The car’s interior was already too hot for comfort. The way he watched her shot the temperature up ten more degrees. The blaze in his eyes promised a lot more than the light kisses she’d so far received. He was so much more complicated than she remembered.
So much more man.
A truck blew past them, rocking her little Honda, a reminder that they weren’t alone and this was a public road, even if traffic was light on a Sunday.
“On a PDA scale of one to ten, the side of the road rates a six,” she said, selecting the chastising tone she used on her kids when they misbehaved in class. It came out a little breathier than planned, which ruined the effect.
“A six? It’s barely a five.” Jake crooked an elbow over the back of his seat. One knee touched the console between them, the other the dash. He took up a lot of space and he used every inch. “I’ll make today up to you.”
She was curious as to what he might have in mind, but rabbit holes were to be avoided at all cost. No worries, no obligations. He owed her nothing.
“You had your chance. How about on Saturday, I prove I can do better than you?”
The firm line of his mouth eased. A spark of interest took ten years off his face. “We’re turning this into a competition?”
She was competitive. She knew it. So did he.
But he’d spent the past fifteen years hustling a lot more than cattle. She’d place money on it. “What’s the matter, Mr. McGregor? Are you afraid you’re not up to the challenge?”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Anderson. I’m up to it, alright. My mistake today was in allowing Mother Nature to have a say.” A slow smile stripped another year off. “Better buckle up.”
Buckle up… Didn’t that spin possibilities around in her head?
She might want to think about strategy. “Exactly how competitive do you think we should be?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He tapped the buckle next to her hip. “If you’re driving me home, you need to fasten your seat belt.”
Cute, Mr. McGregor. Very cute, indeed.
The lightning display had tapered off, leaving only a few flashes visible low in the distant sky. Lacey started the car and made a three-point turn in the road so they were headed back toward the Wagging Tongue Ranch.
The ranch house appeared empty. The only other vehicle in the yard was Jake’s half-ton truck. Wisps of smoke, visible over the roofs of the barns, continued to curl from Camelback Butte.
Other than a slight tic in his jaw, Jake’s face relayed very little. He patted a hand absent-mindedly against his knee. His head was miles away now, all the playfulness of a short while ago forgotten. Lacey wished there was something—anything—she could do to help him, but in this instance, she was useless. She wasn’t a rancher.
And right now, he looked as remote as she’d ever seen him. She didn’t like it. The Jake who sang off-key to his niece and bought his nephew a pony… The one who took the time to reason with a five-year-old who missed his mother… That was the Jake she longed to know.
She touched his arm, allowing her fingertips to trail the rock-hard, bulging mass of tanned bicep.
That caught his attention.
“If you want your fishing rod back, don’t forget you’ll have to come and get it Saturday night,” she reminded him.
Jake leaned across the console and kissed her, quick and fierce.
“Tag. You’re it,” he said, getting out of the car.
*
“You sure that’s the one you want?” Jake asked, but the glow in his young nephew’s eyes said it all.
They’d talked in the truck on the long drive to Billings—or rather Jake had talked while Mac listened. He’d explained about the sale and what it would be like—where people were from, whether they were trying to unload problem animals, and that they might be trying to improve their stock by buying new bloodlines. He’d told Mac about the different breeds of horse, and what the Wagging Tongue Ranch generally preferred. He’d explained the importance of knowing the sires and the dams. He’d described the qualities to look for, how to string test to estimate height, how long it took to train a horse, and how many years before it would be old enough to ride.
And then, when they arrived at the sale, they’d meandered the grounds and the buildings before Jake casually steered Mac in the direction of the dealer he’d come here to meet with regarding foals he’d brought to the sale. When they examined the animals, Jake had pointed out a few of the good qualities and a lot of the bad ones.
The entire time, Mac listened without contributing much. When the boy set eyes on a spindly-legged, ungainly roan with floppy ears that suggested it might have been born premature, however, Jake knew he’d been wasting his breath.
He had no real reason to condemn the kid’s judgment. The foal was no beauty, true enough. But it wasn’t bound for the glue factory, either. It had potential.
So Jake had bought it, and now he had a nervous child, who’d been hard to convince that riding in the trailer for two hours with their purchase wasn’t about to happen, in the cab of his truck.
They’d stopped three times to check on the foal. Each time, it had been curled up in contentment on a bed of hay, as if well aware that it had just become a boy’s very best friend. The feeling was mutual. By the time they arrived back at the Wagging Tongue Ranch, Mac was as antsy as Jake had yet seen him.
They unloaded the foal at the barn. Jake, keeping a close eye on his watch, showed Mac how to bed it down. It was approaching half past the hour and Lacey would be wondering what was keeping him, and although he knew she wouldn’t mind, he kind of did. Other than for a few hours at soccer practice that morning—from a distance—he hadn’t seen her all week.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” Mac asked, dragging Jake’s head back to the barn to rejoin his body.
Jake started to say no. It would be a bad habit to get into. Allowing a ten-year-old city boy to sleep in the barn was an especially bad idea when they had a bear wandering the property. Bears roamed a wide territory, and there was no telling where it might be.
Then, Jake saw the expression on his nephew’s face—one filled with eagerness and hope and the first real signs of any interest he’d seen in him in days—and he caved as fast as he had when Mac picked his horse.
He’d throw one of his brothers under the bus, though. He had other plans. “Only if Zack or Luke sleeps out here with you.”
“What about you? They don’t know as much about horses as you do. What if Thunder gets sick?”
The kid had the big-eyed pleading thing down pat. Jake could see he’d maybe done a little too much talking all day, and as a result, shot himself in the foot. He could have said that Luke and Zack did, indeed, know as much about horses as he did, even if they might be a bit rusty, but he couldn’t do it. Mac had asked him, and he had to admit, he was pleased. He wasn’t usually the cool uncle—according to Finn, that award went to Zack.
Besides, he and Lacey had agreed that the kids came first—which was all well and fine until he had to choose between her and them.
“You named him Thunder?” Jake tried to stall in the hopes Mac might see a downside on his own.
“Is that an okay name for a horse? What do you think?”
The boy sounded so anxious for him to approve.
He might as well accept where this was headed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the night in the barn—at least, not for fun. He could guarantee it wouldn’t be as much fun as an evening with Lacey.
On the other hand, having kids and responsibilities kept him from appearing too eager.
“I think,” Jake said, “that he’s your horse and you name him whatever you like. Go get sleeping bags from the attic. Zack knows where they are. We might as well pack a cooler with sandwiches and drinks while we’re at it. Finn can join us until bedtime, too.”
Mac, sparing one last, adoring look at his horse, tore off for the house.
Jake hauled his phone
from his back pocket.
Lacey sounded out of breath when she answered, as if she’d been running, or lifting heavy weights. Disappointment that he had to cancel slithered under his ribs. He’d been looking forward to seeing her ever since he’d gotten out of her car last Sunday afternoon. The fire had amounted to nothing, the storm was over in less than an hour, and he’d been left twiddling his thumbs all alone until bedtime. Luke had taken the boys out to supper, and while Zack wouldn’t confess what he and Lydia were up to, Jake suspected it involved Posey, the cute blonde next door.
“I’m really sorry,” he began.
“Stop right there,” Lacey interrupted. “Did Mac get his horse?”
“Yes. But—”
She cut in again. “Is he happy with it?”
“Of course he is. He’s found his new best friend. It’s not the prettiest foal, but it has real potential. I think he made a good choice.” Maybe Mac really had been listening to Jake. “But about tonight…”
“If you’re going to cancel on me, and it has to do with the kids, then you don’t have to start off by saying you’re sorry,” Lacey said. “I’m okay with it.”
She might be, but he wasn’t.
He leaned against the weathered wooden frame of the open barn door. A thousand thoughts scurried around in his head. The sun was still up but the air was cooling off. Muffled movements and shrill, excited child voices drifted through the windows of the house across the yard. The barn smelled dusty and sweet with freshly-baled hay they’d packed in the mow. He’d keep some of the bales for the horses this winter. The rest were for sale. Prices should be good in the fall because of the drought.
Anything to keep from thinking about how disappointed he was.
“Mac asked me if I’d sleep in the barn with him and his new buddy,” he said.
“It’s not as if you could say no.”
She was being too understanding. He didn’t like it. “This was my Saturday off, so the guys get the next one. Now that school’s out, do you want to try again some night through the week?”
“I have a teaching conference in Vegas. I’ll be away until Friday.”
Okay, that was less understanding.
There was a pause. He heard dishes rattling around and what sounded like an oven door slamming shut. He had a bad feeling. How much trouble had she gone to, tonight?
“Want to try next Sunday again?” she asked.
“I do,” Jake said, relieved. He was overthinking things. “Very much.”
“Then tag, Mr. McGregor. You’re it.”
And Lacey hung up on him.
Chapter Eight
Jake tucked the phone in his pocket, unsure how to read what had just happened. She sounded fine. She said she understood.
But the last time they’d held a similar conversation, with him assuming they were on the same page, she’d gone out with someone else.
Mac came tearing out of the house and across the yard with Luke trailing behind.
Jake studied his brother. Something wasn’t quite right with Luke. At first Jake had figured he was taking the loss of their parents and Liz harder than Jake and Zack, but he didn’t think that was it. He couldn’t put his finger on it.
It was one more thing for him to worry about.
He frowned at Mac. “Where are the sleeping bags and the cooler?”
“Relax,” Luke said. “Stop glaring at him like that. Zack and Finn have everything under control.”
He followed Mac over to the stall to admire the new foal, which was nosing around in the corners, checking out its new digs. Jake rubbed the back of his head. Thunder. Of all the clichéd names Mac could have come up with, he’d gone with the best.
Then, Luke impaled Jake with the exact same glare he’d accused him of using on Mac. “I thought you had plans this evening?”
“I changed them,” Jake said.
“Change them back.” Luke’s jaw settled in a stubborn manner Jake recognized well. It usually ended in blows between them, because he could be stubborn, too. “Get out and have some fun for a change. I’ve explained to Mac that not only do I know a few things about horses, I also know how to use a cell phone. We’ll call you if we need you. But unless we call, we don’t want to see you again until tomorrow at lunch. You’re too young to be such an old man.”
Under the majority of circumstances, Jake wouldn’t take orders from his younger brother, but in this particular instance, he was willing to concede.
He had a game of tag to continue.
“Are you sure you don’t mind if I bail on you?” he asked Mac.
Mac’s head popped up from the other side of the stall door. He had a piece of hay stuck in his hair. “Uncle Luke promised to set up his laptop so we can watch movies with Thunder.”
“That was all it took for him to throw me over in favor of you?” Jake asked Luke.
Luke shrugged. “He’d have thrown you over for the cinnamon buns Zack’s packing for bedtime, too. So get lost. Go have fun. Or ruin someone else’s, because that sounds more your style.”
Jake hesitated for all of two seconds. Mac was content. Luke was being an ass. Which meant they’d both be fine without him.
He thought about giving Lacey a call to let her know plans had changed again, but decided against it. He’d go grab a shower, then show up at her door, surprise her, and find out exactly what her frame of mind was by the reception he got.
*
Lacey sliced up the last of the chicken, slipped it into freezer bags, and tucked it into the fridge. She scraped the bones into a stockpot, covered them with water, and set the pot on a back burner to simmer for soup.
What on earth had she been thinking—planning a roast chicken dinner in this heat?
She’d also baked a lemon custard pie from scratch because it was Jake’s favorite. Or at least, it used to be. The pie sat, forlorn and a little lopsided, and about a billion calories her butt didn’t need, on her kitchen counter. A fork called to her from the cutlery tray in the drawer beside the sink.
She was going to gain twenty pounds by dating Jake on the sly.
Don’t do it, Lacey. No man is worth it.
She’d been stood up, although for an excellent reason. She refused to be disappointed because Jake had his priorities straight. She wouldn’t find him half as attractive if he could turn down a child’s request for his attention.
She was the one who was wrong for wanting more.
She could have invited a friend over to partake of the feast, but she was too bummed and wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun. Besides, she’d have to explain why she’d made so much food, and that, she had no urge to do. She’d rather spend the evening watching television. Then tomorrow, she’d pack for the conference.
Not the entertainment she’d planned for tonight.
Or the morning. She’d picked up fresh orange juice, bacon, and the ingredients for an omelet, just in case. She leaned on the counter, rested her chin on her hands, and contemplated the pie. Maybe one little taste.
The doorbell came to her willpower’s aid. If that was Mrs. Fitzpatrick, reminding her to bring her garbage bin in for the fiftieth time…
Lacey’s tiny, two-bedroom house and its postage-stamp yard formed the rear corner of a short cul-de-sac not far from what passed as Grand’s downtown district. This was an older, well-established neighborhood with residents who’d lived here their whole lives, and probably their parents and grandparents had, too. It was great for starter homes and retirees—and single women living alone. Lacey had bought the house with money she’d inherited from her grandmother and she loved it. The downside was that the neighbors liked to drop in and give her unwanted advice.
Not this time, however.
It was Jake on her step, not Mrs. Fitzpatrick, with a bottle of red wine in one hand and a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He wore a short-sleeved white cotton button-up shirt over a pair of long, dark khaki shorts. He’d passed on the cowboy boots for a pair of light-weight suede sho
es.
He also smelled of spice aftershave and bubblegum shampoo. If he wanted to market the scent as an aphrodisiac for women of child-bearing age, he’d hit the right combination.
Meanwhile, she’d crammed her hair in a topknot that slid to the right and sported a long smear of chicken fat down the front of her comfy gray tank top. Her shorts were an old pair of sweats she’d cut off.
She’d started out so much better than this. She’d changed out of her dress with the cute, flirty skirt that showed off her legs and gotten comfortable because she’d thought she’d be spending the night alone.
A peek past one broad shoulder revealed no sign of his truck on the street. There was a carpool parking lot on the corner before entering her cul-de-sac, though. He must have left it there.
“I am really, really, sorry,” he said.
“Why? Because you left a little boy alone in a barn after dark?”
“He’s not alone. He’s with his horse.”
“Jake!” He’d better be joking.
“Relax. Luke offered to set up his laptop and watch a movie with him and his new horse. That was all it took for him to forget me.”
Thank you, Luke.
She was so ridiculously happy he’d been able to come. But she figured it wouldn’t hurt to make him grovel. Just a little. She’d spent the entire afternoon cooking him dinner, and even though it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t shown.
“So you’re saying you lost a popularity contest and I’m the consolation prize?”
“Never. I’m here because I want my fishing rod back.” He held up the bottle of wine. “I came to trade for it. Can I come in?”
She opened the door wider and he stepped over the threshold.
He looked so amazing. She’d wanted tonight to be perfect. Yet here she stood, in a greasy shirt and baggy shorts. She looked a mess.
“Let me go change.”
“No.” Jake snagged the back of her shorts. “I like you exactly the way you are.”
On the scorecard that was another point in his favor, because she had no doubt he was sincere. He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. She wasn’t going to spend the evening in a stained top and smelling of chicken, however.
The Rancher Takes a Family Page 9
