“Well, boss, I was just thinking that from what I saw over there the other morning, you’ve already given Miss Mari more than a hand.” He chuckled as Trey looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“Bandy, what in the hell are you talking about?” he demanded indignantly.
“When I came up on the two of you in the barn that morning, you was giving her a lot more than a hand. You was giving her both your arms and your lips, too.” The older man threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “I wouldn’t think you’d be wanting her to pull up and leave these parts. Can’t say as I blame you. She’s as fine-looking a woman as I’ve ever seen outside of the picture shows down there in Jackson. If I was a younger man, I’d give you a run for your money, and that’s a fact.”
“Now wait just a damn minute, you old coot!” Trey sputtered indignantly. “That was completely innocent. She got stuck up in the barn loft and I was helping her down. That’s all there was to it,” he said firmly.
Bandy snorted. “Hmph! That wasn’t what I seen. You couldn’t have drove a piece of paper between the two of you with a sledgehammer. So I just made myself scarce, not wanting to embarrass you or nothing.”
“It wasn’t what it looked like. I admit I got sort of carried away and kissed her, but I’m not stupid enough to get mixed up with anybody like her again. So just put that thought right out of your shiny head or I’ll think your brains must have fallen out when your hair did.” Trey swiped a hand across Bandy’s bald pate affectionately, then got up, crumpling his empty beer can and tossing it into a wastebasket. “Now come on, let’s go see if Consuelo’s got lunch ready to put on the table.”
Bandy followed and seated himself across from Trey at the wide plank table, grinning broadly.
Trey heaved an exasperated sigh. “Go ahead. Spit it out,” he said. “I know you. The subject won’t be closed until you’ve finished having your say.”
“Boss,” Bandy said. “I’ve known you since you came into this world. I saw the way you looked at Miss Mari. If you think that’s all there was to it, helping her down from the loft and helping yourself to a little kiss, then I’d say that your brains musta fallen out recently.” He leaned back in his chair and gave Trey a shrewd, twinkling glance. “Probably about the time you laid eyes on that red-haired woman.”
Marielle spent the rest of the week putting her little house in order. She’d gone down into Jackson Hole, and bought paint and wallpaper. She looked around the living room and surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. Just taking away the thick layer of dust and Uncle Dan’s accumulation of debris, then adding some of her most favored personal possessions had improved the place considerably.
She’d unearthed Granny Steven’s old sewing machine in a bedroom closet and planned on using it to make new curtains and furniture covers. She grinned, remembering how her friend Samantha liked to tease her about her nesting instincts. It was true she enjoyed making her surroundings pleasant and comfortable. She wouldn’t exactly call herself Susie Homemaker, though, especially since she’d never learned to cook. Maybe that would be something else she could learn up here, she mused. It would be nice to know how to prepare herself a good meal. She made a mental note to borrow a few cookbooks from the library down in Jackson Hole.
Marielle inspected her indoor herb garden—clay pots planted with thyme, rosemary, oregano, and parsley. If she learned to cook, she could actually use the herbs, instead of just growing them for the heck of it. She’d brought them from New York, and inspected each plant carefully now for signs of stress. She’d read that sometimes a change in water or light could cause plants to go into a decline and die. That didn’t seem to be the case here. They looked robust and healthy. She leaned over and sniffed the fragrant rosemary appreciatively. No, she decided, the plants seemed to have made the move and settled right into the new surroundings without a problem.
Better than she had, in fact.
Marielle reminded herself that she had accomplished quite a bit for her first week here. There were a few things that she’d have to replace. The hot water heater, for example, didn’t produce anything more than barely tepid water. She’d have to get someone to look at it and possible install a new one. She added that to her mental list of things to ask Trey about.
For some reason, she mused, just talking to him had become increasingly important. She got up from the couch, feeling suddenly restless, and paced around the small living room. Was she actually hoping he’d come back … .and often? Just because he happened to be the sexiest, most magnetically compelling man she’d ever run across in her thirty-one years was no reason for her to want him around all the time. Right? Wrong. She wandered into the kitchen and stared out the window. Okay, longing for masculine company was only natural.
Her self-esteem had suffered lately and she simply needed an attractive man to treat her like an attractive woman. End of story.
Still looking out the window, Marielle saw Trey’s truck pulling up in front of her house and felt her heart begin to race in excitement. Uh-oh, she thought darkly. This was not good. Not good at all.
Damn! She cursed silently, fighting her traitorous emotions. She had to get her hormones under control right away, she lectured herself sternly. And keep reminding herself of all the perfectly sound reasons why it was inadvisable for her to go off the deep end over Mr. Peter J. Masterson III.
She could handle it, she reassured herself. Of course she could. Piece of cake. She nodded and squared her shoulders, please with her pep talk. Marielle paused in mid thought, staring with something akin to horror at the tube of lipstick she held in her hand. Only then did it occur to her that the whole time she’d been buoying herself up she’d somehow made her way to the bathroom mirror—as though on automatic pilot—to hastily scan her appearance before she went to the door and faced Trey.
She snatched up her brush and gave her hair a few vicious swipes, frustrated by her weakness and female vanity, then went to answer his knock at her door.
She opened the door to find Trey leaning casually against the doorjamb. He smiled when he saw her, a slow, sexy smile that turned her bones to water. She smiled right back.
“Hi,” she said pertly. “What brings you around this morning? Another riding lesson?”
She hoped not. Although she didn’t want him to know it, her bottom was so sore from her learning experiences on horseback the past few days that she could hardly sit down. Her inner thighs looked and felt as though someone had assaulted her with a floor sander.
“Not today. I’ve got a rifle for you to use until we get Dan’s cleaned and ready. I promised to teach you how to shoot, remember? We’ll go over to a little canyon a few miles from here and do some target shooting if you have time to go. Do you?” he asked.
“Of course.” She laughed. “I’m a woman of leisure now, you know. If you have the time to teach me, I have the time to be taught.”
Trey cast a glance around t he living room. “It doesn’t look to me like you’re a woman of leisure,” he remarked. “This place looks much better. I’d say you’ve been working your butt off for the last few days.” Marielle shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She cleared her throat nervously.
“Well, uh, yes,” she stammered. “I have worked hard. Every muscle in my body is screaming in protest. I had no idea I was so out of shape,” she told him, then wanted to bite her tongue. Why, oh why, she berated herself, did she have to mention her body and then follow up with words that could be misinterpreted? She’d practically issued a subtle invitation for him to check her out with those dark eyes. He didn’t decline the invitation, either, she noticed. He completed a long, lazy assessment on the body in questions, then flashed a wickedly sexy smile at Marielle.
“I don’t see anything wrong with the shape of your body, Marielle,” Trey said softly. His low, husky drawl set her heart thudding, racing like a mad thing. She swallowed. This man’s charm was potent.
“However,” he continued. �
��I feel obligated to point out that if you feel that way after just being inside doing housework for a few days, how you think you’ll ever manage working outside in the freezing weather, doing hard, physical labor? Have you thought of that?”
Marielle stiffened. So he was still determined to try and discourage her about staying here.
“Yes, I’ve thought of that,” she informed him rather haughtily. “I’m not stupid, you know.” She felt herself blush, remembering all the mishaps he’d witnessed since she came here. No wonder he didn’t credit her with the intellectual capability of a fruit fly, she told herself bitterly.
“I wasn’t implying anything like that, Marielle,” Trey replied gently. She watched as his gorgeous lips twitched upwards. “I realize that you’re a very intelligent woman, but there’s a big difference between being book smart and being able to do practical, everyday things. Especially things that require more brute strength than you possess.” He walked around the room casually as he spoke, idly inspecting the furnishings.
Marielle watched him with narrowed eyes, too incensed to trust herself to speak. Book smart, indeed, she railed inwardly. As if she were some old absent-minded professor.
Trey ambled over to the table that held the array of herbs. He looked at them, then quirked an eyebrow at Marielle inquiringly.
“Herbs,” she said shortly, replying to his unspoken question. “I brought them here with me from New York.”
Trey rocked back on his heels and surveyed her quizzically, smiling. Despite her righteous indignation, Marielle couldn’t help but notice how the action accentuated his lithe body and strong, muscular things, displayed so annoyingly well in his faded jeans.
“Mari, Mari, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” Trey quipped, chuckling.
Marielle’s chin went up defiantly. She was glad that he found her so damned amusing, she thought huffily. Then their eyes met, and she couldn’t resist the sparkle of good-natured humor she read in his. She felt an unwilling smile tug at her own lips, and then they were both laughing.
“So, are you ready for your first class in Marksmanship 101?” Trey asked when their mirth had subsided.
“Sure, I’ll be right out,” Marielle answered, happy that she wouldn’t have to climb back into the saddle today. She gingerly made her way down the front steps. She was almost too sore to walk, much less ride a horse at the moment.
Yes, this was much better than another session polishing her equestrian skills, she thought, as he reversed the truck and started down the long driveway toward the main road. Much better. She’d been a brave little trouper about the riding lessons. The plain truth was that she didn’t feel at all comfortable perched up there on the broad back of a horse.
But learning to shoot might be a horse of a different color, so to speak. Her hand-eye coordination had always been pretty good. With a little luck, she could acquit herself better as a marksman than she had on horseback, perhaps make up for all the embarrassing incidents that Trey had witnessed since she’d been here.
“Now, I don’t want you to be the least bit nervous about this, Marielle,” Trey told her. “There are just a few basic rules to learn about handling a gun, and then it’s a simple matter of practicing until you can hit your target most of the time. And remember what I told you before we started any of these lessons: we’re not trying to make you into Annie Oakley or anything. So just relax and don’t worry about it.” He smiled at her reassuringly and patted her hand.
“Thanks, Trey. But I’m not nervous, really,” Marielle said, giving him a bright smile, “I know I haven’t done too well with the riding. But I think this will be different. I have a feeling that I’ll do a lot better learning to shoot than learning to ride.”
Marielle saw a look of relief pass over Trey’s face. “That’s the spirit!” he said. “Here we are. This is the canyon. Just let me set up the target,” he told her, hoisting several bales of straw from the back of the truck. Marielle watched as he stacked and arranged the bales into a large square at the base of the canyon wall, then taped a big paper bull’s-eye on them.
Oh boy, she thought happily. It was a nice big target. She didn’t see how she could miss it. All she’d have to do was aim and pull the trigger and she was bound to hit at least some part of the darned thing. She smiled, relishing the prospect of finally doing something halfway right around Trey.
An hour later on the way back home, Marielle sat hunched miserably on her side of the truck. She thought back to her high spirits and optimism a short while ago at the beginning of this ill-fated outing and choked back a bitter, ironic laugh.
She stole a sideways glance at Trey. His profile as he stared straight ahead at the road was grim. She noticed a muscle twitch in his jaw. She cleared her throat nervously to speak, a little unsure about what to say but feeling that she really should say something.
“Trey,” she told him hesitantly, “I’m sorry I shot your truck.”
Trey looked over at Marielle. “That’s all right, Marielle,” he said. “It was my fault. I should have taken the gun away from you after you shot the tail feathers off the hawk that was foolhardy enough to invade your airspace.”
“That was an accident!” she exclaimed. “You know I didn’t mean to shoot that poor bird. At least I didn’t really hurt it much. It flew away.”
“No, you didn’t hurt it much. Its tail feathers will grow back eventually. You probably hurt its pride more than anything,” he told her. “And I realize that you didn’t intend to shoot it.” He cast a glance at Marielle, his expression sober. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You weren’t aiming anywhere close to that hawk.” He swerved to avoid a particularly deep pothole in the road. “Or my truck,” he muttered.
Marielle felt terrible. He was angry and disgusted with her and she couldn’t blame him. He’d tried to help her and what had she done? Blown a hole in the side of his shiny red pickup truck. She still wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. She was just relieved that it hadn’t been worse—that she hadn’t shot him.
“Well,” she said attempting a small conciliatory smile in his direction, “You did say that you weren’t trying to turn me into another Annie Oakley, remember?
Trey met her gaze, unblinking, his dark eyes looking directly into hers. “I wasn’t going for Calamity Jane, either!” he answered.
Marielle felt herself turn scarlet, as she searched for the words to assure him that she’d pay for the damage to his truck. As she opened her mouth to speak, she saw his own mouth twitching at the corners. He broke into a broad grin and throwing his head back, laughed uproariously.
“Mari,” he said, still chuckling, “I’m sorry. I was just having some fun with you. I couldn’t resist teasing you a little. I’m not worried about the truck. It’s a work truck, after all. You should have seen my last one. I don’t consider a truck broken in good till it’s got a few holes in it.” He flashed her a wide, reassuring smile.
“You’re … you’re not made at me?” she inquired. “You don’t think I’m a klutz?” Marielle caught her breath as her turned the full impact of his sexy smile on her. He reached across and patted her hand. She felt a jolt of electricity travel all the way up her arms and straight to her heart.
“Of course I’m not mad at you,” Trey said gently. He patted her hand again soothingly and she shivered as more of those lightning bolts raced through her body. “Nor do I think that you’re a klutz. Why, you’re as graceful as a….”—he hesitated a beat—” a gazelle.”
Heartened by his kind words, Marielle started to thank him for them and then noticed that his full, sensuous lips had quirked upwards again. He chuckled. She flung his hand from her own. “Peter J. Masterson, you’re laughing at me again!” she told him hotly, then felt her own laughter bubbling up irrepressibly.
She stopped laughing when they hit a bump in the road that jounced her still-sore bottom painfully. She winced and gingerly shifted her position on the truck seat, trying to ease some of the discom
fort.
Trey’s laughter stilled and he looked at her questioningly. “Marielle, is something wrong?”
She clenched her teeth and spoke as stoically as she could while they bounced across a particularly rough stretch of road. “I’m, uh, just a little sore, that’s all. From horseback riding.”
With a muffled oath, Trey swung the pickup off the pavement and parked on the side of the road. He turned to Marielle, his concern evident. “God!” he exclaimed. “I’m an idiot! Of course you’re sore—saddle sore. I should have known that. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something earlier, Mari?”
“Why? What could you have done about it?” she asked him. “If there’s some magic cowboy cure, lay it on me.” She indicated her lower torso with a rueful grimace. “From the inside of my knees up it feels like I’ve been through a meat grinder. Not to mention certain other, er, areas. I guess it’s a good think I hadn’t had much time to sit around the last few days.”
Trey moved closer to her and spoke softly. “I don’t have a magic cowboy cure. I wish I did. But I’d be more than glad to kiss it and make it better if you want to give that a try.”
Marielle was caught in the spell of his teasing voice. She stared at him, mesmerized, as she thought about his sensuous lips trailing across her bruised flesh. Would it make it better? Without a doubt. But even if it didn’t … .it would sure take her mind off her pain.
With a supreme effort of will, she tore her gaze from his. “Maybe we’d better stick to more conventional treatment,” she told him. “Is there some sort of cream or lotion or something I can use that will help?”
He grinned. “So you don’t have much faith in my powers as a medicine man, huh? Seriously, Mari, the best thing for what ails you is a long soak in the hottest water you can stand, with some Epsom salts and a handful of Consuelo’s mysterious herbs thrown in for good measure.” Seeing her inquisitive look, he went on. “Consuelo is my cook and housekeeper. Also my mother hen, fountain of advice, and occasional nurse. She’s been on the ranch longer than I have. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He started the truck and pulled back out onto the blacktop. “I’ll just drop you off, go right over to my place and pick up a bath of Consuelo’s herbs, and bring them to you to put in your bath water.”
Cowboys are Forever Page 5
