To the Clays and everyone who came under their umbrella, family was family. Love was love.
It was that simple.
So Lucy swallowed her protests that she was fine and didn’t need them worrying about her and let Gloria, who was a retired nurse, fuss over her knee and let Squire, who’d become an unrepentant and somewhat wily nosy body in his later years, guilt her into eating not only half of one of the decadent rolls, but the whole darned thing.
Spaghetti the night before.
Fat, fluffy cinnamon rolls now.
She’d be working out for hours just to calm her conscience.
Then, before Gloria and Squire departed, one of Lucy’s cousins, Sarah Scalise, showed up with her three kids in tow.
The house just got more crowded as the morning wore on.
And even though Lucy was truly delighted to see each and every one of them, she couldn’t help but be aware of the silence from the back of the house where the day before had come the sound of Beck’s power tools and hammer.
He hadn’t shown up that morning at all.
Because of that strange, stilted dance they’d conducted over his mercy package of spaghetti? Or because of something that had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with her?
A part of her chided herself for thinking that she might have had any disturbing effect on the man strong enough to make him keep his distance. But another part of her knew that…disturbing…had definitely been one of the things floating in the air between them.
“So, we’ll all meet at Colbys tomorrow night,” Sarah was saying as she stood in the doorway, keeping a weather eye out on her two thirteen-year-olds—Eli and Megan—as they kept their four-year-old brother, Ben, occupied in the front yard. “Girls’ night out.” She’d already made plans with the rest of the cousins to meet in town. “We’ll catch up on all the gossip and drink until we’re silly and my husband’s deputy sheriffs will have to drive us all home.” She grinned. “Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” Lucy had a smile on her lips because she was looking forward to it, but she also knew her gaze kept straying past her cousin to search the road for signs of a dark blue pickup truck.
“Sure you don’t want me to come out and get you?” Sarah lived in the town proper, whereas most everyone else lived in the outlying rural areas, like the Lazy-B.
“I drove here all the way from New York,” Lucy reminded her wryly. “I think I can make it into town from here.”
“And I still can’t believe that you rented a car to drive it,” Sarah returned. “It would have been so much quicker to fly.”
Lucy shrugged. “I like to drive.” She was not averse to flying, but she’d needed the long hours on wide-open roads to get her head together and shake off the worst of her feelings about what she’d left behind.
In one part, she’d been fairly successful.
She could think about the cheating pig, for example, without wanting to break something. Namely his handsome face.
In another part, however, she had accomplished nothing. Because she was no closer to knowing what to do with her life if she couldn’t go back as a dancer than she had been when she’d packed up her dressing room at NEBT.
As she left, Sarah was still shaking her head as if she couldn’t fathom Lucy’s decision. “See you tomorrow evening,” she called as she corralled her kids into her SUV.
Lucy nodded and waved, and even after her cousin was long gone, she kept checking the road for signs of Beck.
Eventually, she told herself she was being ridiculous and made herself stop. She’d dressed in her usual workout clothes—stretchy camisole and dance pants—when she’d finally made it up the stairs that morning. After having slept on the couch all night with her knee elevated on a pillow, it had settled down so well that she’d been able to go up and down the stairs with very little difficulty at all.
She filled a water bottle, grabbed her cell phone and headed across her freshly mowed grass toward the old barn that was situated closest to the house.
It was there that her father had put together a virtual at-home rehab unit when she’d been twelve, and the very basic notion of walking again had been nearly out of reach. All of the equipment was still there, situated in a partioned area that consumed half of the barn’s space along with a portable dance floor that she’d had installed herself nearly ten years ago. Neither were exactly state-of-the-art, but everything was perfectly maintained and perfectly serviceable for Lucy’s purposes.
There was a boom box that was as old as she was stored on the shelves that her father had built, alongside fat, folded tumbling mats and towels that—when she plucked one off the stack—smelled freshly laundered.
Which meant, she thought with a vague smile, that Belle was probably still using the barn as a workout space. Her father had never needed to use equipment or weights to stay in shape, not when he had an entire ranch as his workout arena.
She plugged in the boom box, popped in a random CD from the stack of them on the shelf and dragged down one of the thick mats, flipping it out in the center of the floor in front of the mirror that lined one wall.
Then, with the sound of some New Agey music that Belle must have chosen filling the lofty space, Lucy got down to work.
It was the music that got his attention. More specifically, it got Shelby’s attention, which meant that Beck couldn’t just ignore it because he figured it was coming from the dancer anyway.
He somehow doubted that Caleb Buchanan was the one responsible for the lush orchestration of some classical music that his mind recognized even if he couldn’t identify the composer.
It had been a hectic morning, not helped by the fact that the leader of Shelby’s day camp had come down sick and cancelled the day. And Stan had an AA meeting over in Braden that he attended every week on Friday mornings, after which he was driving down to Cheyenne to pick up Nick, who was flying in that afternoon from Princeton.
The second Beck parked the truck where he usually did near the house, Shelby hopped out, clutching Gertrude the rabbit. Like a dog scenting game, his daughter jerked her head around as she listened for the source of the music. “What’s that?”
“Sounds like music to me.” He grabbed the bag of books and toys he’d pulled together to keep her entertained, then lifted his toolbox from the truck bed and went around the truck to her. “Come on.” He touched the top of her silky head. “I’m working around the back of the house.”
Once he had her situated in the shade nearby, he figured he could get in at least a good hour or two before the afternoon was spent. The trick, he knew, was to make sure Shelby stayed occupied. Because once she got bored, there was no way he’d be able to get any real work accomplished.
“It’s coming from over there,” Shelby whispered. She was squinting into the sunlight as she pointed her finger toward the older of the two barns.
The only reason Beck knew what the barn contained was because half of the building supplies he’d ordered for the project were stored there until he’d need them.
He had an image of Lucy hobbling her way from the house over to the barn and felt his nerves tightening up.
He set the toolbox and Shelby’s bag on a stack of lumber, and took his daughter’s hand. “Come on.”
She gave him a startled look, but hurried to keep up with him as he strode to the barn.
The door was pushed open to the warm afternoon, and as they stepped through, the music was so loud that it was almost deafening.
And his heart damn near stopped in his throat when he saw Lucy sprawled face down, unmoving, on one of the wide blue mats that had been spread out atop the dark gray floor that took up most of the space.
Curses floated inside his head. He should have had the presence of mind to keep Shelby at bay. He let go of her hand. “Stay here.” He didn’t wait for any more of an answer than her widening eyes, before he strode across the springy floor.
He reached Lucy’s side and crouched next to her. Memories of the
day he’d found his wife collapsed in their home crowded his mind, making his stomach churn and his hand shake as he reached out to touch the back of that blond head. “Luc—”
Her head whipped up, her hair flying out around her back. Her pale blue eyes were clearly startled. “Beck!”
Relief froze him into place. His heart climbed back out of his throat. Nausea seeped away.
And all that was left was anger.
“Goddammit, Lucy,” he cursed softly. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Working out,” she said and her voice had turned just as chilly as her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She pushed up to her hands and knees and he could see the sheen of sweat on her face and her chest above the low scoop of her clinging pink shirt. A sheen that was echoed on her bare shoulders and arms.
“Working out?” He nearly choked. “Last night you couldn’t even make it up a staircase.”
Her lips tightened. “That was last night.” She straightened her knees beneath her, sending her rear end—perfectly displayed in body-molding black pants that ended around her ankles—up in the air, and with her hands still planted on the mat in front of him, stretched. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my stretching.” She lowered her head and the long, thick strands of her nearly white hair slid over her shoulders to coil on the mat between her hands.
He scrubbed his hand down his face and sat back on his butt. Images swirled inside his head. Harmony, racked with pain that he couldn’t alleviate as her eyes begged for release. Lucy, lithe, slender and golden, as she watched him with those otherworldly, sultry eyes.
And now that body was on display in a clinging fabric that assured him that even though she was thin, that thinness was comprised of perfectly sculpted flesh. Lean. Strong. Female…
“Daddy?”
He jerked, feeling like a damn kid caught staring at something forbidden, and Lucy’s head whipped up again.
He was used to his daughter’s half-whispered voice, was always attuned to it. But how Lucy heard it above the music was something else.
She straightened slowly and the blue of her eyes warmed as she spotted his pint-size daughter.
She sent Beck a questioning look before she moved across the mat and hit a button on a large, outdated boom box. The music ceased and the silence that came after it seemed almost as deafening. “Who is this?” she asked. She walked toward Shelby, her gentle question clearly meant for his daughter.
Shelby was staring wide-eyed at Lucy, her stuffed rabbit clutched protectively to her chest.
Beck shoved to his feet.
Despite the pain he’d seen on Lucy’s face the previous day, the way she was moving now told him that his worry had been for nothing.
She moved as smoothly as water flowing over rocks.
And watching her was just as mesmerizing.
Dammit.
“This is my daughter. Shelby.” He headed toward her. “And we’ll get out of your hair.”
Lucy gave him a thin look and deliberately stepped behind his daughter, neatly cutting off his exit. Then she bent her knees until she was on Shelby’s level. “I’m Lucy.” She stuck out her hand as if she were meeting an adult. “And it’s very nice to meet you, Shelby.”
Shelby blinked a little, then shyly extended her own hand. Lucy’s smile widened, revealing that dimple again, as they shook. Then she tugged on the rabbit’s fabric ear. “And who is this?”
“Gertrude,” Shelby answered so promptly that Beck nearly did a double take.
“Hello, Gertrude,” Lucy greeted the rabbit and shook one of the faded paws. “I’ll bet you and Shelby are the very best of friends.”
Beck’s gut tightened again. “Come on, Shelby. I’ve still got some work to do before Grandpa gets back with Nick.” He held out his hand and his daughter obediently tucked her narrow fingers into his. He sidestepped around Lucy.
“You’re here to work?” Lucy straightened again, somehow managing yet again to block his exit.
“What else would I be here for?”
Her gaze flickered, and his head filled again with the way she’d felt the night before when he’d carried her to the couch.
The way she’d felt.
The way she’d looked.
And the fact that he had looked, just as he did now.
His hand tightened around Shelby’s. “Come on, peanut.”
“Wait.” Again Lucy stopped him. “What’s Shelby going to do?”
His jaw was so tight that it felt like his molars were grinding to dust. “She has her books and toys.”
“She could stay here with me,” Lucy suggested, clearly not swayed by his abruptness. Her gaze slipped away from his to look at his daughter. “We could get to know each other.” She smiled at Shelby.
“She’ll be fine with me.” He took another step, but the resistance tugging at his hand was so unexpected that it penetrated even his urgent desire to put some distance between him and the disturbing woman.
He looked at his daughter. She was clutching the rabbit with her other hand and her lashes lifted enough to peep up at him. “I wanna stay.”
His molars were definitely grinding together.
It was a wonder all three of them couldn’t hear it.
“Lucy’s doing her own…work,” he said. “And she doesn’t need to be playing babysitter.”
Shelby’s lashes swept down again. The corners of her lips turned down. “Lucy can say well enough what she wants to do,” Lucy countered smoothly. “I’ve already offered.” She swept her hand above her head, then down to her side as she lowered into a small—and definitely goading—plié. “And my work, as you say, is pretty much done for the day.”
He didn’t want to agree.
It wasn’t particularly logical. He didn’t begrudge Shelby spending time away from him. She went to school. She went to her summer day camp. She had even—on a few rare occasions—spent the night at Annie Pope’s house.
But he didn’t want her spending time with Lucy Buchanan.
He looked from the glint in Lucy’s eyes to the disappointment in Shelby’s. And felt, too, the resistance in Shelby’s hand.
How often did his daughter actually express what she wanted?
He let go of her little hand. “Fine.” He didn’t let himself look back at Lucy. It was obvious that the woman wasn’t in danger of physically collapsing and he would be within shouting distance no matter what. “For an hour,” he warned his daughter, cutting short the time he’d planned to work and not caring one whit. “And then we’ll go home and see Nick.”
Shelby’s eyes widened and looked up at him again. She nodded wordlessly.
He turned away, only to stop dead when Lucy’s hand closed over his bare forearm. “Thank you.”
He didn’t want her thanks. He damn sure didn’t want to feel his nerve endings coming to life beneath the feather-light touch of her warm palm.
It was July.
The only thing he wanted was to feel as little as possible, to survive the month the best he could and endure another year without his wife before July rolled around yet again.
He shifted and Lucy’s hand fell away.
The nerve endings still didn’t stop dancing their annoying jig.
“If she gets to be too much, yell.”
Lucy’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m sure that won’t be the case.” She gave a quick wink toward Shelby.
His painfully shy daughter was clearly fascinated.
He wished he could be happy about that.
“An hour,” he said again, and then he walked out of the barn.
Lucy bit back a sigh as Beck stomped away, but when she looked down at his daughter, she made sure none of her unsettled feelings about the man showed on her face.
“So, Miss Shelby. How old are you?”
The little girl’s narrow shoulders hunched a little. “Six.” The answer was so soft that Lucy had to bend closer to hear.
“Six.” She held out h
er hand and couldn’t help feeling a little triumphant when Shelby took it with much less reserve than her timid expression indicated. “So what grade does that put you in? Sixth?”
Shelby shook her head emphatically. “Sixth is for the big kids. I’m little.”
“Ah, I see,” she said seriously. “Then you’re going to be in…kindergarten?”
“No! First.”
“Of course.” Lucy pressed her hand to her chest. “Silly me. Maybe I need to go back to school myself!” She tilted her head toward the exercise equipment and the mats. “So do you want to come into my playroom?” Shelby nodded.
They padded across the springy mats and Shelby kicked off her little white tennis shoes as they went until she was as barefooted as Lucy was and Lucy grinned. “Do you like music?”
Again, a nod.
Lucy pulled down a handful of CDs from the shelf. What did she have on hand that would appeal to a six-year-old girl? “Do you know what kind you like?” There wasn’t any Hannah Montana or whatever it was that little girls wanted to listen to these days, but there were some soundtracks from old Disney movies.
Shelby suddenly reached up and pushed Gertrude onto the shelf where the boom box sat and punched the “play” button. Rachmaninov immediately blasted again through the barn. “I like that,” the little girl said clearly.
Lucy laughed and turned down the volume. “Well, okay, then.” She brushed her finger down Shelby’s straight nose that was a miniature version of her father’s. “Sweetheart, you and I are going to get along just fine.”
And Shelby smiled.
Thank goodness at least one member of the Ventura family hadn’t forgotten how.
“Another round, ladies?” Their server at Colbys stopped next to Lucy the next evening and glanced around the crowded table.
There were seven of them in all because even her cousin, Angeline, who was about ready to pop with the baby she was carrying, had driven over from Sheridan with her family for the weekend. Seven and not a single man among them.
The Rancher's Dance Page 5
