Country Brides (3 page)

“Humph,” was Mary's only response.

Rorie sighed and reached for a large potato. “The mechanic in Riversdale said it would take until Saturday to get a replacement part.”

For the second time, Mary answered her with a gruff-sounding
humph.
“If then! Saturday or next Thursday or a month from now, it's all the same to George. Fact is, you could end up staying here all summer.”

M
ary's words echoed in Rorie's head as she joined Clay and Skip at the dinner table that evening. She stood just inside the dining room, dressed in a summer skirt and a cotton-knit cream-colored sweater, and announced, “I can't stay any longer than four days.”

Clay regarded her blankly. “I have no intention of holding you prisoner, Rorie.”

“I know, but Mary told me that if I'm counting on George what's-his-name to fix the MG, I could end up spending the summer here. I've got to get back to San Francisco—I have a job there.” She realized how nonsensical her little speech sounded, as if that last bit about having a job explained everything.

“If you want, I'll keep after George to make sure he doesn't forget about it.”

“Please.” Rorie felt a little better for having spoken her mind.

“And the Greyhound bus comes through on Mondays,” Skip said reassuringly. “If you had to, you could take that back to California and return later for your friend's car.”

“The bus,” she repeated. “I
could
take the bus.” As it was, the first half of her vacation was ruined, but it'd be nice to salvage what she could of the rest.

Both men were seated, but as Rorie approached the table Skip rose noisily to his feet, rushed around to the opposite side and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. His dark hair was wet and slicked down close to his head. He'd changed out of his work clothes and into what appeared to be his Sunday best—a dress shirt, tie and pearl-gray slacks. With a good deal of ceremony, he pushed in her chair. As he leaned toward her, it was all Rorie could do to keep from grimacing at the overpowering scent of his spicy aftershave. He must have drenched himself in the stuff.

Clay's gaze seemed to tug at hers and when Rorie glanced in his direction, she saw that he was doing his utmost not to laugh. He clearly found his brother's antics amusing, though he took pains not to hurt Skip's feelings, but Rorie wasn't sure how she should react. Skip was only in his teens, and she didn't want to encourage any romantic fantasies he might have.

“I hope you're hungry,” Skip said, once he'd reclaimed his chair. “Mary puts on a good feed.”

“I'm starved,” Rorie admitted, eyeing the numerous serving dishes spread out on the table.

Clay handed her a large platter of fried chicken. That was followed by mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, fresh green beans, a mixed green salad, milk and a variety of preserves. By the time they'd finished passing around the food, there wasn't any space left on Rorie's oversize plate.

“Don't forget to leave room for dessert,” Clay commented, again with that slow, easy drawl of his. Here Skip was practically doing cartwheels to attract her attention and all Clay needed to do was look at her and she became light-headed. Rorie couldn't understand it. From the moment Clay Franklin had stepped down from his pickup, she hadn't been the same.

“After dinner I thought I'd take you up to the stable and introduce you to King Genius,” Skip said, waving a chicken leg.

“I'd be happy to meet him.”

“Once you do, you'll feel like you did when you stood on the balcony in the big bedroom and looked at the valley.”

Obviously this King wasn't a foreman, as Rorie had first assumed. More than likely, he was one of the horses she'd seen earlier grazing on the pasture in front of the house.

“I don't think it would be a good idea to take Rorie around Hercules,” Clay warned his younger brother.

“Of course not.” But it looked as if Skip wanted to argue.

“Who's Hercules?”

“Clay's stallion,” Skip explained. “He has a tendency to act up if Clay isn't around.”

Rorie could only guess what “act up” meant, but even if Skip didn't intend to heed Clay's advice, she gladly would. Other than that pony ride when she was six, Rorie hadn't been near a horse. One thing was certain; she planned to steer a wide path around the creature, no matter how much Skip encouraged her. The largest pet she'd ever owned had been a guinea pig.

“When Hercules first came to Elk Run, the man who brought him said he was mean-spirited and untrainable. He wanted him destroyed, but Clay insisted on working with the stallion.”

“Now he's your own personal horse?” Rorie asked Clay.

He nodded. “We've got an understanding.”

“But it's only between them,” Skip added. “Hercules doesn't like anyone else getting close.”

“He doesn't have anything to worry about as far as I'm concerned,” Rorie was quick to assure both brothers. “I'll give him as much space as he needs.”

Clay grinned, and once again she felt her heart turn over. This strange affinity with Clay was affirmed in the look he gave her. Unexpected thoughts of Dan Rogers sprang to mind. Dan was a divorced stockbroker she'd been seeing steadily for the past few months. Rorie enjoyed Dan's company and had recently come to believe she was falling in love with him. Now she knew differently. She couldn't be this powerfully drawn to Clay Franklin if Dan was anything more than a good friend. One of the reasons Rorie had decided on this vacation was to test her feelings for Dan. Two days out of San Francisco, and she had her answer.

Deliberately Rorie pulled her gaze from Clay, wanting to attribute everything she was experiencing to the clean scent of country air.

Skip's deep blue eyes sparkled with pride as he started to tell Rorie about Elk Run's other champion horses. “But you'll love the King best. He was the five-gaited world champion four years running. Clay put him out to stud four years ago. National Show Horses are commanding top dollar and we've produced three of the best. King's the sire, naturally.”

“Do all the horses I saw in the pasture belong to you?”

“We board several,” Skip answered. “Some of the others are brought here from around the country for Clay to break and train.”

“You break horses?” She couldn't conceal her sudden alarm. The image of Clay sitting on a wild bronco that bucked and heaved in a furious effort to unseat him did funny things to Rorie's stomach.

“Breaking horses isn't exactly the way Hollywood pictures show it,” Clay explained.

Rorie was about to ask him more when Skip planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Once again Rorie was assaulted by the overpowering scent of his aftershave. She did her best to smile, but if he remained in that position much longer, her eyes would start watering. Already she could feel a sneeze tickling her nose.

“How old are you, Rorie?” he asked.

The question was so unexpected that she was too surprised to answer immediately. Then she said, “Twenty-four.”

“And you live in San Francisco. Is your family there, too?”

“No. My parents moved to Arizona and my brother's going to school back east.”

“And you're not engaged or anything?”

As Rorie shook her head, Clay shot his brother an exasperated look. “Are you interviewing Rorie for the
Independent?
”

“No. I was just curious.”

“She's too old for you, little brother.”

“I don't know about that,” Skip returned fervently. “I've always liked my women more mature. Besides, Rorie's kind of cute.”

“Kind of?”

Skip shrugged. “You know what I mean. She doesn't act like a city girl…much.”

Rorie's eyes flew from one brother to the next. They were talking as if she wasn't even in the room, and that annoyed her—especially since she was the main topic of conversation.

Unaware of her reaction, Skip helped himself to another roll. “Actually, I thought she might be closer to twenty. With some women it's hard to tell.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Rorie muttered to no one in particular.

“My apologies, Rorie,” Clay said contritely. “We were being rude.”

She took time buttering her biscuit. “Apology accepted.”

“How old do you think I am?” Skip asked her, his eyes wide and hopeful.

It was Rorie's nature to be kind, and besides, Skip had saved her from an unknown fate. “Twenty,” she answered with barely a pause.

The younger Franklin straightened and sent his brother a smirk. “I was seventeen last week.”

“That surprises me,” Rorie continued, setting aside her butter knife and swallowing a smile. “I could've sworn you were much older.”

Looking even more pleased with himself, Skip cleared his throat. “Lots of girls think that.”

“Don't I remember you telling me you're helping Luke Rivers tonight?” Clay reminded his brother.

Skip's face fell. “I guess I did.”

“If Rorie doesn't mind, I'll introduce her to King.”

Clay's offer appeared to surprise Skip, and Rorie studied the boy, a little worried now about causing problems between the two brothers. Nor did she want to disappoint Skip, who had offered first.

“But I thought…” Skip began, then swallowed. “You want to take Rorie?”

Clay's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was cool. “That's what I just said. Is there a problem?”

“No…of course not.” Skip stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth and shook his head vigorously. After a moment of chewing, he said, “Clay will show you around the stable.” His words were measured and even, but his gaze held his brother's.

“I heard,” Rorie said gently. She could only speculate on what was going on between them, but obviously something was amiss. There'd been more than a hint of surprise in Skip's eyes at Clay's offer. She noticed that the younger Franklin seemed angry. Because his vanity was bruised? Rorie supposed so. “I could wait until tomorrow if you want, Skip,” she suggested.

“No, that's all right,” he answered, lowering his eyes. “Clay can do it, since that's what he seems to want.”

When they finished the meal, Rorie cleared the table, but Mary refused to let her help with cleaning up the kitchen.

“You'd just be in the way,” she grumbled, though her eyes weren't unfriendly. “Besides, I heard the boys were showing you the barn.”

“I'll do the dishes tomorrow night then.”

Mary murmured a response, then asked brusquely, “How was the apple pie?”

“Absolutely delicious.”

A satisfied smile touched the edges of the woman's mouth. “Good. I did things a little differently this time, and I was just wondering.”

Clay led Rorie out the back door and across the yard toward the barn. The minute Rorie walked through the enormous double doors she felt she'd entered another world. The wonderful smells of leather and liniments and saddle soap mingled with the fragrance of fresh hay and the pungent odor of the horses themselves. Rorie found it surprisingly pleasant. Flashes of bright color from halters and blankets captured her attention, as did the gleam of steel bits against the far wall.

“King's over here,” Clay said, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her elbow.

When Clay opened the top of the stall door, the most magnificent creature Rorie had ever seen turned to face them. He was a deep chestnut color, so sleek and powerful it took her breath away. This splendid horse seemed to know he was royalty. He regarded Rorie with a keen eye, as though he expected her to show him the proper respect and curtsy. For a wild moment, Rorie was tempted to do exactly that.

“I brought a young lady for you to impress,” Clay told the stallion.

King took a couple of steps back and pawed the ground.

“He really is something,” Rorie whispered, once she'd found her voice. “Did you raise him from a colt?”

Clay nodded.

Rorie was about to ask him more when they heard frantic whinnying from the other side of the aisle.

Clay looked almost apologetic. “If you haven't already guessed, that's Hercules. He doesn't like being ignored.” He walked to the stall opposite King's and opened the upper half of the door. Instantly the black stallion stuck his head out and complained about the lack of attention in a loud snort, which brought an involuntary smile to Rorie's mouth. “I was bringing Rorie over to meet you, too, so don't get your nose out of joint,” Clay chastised.

“Hi,” Rorie said, and raised her right hand in a stiff greeting. It amused her that Clay talked to his animals as if he honestly expected them to understand his remarks and join in the conversation. But then who was she to criticise? Only a few hours earlier, she'd been conversing with a cow.

“You don't need to be frightened of him,” Clay told her when she stood, unmoving, a good distance from the stall. Taking into consideration what Skip had mentioned earlier about the moody stallion, Rorie decided to stay where she was.

Clay ran his hand down the side of Hercules's neck, and his touch seemed to appease the stallion's obviously delicate ego.