Roping the Cowboy
Page 7
“Not exactly. I was talking financially. Have you and your family given any thought to allowing an oil—”
“No.” Drat the woman! And blast his libido for allowing this woman to crank its motor back up again. “Back to work already, are we?”
Daylight was wasting. He ignored her wince and drained the last few dregs from his cup. He stood, steeling his spine against the wave of soft emotions the lady in pink ignited. His family depended on him, and he wouldn’t let them down.
Not for a woman who would leave the ranch on Tuesday and never look back.
And not for a woman who only wanted him for his ranch.
He shot Jayce a pained glance. “Let’s go, Jayce. Time to get to work.”
~ CHAPTER 7 ~
Darby sat on the edge of the bed and fumbled with the laces of her running shoes, her trembling fingers making a messy knot. Her last evening on the ranch and she intended to savor every minute of peace. Starting with a run around that gorgeous pond. And maybe, just maybe, she’d catch one more glimpse of the cowboy and his son.
Not likely, though, since he’d made himself scarce after the porch incident. Why had she spoiled such an intimate conversation by discussing their limited finances?
She slapped her forehead and moaned. Time was running out. To apologize to the rancher, but also to speak with his mother.
She closed the door to her bedroom and knocked on the door next to hers.
No response. Kate was probably in the kitchen, nibbling on whatever Mrs. Kester set on the table.
She took the stairs, her sneakers squeaking on the hard wood.
“That looks right, honey,” Mrs. Kester said, but her doubtful tone belied the words.
Three heads huddled over open books and papers sprawled across the entire surface of the enormous kitchen table. Steam spiraled from a pot on the stove, and the combined scents of rosemary and onion and roast beef hung over the room, inviting her in.
She complied, taking a long whiff, breathing in the fragrance that shouted “home.” “Mmmm. Smells yummy in here. What is it?”
“Pot roast,” Mrs. Kester said, glancing up from a fat book, furrows of frustration etching her forehead.
Slade and Jayce scribbled on papers without raising their heads. Their foreheads bunched, too. Jayce’s lips moved without uttering a word.
“Pot roast? I can’t wait to try it.”
“You’ve never eaten pot roast?” Mrs. Kester’s tone rose in disbelief.
“Not that I remember.” Her mother or nanny never cooked much, mostly relied on takeout or dining out. But neither woman consumed meat.
“Well, then, you’re in for a treat.”
“I’m quite sure of it. Everything you’ve made has been delicious. You’re spoiling me.”
“Everybody can use a bit of spoiling now and then.” Kindness merged with exhaustion on Mrs. Kester’s face.
Who spoiled Mrs. Kester? Maybe the woman would jump on Brewster Oil’s offer. Ease the dear woman’s work load.
Tonight. She’d discuss it with Mrs. Kester later tonight. Once the crowd cleared out after dinner, she’d offer to clean up and make coffee. She made a mental note to order a generous bouquet of flowers as thanks for their gracious hospitality.
She tugged a bottled water from the fridge, unscrewed the cap and took a swig, studying them. “Uh oh. Homework, huh?”
“Yeah.” Both boys groaned in unison.
She edged closer to peer over Jayce’s shoulder. “What are you working on?”
“Science,” Jayce said, his features twisted into a grimace.
“What?” She feigned shock. “How could you not like science?”
He shook his head, twirling the pencil between his fingers. “It’s right up there with math.”
“Really? That’s a shame.” And it was. Her love of both subjects stemmed from early teachers who’d inspired her.
Kierra poked her head inside the back door. “Excuse me. Mom, can I get you to come outside for a minute? I need your advice on table placement for the Graham reunion.”
Mrs. Kester glanced at the stove, concern scrunching her face. “Sure. Let me just turn off the burner.”
“I can keep an eye on it,” Darby offered.
Mrs. Kester stood and raked her gaze over Darby’s form. “You look like you were headed out for a run. You don’t mind?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.” How could she complain about being in here? Amidst the smell of dinner cooking and the warm family atmosphere. Homey and comfortable, and the lack of tension was such a stark contrast to the sterile household of her childhood.
“It’ll just take a minute, Mom.” Kierra reassured Mrs. Kester and then angled to face her. “Thank you, Darby. She’ll be right back.” Both women disappeared from the kitchen.
Steam drifted into Darby’s face as she stirred the potatoes. Good thing Mrs. Kester didn’t know that she couldn’t cook or she might not have been so willing to leave her with this task.
She set the wooden spoon down on the granite counter and pulled out the chair Mrs. Kester had vacated, smiling. Science homework she could do. “So tell me about what you’re learning right now?”
§
Cool air blasted him in the face, blessed relief from the scorcher of a day outside.
Fargo closed the utility room door with a quiet click. He’d worked up a sweat hunting down Jayce.
But then, he’d avoided the place he knew he’d find him.
Why didn’t he just wait for Jayce to come home? Why obey that tiny voice that urged him to scout out one last glimpse of the molasses haired beauty?
Why torture himself?
“Thanks for your help, Darby,” Jayce said.
Even muffled from the wall going into the kitchen, his son’s tone clearly indicated relief.
Darby helped Jayce? After he’d all but kicked her off his porch last night?
A book slammed closed, and papers rustled. Ah. Homework.
“My dad helps when he can, but I know it’s tough on him since he works so hard all day. The last thing he really wants to do when he comes home is school work.”
That wasn’t true. He reached down to tug his boots off and set them by the back door, grimacing at the hole in his sock. Nothing like making an impression with his big toe sticking out.
“Besides, when we’re done with dinner—”
Jayce spilling secrets?
In two giant steps, Fargo stood in the kitchen opening. He nudged a shoulder against the frame and cross his arms.
“—Dad likes to—”
Fargo cleared his throat and stepped farther into the homey atmosphere. “I never mind helping you with homework, son.” Homey, except…his nose twitched. “Is something burning?”
Three heads whipped around in his direction, all startled by his presence. The two boys paused loading their book bags. Jayce held a textbook, his younger brother Slade, a notebook.
“Oh!” Darby’s chair jerked back, almost toppling. Her magenta sneakers flashed to the stove.
“Oh, no!” She snatched some hot pads from the counter and lifted the lid, flicking off the burner. Steam and stench filled the room.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, muttering under her breath.
“It’s all right.” He hustled over and pried the pot from her tight grasp.
All the liquid had disappeared, and the potatoes scorched. He grabbed a towel and plunked the pan on top of it. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.” Maybe.
What had his mother been thinking leaving City Girl to handle dinner? And where was Kierra?
“I told your mother I’d keep an eye on the potatoes for her.”
Had he said that aloud? Or could she see inside his head? If the latter, she’d glimpse the war waging inside. Attraction versus wisdom. At the moment, attraction held the upper hand. From her fancy magenta running shoes, up those shapely athletic legs, to the messy knot on top of her head.
“You were busy.”
So she couldn’t cook. Her job dominated her life. And she was leaving tomorrow.
None of that mattered. Not when she’d helped his son and brother. And clearly, all three had enjoyed…science.
His fingers twitched, his hand halfway up to slide a chunk of that molasses rich hair behind an ear.
To see if she’d enjoy that.
“See you later, Darby. Thanks for the help,” Slade said, heaving his bag over a shoulder.
“Yeah. Thanks again, Darby. I’ll be in the family room, Dad. Call me when you’re ready to go home.” Jayce set his book bag on the kitchen floor out of the way and followed Slade from the room.
He jerked his hand back and shoved it in his pocket.
Without the boys, the room grew quiet. And the stench of burnt potatoes replaced with something much sweeter.
Darby.
Who, he just realized, stood next to him, their shoulders almost bumping.
“I’m amazed at how smart these kids are. They’re already into some of the subjects that I didn’t learn until much later in high school.”
“Yeah. It’s getting tough to keep up with them.” And even tougher to stay away from her. He shifted, putting some much needed space between them. Opened a cabinet, pulled out a strainer and set it in the sink. Still, her seductive blend of jasmine and mandarin taunted him.
“I’m sorry to make more work for you.”
“It’s no trouble.” He dumped the contents of the pan into the strainer.
“But it is. If your mother only knew that I couldn’t cook, she might not have left me—”
There you have it, Kester. The woman admitted she doesn’t cook. The last woman you should be interested in!
“I’m back.” His mother breezed into the kitchen, followed by Kierra.
Thank the good Lord for small favors.
“Uh oh. Burned out, huh?” With a sunny smile at City Girl, his mother gave him a gentle shove out of the way.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kester. I was—”
“She was helping the boys with their homework.” Why stick up for her? It wasn’t like his mom would be upset with her. Shoot the deuce, how could anyone look at that sweet face and be upset?
“Oh, honey, if you only knew how many times I’ve done the same thing. Don’t you worry about it.” His mother’s gaze took in Darby’s attire, her lips curved as if she knew a secret that Darby and he were not privy to. “Dinner won’t be long now. Are you still planning on taking that run or would you rather wait until afterward?”
“Uh…” Darby’s chin dropped to stare at those crazy bright shoes. Then her gaze slid over to his feet.
He curled his big toe, trying to stuff it back in his sock. “You should go before it gets dark. Too many critters out there at night and I would hate for you to break one of those pretty legs. Especially since you’re headed back tomorrow.”
His comment snuffed the light from her eyes. She nodded and trudged to the door, her sneakers slapping the wood floor. Her fingers twisted around the knob as she glanced over a shoulder. “If I don’t see you when I get back, Fargo…uh—” her voice faltered. She swallowed, licked her lips. “It was really nice getting to know you and Jayce.”
Was that regret on her face? Or something stronger?
She pivoted and raced down the back steps, tugging her curly locks into a ponytail before he chanced analyzing the multitude of emotions flitting across her face.
Shoot the deuce! He’d told himself not to get attached, especially to this particular woman. With her constant badgering and her big city life. Her pink sneakers and her cute legs. Her kindness to his son and his animals.
Sweet heaven above, why did she have to leave tomorrow?
He sighed, heaviness weighting his chest.
He felt his mother’s stare.
“What?” he asked.
His mother shook her head, saying nothing. Her disappointed expression said it all. Wise woman.
But what could she say that his heart wasn’t already screaming?
~ CHAPTER 8 ~
Darby crammed clothes in her suitcase and stalked into the bathroom. She swept an arm over the counter top, scooping her cosmetics into a bag. She tossed it on top of the bed, frustration tightening her chest.
She’d failed.
Her fingertips trailed the downy soft comforter then moved to finger the outline of the Texas Longhorn embroidered on the throw pillow. She scanned the room, starting with the headboard, a metal sculpture of curlicues with a star the focal point in the middle. Reclaimed wood planks accented the wall behind the bed. The other walls painted teal to match the pillowcases. Stubby curved legs supported a rugged handcrafted bedside table.
She’d stayed in plenty of resorts and hotels, but not one like this. So refreshingly simple, so homey and comfortable, so…her.
She plunked down on the edge of the bed, grabbed that longhorn, and clutched it to her chest.
How could that be?
She was cool blue and five star hotels. Clean lines and minimalist furnishings. Take out and fancy cafes. Suits and smart phones.
Not warm wood tones and plump couches. Ginormous kitchens and home cooked meals. Germs and horses and dogs.
Definitely not…kind-hearted kids and handsome cowboys.
Right?
Yes. No!
She couldn’t leave!
And not because she hadn’t broached Mrs. Kester about the deal. She might have lost her chance at the VP slot, but for some reason, she couldn’t dredge up any regret over that.
With a huff, she rammed fingers through her hair. What was wrong with her?
For as long as she could remember, she’d dreamed of snagging this VP position and eventually taking over the company when her dad finally stepped down. She’d had plenty of opportunities to approach Mrs. Kester and Fargo. What held her back? Why wasn’t she more disappointed that she’d be leaving without a signed contract or, at least, some type of verbal agreement?
She had nothing. No contract. No agreement. No VP.
No chance to see the handsome cowboy or his son again.
She sucked in a breath. That stung the most.
A knock on the bedroom door startled her.
“Darby? You in here?” The heavy door muffled Kate’s voice.
“Yes.” She tossed the pillow back where it belonged, melancholy filling the empty spaces from her toes upward. This wasn’t her world, and as much as she’d like it to be, she didn’t belong here. She knew nothing about life on a ranch. Hadn’t her cooking fiasco proven as much last night?
She swung open the door and ushered Kate inside.
Her friend left her suitcase in the hall and came in a few feet, her hand pressing against the bottom of her extended belly. “You ready?”
“Almost.” No. Definitely not. “You?”
“Yeah.” Kate blew out a breath, lifting dark bangs from her forehead. “I’m sorry, Darby. You seem to thrive here on the ranch, but I’m so ready to get home. I’ve been packed since before sunrise.”
Darby draped an arm around her friend. “I know, sweetie. It has to be uncomfortable for you right now. Do you need some help with your suitcase?”
“No. Slade’s coming up to get it for me.” Kate glanced down and tugged the material stretched taut against her belly. “I hope Junior in here turns out to be a nice kid like Slade or Jayce.”
“You know he will be. How can he not be with parents like you and Darren?” she said.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn’t have to look at the screen to know who called. “Oops. Dad’s already calling.” She dug out her phone.
“That’s my cue. I’m outta here. See you downstairs.” Kate turned, waving a hand through the air as she waddled out of the bedr
oom, closing the door behind her.
Darby connected the call. “Hey, Dad.”
“Well, did you get it?”
An angry retort burned the tip of her tongue but she refused to let it slip from her lips. “Let’s try that again. Hey, Dad.”
“Darby, I don’t have time for these games.” His voice came out firm, no nonsense, all business like.
Translation. He didn’t have time to talk to his daughter, to catch up on what was going on in her life. To dig deeper and find out why she didn’t have the contract. He’d always been like this. Why had she ever thought that things would change when she took the job at Brewster Oil? That maybe he’d finally show some interest in her life?
She rolled her tongue around in her mouth, battling the moisture accumulating around her lashes. She was used to this. Why was her dad’s abruptness wounding her spirit worse than the bristles of an angry porcupine today?
She took a deep breath, the lavender and vanilla bath crystals from the bathroom willing her tight limbs to relax.
“Either you got the contract or you didn’t.”
“I. Did. Not.” How did she get the words past the tight clench of her jaw? “But—”
An idea, like a mist that hovered just above a lake on a cool winter morning, floated into her brain and took shape, firming into something concrete and so tangible she could almost touch it. “But, I will. I just need more time.”
“You had almost a week.”
“I’m taking two more. Consider them vacation days that I’ve never used.” Not one day in how many years?
Was that her father’s teeth grinding over the phone? How could he refuse her a vacation?
She waited him out, her heart lifting. Light and airy, as if she could float above the clouds.
An impatient sigh, then, “All right. Two weeks. But you’d better come back with a signature.”
“Bye—” She spoke into dead space. He’d already disconnected.
She held the phone away from her ear, staring at the picture of her father. Even from the lifeless phone, he glared at her, his lips pressed in a firm line, his jaw tight. No affection glowing from his expression.