Cowboy Tough (12 page)

Cat trailed behind Mack, chewing the bitter remnants of her ambitions for Dora like a tough bite of jerky. Maybe she was transferring her own ambitions to Dora, trying to live vicariously through her niece. But she didn't think so. She really did see a creative spirit in Dora, and the girl's resistance to it couldn't be healthy.

I'm nothing like my mother. I don't care if things are pretty or not. I don't care how things look.

Maybe Mack was right, and Dora's resistance had something to do with self-hate. That would be easy to believe if Edie had been the kind of mother who dressed up her daughter and tried to make her into a mini-me. But Edie had always celebrated her daughter's uniqueness and encouraged her to be herself. She'd never been critical of Dora's appearance. She'd barely been critical of her behavior, even though Dora had been rude and defiant at times even when her mother was alive.

And she hadn't pushed her when it came to art. If anything, she'd done the opposite, encouraging Dora to open herself to new experiences, new hobbies.

So why would Dora be so hostile to her mother now? Sure, she was mad at her mom for dying, but her reaction seemed so extreme.

As the ranch house came into view, welcoming lights winked on and streamed from the windows. She and Mack had fallen far behind the group, and he gave his horse a poke with his heels, sat up straight, and made a quick kissing sound. His mount broke into a smooth trot, and Rembrandt pricked up his ears.

Copying Mack, she urged Rembrandt to keep up and enjoyed, briefly, the feeling of control as the mule obeyed her commands. But they caught up to the others quickly and the sight of Dora, riding ramrod straight in the saddle, looking neither left nor right, reminded her that the mule was about the only thing she could control.

***

Night fell fast on the high plains. Cat felt like she'd barely had time to put her gear away before Maddie clanged the old-fashioned triangle that called the hands to dinner at the wagon.

It was a creaky, crippled group that answered the call. Though they were clearly uncomfortable, Emma and Abby lowered themselves onto their respective benches with smothered grunts and groans. Ed opted to hold onto his dignity by pretending he preferred to stand until Charles, holding out the lizard-bedecked hand like a peace offering, helped the older man lower himself down without too much strain on his knees.

Only Dora seemed unaffected by the day's exertions. She watched the fire with the same absorption the average teen girl would have given to the latest installment of the
Twilight
saga. The only thing that diverted her attention was Mack. When he laughed, which he did often, her gaze flicked from the fire to his face and echoed his good humor. Right now, it was just nice to see the girl having a good time. Though Cat hadn't known Mack long, and her own interactions with him had been decidedly inappropriate for a couple of virtual strangers, she felt surprisingly willing to trust him around Dora. He was a father, after all. And his easy humor was charming the kid out of her funk.

Trevor Maines had apparently recovered from his encounter with Mack and was dominating the conversation with tales of his career in fashion photography.

“Oh, Rebecca Romijn is lovely.” He flailed a careless hand in the air as if supermodels were a species he dealt with every day. “Difficult, of course, but aren't they all?”

Emma murmured pitying assent, as if she too had dealt with famous folks on a regular basis. Charles, on the other hand, was watching Trevor from under lowered brows, his eyes flat and lifeless, yet somehow threatening. Clearly Trevor had hit some kind of nerve with the big guy. Cat didn't know if the tattooed man had seen the portrait. She hoped not.

“But Heidi Klum—now she's a sweetheart.”

Cat glanced at Mack. He looked like he was in pain, and his fingers were curled as if he was just waiting for an opportunity to strangle the other man. Dora caught Cat's eye, then flashed her gaze toward Trevor and rolled her eyes. Cat echoed the gesture and felt a warm flush beyond what the fire provided. There. They'd shared a moment. Maybe things were going to work out.

They had to. Dora needed some sort of female role model now that her mother was gone. Ross might eventually remarry, and hopefully he'd choose someone Dora could love too. But though she wasn't a big fan of her brother-in-law, Cat had to admit he had loved his wife deeply. So the only adult woman in Dora's life for the foreseeable future was Cat.

She thought of the burned photo they'd found the night before and worry clenched her heart like a fist. She needed to ask about it. Find out why she'd done that.

She drained her Coors—
Coors
for
courage
—and got up to toss it into the box Maddie had set out for recyclables. Casually, she strolled over and joined Mack and Dora.

“He's obsessed with models, isn't he?” She nodded toward Trevor.

“Sure is. It's ridiculous. I mean, what's their big talent? Making dumb faces and showing off.” Dora tossed her hair, tilted her chin, and gave Mack the heavy-lidded, tight-lipped moue of a supermodel.

Cat laughed. “I think you've got it. Maybe that's your future career.”

“I don't think so.”

Cat clenched her fists in her lap, telling herself to tread carefully. This was the perfect opportunity to get to the bottom of the burned photo incident, but if she said the wrong thing she had no doubt Dora would shut her down.

“Don't you like the way you look?” she asked. She flashed a look at Mack, hoping he'd catch on to what she was doing.

Dora tilted her chin up and glared at Cat. “Why? Don't
you
?”

Well, that didn't take long. The storm clouds were lowering already.

“Of course I like the way you look.”

“Oh, yeah, because I look like my mom. So you can keep on thinking I'm just like her, right?”

“No.” Cat was trying to be understanding, but she couldn't help bristling a little at the accusation. “That's not it at all. For one thing, I don't think you look like your mother.”

“You don't?” Dora sounded hurt now, and Cat thought maybe she should just give up. She couldn't do anything right when it came to her niece.

But this mattered too much. If Dora was disturbed enough to burn a photo of herself, who knew how deep her scars might be?

“I think you're a lot like your mother in the ways that matter,” Cat said.

“But you don't like the way I look.”

Cat braced herself against the drama. Soon they'd be hollering “Did too!” and “Did not!” at each other and stamping their feet like kids in a schoolyard.

“I'm just asking because girls your age sometimes don't have good self-esteem,” she said patiently. “I just want to make sure you know you're beautiful.”

Dora shrugged and stared moodily into the fire. In this light, she really was beautiful—or she would be if she'd smile.

“Whatever,” she mumbled.

Cat edged closer. “I found your picture in the fire the other night,” she said. “I was wondering why you'd burn a picture of yourself.”

“My picture?” Dora gave her an incredulous stare.

“The one you burned,” Mack said.

Cat shot him a grateful smile. She needed all the help she could get.

Dora glanced from Mack to Cat and back again. “I didn't burn anything. You guys are crazy.” She hopped to her feet and practically raced around the ring to where Ed was sitting. “Hey, Mr. Delaney. Do you need help getting up?”

The old man grinned. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No.” Dora shrugged. “I just thought, well, these benches are kind of low.”

Ed accepted her help. It seemed like there were two Doras—the sweet, helpful child and the troubled teen.

“So tell me, Mr. Boyd,” Ed said. “What time are we heading out in the morning?”

“I thought we'd do breakfast at seven.” Mack glanced at his mother, who nodded approvingly. “I'll load up while you folks eat, and we'll hit the trail around eight.”

“Need some help?”

Ed had been an eager assistant on every trip, loading easels and art supplies under Mack's supervision. At first Cat figured he was just trying to escape the nagging of his wife and daughter, but he seemed to revel in the male bonding. And Mack had been touchingly solicitous of the older man's limitations, finding light tasks Ed could perform without too much strain.

“I could help you load up,” Ed said.

“Sure.” Mack grinned. “I could use a sidekick.”

Cat smiled to herself. Ed was probably more trouble than help, but Mack wouldn't say so. He really was a nice guy. If things were different…

But they weren't.

No
stargazing
, she reminded herself.
And
no
shirt-cleaning either.
Emma asked her a question about mixing colors and she refocused on her students, explaining the virtues of sap green versus Hooker's green.

Trevor shoved himself to his feet and stretched with a great deal of chest-thrusting and shoulder-rolling, as if he had muscles to show off. He let out a long, theatrical yawn, interrupting Cat and Emma's conversation.

“Well,” he said. “I'm about ready to turn in.”

“Carry this for me?” Maddie handed him a teetering stack of tin plates. Judging from the way he lusted for the lead role in every conversation, Trevor was hardly the sidekick type—but like everyone else, he seemed unable to resist Maddie's friendly but firm leadership.

“Me too.” Emma rose from her bench with gallant assistance from Ed and turned to Dora. “Good night, sweetie. And good night to you, young man.”

“See you tomorrow, Aunt Cat.” Dora's lips tightened into a scheming smile. “I guess you and Mack need to finish up out here. Take your time, okay?” She grinned. “I feel like I'm going to sleep soundly. Really soundly. No getting up in the middle of the night for me—no matter what sounds I hear outside.”

“Oh, me too,” Emma said. “I sleep like the dead. So does Abby.”

“Well, that's good.” Dora was smiling madly now. “That's really good news, isn't it, Aunt Cat?”

Mack let out a soft chuckle. “Sure is, hon. Thanks.”

Cat felt that fist close on her heart again, but this time her worry was for herself. She was going to be alone with Mack again—and she wanted to talk to him.

Just talk. Nothing more.

But the memory of that kiss, unplanned, unexpected, and most of all unfinished, hovered in the air between them, dancing like the flames in the fire pit and lighting the night with promise.

Mack tried to read Cat's face and failed. He never knew what women were thinking. He could sense the faintest signal from a horse, but the female mind was an eternal mystery.

He kicked dirt over the coals as she approached the fire, shuffling up a cloud of dust that was more appropriate to a raging grass fire than the dying embers of a fading campfire. The cloud drifted her way and settled on the white canvas shoes she was wearing.

She settled onto one of the benches and he wished he hadn't smothered the fire so soon. At least flames would give them something to watch. Something to talk about.

Maybe they could talk about the stars again. He felt his body stirring to life as he remembered their interrupted tour of the heavens. Tonight, the moon was floating serenely over the ranch, its face flat and inscrutable. Its pale light made the winding path that led away from the fire look somehow magical, as if it had been dusted with silver.

“Beautiful.” Cat's tone was hushed, and he wondered if she was talking to him or just thinking aloud.

“Want to walk?” He held out a hand and time stopped while she hesitated. He'd felt the same tension when a horse took a half second to decide whether to trust its trainer or flee.

She glanced over at the bunkhouse as if she expected to see Dora peering out the window. Didn't she realize the kid would be cheering them on?

He thought he'd lost her, but then he felt her hand steal into his. Barely daring to breathe, he started down the path. They passed the Bull House, then the barn, before she spoke.

“What's that?” She nodded toward the cabin that stood near the tree line. A tributary to the path they were walking veered toward it, creating a faint depression between clumps of sagebrush and spiky yuccas.

“It's a cabin,” he said.

“Wow. Such an informative guide.” The smile in her voice surprised him. “You're going to have to do better than that.”

“It was the original claim shack,” he said. “My great-great-granddad homesteaded there while he built the house. My dad used it as kind of a hideaway.”

“It's cute. How come your mom didn't put Trevor there?”

“It's—it was my dad's space. And mine, after my mom remarried. I didn't get along with her second husband.”

Understatement
of
the
year.
He'd hated Ollie with a deep, visceral hatred that made him question his own judgment. His mother had fallen for the man, and his mother was no fool. But something about him had made Mack mistrust him.

He should have listened to his instincts.

“What happened to your dad?”

“Accident.” His throat tightened and the words came out hard. “They think he fell asleep at the wheel coming home from a sale. Had a heavy trailer on the back, and once he lost control…”

He hated thinking of that moment. Life could end in a heartbeat, when you least expected it. And it always seemed to end for the wrong people.

He needed to change the subject. “We were thinking about making it into an art studio if we get the contract with Art Treks.”

“Contract?”

He nodded, realizing she didn't know how much this trip mattered to the future of the Boyd Ranch. “If this goes well, your company might sign on for a permanent reservation. It would give us some solidity—a predictable income, even if it's only for a few weeks.”

She considered the cabin with her head tilted to one side. “It might work,” she said. “You'd need to put in skylights. On the other side, so you'd get north light.”

“You want to see the inside?”

“Sure.”

They trudged up the path together. She rested against the cabin wall with her hands in her pockets, looking up at the moon while he fished out the key.

He opened the cabin door and flicked a switch. Faint yellow light beamed from a brass fixture that hung from the ceiling and brought the past back, lighting his father's place. The rickety table where he and his fellow ranchers had played poker. The small kitchen where he'd kept a fridge full of beer and a few frozen pizzas. The old television set, with its foil-wrapped rabbit ears. His father had created a man-cave before man-caves were even invented.

He paused. They were going to be alone in there, which would be a good thing if the air between them wasn't so loaded with stress and uncertainty. He needed to clear it.

“So where are we on the rules?” he asked.

She stared down at her feet. “I don't know. I think—we barely know each other. How do I know I can trust you?”

She probably couldn't. This whole mess with the ranch, the business with Ollie, had made him distrust himself. He'd left when his mother needed him most, just because he couldn't get along with her new husband. He'd known the guy was a jerk, and he'd walked away and left him in charge of the ranch. He'd risked his family's past, present, and future because he'd been too angry to see straight.

Angry about his mother remarrying so soon. Angry at seeing a man so clearly unworthy taking his father's place. Angry at his own powerlessness.

He wasn't worthy of this woman, and he knew it. But she made him want to try to do better. And for some reason, when he was with her anything seemed possible.

Anything.

“I think I do know you,” he said. “I know you love the landscape here, and the open spaces. I know you're worried about your niece. I know you lost your sister, and you loved and admired her. I know you want your life to count for something.”

She shrugged. “I told you all that.”

He nodded, then shot her a sharp look that probed for the truth. “Did you ever tell Amos?”

“His name is Ames.” Cat shifted uncomfortably. “And of course I did. He's known me for years.”

“Does he care?” Mack tightened his grip on her hand. “Does he help?”

She looked away and he knew he'd hit a nerve.

He just hoped it was the right one.

***

Cat looked down at Mack's hand clasping hers and felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. She didn't know if it was the situation, the setting, or the man himself, but somehow they'd become partners over the course of the past week. He was right; he knew her.

Except when it came to Ames. He didn't know anything about her relationship with Ames, because she'd lied about it. She was claiming she didn't trust him, but she was the one who'd lied.

He stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. “Do you care about him?”

She intended only to glance at him, but their eyes locked and held and she knew he read the truth, or some part of it.

“No,” she whispered. “Not like I care about you.” She took a deep breath. “I lied, Mack. I'm sorry. Ames isn't—we're not a couple.”

“Don't apologize.” He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. “That's the best news I've heard in a year.”

The kiss they'd shared at the fire pit had been heated, hot, and just a bit domineering. If there had been any message in it at all, it had been strictly sexual.

But this one was lighter, gentler. Friendlier. And even sexier. Telling him how she felt, frankly and honestly, had been the right thing to do. They'd cleared the air and made room for a comfortable intimacy between them. The confusion was gone, and what shimmered between them now was warm and full of promise.

He reached over and flicked off the light.

No
confusion
there.

But something tingled at the back of her mind—an edgy, uncomfortable feeling. She remembered what he'd said about the contract. He needed her to give the ranch a rave review. His future depended on this trip as much as hers did.

That was a good thing, right? A common goal. He wasn't the kind of guy who would seduce a woman for the sake of financial success.

Was he?

“I shouldn't let this happen again.” She couldn't help pushing her hips against him as she said the words.

“Yes, you should.”

He kissed her again, deeper, warmer, heavier with lust but somehow shimmering with something more. Her misgivings faded, then disappeared. That tingling, troubling thought was gone.

In fact, she couldn't even remember what it was. Something about a contract…

To hell with contracts. To hell with jobs and careers and art and everything else. Everything but Dora.

Dora.

But Dora liked Mack. All that about sleeping soundly—she'd practically pushed the two of them together. Clearing her mind, Cat let herself fall into the kiss.

It retreated and advanced, ebbed and flowed, following some primal pattern. At the same moment, they drew away and looked into each other's eyes. There were no words spoken, but there was a question asked and answered, and they both knew everything had changed.

The light slanting from the windows was dim but somehow hard-edged, casting the edges of the old furniture in bold relief and highlighting each rung of the rough-hewn steps that led to a small, crude loft.
Stairway
to
heaven
, she thought.
Wonder
what's up there.

Apparently, she was going to find out.