The Rancher's Untamed Heart (26 page)

That afternoon, I couldn't get out of work quickly enough. Clint and I had agreed to meet pretty early, five-thirty if we could both make it, because ranch men kept early hours. It was easier to move the work schedule up than to work late, his hands would mutiny if they didn't get to go home to their own wives and girlfriends so that their boss could see his.

I made myself work until 4:50 and then I packed up my stuff and eyed the clock. Could I get away with sneaking out now?

No, I decided. It was always better to err on the side of caution with your bosses.

I sat down and flipped through the stack of paperwork I'd left myself for the next day, to see if there was anything I could check off in ten minutes to make myself feel virtuous leaving.

There wasn't. At the bottom of the stack, I saw that form again, the one I hadn't put in the stack. It bothered me. Did Herman put it in here? If not, who else had been in my office, looking through my paperwork, putting in something that I knew wasn't supposed to be there?

The problem gave me plenty to think about as I kept an eye on my phone.

At 5:01, I joined the exodus of my coworkers and headed out to the parking lot.

The drive was uneventful, and I rolled up to the diner that Clint had directed me to just after 5:30.

I was pleased to see that Clint's truck was already there. After he stood me up, he had been excruciatingly careful about being on time to our dates, or sending me a message promptly.

There had been no repeat of that miserable evening of waiting and worrying and wondering if he was hurt or had forgotten me.

I turned the engine off and slipped my phone and keys into my pockets. I grabbed my purse, although I knew I didn't truly need to. Clint had old-fashioned ideas about who should pay for dates - him, always him.

When I walked through the doors, I saw Clint sitting at a booth by a window, with two glasses of water in front of him.

"Hope I haven't kept you," I said, sitting down across from him and taking the nearer water, drinking a long draft of it as I smiled at him.

"I've been here about five minutes," he said. "I always like getting to sit a spell after a long day. Looks like you rushed out here."

"I've been nervous," I said.

He looked a little chagrined.

"I didn't mean to scare you, with that let's-talk-in-person thing. I just wanted to see your face, I thought what you were saying was important."

Clint reached out and took my free hand, stroking my knuckles with his calloused thumb.

"I wanted to touch you," he said. "Talking about that on the phone, I was afraid that you were mad at me."

I smiled at him and took a deep breath, enjoying just looking at his face. "No," I said. “Not mad. Just… confused. Frightened.”

He squeezed my hand.

“What do you have to be afraid of?” he asked.

“I’m afraid that we’re about to talk about getting married, and I am afraid that you don’t want to marry me,” I said. “I’m afraid because I used to know what I wanted, and I don’t any more.”

“What did you want?” he asked.

The waitress came up then, a middle-aged woman in a dress and apron.

“Hon, you need a menu, or you know what you want?” she asked me.

I grinned.

“Uh, for once, I think I do,” I said. “You have pancakes?”

“Yes, ma’am, best pancakes for miles. Only pancakes for miles,” she said, not cracking a smile. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was joking.

I looked at Clint and he shrugged and nodded.

“I’ll get a stack of pancakes, then. Just your regular order,” I said. “With a glass of orange juice.”

The waitress nodded absently and looked at Clint.

“Uh, I think I’ll try a ham-and-cheese omelette,” he said. “Side of bacon. White toast. Thank you, ma’am.”

He looked at me after she walked off.

“Breakfast for dinner, really?” he asked.

“You didn’t have to copy me,” I said. “I like pancakes, sue me.”

He grinned. “I’m happy to copy you, sweetheart.”

“So, you asked me what I wanted,” I said.

He nodded.

“I wanted to have a stellar career.. I wanted to be the boss, I wanted to be the boss’s boss, you know?”

He nodded again. “I can appreciate that,” he said. “You wanted to work hard and get recognized.”

I smiled, relieved. “Yes, exactly. You get it.”

“Did you want children at all?” he asked. He smiled sympathetically at me, but his eyes were serious. I knew that my answer would be important to him.

“I hadn’t thought about it much one way or another,” I said, honestly. “I’ve never spent a lot of time with little kids, although I like them fine when I do. I’ve assumed I’d have one or two, but in a while. A long while. Maybe in my mid-thirties? Not now,” I said.

“You’ve said that that’s changing?” he asked.

“Oh, come on, you have to tell me what you think of that. You can’t just reply with questions like a therapist,” I said.

He grinned an easier grin at that.

“It’s weird,” he said. “I think it’s weird. I don’t mind it at all, but I always pictured myself with a rancher’s daughter who had grown up wanting ten children and fifteen hands around the table every night.”

“Even you’d need a bigger table,” I said.

“All relationships take adjustments,” he said, his tone mock-serious, his eyes sparkling.

He squeezed my hand again and looked into my eyes.

“Really, Naomi,” he said. “I know that that’s not you, that that’s never been you, that that will never be you. You’re not what I thought I wanted, but damn if I don’t love everything about you.”

He paused.

“Everything that does not involve football.”

I nodded. I would never not hate football, that I was pretty sure about. It was nice to have one unchanging conviction right now.

My glass of water was large and cold, damp on the outside from beads of moisture running down the side. I picked it up, took a sip, and continued to hold it, looking down into it instead of meeting Clint’s eyes.

“I’m afraid that if we stay together, you’ll be disappointed because your wife doesn’t know how to cook and clean like you’d want her to,” I murmured.

“I’m afraid that if we stay together, you’ll feel trapped and come to hate my ranch,” he said, just as quietly.

I looked up and our gazes met across the table. The sparkle was gone from his eyes, he was perfectly serious.

“I love your ranch,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Would you really love living in one place for the rest of your life?” he asked. “I can’t give up the ranch, I can’t leave it.”

“I know,” I said, quietly.

We were both silent. I wondered if he felt, like I did, that we had come to a crossroads in our relationship. Either we’d accept what we couldn’t change about the other, or we’d have to stop seeing one another.

My heart clenched at the thought of giving Clint up, but I knew that we could make each other entirely miserable if we wanted each other to be people we truly weren’t.

Our waitress marched up with two steaming plates of breakfast, then, and put them down in front of each of us.

“You want regular syrup, or sugar-free?” she asked me.

I requested regular, and thanked her, and she left, returning quickly with the slightly-sticky container of cheap syrup.

“Anything else?” she asked, and we both shook our heads.

We ate for a few minutes without speaking.

Finally, I put my fork down and looked at Clint. I didn’t hide behind my water, my look was steady.

“This might be ridiculous, we’ve only known each other for six months, but I’d rather change my life, and have you in it, than keep my life the same and give you up,” I said. “I wasn’t exactly blissfully happy alone, and I’ve never liked or respected a man as much as I like and respect you.”

I took a deep breath as he slowly lowered his own fork.

“I want you,” I said, simply. “I want you, and the ranch, and Brandon and Will, and kids. I don’t think I want ten kids, but I think, in a few years, I’d be more than ready for one or two. I still don’t know if I want to be a stay-at-home mother, but I know that I want to live with you and be yours.”

I hardly blinked as I stared at him, waiting for his reaction.

Clint reached across the table with his now-free hand and took mine. He stroked my fingers with his strong thumb, and I shivered. His touch ignited my body like nothing else.

“Six months isn’t a long time,” he started, slowly. “We both know that.”

My heart sank.

“It’s long enough, though, to make me feel pretty confident about you,” he said. “I’ve never met a woman who could keep my interest for more than a few weeks before.  You’re smart, you’re kind, you make me laugh, you put up with my bad moods.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. His moodiness had gotten no better, and I didn’t exactly harbor hopes that it would.

An answering grin spread across his face, a crooked smile that melted my heart.

He reached his free hand into his pocket and hesitated.

“I don’t think we’ve solved this,” he said, plainly. “If you and I stay together, we’ll both have to change, and compromise, and give up things we thought we’d have forever.”

He pulled his hand out of his jacket. It was holding a small black box.

Clint’s smile turned a little sheepish, and there was a nervous glint in his eye. “I’ve never thought that I’d propose to a woman after only a few months. Will you spend the rest of your life with me to show me all the other things I never thought I’d do?”

As he spoke, he flipped the box open. There was a small ring nestled in the velvet, a white gold band with three small diamonds.

I gasped. It was so cliche, but I couldn't help myself. The ring was lovely, old-fashioned, and I suspected immediately that it had belonged to his mother.

His grip tightened on my hand.