by Helen Conrad
Shawnee had always liked Joe. She remembered him from family picnics in the old days. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had the true walk and stance of a rancher. He also had the typical Carrington good looks, with blue eyes that sparkled with humor.
“His wife left him awhile ago,” Reid warned her as they watched him drive up into the parking lot. “He’s got two little kids, a boy and a girl.”
“She dumped the kids on him?”
He nodded. “From what I hear, he’s been struggling. The little boy is special needs in some way. And his mother lives with them. Phyllis Carrington. Do you remember her?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“No. She’s something of a recluse. And a problem. But Joe manages.”
And then he arrived and they were shaking hands and laughing and she felt like she’d known him all her life—and then she realized that was exactly the case.
But Joe didn’t have any special insights into Grandpa Jim’s case.
“Seems a shame the Santiagos can’t let him have that one little strip of land,” he agreed. “I can try talking to David, but we’ve never been friends, really. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’d consider it meddling. We’ve had our differences in the past.”
Shawnee shook her head. “No,” she said softly, looking out the large plate glass window at the hills beyond the edge of town. “This is my problem. I’m going to have to find a way. It’s up to me.”
Reid and Joe exchanged a sympathetic glance, but neither could think of anything of substance to offer her as advice at this point.
Shawnee drove home, gloom following her like a dark cloud. She couldn’t think of any remedy for her troubles. All she knew how to do was get back to work.
The next morning, after their workout, she rubbed Miki down and fed him some oats, jotted down his times on the trail in the ledger she was keeping, and then left him while she planned her assault on the decrepit condition of the house. Smartening the place up had very little to do with keeping it, but somehow it made her feel better.
She’d planted some flowers in the garden and thrown out some seed, hoping to restore the lawn. And then she’d almost exhausted her meager bank account buying gallons and gallons of paint, rollers, paintbrushes, and everything else she needed to begin renovations. And now it was time to get the show on the road.
The color had been her first problem. Off-white, she’d decided, with tan trim. That would put a new face on the old building. She’d spent most of the afternoon before with a scraper and an electric sander, going over the roughest spots in the old paint. Finally she put on her working uniform of a pair of cut-off shorts and an old tank top, set up her ladder, climbed high, and began to slap on the new coat.
She’d covered half of the front of the house when Granpa Jim appeared on the porch. “What are you doing there?” he called up, craning his neck to get a look. “This old place was always green before.”
She threw him a hopeful smile. “I thought white would be cheerier. What do you think?”
He walked out into the yard and looked back at it, hand to his chin. “We used to whitewash those old adobe walls on the house at Rancho Verde every spring,” he said plaintively. “Soon’s the winter rains cleared.”
For the first time that she could remember, a pang of annoyance at all these old memories pulsed through Shawnee’s system. She had to turn away so he wouldn’t read it in her face.
“I’ll bet that looked real pretty,” she managed to reply. She flashed him a bright smile. “White paint with a tan trim will have to do here. Do you approve?”
“Whatever you think.” Evidently he wasn’t much interested. Shrugging, he began to wander off towards the stables. “I’ll leave it to you.”
She watched him go, a forlorn figure struggling with his own ghosts, and felt ashamed of her moment of impatience. She was here to help him, after all, not join his critics. She got back to work, humming as she wiped the paint on to the old wooden boards, singing snatches of songs.
When she first heard the sound of a car engine approaching, she was sure it must be Lisa or Brad coming out for a visit. She shaded her eyes, watching the plume of dust from the road come closer and closer, and then she realized, with a sinking heart, that it was David’s silver Mercedes.
She looked quickly towards the stables, hoping Granpa Jim hadn’t heard the car. She didn’t want him to see David. It could only bring unhappiness, and she didn’t want that to happen.
Turning back towards the house, she dipped her brush into the paint and spread it on the wood, not seeing what she was doing any longer. She heard the car come to a stop, then the car door slam, but still she didn’t look. She knew he was standing at the foot of the ladder, and she was achingly aware of how she looked with her hair tied back in a pony-tail and paint streaking her bare arms and legs, not to mention what was probably splashed all over her face.
But that didn’t matter, she told herself sharply. That didn’t matter a bit. She wasn’t trying to attract him. Quite the opposite. The grubbier she looked, the better.
And yet, deep down, it mattered very much.
“What the hell are you doing?”
His voice, when it came at last, made her jump, even though she’d been expecting it. Dreading it. Anticipating it every second she waited. His tone was incredulous and just a little angry.
She lifted her chin, still not looking at him. He had no right to come here, let alone to talk to her this way. He deserved a little sarcasm. “I’m up here preparing to launch a yellow zeppelin on a quick flight around the world. Can’t you tell?” She risked a glance down to where he stood below her. “Why? What does it look like I’m doing?”
He was wearing dark glasses and she couldn’t see his eyes. “It looks very much as though you’re wasting your time and energy, as well as a great deal of money on supplies, on a structure that is due to be demolished by the end of the summer.”
She continued painting, slapping the brush against the surface with angry thumps. “That just goes to prove the old saying about the eye of the beholder, doesn’t it?” she said evenly.
He paused. “I thought that was about beauty. Which is hardly relevant here.”
She bit her lip. The urge to snap at him came and went and she avoided falling into temptation. She was done with bickering. It hadn’t done her any good. She’d been thinking hard about it and she wondered if it wasn’t time to try sweet reason instead. Sincerity. Maybe even a little begging.
But that would only come later, if all else failed.
“No,” she told him with what she hoped was serene composure. “It’s about different people each perceiving the same thing as being quite different. It’s about point of view.”
She was out of paint. She was going to have to go down and fill her bucket again, but she didn’t want to do it until he left. So she continued wiping her empty brush against the house, hoping he wouldn’t notice it was dry.
“Shawnee.” His voice was strained. “This is an exercise in futility. Come down here and let’s have a talk.”
Very carefully, she placed her brush in the paint pan and leaned against the top of the ladder, looking at where David stood. It would be much better to stay where she was; she knew that. Once she’d come down, he would be tall and wide and strong and so very close, and she wouldn’t have a chance.
“Talk away,” she said. “I can hear you beautifully from here.”
He stood with legs set wide and his mouth was a thin, hard line in his tanned face. The sun beat down on his black hair, casting a halo of golden light about his head. He wore grey slacks that fitted as though tailored just for him, and for all she knew, they were. His white shirt was open at the neck. She remembered his warmth and had to close her eyes for a split second.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” she said quickly, praying he hadn’t noticed her reaction.
“I was hoping to get you to see the sense of my position,” he said at las
t, pulling up the sunglasses and lodging them on his head. “But I see your stand on the matter is harder than ever.”
She looked up at the horizon, at the purple line at the top of the hills. “My stand, as you call it, is that my grandfather’s peace of mind is the most important thing and has to be accommodated,” she replied. “I’m willing to discuss anything that leads to that outcome. I’m open to alternatives.”
“There are no alternatives.”
She reached for the brush and began slapping it against the wood again, hoping she looked busy and not angry. She was working hard on this new attitude. But it wasn’t easy, especially since she wanted David to go quickly, before her grandfather started back. She threw an apprehensive glance at the stables.
David’s mouth quirked impatiently. “Shawnee, you’re acting irrationally. I can’t let you do this. It’s ridiculous.”
She tried to smile. “Consider it therapy for my mental health,” she said. “And just let me be.”
Brave words, but she knew they were sheer bravado. He took hold of the legs of the ladder and she gasped and clutched on to the top, knowing he could shake her down if he chose to do so.
She had no doubt he was tempted. The ladder shook a bit, but he didn’t give it a real push. Instead, he relied on argument.
“Do you think it’s fair to give your grandfather false hope?” he asked her. “Don’t you think all this sprucing up is going to make the inevitable that much worse?”
“Nothing is inevitable,” she declared, holding on for dear life. “And you’d better not shake this ladder or you’ll end up with a paint can on your head.”
The can was empty, but he couldn’t know that for sure. The picture she conjured of David standing below her, dripping white paint all over the porch, was delightful. Too bad it could never come true.
“You could use a good shaking,” he told her grumpily. “But not this way.” He let go of the ladder and stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said, relaxing just a little. “Now please go. I don’t want my grandfather to see you and get all excited again.”
He looked up at her, eyes clouded with mixed emotions. “Will you come with me?”
She gasped softly. What was he thinking? “Of course not. I’ve got work to do.” She pretended to stir her brush in the non-existent paint.
He moved restlessly, feet stirring the dust. “I wish you would come down here so I could talk to you properly.”
She looked down. “You mean so you could overpower me with your logic, don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow, letting him know she was onto his tricks. “And we both know what your logic covers. You’ve tried it before.”
His mouth twisted in the beginnings of a smile. “Not successfully, though. That much is obvious.” He sighed, “Shawnee, come and take a ride. A walk. Anything. I just want to be with you for a little bit. We won’t even discuss this property, or your grandfather.”
A part of her yearned to go with him, to forget everything else. But how could she do that? If she went with him now, it would be that much harder to pull away again. They were both better off without the complications a relationship would bring with it. She was just about to tell him so when a shout split the air between them.
“Hey, you!” Granpa Jim was coming towards them at a limping trot from the direction of the stables. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
Shawnee began to scramble down the ladder, bent on getting David into his car and off her grandfather’s property as quickly as possible. “He’s just going,” she called, turning to look at David with a mixture of impatience and pleading. “Go, hurry,” she urged him, reaching out to give him a little push. “Please get out of here. He’ll get so upset . . .”
David stopped her, holding firm, taking hold of her shoulders. She couldn’t see what he was thinking because he’d shoved the dark glasses down over his eyes again. “Wait a minute,” he murmured, turning his attention towards her grandfather.
“No!” she said urgently. “I can get him quieted down if you’ll just go! You confused him completely the other day, made him think people were out to get him. He’ll just think it’s true if he sees you here . . .”
David’s mouth twisted in a humorless grin. “It’s a little too late to keep him from seeing me,” he reminded her. “Hello, Mr. Carrington,” he said as Granpa Jim came to a dusty stop before them. “How are you, sir?”
“Just what do you think you’re doing here?” the older man sputtered. “You don’t belong here.”
David released Shawnee and turned to face Granpa Jim fully, but he didn’t say anything right away. It seemed as though he was at a loss as to how Granpa Jim should be approached.
Granpa snorted and jabbed at David’s chest with a forefinger. “Why aren’t you out tending to getting the shoeing done on that new bunch of mares we brought in from Santa Maria? Isn’t that what I told you to do this morning?”
Shawnee put a hand to her mouth. He thought this was one of his ranch hands. How could he possibly think that, seeing the way David was dressed? And what would he do when David explained who he really was? She tried to think of something to say to stop the flow of disillusionment she could see rushing in to sweep them along, but words didn’t come.
The moment hung in the air. What was David going to do? If he tried to drag the older man back into reality, how was he going to react? Her heart was breaking.
As she watched, holding her breath, David straightened, plunging his hands into his pockets and widening his stance. To Shawnee’s amazement, he took on the look of a cowboy before her eyes, even though he wasn’t dressed for the part.
“Yessir,” he drawled slowly, bobbing his head in respect, not glancing at her. “I finished that, Mr. Carrington. I thought I’d come on back and help your granddaughter with the house painting, if that’s all right with you.”
Shawnee’s jaw dropped. He was playing along! His quick intelligence had grasped what was wrong, on just where Granpa Jim’s mind was floating, and he understood. She stared at David as though she’d never seen him before. He’d picked up what was happening and hadn’t skipped a beat.
She looked at him suspiciously. Was he laughing at her grandfather? No. She couldn’t detect the least bit of scorn.
Granpa Jim was shrugging. “All right. Why not?” he muttered, suddenly a little confused. “She could use the help. I’m too old to be much use to her now, you know.” He waved a hand at them, turning towards the house. “You two get this painting done, then,” he allowed. “I’m going to go in and work on some figures.”
“Working on some figures” was an excuse to take a nap. Shawnee watched until he disappeared into the house, then turned to David, not sure just what she should say. She felt a bright rush of affection for the man and what he’d just done. But she didn’t want him to think that blotted out everything else. Because it couldn’t possibly.
“You can go on,” she said huskily. “He won’t come back out, and if he does, he’ll probably have forgotten all about it.”
He grinned at her. “Are you kidding? I said I was going to help you paint. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. “I’m really, seriously painting this house,” she reminded him. “I’m going to work on it until it’s finished.”
He shook his head. “It’s a damn fool idea, but if you must, I’m going to help you do it.” He stripped off his shirt before her eyes, hanging it on a nearby limb. His shoulders were wide and tanned in the sunlight and when he shrugged them, she wanted to reach out and touch the heat of his skin. He looked wonderful without a shirt. Almost too good to be true.
She looked away, hoping he couldn’t read the admiration in her eyes. She was angry with him and half in love with him at the same time. That made for a very confusing jumble of emotions inside. She had to keep her head.
David had taken off his shirt, so at least he wouldn’t tear or dirty it in helping her. But h
e still wore a pair of impeccable slacks and fine leather shoes that would be destroyed if paint got on them.
“You’re going to ruin your clothes,” she protested, then narrowed her eyes and added, partly in jest, partly in sincere rebuff, “Or maybe you Santiagos are so rich, you just don’t have to worry about things like that.”
He wasn’t going to let her get his goat. “You could look at it that way,” he acknowledged, cocking his head to the side. He pulled off the dark glasses and his eyes were a piercing force she could hardly face. “Or you could say,” he continued softly, “that I want to be with you so much, I’ll risk anything—any time. Personally, I prefer that version.”
She swallowed. Was he really prepared to help her paint when he thought the whole project was utterly absurd? It seemed so.
“Here,” she said gruffly, handing him the paint can. “Go and fill this. And this time, you can take the ladder.”
He grinned again. “You still don’t trust me?”
She didn’t bother to answer, turning away so he wouldn’t see the smile she couldn’t hide any longer, the full, glowing smile that would telegraph how happy she was. There were still problems between them—big, impossible, problems—but for this afternoon, she would let herself feel the happiness his presence would create. After all, maybe she deserved it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A SUMMER PICNIC
The time flew by. Shawnee wasn’t sure if it went so quickly because David worked so fast, or because she seemed to be operating, mind and body both, at a supercharged level of excitement with him so near. But somehow, the hours melted away. David painted more than competently, and Shawnee found she had only to come behind, working on the trim with a smaller brush, and before they knew it, the exterior of the little house was finished.
“It doesn’t look half bad,” David admitted as they stood back in the yard and examined it. “We make quite a team. Maybe we should go into the house-painting business. ‘Santiago and Carrington, Experts in Exterior Design’.”
It sounded odd to hear those names spoken together. Odd, but strangely appealing. She looked at him, noting the streak of beige color that outlined his long nose like Indian war paint. “How about ‘Carrington and Santiago, the Two Stooges’?” she laughed, reaching up to brush away some flakes of paint from his chest.
