It Takes A Cowboy (Heart Of The West #5)

by Gina Wilkins

Scott shook his head. “The best way to deal with that sort of thing is to make your office hours very clear and refuse to discuss business during your personal hours.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not always possible,” Blair said lightly. “Some problems simply can’t be handled Monday through Friday from nine to five.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “From my experience, there are few situations that can’t be put off until later.”

  A frown that might have expressed disapproval crossed Blair’s face, but she smoothed it quickly. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes.” He turned to her aunt. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Townsend. I predict we will meet again.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” she said with a smile.

  Blair glanced at her nephew, who stood close to Scott’s side. “Jeffrey, be good for Aunt Wanda. Don’t give her any grief about bedtime.”

  “Okay.” He was obviously reluctant for Scott to leave. “When will I see you again, Scott?”

  “How about next weekend?” Scott suggested. “That is, if it’s okay with your aunt.”

  Jeffrey was nearly beside himself with excitement. “Please, please, Aunt Blair. Can we go?”

  Although Blair didn’t look happy about being put on the spot, she hesitantly nodded. “I don’t really see why not.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Scott said, ruffling the boy’s shaggy hair, feeling a wave of affection go through him. Jeffrey was a cute kid, despite his problems. He was young enough to turn himself around and bright enough to have a fine future ahead of him. Scott was glad to make any contribution to that future he could.

  Looking extremely satisfied, Jeffrey allowed them to leave without further delay.

  Outside, Scott opened the passenger door to his Yukon and helped Blair into the high seat. He closed her door for her, then loped a bit stiffly around the front of the vehicle to his own side. He was determined to conceal any discomfort he felt this evening. He suspected that Blair might not be overly sympathetic, unlike the buckle bunnies who spent so much time and energy kissing the bruises of major rodeo stars.

  Apparently, he wasn’t quite as good an actor as he had thought. “You were hurt this morning, weren’t you?” she demanded as soon as he had settled behind the wheel and fastened his seat belt.

  He started the engine. “No. Couple of bruises, that’s all.”

  “It’s a miracle you didn’t break your neck.”

  Backing out of the driveway, he kept his voice casual. “One of the first things you learn in rodeo is to fall as safely as possible. Serious injuries happen, of course, but they’re rare, considering how many participate in the sport.”

  “I saw that movie—the one about the handsome young rodeo star who died when he was gored by a bull.” Her tone was so accusatory, Scott felt almost as if she blamed him for the tragedy.

  “That was one of the rare incidents I mentioned. Accidents happen, Blair. In rodeo—and in everyday life.”

  “Especially in your type of everyday life. Riding bulls, racing cars, jumping out of planes—I’m beginning to wonder if you value your life at all.”

  “More than you could possibly understand,” he responded gently. “I’m not trying to shorten my life, Blair. I’m trying to experience it to the fullest.”

  “And yet you have no serious bonds with anyone else because you don’t want anyone to worry about you or grieve for you if you don’t survive.”

  He grimaced in response to her all-too-accurate summation of things he had said to her. “Something like that,” he agreed.

  “Then there’s an important part of life you aren’t experiencing, isn’t there?” she countered logically.

  He gave a resigned, half-amused shake of his head. “You’re still in lawyer mode. You’re trying to trap me with my own words.”

  “I’m not trying to trap you in any way,” she replied quietly.

  After a somewhat tense pause, Scott cleared his throat. “So, other than thinking of all the entrants as reckless fools, how did you like your first rodeo?”

  “It was...interesting. A very nice man sitting next to me explained some of the things that were going on—the origins of the events and how they have evolved, how they’re scored and so on.”

  “A very nice man?” Scott repeated, not liking the sound of that. “Anyone I know?”

  “I don’t know, he didn’t say. His name is Ben and he’s a local rancher. About sixty, I would guess. Average height, but considerably overweight. Plainspoken, but pleasant.”

  Relaxing again, Scott shook his head. “No, I can’t say I know him. Did Jeff have a good time?”

  “He enjoyed it very much. He spent a lot of time talking to a boy from his school. Maybe he’ll start making more friends if he attends more local events.”

  “Baseball season starts in the next couple of weeks. Have you considered signing him up?”

  “I tried to talk him into it, but he refused. He said he didn’t see the point since he doesn’t expect to be in Lightning Creek for the entire season.”

  “Because he thinks his father will be back for him?”

  She nodded.

  “Have you ever suggested to the kid that his father might not be back for a long time? That he should be prepared to make a life for himself here with you?”

  “I’ve hinted. He refuses to hear it. To push it any further would only make him angry and defensive again.”

  “You could be right,” Scott conceded. Despite his own experiences, he was no expert on child psychology. Blair had to trust her instincts on this.

  “Where are we going?” She was looking out the side window in curiosity, as if she’d only just become aware that they had left Lightning Creek, and its limited selection of dining establishments, behind.

  “Someplace where we can have a delicious meal and a relaxing, private atmosphere in which to enjoy it. My ranch.”

  She half turned on her seat to face him. “We’re going to your place? How far is it?”

  “Another forty minutes or so. I hope you aren’t starving.”

  “Are you cooking dinner for us?”

  He shook his head with a laugh. “I said we’re going to have delicious food, remember? That pretty much disqualifies me, since grilled trout is my only company dish, and I’ve already made that for you. My housekeeper is preparing a meal for us. She’s a great cook. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Your housekeeper?”

  He nodded. “Margaret. She’s a treasure. She’s been with me for fifteen years, ever since her husband died of cancer. Her children were grown and have moved away and she wanted a home to take care of—and maybe someone new to mother,” he added ironically. “I suppose you could say she found both with me.”

  “She lives with you?”

  “Yes, she has a small suite at the back of the house—a bedroom, bath and sitting room. She says it’s all she needs.”

  “Does anyone else live on the ranch?”

  “My ranch foreman and his wife have a bungalow not far from the main house. The hands live in the bunkhouse, of course. And then there’s Carolyn, my assistant. She has a bedroom and sitting room upstairs in the main house.”

  That seemed to startle Blair more than anything he’d said so far. “Your assistant lives with you?”

  “She lives in the same house,” he corrected her. “Remember, I’m not there that often. Carolyn keeps things running smoothly while I’m gone—not the ranch operations, my foreman takes care of that—the bookkeeping and correspondence and payroll and everyday business things like that. She also keeps track of my earnings from the outside investments my parents left me.”

  “She doesn’t have a family?”

  “No. She’s related to my housekeeper—the daughter of a cousin. That’s how I found her. Margaret brought her to me.”

  Though she still looked a bit confused, Blair didn’t ask any more questions. Scott knew she would understand better when she met Carolyn.

  “It sou
nds as if you’re responsible for the livelihood of quite a few people.”

  He wasn’t sure he would have worded it quite that way. “The ranch supports quite a few people,” he amended.

  “Don’t you own the ranch?”

  “Since my grandparents died and left it to me, yes.”

  “Then you’re responsible.”

  Growing even more uncomfortable, he murmured, “The ranch gets along just fine without me, for the most part.”

  “Hmm.”

  He wasn’t sure what that sound meant, but he didn’t really want to ask just then. “How’s Jeffrey’s suspension going?” he asked instead.

  “I haven’t let it become a vacation. He’s worked harder on his studies during the past few days than he has in the whole six months he’s lived with me.”

  “I’m sure it’s been an educational experience for him in many ways.”

  “I hope so.”

  So much for that conversation. “He’s still happy with his cat?”

  “They’re practically joined at the hip.”

  “Jeffrey’s following through taking care of her so far?”

  “Yes, he’s almost hovering over her. I still expect the novelty to wear off some, but so far it’s working out very well.”

  They made casual conversation along those lines during the remainder of the drive, but were never quite as comfortable together as Scott would have liked. Blair seemed to have erected a barrier of some sort between them. He felt almost as if he might encounter an invisible force field if he should try to reach out to touch her.

  What was going on? Did this have something to do with the rodeo this morning? When he and Blair had last parted, it had been with a kiss. She sure wasn’t encouraging him to kiss her now.

  He hoped to change that before the evening ended.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BLAIR DIDN’T KNOW what she’d expected from Scott’s ranch house, but it wasn’t the large, sprawling, buff brick, two-story structure he parked in front of. It looked like a comfortable, upper-class family home, she thought as he opened her door for her. Yet she knew no family lived in it, nor did Scott seem in any hurry to change that.

  “Hey, Scott. The crew got that new fence finished this afternoon,” someone hollered from behind them.

  Both Scott and Blair turned in response to the voice. A tall, gangly-limbed man with a weathered face and a beer belly ambled toward them, his features illuminated by numerous security lights. A big, somewhat dopey-looking yellow dog loped along at his heels. Scott slipped a hand beneath Blair’s arm. “Here’s someone you should meet,” he said. “Blair Townsend, this is my foreman, Jake Gordon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miz Townsend,” the older man drawled. “Want I should take you aside and warn you about the scoundrel you’re dining with this evening?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary, Mr. Gordon. I doubt there’s much you can tell me that I haven’t already figured out for myself.”

  “Got yourself a smart one here, boy,” the foreman said to Scott, his mouth crooking into a grin. “That’s a right refreshing change.”

  “Okay, you can drop the Gary Cooper routine now,” Scott answered dryly, looking up from the dog, who was eagerly trying to climb him to lick his face. “Blair’s sharp enough to know an old fake when she meets one.”

  The foreman chuckled and winked at Blair.

  “This is Cooper,” Scott said, rising and holding the dog down with a hand on his massive head to keep him from jumping on him. “You heard me tell Jeffrey about him.”

  Blair nodded and tentatively patted the friendly dog. “Is he named after Gary Cooper?”

  “Of course. I was hoping the name would give him some dignity. It didn’t work.”

  Grinning, the foreman moved on, whistling for the dog to follow him, then calling over his shoulder that it had been a pleasure to meet Blair.

  “I like him,” Blair murmured as Scott escorted her up the front steps.

  “Yeah. He’s a great guy. A real clown. And I’m firing him tomorrow for not showing me enough respect.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Chuckling to show he was only kidding, he led her into an airy foyer done in light woods and polished marble. A curving staircase led to an open gallery area, and a brass-and-crystal chandelier gleamed overhead. It wasn’t opulent, but warmly welcoming, she decided. “Did your grandmother decorate?”

  He shook his head. “I had everything redone after her death. She preferred darker colors and heavy antiques.”

  Blair wondered if Scott had contributed to the new look or if he’d simply left everything in a decorator’s hands. “It’s lovely.”

  “Thank you. Oh, Margaret, there you are. This is my friend Blair Townsend. Blair, Margaret O’Connell, the treasure of my life.”

  Margaret appeared to be in her late fifties. Her hair was a faded red mixed liberally with gray, her skin was lined and freckled, and she was almost as broad as she was tall. Her smile was wide and friendly, and her blue eyes were kind behind the thick lenses of her glasses. “How do you do, Ms. Townsend?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. O’Connell. Scott has spoken very highly of you.”

  “He’s a sweet boy,” she responded fondly, patting Scott’s cheek with her chubby hand as though he were no older than Jeffrey. “And, please, call me Margaret. Everyone does.”

  Blair liked the woman immediately. It wasn’t hard to tell why there had been so much affection in Scott’s voice when he’d mentioned her.

  “Dinner’s ready whenever you’d like to eat, Scott,” Margaret added, her tone easily familiar. “I’ll keep it warm if you and Ms. Townsend would like to have a cocktail before dining.”

  Scott looked inquiringly at Blair. She smiled and shook her head. “Actually, I’m starving,” she admitted. “Lunch was a hot dog at the rodeo arena, and that was hours ago.”

  “Then allow me to escort you to the dining room,” he said, offering his arm.

  She hesitated only a moment before slipping her hand beneath his arm. Before Scott had picked her up, she’d made a decision to keep him at a distance this evening. The kisses had to stop, she had told herself, before they led to something that couldn’t possibly end well.

  Seeing him at the rodeo had only underscored how very different their lives were. And while she didn’t want to interfere with the bond that had formed between Jeffrey and Scott, she had also vowed to be somewhat more careful about letting her nephew be influenced by Scott. Although Scott had made a success of himself since his time at Lost Springs, his was certainly not a life-style Blair wanted Jeffrey to emulate.

  They had just stepped into a wide hallway when a woman in a wheelchair glided toward them from the other end. The woman was probably in her mid-forties, fair-haired and light complexioned. She seemed to have full use of her body from the waist up, but her legs were stick thin and obviously useless. She smiled when she caught Blair’s eyes. “You must be Blair Townsend. I’m Carolyn Roberts. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Of course. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Scott released Blair to rest a gentle hand on Carolyn’s shoulder. “This place would literally fall apart without Carolyn. She keeps us all in line.”

  “Speaking of which,” Carolyn replied, “will you please make time to meet with me tomorrow, Scott? We have to look over those papers and I absolutely must have some decisions and signatures from you.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Promise me, Scott,” she insisted, unconvinced.

  He sighed. “I promise. How about one o’clock? Right after lunch.”

  She nodded in satisfaction. “I warn you, if you don’t show, I’ll come looking for you. And it won’t be pretty when I find you.”

  “I’ll be there,” he repeated. “Jeez, what a grouch.”

  Unoffended by his good-natured gibe, Carolyn glanced apologetically at Blair. “I’m sorry to interfere with your evening, but he
’s here so rarely, I have to corner him whenever I get the chance. If he would come home a bit more often, there wouldn’t be so many crises to take care of at once,” she added pointedly.

  So Scott was neglecting his responsibilities when he took off on his reckless adventures, Blair thought without surprise. And he was mistaken about something else, as well—there would be people who grieved if something happened to him. It was obvious that Jake and Margaret and Carolyn cared about him. And they depended on him. She imagined they worried about his dangerous behavior more than he suspected.

  All the more reason for her not to get too deeply involved with him, she reminded herself.

  “Are you joining us for dinner?” Blair asked Carolyn, thinking her presence would diffuse some of the awareness between Scott and herself.

  But Carolyn shook her head. “I’ve already eaten, thank you. I was just on my way to my rooms to relax a bit before bedtime.”

  Scott leaned over to plant a kiss on top of her head. “Good night, Caro. Sleep well.”

  “Carolyn seems very nice,” Blair said as Scott held her chair for her once they were in the beautifully decorated dining room. “Has she been with you long?”

  “Four years. Things were really a mess around here before she took over. Now I don’t know what we would do without her.”

  “And she’s content to live here—at the office, so to speak?”

  “She gets away occasionally to visit family, but she prefers to stay here for the most part. Her rooms are upstairs where she has more space and privacy—I had an elevator installed for her behind the main staircase. She has a few health problems. Margaret cares for her when she’s ill.”

  “Has she always been in a wheelchair?”

  Scott’s expression turned grave. “No. She was in a terrible car accident seven years ago. Her husband and daughter were killed. Carolyn was hospitalized for a very long time. I’m told that it was practically a miracle that she’s recovered as well as she has.”

  Blair’s heart ached with sympathy for the other woman’s tragedies—and admiration that she could still smile and tease and almost single-handedly manage Scott’s office responsibilities. “You said the accident was seven years ago and she’s been with you four years. Where did she live before she came here?”