Accidental Hero
Page 6
Ruby cocked her cheek for his kiss, then turned a brief, sharp eye on him and kept walking toward a table. “Didn’t see you in church this mornin’.”
Rolling his eyes, Ross followed along behind her. Her waitresses carried the heavy trays to the tables now, but Ruby still liked to take the coffeepots around herself. “Aunt Ruby, you haven’t seen me in church for years.”
“Wouldn’t hurt you to go now and then. Jess, Casey and the baby were there.”
“Someone had to water the horses.”
“They wouldn’t have died of thirst while you were gone.”
Sighing, Ross gave up defending himself. He nodded toward the lunch counter. “I’ll see you over there when you’re finished.”
“Don’t run off now. This is important.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Ross waved to a few friends who were willing to give a man a second chance, then ambled over to the lunch counter and took a seat. Most of the red vinyl stools were vacant, the Sunday morning “family crowd” having chosen booths and tables. When he took off his hat, he laid it on the stool beside him.
Ruby returned quickly, scooting behind the counter with her empty pots. She glanced at his Stetson. “Savin’ that space for some nice, church-goin’ young woman?”
So they were back to that again. The “something” that she wanted to talk about became crystal clear. “Nope, I’ve already got a woman picked out.”
“Well, if her name’s Maggie Bristol, you coulda seen her earlier if waterin’ them horses hadn’t been so dang important to you.”
Ross’s interest piqued. “Maggie was at church?”
“She’s the daughter of a preacher and a good, God-fearin’ young woman. Where else would she be on Sunday mornin’?”
Ruby grabbed a fresh pot and poured a cup of coffee for him, then slid a spoon and the chrome-and-glass sugar dispenser his way. The twinkle in her eyes said that she thought she had the inside scoop—that he’d finally met his match and was ready to settle down. If Ruby knew a commitment was the last thing on his mind, he thought, she wouldn’t be quite so smug.
“So what did Maggie have to say?”
“Oh, some of this, some of that.” When he didn’t ask for specific “this” and “thats,” she cackled and leaned close, peering over her spectacles. “Guess yer wonderin’ if she asked about you.”
“No, because she probably didn’t.”
“That’s right. She didn’t.”
Ross felt a jolt of annoyance. So he wasn’t on Maggie’s mind day and night. So what? He didn’t think of her all that often, either. He stirred sugar into his coffee, then clinked the spoon into his saucer.
“You missed the announcement about the church social next Sunday,” Ruby persisted.
“Should I care?”
“Well,” she said, grabbing a wet cloth and wiping a coffee ring off the counter. “I happened to see Trent Campion in church, and he seemed to care. Has a date already picked out, too, if I read him right.”
Ross watched her take the rag over the same stretch of counter several more times, and sighed audibly. “All right, you know you’re dying to tell me what’s going on, so why don’t you just do it?”
Ruby stopped wiping, and her pale eyes lit with mischief. “There’s gonna be a box-lunch auction in the churchyard for the single folks. The ladies bring a picnic and the fellas bring a blanket to picnic on.”
“So?”
“So the fellas bid on the basket they like the best, and the money goes toward the new church roof. The gal whose lunch was bought is obliged to eat with the bachelor.” Ruby sent him a meaningful glance. “She ain’t allowed to say no. Lots of pretty young things have already signed up fer it.”
Ross felt a low stirring in his belly as he finally got Ruby’s point. Maggie was participating, and Trent planned to buy her basket
Well, Ross didn’t think so. He remembered how her body had fit so perfectly to his the day he’d kissed her—recalled thinking she’d actually wanted to be with him yesterday at the rodeo. But afterward, she’d dropped him off at the ranch with all the warmth of an IRS auditor, and he hadn’t seen her since.
Ross took a long swallow of his coffee, then finished it. Maybe it was time to show her that when he wanted something badly enough, he didn’t give up until he got it. That’s what this town expected of him, right? “So, are there names on these picnic baskets?”
“Nope. It’s potluck. Whoever you git, you git.”
Ross met Ruby’s shrewd blue eyes. “I want to know which one’s hers,” he said. “Can you find out?”
“It’ll cost ya.”
It would cost him? Well, this was a first.
Sighing, he stood and pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. “How much?”
Ruby’s long-suffering stare called him a dolt. “I don’t want your money, nephew. I want you to go to church.” Reaching high, she tugged the light-brown hair at his nape. “And get a haircut before the auction. It’s hangin’ all over yer collar.”
Chuckling, Ross leaned down to kiss her goodbye. “Keeps the sun off my neck, gorgeous.” He flashed her another grin as he pulled his hat back on. “How will you find out which one’s hers?”
“Did I take care of yer trouble with Trent Campion?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t worry about me figurin’ this one out, either. You just park yourself in a pew and I’ll handle the rest.”
After a full, sweaty week of running new wire, sinking fence posts, and branding and vaccinating the new calves, Ross was ready for a sweet, clean distraction.
Maggie didn’t disappoint.
He and Ruby were seated midway up the church aisle, with Ruby planted firmly on the end to make sure he didn’t “run off.” Lexi’s low-grade fever had kept Casey and Jess home today, but Ross recognized nearly everyone else. And while there had been a few old biddies who’d whispered behind their hands when he walked in, the roof hadn’t caved in and no one had run for cover. Apparently, God was more forgiving than were the locals.
Two pews ahead of him and across the aisle, Maggie held a hymnal and sang softly beside her aunt Lila. She wore a white, gauzy-looking dress that was belted at the waist and fell to just below her knees. Her hair tumbled in silky black waves over her shoulders. Perfect, he thought. Perfect from the feathery bangs brushing her eyebrows to the soles of her heeled straw sandals.
He was still admiring the view when Reverend Fremont wished everyone a good day and invited the congregation downstairs for refreshments, and the auction—single people only participating, of course. Ross couldn’t wait for the bidding to begin. Because while he’d been watching Maggie, he’d noticed the overly cologned, spruced-up showboat in front of him eyeing her, too.
As the organist hit a few sharp keys, and the small church reverberated with the swelling strains of the recessional hymn, Trent and his father slowly filed out ahead of him. Ross looked over Ruby’s tiny four feet eleven inches, and sent the younger Campion a slow smile. His eyes never left Trent’s as he spoke to his aunt. “You’re sure about which basket is Maggie’s, right, Aunt Ruby?”
“Saw her bring it in with my own two eyes.”
Trent expelled a mirthless laugh, and as he shuffled past them, said, “Forget it, cattle thief. My pockets are a lot deeper than yours.”
“We’ll see. Beaten any horses lately?”
Ben Campion whirled on Ross, then froze, apparently realizing that there was nothing he could do about the remark without creating more of a stir. Then, with a nerve leaping in his jaw, Ben hustled his son past a few curious parishioners who’d caught the exchange.
The very first basket up for bids was a large wicker affair with pale-pink silk roses and a big white bow tied to the side of the handle. The generous contents were covered with a pink-edged, white linen napkin; cut-glass stemware protruded from one side, wrapped in matching napkins and tied with pink ribbons.
Ross started the bidding at twenty dollars.<
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Trent overbid him at every turn. Anytime anyone went higher, Trent upped the price. Soon it was only the two of them bidding, with Ross sending Trent a curdling look after every increase. Finally, Trent called out a bid, Ross smiled in satisfaction, and cat-lady Bessie Holsopple’s pretty basket went for one hundred dollars. The rage in Trent Campion’s eyes told Ross he’d made an enemy for life.
Maggie’s basket was smaller than Bessie’s, with none of the adornments. It was simple and covered with a folded plaid tablecloth—exactly what Ross would’ve expected from her. She was a no-nonsense woman who lived on a ranch and worked all week long. She didn’t have time for silk roses and fluted stemware. Although...Maggie was a class act, and she certainly deserved those things.
“I have twenty-eight dollars,” Reverend Fremont boomed in his best gospel voice as he stood over Maggie’s basket. A large, beefy man with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, Fremont’s love of good food was evident in the way his voluminous black robe fit across his belly. “Smells mighty good. Do I hear thirty?”
“Fifty,” Ross called.
Surprised chatter erupted all around him, and the reverend stared at him in bewilderment. “But yours was the last bid,” Fremont said. “You had it for twenty-eight.”
“I know. I’m just sure it’s worth fifty, and it’s for a good cause.” He didn’t dare look at Maggie. He’d made such a big deal over buying that basket—and had attracted so much attention—that she’d ream him good when they finally got into the churchyard and he spread his blanket for her.
The reverend’s broad face beamed. “Do I hear fifty-five?” When no one raised the bid, he frowned slightly, then happily continued. “Fifty once...twice... It’s yours for fifty dollars, son.”
Ten minutes later, Ross followed Maggie to a shaded spot under a tree, trying not to smile at her stiff-as-a-fence-post posture. She was annoyed, and she wasn’t trying to hide it.
She pointed to the ground, her index finger telling him exactly where he could put his blanket. She hadn’t said a word to him since the reverend had sent them on their way. On the other hand, Lila Jackson had seemed fairly amused by their pairing.
Ross spread out the blanket.
Maggie dropped the basket unceremoniously onto a corner of it
“So what are we having?” he asked innocently.
Snatching the tablecloth from the basket, she revealed fried chicken, potato salad, fruit and chocolate cake. Cans of ginger ale and straws were tucked into a corner, along with a thermos, plates, cups and silverware. Maggie threw the tablecloth in the center of Ross’s blanket, then brutalized it until it lay flat.
Eventually she spoke—but she obviously had no intention of being cordial. “Sit. Let’s get this over with.” Between the tinny ring of silverware and the plopping of food on his plate, she added, “And I’m not going to sleep with you, so get that thought right out of your head.”
Ross stared, dumbfounded, then chuckled in surprise. He accepted the plate that she handed him. “You know, you could at least wait until somebody asks you before you refuse. And who says I even want to?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you haven’t thought about it.”
He sampled his chicken, made an appreciative sound in his throat, then grinned again. “I won’t. Because I have thought about it—often, and in great detail. I just had no idea you were as obsessed with the idea as I am.”
Her eyes widened. “I am not—”
Ross sighed to the heavens. “Maggie, for Pete’s sake, lighten up. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” she muttered in an undertone. “You. Your sudden interest in church. Your grandstand play in there, raising your own bid, acting like you were only too happy to contribute to such a worthy cause.”
“That’s what’s bothering you? Maggie, that doesn’t even make sense. It is a worthy cause. If you said that I embarrassed you because it was your basket I accidentally bought, I could understand—”
“Accidentally, my foot. Ruby saw me set it on the table downstairs and described it to you. And somehow you conned Trent into thinking that Bessie’s basket was mine.”
“And why would I do that?”
“To make sure he’d already claimed a basket before mine was auctioned off—which prevented him from bidding on mine.”
Ross took off his Stetson and tossed it on a corner of the blanket, then fluffed a hand through his hair. “Gee. Someone’s got a dandy ego.”
Maggie held her tongue..
She’d told him to sit. Instead, he’d sprawled out full-length on his side, his boots hanging off the end of the blanket, his weight supported on an elbow, as he sampled the food she’d prepared. Today, his shirt was a pale blue, rough-weave, button-front with the long sleeves turned back and the collar open at his tanned throat. The chest hair she could see was a little darker than the soft, feathered shag on his head, and she hated the fact that she’d noticed. New jeans hugged his lean hips and waist.
Picking up a few surreptitious—but unmistakably coveting—looks from women on other blankets, Maggie held back a sigh. What made normally sensible women lose their heads over hellions? What made her lose her head? So what if they were charming and good-looking? They made lousy husbands—and worse fathers.
Which was really why she was so upset. She’d vowed to stay away from him after the rodeo, and she’d been doing just fine. By Wednesday, even Farrell’s grumpy mood had improved, probably because there had been no sign of Ross all week. Then Ross had popped back into her life under seemingly the most respectable of circumstances—a church fund-raiser—and here she was, pulse hopping around like a naive schoolgirl’s again, right back on that emotional roller coaster to perdition.
Be honest, Maggie, a little voice inside said. You’re not angry with him. You’re angry with yourself because you’re dying to take the ride.
Sitting up, Ross dragged the picnic basket closer, and dug out a plate and silverware. Her long silence had had a sobering effect on him. “Maggie, no one thinks you’re with me of your own accord. So whatever you believe is going to happen if you’re seen with me...won’t.”
He thought that she was worried about gossip? That was the least of her problems—and letting him think that was shallow and hurtful. But how could she admit that the more time they spent together, the more time she wanted to spend with him? That kind of knowledge would only make her more vulnerable to him.
Ross took another item from the basket. Adrenaline shot through Maggie when he smoothed a napkin over her lap. He started filling her plate.
“I—I can do that,” she stammered.
“That’s okay. You did the hard part—you cooked.”
Suddenly she was ashamed of herself. What would it hurt to simply be nice once in a while? Despite his Good-time Charlie/Lady-killer reputation, he wasn’t a total maverick. She’d seen how hard he worked, and she had watched the honest affection he felt for his little niece and the rest of his family.
A shadow fell over them, and Maggie glanced up to see Reverend Fremont smiling down at them. She’d been so engrossed in Ross, she hadn’t even heard the big man approach.
“And how are the two of you getting on?” the reverend asked in his deep baritone. His clerical robes were gone, replaced by a comfortable-looking white-knit shirt and black slacks.
Ross handed Maggie her plate, then respectfully pushed to his feet. “Just fine, Reverend. This was a great idea for a fund-raiser.”
The reverend smiled. “Well, money’s only part of it. We’ll be needing a few able-bodied men to tear off shingles and such. Can we count on you, Ross?”
Ross stared, speechless, and Maggie found herself smiling.
“Just thought I’d ask, since we haven’t seen you around here in a while,” Fremont continued. “I’d hate to think you were mad at us.”
“Mad?” A flush crept up his neck, pinkening his cowboy tan. “I...no, I’m not mad at anybody.”
“Sure.”
“Wonderful. With enough willing hands, it’ll only take a day.” He smiled at Maggie. “And this nice young woman has already agreed to help with the food, so you’ll have a friend at the refreshment table.” Fremont patted his jutting middle and chuckled. “That’s why I’ll be helping out.” Then he addressed Maggie alone. “Heard from your dad lately?”
“As a matter of fact, we talk on the phone at least twice a week. He’s busy. His congregation in Colorado is quite a bit larger than the one he left here.”
“But he’s doing a fine job, I hear. Good man, your father. I had some deep shoes to fill when I came here.”
“Thank you, Reverend. I’ll tell him you said that.”
Then Fremont was off to blackmail the rest of his flock.
Maggie laughed softly at Ross’s ambushed expression, then poked a fork into her potato salad, the food in front of her suddenly more palatable.
“What’s so funny?” he grumbled, dropping to his knees, then sprawling out beside her again.
“You are. You’ve got a wisecrack for every situation and an answer for everyone, but you couldn’t say no to the reverend. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“There might actually be some hope for you.”
They gathered up their picnic supplies forty minutes later, and walked to their side-by-side vehicles. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.
Maggie unlocked her trunk, thinking that it had been far too enjoyable. They’d actually had a normal conversation over coffee and cake, discussing cattle prices and water rights. “It wasn’t bad at all,” she admitted. “In fact, I had fun.”
“But you’ll deny it if anyone asks?”
“Absolutely.”
After packing her things inside, Ross slammed the trunk. “The food was great. Thanks.”
“Worth fifty dollars?”
Ross smiled. “The chocolate cake alone was worth that much.” His gaze drifted down to her mouth and lingered there for several long seconds. Then, just as she was getting nervous about the protocol of parting, he touched an index finger to the tip of her nose, climbed into his truck, and left.