Tall, Dark and Cowboy (19 page)

An hour later Lacey stared into the open refrigerator, wondering what the hell cowboys ate. She wanted to do something for Chase in return for the shooting lessons, but making a nice dinner with nothing but beer and stale bread was going to be a challenge.

She swung open the freezer. So that was where he kept the real food. She carefully peeled back the aluminum foil on two disposable trays, revealing something that looked suspiciously like homemade lasagna. Tupperware containers appeared to contain beef stew, macaroni and cheese, and some kind of noodle casserole—probably tuna.

She flicked on the oven and pulled out one of the lasagna trays. That would hit the spot—homey and satisfying. Trent had liked it when she made glamorous food—chicken piccata, prime steaks rubbed with pepper and spices, elaborate pasta dishes with artichoke hearts and exotic cheese—but she’d never really cared about that stuff. Making it took up the long dull middle of her idle days, but everything had tasted the same when she ate it across the table from Trent.

The door opened behind her, and she whirled, one hand hovering near her hip.

“Whoa,” Chase said. “Easy there.”

She flushed. “Sorry. I was—I was cooking dinner.”

“With a gun on your hip? What are you going to do, shoot a rabbit to eat?”

“No.” She flushed. “It’s not loaded. I just—it feels good to wear it.” She looked down at the lasagna. “I thought I’d heat this up. Who made you all this stuff? Pam?”

“No. I did.” He was indignant. “What, you think men can’t cook? I can do it, Lace. You’re a guest.”

“Oh.” She tried to picture Trent in the kitchen, whipping up a meal. She couldn’t even picture him opening a beer. She’d always done that for him. “I’m not a guest, though. I told you, I’m earning my keep. But I guess since it’s all frozen, I figured some woman was feeding you. Pam, maybe.”

“Nope. I take care of myself.” He unhooked a length of cloth from the pegs behind the door and ducked his head into what turned out to be an apron, knotting it around his waist. It was red-and-white checked and made him look like a denim-clad, muscular picnic table. She turned away and hoped he wouldn’t notice her shoulders shaking as she suppressed a giggle.

“And Galt,” he said, oblivious to the picture he presented. “We need to bring him some of this.”

“Galt?”

“Old guy next door.”

“Oh. The one you wanted Pam to look after.”

“Yeah, somehow she turned that around.”

The oven beeped, and he shoved the pan inside, setting the timer for thirty minutes. “We’ll take the cover off for the last half,” he said.

She stood against the counter feeling useless. He had all this under control. He didn’t need an employee. Didn’t need a cook or a housewife.

House
keeper
. He probably did need a wife, but he needed one who could work on the range as well as in the kitchen. She’d gone a long way toward conquering her fear of the horses, but she was no cowgirl and probably never would be.

“It was nice to see Pam and Cody,” she said.

Chase nodded. He had a stack of mail in his hand and was sorting through the envelopes, tossing most of them onto the table. Two or three that looked like bills remained in his lap.

“Cody seems like a nice guy. Funny.”

“Yeah. Sometimes he’s a little too funny.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m never going to live down that episode in the creek.”

“
You
aren’t? I was the one with the handprint on her—well, you know. You’re probably Cody’s hero for pawing me up, and I’m probably the town slut now.”

“No, we all know who that is.”

She laughed, picturing Krystal in her short skirt and sky-high heels. Chase moved to the refrigerator and got out a beer, handing one to her as well.

“Seriously, Cody wouldn’t say anything. He’s a friend.”

They sat side by side on the picnic bench facing the fields, resting their elbows on the table behind them. Lacey stretched her legs out and crossed her booted feet at the ankles, downing a swig of beer as the wind kicked up and made the long grass shimmer in the fading sunlight. She felt oddly comfortable despite the alien setting. She was used to decks with elegant, cushioned patio furniture, with fire pits burning sweet-scented logs of cherry or apple as glasses clinked and conversation hummed. Instead, the place was silent except for a chorus of crickets and the whisper of the wind.

The silence seemed to draw Chase out, overcoming his usual reticence. “When I came here to Grady, I figured it was Pam and me against the world. But then Cody came to town. He’s a good guy, and he takes good care of Pam.”

“What did he do before he moved here?”

“Cooked somewhere. He doesn’t talk much about it. I think he’s had a hard life.”

“He looks like it, with the tattoos and stuff. I’m surprised Pam trusts him around Annie.”

“Looks can be deceiving. He’s done a lot for Pam. She had a tough time as a single mom, and he’s really there for her. I think the guy has a rescue complex. He’s always helping strangers, doing things for people. I mean, you saw how fast he came out and helped us with the truck. I’d trust that guy with my life.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It might sound corny, but he kind of restored my faith in human nature. After what happened back home, I figured everybody had an agenda, but he’s just… just good.”

“This is what they call a
bromance
, isn’t it?”

Chase flushed. “No, I just—he’s a good friend, that’s all.” He stood abruptly. He obviously wasn’t comfortable talking about his feelings, and the mention of
bromance
had put a halt to his confessional mood. “We need to get this over to Galt.”

***

Lacey wasn’t sure she dared step into Galt’s trailer. For one thing, the place looked like it was about to fall down. For another, the man looked anything but welcoming. He swung the door open, gave them a beady-eyed glare, and turned away to stomp into the kitchen. Lowering himself into a chair at the head of an old-fashioned Formica dinette table, he squinted at Lacey.

“Who’s this?”

He sounded so hostile she wanted to drop the Tupperware salad bowl she was carrying and hightail it out of there, but she didn’t want Chase to think she was scared of grumpy old men along with everything else. She stepped up and put out her hand. “Lacey Br—Keene.”

She needed to start using her maiden name. Forging a new identity.

“I’m helping Chase with the ranch. Nice to meet you.”

Galt continued to give her the stink eye. He didn’t make a move to shake her hand, but she refused to back down.

“Nice to meet you,” she repeated.

He reluctantly slid his dry, papery hand into hers and shook, giving her a skeptical up-and-down assessment. “Lacey Brruh-keene, huh? You don’t look much like a ranch hand.”

“And I’m not a very good one,” Lacey said. “But I’m trying.”

Galt was hauling stuff out of the grocery bag. Chase had wrapped the hot pan in towels and set it on the bottom, topping it with a Ziploc bag of dinner rolls from the café along with paper plates and plastic flatware. It was like a very elaborate picnic. Too bad he’d taken off the apron.

Once everything was on the table, their less-than-gracious host made a vague gesture toward the food. “Eat.”

He tucked into the food like he was starving, shoveling alternating forkfuls of pasta and salad into his mouth. Chase followed suit, eating in a barely more civilized fashion. Lacey looked from one to the other, then shrugged and served herself some dinner.

“So,” she said brightly. “You sold Chase his land.”

Galt scowled. “Bastard.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best topic of conversation. Maybe something less personal would be better. She cleared her throat. “Nice weather we’re having.”

“Need rain.”

“I suppose we do.”

It wasn’t until Lacey started to clear the table that she managed to lure Galt into conversation. “That’s a handsome kid.” She nodded toward a picture on the wall. It was a typical school photo of a dark-haired boy grinning self-consciously against a blue background.

“My son,” Galt said. “He died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lacey wondered why Chase wasn’t making any effort to rescue her from her disastrous conversations with his neighbor. He was worse than Galt, scraping plates into the sink and tossing them into the garbage can without a word.

“He should’ve had this place,” Galt said. “Caldwell’s place too.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss him.”

Chase tugged the nearly full garbage bag out of the plastic trash bin and carried it to the door, tying the top as he went and stepping out into the darkening day, presumably to take it to the trash.

“Hard to miss him when he was never around,” Galt said. “Liked fast cars better than farming. That’s what kilt him.” He snorted. Lacey wasn’t sure if it was a snort of disdain or an effort to keep tears at bay. “Was a job, getting him to do any chores around this place. He hated it.”

“Oh. Chase loves farming. He appreciates the land, I can tell you that.”

“Bob would’ve appreciated it after a while,” Galt said. “He would’ve come around if he hadn’t died. Wanted to be a mechanic, though. Wanted to go to school for it. I couldn’t spare him. No time for fancy educatin’ when you got a farm to keep.”

Lacey felt a sudden ache in her heart for the lonely old man. No doubt he’d been a difficult father. Some of his taciturn manner might be from losing his son, but the hard-set lines of his face told her his negativity was a long-standing habit. Still, the moisture in his eyes proved he’d loved the boy he lost.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m over it.” Galt hobbled into the living room and lowered himself into a worn recliner, picking up a remote. “It’s time for my show.” He snorted again, and this time it was obvious he was holding back emotion. “You done talkin’ now?”

Lacey reached out and touched his arm, just a quick pat. She wondered how long it had been since the old man had touched anyone, or had anyone touch him. He seemed so alone, living on this isolated patch of ground with nothing but his grief to keep him company.

“I’m done,” she said. “But maybe I’ll see you again.”

Chase didn’t have much to say on the brief ride back to the ranch, and he headed out to the barn as soon as they got home, muttering something about feeding the horses and waving Lacey away when she offered to help. She slumped her shoulders and headed for the house, feeling useless and defeated.

“Maybe I’ll go for a walk.”

She wandered through the house, feeling like an intruder, and stepped out onto the back deck. Twilight had just started to settle over the landscape, and she’d noticed there wasn’t a light in sight—just acres of empty prairie as far as she could see. After the upheaval of the past week, it looked peaceful and serene—a good place to think and plan.

She stood at the edge of the deck, unsure which way to turn. How did you take a walk over a landscape so featureless? To just start walking seemed foolish—like taking off across a trackless desert without a destination in mind.

There were a few trees in the distance, silhouetted against the silver sky. They weren’t as far as the ones she and Chase had tried and failed to reach on horseback, and there were only a few—so it wasn’t likely they’d harbor any bears or wolves or Wild West outlaws.

She paced away from the house, swinging her arms resolutely. She’d tried the suburban sport of walking for exercise once, getting together with her sometime lunch partners to cruise through the neighborhood with exaggerated strides and swinging arms. Speed walking was supposed to keep your figure trim and your cardiovascular numbers in the “healthy” range, but she’d come to the conclusion that it also made you look and feel like an idiot.

She lengthened her stride, figuring no one was looking and she might as well get some exercise, but it didn’t take long to figure out that kind of walking didn’t work here. The prairie was dotted with sagebrush and yucca, making it impossible to walk in a straight line. The only way to get anywhere was to mosey, tracing a crooked, meandering path through the spiky flora.

As she left the golden light from the house behind, the world seemed to grow even more hushed. Looking up, she saw the sky speckled with stars, some hard and bright, some faint and far away. She’d seen the same stars from Tennessee, but they’d been lost in the lights from town, a dim constant she’d taken for granted. Here in the darkness of the high plains, they demanded attention, creating a landscape of their own in the deep night sky.

Craning her neck, she stumbled backward and arched her back, almost tipping over in her effort to take in the entire display. She wanted to see the whole sky, to savor the sense of being surrounded with nothing and everything, time and timelessness.

These were the same stars that shined on Tennessee, the same stars that shined on the world long before she was born. They’d shine after she was gone, too, distant and unchanging, unaffected by her life or anyone else’s. She felt a lightness, as if a burden had been lifted. She may have wasted her life, but what good could she have done? She could make things better for those around her—she
should
do that—but in the long run, her petty problems made no difference. She lowered herself to the ground, crossing her legs yoga-style, her eyes never leaving the sky. She just wanted to enjoy the show.

***

Chase headed for the barn with a purposeful stride. This was his favorite time of day—the time when the sun sank below the horizon and he could wrap up his day with the animals, settling them in their stalls, feeding them, making sure everything was finished and finalized and ready to start again in the morning.

Catching the horses in the evening wasn’t a problem. Captain and Sheba practically ran for the barn, knowing their daily ration of sweet feed was coming. Jimbo was slower, trusting in the routine, knowing hurry wouldn’t help things move any faster.

After measuring out the feed, Chase clipped the wire from a fresh bale of hay and shook the rich alfalfa into the feeding troughs. He sat back, enjoying the sounds and scents of everyday life—the rhythmic munching of the horses, the rustle of their big bodies shifting in their stalls, the clean, crisp smell of hay mixed with the musk of animals. Feeding time always gave him a sense of plenty, a feeling that he had what he needed in life.

If only he could carry that satisfaction over into the rest of his day. Most of the time, he felt impatient and rushed, as if there was something he needed to do that he couldn’t quite grasp, some essential element that was missing in his life.

It seemed like he always wanted to be somewhere other than where he was. When he was at the car lot, he wanted to be at the ranch. When he was at the ranch, he wanted to be in Tennessee, back at the farm where his future had seemed so assured. Even now, on this perfect quiet evening, he wanted to be somewhere else.

He wanted to be with Lacey.

He wondered if she’d really gone for a walk. She was hardly a country girl, and the plains at night were wide and lonesome—hardly the place for a suburban socialite. She probably wasn’t much better suited for hiking than she was for horseback riding.

But she’d said she was going for a walk, and she’d probably gone, even if the dark open prairie scared her. He was starting to realize there was more to Lacey than he’d expected—a core of steel at the heart of her soft beauty. She’d ridden, even though it was obvious that the horses scared her half to death. She’d even climbed back on Captain after he’d confirmed all her fears by dumping her in the dirt. Even though it obviously hurt her to climb back in the saddle.

He stroked Captain’s mane as the horse bent over the feed trough. He needed to stop thinking about Lacey. Maybe it would help if he thought about the woman he really needed, the woman he hadn’t met yet. The one who would be an equal partner. Who loved ranch life. Who would work with him, side by side, everyday.

He’d pictured her a dozen times, a dozen ways, but she changed all the time. Maybe she’d be blonde, maybe brown-haired. She’d be sturdy but not heavy, muscular yet feminine. She’d come with all the qualities he wanted in a wife: a love of animals, some ranching know-how, and a steady, rock-solid disposition. She’d also have an insatiable appetite for sex.

Hey, ranching wasn’t everything.

Thinking of sex took him back to the motel, back to the moment Lacey had taken charge. He remembered how she’d pushed him back on the bed, straddled him with her hips, set her hands on his shoulders, and gripped him with her thighs like a barrel racer in a tight turn. He remembered her face, upturned in ecstasy, the yellow light casting faint shadows on her cheeks from her shuttered lashes, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses.

He pictured her breasts, the soft flesh cupped in her hands as she rode him. Her total lack of self-consciousness as she took her pleasure, and the way she’d blinked in surprise when she finished the long, shuddering arc of her orgasm. She’d looked down at him as if she’d forgotten where she was, and then light had dawned in her eyes as if she was recognizing him for the first time.

He shook his head, trying to shatter the image. He needed to focus on the attributes Lacey
didn’t
have. She didn’t love animals—not like he did—and she didn’t know a dang thing about ranching. And as for her disposition, it was anything but steady. She seemed to swing from passion to fear to anger to elation in a heartbeat, her feelings always at the surface, her passion always threatening to boil over and burn somebody. He’d be better off with someone more solid. Placid. Even-tempered.

Boring
.

What was he going to do, marry a cow? With passion came strength, and at least he always knew what Lacey was thinking. She wasn’t devious like Krystal, who was always nursing an ulterior motive like a little demon hidden in her heart. Lacey he could trust. In that way, she was steady as a rock.

He kicked at a clump of straw on the floor, scattering it over the worn boards. He was rationalizing. He was trying to make Lacey over into the woman he needed.

But maybe he could do that. Hell, you could learn about ranching. You could grow to trust animals, and once you trusted them, you could love them. Even in the short time she’d spent with Captain, she’d managed through sheer force of will to move from hesitant fear to a cautious affection.

And if she was willing, Lacey could do anything. Even back in high school, she’d been full of that indefinable quality cowboys call “try.” Try meant you made the effort to take on challenges. It meant you were willing to change and grow. It meant you were willing to get back on the horse that threw you off.

“Try” meant you could take what life threw at you and make the best of it, and that was the single most important thing when it came to ranching. Nothing in nature stayed the same. One year might be prosperous, the next a disaster. One day might bring sunshine, the next a blinding snowstorm. Surviving the challenges was one thing; being committed to continuing the fight was another. Sticking with this life took courage and stamina and the determination to get back on the horse after it bucked you off.

And Lacey had all those things.

It might be handy to find a woman who had all the qualities he wanted—but how likely was it that he’d ever find another woman who inspired him with the feelings he had for Lacey?

Suddenly, he needed to see her. He knew she felt trapped here, hunted by strangers, stuck with nowhere to run. He knew she felt trapped by her feelings, too, stuck in a situation where her determination to stay independent was endangered by their enforced togetherness.

He knew she didn’t want a relationship right now—maybe not ever. Her marriage had been difficult, and she was as reluctant to love again as she had been to ride—but he knew she had the courage to try.

All she needed was for someone to offer the challenge.