Cowboy Tough (14 page)

“From a cowboy,” she said.

“We're smarter than we look.” He braced an arm behind her back and rolled her over. “And way more complicated.”

“I knew that,” she said. “I… know…
you…
”

And then she was spinning again, he could tell, lost in the sensation, and he was whirling with her. Together they spun faster and faster until all their colors blended and they were one ecstatic spiral, spinning into space.

The next day's trip was mercifully short. Even in the wide-open spaces, Cat could feel the tension thrumming between her and Mack. It was a good tension, but the light of day had brought worries with it. She felt like the others could see what had happened just by looking at her. Every time she looked at Mack she blushed.

The war between wanting him and hanging onto her professionalism kept her from noticing her fatigue until she climbed the few steps to the porch. Suddenly her aches and pains leaped into high definition.

“Whoosh,” Emma said from behind her. “I feel like that horse
dragged
me over the trail.”

“I can't feel my ass,” Abby moaned, rubbing her backside.

The sweet yeasty smell of baking bread hit them the moment they walked in the door, and everyone's step livened up a little. Maddie rose from the table, where she was sitting with a pretty teenaged girl about Dora's age.

“Welcome back!” Their hostess gestured toward the dining room, where a long table was set for a crowd. “I thought you might like to go civilized tonight and eat inside. We're having a ranch hand dinner in the kitchen—something to stick to your ribs and replace all those calories you worked off on horseback. It'll be ready in half an hour.”

“Do you need any help?” Cat asked. They'd paid for full amenities, but Mack's mother was starting to feel like family.

“Nope.” Madeleine waved toward the girl beside her. “Viv's here to help out. Viv, honey, this is Cat Crandall. She's the artist I told you about. The one your dad likes so much.”

Cat felt hot all over. She wanted nothing more than to flee the room, but the girl was looking at her with an amused half smile. Apparently she didn't mind her dad kissing strange women.

“Look out.” She tossed her dark hair and laughed. “My dad's a hound dog.”

Cat barely heard Madeleine introduce the rest of the guests. She was too busy trying to figure out what kind of relationship Mack had with his daughter. The girl had the same wry sense of humor as her dad, but she seemed more gossip girl than cowgirl, with long silky hair and stylish clothes. Mack had said she was turning into a clone of his ex-wife. If that was true, his ex-wife must be gorgeous.

She felt a stab of jealousy and found herself smoothing her hair. When Mack walked into the room with Ed and Charles, she deliberately messed it up and jerked her hand away. She wasn't trying to impress him, or even start a relationship. With his daughter here, he probably wasn't either. Not anymore.

When he caught sight of Viv, a half-dozen expressions flickered across his face—shock, confusion, startled pleasure, and then a radiant smile—the kind of smile every daughter wants from her father. As usual, his face advertised his emotions like a highway billboard.

At least Cat didn't have to worry about him lying to her. And something about that smile tugged at her heart. Her own father had rarely smiled—rarely even looked at her. His expressions had been provoked by Headline News or Bill O'Reilly when they weren't totally obscured by the local paper, which he complained about with equal vigor. Mack seemed like the kind of father who did things with his daughter, who worried about her. Who loved her.

Maybe she should listen to his advice when they talked about Dora. Because looking at Viv, watching the two of them embrace, she felt a pang of envy. Maybe she wasn't a real parent, but Dora needed one. And Cat wanted that closeness, that bond.

She was going to have to try harder.

***

Dinner that night reminded Mack of a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving. The students lined the table, with Cat at one end and Madeleine at the other. Dishes of chicken and dumplings, potatoes, buttered green beans laced with bacon, and baked beans made the rounds, passing from hand to hand.

And Viv was there. Mack hadn't had time to figure out why; he only knew her mother had dropped her off that afternoon and wouldn't be back for a week. Mack suspected the boyfriend had wanted Alex all to himself, but it didn't matter to him. What mattered was Viv.

And he hadn't just gotten Viv; he'd gotten
happy
Viv, who'd been a stranger for far too long. Normally his daughter sulked through her stays on the ranch as if she'd been sentenced to some kind of Gulag, but she and Dora had hit it off and that seemed to make all the difference. The two girls chattered nonstop, their heads tilted together like co-conspirators plotting a coup.

The students kept up a lively conversation too. The only quiet ones at the table were Hank and Trevor. Hank was Hank, working his way through his food, dogged as an old plow horse. He was a hardworking plow horse, so Mack had no complaints. Actually, the man's taciturn silences let Mack off the hook for his own quiet nature. All he had to do was sit beside the hired man to seem chatty and personable by comparison.

Trevor's silence was more unexpected. Normally, he seemed to fancy himself the life of the party, but tonight he was wary, glancing at Mack occasionally as if he expected to be sucker punched at any moment.

“So what brought you to the ranch?” Mack asked Viv. He toyed with his chicken as he spoke, pretending he wasn't hanging on every word his daughter said. He'd told Cat to pretend she didn't care, but he wasn't much good at following his own advice.

“Mom brought me. You missed her.”

He didn't miss her a bit, but he wasn't about to tell his daughter that.

“She and her loser boyfriend dropped me off. They're on their way to Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

Maybe Alex would get married again. He pictured his wife in a cheesy little chapel on the strip, wearing a sequined jumpsuit and saying “I do” in one of those Elvis-themed ceremonies.

Maybe not. If Alex remarried, she'd never elope. She'd done that the first time and spent half her married life regretting the gown she hadn't worn, the bouquet she hadn't thrown, the rehearsal dinner and reception and honeymoon she hadn't had. Every time they went to a wedding she pouted for weeks. Mack was sure she wouldn't miss out on all that attention the second time around.

“Is she still seeing that banker?” he asked.

“Nope.” Viv stabbed viciously at an innocent dumpling. “It's Emilio now. I think he's a mobster.”

Mack paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. “Why?”

Vivian took her time chewing the dumpling while she thought about her answer. “He wears a pinkie ring.”

Mack winced. Jewelry on men never made any sense to him. It was too easy to get stuff caught on a nail or snagged in a horse's mane. Besides, who would spend money on that stuff? Better to buy land, or at least a good horse. Something with real value.

“Do you like him?” He kept his expression carefully neutral. He tried not to be judgmental about the men Alex chose. His ex might trash him every chance she got, but he knew it was important for a girl to love her mother. It wasn't always easy to keep his thoughts to himself, but he did his best.

“I hate him,” Viv said. She stabbed another dumpling. Hard.

Bells went off in Mack's head, but he stayed calm. “How come?”

Viv shrugged. “He's a creep.”

She continued torturing her dumplings, clearly unaware that she'd just upped her dad's protective instincts to high alert.

“Did he ever touch you?” Mack asked.

“No. He's just a creep.”

“Does he look at you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, Dad. He's around, you know? He has to look at me. I think he'd rather not, though.” She splayed her hands in a “ta-da” gesture. “Hence the trip to Vegas, and my exile to the colonies.”

He vowed to get in touch with Alex at the first opportunity and find out about this Emilio creep. “It's not exile. We'll have fun.”

“Whatever, Dad.”

The rest of the meal was spent in small talk, though the issue of Emilio festered in the back of his mind. By the time the meal was over, the guy had grown fangs and a barbed tail in his imagination.

Maddie cleared the table while the students fetched the day's paintings and propped them against the wall in the front parlor in preparation for their nightly review. Cat picked up the first painting—Emma Delaney's rendition of the lake—and glanced around the room.

“Dora?”

“Up here!” her niece hollered from upstairs. The two girls had pounded up the stairs like a couple of high-spirited ponies the minute the meal was over, taking the steps two at a time in their haste to get away from the grown-ups.

“We're doing the paintings now,” Cat yelled.

Dora appeared in the doorway, her face flushed. “Viv wants to show me some stuff,” she said. “We're talking.”

“But you're supposed to…” Cat glanced up at Mack, who was slouched in the doorway. He gave a faint shake of his head. She slumped her shoulders. “Okay. Go ahead.”

The girl didn't have to be asked twice. A cascade of giggles swept down from Viv's room almost immediately.

Mack hardly needed to listen while they rehashed the day's work. He could hear Cat saying something about color and value and hue. Man, he didn't even know what she was talking about. It was like they spoke different languages. He must be crazy to think they had anything in common. But last night…

Last night was over. A memory. And it would have to stay that way, with Viv here.

He strolled into the kitchen, figuring he'd help his mother with the cleanup. Someone in a frilly apron was at the sink, scrubbing dishes—but that someone wasn't Maddie.

It was Hank.

What
the
hell?
As far as Mack knew, Hank had never said a word to his mom—or any other woman, for that matter.

As he stood dumbfounded in the doorway, his mother strode in from the dining room carrying a teetering stack of dishes.

“Here you go,” she said. “Don't put those wine glasses in the dishwasher.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

To Mack's surprise, Madeleine giggled—
giggled!
—and smacked Hank on the arm. “Quit it,” she said. “I told you not to call me that. You make me feel about eighty years old.”

“Well, you're not old,” Hank said. “Not old at all.”

The giggle erupted again. Was Mack's mother
flirting
? With
Hank
?

Mack gripped the side of the door frame, feeling suddenly dizzy. Hank had always been more than a ranch hand; he was family. But judging from Maddie's shining eyes, he was becoming something more. That would take a lot of getting used to, but it would be a lot easier to deal with than her disastrous marriage to Ollie. In fact, Mack couldn't help wishing Hank had tied on that frilly apron a lot sooner.

He slipped out the back door. Standing on the top step, he looked out over the fire pit, past the Heifer House to the acres of land rolling beyond it and the low hills marking the horizon.

He'd spent most of his life leaving this place behind, watching it fade in a cloud of dust in the rearview mirror as he headed for some rodeo. But all along, the land had been the base that held him steady, the one thing he could depend on. Only after the disaster with Ollie had it occurred to him that there might be a day when the ranch wouldn't be there to catch him if he fell.

But they'd held onto it so far, despite the financial ruin brought on by Ollie's shenanigans. If this business with Art Treks worked out, and they could get a few more clients and sell some cow/calf pairs in the spring, the ranch might still be here for Viv someday.

Viv. He really ought to check on her. He stepped back into the house and shut the door quietly behind him. The low hum of voices came from the kitchen, but his attention was on the upstairs rooms, where his daughter was.

He wasn't sure Dora, with her bad attitude and deep-set scars, would have been his first choice as a friend for Viv. His daughter had reached a delicate détente with both him and Alex, but Dora, with her sarcastic attitude and scorn for authority, might tilt the balance back toward war.

Then again, maybe the girl's bereavement would remind Viv that she was lucky to have two parents—even if they weren't together.

In any case, he knew from experience he didn't have a choice about Viv's friends. And he shouldn't worry. Somehow, despite the tumultuous ordeal of the divorce, his daughter had grown into a young woman who knew who she was and wasn't about to cave to any kind of peer pressure.

Mack was proud of her. If only he could see more of her, he'd be fine with the way things had turned out. Let Alex have the house and everything in it; he just wanted a good relationship with his daughter.

He climbed the stairs quietly, pausing halfway to listen to the high piping voices of the girls. He wasn't eavesdropping—not really. He just wanted to hear how they were getting along. And see if they were talking about Emilio.

“No! Eww—we're not doing that.”

That was Dora. Now Viv joined in.

“Just go back to your room. We're not into that stuff.”

And then a male voice.

“Oh, come on, girls. It'll be fun.”

Mack stood motionless for half a second, dizzied by the rage that leaped up like a flame in his chest. Trevor. Trevor was in there with the girls, trying to get them to… to do something.

And Mack was going to stop it.

As the rest of the students stumbled off to the bunkhouse, Cat had ducked into the kitchen and found Maddie drinking a cup of tea at the kitchen table. The tall, rawboned ranch hand sat across from her, sitting so stiffly Cat suspected he wasn't normally allowed on the furniture. He wasn't drinking tea or anything else; just sitting, with his hands in his lap and his heels resting on the chair rungs. He'd probably be more comfortable if someone gave him a set of reins to hold.

The kitchen was spotless, the counters gleaming, all signs of the enormous dinner absorbed into a haze of spray cleaner. Across the room, the dishwasher churned rhythmically.

“You need any help?” Cat asked.

“We're fine.” Madeleine had her stocking feet propped up on the chair across from her, but she swung them to the floor and shoved the chair a couple inches toward Cat. “But come set a spell.”

Cat thought maybe she should join her students and rest up for the next day, but Maddie's orders were hard to disobey. Besides, she kind of liked the woman.

“How are you doing with that little niece of yours?” Maddie sat back, folding her hands across her stomach.

“Oh, fine.” Cat faked a smile, wondering if Mack had told his mother about her personal problems. She hadn't meant for any of that to be shared. “Why?”

“Just wondered. Noticed she acts up a little. Seems troubled.”

Cat's temper flared. “She's fine.”

Maddie shrugged. “If you say so.”

Cat struggled to smooth herself down. There was no reason to go on the defensive. This woman knew children. She was a mother. A grandmother. And it hardly took a genius to figure out Dora had issues.

“She lost her mother. She's been having a hard time.” Cat sighed. “I thought bringing her here would help.”

“Well, maybe it will. She and Viv are getting on like a house on fire.”

“They do seem to get along.” Cat glanced at the ranch hand, who was watching the conversation like a tennis match. The man never seemed to speak, so why should she care if he listened? “Mack and his daughter seem to get along too.”

Maddie sat up, suddenly animated. “Oh, yeah. Viv's a feisty one and she doesn't listen worth a damn, but her dad loves her and she loves him right back. You got any kids?”

“No.”

Cat had always thought she'd have kids, but time was slipping away, even though she barely felt like a grown-up herself these days. Her life felt unsettled, as if she hadn't found her purpose yet. Maybe that was why she was so desperate to help Dora. With no kids of her own, she'd channeled all her maternal instinct to her niece.

“Don't you want to have a family?” Madeleine asked.

This was getting awfully personal. Cat glanced at the ranch hand again, but he was staring at the wall across from them, a little slack-jawed. Maybe the guy was slow or something. In any case, he wasn't likely to spread gossip.

Cat shook her head. “I've been mostly focused on my career.”

“Thought this was your first trip.”

“It is. The first trip of my second career. The first career's still going, but it's on life support.”

“So how long are you going to focus on this one?” Maddie cupped her palms around her mug. “The clock's ticking, you know.”

Cat didn't know why she felt like laughing instead of smacking the woman. “It's not really just about my career. It's my art I've been focused on. I doubt that will ever change.”

She dug through her brain for the thoughts about dedication and creativity that had seemed so important a week ago. They must have moved to the bottom of the pile, underneath her worries about Dora, her new career, and her ridiculously randy feelings for a certain cowboy.

“Artists have to respect the creative urge,” she said. “It can take some time to find your inspiration—your
Starry
Night
. But you can't give up the quest.”

“You got a starry night right outside.” Maddie's dimples creased as she smiled. “Ask my son to show it to you sometime.”

Cat smiled. “I don't mean that literally. I mean…” She paused. “Do you know Van Gogh's painting?
Starry
Night
?”

“That the windy one with the trees?” the ranch hand asked.

Cat tried not to act surprised. “That's the one. Well, that painting has come to define Van Gogh's creative genius. I think every artist has to find their
Starry
Night
—something that inspires them like nothing else. That's why I'm so excited to join Art Treks. It'll give me a chance to see the world, see if my
Starry
Night
is out there somewhere.”

She blushed. All of a sudden, the sentiment that had carried her so far sounded like pseudo-intellectual nonsense. It was a direct quote from Ames Whitaker—her pseudo-boyfriend.

There wasn't much left in her life that was real. Just Dora, and…

And Mack. Last night had been real. But she could hardly hinge her reality on a one-time fling with a cowboy.

Unless she made it a two-time fling.

“Maybe your
Starry
Night
's right here.” Madeleine settled back, sipping her tea. The dimples flickered back to life as she set down her cup.

“I don't think so. I mean, this place is beautiful. The lake, the canyon—well, I know the students found it really inspiring. But I haven't caught that spark yet.”

“Maybe you're looking for it wrong,” Madeleine said. “Maybe what you need isn't a place. Maybe it's a person.”

Cat heard footsteps on the stairs—loud, male footsteps. Mack was going up to see his daughter. She glanced at the door.

“Go on up,” Maddie said. “See what they're up to.”

Cat shoved her chair back from the table just as a flurry of footsteps and a deep, male shout erupted from upstairs. There were a couple loud bangs, as if furniture had fallen over.

Then the girls started to scream.