“Probably so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty if I killed myself.”
“I don’t think so.” She surveyed Sara intently. “Is there something you haven’t told me about this bet?”
Sara thought of Jake’s insistence that she become part of the prize if he won. She hadn’t mentioned that to Mary Lou. “Actually, there is one thing,” she said slowly. “If he wins, he gets to keep the ranch…and me.”
Mary Lou’s eyes widened. “Oh, my.” Then she started to chuckle. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
“What?”
“Jake’s made it plain ever since I’ve known him that he has no intention of marrying. I wonder why he’d make that part of this particular bet?”
“I think it was an impulsive decision on his part. He was hoping to scare me off,” Sara admitted for the first time.
“But you didn’t run scared, did you?” Mary Lou observed. “Surely he knows you well enough to have guessed you wouldn’t. Jake must be downright terrified about now. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. If he loses the bet, it’ll cost him the one thing he’s always wanted, that ranch of your daddy’s. If he wins, he’ll have to do the one thing he’s always sworn he’d never do.”
Mary Lou grinned approvingly. “Sounds to me as if you have that man exactly where you want him.”
It sounded more to Sara as if that crevice between the rock and a hard place was getting crowded. From her perspective, it appeared there were two of them in there.
* * *
The only things on Sara’s mind when she finally got back to Three-Stars were a hot bath, a rubdown with some of that liniment Mary Lou had given her and a long night’s sleep. Naturally since she was feeling very much frayed around the edges, her father had other plans for her. He intercepted her as she was trying to slip quietly up the back stairs.
“Where the dickens have you been, girl?” he demanded with a disapproving scowl. “We have company coming for dinner in twenty minutes.”
Sara practically groaned aloud. “Not tonight, daddy. I’m beat.”
“That’s not my problem. If you’d been home where you belonged, you’d be rested. If you hurry, you can manage a quick shower. It’ll fix you right up.”
“These are your guests,” she protested. “You can entertain them. You don’t need me.”
Her father’s jaw set stubbornly. “They’re our guests,” he corrected. “I invited the Pattersons just so you and Harold could get better acquainted.”
Sara did moan at that. “Daddy, talking to Harold Patterson is about as scintillating as watching prairie grass grow. I guarantee you that I’ll fall asleep before we get through the appetizers.”
The threat didn’t seem to overly alarm him. “I trust the good manners your mother taught you will prevent that from happening,” he said dryly. “Twenty minutes, Sara Jane. I won’t be kept waiting.”
Sara had two choices. She could ignore her father’s edict and risk his wrath or she could show up, be polite for a few minutes and then claim a violent headache. In truth, the latter wouldn’t be a lie. Just the thought of conversing with dull Harold Patterson for several hours was enough to make her head pound.
Obviously, her father wasn’t content to try to manipulate Dani’s life. Now he was determined to meddle in Sara’s as well. Clearly it was going to take some fancy footwork to avoid falling in with his plans, but with any luck she and Dani could hold out until he was safely off in Arizona. Open defiance might very well delay his departure. Feigned obedience was probably the smarter tactic.
With that in mind, she showered and dressed in a pair of tailored beige slacks and a rust-colored silk blouse. The outfit was dressy enough to pass a fatherly inspection, but hardly likely to give Harold ideas. Not that Harold ever had any ideas that she’d noticed.
Downstairs, she found the Pattersons and her father gathered in the seldom-used living room. An expectant silence hung in the air. Her entrance brought a flurry of conversation, which amounted to little more than inquiries about everyone’s well-being and an all-too-brief discussion of the weather, which everyone agreed had been unseasonably warm that afternoon.
When silence fell again, Harold’s gaze settled on her so hopefully that Sara couldn’t help wondering exactly what her father had said to the man. Knowing Trent Wilde’s old-fashioned notions, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d dangled the promise of a generous dowry in front of him.
“How’s the boot business?” she asked eventually. The Pattersons—father and son—made fine leather cowboy boots just as preceding generations had before them. They were very good at what they did, which made boots about the only topic of conversation at which they excelled.
“We made four pairs special order for a big actor out in Hollywood,” Harold said.
“Oh, which one?” Sara asked. For once she didn’t have to fake enthusiasm. She loved movies.
His expression went blank. “I don’t recall. I haven’t seen a movie in years.” His face brightened. “But he wanted the very best leather.” He launched into a detailed dissertation on the making of the boots that had Sara trying to desperately stifle a yawn.
When footsteps sounded in the hallway, she glanced up gratefully. Hopefully Annie had dinner on the table, which would mark the beginning of the end of this disastrous evening.
Instead, she found herself gazing straight into very familiar, taunting blue eyes. Despite her resolve to resist Jake Dawson, her pulse skittered crazily.
“There you are,” her father said heartily. “Come on in, Jake. We’ve been waiting for you. You know the Pattersons.”
Jake made the same mistake Sara had. He asked about the boot business. The entire story of the Hollywood-destined boots was repeated with mind-numbing detail. Even the ever placid Mrs. Patterson looked bored to tears by this time.
Jake accepted a drink from Trent, then made his way straight to Sara’s side. When he settled onto the love seat next to her, she suddenly felt crowded. Though his attention remained dutifully focused on the other guests, his outstretched arm rested a scant inch or so from Sara’s shoulders. His heat seemed to surround her. Before she could adjust to that alarming sensation, his fingers skimmed the back of her neck.
The first fleeting touch might have been accidental and innocent, but the lingering caress that followed was deliberate and wicked. Sara’s pulse bucked and the evening turned into a whole new challenge. Rather than worrying about falling asleep, she had to worry about falling under Jake’s spell for the second time in two days.
She cast a quick, panicked glance at the others to see if they were aware of Jake’s subtle, sensual assault, but everyone’s attention appeared riveted on Harold, who was describing yet another pair of boots he’d designed for a famous country music star. Naturally, he didn’t know the singer’s name, only his foot size. Harold would clearly never be leaking gossip to Liz Smith or “Entertainment Tonight.”
By the time Annie finally announced dinner, Sara was certain that Jake was the most devious, despicable man she’d ever known. He knew perfectly well that she couldn’t make a scene in front of the others. Worse, he probably knew that those sneaky caresses were the only thing standing between her and total boredom. He probably even considered it his duty to drive her wild and, thus, keep her awake.
As they moved toward the dining room, Harold formally offered Sara his arm.
“I was delighted when your father suggested this dinner,” he said to her as Jake looked on with blatant amusement. “It gives us an opportunity to get reacquainted. I’m looking forward to hearing what you’ve been doing with yourself lately.”
Jake’s guffaw of laughter at that had Sara’s cheeks flaming. She turned and shot a fierce warning look in his direction. Harold glared at him with apparent annoyance and leaned down.
“I can’t imagine why your father included the help tonight,” he murmured.
The comment snapped the last of Sara’s patience with the whole, ridiculous eveni
ng. “You must not have heard,” she replied in a silky sweet undertone. “This is Jake’s home now. My father is selling Three-Stars to him.”
She wasn’t sure who was more disconcerted by her announcement, Harold because it destroyed his image of her as one of the heiresses to the ranch or Jake because she’d made the statement without the slightest trace of venom. She was beyond caring if her father discovered she knew about his plan. Let the whole lot of them go straight to hell.
Jake recovered first. “Of course, Sara will stay right here as long as she likes,” he chimed in, then added, “One way or another.”
Harold looked confused by the enigmatic remark. “I don’t understand.”
Sara patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Jake and I have a little bet going about the future.”
“Perhaps it’s good that we came tonight,” Harold said solemnly. “I’m sure there’s an alternative for your future that you haven’t considered. We can discuss it after dinner, if you like.”
Jake winked at her. “See, Sara. Your options are unlimited.”
“Oh, go to hell,” she muttered under her breath.
She was sure, based on his amused expression, that Jake heard her. Unfortunately, so did Harold. His shocked reaction made her wonder if he was already having second thoughts about proposing to a woman who couldn’t control her tongue.
Please, heaven, let that be the case, she thought desperately. If Harold Patterson actually put a formal proposal on the table, her father would have her marching down the aisle before she could explain that she had stupidly gone and fallen in love with another man.
Something told her that Trent Wilde might be happy to sell his ranch to Jake Dawson, he might even enjoy including him in an occasional dinner party, but he might not be nearly so content to have the rogue rodeo champ as a son-in-law.
Boy, was he in for a shock, if their bronc-riding contest turned out the way Jake obviously intended it to. It would almost be worth losing, just to see the look on her father’s face when he discovered she’d made her own rather unorthodox arrangements for her marital future.
Chapter Seven
Jake couldn’t recall the last time he’d enjoyed one of Trent Wilde’s stuffy little dinner parties more. The Pattersons were nice enough people, but about as entertaining as waiting for a bone to heal, something with which he had all too much experience.
As for placid, insipid Harold Patterson, he was no match for a woman of Sara’s quick wit and energy. He’d bore her to death in a week, maybe even on their wedding night.
If the Pattersons had been dull dinner companions, Sara’s presence had more than made up for them. In fact, tormenting sweet Sara had removed the slightest trace of tedium from the evening. She was so readily rattled, so easily stirred by the slightest, most innocent touch. He’d thoroughly enjoyed making her cheeks flame and her pulse race with the sneaky caresses she couldn’t acknowledge or fight off.
Unfortunately, he’d had to suffer the consequences—another very long, very restless night. With the memory of another far more exhilarating end to an evening fresh in his mind, his body ached like the very devil.
By morning he was exhausted and cranky. He was in no mood to hear from Zeke before dawn. For Zeke to use the phone at any hour could only mean trouble. Jake was in no mood to deal with trouble either.
“What the hell are you calling about?” he snapped.
“You’re going to have to put an end to this lunatic bet of yours,” his friend announced without preamble.
Jake moaned. “Zeke, I am not talking about that now. Call me back at a civilized hour. It’s my one day off and I was planning to sleep in.”
“If you’d buy one of them fancy-schmancy answering machines like everyone else in the whole dang world, I wouldn’t have to call you back at all,” Zeke retorted, undeterred by Jake’s plea. “I could have left a message the first time I called last night. Or the second. Or the third.”
“I thought you hated answering machines even more than you do phones.”
“They’re the devil’s own invention, but by midnight last night when you still weren’t home, I was beginning to grasp the fact that they have their uses.”
If Zeke had made that many attempts to reach him, Jake concluded, then this nonsense about canceling the bet was serious. Portable phone in hand, he reluctantly rolled out of bed and paced the room trying to wake up. The icy floor pretty much jolted him into an alert state.
“Maybe you’d better start at the beginning,” he suggested mildly.
“Beginning, middle, end, it don’t make no difference,” Zeke retorted. “Like I said, the bottom line is you’ve got to call off this bet.”
“Why?”
“Because Sara has no business trying to ride a bronco,” Zeke said succinctly. “She like to broke half her bones yesterday. Another couple of lessons and it’s my guess she’ll be in casts from head to toe. I’ve got Mary Lou nagging at me to boot. She’s been fussing like a mother hen. She thinks I’m going about this all wrong. She’s been picking at me all night long about the techniques I’m using.”
Jake muttered a string of obscenities he rarely used. “What the devil does Mary Lou have to do with this?” he asked eventually.
“To my everlastin’ regret, she and Sara had a nice, long chat yesterday.”
Jake gritted his teeth. “How did that happen? Dammit, Zeke, I told you to keep ’em apart.”
“Never you mind how it happened,” Zeke responded irritably. “The point is, now Mary Lou’s worried about her, which means I ain’t going to have a minute’s peace until you call this off. Mary Lou’s going to be dogging every move I make and telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I won’t have it. I work alone. Always have.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “It’s up to you to end this.”
“It is not up to me,” Jake corrected. “The bet was Sara’s idea.”
“Maybe so, but I’ve seen the way her eyes light up when your name’s mentioned. You’ve got more influence with her than I have. Besides that, no one I know has a better reputation as a silver-tongued devil. Surely you can sweet-talk her into giving up, if you put your mind to it.”
“And just what would you suggest I tell her?”
“You’ll think of something,” Zeke said confidently. “You always do.”
Jake grasped at one last straw. “You could just refuse to give her another lesson.”
“And disappoint her?” Zeke sounded downright horrified by the idea. “Not me. I feel too bad that she’s in this fix in the first place. Between you and that daddy of hers, she’s getting cheated every which way.”
“What do you intend to do if she shows up for another lesson?”
“I’m counting on you to see that doesn’t happen.”
“And if I fail?” Jake persisted, knowing Zeke would have a backup plan.
“Okay, just in case, I’m thinking of taking Mary Lou down to Denver for a couple of days,” he admitted.
“Isn’t that a little cowardly, even for you?”
“I call it a strategic retreat,” Zeke claimed. “Besides, Mary Lou’s been wanting to do some shopping, maybe go to the theater. Maybe that’ll get her mind off Sara’s situation and her mouth off my case.”
“You hate shopping and the theater,” Jake reminded him.
“Not as much as I hate thinking of the look I’ll see in that gal’s eyes if I’m the one to send her packing,” Zeke said grimly. “I’m warning you, though. I can’t stay away more than a day or two. I’m trusting you to take care of everything before I get back.”
He hung up before Jake could ask if he could join Zeke and Mary Lou in Denver. He pretty much knew what the answer would have been anyway.
After the call, Jake dreaded running into Sara. No matter how he sliced it, she was going to be devastated if the bet was called off. He wondered just how inept she was at riding. She must be awful if Zeke had given up after just two lessons. Knowing him, those lessons had been on the tam
est horses he owned that qualified as broncos.
“You certainly look gloomy,” Annie observed when he wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I know nothing when I see it,” she countered. “And this isn’t it. The deal for the ranch hasn’t gone sour, has it?”
Jake shook his head. “Not the way you mean. It’s just that there are a few complications I hadn’t anticipated.”
“Financial complications?”
“No, nothing like that. Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” To escape the questions, which he sensed were far from over, he poured himself another cup of coffee and headed for the door. “If anybody needs me, I’ll be in my office.”
“Since when do you go outside to get to your office, when you’re already in the house and could go straight through the dining room?” Annie demanded. “Never mind. I can guess. When you don’t want to run into Sara.”
She poked a spoon covered with pancake batter squarely into the middle of his chest. “I warned you, Jake Dawson. I told you to stay away from her. What have you gone and done?”
Jake dabbed ineffectively at the dribbles of batter on his shirt. “Let it be, Annie. Just let it be.”
Naturally, she couldn’t. At least, Jake assumed that was why Sara herself wandered into his office not five minutes later carrying a plate of hot cinnamon rolls. She looked about as thrilled to be there as he was to see her. Prisoners facing a life sentence were undoubtedly more cheerful.
“Annie sent these. She said you didn’t eat any breakfast.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Sara stared at him in disbelief. “My heaven, is the sky falling, too?”
“Very funny. Okay, you’ve done your duty, you can go now.”
He realized too late that the dismissal was bound to stir a rebellion.
“Trying to get rid of me?” she inquired. “What a difference a few hours makes. Last night, you couldn’t seem to keep your hands to yourself.”
The Bridal Path: Sara Page 8
