B00DVWSNZ8 EBOK

by Jeffrey, Anna

  Windy and Irene began bringing out dishes of food. Part of supper was obviously leftovers from dinner. "Sorry I missed dinner," she said, heaping her plate with slices of grilled sirloin, mashed potatoes and brown gravy. "What did y'all talk about?"

  "Sandy Dandy, mostly," Daddy answered. "Looks like we'll be transferring quite a few sperm samples. I'm especially interested in that mare Pitchfork brought up from South Texas. We all think she's a perfect match with Sandy Dandy. Who knows? Might get another Dash for Cash."

  He grinned and Grandpa chuckled. The legendary record-setting Dash for Cash was a Texas-bred quarter-horse stallion that had sired two generations of prizewinners.

  "And the Triple D's got several mares, too," Daddy added.

  "Wish I'd been here," Jude said. And she sincerely did wish it. Before today, nothing could have caused her to miss a dinner conversation about horse breeding. Unfortunately, she couldn't be in two places at once.

  "What were you and Suzanne up to?" her father asked as Windy and Irene fussed around the table. “I thought you’d want to be here for the conversation about breeding Sandy Dandy.”

  Jude's stomach muscles tightened at the prospect of telling yet another untruth. "Suzanne's, uh, giving her barn a good cleaning and doing some work on the corral."

  Lame, lame, lame. That excuse didn't even come close to being a good reason to miss an important dinner. Her father’s head cocked and a look of curiosity came her way. Oh, hell.

  Grandpa saved her with a gravelly heh-heh-heh as he spooned green beans onto his plate. "If you want to clean barns, Judith Ann, we've got a few around here."

  "I know, Grandpa. I just wanted to do Suzanne a favor. She doesn't have any help and she's got a full-time job."

  Then that same alien force that had taken hold of her tongue at Brady's house said, "I, uh, we're going to take a break, though. We're going over to Fort Worth tomorrow to spend the night. Do some shopping and go out for some of the downtown nightlife."

  "Good," Daddy said. "Glad to hear you're taking my suggestion to heart."

  "Well, you know, school will be starting the middle of August. I'm going to have to start making my lesson plans before long. The next thing you know, teachers' meetings will begin and I might not get a chance to go anywhere. It's been ages since either Suzanne or I ate at Reata."

  "Will you be seeing Jason while you're in Fort Worth?"

  "No, I'm—"

  "You should drop in on him and surprise him. I know he'd be glad to see you."

  Jason Weatherby. Her most recent fiancé. The fact that his wealthy family had given him everything money could buy was the one and only thing Jude and he had in common. She had known the relationship was a sham mere weeks into the engagement, but Daddy and Grandpa so desperately wanted her to find a husband, she had wanted to try to please them. Again. She had endured the engagement for three months, all the while trying to make herself believe she could have a happy life with Jason.

  It had been impossible from the start. Besides being a snob, Jason couldn't think his way out of a sack. Physically, he was a wimp. Didn't have a muscle anywhere. She could outrun him, outwalk him and outwrestle him. He was afraid of horses and cows. "Daddy, Jason and I aren't friends anymore."

  "I know, but he still keeps in touch. I talk to him or his dad every couple of weeks. You know, we've known his family for a long time, punkin. You'll be having a birthday in another couple of months and Jason will soon be thirty-five. His dad would like to see him marry and start a family. I've been hoping—"

  "Please, Daddy. If I broke our engagement because I didn't enjoy his company, I sure don't want to have his children. I don't want to spend time with him, either."

  "Oh, I understand, punkin," her father said, chewing and swallowing.

  This was how all of these conversations ended. Despite what he said, he didn't understand. His and Grandpa's wishes for her to get married and have kids overrode understanding.

  "By the way," he said, "since you're going to be in Fort Worth, there's a new Boren watercolor at Sid's museum. I don’t suppose you’d have time to drop in and take a look at it."

  Damn. How can I get past this? The Sid Richardson Museum of Western Art was a downtown Fort Worth landmark. If her father went to Fort Worth for any reason, he rarely left without visiting it. If he requested she go see a painting, how could she refuse? "I hadn't heard that."

  "I've been trying to find the opportunity to get over there," her father said. "I'm told it's one of his better works."

  Jude nodded.

  "You girls planning on staying at the Worthington?"

  "Um, yes. That's the easiest." Damn. Another lie.

  "Are you taking J.D.'s plane?" Grandpa asked.

  "Oh, that isn't necessary," she said. "We'd rather drive. We can listen to music and talk and not have to fool with renting a car."

  Daddy nodded again. Good grief, could he tell her heart was pounding? She had told him more lies in the past half hour than in her entire life.

  Soon Windy ended the meal by bringing out a fresh lemon meringue pie, and they all had generous slices. "Good pie," Grandpa said, scraping his plate clean. "After this, Judith Ann, we'll need a good long walk."

  Jude suppressed a groan. She was so spent, she had barely managed to climb the stairs for a shower. The very thought of strolling around the barn lots sounded like pure agony. "No, thanks, Grandpa. There's a show on the science channel I need to watch."

  As soon as was gracefully possible, she made an excuse to leave the table, then chastised herself all the way to her room for being a liar.

  She logged on to the Internet and calculated the trip to Stephenville. A three-and-a-half-hour drive. Longer coming back since they would be hauling three horses. She fell into bed, barely mustered the energy to turn on the TV and quickly went sound asleep. An hour later, she awoke to a program about Mars.

  She hit the power button on the remote and switched off the lamp, expecting to quickly fall back to sleep. Half an hour later, she found herself wide-awake and worrying. Where would she sleep in Stephenville? If Brady was moving out of his dwelling, there would be no bed. Should she rent a motel room? Should she take a sleeping bag? And if so, where was her sleeping bag? She hadn't seen it in months. She drifted to sleep again.

  She awoke a short time later arguing with herself. What would be wrong with simply telling Daddy and Grandpa she had helped Brady Fallon all day and she intended to go to Stephenville with him to help him further?

  But like a predator snake, her grandfather's words from just the previous evening slithered into her thoughts. Grandpa had his own ideas about the future of the 6-0 ranch. He would never understand her reasons for helping Brady. She still didn't understand them herself. Added to that was the agreement she had made with Brady not to tell Daddy they were traveling to Stephenville together.

  She slept again only to awaken a short time later. While drifting in and out of a sleepy haze, she had made a decision. As soon as the sun showed on the horizon, she would call Brady and say she had changed her mind. Problem solved. Worry gone.

  She rose before daylight, stiff limbed and sore muscled and almost as worn-out as when she had gone to bed. She reached for her cell phone, then stared at it blankly. She couldn't call Brady. She didn't have his phone number. She hadn't seen a phone in his house, so he probably had only a cell phone. Or maybe he didn't even have a cell phone. She hadn't seen one of those, either. Hell. Just hell.

  If she didn’t show up, would he wait for her, thus delaying his leaving? Of course, even if he waited for a while, he would eventually go on to Stephenville without her, but no doubt he would be mad. She hated the idea of having him mad at her.

  Resigned to lying in the bed she had made, she dressed in older jeans and a knit tank and packed a small duffel with toiletries, pajamas and a change of clothing. She braided her long hair into a single queue, pulled on a denim jacket and jogged downstairs.

  There, she ran into her father on his
way to the cookhouse. Most mornings, he ate breakfast with the hands. She walked with him, grabbing an orange from a bowl as they passed the harvest table in the entry. At her pickup door, they hugged, and he told her to drive carefully and to have a good time. The urge to tell him the truth tempted her, but she couldn't forget she had promised Brady she wouldn't.

  She drove away from the ranch house with guilt pinching at her like a skinny-fingered old crone. All the way to the 6-0, she debated if she should call Suzanne and alert her that she was suddenly part of a conspiracy, but decided against it. Suzanne would ask questions. And the possibility that Daddy might call her was remote.

  Approaching the 6-0, even from a distance, she could see the old house's porch light glowing as bright as a lighthouse in the predawn darkness. When she reached the driveway, Brady's truck was parked in front of the house, its bed covered by a dark tarp. As she came to a stop, he walked out of the house, obviously in a hurry and ready to go. He was wearing a straw cowboy hat and carrying a thermal mug with a lid.

  She buzzed down the window to say good morning, but before she spoke a word, he said, "Put your truck in the shed and I'll close the door and lock it. The last thing I need is for somebody to see it and tell your dad."

  Now she was glad she had overcome the urge to discuss their trip with her father.

  She complied with Brady's request and walked back to his pickup carrying the orange and the duffel, doing her best to clear her mind of worrisome thoughts and what-ifs. The childish conspiracy had grown into a two-ton elephant in her mind.

  Brady's head tilted toward the duffel. "What's that?"

  "My things."

  "Put it up front. The bed's full of empty boxes they gave me at the grocery store." He walked across the driveway, closed the shed door and padlocked it. When he returned, he said, "I've got another mug if you want some coffee to go."

  Jude rarely drank coffee, especially in the summertime. But she would if it was heavily laced with cream and sugar. "Do you have cream?"

  "Armored cow."

  "Pardon?"

  "Canned milk. I've got some canned milk."

  Then she remembered she had seen the ranch hands use canned evaporated milk instead of cream. She had even tried it a few times. "Okay, great," she said, though she wasn't sure she really thought it was great. "Sugar, too," she added as he strode back into the house.

  He came out a few minutes later carrying a second mug with a lid and handed it to her. "Let's hit the road." He opened the passenger-side door and held it for her. "Be nice to get down there and get some of the work done before it turns hot and the humidity reaches the strangling point."

  “I know what you mean,” she said. As a native West Texan, she considered North Central Texas, with its lower elevation and wetter climate, a swamp. Maybe he felt the same.

  As she climbed onto the passenger seat, her shoulder brushed his firm chest and that little stir she had felt yesterday returned. She deliberately didn't look at him.

  She placed her duffel on the crew cab's backseat. He closed the door behind her and she watched him shrug out of his canvas jacket as he rounded the front of the pickup. He scooted behind the wheel, filling the small space with the scent of a fresh shower, shampoo, even toothpaste, and that same woodsy-smelling cologne she had noticed yesterday. He laid his jacket and his hat on the backseat beside her duffel, fired the engine and changed gears, his short-sleeve T-shirt revealing his biceps flexing and bunching under his tanned skin. She forced her eyes back to her cup.

  They rode in silence for what seemed like a long while, both sipping their coffee and staring at the ribbon of highway stretching before them. The early morning's blackness began to fade to gray, and she couldn't keep from sneaking glances at his strong profile and golden-brown hair. It was sun streaked and had a slight curl. It looked soft and thick. Without oil. The color reminded her of Jason Weatherby's, but that was where the resemblance ended.

  Brady Fallon had the same suntanned, lean and rangy look the Circle C's ranch hands had, a look that came from years of physically demanding outdoor work. It was a look that had been familiar to her all of her life, and until this moment, she had been unaware of just how appealing she found it. Was that the mysterious lure that caused her to behave in an impulsive manner of character for her?

  His strong-looking body sat relaxed, one large hand on the steering wheel. His hands and fingers were scarred, like those of most of the working cowboys she knew. His fingers were freshly nicked and cut from yesterday's demolition work. A Band-Aid was wrapped around his left forefinger.

  Looking for something, anything, that might lead to conversation, she said, "I checked the distance on MapQuest."

  "Two hundred and sixty miles to Stephenville," he replied, his eyes fixed on the highway. "Durham's place, where I was living, is twenty miles on farther south, between Stephenville and Hico."

  "Ah." She nodded once. More silence. She searched for more to talk about. "Daddy said you graduated from Tarleton."

  "Yep."

  Surely he knew Tarleton was a part of the Texas A&M system. "I went to A&M down in Bryan. So in a way, we're brother and sister. Schoolwise, you know."

  "I guess so."

  "I got the impression you're from Fort Worth."

  "Nope."

  "But you had on that TCU cap. And your license plate said 'Cowtown Chevrolet.'"

  "I lived in Fort Worth a long time."

  "But you didn't go to college there....Fort Worth has half a dozen colleges. Why did you go to Stephenville?"

  "I'm not from Fort Worth. And I didn't live in Fort Worth back then. I lived in Stephenville."

  "Oh. I just assumed...So are you from Stephenville then?"

  He angled a glance in her direction. Though the morning light was creeping over the horizon, the pickup's cab was dim. Still, she could see a hint of a smile tweak the corners of his mouth. "You're just plumb nosy, aren't you?"

  "No, I'm really not. I'm just making conversation. It’s a simple question."

  "I was born in Stephenville. I grew up there. I didn't move to Fort Worth 'til I got out of school. That answer your question?"

  "Ah." She nodded. "Can I ask you something else? And I'm not being nosy," she added quickly.

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a full grin. "Long as it's not personal."

  Unable to tell if the remark was a joke, she blurted a laugh. "Well, I suppose it's sort of personal. What kind of conversation between two people isn't personal? Why did you agree to let me go with you today?"

  "Damned if I know. All night long, I wished I hadn't"

  Did that mean he had spent a sleepless night, too? And had he spent some time thinking about her? She let out a tiny huff. "Gee, thanks."

  "It has nothing to do with you personally. I just think this could cause me trouble I don't need."

  "As you said yesterday, I'm grown and so are you. I suppose we can do what we want to."

  "Nothing's ever that simple."

  She, of all people, knew that to be true. "Jake said you're divorced."

  "Yep."

  "Do you have kids?"

  "Yep."

  She waited, but he offered no more. "They, uh, live with your ex-wife?"

  "Yep."

  She waited again for him to say more, but he didn't. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had to ask a man so many pertinent and leading questions to get him to talk about himself. Brady Fallon had sidestepped almost every one of them.

  And they still had more than a hundred miles to go.

  Just shut up, Jude. She stared out the side window, pondering again why she was doing this. Lack of sleep began to catch up with her and her eyelids grew heavy. Soon she nodded off to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Brady still couldn't believe J. D. Strayhorn's daughter was riding to Stephenville with him to help do grunge work. Agreeing to let her accompany him today had kept him awake half the night. What had he been thinking?

  When it
came to women, he had done some dumb things, but what he was doing right now just might be the dumbest yet. Why hadn't he made himself say "no, thanks" when she volunteered to help?

  He glanced across the cab at the passenger seat. Her head leaned against the headrest as she slept. Her scent, something soft and flowery, drifted to him. He had noticed it yesterday morning, too.

  Thank God she had gone to sleep. He needed to escape her questions and think. But he wasn't thinking very well because he kept sneaking glances at her from the corner of his eye—at the shape of her breasts in a body-hugging top peeking from behind a denim jacket and gently rising and falling with deep breathing. With her hair pulled back in a braid, he could see her delicate profile and skin so smooth it didn't have as much as a freckle, though it was a tinge pink from yesterday's sun.

  Her dark, thick eyelashes lay against her cheek like little brushes and he thought about how, a long time ago, before everything went sour, he used to kiss Marvalee awake, starting with her eyelids.

  But it was Judith Ann Strayhorn's lips, now slightly parted and vulnerable in sleep, that got to him. The color of ripe berries. And probably tasted just as sweet.

  Yesterday, with a tight little top with skinny straps and tight jeans fitting her firm bottom like a coat of paint, she had distracted him. The shirt he had given her to wear—several sizes too big for her—had hidden all of that, but too late. It had already been imprinted on his brain.

  Of all of the obvious lures, he had to acknowledge, none of them were what had persuaded him to allow her to come along with him. What had kept him from saying "no, thanks" was more mysterious. She had touched an instinct buried so deep within him, he couldn't even identify it. It was something he couldn't define and wasn't sure he wanted to.

  Hands off, dumb-ass, he told himself.

  And he intended to heed that warning, though she was a damned tempting woman.

  The next question, then, was what the hell would he do with her tonight? At his trailer house, unless he gave her his bed, there was no place for her to sleep.

  Oh, he knew what he would like to do, what any normal, red-blooded male would like to do with a woman who looked like her. But that was neither possible nor sane.