Courting the Enemy (5 page)

“Yes?” she said, her tone surly, her expression forbidding.

Grady saw past that, though, to the hint of loneliness in her eyes. Of course, her irritation was doing a mighty fine job of covering it up, but he’d caught a glimpse of it just the same. Or maybe that was just an excuse to prolong the encounter.

He held out the mug and the plate. “Just wanted to thank you for the coffee and the cookies.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, taking the dishes and already starting to shut the door in his face.

He blocked it with the toe of his boot. He was
about to do something he was likely to regret, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“What are you doing for supper, Karen?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Why? Are you inviting yourself?”

He grinned. “Not at all. My mama taught me better manners than that. I was going to invite you to join me over in Winding River. I’m partial to Stella’s meat loaf, and that’s the special tonight. I hate to eat alone.”

She was shaking her head before the words were out of his mouth. “I couldn’t.”

“Don’t want to be seen with me?” he challenged.

“That’s not it,” she said with a touch of impatience. “I’ve already started fixing my own supper. It would go to waste.”

“I don’t suppose there’s enough for two?” he asked hopefully.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Have you forgotten your manners so soon, Mr. Blackhawk?”

“Like I said, I hate to eat alone. I think my mama would forgive me just this once for being pushy. How about you? Can you forgive me? Maybe take pity on a poor bachelor who rarely gets a homecooked meal?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, come on in,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re impossible, Mr. Blackhawk.”

Grady hid a grin as he entered. He hung his hat and jacket on a peg by the door, then sniffed the air. “Why, I do believe you’re making meat loaf.”

“Which I’m sure you knew before you made that
outrageous claim about it being one of your favorites.”

Grady didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked around and asked, “What can I do? Want me to set the table, or are you afraid I’ll steal the silver?”

“No silver,” she said. “I think I can trust you with the stainless-steel utensils and the everyday dishes. You don’t strike me as a clumsy man.”

“I try not to be…especially when there’s a beautiful woman watching.”

She flushed at that, but in less than a heartbeat, her eyes flashed sparks. “Don’t try flattering me, Mr. Blackhawk.”

He frowned. “Can we get past the formalities? I’ve been calling you Karen all day long. Can’t you call me Grady?”

He saw her struggle reflected on her face, knew that she considered it one step closer to an intimacy she didn’t want. She was too polite to tell him that, though. She merely nodded curtly.

“Grady, then.”

“Thank you,” he said, keeping his expression and his tone deliberately solemn.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Not mocking,” he said. “Just teasing a little.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” she said sharply.

“Oh, really? When was the last time a man teased you, Karen?”

“I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

“When Caleb was still alive,” he suggested. “Tell me about him.”

She stared at him with surprise written all over her face. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to know how you saw him. I
imagine it was quite a bit different from the way
I
viewed him.”

“Yes, I imagine it was,” she replied wryly. “He was my husband and I loved him.”

“Needless to say, I didn’t. He always struck me as an unreasonable man, one who twisted the facts to suit himself,” Grady said, deliberately baiting her just to see the flash of fire in her eyes, the color blooming in her cheeks. He liked seeing her come alive, instead of wearing the defeated air he’d seen on his arrival the day before.

“Caleb was the fairest men I ever knew,” she retorted, her voice as prickly as a desert cactus. “Which is why I owe it to him to think twice before I believe a word you say. You tell me you weren’t responsible for any of those incidents that almost cost us our herd, but words aren’t evidence. Where’s your proof?”

He leveled a look straight into her soft blue eyes. “Where’s yours?”

She swallowed hard at that and turned away, dishing up mashed potatoes, gravy and meat loaf with quick, impatient gestures that told him his barb had gotten to her.

Silently she slapped a fresh loaf of country sourdough bread on the table, along with home-churned butter, then took a seat opposite him.

“Shall we call a truce, Karen?” he suggested mildly. “Otherwise, we’re going to ruin a perfectly fine meal, and we’ll both end up with indigestion.”

“Calling a truce with you is a risk,” she said candidly. “You tend to take advantage every chance you get.”

“I’m highly motivated. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“I suppose that depends on your motivation and your goal.”

“You know mine. I’ve laid all my cards on the table. What about you? What motivates you?” He noticed that the travel brochures had been gathered up and tossed into a basket on the counter. “Dreams of faraway places?”

“Dreams can be a motivation,” she conceded, though it wasn’t a direct answer to his question. Her gaze met his. “Or merely a fantasy.”

“Which are they for you?”

“Fantasy at the moment, nothing more.”

She was fibbing, he decided, noting that the brochure for London was already dog-eared from handling.

“If you could go anywhere in the world you wanted, where would you choose?”

“London,” she said at once, then seemed to regret it. “Any particular reason?”

“Lots of them, but I’m sure you’d find then all boring.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

She hesitated, then shrugged as if to concede his point. “I studied literature the one year I went away to college. I love Jane Austen and Charles Dickens and Thackery. I love Shakespeare’s sonnets. And for me, London is permeated with the spirit of all the great British authors. Some of them are even buried in Westminster Abbey.”

“You’re a romantic,” Grady concluded.

“You say that as if it’s a crime.”

“No, just a surprise. Romantics don’t always do
well in the real world. Ranching can be a hard life. There’s very little romantic about it.”

She gave him a pitying look. “Then you’ve been doing it with the wrong person. I found my share of romance right here.”

“Is that why you don’t want to leave? Nostalgia?”

“You already know why I won’t sell this ranch—at least not to you.”

Rather than heading down that particular dead-end road again right now, Grady concentrated on his meal for a moment. “You’re a fine cook,” he said as he ate the last bite of meat loaf on his plate.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to let me return the favor sometime. Not that I’ll cook, but I’d be happy to take you out for supper.”

“I don’t think so, but thank you for offering.”

That stiff, polite tone was back in her voice. Grady couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to see her defenses slip, to hear her laugh.

Whether that ever happened or not wasn’t important, he chided himself. He only needed her to trust him just a little, to persuade her that she wasn’t cut out for the life of a rancher. And then to coax her into selling this land to him and not someone else.

He shoved his chair back and stood up. “Thanks for the meal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She seemed startled. “No angling for dessert?”

“Not tonight,” he said, then hesitated. “Unless you’ve got an apple pie warming in the oven.”

She shook her head, amusement brightening her eyes. “No, just more oatmeal cookies.”

He considered that but concluded, good as they were, he didn’t dare risk staying. Sitting here with
lovely Karen Hanson in her kitchen was entirely too cozy.

“I wouldn’t mind taking one or two along for the drive,” he said.

“After my cookies, then, and not my company? Should I be insulted?” she asked, but she put a few into a bag for him.

“I’ll leave that to you,” he said, giving her a wink that clearly disconcerted her. “See you in the morning.”

“Yes,” she said with what sounded like resignation. “I imagine you will.”

Grady closed the door quietly, then stood on the other side feeling a bit disconcerted himself. He was already looking forward to morning, and that wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all, because he knew that this time it had less to do with the land and more to do with the woman who was keeping it from him. And that hadn’t been part of his plan at all.

K
aren woke before dawn, did the necessary chores, left a note in the barn for Pete and Dooley and hightailed it away from the ranch. She headed straight for Winding River, though she didn’t have a specific destination in mind.

Okay, so what if she was running away? She had a right to, didn’t she? Her home wasn’t her own anymore, not with Grady evidently intending to pop up like a stubborn weed every time she turned around.

Sitting across the kitchen table from him the night before had rattled her more than she liked. Other than inflicting his presence on her in the sneakiest way possible, he hadn’t been the least bit pushy. The subject of the ranch had hardly arisen at all.

Instead, he had been attentive and lighthearted. The conversation had been intelligent. All in all, he had been very good company. He’d flattered her some,
reminding her that it was nice to receive a compliment from a man every now and again.

Just not from
this
man, she scolded herself. Nothing out of Grady’s mouth could be trusted. It was all a means to an end, and that end was taking the Hanson ranch away from her, whether he actually mentioned his desire to buy the place or not.

Funny, that was how she thought of the ranch, not so much as her own but as still belonging to the Hansons, with her merely its guardian. These days the duty was weighing heavily on her shoulders.

A pale, shimmery sun was trying to sneak over the horizon as she drove onto Main Street in Winding River and headed straight for Stella’s. Not only would the coffee be hot, but Cassie was likely to be working. Cole had chafed at her decision to stay on after the wedding, but Cassie had been insistent. In Karen’s opinion, even now, with things between Cassie and Cole improving and Jake thrilled to be living with his long-lost dad, her old friend didn’t trust that the marriage was going to last. Cassie wanted the security of her own money and a familiar job. Since Cole worked at home, he was there when nine-year-old Jake got home each day, but even if he hadn’t been, Cassie would have found a way to remain independent.

“My gracious, you must have been up with the birds,” Stella greeted her when Karen walked through the door.

“Before most of them,” Karen said.

“Something on your mind?” the woman asked as she poured coffee and set the cup in front of her. “Won’t be anybody else in here for a few minutes yet. I could listen.”

Karen hesitated, then nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Stella sat down across from her. She had known all five of the Calamity Janes since they were in grade school, which was when she’d first opened the restaurant. With her ready smile, huge heart and nonjudgmental demeanor, Stella had been mother and friend and mentor to all of them at one time or another. She was playing the same role for another generation now.

“Okay, what is it?” Stella probed. “You still grieving over Caleb?”

“Yes, of course,” Karen said a little too hastily, as if she had something to prove. “He’s only been gone a little over half a year.”

Stella’s gaze narrowed. “The way you said that, all defensive when I just asked a simple question…it’s another man, isn’t it? You’re attracted to someone and you’re feeling guilty?”

“No,” Karen denied heatedly, then flinched under Stella’s steady gaze. “Okay, maybe. It’s just that there’s this man who wants the ranch. He’s been pestering me.”

“Grady Blackhawk,” Stella said at once. “I’ve heard all about it.”

“From Cassie, I imagine.”

“From her and from Grady himself. He comes in here from time to time.”

Karen thought of their conversation the night before. “For the meat loaf?”

Stella grinned. “That man does love my meat loaf. Of course, he’s also partial to chicken-fried steak and pot roast. Any man who drives as far as he does for
my food is either close to starving or he genuinely likes it.”

“You sound as if you approve of him.”

“I do,” Stella said, regarding Karen closely. “Why does that surprise you?” She held up a hand. “Never mind. I know. It’s because there was bad blood between him and Caleb.”

“Can you think of a better reason?”

“Sure. One that you came up with on your own after giving the man a chance.” She studied Karen gravely. “I think maybe that’s what’s bothering you. You’re kind by nature. You give most people a fair chance to prove themselves. A second chance when it’s called for. You’re not doing that with Grady, and it doesn’t sit well with you.”

“Maybe that’s right,” Karen admitted. It was true that she liked to form her own opinions about people. And she’d never taken the view that a husband and wife had to have the exact same friends—so why was she so determined to make Caleb’s enemy into her own?

Because Caleb was dead, of course. Who would stand up to Grady if she didn’t do it? And it wasn’t about personalities, anyway. It was about the ranch.

“Are you going to sell the ranch to Grady?” Stella asked, getting to the point.

“No,” Karen said.

“Then what’s the problem? Sounds to me as if your decision is made and it’s final.”

“He…” She regarded Stella with the helpless feeling of a teenager admitting to a crush. After a minute, she gathered her courage and said it. “Grady bothers me.” It felt surprisingly good to get the words out, words she hadn’t been able to manage to her oldest
friends, even when they’d given her ample opportunity to say them.

A grin tugged at Stella’s lips. She didn’t look the least bit shocked. “Is that so? Now, if you ask me, you’ve just admitted to being a full-fledged, red-blooded female. That man is something to look at. Ain’t a woman living who would deny feeling her senses go into overdrive when he walks into a room.”

“Really?” Karen asked hopefully. “Then I’m not being disloyal to Caleb’s memory?”

“Sweetie, I would tell you the same thing if Caleb were still alive and sitting right here across from you. There’s not a thing wrong with looking at a fine specimen of a man. Now
doing something about it
is a whole other story.” Her gaze narrowed. “You thinking of getting involved with Grady? Is that the way things are moving?”

“Absolutely not,” Karen said fiercely. She had never allowed her thoughts to stray beyond admitting to an attraction. And she wouldn’t permit herself to go any further.

Stella chuckled. “Then you might want to temper that protest just a little. Sounds a little too emphatic, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, Karen knew exactly what she meant. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Not yet, but you could be looking at it,” the older woman said. She reached across the table and patted Karen’s hand. “And to tell the truth, I don’t think that would be such a bad thing. There’s no set timetable for grieving, not like in the old days, when people were expected to put everything on hold for a full year of mourning. Life goes on, Karen. It’s meant for
living. Caleb wouldn’t begrudge you happiness. Just be sure the timing is right for
you,
not Grady.”

“It’s wrong,” she said, as much to herself as to Stella. “Caleb hated him.”

Stella gave her a serious look. “Meaning no disrespect to your husband—he was a good boy and a fine man—but he held on to grudges that weren’t his. Don’t you do the same.”

Before Karen could ask what Stella had meant by grudges that weren’t Caleb’s, the door opened and the first rush of morning customers came in, bringing cold air and shouted pleas for hot coffee with them.

“Just think about what I’ve said,” Stella said as she stood up. “I’ll bring you your breakfast in a minute. Let me get these heathens settled down first.”

“I haven’t ordered,” Karen pointed out.

“No need. You have the same thing every time, the number three with the egg scrambled.”

As Stella walked away, Karen thought about that, thought about everything going on in her life. “I’m in a rut,” she muttered, just as Cassie slid into the booth opposite her.

“Talking to yourself is not a good sign,” she advised Karen. “I only have a second before it gets crazy in here. Are you okay? Need somebody to talk to?”

“I did, but Stella filled in.”

Cassie grinned. “She always has. Now sit tight. I imagine Emma will be in shortly to keep you company. Of course, Ford may be right behind her. The man’s been like her shadow lately. She still says it’s wearing on her nerves, but she hasn’t chased him off yet. What about you? Did you chase Grady Blackhawk off permanently the other day?”

“Afraid not,” Karen admitted ruefully. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. He was at the ranch all day yesterday and said he’d be back today.”

Cassie’s expression turned indignant. “All day? What is wrong with that man? He wasn’t pressuring you again, was he? Maybe Emma was right about getting a restraining order.”

“No, he wasn’t pressuring me, not the way you mean. In fact, just the opposite. He showed up and went straight to work without a word to me. When I caught sight of him, he was stripping the paint off the barn.”

Cassie looked as stunned as Karen had felt when she’d first seen him outside. “What? Why would he do a thing like that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said wearily. “He seems to have a list of projects he intends to help me with. Did I ask for that help? No. Do I want it? No. Does he listen to a word I say? No.”

Her friend chuckled. “Interesting. A man who can’t take no for an answer. I have one at home just like that.”

“Don’t even go there,” Karen said.

Before the morning was out, she had advice from Emma and Gina and Lauren, all of whom had popped in and out of Stella’s just long enough to grab some food before getting on with their days. Unfortunately, the only way Karen could get on with her day or her life would be to go home…where Grady would be waiting.

Since she was not prepared to deal with the man—or her own tangled emotions—again so soon, she headed for Laramie instead. Maybe a movie and some wistful window-shopping—the only kind of shopping
she could afford right now—would get her mind off him. At the very least, it would mean she could delay dealing with Grady until tomorrow.

Unfortunately, the lead in the movie she chose looked a lot like Grady. And the actor who resembled her sexy nemesis was the romantic hero, not the villain. It seemed that everything was conspiring to change her opinion of Grady, which meant she was just going to have to cling more tightly to all the warnings Caleb had uttered over the years. Maybe, if she repeated them like a mantra, this uneasy weakening of her resolve would end, and she could go on with her life as before.

True, these days everything seemed a bit rocky and difficult, but she’d take that anytime over dealing with Grady and the unlikely, inappropriate feelings he’d begun to stir in her.

Grady didn’t bother going to the door when he arrived the next day. He just started to work, counting on Karen to spot him sooner or later as she had the day before. He couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from drifting to the house now and again, though, as he tried to imagine what Karen was up to inside.

Was she baking again? Those cookies had been the best he’d had in a long time. He couldn’t help wondering if there were any left or when she might appear with a few. Or maybe she’d taken the hint about an apple pie. Maybe one was cooling on top of the stove right now. He’d been on his own so long that the mere thought of home-baked treats made his mouth water.

Fortunately, he’d learned never to rely on wishful thinking when it came to food or drink. He’d brought a thermos filled with coffee and a cooler with him.

The latter was filled with sandwiches and sodas, enough to share in that warm, cozy kitchen if the opportunity arose. He didn’t like the stirring of disappointment he felt when noon came and went with no sign of the woman with whom he’d meant to enjoy his meal.

So far the only company he’d had were the two part-time hands, who regarded him with suspicion when they found him atop a ladder scraping the last of the paint off the side of the barn.

“Who’re you?” the grizzled older man had demanded within a few minutes of Grady’s arrival.

“Grady Blackhawk,” he replied, keeping his temper in check at their obviously dismayed reaction to his name. “And you?”

“Ain’t none of your business who we are. We belong here and you don’t. What are you doing on Hanson property and makin’ yourself right at home, at that?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Not to me it ain’t,” the old man said. “No way Mrs. Hanson would let you come sniffin’ around here, much less approve of you bein’ out here messin’ with her barn.”

“And why is that?” he asked, curious to see what Karen might have said about him.

“Because now that her husband’s dead and buried, you’re trying to steal this place right out from under her,” the younger man said. He gestured toward the paint cans stacked nearby in readiness for the next step in Grady’s project. “You trying to work up a debt she won’t be able to pay off?”

“Absolutely not,” Grady insisted. “I’m just doing her a favor.”

“Now why would you do that, unless you had somethin’ up your sleeve?” the old man asked. “Nobody does somethin’ for nothin’.”

“Is that a fact?” Grady asked mildly. “Well, in this case, you’re wrong. I’m just being neighborly.”

“Humph!” the old man said with a snort of disbelief. “Good thing she ain’t around to see this. Woman has enough on her mind without seein’ you out here makin’ like you have a right to be here.”

“Karen’s not home?” he said, barely concealing his disappointment.

“That’s Mrs. Hanson to you,” the old man retorted. “And no, she ain’t here. So if you were hopin’ to annoy her, you’re plumb out of luck. She’s gone for the day. Maybe longer, for all I know. Could be gone weeks. Maybe she finally went off on that fancy vacation her friends have been urgin’ her to take.”

Grady concluded the exaggeration was meant for his benefit. He should have seen for himself that she wasn’t around. That heap of hers was gone. Maybe he’d just been hoping someone had come and towed it off to the junkyard where it belonged.

“Seriously,” he said, “did she say when she’ll be back?”

The two men exchanged a look, then the older one shook his head with obvious reluctance. “Not to me, she didn’t.”