Bridleton (7 page)

“Okay, see you later!” She slammed the door and they were on their way.

“Seat belt,” he reminded.

Andrea dropped the sunscreen on the seat and handed him the coffee mug while she found and secured her belt. She glanced back at him in time to see him swallow a big gulp of her coffee.

“Hey! That’s mine.”

He handed it back to her. “You gave it to me.”

“For safekeeping.”

“Then you should have said so.”

Andrea stared at him a minute, wondering at how easily they’d fallen back into the good-natured bickering that had been so much a part of their relationship in the early days. Somewhere during their long week she’d realized staying angry with him wasted too much energy. She’d never forgive him for past sins but she respected his work ethic and she’d gotten tired of the open hostility.

Her hair hung heavily down her back. The early morning temperature crept toward seventy degrees, so she wanted it off her shoulders. After taking a big swig of coffee she gave the cup back to him.

“Here, you can finish it. I need to braid my hair.”

A heavy silence fell between them as he drove over several miles of Bridleton roads to access the main highway. Andrea slowly wove her hair into a French plait then wrapped the ends in a bun and secured it to the nape of her neck.

“I forgot a hat.”

“You can buy one at the fairgrounds.”

She made a face. “I forgot to bring any money.”

“Then I’ll buy it and you can owe me.”

Her frown deepened. The Bartells already owed him too much. Hopefully they could remedy that soon but she hated being dependent on him all day for cash. She didn’t even have her debit card.

He shot her a glance. “It’s no big deal.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“You’re reading minds now too?” she taunted.

“When you forget to be snooty and prim, your face is pretty expressive.”

“It’s not snooty to be mature and responsible.”

“Call it what you want,” he replied smoothly, handling the big truck with ease. “But it’s not a maturity issue. You were born snooty and prim.”

“And you were born too stubborn for words.”

Her heated reply hung in the air for a long minute. Noah didn’t comment. He gave her a quick, hard look and then switched on the radio. Andrea drew in a deep breath, wondering how this one man managed to needle her more quickly than an army of persnickety photographers.

As a soulful country ballad filled the air, her heart stuttered. She hadn’t heard much country western music these past few years and it had always been her favorite. She listened to the words of a love gone wrong and stared at the window, trying not to think of the past and how many hours they’d spent making out in this very truck. Had Noah made love to a lot of other women on these tan leather seats? Who had taken her place once she’d left? One special woman or several? It wasn’t her concern, so why did the question nag at her?

Better to concentrate on the scenery.

The rains had brought lush green to the area along with fields of blue bonnets, wild mustard and bountiful wildflowers. Golden wheat waved brightly in the sun. Miles and miles of redwood fence bordered Bridleton, with longhorn cattle grazing as far as the eye could see. At one time they would have numbered in the thousands but not anymore. Noah assured her their livestock was of the highest quality and still in demand for breeding. She hoped this year’s crop of calves would make a difference.

“The property looks prosperous enough, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a start,” he said. “The rain is crucial but too much now could destroy all the grain we just planted.”

“It’s a constant challenge, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“So why do you do it? Why fight the endless battle with the weather and markets and money woes?”

He shot her a searching glance. “Why not? Every job has its ups and downs, good times and bad.”

“I suppose.”

“Is modeling all you hoped it would be? No downside?”

“Of course there are negatives. Sometimes there are long hours, insufferable designers and demanding photographers.”

“But?”

But what? Andrea gave the answer some serious thought. Why had she stayed in the business? What had kept her working after the glamour faded? She’d never really enjoyed the nomadic lifestyle. Nobody in the business cared much about the person wearing the designs so why hadn’t she changed professions once she’d realized she wasn’t suited for the international modeling scene? Pride? Stubbornness? The inability to admit she might have been wrong in following her mother’s footsteps?

The answer didn’t take a lot of soul-searching. She’d stayed because she couldn’t face coming home. She’d known it would be so different from the idyllic days when her family had been intact and she’d been madly in love. The excitement, the wild anticipation of each day had been seared into her heart and she hadn’t wanted to come home and face the pain and disillusion.

When she’d finally come home it hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared. Maybe because she’d matured. Maybe because the heartache had dulled. Whatever the reason, she’d started to feel whole again. Had started to look forward to each new day even if it meant long, hard hours of work. She loved spending time with her family, laughing with the ranch hands, and being an integral part of the effort at Bridleton.

“Is it so hard to think of anything good about your work?”

His question snapped her out of her reverie. “I earned great money, got to visit some wonderful places and met a lot of fascinating people.”

“It’s all you thought it would be?”

She thought about all the youthful dreams she’d shared with him. Dreams of parading down the most famous catwalks of the world with cameras flashing and people gasping in awe. Dreams of glitz and glamour in the elite circle of fashion design. Dreams of leaving the imperfect, insecure country girl behind her and gaining celebrity status. She wondered if Noah still believed she’d been crazy to seek the limelight.

“I’ve accomplished a lot of the things I wanted to and had some really satisfying experiences.”

“Are you eager to get back to it?”

Andrea turned more fully toward him. They’d worked together the past few days with only the occasion flare of tempers. When the sexual tension had gotten out of hand they’d made a point of heading in different directions. Maybe he hoped she’d get discouraged and quit.

“Are you so eager to be rid of me?”

He took his attention from the road again and shot her a quick glance. “Can’t you answer a simple question without getting all defensive?”

She started to snap back a response but realized it would make her sound more defensive. Turning her gaze forward again, she managed a calm reply. “No, I am not eager to get back to modeling.”

Noah made a sound between a grunt and a chuckle. She decided they got along better when they didn’t talk. Before long they left the highway and turned onto the main street of Carville. The tiny town looked like thousands of other towns around the country. It had one stoplight at the main intersection, a combined police station and town hall, a bank, a hardware store and a couple of churches. The local entertainment included a bowling alley, a restaurant and a few bars.

As they drove through the streets she noticed how little anything had changed. The buildings looked shabbier and the pavement more cracked. A few buildings looked vacant and others had realty signs posted. Despite the general air of neglect trees flowered along the sidewalks and the rain had obviously encouraged everyone to plant annuals. Color bloomed wherever she looked.

“Everything sure looks colorful,” she noted. “Is that a new water tower?”

“Historic drought makes you appreciate the life-sustaining value of water. The water supply is back to safe levels now but during the dry years the town council voted to put up a second tower.”

“Catch it while you can?”

“Yeah,” he said as he braked at a four-way stop. The fairgrounds and arena had been developed on an old cattle auction site just outside of town. Noah’s truck converged with several trucks pulling horse trailers.

Despite the recent rains dust whirled across the drier ground while potholes pooled with muddy water.

“Couldn’t we do more to conserve water at the ranch?” she asked.

“Zack’s studying the pros and cons of building a small reservoir or burying storage tanks to feed irrigation tiles. But it’s a long-term plan and it’ll cost a bundle.”

“One pro is plenty of land,” said Andrea. “But the big con is there might never be a bundle of money.”

“Zack suggested selling shares in the property or taking out a mortgage.”

Andrea didn’t like either suggestion. She wanted to know Noah’s opinion but his expression didn’t offer a clue. He’d gotten a little too good at hiding his emotions behind an impassive mask.

“I’m guessing you’re not too fond of either option.”

“No.” He glanced her way. “But I don’t own the place.”

His tone held an underlying thread of frustration. For the first time since she’d come home Andrea put herself in his position and tried to imagine how he felt. He’d devoted years of his life to Bridleton with more sweat and backbreaking work than anyone could expect yet he had no control over the most vital decisions. It had to grate.

The unfairness of it tugged at her conscience until she reminded herself of how he’d tried to seduce his way into the family. If he’d been more faithful to just one Bartell, he’d be part owner now.

* * * * *

Noah watched as the first class of entrants walked their ponies into the arena. He especially enjoyed the youngest riders. The five- and six-year-olds had very little control over their mounts but they all looked proud as peacocks in their brightly colored western gear. Their friends and families cheered from the bleachers opposite the judge’s stand. Ten little riders circled the arena in slow procession, straightening their spines as they approached where he and Andrea stood.

“Too cute!” she whispered. “Were we ever so young and innocent?”

“I doubt these little cowpokes are innocent. They’re just on their best behavior.”

“I think they all deserve a trophy.”

“Only one trophy for each class,” he reminded.

He gave the order for them to trot and each child urged his or her pony into a faster gait. After a couple of turns around the arena, Noah gave the order to walk again and then stop and relax their reins. He went to each rider, giving them tips on how to sit better or exert more control over the pony. When he’d made a complete round he moved back to Andrea and took a microphone in his hand.

While he addressed the crowd Andrea made her way around the arena, handing every entrant a blue ribbon and praising them for a job well done. Noah waited until she’d finished her rounds and announced the first place winner. More cheers erupted and he presented the small trophy to a freckle-faced boy whose eyes lit with joy.

Noah’s heart thudded against his ribs when Drea flashed him a big smile. Damn, he’d forgotten what it was like to have that beautiful smile aimed at him. How amazing it felt to share simple pleasures with her. It warmed him deep inside and threatened his hard-won composure. He’d learned to relate caring and sharing with heartache. It wouldn’t do to forget those lessons.

The mental warnings didn’t keep him from enjoying the rest of the morning’s youth classes. Andrea worked the arena like a pro, not surprising since she’d started competing an early age herself. She offered advice and praise yet deferred to him when it came time for the final judging. The horses kicked up plenty of dust and dropped some manure but she moved around the ring with style and grace.

At noon he announced a lunch break. Participants and bystanders rushed toward the concession stands. He leaned back against the judges’ table and watched Andrea cross the arena. While she strolled back to him she tipped her hat off her head and brushed dust from her jeans. They hugged her hips and accentuated her long, long legs. The thought of having those legs wrapped around his hips sent a jolt of fire through his body. Whoa, boy, don’t go there, he warned himself.

The sun beat down on them relentlessly. The temperature neared ninety but a stiff breeze brought a little relief from the heat. Sweat had his shirt sticking to his back. As Andrea slowly approached, she started unbuttoning her blouse. His pulse kicked into a higher gear.

He watched, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat, while she stripped off the shirt and tied the sleeves around her waist. The white tank top hugged her unbound breasts, making him wonder yet again how someone so slim could have such full, round breasts. Her every move captivated him and sent the blood surging through his veins.

Dynamite in tight-fitting jeans. Trouble with a capital T. Mind-blowing, world-rocking, crazy-to-even-consider-messing-with-her trouble. He wished he didn’t know how explosive the passion could be between them. How incredible the sex could be. His body tightened more at the thought. Which meant he damned well better stop thinking about it. He didn’t want the incredible, unpredictable sex or her kind of trouble in his life anymore. He didn’t like losing control and she’d always pushed him to the limits.

The thought had him shifting his gaze to her breasts again. The tank top hugged the firm mounds and boldly displayed her nipples. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. Every male on the fairgrounds would be zeroing in on the erotic sight. A shaft of possessiveness shot through him but he swiftly smothered it.

“Ready to get something to eat?” he asked.

She gave him a quick smile. “I sure could use something cold to drink but I need to bum more money.”

He could tell she hated asking him for anything. She’d picked out a cheap straw hat this morning but she’d blushed with embarrassment when he paid for it. The blush had totally baffled him. He never would figure out what made her tick.

“You’re in luck. Judges get to eat free.”

“I’m not a judge.”

He cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you call what you’ve been doing all morning?”