Three river ranch, p.7
Three River Ranch, page 7
“You dog, you,” he said, slapping his old friend on the back. “How’d you end up with a gorgeous thing like that in your back pocket?”
Carson shook him off irritably. “I’m no happier about it than she is. And in case you hadn’t noticed, she comes with baggage. A busload of baggage.”
“Bullshit, my friend,” Zach responded, a sly look in his eye. “I’ve known you since you were six years old. Your voice changes when you’re with a woman you like, even on the phone. Baggage and all, you like this one. A lot. And I don’t see a baby-daddy hanging around anywhere.”
“Keep it down, will you?” Carson said. “Just because you’re on the hunt doesn’t mean everyone else is.” When he glanced at his friend, he was infuriated by the condescendingly dubious look he got. “You like her so much, be my guest,” said Carson, swallowing hard against the lie.
“Not likely,” Zach said, backing away, his grin belying his words. “That filly has got her eye on you, or I miss my guess.”
“I can see you’ve lost your mind.” Carson spoke shortly, without looking at his friend. “Now, if it’s not too much trouble, let’s get these horses unloaded. I’ll bring Ruby out first.”
He busied himself opening the trailer and taking the crossties off Ruby, a small sorrel mare. He backed her down the ramp carefully, then started leading her toward the barn next to the paddock.
“Take Penny next,” he called over his shoulder. “She doesn’t like to be left alone. Juno can wait a few minutes.”
He stopped when he realized that Zach hadn’t responded. “What?”
Zach burst out laughing. “Nothing, man. Nothing.”
Carson’s face darkened, but he continued working without responding.
“I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t warn you,” Zach said. “You’re about to fall hard, buddy. And she’s just given you the perfect excuse to spend time together. You heard her—she’d like riding lessons. If only there was someone around here who could teach her.”
“You want to be a friend?” Carson’s voice grew louder as he rounded the corner. “Shut up and get Penny before she dies of old age.”
…
Rory leaned against the tree and put a hand to her chest. She’d remembered too late that Bliss was going shopping and wanted to know if either of them had requests. But just as she’d opened her mouth to ask, Zach’s resonant tones had carried perfectly across the crisp air.
You like this one.
Carson? thought Rory. Carson didn’t like her; he tolerated her—barely—and only because he had no choice.
And whatever she felt for him was simply a product of loneliness.
What had Zach called her? Gorgeous?
Not likely. Gorgeous women don’t get ignored, taken for granted, duped, and ultimately dumped. Zach’s first impression of her didn’t hold any weight against David’s last impression.
Besides, Carson had quickly denied Zach’s comment. She hadn’t heard his exact words, despite cupping her hand to her ear, but his tone was negative, dismissive. Naturally, since they barely knew each other and had only been thrown together under hardship circumstances.
Rory tiptoed back inside, fighting a stab of disappointment. For a few seconds, her heart had risen into her throat, hoping against hope that she’d hear him confess…what? That he’d fallen madly in love with her? That he’d never met anyone like her? That she completed him, that she had him at hello?
All of which would be ridiculous, indicating that he was either an imbecile or emotionally unstable.
“And we don’t want that, do we, Mistral?” Rory said casually. She walked over to the couch, then pounced. The dog attempted to dart around the corner, but Rory got a hand on her collar.
“Gotcha.” She led Mistral to the kitchen, pointed, and sternly instructed the dog to step onto the grooming table. Mistral, as if approaching the guillotine, her ears and tail down, stepped slowly up onto the rubberized surface, watching Rory from the corner of her eyes.
But Mistral’s attitude lightened as the clumps of dark hair began to fall onto the linoleum. Between the approaching warmth of spring and her now-obvious pregnancy, the dog must have been uncomfortably hot.
“Told you you’d feel better,” Rory said, carefully guiding the clippers behind the dog’s shaggy ears. “And it’s not just for you. We’ve got to make sure your puppies have a clear path to the milk bar.”
She brushed out the dog’s fur and tidied up the trim with her scissors, then moved the steps so Mistral could clamber down. She shook herself violently, then trotted to the door, the picture of happiness.
“Good girl,” Rory said. “You go outside and show off while I clean up.”
She propped the door open while she swept up the hair, and watched Mistral cavort around the yard, sniffing and celebrating the survival of yet another haircut.
As she carried the trash outside, she saw Carson waving to Zach, helping him maneuver his truck and trailer out of the yard. Carson watched his friend leave, then turned to Rory. When he noticed the dog, his jaw dropped.
“That dog is ready to pop,” he said flatly.
“Wow,” Rory said. “Can’t get anything past you. You’re like some kind of psychic.”
“It’s not funny.” Carson’s expression darkened. “You should have told me she was having puppies.”
“Whose puppies did you think I was talking about?” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Remind me, what’s your specialty? Genetics? And you didn’t have to study reproduction? Or was it all in fruit flies and lima beans? Come on, Carson, I wasn’t exactly hiding the evidence from you.”
“All right, all right,” Carson said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.”
“Besides,” she added, “you said my dog was fat. Revenge is sweet.”
She flashed him a smile and turned on her heel. “Come on, Mistral. Time for supper.”
“Wait,” he called after her. “Do you know when she’s due?”
Rory paused, then faced him. “Were you listening to me at all when we were discussing pedigrees and blood lines? I can tell you to the minute when this litter was conceived, because it occurred in the vet’s office by artificial insemination. Which means I also know that the puppies are likely going to arrive this weekend. Give or take a day on either side.”
“This weekend! You—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to be sharing accommodations. I thought I’d have a house to myself.”
Suddenly her throat closed and she had to bite back tears. She swallowed hard, trying to hide her emotions from Carson. But to her surprise, his face softened.
“It’s okay, Rory.”
The kindness in his voice undid her. She turned her face away from him, shaking her head and waving him away. But a loud, involuntary sniff escaped her and before she knew what was happening, he’d put his arm over her shoulders. Sobs broke free then, gasping, racking sobs that told the tale of grief she’d been living with ever since David left. Carson stroked her back as she wept, running his large hand softly over the thin fabric of her T-shirt, which might as well have not been there at all for how clearly she felt his touch. She pressed her face into his chest, taking comfort she knew was not hers to have, in the fresh smell of cotton on a clean man.
A few moments was all it took. Rory became aware of the pressure of Carson’s hand at the small of her back, his fingers kneading ever so lightly. His other hand was cupped gently around the back of her head, fingering the wisps of hair at her neck. One finger brushed her ear, and electricity ran straight down her body, settling hotly somewhere deep. With a gasp, she pulled away.
“You okay?” he murmured, tipping her head up to meet his gaze.
But Rory recognized something besides concern in his eyes, something tantalizing and terrifying. Surely he didn’t really find her attractive…did he?
She took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, wiping her face with her hands.
“Oh dear,” she said, looking at the mascara stains on his shirtfront. “Sorry about your shirt.”
The heat left his expression, replaced by a different kind of smile, as though he was trying to hide laughter.
“Oh lord,” she wailed, patting at the raccoon rings of makeup she just knew were smeared beneath her eyes. Fresh tears welled but Carson tipped her chin up gently with one knuckle.
“Nope, no more of that.”
“I’m a disaster.” Her voice quavered.
“No argument there,” he chuckled, gently wiping one finger over her cheek in a gesture that was unbearably intimate and safe at the same time. “I think you’ve simply had as much as you can take. And I’m not helping. What can I say? I’m a self-absorbed male, and a scientist to boot. So I’m trying to make amends. How about I take you out to dinner, to apologize? What do you say?”
“Dinner?” she said. She shrugged and looked about her. “Where?”
“Where?” he responded in mock outrage. “Chinook is not Timbuktu. I’ll have you know, we’ve got a fine selection of dining establishments for the discerning palate. Go feed your dog while I check the horses.” He hesitated for a moment.
She elbowed past him, knowing exactly what he didn’t want to say. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix myself up. At least, as much as possible.”
“Take as much time as you need,” he said with another chuckle as he stepped out the door.
Chapter Eight
Carson showered and changed quickly, then sat in the kitchen to wait for Rory. The dog sprawled on the couch, watching him and panting.
“Hot, huh?” he said to her, then smiled at himself. He talked to his horses, but horses were like people to him. And that was outdoors, alone, where no one could overhear. Still, dogs were supposed to be smart, too. “You a smart dog? She seems to think you are.”
The dog closed her mouth and cocked her head, then resumed panting.
When Rory emerged from the hallway, Carson felt his own breathing speed up. If he didn’t get it under control, he thought, his panting would rival the dog’s.
She’d done something different with her hair. It seemed softer, swirling around her face like a golden frame. The swelling and redness had disappeared completely from her eyes, which he now noticed were as blue and sparkling as Chinook Lake. But it was her body that made his throat feel thick and dry.
Instead of the shapeless layers she’d usually worn since her arrival, she had on a soft, loose halter dress that gathered beneath her full breasts to flow and drape, falling just below her knees. The top tied at the back of her neck revealed enough skin to make his breath catch in his throat, and in front, a tease of the cleavage he’d imagined. He understood, all at once, the cliché about pregnant women glowing. She was truly radiant.
“What?” she said, alarm springing into her eyes. “Is it too much? It’s the only dress I could get at, without unpacking everything.”
“No,” he hastened to reassure her. But his voice was hoarse, and he had to clear his throat. “It’s fine. But it can be chilly after sundown. Do you have a jacket or something, for later?”
She nodded, unfolding a swath of shimmering crimson fabric that perfectly complemented the color of the dress. She turned to swirl it over her shoulders, and the flare from back to hip was outlined in color and softness that made him want to reach out and touch.
“You look—” He stopped, uncertain how to describe her. He shrugged helplessly. “You look amazing.”
She tilted her head suspiciously.
“Really.” He cleared his throat again. “I mean you look beautiful. Amazingly beautiful.”
Her eyebrows lifted and she blinked as if in surprise. Color flooded her cheeks.
“Um, th-thank you,” she stammered. She brushed past him, leaned over to pat the dog, then straightened up, frowning. She glanced at Carson, then back at Mistral.
“She look okay to you?”
Carson shrugged. “Yeah. Why?”
“She didn’t finish her supper. That’s one of the first signs of labor,” continued Rory, biting her lip. “Maybe I should stay with her.”
Carson felt like a child reaching for a treat that was suddenly being withdrawn. The vision before him could disappear, the luminous skin once more hidden by cotton and fleece. Which made no sense, considering he hadn’t expected her to be here and had barely gotten used to her presence.
“Don’t worry. Even if she is starting, it’ll be hours. And it’s been a long time since you’ve gone out, hasn’t it? We won’t be long, I promise. I’ve got an important meeting tomorrow morning; I don’t want to be out late, either. Let’s go eat, then if she’s really starting, I’ll help you with her.”
“Would you? Really?” Rory looked at him with desperation.
“Rory.” Carson sighed. “How many litters of puppies have you delivered?”
“Including this one?”
He looked at the ceiling and shook his head. “Give me strength. Well, lucky for you, I’ve assisted a whole lot of mares during difficult foaling. I’ve pulled calves, too, and one spring during lambing season, I helped out on a sheep farm. I’m new to the hoity-toity Austra-labra-poo thing, but I think my skills will translate.”
“Australian labradoodle.” But she smiled.
“Whatever.” He smiled back. “My version sounds less dumb than yours. Is it a deal? Two hours. Three, tops. Get a good meal inside, fuel us up for the labors ahead.”
Rory sighed, looked at her dog again, then picked up her purse. “Okay. Let’s go.”
…
Conversation in the truck was stilted at first. The sun was heading toward the horizon, slanting across the highway, and Carson wore sunglasses, which made Rory feel even more vulnerable.
The last time she’d been out to dinner with a man had been when David told her that their engagement was off. She’d just announced they were having a baby and he’d responded by asking if it was his. She’d never felt so humiliated, so blindsided. She knew she needed to mourn, but it was all tied up with rage and shame and, she had to admit, fear for her future. Even her grief couldn’t be unadulterated.
Rory had barely been able to drive past that steakhouse in Billings without feeling nauseous, and her insides trembled with anxiety now, realizing she was about to revisit the situation she’d so successfully avoided until now. Not that she’d exactly been fighting off invitations.
She hadn’t had a date since David, of course; the betrayal had left her shaken for months, afraid to trust her own judgment. She’d been…frozen. And once the heat of anger burned through the frost, she’d almost exploded out of Billings, unable to spend another day in that world. But apparently whatever kind of man-repelling vibe she’d been emitting up until now had run out of juice because here was Carson, begging to take her out, and here she was, accepting. Nope. Not frozen anymore.
Good thing for Mistral, she thought. If it weren’t for the dog, she’d probably have launched herself at the man in an emotionally naked display of desperation.
Naked? Why, oh why, did her imagination take her to such places?
“What’s your meeting tomorrow about?” she asked, desperate to break the silence.
Carson hesitated, then answered without looking at her. “I’ve submitted a proposal for a substantial research grant supported by an environmental initiative that focuses on indigenous species. They’ve been positive so far. Could be a big deal.”
“That’s great, Carson.”
He shrugged. “It’s a slow and painful process. But once I get the money, the center will be secured.”
They fell silent again. Although he’d said the words lightly, Rory felt a chill come between them. What wasn’t he telling her? She sensed something, a weight, a burden. She tugged at the crimson wrap that had slipped over her shoulder.
“You cold?” Carson glanced at her, reached for the control panel. “I can turn on the heat.”
“I’m fine,” Rory said hastily. “Just…”
“Nervous?” He pulled off the shades and gave her a wry smile. “Don’t be.”
“I’m not.” But she felt her face flaming. Damn her thin Scottish skin.
“You’ve been awfully busy, just with the move, let alone the chaos you walked into. When’s the last time you enjoyed a nice meal?”
She was quiet for a moment. What was the point in hiding her past? It was pretty obvious that she came with baggage. In case he was feeling…anything, hearing her history might get his hormones back under wraps. Might even take hers down a notch or two.
“Those are two separate events,” she answered finally. “My former fiancé bought me lobster the night he told me he was screwing his assistant. It was a nice meal, but I didn’t enjoy it.”
Carson’s hands tightened on the wheel and his breath came out in a sharp hiss.
“Ouch.” His voice was calm, but she heard an undertone of menace. “He’s quite the bastard, then, isn’t he? I hope you threw the hot butter in his face.”
Rory laughed, a short bark of surprise. Sympathy would have undone her; discomfort made her feel alone. But empathy, understanding, that she hadn’t expected.
“I wish I had.”
“Not even a drink?” He looked at her disappointedly.
“Nope.” She smiled, remembering what she had done. “But I did get him. On the way to the ladies’ room, I bumped into the headwaiter. He noticed that I was upset—who wouldn’t? I told him exactly what David had told me, and asked, jokingly, if the chef could prepare something special for him. The guy told me he’d take care of it. And not to eat the crème brûlée.”
Carson’s laughter rolled rich and warm over the last of her self-pity. “Okay, that’s better than hot butter. I hope he was sick.”
“As a dog. I don’t know what they put in his food, but it hit hard, and it hit fast. Poor guy barely made it home.”
They’d arrived at their destination, a little out-of-the-way place on the outskirts of Chinook.
“You won’t believe it, but we’re about to have the best Greek food this side of the Mediterranean.” Carson turned off the truck, raced around to her side, and whipped open the passenger door. He reached for her hand, apologizing as he did so.
