What did she want from him? And what was she up to? She had to want something and had to be up to something. But what could somebody like him ever have that somebody like her would want or need? He hoped to hell she wasn't looking for some damn boy toy.
Nah. Don't be dumber than you’ve already been. Hell, with her looks and connections, she didn’t need a boy toy. She probably had a string of rich dudes chasing her.
He was still blown away by the fact that he had known her when she was a little girl, younger than his son's age now. Other than a thick mop of sun-bleached reddish hair that had always been a tangle, he recalled no resemblance to the woman she had become.
His thoughts turned to the work she had done yesterday stacking boards. Busywork. Any average twelve-year-old could have done it, but she had tackled it as if the next sunrise depended on the job she did. She had shown herself to be a good hand, had kept up with him all day without complaint. In his way of thinking, that made her a hell of a fine sport.
An image of her at the end of yesterday filtered through his anxiety. When he had said, Let's wrap it up, she had looked up at him with straggly hair, a dirty face and a wide, white-toothed smile. We got a lot done, didn't we? she had said, as if she were bursting with pride.
Her face had been red and sweaty, her eye makeup smeared and her lipstick gone, but he had thought in that moment she might be the most beautiful woman he had ever been close to. And he had known some fine-looking women, too, had been married to one. Weird to be thinking thoughts like that about a woman with whom he feared being seen.
He couldn't figure any of it out.
For all of his confusion, one thing was for sure. He had to take damn good care of her. If something happened to her while she was in his care, J. D. Strayhorn could and would have him horsewhipped, tarred and feathered, then lynched.
"Oh, my gosh," she said, her voice startling him. He swung a glance her way in time to see her yawn and squint against the morning sun. "I fell asleep. This looks like the Interstate."
He forced a smile that probably looked as pitiful as it felt. "We just passed Abilene. Good nap?"
"I didn't get much sleep last night." She yawned again and lifted her arms in a stretch, shoulders back, breasts thrust forward, nipples raised, their shape showing through her clingy shirt.
And just like that, something caught in his gut. The intimacy of seeing her wake up curled low in his belly and a hundred carnal images sprang into his mind.
"Where are we?" she asked, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips.
He cleared his throat, striving for a normal voice. "Not too far from the exit."
"Gosh, we're almost there? I slept a long time."
She leaned forward and shrugged out of her jacket, a movement that emphasized her flat stomach and the graceful arc of her hip. He cleared his throat again and willed the devil in his pants to cool it.
"Wanna get something to eat?" he asked. "I didn't eat breakfast and I'll bet you didn't, either."
"That'd be great. You're right. I missed breakfast. I should’ve gone to the cookhouse and eaten breakfast with the hands, but I didn’t want to be late."
Eaten with the ranch hands? Whoa! Brady couldn’t imagine her doing that. "There's a McDonald's at this next exit. We'll stop." He slowed, made the exit and pulled into the lane leading to the drive-through window.
"We aren't going to get out?" she asked. "To stretch our legs?"
Going inside to eat would take at least thirty minutes. If she weren't with him, he would grab something and eat it on the road. "Don't have time."
"But they probably have a restroom inside."
He did a mental eye roll. Women bladders. They must be the size of a robin's. "I'll park over there," he said, nodding toward a row of parking places. "You can run inside."
At the order intercom, he gave her a questioning look, waiting for her to make a selection. She peered past him at the menu on the board. "Uh... hmm, let me see.... Well... okay, I'll have an egg, sausage and cheese biscuit."
He stared at her a few seconds. There just weren't that many choices. “Just one?”
“That isn’t enough? What are you having?”
“I’m having two.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll have two, too.” She smiled.
“Something tells me you don’t often eat at fast food joints.” He placed an order for four of the same and added a cup of milk.
He gave her the questioning look again.
"Yes, milk will be fine. You drink a lot of milk, don't you?"
"It's good for you."
He added another cup of milk to the order and asked for extra napkins. He didn't want grease on his truck's upholstery.
"You’re right. I don't eat at McDonald's very often," she said. "Even when I was in college, I didn’t. It's cheap, isn't it?" She reached back for her purse.
Did she think he expected her to pay for their breakfast? He put a hand out and stopped her. "Darlin’, if I ask if you wanna eat, I'll pay."
She shook her head and opened her purse. "It's no big deal."
He might be damn near broke, but no way was he going to let her buy him food. "It is to me."
"But I always pay. And I don’t mind. I do it without even thinking about it."
"Maybe you ought to start thinking about it," he told her. "Put your purse away."
She shrugged, her lips twisting into a scowl, but she returned her purse to the backseat.
After they received their order, he pulled into a parking spot. She grabbed her purse and scooted out. As soon as she closed the door, he straightened his legs and adjusted himself in his jeans, hoping no one could see him. Damn. He spent a few seconds trying to remember how long it had been since he’d had roll in the hay.
The food order had been delivered by the time she got back. He pawed through the sack and distributed the food and napkins. As they ate, he asked, "What'd you tell J.D.?"
"That I was going to Fort Worth with my girlfriend Suzanne."
He couldn't keep from laughing at the absurdity of what they were doing.
"Don't make fun of me," she said.
"I'm laughing at myself, too. You have to admit it's pretty dumb sneaking around like we're kids doing something wrong. I’m well past thirty years old and like you said yesterday, you’re nearly thirty yourself. It hasn't been necessary for me to lie to a man about my activities in a helluva long time."
She looked down, intently studying the layers of her sandwich as if she might find enlightenment among them.
"I'm sure. It's unusual for me, too, and it bothers me to do it. I can't explain it. I've never had to lie to Daddy about anything I've done, even when I was a kid.” She looked up and her big whiskey-colored eyes met his. “I probably would’ve told him about this trip if you hadn't asked me not to."
He fixed a truth-demanding look directly into those eyes. "I know why I wanted you not to tell him. But it’s not clear why you didn't."
She turned her head and faced the windshield. "I guess it's because..." She appeared to be searching for the right words. Maybe she was weighing her loyalties. "Never mind," she said and took another bite of her sandwich.
"Say what you were going to say."
She hesitated a few more beats. "Okay, then, I will. Were you aware that after your uncle died, my grandfather tried to buy the 6-0 from your aunt?"
Well, that was a gear-grinding switch, but she must be headed somewhere with the remark. His whole family had been aware of Old Man Strayhorn's offer to buy the 6-0 after his uncle Harry's death. His mother had tried to talk her sister into selling to him, which had resulted in another big, loud argument between the two women, who had never gotten along well. "Yep."
"But your aunt wouldn't sell to him. Why wouldn't she? I know Grandpa would have paid her a fair price. Did she not need the money?"
"I don't know. I wasn't in that loop. I'm sure she could've used the money. But you see, Aunt Margie was always an ornery ol' gal with her own ideas, e
specially when somebody pushed her. Guess your granddad must have pushed her a little too hard."
"But if she needed the money..."
"There was more to it than money, darlin'. Aunt Margie had ideals. She said it wasn't right that Strayhorns get to own all the land. She believed they already had enough."
Brady had let slip more words about his family than he intended to. "But all of that was years ago," he added, hoping to kill the discussion. "What's it got to do with you and your being here with me today? Are you trying to tell me your granddad's about to make me an offer I can't refuse?"
"No. I told you yesterday. I just think you need help. And I don't know why I brought up Grandpa. I just wondered if you knew he had once tried to buy your land."
As fibs went, that one was leakier than a rusted bucket. If somebody were holding a gun to his head, Brady couldn't have stopped himself from busting out laughing. "Not only are you fibbing to your daddy, darlin'. Now I think you're lying to me."
"Look, can you stop trying to attach motives to me that aren't there? It's starting to be annoying. If you didn't want to put up with me, you shouldn't have said I could come with you."
"You're right." He wadded his breakfast trash into a ball and stuffed it into the McDonald's bag. "I'll keep my mouth shut 'til you're ready to tell me what your granddad's really up to."
He laid the sack of trash on the console for later disposal and reached for the ignition, but before he cranked the engine, she said, "Wait. I have an orange. Would you like half?"
"Sure. You can peel it while we're on the road."
"You must be the same age as Jake," she said.
"Nope. Younger than Jake. Just turned thirty-four."
Well, at least he cleared up that question, Jude thought. He backed out of the parking space and they were on the move again. As they merged onto the interstate, Jude peeled the orange and handed him slices. She hadn't intended to eat it riding up the road, but she didn't complain.
Soon, they veered onto another exit ramp off the interstate and sped down a state highway, passing through a different landscape—open green pastures dotted with large old oak trees and cedar brakes, all indicative of a moister climate. "I've never been on this road," she said. "This is pretty country, but the bluestem grass in West Texas is better feed than the coastal. It has more nutrients."
"Who said?" Brady asked.
"I say," she answered. "More nutritious grass is why West Texas, even with all its challenges, is better cattle country."
"That sounds like a direct quote from your granddad."
"Actually, it's a direct quote from a textbook and a professor at A&M."
His eyes fixed on her.
"Watch the road," she said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
"Just exactly what is it you studied at A&M anyway?"
She didn't miss the you-mean-you've-got-a-brain tone of the question. "For what it's worth at this particular moment, I have a master’s in biology, with emphasis on genetics. And a bachelors in business ag. In case you haven't figured it out, I'm the future of the Circle C Ranch."
"Is that a fact?"
Didn't he believe her? "Yes," she said flatly.
"Your dad and granddad are just going to turn the whole place over to you."
More mockery. It was wearying. "They've never said so. But Daddy and Grandpa refuse to face the facts. I'm the only choice. There simply is no one else. I know it's going to happen someday. So I'm grooming myself every day."
"Trying to replace two ranching legends, darlin', now that's a tall order."
He didn't say "for a woman" but she heard the implication. He reeked of chauvinism, in both looks and attitude.
"Jake and Cable are the only other heirs. I know it’s hard to believe, but they’ve shown no interest in the place. I'm the only one who cares about the fact that the Circle C Ranch has existed for a hundred and forty years and is a legacy to be preserved. It's part of Texas history. I refuse to see it go up for sale and get cut up into ranchettes or subdivisions or whatever they want to call it."
"So you're telling me if I cowboy for the Circle C long enough, one of these days you'll be my boss?"
"Yes," she said again.
He made no obvious response, but she sensed that the balance between them had shifted and she regretted it. She never discussed ownership of the ranch and wished she hadn't talked about her role in its future. Before that, she had believed Brady felt no inferiority to her.
They turned off the highway onto a caliche county road. "It's another fifteen miles to my trailer," he said.
Soon they made another turn and bumped along a rugged two-track path that was little more than a trail. A few cattle grazed in the distance. At last they came to a gray single-wide mobile home perched atop a bald knob of a hill without a tree in sight. A silver late-model four-horse trailer was parked beside it. The mobile home wasn't much bigger than the horse trailer and had probably cost less.
"Is that your horse trailer?" she asked.
"Yep."
"It looks like it has bunk room in it."
"Yep. I figure if Aunt Margie's old house falls down around me, I can always sleep in the horse trailer."
He laughed, so she did, too.
The mobile home had no skirting, but it still looked neat and well kept. No trash around it, nothing stored under it or against it. A hundred feet down the hill behind it stood a silver steel barn with an attached iron-pipe corral so white and clean, it almost sparkled.
Jude knew about the outpost dwellings ranches furnished for their hands. The Circle C had a number of houses and mobile homes similar to this one. Except for major repairs, the employee using it was expected to keep the place up. "I'll bet the owner of this place hates to see you go," she said. "Most ranch hands wouldn't keep it this neat."
"I don't like being a slob. I grew up in a tiny house with three younger sisters and a brother. Everything we had was either worn-out, torn up or broke down. At some point, I decided not to live that way."
He stepped down from the driver’s seat and reached into the backseat for his hat, then yanked the tarp off the pickup bed. Jude hurried to help him lift out the empty boxes. In the late morning heat and heavy humidity, she began to sweat immediately.
Together they carried the empty boxes up four wrought-iron steps to a four-foot-square open-grid wrought-iron porch and on into the mobile home. The narrow space was so stuffy and hot, she could scarcely draw a breath. If the place was like most singlewide mobiles, it probably lacked adequate insulation. Plastic shades on the windows offered a scant barrier against the relentless sun.
It was as neat and clean inside as it was outside, but it smelled like plastic and chemicals. Jude recognized the odor as typical of mobile homes that had been manufactured as cheaply as possible. She had been in all of the Circle C's mobiles at one time or other, either when they were new or when they had been vacated by an employee.
"There's an air conditioner in the bedroom," Brady said and left the living room. A low roar soon emanated from the bedroom. When he returned, he said, "That cool air will make its way in here pretty soon.” He made a gesture around the living room. “Everything in here except the furniture belongs to me. I'll pack up the computer and that stuff in the second bedroom and you can get the living room."
Jude picked up an empty box. The closest she had ever come to packing to move was when she had traveled back and forth between the Circle C and her condo in Bryan during her college days. Even then, she hadn't had to do the whole chore herself. Daddy had hired a moving company to help her.
Turning in a circle, she couldn't see much in the living room to pack: a small TV, a CD player and CDs, a cactus plant and a few other odds and ends. She began to place things in the box.
Soon Brady passed through the living room on his way outside carrying a monitor and a computer and she wondered what he did with a computer. After that, he carried out two huge boxes of books. He made several trips with boxes of book
s, and she wondered what kind of books they were. He hadn't impressed her as being a reader.
She finished packing everything that was loose in the living room. Looking for the next project, she poked her head into the adjoining room and discovered a bedroom. His bedroom. It looked like him. Spartan and uncluttered. Nothing out of place. Queen-size bed neatly made, plain brown bedspread. One square lamp table, one round, stubby ceramic lamp, one rectangular digital clock radio. A pair of well-worn boots sat side by side near a wooden chair. She caught that scent of cologne again.
A small air conditioner roared dully. It filled half of one of the bedroom's two windows.
She picked up an empty cardboard box and carried it to the bedside table. She started by unplugging the clock radio and placing it in the box, then opened the top drawer of the lamp table. Inside the drawer was a paperback book, some loose coins...and a box of...condoms.
Jude sank to the edge of the mattress to examine the small flat box. It was a commonly seen brand, but what she found most intriguing was the large XL showing in bright white against the black background. Well, after all, he is a big guy, she thought.
She opened the box and found it half-empty. So he had a girlfriend with whom he must have had sex here in this bed. An uneasiness trickled through her.
Just then, she heard him come back into the mobile through the front door. She dropped the box back into the drawer, shut it quickly and got to her feet just as he walked into the bedroom. "I, uh, finished the living room," she told him, her voice wobbling with a nervous quiver.
"Mind starting on the kitchen?" he asked. "Before we leave tomorrow, I'll take care of the rest of the stuff in this bedroom. I already took most of my clothes to Lockett, so there's just a few odds and ends left."
"Right." She grabbed the cardboard box and headed for the kitchen, but her mind was still focused on his bedroom and what it said about him.
She had just started emptying the kitchen cupboards when she heard the sound of a vehicle. Brady came out of the bedroom, went to the front door and looked out. "Shit," he mumbled, and stepped outside.
B00DVWSNZ8 EBOK Page 10
