes of food. Part of supper was obviously leftovers from dinner. "Sorry I missed dinner," she said, heaping her plate with slices of grilled sirloin, mashed potatoes and brown gravy. "What did y'all talk about?"

"Sandy Dandy, mostly," Daddy answered. "Looks like we'll be transferring quite a few sperm samples. I'm especially interested in that mare Pitchfork brought up from South Texas. We all think she's a perfect match with Sandy Dandy. Who knows? Might get another Dash for Cash."

He grinned and Grandpa chuckled. The legendary record-setting Dash for Cash was a Texas-bred quarter-horse stallion that had sired two generations of prizewinners.

"And the Triple D's got several mares, too," Daddy added.

"Wish I'd been here," Jude said. And she sincerely did wish it. Before today, nothing could have caused her to miss a dinner conversation about horse breeding. Unfortunately, she couldn't be in two places at once.

"What were you and Suzanne up to?" her father asked as Windy and Irene fussed around the table. “I thought you’d want to be here for the conversation about breeding Sandy Dandy.”

Jude's stomach muscles tightened at the prospect of telling yet another untruth. "
Suzanne's, uh, giving her barn a good cleaning and doing some work on the corral."

Lame, lame, lame.
That excuse didn't even come close to being a good reason to miss an important dinner. Her father’s head cocked and a look of curiosity came her way. Oh, hell.

Grandpa saved her with a gravelly heh-heh-heh as he spooned green beans onto his plate. "If you want to clean barns, Judith Ann, we've got a few around here."

"I know, Grandpa. I just wanted to do Suzanne a favor. She doesn't have any help and she's got a full-time job."

Then that same alien force that had taken hold of her tongue at Brady's house said, "I, uh, we're going to take a break, though. We're going over to Fort Worth tomorrow to spend the night. Do some shopping and go out for some of the downtown nightlife."

"Good," Daddy said. "Glad to hear you're taking my suggestion to heart."

"Well, you know, school will be starting the middle of August. I'm going to have to start making my lesson plans before long. The next thing you know, teachers' meetings will begin and I might not get a chance to go anywhere. It's been ages since either Suzanne or I ate at Reata."

"Will you be seeing Jason while you're in Fort Worth?"

"No, I'm—"

"You should drop in on him and surprise him. I know he'd be glad to see you."

Jason Weatherby. Her most recent fiancé.
The fact that his wealthy family had given him everything money could buy was the one and only thing Jude and he had in common. She had known the relationship was a sham mere weeks into the engagement, but Daddy and Grandpa so desperately wanted her to find a husband, she had wanted to try to please them. Again. She had endured the engagement for three months, all the while trying to make herself believe she could have a happy life with Jason.

It had been impossible from the start. Besides being a snob, Jason couldn't think his way out of a sack. Physically, he was a wimp. Didn't have a muscle anywhere. She could outrun him, outwalk him and outwrestle him. He was afraid of horses and cows. "Daddy, Jason and I aren't friends anymore."

"I know, but he still keeps in touch. I talk to him or his dad every couple of weeks. You know, we've known his family for a long time, punkin. You'll be having a birthday in another couple of months and Jason will soon be thirty-five. His dad would like to see him marry and start a family. I've been hoping—"

"Please, Daddy. If I broke our engagement because I didn't enjoy his company, I sure don't want to have his children. I don't want to spend time with him, either."

"Oh, I understand, punkin," her father said, chewing and swallowing.

This was how all of these conversations ended. Despite what he said, he
didn't
understand. His and Grandpa's wishes for her to get married and have kids overrode understanding.

"By the way," he said, "since you're going to be in Fort Worth, there's a new Boren watercolor at Sid's museum.
I don’t suppose you’d have time to drop in and take a look at it."

Damn. How can I get past this?
The Sid Richardson Museum of Western Art was a downtown Fort Worth landmark. If her father went to Fort Worth for any reason, he rarely left without visiting it. If he requested she go see a painting, how could she refuse? "I hadn't heard that."

"I've been trying to find the opportunity to get over there," her father said. "I'm told it's one of his better works."

Jude nodded.

"You girls planning on staying at the Worthington?"

"Um, yes. That's the easiest."
Damn. Another lie.

"Are you taking J.D.'s plane?" Grandpa asked.

"Oh, that isn't necessary," she said. "We'd rather drive. We can listen to music and talk and not have to fool with renting a car."

Daddy nodded again
.
Good grief, could he tell her heart was pounding?
She had told him more lies in the past half hour than in her entire life.

Soon Windy ended the meal by bringing out a fresh lemon meringue pie, and they all had generous slices. "Good pie," Grandpa said, scraping his plate clean. "After this, Judith Ann, we'll need a good long walk."

Jude suppressed a groan. She was so spent, she had barely managed to climb the stairs for a shower. The very thought of strolling around the barn lots sounded like pure agony. "No, thanks, Grandpa. There's a show on the science channel I need to watch."

As soon as was gracefully possible, she made an excuse to leave the table, then chastised herself all the way to her room for being a liar.

She logged on to the Internet and calculated the trip to Stephenville. A three-and-a-half-hour drive. Longer coming back since they would be hauling three horses. She fell into bed, barely mustered the energy to turn on the TV and quickly went sound asleep. An hour later, she awoke to a program about Mars.

She hit the power button on the remote and switched off the lamp, expecting to
quickly fall back to sleep. Half an hour later, she found herself wide-awake and worrying. Where would she sleep in Stephenville? If Brady was moving out of his dwelling, there would be no bed. Should she rent a motel room? Should she take a sleeping bag? And if so, where
was
her sleeping bag? She hadn't seen it in months. She drifted to sleep again.

She awoke a short time later arguing with herself. What would be wrong with simply telling Daddy and Grandpa she had helped Brady Fallon all day and she intended to go to Stephenville with him to help him further?

But like a predator snake, her grandfather's words from just the previous evening slithered into her thoughts. Grandpa had his own ideas about the future of the 6-0 ranch. He would never understand her reasons for helping Brady. She still didn't understand them herself. Added to that was the agreement she had made with Brady not to tell Daddy they were traveling to Stephenville together.

She slept again only to awaken a short time later. While drifting in and out of a sleepy haze, she had made a decision. As soon as the sun showed on the horizon, she would call Brady and say she had changed her mind. Problem solved. Worry gone.

She rose before daylight, stiff limbed and sore muscled and almost as worn-out as when she had gone to bed. She reached for her cell phone, then stared at it blankly. She couldn't call Brady. She didn't have his phone number. She hadn't seen a phone in his house, so he probably had only a cell phone. Or maybe he didn't even have a cell phone. She hadn't seen one of those, either.
Hell. Just hell.

If she didn’t show up, w
ould he wait for her, thus delaying his leaving? Of course, even if he waited for a while, he would eventually go on to Stephenville without her, but no doubt he would be mad. She hated the idea of having him mad at her.

Resigned to lying in the bed she had made, she dressed in older jeans and a knit tank and packed a small duffel with toiletries, pajamas and a change of clothing. She braided her long hair into a single queue, pulled on a denim jacket and
jogged downstairs.

There, she ran into her father on his way to the cookhouse. Most mornings, he ate breakfast with the hands. She walked with him, grabbing an orange from a bowl as they passed the harvest table in the entry. At her pickup door, they hugged, and he told her to drive carefully and to have a good time. The urge to tell him the truth tempted her, but she couldn't forget she had promised Brady she wouldn't.

She drove away from the ranch house with guilt pinching at her like a skinny-fingered old crone. All the way to the 6-0, she debated if she should call Suzanne and alert her that she was suddenly part of a conspiracy, but decided against it. Suzanne would ask questions. And the possibility that Daddy might call her was remote.

Approaching the 6-0, even from a distance, she could see the
old house's porch light glowing as bright as a lighthouse in the predawn darkness. When she reached the driveway, Brady's truck was parked in front of the house, its bed covered by a dark tarp. As she came to a stop, he walked out of the house, obviously in a hurry and ready to go. He was wearing a straw cowboy hat and carrying a thermal mug with a lid.

She buzzed down the window to say good morning, but before she spoke a word, he said, "Put your truck in the shed and I'll close the door
and lock it. The last thing I need is for somebody to see it and tell your dad."

Now she was glad she had overcome the urge to discuss their trip with her father.

She complied with Brady's request and walked back to his pickup carrying the orange and the duffel, doing her best to clear her mind of worrisome thoughts and what-ifs. The childish conspiracy had grown into a two-ton elephant in her mind.

Brady's head tilted toward the duffel. "What's that?"

"My things."

"Put it up front. The bed's full of empty boxes they gave me at the grocery store." He walked across the driveway, closed the shed door and
padlocked it. When he returned, he said, "I've got another mug if you want some coffee to go."

Jude rarely drank coffee, especially in the summertime. But she would if it was heavily laced with cream and sugar. "Do you have cream?"

"Armored cow."

"Pardon?"

"Canned milk. I've got some canned milk."

Then she remembered she had seen the ranch hands use canned evaporated milk instead of cream. She had even tried it a few times. "Okay, great," she said, though she wasn't sure she really thought it was great. "Sugar, too," she added as he strode back into the house.

He came out a few minutes later carrying a second mug with a lid and handed it to her. "Let's hit the road." He opened the passenger-side door and held it for her. "Be nice to get down there and get some of the work done before it turns hot and the humidity reaches the strangling point."

“I know what you mean,” she said.
As a native West Texan, she considered North Central Texas, with its lower elevation and wetter climate, a swamp. Maybe he felt the same.

As she climbed onto the passenger seat, her shoulder brushed his firm chest and that little stir she had felt yesterday returned. She deliberately didn't look at him.

She placed her duffel on the crew cab's backseat. He closed the door behind her and she watched him shrug out of his canvas jacket as he rounded the front of the pickup. He scooted behind the wheel, filling the small space with the scent of a fresh shower, shampoo, even toothpaste, and that same woodsy-smelling cologne she had noticed yesterday. He laid his jacket and his hat on the backseat beside her duffel, fired the engine and changed gears, his short-sleeve T-shirt revealing his biceps flexing and bunching under his tanned skin. She forced her eyes back to her cup.