by Kim Redford
And then she realized that she had no idea where they were going. If she had fallen into a dream world, she had to wake up. She couldn’t just let herself be taken off to who knew where. She shook her head to clear it.
“Slade, where are we going?”
“To my home.”
“Yes, I understand. But where is it?”
He glanced at her with a grin. “I forgot you don’t know all the ranches and their families. I’m still mostly at Steele Trap I. I put a modular home there after my injury. It’s all on one level.”
“That sounds good.”
“It’s been fine, but I never intended to make it permanent. Now I’m fixing up the ranch house on Steele Trap II. I told you about it, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“So, on the old ranch, there’s the original house with Mom and Granny, then down from there in the next house is my sister, Sydney, with her daughter, Storm, and her fiancé, Dune. My house is closest to the Red River.”
Ivy felt her breath catch in her throat as the implications of what he told her sank in. “Are you telling me that we’re going to drive by your grandmother’s house and your sister’s house before we get to your house?”
“Right.”
“I suppose there’s only one road in and out.”
“Right again.” He glanced at her, appearing puzzled as he slowed down on the road. “Your point?”
“Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the whole county?”
He clenched the steering wheel with both hands. “I’d never do that. Surely you know it.”
“Then why would you drive me by those houses? Anybody could see us and know I was spending the night.”
“Why would they care…or you care?”
“As if you don’t know—I’m now the face of Wildcat Hall. I’m rebuilding its reputation into a first-class establishment.” She tossed a glare at him. “Its reputation is connected to my reputation.”
“But I don’t see how—”
“We’re talking about entertainment and entertainers. They have a certain reputation. Fern has to deal with it all the time.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“If I’d been here longer, it’d be different, but if I’m seen hooking up with you after I’ve barely landed in the county, I’m bound to be considered—no matter how old-fashioned it sounds—a loose woman.”
He clenched the steering wheel again. “I thought maybe, if they even found out, that they’d see you as my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Yeah.” He glanced over at her. “I kind of hoped so.”
“It’s too soon. I believe that develops over time.”
“Not in our case.”
“Your grandmother is probably the straw-hat-and-white-gloves-in-the-summertime type of woman.”
“She’s not. She’s a cowgirl and a cook.” He gave Ivy a soft smile. “If I love you, she’ll love you.”
“Love?”
“We’ll get to that.” He grinned mischievously. “Right now I’m taking you home.”
“No. You’re taking me back to the cowboy cabins. I’ll move into one of those for the duration.”
“Haven’t you been listening to me? I’d never do anything I thought would harm you in any way.” He stomped on the brake, pulled to the side of the road, and turned to look at her. “I don’t think you’re safe there. I want you with me, where I can watch over you.”
“I don’t think you’ve been listening to me. I will not—absolutely not—be seen in your home so shortly after our acquaintance.”
“You know this is the twenty-first century.”
“I don’t care what it is. Take me back to the cabins.”
“No.”
“No?” She stared at him in frustration. “What are you going to do, hold me captive?”
“I’m about to that point.” He drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “Okay, let’s compromise. I won’t take you where it’s warm and comfortable with plenty of good food. I’ll take you to the new ranch house. Nobody is anywhere near there to see us.”
“Except the cattle rustlers.”
“Well, there’s always that.” And he grinned, chuckling under his breath. “On the plus side, it might give us a chance to catch them.”
She just shook her head. “What kind of shape is this house in?”
“Not too bad.”
“If it’s not as good as the cabins…”
He chuckled again, easing back on the road. “Remember, I offered you the best.”
She leaned back in her seat with an uneasy feeling that the night wasn’t going to get any better.
“One good thing.”
“What?”
“I think Granny left some sugar cookies there.”
“Oh no. I told you I’ll remember that burnt stench forever, and it’ll make me queasy. Not even her cooking will tempt me.”
“Might not be anything else to eat.”
“I can wait.” She glanced up at the night sky. “How far away can dawn and a good breakfast be?”
“Dawn, quite a while. Breakfast, just over at the Chuckwagon.”
She glanced down at her clothes, remembering the big, new rip in the bottom of her jeans. “One thing’s for sure—I’m going nowhere I can be seen in these jeans.”
“Didn’t you bring a change?”
“Just a top. I forgot you tore these. And, besides, I’m going home come first light.”
He didn’t say anything else. He just turned off the road, drove over a cattle guard, up a gravel road, and toward a spot-lit, single-story ranch house on a hill overlooking the pastures around it.
She liked the natural rock and cedar trim, double front doors, and big windows in front. She could easily see Slade living there in contentment as he watched over his land, created delicious recipes, and made wonderful wine. If things were different, she could even imagine living there with him, sharing love and family, hopes and dreams, happiness and sorrow…but she stopped those thoughts in their tracks. She wasn’t even girlfriend material, because she was going back to Houston.
“I’m going to park in back, so my truck won’t be visible from the entrance or the road.”
“Thanks. If this works out like it should, nobody will ever know we spent the night together in your house.”
“Another night together.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She glanced over at him. “I don’t know how that keeps happening to us.”
He looked back at her, searching her face as if for an answer. “Do you want me to explain it?”
“No.” She was beginning to feel testy about the whole thing, even though she knew it wasn’t really his fault, since she had to share some of the blame. “I just wanted a nice dinner.”
“You had it.”
“And sugar cookies.”
“There’re some in the house.”
“That’s not funny.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, it is. Later, maybe years from now, we’ll sit on our back porch drinking my latest wine, and we’ll laugh and laugh about my burnt cookies.”
“Our porch?”
He just gave her a slow smile, then opened his door. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable inside.”
But she didn’t move. She was stuck on “our porch” and the way it affected her—all warm and cozy and content. What was happening to her? Did she need to tattoo “Houston” on her forehead to remind her of what she truly wanted in life? At this rate, she could hardly even remember the city, much less think about spending the rest of her life there.
When Slade opened the passenger door and held out his hand to help her down, she cast all thoughts of city life out of her mind. She grabbed her purse with essentials, laptop in its
padded bag, and a soft-sided overnight with a change of underwear, long-sleeve T-shirt, big sleep T-shirt, a button-up sweater, makeup bag, and toothbrush. It was plenty of stuff to get her through a few hours on a ranch.
Once she put her fingers in Slade’s strong hand, she felt the now-familiar heat arc between them. He took her bags in one hand and wrapped the other around her waist. Her feet planted firmly on the ground, they walked together toward the spotlight over the entry to the ranch house.
He stopped at the back door, fished a key out of his pocket, and unlocked and pushed the door open wide. Only a faint night-light illuminated the interior, so she hesitated to enter.
“Better let me go first,” he said, returning his key to his pocket. “I doubt the kitchen’s in very good shape.”
“Didn’t you start renovating there first?”
“It’s last on my list.”
“But why?”
“I’ve got plenty of places to cook. Here I needed the bath and bed more than anything.”
“Your hip?”
“Mostly I’m okay, but if I push too hard, too long, then…”
“I understand.”
“Anyway, let me get the lights.”
When the ceiling lights came on, she couldn’t keep from gasping in horror. She was glad he’d prepared her for the destruction. He’d gutted the room. No cabinets. No countertop. No sink. No fridge. No stove. No nothing… Except walls with half-stripped floral wallpaper and a faded, stained, ripped vinyl floor. A round oak table with two mismatched chairs stood lonely in one corner. On top of it nestled a coffee maker, a cracked, red cookie jar, and two white mugs with “Merry Christmas” written on them in bright green.
“Home sweet home.” Slade gestured around the room. “Hope you don’t expect me to cook.”
She finally laughed at the sight. “After our earlier experience, I’m not sure I ever want you near a stove again.”
“Now that’s flat-out cruel.” He laughed with her. “I guess it’ll take quite a feast for me to redeem my culinary reputation.”
She laughed harder, suddenly feeling lighthearted about everything. “At least there’s never a dull moment in Wildcat Bluff.”
“Not since you arrived on the scene.”
“What?” She walked carefully into the room. “I’m completely innocent.”
“Yeah…just try convincing anybody. I never burned anything in my life till you showed up.”
“Well, I have to admit I might have distracted you a bit while the cookies got a little overheated.”
“Charred, you mean.”
“Well, if you insist on being accurate.”
“When it comes to food, I do.” He patted her bags. “Come on, let’s get you set up.”
She followed him through a big room with early American furniture, all scratched wood and shiny upholstery that must have belonged to the original owners of the house. Large front windows would let in a lot of light during the day, for a picturesque view, but at night, with no drapes, they looked like big, dark, watchful eyes that would allow anyone to peer inside. She shivered and hurried through the room, into the hall, with Slade flipping on lights as they went.
When they came to the end of the hall, he opened the door and turned on a ceiling light with a fan that slowly rotated overhead. She stepped in front of him and smiled with pleasure. He’d surely outdone himself here. He’d painted the walls a pale-rust tint that echoed the warmth of the oak floor. The furniture—king bed, dresser, chest, and nightstands—appeared to be handmade of red cedar in a beautiful contemporary design.
“I made the furniture myself,” Slade said, sounding proud of his accomplishment.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She ran her hand over the rust-colored bedspread with brown suede throw pillows.
“Thanks. It’s comfortable.” He gestured toward a closed door.
When she opened it, she smiled at the welcome sight of the huge walk-in closet. “This is wonderful. Most of the older houses have small closets.”
“I converted a bedroom to make the closet.”
“Good choice.”
“If you think the old closets are small, you should go further back in time, when there were no closets at all.”
“That’s why they had big wardrobes?”
“Right. Nobody built closets in houses because you had to pay a tax on each closet.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. That’s the truth, strange as it may be now.”
“I’m glad I missed that era.”
He just chuckled as he set her bags on top of the dresser with a large, square mirror behind it. “Come in here. You may like this room best of all.”
She moaned in delight when she entered the final room of his suite, because it was the bathroom. He’d completely outdone himself from the black hexagon mosaic-tile floors to the white subway-tile walls to the jetted-tub to the glass shower to the enclosed toilet to the double square sinks in a vanity with a marble top to the large cone vanity lights above the bank of mirrors. Stainless steel accents and rust-colored towels added the finishing touches.
“You like?” he asked, leaning back against a wall of taupe tile.
“It’s gorgeous. I could live in here.”
“Wish you would.” He shut the door to the bathroom. “Watch this.” He touched a control panel that lowered the lights and turned on the shower, the sinks, and the tub. “I wanted the ultimate in luxury.” He gestured toward the round and square baskets on top of the vanity. “Morning Glory stocked me with all sorts of lotions, shampoos, and soaps. They’re probably the best luxury in the house.”
“I love it. I really do.”
He walked over to her, smiling. “I’m glad because I want you to try it all before you go.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer. In fact—” She stopped in midsentence when she heard a noise outside the door.
“Okay, you varmints,” a deep male voice said, followed by the bark of a dog and the ratchet of a shotgun. “Put your hands in the air and come out easy or get a load of birdshot where the sun don’t shine.”
Ivy gasped and put a hand to her chest.
Slade simply rolled his eyes. “Oscar, don’t you and Tater know when to mind your own business?”
Chapter 18
Ivy watched Slade push open the bathroom door, then she peered around him, hoping to remain mostly out of sight.
A tall, bald-headed, leathery-skinned man of indeterminate age in cowboy hat, shirt, jeans, and boots saw her. He quickly lowered his gun barrel, jerked off his hat, and held it over his heart. “Slade, do introduce me to this lovely lady.”
Ivy stepped back out of sight, behind Slade, but it didn’t help because a dog with short, tricolor fur, and upright ears darted around Slade, pink tongue hanging out, leaped up, put his front paws on her stomach, and tried to lick her face.
“Tater, get down!” Slade hollered, but the dog paid him no never mind.
“If you won’t do the honors, I’ll be happy to introduce myself. Name’s Oscar Leathers and this is Tater, the best cow dog in the county.”
“Call him off before I wrestle him off,” Slade said, irritation lacing his voice as he glared at the dog.
“No need to get testy,” Oscar said. “Tater is simply introducing himself to a lady so lovely he must pay homage in the best way he knows how.”
“He’s got a really long tongue.” Ivy leaned back as far as she could, not about to touch the dog in hopes of avoiding germy saliva contact, in addition to leaving fleas or dirt or cow manure or whatever on her T-shirt.
“Tater, that’s enough.” Slade grabbed the dog’s black leather collar and tugged him off. “He’s got no manners.”
“Not true.” Oscar glanced at Tater, put his hat on his head, and patted his thigh. “Here. Sit.”
Tater immediately sat down beside Oscar but continued to grin happily at Ivy with lolling tongue.
She brushed dusty paw prints off her T-shirt—at least she hoped it was just dust. Actually, she liked dogs, but small, trained, likeable ones were her preference. City dogs. This one had country written all over him. Even worse, he seemed to have taken a liking to her. And that had trouble written all over it, so she kept her position halfway behind Slade.
“Is your girlfriend shy, or are you keeping her hidden away from all the competition in Wildcat Bluff?” Oscar asked, grinning happily—a lot like the dog, minus the lolling tongue.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Ivy said before she realized the implications of that statement. “I mean…well, Slade burned the cookies and my cabin stinks, so he brought me here and…” She trailed off, realizing she was making the situation worse.
“Slade burned food?” Oscar threw back his head and guffawed before he glanced down and patted Tater, who appeared to think the news was just as funny, since he kept grinning at Ivy.
Slade gave her a narrow-eyed look before turning back to Oscar. “You didn’t hear that. And you didn’t see her.”
“And who is this beautiful damsel in distress I don’t see?”
Ivy just sort of gave up. Nothing about this evening was going as planned. Anyway, how much worse could it get? Somehow or other, she figured Fern would know how to handle it all with aplomb, charming the cowboy and the dog. She’d just have to do her best. “I’m Ivy Bryant and—”
“The Ivy Bryant of Wildcat Hall?”
“I guess you could put it that way.”
“Well, bless my stars.” Oscar looked down at Tater again. “Now, isn’t this just our lucky day? We thought we’d caught the rustlers, but lo and behold, we caught the pie baker with the most notorious woman in town. Don’t that beat all!”
“Notorious woman?” Ivy asked, feeling a little faint. Was her reputation already in ruins?
“Notorious?” Slade echoed, pushing Ivy a little farther behind him as if for protection from the big, bad world.
“No other way to put it,” Oscar replied. “Little lady comes to town and lickety-split snags the cowboy every single—and not so single—lady in the county has had her eye on for years. I’d say that’s notorious, because they’re all wondering what she’s got that they don’t.”