Your'e Still the One (7 page)

“Sweet?” He spit it out like a cussword. “You have me mixed up with someone else.” He picked up her hand and turned it over so that their palms met. “When do you figure you’ll get the Sundance back on its feet?”

“When beef prices stabilize and the cost of corn stops climbing.”

“In other words, you have no idea.”

“Sadly, none.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, treading carefully, wondering how he could pitch in. “You guys don’t deserve this. Your family was always the first to lend a hand to any rancher down on his luck.”

“Everyone is struggling and none of them deserve it.” She sighed. “I think what kills Cole the most is that men he’s known his whole life have asked for work and he’s had to turn them down. He’s been running the Sundance on fumes to avoid layoffs.”

Matt stared at their joined hands. How could he offer to help without ruffling feathers? He had money, a lot of it. What a guy his age with a basic education could make riding a bull was almost obscene. In the beginning when he’d started earning big, he’d done his share of reckless spending. Fast cars, gorgeous women, and shelling out cash to just about anyone with a heartbreaking story and their hand out.

It was one of the rodeo clowns who’d set him straight. The old-timer had warned him to quit being a dumb-ass and think about his future so he wouldn’t end up pushing sixty and running around the arena in a costume distracting bulls. Matt had taken heed, even though it was for the wrong reason. He’d wanted to show up Wallace.

Rachel moved her hand, and he looked up into her eyes. They were so beautiful, a true green, the color of spring grass that April showers help spread over the hills behind the Lone Wolf. How many times had he chased her up there, headed for Mill Creek, knowing each time he was asking for trouble? God, he’d wanted her with a fierceness that burned low in his belly and kept him awake too many nights.

“You’re so quiet,” she said, her gaze roaming his face. “What are you thinking about?”

He smiled. “Don’t believe you wanna know.”

Her brows arched slightly. “I might surprise you.” She gave him a sexy dare-you look that reminded him she wasn’t that off-limits kid anymore. “Tell me.”

“I will.” He released her hand. “If you come over here.”

She frowned as if trying to figure out what he was up to, then smiled when he pushed back his chair. “This better be good if you’re making me get up.”

“I doubt you’ll complain.”

Rachel let out a short laugh. “Seems you’ve gotten a bit cocky, Matthew Gunderson.”

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon I have.”

“Oh, and laying it on thick, too.”

He leaned back, tracking her as she moved around the table, her fingers grazing the oak surface as she took her time, her gaze refusing to break from his. “I’ll try to mind my manners,” he said and willed his body to calm down.

“No, don’t do that.” Her mouth lifted in a teasing grin, and he really liked that she still blushed.

A second before she moved within reach, the dogs started barking. She froze and turned her head toward the window.

“It’s nothing,” Matt said, knowing the pair of border collies belonged to the hands who lived in the bunkhouse.

“They weren’t here earlier.” She stepped away from him. “Your father might be home.”

“Rachel, wait.” Matt jumped to his feet.

He couldn’t guarantee the barking meant nothing, but that wouldn’t stop him. He caught her hand and pulled her close. Startled, she lifted her eyes to his face, her lips parted.

Her skin looked so soft he had to touch her cheek. It felt like silk under the pad of his thumb. No one had skin this satiny, only Rachel.

He lowered his head, and she raised hers. Their lips met, and his heart nearly exploded because he’d spent half the night picturing this moment. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he drew her into his arms, pulling her closer. Her fingers slowly curled into his muscles, and he slanted his mouth over hers.

She tasted so sweet, her mouth soft, yielding and familiar even after all the years. But when he slid his tongue between her lips, there was nothing familiar in the way she welcomed him to delve and explore. Rachel was all woman now, stoking the heat that had been simmering inside him since he’d seen her last night.

He slid a hand down her spine, wanting to touch every inch of her. Her breasts felt full and heavy crushed to his chest, and damn, he wished they were just about anywhere but the kitchen. Her hands slipped over his shoulders up the back of his neck until her fingers combed through his hair....

Abruptly she broke away. “Matt,” she said, breathlessly. “The dogs—” Her face flushed, her eyes unfocused, she blinked blearily at him. “They’re still barking.”

“The hell with them.” He pulled her back in and pressed his mouth against hers.

She gave in, started to kiss him, but then jerked away, shaking her head. “No. I have to go.”

He had no choice but to release her. She’d tensed, the mood was broken. A curse slipped out that he hadn’t intended. “Sorry.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “You have a pen?”

He wasn’t thinking too clearly, but he remembered one had always sat by the kitchen phone.

She grabbed the small notepad along with the ballpoint and scribbled something. “My number,” she said, passing it to him. “Call whenever.” And she was gone without looking back.

7

R
ACHEL
WAS
RIGHT
. The dogs had been barking at a truck that had turned onto the driveway. It wasn’t Wallace, but one of the cowboys who lived in the bunkhouse. She’d left anyway, and Matt knew it was for the best. Wallace had to come home sometime, and there was Nikki to consider. Matt still didn’t like it. Man, he’d just started getting warmed up. They had a lot more talking and kissing to do, and he hoped there’d be less clothes and more skin down the road.

Evidently he’d underestimated the level of anxiety that had been dogging him over how he’d left Rachel. Now that he knew she hadn’t written him off or branded him a coward, he felt lighthearted, optimistic. No other way to describe the ease in his chest or explain the fact he could look around the place without the memories strangling him like a bolo tie he’d pulled too tight.

Half an hour after she left, he looked out the window and saw Petey walking from the corral to the barn. The wrangler had been with the Lone Wolf for as long as Matt could remember. The giant of a man had always been gruff and rarely cracked a smile. Come to think of it, with all the wiry hair on his head and face, a smile could get lost. Chuckling at the thought, Matt grabbed his jacket off the oak coat tree on his way to the front door.

As a kid he’d stayed clear of Petey. Matt had heard whispers about Petey wrestling bears or being able to kill a man with his bare hands. Now he knew the men had been poking fun at him, but at the time no one could’ve convinced him that the huge utility knife clipped to Petey’s belt was only used for shaving and camping.

After leaving Blackfoot Falls, Matt hadn’t given the guy a thought—until his mother’s funeral. Petey had cleaned up, even wore an old brown suit to the church and sat in the second row, behind the family, while all the other hands gathered in the back. Matt almost hadn’t recognized him without his beard. But Petey had tapped him on the shoulder, leaned over, his pale eyes filled with tears and told Matt how sorry he was because Catherine Gunderson had been a fine lady.

Sitting behind Matt, Wallace had stared stoically at the flower-draped casket. Until that moment, Matt figured it wasn’t possible to hate his father more. Turned out he’d underestimated himself.

But hatred eventually made a man weak and reckless. And Matt was glad he’d learned that lesson early, before he’d gotten himself killed by a bull or knifed in a bar fight. He’d been lucky. Damn lucky.

Matt’s boots crunched the gravel and snow as he skirted a pair of four-wheelers that shouldn’t have been left in the middle of the turnaround. “Hey, Petey.”

The man had disappeared into the barn, but ducked back outside, tugging down the brim of his battered hat and squinting into the sunlight. “Is that you, kid?”

“Depends which kid you mean.”

His beard moved and there was a brief flash of off-white teeth. Son of a gun...it was a smile. “The smart-ass one,” Petey grumbled while removing a work glove.

Matt grinned. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, accepting the man’s extended hand, which was the size of a small ham. After a couple of hearty pumps, Matt winced. “Jesus, I still need this.”

“Come on, big rodeo star like you.” Petey squeezed tighter, just enough to make Matt cuss but not cry. “You don’t want people thinking you shake like a girl.”

Matt snorted. “Seriously, I have to be able to hold a rope, or you’re gonna be coming to
my
funeral.”

Petey released him, and Matt drew back, flexing his hand and glancing around to see if the men were having a laugh.

And then he realized what he’d said, and shot a look at Petey. A sick feeling burned in Matt’s gut at the memory of his mom’s casket being lowered into the ground...of the tears in the big man’s eyes...the lack in Wallace’s.

“You’re right.” He clapped Matt’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t be horsing around. But you got a mean grip yourself there, kid.” Petey did some hand-flexing of his own, then shook his head with amusement. “Holding on to a ton of bull flesh, guess you gotta be strong or get dead.”

“Yep,” Matt agreed. “I try real hard not to get dead.”

Laughing, Petey yanked his hat off to scratch his head. His hair had thinned—what was left was as gray as it was black. “I never figured you for a bull rider.”

Matt had heard the same thing from reporters. Riding was often a family tradition, the lifestyle passed down to boys who started the sport young. “I got that ornery Gunderson blood in me. I reckon that makes me and the bull pretty even.”

“You got your ma’s fine blood in you, too,” Petey said quietly. “Don’t you forget that.”

“No, sir. Keeps me sane.”

“Before you got famous your ma used to tell me you were riding broncs.”

After the funeral, Matt had wondered about his mom and Petey’s relationship. He hadn’t asked then, wouldn’t ask now. “I didn’t want her worrying.”

“I figured as much.” Petey resettled his hat on his head. “She did anyway. I reckon that’s what ma’s do. But she was proud of you, too. Whether you took first place or not.”

“After I took the world finals and all the publicity started, there was no more hiding the truth. And man, did I get an earful. No congratulations or asking what I was gonna do with all the money I’d won. She only asked if I had any idea how dangerous bull riding was.” Matt smiled. “’Course I failed to mention I’d cracked two ribs that night.”

Petey laughed. “She tracked down every article on you she could find. They’d be goin’ on about your perfect form, or how you broke records and the part she’d read out loud was when you said, ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir.’” Petey looked off toward the snow-packed mountains. “She’d get that pretty smile on her face, proud that she raised you right.”

“She did.” Matt swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I’m glad you were here for her.”

He tugged down the brim of his hat. “Ah, we all miss her.”

That was a lie, Matt thought, his gaze wandering toward the house, though one better left alone. This visit was about Nikki. Losing sight of that fact could kick up dust and blur a man’s vision. “You know where Wallace is?”

Petey snorted, shaking his head. “We don’t talk much. Never have.”

“Just as well.”

“You seen him yet?”

“Nope. He was passed out drunk when I arrived the first time. Then gone when I came back.”

Petey stroked his scraggly beard. “Might be more than the booze knocking him down. I expect Lucy probably knows something.” He eyed Matt. “You here on account he’s ailing or because you got hitched?”

“No, I’m not married and I don’t give a shit if he is sick. Whatever’s kicking his ass he brought on himself. How often does Lucy come by?”

“Two or three times a week. She cooks meals, makes sure he eats. Not like those two hotheads he keeps around.”

“Who?”

“You’ll meet ’em.” Petey grunted. “Tony ain’t so bad—it’s the other one...he’s got the temper. No neck, built like a Brahma, the kid’s got more muscles than brains.”

That didn’t sound like the kind of men Wallace would hire. “They from around here?”

“Nah, nobody knows those two. He hired ’em a few months back. They aren’t social. You might catch one or the other at the Watering Hole, but mostly they don’t leave Wallace’s side.”

Matt started to ask something when the collies came bounding out of nowhere, their loud barks drowning him out.

Petey motioned toward the truck or Wallace’s large SUV, hard to tell, speeding down the gravel driveway too fast. Whoever was at the wheel was an idiot. Which could easily mean Wallace, though for all his faults, he’d never been a reckless driver. Maybe long-term boozing had changed that.

“Reckon I’ll be getting back to work.” Petey pulled on his glove. “Sure good to see you, kid.”

“Who is that? Wallace?”

“Tony or the hothead. Your pa don’t hardly drive no more, but likely he’s with ’em or they’d have their own truck. Don’t let him get you riled,” Petey said, then headed inside the barn.

Matt watched the vehicle approach. He considered giving Nikki a heads-up, but he didn’t feel like having an audience when he saw Wallace. He didn’t care about the two guys babysitting him. As long as they weren’t giving the hands a hard time, Matt had no call to make them his business.

At the last minute, he turned and headed for the house. They would’ve seen him. He hoped that didn’t mean they’d turn around or Wallace would refuse to come inside. Nikki’s nerves were on edge and she wouldn’t agree to stick around much longer. The idea would bother him less if he hadn’t seen Rachel again.

Those sparkling eyes, that fiery hair and generous smile. What a beauty. And smart, too, with a heart as big as the whole state of Montana. She’d seen his pain, his despair, his frustration and she’d never run from him, never done anything but accept him. Even though she probably hated the Gunderson name as much as everyone else in her family...hell, maybe the entire county....

Matt had to get this matter with Nikki squared away, free himself to spend time with Rachel. He went in through the front door and straight to the window to watch the SUV pull under the covered space near the stables where it had been parked yesterday.

Goddamn Wallace, if he didn’t get inside right now, Matt would drag him in. He would...

The driver’s door opened, and Petey was right, the guy who climbed out was all muscle and no neck. He had a mean squinty stare that he aimed at the house. When the other two doors opened, Matt knew Wallace was there.

“Hey.”

He turned when he heard Nikki, standing at the top of the stairs, hands stuffed in her jeans, her shoulders hunched as if she were cold. “You okay?” he asked, pulling off his jacket.

“I heard the dogs barking? Is it him?”

“I think so. Wait in your room until I call you, if you want. Or not.”

She bit at her lower lip. “Yeah, let’s stick with the plan.” She hesitated. “Let me know if it’s not him.”

“You got it.” He watched her slip down the hall, then he turned back to the window.

The SUV had already been abandoned. He couldn’t see anyone, had no way to tell which direction everyone had gone. If Wallace planned on coming inside, it had to be through the kitchen or Matt would see him out front.

He hung his jacket on the hall coat tree, listening until he heard the back door open and close. No voices, so that was good. Drawing in a deep breath, he moved into the den and made himself comfortable on the red leather chair that matched the couch. It wouldn’t matter if Wallace planned on hiding in his office, took the stairs or went into the living room. From Matt’s vantage point, he’d see him.

After rattling around the kitchen for a few minutes, Wallace walked into the den. He slid a glance at Matt, but didn’t miss a step on his way to the wet bar at the back of the room. He took a glass off the shelf and grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam. After he poured a couple of fingers worth, he hesitated, then brought down a second glass.

“Your woman make the food sitting in the kitchen?” he asked, his back to Matt as he poured again.

Matt didn’t answer, just watched in pure amazement. This was all the man had to say after not seeing his son in the three years since his wife’s funeral. But then, no reason to be surprised, they hadn’t said a word to each other after the service. Matt had grabbed his bag and left.

“You drunk?” Matt asked, studying him closely. He seemed coordinated enough and hadn’t slurred his words.

“Not yet.” Wallace carried both glasses from the bar, his pallor and frail body as startling to Matt today as it was yesterday. “You come to help build my coffin?” Wallace asked, his bloodless lips curled in a faint sneer as he passed the whiskey to Matt.

“I’ve never been good with a hammer,” he said, “but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Wallace chuckled. “There’s hope for you yet, boy.” He raised his glass in salute, then downed the liquor.

Matt gritted his teeth, watching Wallace go back for the bottle. “Can you lay off the booze for a while? I want you to meet someone.”

He slowly put the whiskey down, kept his back to Matt and stared at the wall where a mirror had once been part of the intricately hand-carved bar. The frame was still a beautiful piece, made from mesquite brought from Texas, a one-of-a-kind beveled mirror from New Orleans and crafted by Matt’s great-great-grandfather. The meticulous work had stretched over two winters and got passed down through three generations. In a drunken rage, it took Wallace only seconds to smash the glass and ruin the family heirloom forever.

Matt had just turned twelve. His mother had cried for an hour, and he’d felt guilty because it was the one time he hadn’t blamed Wallace. The bastard probably hated looking himself in the eye, and try as he might, Matt couldn’t fault him for that.

After a long tension-charged moment, Wallace turned around, no glass, no bottle in his hands. He looked confused, his features pinched as he reached behind and held on to the bar as if to steady himself. “You actually
want
me to meet her?”

Matt finally understood, and he almost laughed. “Yeah, I came home for your blessing.”

The second Wallace recognized Matt’s sarcasm, he clenched his jaw. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

“Better get moving before I change my mind about that drink.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Matt got to his feet and noticed how heavily Wallace sagged against the bar.

“I don’t need you ordering me around.”

He shook his head, not just at Wallace’s scowl but at Matt’s own foolishness. Poking the man into a foul mood right before he met Nikki was plain stupid. Matt stopped at the foyer. “How’ve you been?”

“Shitty.”

“Anything I should know about?”

Wallace hesitated, then cursed. “Lucy?”

“What about her?”

“She wrote you.”

“Nope, and I haven’t seen her since Mom’s funeral.”

Wallace’s gray eyebrows dipped into a suspicious frown. “Why are you really here?”

“Already told you. I want you to meet someone.” Matt started for the stairs, then stopped long enough to add, “I’ll tell you this, she’s not my wife or my girlfriend.”

With that he raced up the stairs. They had nothing more to say to each other, but Nikki and Wallace might have plenty. She must’ve heard him because she opened her door before he made it to the landing and stared at him with uncertainty.