Sam Gallagher
When Boone finished, he stared at her for a long, long moment. Then his voice came, so low she almost couldn't hear it.
"You can't mean to stay." His eyes...
"No," she whispered back. "I won't be staying."
Boone laid the letter down on the old scarred table. Then he pushed past Maddie, leaving the air stinging with anguish so deep it echoed in the room. The back door slammed behind him, and Maddie could only stand very still.
Vondell crossed over and picked up the letter, reading it slowly. Then she heaved a big sigh and pressed one set of fingers to her forehead. "Curse you, Sam Gallagher. It never had to be like this."
Maddie's chest ached. "I said I was going. If I could leave right now, I would, Vondell." She lifted her gaze to see the older woman's grim visage. "I won't stay a minute longer than I must. But surely he's not so mad he would want to lose the whole place just to get me out of here."
"He's not mad at you, child. He's just got a hurt real deep, so deep it's never healed. Boone's a proud man, too proud to admit it. He was proud even as a young man, and he'd take a bullet before he'd admit how much he wanted his father to love him. The only happy memories Boone has of this place are from when Jenny was still alive. Hearing that Jenny loved a man we all thought was a murderer was bound to go down hard."
"I tried to warn him."
"In some ways, Boone's as hardheaded as Sam."
"I won't make this any more difficult for him than I have to, Vondell, but I am not hiding in my room for a month."
"Of course you shouldn't." Vondell patted her arm and smiled. "Sam was right about one thing—this old place needs someone to liven it up. I'm thinking you're just the person for the job. You just be yourself, Maddie girl. No harm in that."
Maddie's laugh was shakier than she'd like. "I doubt that Boone would agree."
"Well, maybe Boone Gallagher needs a little shaking up. Heaven knows this place has held little enough happiness since Jenny died." She smiled more brightly. "Now how about you show me what magic you can make from a carrot?"
Maddie had to smile back. Thank heavens Vondell was here.
And that come tomorrow it would be only twenty-eight days and counting.
* * *
Boone climbed the stairs and headed down the hall, years of practice dispensing with the need for lights. The house was quiet. He'd heard Vondell's soft snores downstairs, and he saw no light from under Maddie's door.
He paused outside her door, remembering the look on her face when he'd finished Sam's letter. She had a soft heart, too soft to be caught in Sam's games. He no longer believed she was anything more than an innocent victim, a pawn caught in the swirling winds of long-ago disasters. But that didn't mean he could let down his guard. Her sheer attractiveness was reason enough, never mind the potential damage she could do if she wanted.
He couldn't afford to run her off before her thirty days was up and because of that, he appreciated the stubborn streak that ran a mile wide down her back. He also couldn't risk her learning to like this place and deciding to stay.
Not that it seemed much of a risk, Boone thought, as he opened the door to his room. The picture beside his bed kept that fresh on his mind. Helen's blonde perfection shone out at him—the Helen he'd first met, not the one he'd last seen.
She'd hated it here, and so would Maddie. As soon as the new wore off, the restlessness would set in. Boone would have to tread a fine line; his best course was to keep an eye out, but stay far, far away. Maddie might tempt him, but she also had the potential to cost him the only thing he had left.
He would stay watchful but stay out of Maddie's way. Vondell could keep her entertained when she started to go stir-crazy, wanting out of this place.
People thought Boone kept Helen's picture out because he was still mourning. They couldn't be further off the mark.
He kept the picture there to remind him. His father had gone wrong, loving too much. Boone had gone wrong, loving too little. He would avoid both paths to tragedy.
No more love. No more city girls. No more mistakes.
Chapter Four
"Would you look at that?" Jim Caskey whistled.
Boone glanced up from cleaning Gulliver's hoof. The minute he did, he wished he hadn't.
"I didn't know a body would bend that way," Jim observed.
Jim's horse shifted, and Gulliver got edgy.
"Pay attention, Jim."
"Oh, I am, Boone. I surely am."
"To your horse," Boone clarified.
"Don't tell me that sight don't get your mind working. Any woman that limber..."
"Can it, Jim. Velda would skin and gut you."
"She would, at that. But it might be worth it."
Boone took another look and wished he hadn't. The skintight top and belly-baring pants Maddie wore only emphasized the long legs, the lush breasts, the bare flesh he craved to touch...
Damn it. He didn't want to notice, had tried to forget she existed. He'd stayed gone from sunup to past supper for three days, avoiding her.
"Whew, Boone, you see that?" Sonny Chavez rounded the corner.
"He sees, all right. He just ain't admittin' it," Jim replied.
"Don't you two have anything better to do? If not, maybe this ranch needs to cut the payroll some."
The two muttered a little, then started moving away, chuckling at something Jim had said. Boone ignored them and concentrated on the hoof pick he wielded, noting that it was past time for Gulliver to be shod.
He let the hoof down and picked up the last one, making short work of cleaning it, studiously ignoring the movement on the porch. But when he let down the last hoof, the gelding shifted and grazed the side of Boone's foot with one hoof. Twelve hundred pounds, even at a glancing blow, hurt like hell.
"Ouch—damn it!"
Laughter erupted from the doorway. Boone shot a glare where Jim and Sonny stood. "You might want to mind your own advice," Jim chided. Then he disappeared around the corner.
That did it. Boone chucked the hoof pick into a bucket and started walking, his temper flaring with every step.
It didn't help that she was so graceful, that the limber, elegant movements were almost poetry in motion. Maddie had no business doing that right here, not in full view of the men. Didn't the woman have a shred of modesty?
Of course she didn't. Boone only had to remember the slip of a dress she'd worn the day she came, or the scrap of lace he'd seen in the window. Never mind that millions of women wore much less. Of course, he'd seen Maddie in an old baggy t-shirt yesterday and even it seemed to look—
Hell.
Seductive. It wasn't the clothes. It was the clothes on her.
Twenty-six days and counting.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he barked.
Maddie jolted, but drew in a deep breath and continued the stance she held. She looked like a human pretzel. Like Jim, he never realized the body could do things like that.
"I was relaxing and doing my yoga," she replied. "I'll continue if you'd leave me alone."
"Why do you have to do it out here?"
Slowly, she untwisted her body and centered her torso over legs spread impossibly wide. Then she bent over in the center, facing him, resting her elbows on the ground.
Boone gritted his teeth and tried not to notice the lean muscles of her thighs, the smooth, tight—
"I asked you a question. Why can't you do this in your room?"
As slowly as before, Maddie unbent from the waist, her torso rising and giving him a clear view of cleavage he didn't want to see. Her head lifted, and those bewitching gray eyes studied him too closely.
He wanted to look away. So he didn't.
"You're a perfect candidate for yoga, Boone. You need to relax worse than anyone I ever met."
"I'll relax when—" He forced himself to stop.
One dark eyebrow arched. "When I'm gone?"
"I've got work to do. Find some other place
to do that stuff. Some place where you don't distract the men." He turned to walk away.
"Yoga does wonders to clear the mind and calm the soul. I could teach you."
He turned back around. "I'm not the one on vacation. I don't have time to play games."
"It's not a game." Suddenly she looked very serious. "I couldn't have made it through the last year without it."
"Cooking little appetizers is such hard work?"
She smiled. "As a matter of fact, it is, but that's not what I'm talking about. Yoga is as much a mental discipline as it is physical. But it's something more. It's a way to refresh the soul, to touch a part of life we forget to experience."
Boone sensed that there was more to the story. For one second, he thought about asking what she had needed to make it through. Then he reminded himself that she was only temporary. The last thing he needed was to get involved in her problems. He had enough of his own.
"You could use a break, Boone." Her gray eyes went soft, the pale centers seeing too much. "You work too hard."
Sometimes he felt like he'd been tired for years. At that moment, he felt the call of her gentleness, a brief instant of longing for the spark of whatever it was that made Maddie more vivacious than any woman he'd ever met.
And because he did, he shoved it away with harsh words. "That's something I'd expect from a city girl. Work on a ranch is never done. Seven days a week the animals need tending. We don't get vacation or sick leave."
"Everyone needs some downtime."
"Sam let this place go too much when he was sick. I've got a lot to do to bring it back." He couldn't afford to buy her out if he didn't get things back running smoothly.
And he would buy her out. He'd never let the Caswells have this place, not while there was breath left in his body.
"Finish your contortions, Maddie Rose, and quit distracting my men." Boone's voice went harsh, and he saw it reflected in her eyes.
She leaned down and picked up the purple mat she'd been using. "What time do the men get to work?" Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear.
"They're here by seven."
Maddie shot him a look that covered hurt with challenge. "My room is too small. I like the view and the clean air. I'll be finished before they arrive." Back straight as an arrow, slender limbs moving with a grace he couldn't help but admire, Maddie walked across the porch and went inside.
That would take care of the men and their roving eyes.
Now if only Boone could take care of his own.
* * *
Maddie couldn't get enough of mornings. Always a night owl before, she found that mornings tugged at her, called out a song she didn't want to miss.
And the garden. Was there ever such a luxury as getting dirt under your fingernails? Would she ever have believed she'd say that?
And wouldn't Robert shudder? The very thought made Maddie smile. Opening the gate to Vondell's garden, Maddie stepped inside, bucket in hand. As eager as though she'd opened Aladdin's cave.
Tomatoes. She'd start there. No, Maddie. Save them for last. They bruise—they have to go on top.
But she snatched a cherry tomato off the vine as she passed and popped it straight into her mouth, the flavor exploding inside, drenching her taste buds with rich, luscious tang.
She laughed, imagining Robert reeling in horror that she hadn't even washed it first. You're so impulsive, Maddie.
Yes, she was. And she loved it.
Soon she squatted between rows of bush beans, carefully judging readiness, snapping off only those exactly ripe, already wondering if she could convince Vondell to let her cook tonight. She'd been too long away from her kitchen. Radish roses just weren't enough. Maybe Vondell would like a vacation.
Then she heard Boone's voice, soft and gentle like she'd never heard it. It had to be a woman he wooed with that voice; it would certainly woo her. This was another Boone she'd never met.
She peered up over the bushes to see who the lucky woman was. And then she bit down on her lip to stifle a laugh.
Or maybe a sigh. God, he looked good.
Over his jeans, Boone wore leather chaps. They showcased parts of his anatomy in a way that should have been outlawed.
But it wasn't just Boone's very impressive body that caught her attention. It was his manner with the colt.
Maddie knew nothing about horses, but she guessed that this one would grow into an impressive specimen. Right now, though, he was still shorter than Boone. Inside the round pen, the colt stood very still while Boone ran his hands over the horse's entire body, talking to him all the time.
Amazing. The horse acted part dog, part cat, eagerly luxuriating at the touch of Boone's strong, gentle hands. Sometimes the colt would almost seem to lean toward Boone as if begging for more.
Boone smiled. Boone laughed. He moved and talked, praised and caressed, strong and in command but the strength never misused.
And Maddie couldn't help but wonder how much it mirrored the way Boone would make love.
You'll never find out, so just stop wondering. Even if Boone had given her a single sign of welcome, the idea was futile. She already knew enough about Boone to know that he took life very seriously. Even if he would indulge in a meaningless fling, instinct told her that he would never do it here at the ranch. And that's all it could be, a fling, a temporary affair. She would be gone in just a few weeks.
Besides, Maddie herself wasn't the type for casual sex. Hot, yes—oh, yes. Meaningless, no. She led with her heart, no matter how she had tried to change. It was why she'd sworn off men for the foreseeable future.
Part of the reason she'd come to Texas had been to take a hiatus from men. Cowboys weren't her type and she'd expected to confront no temptations.
But Boone was not an easy man to ignore. A new layer emerged every time she was around him. Good looks she could forget—New York was full of good-looking men. But Boone was full of contrasts—rugged but gentle, hard but haunted, a man whose rough edges were proving to hide surprising pockets of tenderness.
Except around her, of course.
It didn't matter. She would be gone soon. Maddie turned back to the green beans, concentrating so fiercely that she started at the voice behind her.
"Ma'am?"
Maddie almost lost her balance. She rose to face the man she'd been told was the foreman. "Yes?"
Fiftyish and tanned from long hours in the sun, the man grinned a craggy smile. "I'm Jim Caskey, ma'am. I'm the foreman around here."
"I'm Maddie Collins. Pleased to meet you."
"Same here." He shifted on his feet but didn't speak again. He studied the ground.
"Is there something you need, Mr. Caskey?"
His head jerked up. "What? Oh—no, no. Nice day, don't you think?"
Maddie resisted the urge to laugh. One of the hardest things to get used to was the pace of life around here. Conversations moved as slowly as everything else. But she was learning. She scanned the sky. "Yes, it is. Hot, though."
He looked relieved, as though they'd discovered a common language. "Don't think it'll rain. Prob'ly tonight, though. My knee always knows."
"Your knee?"
"Yes, ma'am. I got this trick knee from when I rode bulls and it's better than that radar they got over in Abilene."
"Really?" She pinched her thigh so the pain would keep her face straight. "It never misses?"
He shook his head. "Purt' near perfect record."
"Wow. That's amazing." They stood in silence for a long moment. "Can I help you with something, Mr. Caskey?"
"Please call me Jim, ma'am. Mr. Caskey's my dad."
"Okay—Jim. Do you think you could call me Maddie? Ma'am makes me feel as if I could be your mother."
His face creased in a wide grin, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, trust me, ma'am—uh, Maddie. My mother never looked anything like you. Fact is, me and Sonny, we can't help noticin'—"
"Sonny is the other gentleman who works with you?"
"Yes, ma'am—uh, Mad
die. But he's married, too." Jim's eyes lost their sparkle. "I mean, his wife's real nice and all, just that you should know..."
Maddie wasn't sure how much longer she could keep her face straight. If there was a point to this conversation, she wondered if they'd reach it today. "I understand, Jim. I'll try to keep my hands to myself."
The man looked honestly horrified. "Oh, I never meant that you would—" His face went redder than the tomatoes beside her. He cleared his throat. "Actually, it's just that I noticed—well, me and Sonny noticed that you sure seem to like this garden. Seems odd for a city girl."
Maddie resisted a sigh of frustration. "It's a treat to take food straight off the plant instead of the grocery shelves."
"Well, my Velda's got peach trees and I brought you some of her peaches, if you think you'd like them. But if you don't, that's all right."
"Fresh peaches?" Maddie's heart thumped.
"Picked this morning."
"Oh, Jim, that's wonderful!" Maddie hugged a fistful of beans to her breast. "I may faint from pleasure."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Aw, please don't do that. I'd have to catch you and then Boone would get all mad and Velda would skin and gut me...it wouldn't hardly be worth it."
Maddie did laugh then. "Velda is your wife?"
"Thirty-four years."
"That's wonderful. How romantic."
"Well, now." He shuffled again. "Velda don't think I'm very romantic."
"Staying with the same woman for thirty-four years sounds pretty romantic to me, Jim. Especially since your voice tells me you love her."
He reddened once more. "Well, I, uh—sure I do." Then he glanced up, assessing. "You're not like Helen at all."
"Helen?"
"Boone's wife."
Maddie couldn't contain her shock. "Boone has a wife?"
"She's dead. Died a couple of years back."
"I'm so sorry." That explained the shadows. "Boone must have been devastated."
Jim's voice went flat. "He was. But she hated this place."
Maddie frowned.
"She was a fancy woman, a city girl like you. But she never tried to like it. Between her and Sam, they made Boone's life hell."
Texas Secrets (Texas Heroes) Page 5
