Lone Tree

by O'Keefe, Bobbie

  Two minutes after she hung up, the phone rang. She rolled her eyes, what now? and then answered it.

  “Dang printer stopped working,” Reed’s voice said.

  “Uh, what?”

  “I’m emailing an attachment. Print it for me. I’ll pick it up later.”

  “Sure.”

  “Obliged.”

  “You’re wel—”

  The phone clicked in her ear. “Welcome,” she finished, and then clicked into e-mail.

  Because she needed a break from prawns, she delivered the printout in person. When she got no answer to her knock, she tentatively opened the door. “Special delivery,” she called out.

  “Come on through,” he hollered. “I’m in the back.”

  His house was laid out similar to hers, and his furnishings were solid male. Sand-colored sofa with a sturdy-looking coffee table fronting it, an armchair in brownish-green tweed next to a solid wood end table, and an ottoman that matched the chair.

  She walked through and found him squatting on his heels outside his back door tying up cherry tomato plants. “Hi,” she said.

  “Put it on the table there,” he answered, looking up. “And thanks. Didn’t mean for you to have to bring it. But now that you’ve finally given me a chance to play host, how about some coffee? Seems too early for that beer.”

  She hesitated, tempted to spend some time with him without a horse or the dining room in the background. But it probably wouldn’t be wise.

  “Best not.” She placed the printout on the glass-topped patio table, anchoring it under a bowl that held a miniature cactus.

  His gaze traveled down her outfit—blue shirt tucked into the waist of a short denim skirt with red-trimmed pockets—to her feet. She wore backless, toeless sandals that matched her bright-red toenails but offered no protection against the elements or legless varmints. The appreciation in his eyes turned to disapproval. She waited, expecting the usual criticism, but got a forbearing look instead. “Can’t talk you into anything, it seems.”

  She shrugged, giving him a half-smile.

  He was an exceptional man, full of challenge, strength, will, even a touch of domesticity as evidenced by the vegetable garden and the propane grill that stood off to the side. She doubted the grill got much exercise, but he must know how to use it if he had it. And all that was wrapped up in an amazingly appealing physical package.

  He returned her shrug, eyes reflecting a mixture of attraction, annoyance and patience, then he turned back to his tomato plants.

  As she turned to leave, she noticed the lariat hanging next to the back door. She fingered the rope. Cowboys made roping look so easy, but she hadn’t the slightest idea how to use a lasso.

  Or maybe she did.

  She looked at Reed’s back, impulse growing. Did she dare? He’d threatened to use it on her once.

  The longer she thought about it, the more difficult the impulse became to resist. Slipping the rope off the peg, she quietly walked back. In a fluid motion she lowered the noose around his shoulders, yanked, then ducked back inside the house in a flash.

  First a gasp, then an exasperated laugh, then in two seconds flat he bolted inside the house and out the front door after her, lariat in hand. But she hadn’t gone that way. She’d flattened herself against the wall inside the back door, and as soon as he went out the front, she went out the back and hightailed it around to the back entrance of the main house.

  It didn’t take long for Reed to figure out her route. Scant minutes later he casually strolled into Miles’s office through the patio doors. She looked up from the file cabinet, and was relieved to note he no longer held the lariat.

  Miles looked up, and then appeared surprised when Reed nodded in greeting, but passed him on his way to Lainie.

  Reed stopped, leaving the opened file drawer between them, and gave her a look that had her heart rate rising a notch. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was capable of, and right now he appeared capable of anything. She didn’t want to challenge him—not any more than she already had—yet she guessed a touch of the imp that had lassoed him still showed in her eyes.

  He closed the drawer.

  Stepping closer, he leaned down and whispered, “I told you one time before you’re pushin’ it. You just keep it up, Lainie Sue.”

  He straightened, nodded to Miles, sauntered to the door and left. The imp in Lainie made it difficult to keep a straight face. She glanced at Miles, then quickly away. She doubted he’d heard Reed’s words, but he’d followed the interplay between his foreman and secretary with interest.

  *

  The next day repairmen arrived—in the hottest part of the afternoon, of course—to upgrade the air-conditioning system and had to turn it off to work on it. Lainie retreated to her cottage.

  When supper chimes sounded, she was just stepping out of the shower and she jerked to attention. It was that late? She’d get there in time to eat, but would miss the prayer, and she liked the practice of saying grace; that was a tradition her mother had carried with her.

  Air conditioning was back on when she entered the main house, and she sighed in relief. Everybody but Carter was seated, so she joined him at the sideboard. Even Glen Charles, who seldom ate supper at the ranch because his family lived nearby, was working on a salad. Randy was the only one missing.

  Carter smiled in greeting. “Appears Rosalie cooked special for Reed tonight,” he said before making his way to the table.

  Instead of the usual cole slaw, a huge tossed green salad sat on the sideboard, which Lainie assumed must be a favorite of Reed’s. She also liked it so scooped up a big helping. Two tamale pies sat next to it and each had been spooned into. Wondering why one hadn’t been kept aside until the first was emptied, she helped herself from the smaller dish to finish it then took the chair next to Carter.

  Glen Charles and Luke had returned from riding fence, and Luke was filling Reed in on a section that needed special attention. Miles was listening while unenthusiastically working on dessert, a bowl of Jell-O, which apparently wasn’t a favorite.

  Finished with her salad, she started on the meat dish. The instant she put the fork in her mouth, she froze. Her fork clattered to the plate. She grabbed the glass of iced tea, took a big gulp, but it didn’t put the fire out. She fished in the glass, sloshing the drink out the side, and got a handful of ice to toss into her mouth. Downing the tea had made her swallow the mouthful of meat, and she wished she hadn’t done that. Now her stomach was on fire, too.

  “What—” said a chorus of voices, and six pairs of eyes trained on her. Randy had arrived and stood opposite her with a stupefied expression, his plate and steaming cup of coffee in hand. She wondered if it was possible to live through this assault upon her mouth and tongue and esophagus and stomach.

  “Reckon she got the wrong dish,” Carter said mildly. She’d used up all her ice, so he helpfully pushed his glass toward her. She dug in it and popped another handful of ice into her mouth. “Must’ve got some of Reed’s.”

  “But it’s not that bad,” Reed said, glancing at his plate. He seemed personally affronted.

  “I beg to differ with you,” Luke said. His tone and expression were serious. “It’s bad.”

  Glen Charles looked dubiously at his plate. Lainie fanned her mouth with both hands.

  “Didn’t anybody warn her?” Miles asked.

  “Thought I did,” Carter said. “Told her Rosalie had cooked specially for Reed. Reckon now I should’ve added that the small one was his and the bigger one was ours.”

  Glen Charles appeared to relax. He must’ve spooned his food from the correct dish.

  “It’s that hot?” Reed looked genuinely puzzled.

  “It’s that hot,” Luke assured him.

  She was wondering if she’d survive the night, and they were arguing over degrees of heat.

  “But I eat it all the time,” Reed said.

  “Yeah, but that’s you,” Luke told him.

  Lainie had finishe
d all the ice within reach, and very little tea was left in either glass. Most of it rested in puddles on the tabletop and was dripping to the floor to form more puddles there. She pushed away from the table.

  Rosalie appeared. “Are you all right? I heard that you—”

  “Goodnight,” Lainie managed. Tears ran freely down her face as she backed away.

  Miles said, looking anxious, “Are you sure you’re—?”

  “Goodnight,” Lainie said.

  “Lainie, can I help you?” Rosalie frowned in concern.

  Lainie dodged around her. “Goodnight.” She turned and ran.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Inside the dining room of the main house, Miles’s birthday party was in full swing. And Lainie’s nerves were in overdrive. She stood rigidly in her strappy heeled sandals and surveyed the busy room. When she realized that one glossy red shoe was beating a staccato on the hardwood floor, she took in a long breath and forced herself to be still.

  Glen Charles walked toward her with one of the prettiest women Lainie had ever seen; the woman’s golden hair, sea green eyes and creamy skin would allow her to hold her own with any Hollywood starlet.

  “Evenin’, Lainie,” he said. “Like you to meet my wife, Lori.”

  “Hi.” Lainie extended her hand. Paying attention to one person was easier than trying to keep track of a whole roomful of people. “It’s good to meet you. I understand you live nearby, but we’ve never run across each other.”

  “A five-year-old and a two-year-old keep me close to home. But tonight his mama’s got the kids.” As she took her husband’s hand she gave him a warm look. “All night.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah.” Glen Charles’s face turned rosy red. “Well.”

  “So pardon us when we leave early,” Lori said confidingly to Lainie.

  “Honey, uh...” His gaze flicked from his wife to the floor, and then around the room before it finally got to Lainie. He looked like he wanted to tip his hat, but he wasn’t wearing one. “We best be goin’,” he said awkwardly. And froze in place. “Uh, circulate, I mean. Not, uh—”

  Lainie cleared her throat and tried to keep her face straight.

  “Excuse us,” Lori said politely, possibly to head off her husband before he dug himself in deeper. “Believe we’ll visit the dessert table over there. Heard there was pecan pie.”

  Lainie watched them walk away, amused with the many sides of cowboys, then once more she started scanning tables, sideboards and servers. When she realized her foot was tapping away, she again stilled it.

  Miles was nowhere in sight, and while she was wondering about him a familiar arm descended upon her shoulders. She recognized both Reed’s touch and his aftershave lotion. The two facts together seemed intimate.

  “You’ve done a good job,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Thanks.” Maybe half the people were still seated, some stood with plates at the sideboard, some were headed toward the drawing room and others were already in there. Where was Miles?

  “And you’re looking right pretty tonight.”

  “You, too.” With that brief exchange she felt her anxiety lighten. She’d been aware of him—as was possibly every other woman in the room—the moment he’d walked in. In between the healthy shock of black wavy hair and shiny black boots, he wore a black-and-red checked shirt, red string tie, black dress jeans and a wide black leather belt fastened by a silver buckle. Yep, Reed Smith was a looker. The only other man in the room who came close was Mack Jameson, who’d arrived with Lorette, daughter of the owner of the Lazy L.

  Reed’s arm was still around Lainie. His hand cupped a shoulder left bare by the white blouse she wore tucked into a red flared skirt. One thin strap over each shoulder held the blouse in place. Often Reed found a reason to touch her, whether it be brief or lingering, and the almost constant contact made it that much more difficult for her to resist the draw she’d been fighting since she’d met him. And she knew that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Haven’t seen you eat anything yet,” he said.

  “I had a couple of prawns.” And it’d been difficult getting them down.

  “Relax, Lainie,” he said mildly. “Or you’ll give yourself an ulcer before the evening’s over.”

  She still hadn’t caught sight of Miles, but she heard his bellowing laugh from somewhere and knew that everything was all right with him.

  “If you tried real hard, you think you could stop tapping your foot?” Reed asked. “You’re reminding me of a windup toy that got stuck.”

  She let her breath out in a sudden giving-up laugh and then leaned into Reed.

  “Um,” he said, “that’s nice.” The arm around her shoulders lowered until his hand rested at her waist.

  “Um,” she agreed.

  His lips brushed her hair. “I’m saving a dance for you later.”

  “Uh-uh. I don’t know how to line dance.”

  “Not what I meant. I mean the kind where we get to hold each other really close.”

  “Then you must not be talking about a promenade.”

  “Nope, not—” He pulled back to give her a curious look. “Where did you—?”

  “I get around.”

  “You do, huh. Well, it’s entirely another kind of dance I have in mind. I’ll show you when the time comes.”

  “Okay.”

  His chuckle was sudden and deep. “I’m not used to you being so agreeable. I like you like this.”

  She ignored the comment. “But you signed up for line dancing. I saw your name.”

  “Uh-huh. Jackie and I partner each other. She’s good enough she makes me look good.” His gaze roamed the room. “And they’re setting up now. I’m supposed to be rounding everybody up.”

  The hand at her waist squeezed her closer as he said goodbye with a touch instead of words. He walked over to where Mack and Randy stood. Randy was empty-handed; Mack held a bottle of beer and tilted it to his mouth as Reed walked up. At the same moment, Miles joined them from a different direction.

  Lainie spoke to the serving crew about clearing the empty tables. When she turned back, she noticed Reed and Randy had disappeared and Mack and Miles were still talking. Mack was a fraction shorter than Miles. Miles was sipping from a can of Seven-Up. She started toward the drawing room where the band was setting up, but spied the two men heading her way so she stopped and waited.

  Mack nodded in greeting. “Just telling your boss here I finally remembered where I’d seen you before.”

  Her interest sharpened. “You looked familiar to me, too, but I couldn’t place you. So where and when did we meet?”

  “Spent a summer on the West Coast some years back, working at a stable in Half Moon Bay. You came in one weekend with your parents and rented mounts. If I remember right, you and your daddy were amateurs, but didn’t need any help ’cause your mama was a pro. Looked like she’d been born on top of a horse.”

  Lainie’s mind flashed back. She remembered the tall cowboy, the battered felt hat that only served to enhance his rugged good looks, his blood-red shirt and interested eyes as he helped her mount. The way Walter had watched them made her think he’d also noticed the cowboy’s attention. She’d just turned sixteen, old enough to garner attention but not old enough to be out from under her father’s eye. She remembered her mother in corduroys and a dark-blue checked shirt, and how she’d insisted upon looking at all the horses before choosing the three she wanted.

  Although Lainie’s gaze remained on Mack, it was Miles she was most aware of. He stood on her right, watching her, and she had the uncanny feeling he’d somehow shared her flashback, as if it had been reflected in her eyes.

  “Yes,” she told Mack, making her voice casual. “You remember right, and I remember you now. You haven’t changed much.”

  “You have. You’re prettier.” He looked from her to Miles and back again. “Sounds like that band means business in there, so I best go join Lorette. She might get a mite perturbed if her partner doesn�
�t show.”

  He walked away and Lainie faced Miles. She read nothing in his expression and wondered if he read anything in hers. Voice casual, he said, “Every once in a while we realize what a small world we live in. This Half Moon Bay, it’s on the beach?”

  “We rode to the beach and then onto the sand, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So your mama taught you how to ride before you came here.”

  “No. I sat on a horse that followed hers. Reed taught me how to ride, how to tack up, take care of your mount, let it know what you want it to do.”

  Someone hailed him, and he excused himself.

  She watched the servers restoring the room while she listened to the country music band warming up, but her surroundings only had half her attention. Was she being toyed with? Was it possible she was the one being hoodwinked?

  It wouldn’t be difficult to find information on her, even what her mother’s maiden name was. Miles wasn’t what she’d call computer literate, but he could get info by asking someone else to look it up. But he’d have to suspect who she was before he’d start snooping, and there was no reason for him to think he even had a grandchild. Her mother had abruptly cut ties to Texas and left it that way for her lifetime.

  Could Lainie’s resemblance to her grandmother have sparked his curiosity? Sure, there was a likeness—but there were even more dissimilarities. On that basis alone it’d be far-fetched for him to think, hey, wait a minute, and start investigating his secretary to see if maybe she was a relative.

  No matter how she worked it through, it came back to the same thing. Miles would have to be suspicious of her. There was no reason for him to be so. And if he were, he’d meet the suspicion head-on, not dance around on the outskirts of it. Mentally she threw up her hands and then headed for the drawing room.

  The dancers had formed a line facing the guests, with their backs to the band. The women wore fancy yoked shirts and elaborately decorated jeans but didn’t outshine the men. Bobbie and Randy stood next to Jackie and Reed, and Lainie noticed Raymond and Margene beaming with pride as they watched their daughters. Mack and Lorette were at the end. Lainie recognized the other two couples but couldn’t put names to them.