by Marin Thomas
“Trouble?”
She spun and spotted Jake Taylor standing on her porch. “C’mon in, Jake.”
He stepped into the kitchen. “Where’re the little fillies?”
“Napping. Rose caught Lily’s cold, so after school I made them both rest.”
“Can I help?” Jake nodded at the telephone.
“I wish.” She grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. “Have a seat.” Jake was a coffee-guzzling cowboy and his wife, bless her heart, hadn’t brewed a decent pot of java their entire marriage. But Jake loved Helen as if there were no tomorrow and relied on sympathetic neighbors to satisfy his coffee urges.
“That was Mary Hainestock. I’m trying to convince her that Matt isn’t a mass murderer so she’ll allow Kristen to babysit the girls for the next few weeks while I take a data-entry course in Rockton.”
Jake sipped from the coffee mug, then sighed his pleasure.
“I said you’d vouch for Matt,” Amy continued. “But I suspect Mary won’t call you.”
“Did a little diggin’ into Cartwright’s background.”
“Really?” She leaned forward. “What did you learn?”
“Spoke with a few buddies of mine who follow the rodeo circuit. Cartwright’s one of the top tie-down ropers in the country.”
“I noticed his buckle the other day,” she confessed.
“He went to college while ridin’ the circuit, too.”
College? The cowboys she’d met had never gone to college—including Ben.
“Graduated with a business degree from Oklahoma State, then headed off to rodeo full-time.” Jake shoved a bent finger under the brim of his hat and scratched the patch of thinning hair at the front of his head. When that same finger picked at the glob of dried spaghetti sauce on the kitchen table, Amy became suspicious.
“Spit it out, Jake.”
“Cartwright’s loaded.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s got money compared to me.” She wasn’t surprised by the information. It all added up—the fancy rig. The nice diesel truck. A real Stetson, not a knockoff. The fact he’d made her mortgage payment without batting an eye.
“His daddy does oil,” Jake said.
“Oil like in…”
“Millions of dollars worth of oil wells in Oklahoma and eastern Arkansas.”
Why in the world was Matt messing around with a deranged horse when he had enough money to purchase an entire stud farm? “Doesn’t make sense.”
“I figure the man’s got his reasons for wantin’ to work with SOS,” Jake answered as if reading her mind. “Cartwright thinks the horse spooked when he kicked Ben.”
She admitted that it was entirely possible her husband’s death had been accidental, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“In any regard, the cowboy knows what he’s doin’ with the animal.”
If Matt proved SOS wasn’t loco she’d sell the animal and pay off most, if not all, her debt. Both her father and Ben had been big talkers. Talk didn’t prove anything. Time would tell if Matt had the ability to rehabilitate the stud.
But Matt will never have the chance if you force him to leave the farm while Kristen babysits.
“Cartwright’s a straightforward cowboy,” Jake continued. “Never been married. No kids.”
No kids that he’s aware of… She scolded herself for the uncharitable thought. Just because the man was a walking, breathing hunk didn’t mean he was reckless in bed. She squirmed in the chair, resisting the urge to ask if Matt was currently involved with a woman—not that she cared one way or another. Yeah, right. She blamed her horny musings on the dry spell her love life had suffered from since before Ben’s death.
“Does Matt have the right equipment to work with SOS?” She should have offered Matt a tour of the barn and shown him where the equipment and supplies were—what few remained.
Jake nodded. “Matt’s got SOS in the paddock now. Prancin’ around like he ain’t kicked nobody.”
Enough talk about horses and Matt. “How’s Helen?” Jake’s wife suffered from lupus and had her good days and bad days.
“Doc prescribed a new medicine. She’s feelin’ good enough to cook.”
Helen came from a long line of Germans and was happiest slaving over a hot stove making Jake’s favorite—sauerkraut and sausage. Amy didn’t like cooking. She’d rather be outside with the horses or digging in her flowerbed. In her opinion the whole Betty Crocker thing was overrated. What pleasure did a woman gain from spending hours preparing a meal that would be devoured in a matter of minutes? Then the husband would head out to the barn and leave his wife to deal with a sinkful of dirty dishes.
“I’ll stop by and visit Helen soon.” Amy felt guilty for avoiding the older woman, especially when Helen loved seeing the girls. Since Ben’s death Amy’s life had become a toy top—spinning aimlessly in a world that shrunk inch by inch.
“Appreciate the coffee. Best be on my way.” Jake carried his empty mug to the sink.
She followed him to the door. “Thanks for watching over us.”
“Your granddaddy would have…Hold up.” He patted his jean pocket, then removed a black notepad the size of an address book. “Almost forgot why I’d stopped by.” He held out the pad. “I’m ashamed to admit I’m just now gettin’ around to strippin’ the paint off that old desk you sold me after your folks passed on. Found this book stuck between two drawers.”
“It’s my father’s,” Amy murmured, fanning the pages. “He carried it everywhere with him.” She smiled at the memory. “He’d write ideas or sketch pictures of inventions he believed would make him rich one day.” Amy had wondered where the journal had disappeared to. She hadn’t seen it when she’d sorted through her parents’ possessions after their deaths.
“Well, holler if you come across a winner. I wouldn’t mind earnin’ a few extra bucks before I die.” He winked.
“You’ll be the first to know if I discover a moneymaking scheme worth consideration.” Amy hugged the geezer.
“Give Cartwright half a chance, young lady. If he can prove the stud was spooked and didn’t attack Ben, SOS will fetch a good price.”
Strange how the horse that killed her husband might be the means to a brighter future for Amy and the girls. One thing for certain, she was tired of being beholden to people. Whether she liked it or not, she needed Matt’s help with the stallion.
As soon as Jake’s truck pulled away, Amy shoved her father’s notebook into a kitchen drawer—she’d read it later when she was in a better mood—and headed for the barn. Only the fear that if she didn’t acquire a decent-paying job, she and the girls might end up homeless kept her from chickening out. But how did she tell Matt that he had to get lost for a few hours each day while she attended classes—especially after he’d shelled out sixteen hundred dollars for her mortgage payment?
“I was on my way up to the house.” Matt flashed a white smile when he met her at the barn door. “How would you and the girls like to go out for supper tonight?”
Was he asking her on a date?
“It’s Friday,” Matt continued, unfazed by her silence. “Figured you’d want to get away from the place.”
So he’d noticed that she and the girls hadn’t left the farm this week—save for Rose, who hopped on the school bus each morning at seven-thirty. Lord, she led a pathetic life. “I’d planned to make—”
“You cooked all week. Let me treat you and the girls to a nice meal.” His grin widened and the air in Amy’s lungs escaped in a whoosh.
Yes, she’d prepared the meals, but he’d paid for the food. Then a terrible notion struck her. “You’re not keen on my cooking, are you?”
If his smile widened any farther his lips would split in half. “Your meals are great, Amy.”
Right. That must be why the giant-size ketchup bottle in the fridge was almost empty. “I appreciate the offer, but the girls and I will be fine right here.” She rushed on. “Bailey’s is a tavern
in Rockton that offers a fish fry on Fridays. And the Cantina has decent Mexican cuisine—not real spicy.” And her favorite…“DaVinci’s has to-die-for fried ravioli.” Her mouth watered, imagining the taste.
“Do the girls like Italian?”
“Well, sure they do, but—”
Eyes sparking he coaxed, “C’mon, Amy. Have dinner with me tonight.” Then he inched forward and his scent almost overwhelmed her. He smelled of barn, faded cologne and the bar of Coast soap in her shower. For a few moments she forgot where they were. Forgot she was a widow. Forgot she had two children. Forgot everything but the sight, smell and yes, touch—she dropped her gaze to where his fingers toyed with hers—of this man.
“The girls will have fun,” he insisted.
“The girls have colds.” Why did her voice sound far away?
“Bring sweaters for them to wear in the restaurant.”
Why would a cowboy like Matt want to hang out with a widow and two kids—because he was being nice or because he wished to please her so she wouldn’t send him packing? As if either reason mattered because she was dying to escape the farm. “We’ll pay for our own meals.”
“No, ma’am. My treat.”
Pride reared its ugly head. “I don’t appreciate people feeling sorry for me.”
“Is that what you believe—that I pity you?”
Eyes stinging, she admitted, “Maybe.”
“I don’t.”
The note of conviction in his voice broke through her defenses. “All right, then. The girls and I accept your invitation.”
“Be ready by five-thirty.” He winked, then retreated deeper into the barn to finish whatever he’d been doing before she’d interrupted him.
Heart racing, she hurried to the house—what to wear out to dinner taking precedence over asking Matt to vacate the ranch when the babysitter arrived next week.
WHILE AMY PUTTERED IN the kitchen, Matt sat on the porch swing, battling a bad case of nerves. After they’d returned from the restaurant in Rockton, she’d put the girls to bed, then promised him coffee before he turned in for the night.
His dining experience with the three females had gone better than he’d anticipated. As Amy promised, the food at DaVinci’s had been excellent. But after a bite or two the flavor was forgotten as he lost himself in watching Amy. She’d cut each piece of fried ravioli in half, then closed her eyes when she chewed, savoring the mouthful. He wondered if Amy made love the same way she ate—slow and easy. The pleasure on her face after swallowing had been sexier than all get out.
Afraid if he didn’t quit thinking about Amy, food and sex he’d embarrass himself when they stood up to leave the restaurant, Matt had offered to teach Rose how to twirl spaghetti using a fork and spoon. As the meal progressed, the conversation had centered on the girls. Rose was a talker. Her favorite topic—her latest love, Butch. And Lily with her sweet smile and copycat words gathered her share of attention from the waitress.
He wished Amy would hurry with the coffee. After witnessing her lush lips chew food, he wanted to kiss her. Taste her. Test the softness of her lips. Maybe flick his tongue inside her mouth and whisk it over her teeth. A friendly kiss—nothing more. A thanks-for-going-out-to-supper-with-me kiss.
The phone rang inside the house and Amy answered it. Her muted voice carried through the screen door, but he wasn’t able to decipher much of the one-sided conversation. A minute later, she stepped onto the porch, carrying two coffee mugs.
“Everyone tucked in for the night?” he asked.
She moved toward the porch steps.
Oh, no, you don’t. He patted the seat. “The stars here seem brighter than the ones in Oklahoma,” he said, hoping to break the tension.
Amy intrigued Matt. The widow came with more baggage than an airline employee handled in a week, yet that didn’t faze him. Each time he lost himself in Amy Olson’s brown eyes, a feeling of home rushed through him. Her small spread nestled in the lush valley along the banks of the south fork of the Snake River filled his soul with contentment and peace.
But the peace was temporary. No matter how much he admired her farm or wished to get to know Amy better, he didn’t dare lose his heart to the woman—because she’d trample it to death if she discovered how he’d used her husband.
Besides, he’d sworn off women after the stunt Kayla had pulled on him.
Amy’s not Kayla. She wouldn’t use you.
Maybe. Maybe not. Where women were concerned Matt’s judgment sucked. He’d been sure Kayla had been the one. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined the woman and her ex had been plotting against him—Kayla would marry Matt, then turn around and seek a divorce and a substantial financial settlement.
You’re no better than Kayla. You used Ben Olson’s gambling addiction for your own gain—that’s just as bad.
Amy handed him one of the mugs before taking a seat on the swing, scooting as close to the armrest as possible. He didn’t mind. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of coffee and Amy’s citrus shampoo.
“Rose claims she’s going to teach Butch how to twirl spaghetti now.”
Matt smiled as he recalled Rose’s spaghetti-stained mouth at the restaurant. “How are the girls coping with their father’s death?”
“Fine. Ben wasn’t around much. Once a month he’d show up and stay for a few days, then he’d take off again. The girls understood he was their father, but they preferred to tag along after me.” Then she abruptly switched topics on Matt. “I noticed the rope burn on your palm.” Amy motioned to his right hand. “What happened?”
The diagonal line of puckered flesh dissected his palm from wrist to index finger. “A souvenir from my first bull ride.”
“Jake said you were a roper.”
“My bull-riding career lasted all of one ride. My hand got caught in the rope and the bull dragged me around the arena like a rag doll. When I tried to loosen the rope, my other hand—the one without a glove—got caught. After that experience I decided I was better off on a horse.”
“Ben was leery of bulls, too. He busted broncs.”
Matt knew who the better cowboys were on the circuit and Ben’s name had never shown up in the standings or any win columns.
Amy’s next words confirmed her husband’s lackluster career. “He was in love with the whole rodeo-cowboy image. He stayed with the sport after we married because it was an excuse to leave the farm.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but Matt caught the underlying hurt in her voice.
“How did you and Ben hook up?”
“We met at a rodeo, of course. He caught my eye with his full-of-himself attitude and smile.” She cast a sideways glance. “All you rodeo cowboys have great smiles.”
Did that mean Matt’s grin was special or like a thousand other cowboys—not so special?
“At twenty-one I was naive about men. I was flattered by Ben’s interest and mistook it for—” she waved a hand in the air “—real caring. We had a one-night stand in a motel room and Ben was gone the next morning. I was okay with that.” She expelled a loud sigh. “Relieved actually. One of those life lessons you learn to accept and then move on. I came home and three months later discovered I was pregnant with Rose.”
In the early days of his career, Matt had had his share of one-night stands. He’d been damned lucky none of the young ladies had ended up pregnant. He’d always been careful, but accidents happened. “Ben should have used protection.”
“We did. The second time.”
“So you and Ben married.”
“I informed him because he had a right to know he was going to be a father. I didn’t expect him to offer marriage. When he did, I accepted—mainly for my mother’s sake.” A red hue swept across Amy’s cheeks. “I followed in my mother’s footsteps. She ended up pregnant with me and had to marry my father.” She sipped her coffee before continuing. “After we got hitched, Ben moved a few things into my bedroom here at the house.”
“You two didn’t want
a place of your own?”
“Ben invited me to tag along with him on the circuit, but living in a pop-up trailer didn’t appeal to me. Besides, my mother would never have been able to handle the boarding business by herself.”
“She had your father—”
“My father was useless. Mom and I handled the horses.” Her finger tapped against the ceramic mug. “The farm belongs to my mother’s side of the family. My father never had any real interest in seeing the place prosper. I was fine with staying behind and letting Ben run off to his rodeos. And I admit I was nervous about being a new mother and wanted my mom close by for support.”
“What happened to your folks?”
“They died a few years ago in a boating accident. Ben came home more often after that and I stupidly believed he’d intended to help around the place. Lily was the result of that bad judgment call.”
“Mind if I ask how the farm got into financial trouble?” Matt braced himself for the answer.
“Ben gambled. A year ago I discovered he’d taken cash advances on several credit cards. When I threatened divorce, he begged for a second chance and agreed to join Gamblers Anonymous. A part of me hoped he’d change—for the girls’ sakes.” She stared into space for a long time. “I was such a sucker.”
“What happened?”
“He insisted we take out a second mortgage on the farm to pay off the credit cards and I agreed. But instead of paying off the debt, Ben used the money to buy SOS. He promised that stud fees would more than pay off our bills.” She expelled a shaky breath. “A month later he died.”
Matt couldn’t ignore that he’d played a part in Amy’s misfortune. “You’re in a tough spot, all right,” he murmured. He should pay her mortgage for the rest of the summer—the least he could do after he’d lured Ben into a card game the man had no business taking part in.
If Matt had the savings, he’d buy SOS from Amy right now and solve both their dilemmas. He contemplated asking his father for a loan, but the old man hated horses and Matt doubted he’d sink a single penny of the Cartwright oil fortune into Matt’s dream.