He snapped the top on the container, closing off his commentary at the same time. “You going to stay here?”
“If I can’t interrupt him, I guess I’ll wait. Shouldn’t be much longer, now that he’s gotten Dickens down that trail.”
“Don’t count on it. Thomas don’t count a job done until it’s done thoroughly.” He gave her a sly smile. “Afraid critters will get his lunch?”
“Afraid Gran won’t get her container back—and I’ll get blamed.”
Gandy chuckled. “Best make yourself comfortable in that case.”
“You think this could take a while, huh?”
“Depends on Dickens. One thing’s for certain, Thomas will last longer than that devil horse. His pa used to say the whole secret to training horses was to insist one time more than the horse did. That’s what Thomas does. He’s got the patience.”
“Too bad he doesn’t have that kind of patience with people.”
“He can.”
“Not with Becky, he doesn’t. Or—” she’d gone so far now, what was the sense of not saying what he surely knew she was thinking “—with me. He’d sooner snap my head off as look at me.”
He rubbed his hand over his mouth at the same time he said, “I wouldn’t say that.”
He lowered his hand. His mouth amid the whiskers was straight, but the creases at the corners of his eyes gave the impression he’d been grinning.
“Way I figure it is a man who’s been kicked by two, three gray horses in his time is gonna keep his distance from gray horses. Now if he can’t keep his distance entirely, say a gray horse is in his brood, or—” the creases deepened “—one shows up unexpected like and he needs the horseflesh, well then a reasonable man could be expected to treat that gray horse cautious like.”
“Uh-huh. But a reasonable man would know that not only is one gray horse not responsible for the past actions of another gray horse, but that the next gray horse is no more likely to kick him than a black horse or a white horse. The statistics show that every time.”
“Hard for a man to be reasonable or pay attention to statistics when he feels the ache where he got kicked the last time most every day because something’s rubbing at the spot real hard. Especially hard when gray horses can tie him up better’n a champion—” he pronounced it champeen “—calf roper with a slow-goer. And then, say, he’s got a suspicioning that one particular gray horse, say a mare, could deliver a crippling blow if he’s not real careful to keep her from getting too close. Why that man’s bound to get nervy ’round that gray mare.”
She hadn’t followed all the details—What could a woman have done to Thomas that was rubbing against the scar of that hurt?—But she got the gist. She just didn’t buy it being applied to her.
Not only had Thomas Vance made clear how he viewed her—not with anything like the warmth Gandy indicated for his hypothetical man—but she wasn’t interested, either. She needed to get things straight about how she’d made such a botch of falling for Sterling before she considered getting involved with another man. And when—if!—she got that far, the man wouldn’t be a prickly curmudgeon like Thomas Vance.
She squinted up at Gandy, who’d stood and was adjusting the waistband of his jeans around his ample middle. Thomas and Dickens had reappeared at the top of the trail, and they were turning to head down it again.
“Of course,” she said, “if the man is real good at staying clear of gray horses, and the newcomer gray horse is more than happy to mind her own business far away from the man, then there shouldn’t be any problem at all.”
Chuckles trailed after Gandy like bubbles as he headed to where he’d tied his horse to a branch.
“Mind her own business? That’s a good one. This gray mare’s right in the middle of the brood taking care of this one, talking sense to that one. Mind her own business…”
All right, so she wasn’t entirely minding her own business. But that was because she was sure she could help. And God knew Thomas Vance needed help in getting along with his sister and probably a good portion of the rest of humanity. Sure his hands respected him. And his grandmother loved him dearly. Even his sister would probably admit to that emotion if burning coals were held to her feet.
But in day-to-day dealings he was like the grinding gears in that old truck she’d driven out here. The man could definitely use more oil in his crankcase.
That’s all she was trying to do—add a little oil so people didn’t rub up against each other so hard that permanent damage could be done.
Dickens appeared again, but this time his rider didn’t start the horse back down the slope. Instead Thomas rode to the same tree Gandy had used, dismounted, looped the reins, then attached a hobble between Dickens’s front feet. That would keep the horse from getting far even if he pulled the reins loose.
Ah yes, a cautious man was Thomas Vance.
“What’re you doing here?”
And a less than welcoming one.
“Brought you lunch.” She held it out to him.
“Thanks. No need for you to wait.”
“Gran’s container.”
He grunted understanding, sank down in the same spot Gandy had occupied, and opened the container. Only when his rate of consumption slowed after three-quarters of the sandwich, all the apple and half the chips did she pose a question.
“Get Dickens to drink?”
“Didn’t care if he drank or not. Just needed him to go down that trail.”
“Wasn’t that so he could drink at the stream?”
“Nope. It was so he knew he had to go down that trail, or any trail, when I told him to. Next time it won’t be so bad. And the time after that it’ll be sorta fun for him. And then we’ll start going across water, which is another thing he’s got it in his head he doesn’t want to do.”
“Poor Dickens,” she murmured.
He’d heard her, but he obviously chose to ignore it. “What were you and Gandy talking about that had him in stitches?”
“Gray mares.”
“What?”
“You know, the old gray mare she ain’t what she used to be… And the new gray mare ain’t what the old gray mare was, either. You should remember that the next time you look at a new gray mare.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. If Becky were here she’d probably say it was a symptom of amnesia. But I’ve got a feeling it’s more a symptom of you.”
She blinked up at him. He was right. She’d often been told that her lines of thought resembled a plate of spaghetti to many listeners. The first time she’d confused Sterling with her conversational leaps and oblique connections, he’d become so peeved that she’d curbed her habit of saying what was on her mind.
Censoring herself, she realized now.
Another reason she’d been wise to get out of that church. How could she have survived a lifetime of self-censorship?
Which she didn’t do around Thomas. And he appeared to be perfectly all right with that—confused, but still all right.
Uh-oh. That little phrase echoed in her head again.
“Or maybe it’s not just you,” he said, sounding grim. “Maybe it’s females.”
“Someone in particular in mind?”
“Used to be Becky made sense. She was a kid, but she had a good head on her shoulders. There was never a time I worried about her even with the toughest ride. She can still handle horses, but—”
“Maybe she’s dealing with something other than horses these days.”
The look he slanted at her was as loud as a shout: There, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.
“But,” he picked up, “I never know when she’s going to get some wild idea.”
She suspected she knew what he was thinking about, but Thomas needed to get in the habit of saying things instead of letting people around him guess. “Like?”
He slanted a look toward her, and his disdainful Amnesia? reaction to Becky’s theory rang in her ears.
No. Heaven help her, she wanted to tell Thomas the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
A memory of the heat she’d felt when he caught her when she’d been oiling the hinges surfaced. Maybe not the whole truth. But at least not lies about who she was and why she was here.
But if she told him about that, she’d be drawing him into a mess. One helluva post-honeymoon mess. That’s what the woman at the church had said.
But to lie to him now, if he came out and asked her…
“You name it, my sister has a wild idea about it.”
Streams of relief and disappointment rushed into her.
She shook her head at herself. Quit mooning over what can’t be helped. Telling him the truth would not be any favor to the Vance family. Better to repay their unknowing generosity in providing her a haven by doing the work they thought they’d hired her for…as well as straightening out a few bumps in their interpersonal relationships.
“What are you shaking your head at? You can’t be arguing that Becky has wild ideas.”
“I’m shaking my head at you. If you listen to her wild ideas you might learn something.”
“Like what?”
She didn’t know precisely. But she had a feeling… And wouldn’t Thomas just eat that explanation up with a spoon? Okay, so she couldn’t give him specifics. The big picture, however, was completely obvious.
“She wants attention.”
“Attention! What for?”
Judi rolled her eyes. “Because you’re her big brother, of course. Along with being a sort of parent.”
“It’s more like she wants to drive me crazy.”
“That’ll do.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time to spare right now for a teenager’s need for attention. I’ve got other things I’ve gotta do.”
She tipped her head to study him better. “Dickens.”
The ground Thomas was sitting on suddenly felt harder. He shifted to find a more comfortable position. That also happened to tip the brim of his hat down, breaking their eye contact.
“Yeah. Dickens,” he said.
“So it’s not even a little bit about how you work with Dickens, and get him to respond? It’s all for the money?”
“Sure.” He might get a kick out of the moments when the young horse suddenly understood what was expected, and the even better moments when it felt like a thousand pounds of horseflesh was connected to his mind. “The owner got fed up with Dickens’s tricks. Was going to sell him, even though he’d take a big hit. I said I could train him to be a good ride. Warren Upton has more money than patience, so he offered a fifty percent bonus on the fee if Dickens is ready July 15.
“I get that money and the Diamond V can continue to provide for Becky and—”
“Provide? You might think that’s what’s most important, but you’re wrong. Efficiency and the bottom line are not more important than people.”
“What does efficiency—?”
“But that would explain why you’re still a lone ranger. No woman—no person likes to feel like you’re totaling up how much she’s cost you every step of the way. It doesn’t matter what fancy things you do for them, if you keep going on and on about it, and even though there’s no sex, they still end up feeling like a…a…tart!”
“What the hell are you—?”
But she’d already left, her exit punctuated by the rev of the truck engine.
Fine.
Served him right for backing off earlier anyway. She’d given him the perfect opening to dismantle this absurd amnesia story, and he’d let it go by. And look what it had gotten him—a lecture! Not even one that made sense. Efficiency and bottom line? Fancy things and toting up the costs? She must have had someone else in mind, because none of what she’d said applied to him.
Why you’re still a lone ranger.
Okay, maybe some of it applied to him. But he didn’t owe her any explanation.
Besides, she was wrong. He’d been involved with a few women. There was a widow in Casper with no interest in getting married who he saw now and then.
He’d find the right woman. He just wasn’t going to rush into anything. He’d seen where that led.
When the time came, he would pick a wife with care and caution. And it would stick. He’d find a wife who would help on the ranch and be good with the kids they’d have and know how to stretch a dollar and not care that they need stretching.
Helga hadn’t complained about stretching the food budget. She’d done okay with Dickens, too. And she was good with Becky.
Helga? What was he doing fitting Helga into this scenario? She was the last kind of woman he wanted.
He took his hat off and slapped it against his thigh to shake off a persistent bee.
If she was who she said she was, she’d be leaving in a few weeks for her next assignment. Although, when she smiled— No. He wasn’t going to think that way.
She’d be leaving. She was an agitating kind of person. And she didn’t know how to dress for a ranch.
Nodding satisfaction at that clincher, he got back to work and didn’t think of her more than a dozen times.
He’d almost made a clean exit.
But Becky caught him as he entered the kitchen, immediately identifying the reason he’d taken a shower and changed in the middle of the day.
Then Helga came in from outside, carrying two sorry looking roses.
“We’re going to town,” Becky announced, in one of her in-the-treetops moods.
She looked from Becky to him and smiled. “Would you pick me up some jeans?”
Buy her clothes? Hell, no, he wasn’t going to buy her clothes. “No.”
“You can take it out of my wages.”
“Money’s not the prob—” He bit that off when he realized she would just ask what the problem was. “I don’t have time to be running all over looking for your clothes.”
“They’ve got ladies jeans at the WalMart, and you’re already going there to pick me up more knitting yarn,” contributed Gran.
He glared at his grandmother. “It’ll still take time I don’t have. If you want clothes, you’ll have to come with or go another time.”
“I can’t leave here.”
“Why not?”
She returned his look. All that marred the perfection of its innocence were a dash of deviltry and an ounce of triumph. “Someone has to stay with Gran, and since you promised Becky she could go to town…”
“Becky can st—”
His sister’s howl stopped that thought in its tracks. “Oh, no you don’t Thomas. I haven’t been off this ranch except to the hospital since before Gran’s surgery. You promised—and I’m going to town.”
“Fine, then you can pick out jeans for Helga while I’m getting groceries.”
“No, because you’re dropping me off at Yvonne’s while you do the grocery shopping so I can find out what’s been happening.”
“How could there be anything you don’t know. You’re on the phone with her every time I turn around.”
“That’s baloney. I—”
“Both of you, get out of here.” Thomas instinctively turned at the warm, solid presence of Helga’s hand on his back.
She was pushing both him and Becky toward the outside door. “It’s time for Gran to rest. Besides, you’re both being pains in the you-know-what. Go argue on the way to town and stop giving your grandmother and me a headache.”
Becky’s gaze met his in a flash of shared sheepishness, before she stomped out of the kitchen. But it didn’t rattle the floor, so her heart couldn’t have been in it.
That hopeful sign carried over, and they returned to the ranch without a single blowup or even sul
len silence. That had to be a record for the past year.
Would that continue when they displayed their purchases?
Chapter Six
“Now we’ll see who’s right,” Becky announced as she banged in the kitchen door carrying shopping bags.
Thomas followed with his head tilted to accommodate the large open-topped box balanced on one broad shoulder. “I don’t care who’s—”
“Shh. Gran’s resting. The therapist just left, and she’s wiped out,” Judi said.
“Of course you care,” Becky said to her brother in a much lower voice. “Or you would have let me buy the ones I said would fit, and been done with it.”
Judi looked toward Thomas for an explanation. Swinging the large box of nonperishable food supplies down to the counter, he didn’t meet her look.
“I gotta get the cooler,” he mumbled as he headed out.
“So you didn’t get me any jeans?” Judi asked Becky.
“Oh, we got you two pair.” Becky dropped her bags on the table and started rooting through them. “My bone-headed brother refused to consider I might actually know better than he did what size you would wear. So we each bought you a pair.”
She triumphantly pulled out a stack of folded denim, and started ripping off tags. “And now we’re going to find out which pair fits.”
“You won’t be able to return the pair that doesn’t fit without the tags.”
“It has to be a blind test,” Becky said decisively, handing her a pair of jeans still folded. “Here—try these on first.”
Thomas thumped at the back door with the cooler, and Becky went to open it, shooing Judi toward the stairs. “Hurry up. We’ll put the food away. Go on.”
Judi changed in record time. It was easy because the jeans Becky had given her skimmed up her body…then threatened to skim back down, even after she zipped and buttoned them. She was a long way from supermodel status, but she also wasn’t a sumo wrestler.
She fought the giggles as she descended the stairs, then schooled her face before entering the kitchen. She didn’t want to hurt Becky’s feelings.
Becky plunked a can of applesauce on a shelf. Pivoting for another item, she caught sight of Judi. “I knew it!” Triumph vibrated in her voice and eyes.
The Runaway Bride Page 11
