by R. C. Ryan
“Does your beard tickle?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you grow a beard?”
“I’ve been tending a herd in the hills for the past couple of weeks.”
“I heard Nadine telling Ingrid that even with all that hair she could tell you were”—she struggled to think of the word—“hunkly…huntly. Hunky. What’s hunky? Did she mean like the Incredible Hulk?”
He had to choke back the laughter that bubbled up. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Do you think Ingrid’s pretty?”
Her question caught him off guard. “Yeah.”
“Prettier than Nadine?”
“I don’t know what Nadine looks like, but Ingrid’s not as pretty as her little sister.”
Lily giggled behind her hand. “I’m not pretty. I don’t look at all like Ingrid. And she’s pretty. I’m just…” She tried to think of a word. “Mick says I’m a tomboy. I guess he’s right. I’d rather be with the horses or cows any time than with people.”
“I bet Mick means that as a compliment. I happen to like tomboys.”
As she started to leave, he asked, “Why do you call your mother Nadine?”
Her eyes rounded in thought. “’Cause that’s her name.”
“You don’t call her Mom?”
She shrugged. “She said not to. She likes Nadine better. It makes her feel young.” She danced out the doorway, closing the door behind her.
Whatever other questions Luke had dissolved in a fog of sleep.
Chapter Three
Sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, shining a light in Luke’s eyes. He awoke and lay still, listening to the morning sounds. A pair of doves cooed outside the window. Cattle lowed on a distant hill. Somewhere upstairs a door slammed.
The smell of bacon frying and bread toasting reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days. His stomach was grumbling.
An old man ambled across the room and paused beside the sofa. “’Morning. I’m Mick Hinkley.”
“Luke Malloy.”
“You’re looking more alive than dead today. Think you’re up to taking a shower?”
Luke grinned. “That must mean I’m not smelling too good. You going to help me take that shower?”
The old man chuckled. “Not if I can help it. But Ingrid asked me to follow you up the stairs to the bathroom, to see you don’t keel over.”
“You realize I’m naked?”
Mick’s grin widened. “Nothing I haven’t seen in my lifetime. But here.” He handed Luke a bath towel. “This ought to cover your backside.”
He offered a hand and Luke accepted, easing to his feet and waiting for a moment until the room stopped spinning. He used the time to fasten the bath towel around his hips.
With Mick leading the way, Luke followed him up the stairs and along a hallway to a bathroom. Inside, the old man pointed to an assortment of disposable pink razors and tubes of shaving cream.
“Yours?”
Mick shot him a foolish grin. “That’s why I don’t share this place with three females. I think they buy this stuff by the case. I’ve got my own bathroom downstairs.”
He indicated Luke’s clothes, freshly laundered and folded atop a basket of towels. He studied Luke, holding on to the edge of the sink. “You going to be okay by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine.”
The old cowboy turned away. “When you’re done, come on down to breakfast.”
“Thanks, Mick.”
When he was alone, Luke began the tedious process of shaving a wild tangle of beard with several of the throw-away plastic razors he found in a beribboned basket of supplies. Using copious amounts of shaving cream and plenty of hot water, he managed to finish, cutting himself only four times.
When he stepped under the warm spray, he sighed with contentment as he shampooed his hair and soaped his body with some kind of girly body wash that smelled like a summer garden. And finally, when he was too weak to stand, he sat in the old-fashioned tub and allowed the water to run until it was nearly overflowing. With eyes closed, his head dropped back and he thought about just staying here all morning. The only thing that had him finally stepping out and toweling dry was the wonderful smell of food drifting up the stairs.
He dressed and tied his hair back, relieved to find a black ponytail elastic among the clutter of pink ones that littered the counter.
Gathering up his wet towels, he headed down the stairs, following the scent to the kitchen.
The chorus of voices stopped abruptly as he stepped into the room, but not before he caught the note of tension in the room.
He flashed Ingrid a smile and winked at Lily. “Thanks for the use of the bathroom.” He held out the armload of towels. “I figured I’d save you a trip upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
As he handed over the towels, his fingers accidentally brushed the swell of her breast. Her head came up sharply as she took them from his hands, while her cheeks turned the most becoming shade of red. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face as she walked into a small alcove off the kitchen. When she returned, she avoided his eyes, while he studied her with a look of pure male appreciation.
Mick handed him a steaming mug of coffee. “You’re looking better.”
“Thanks.” Luke took a sip. “I’m feeling like a new man.”
“What a coincidence. So am I.” The smoky voice behind him had him turning toward the doorway. A curvy woman with big hair dyed fire-engine red and enough makeup to start her own cosmetics company was looking him up and down. “I’m Nadine Larsen.”
He extended his hand. “Luke—”
“Oh, I know. We met earlier, though you were out cold.” She glanced at the others. “I see you’ve met my girls. I know it’s hard to believe I’m old enough to have a twenty-three-year-old daughter, but like I tell everybody, I was a child bride.”
She took his hand between both of hers, smiling up into his eyes. “While you were mending, you looked mighty tempting with all that facial hair, but now, with that naked face, I’ve got to say you’re looking downright delicious.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
“Hungry, Luke?” Mick held up a frying pan, where bacon sizzled.
“Yeah.” Grateful to the old man, Luke extracted his hand and beat a hasty retreat to the table.
“Me too.” Nadine settled herself beside him, nudging his knee with hers under the table. “A good-looking cowboy always makes me ravenous.”
Mick circled the table, ladling scrambled eggs and crisp bacon onto each plate before returning to the stove.
While Ingrid and Lily ate in silence, Nadine kept up a running conversation.
“You know how to handle a rifle, Luke?”
“I grew up using one. Why?”
Nadine looked around at the others. “I always say you can’t have too many men who know a thing or two about rifles willing to watch your back. Especially since we’ve become the Wild West way out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Ingrid bristled. “This is none of Luke’s business.”
“What isn’t?” Puzzled at the tone of the conversation, he looked from one to the other.
“Nothing.” Ingrid clamped her jaw and shot her mother a warning look.
“Suit yourself. I think it’s all in your twisted little minds anyway.” Unfazed, Nadine went on as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “You’ll never believe who was in town yesterday.”
When neither of her daughters responded, she continued on: “Alberta Crow. And believe me, she’s looking more and more like an old crow. I can’t believe she let her hair go gray. She was wearing one of her husband’s cast-off shirts and the baggiest pair of jeans I ever saw.”
“I heard they’re losing their ranch,” Mick muttered. “A crying shame. Three generations of blood, sweat, and tears going up for auction.”
“That’s no reason to look like something the cat dragged in.” Nadine star
ed pointedly at her older daughter. “You know. The way you look when you’re mucking stalls. Oh, I forgot.” The sarcasm in her tone was thick enough to cut. “That’s how you look all the time. You even wear the same tired clothes when you go to town.”
“You spend enough on fancy duds for both of us.” Ingrid pushed away from the table and set her empty dishes in the sink.
Nadine’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”
“To muck stalls. In my baggy work clothes. Unless you’d like to take a turn at ranch chores. Now, that would make headlines.”
The two women stared at each other before Nadine picked up her mug and drank.
“Wait, Ingrid.” Lily drained her glass of milk and carried her dishes, depositing them in the sink with a clatter. “I’ll go with you.”
The two sisters walked out, letting the back door slam behind them.
Mick stood up and began clearing the pots and pans from the stove before setting them in a sink filled with hot, soapy water.
Nadine turned to Luke with a satisfied smile. “Looks like it’s just you and me now, cowboy.” She strained toward him, showing plenty of cleavage in her low-necked tee as she put a hand over his. “Why don’t you tell me all about yourself?”
“Some other time.” He crossed the room and handed Mick his dishes. “Thanks for a great breakfast. I’m going to give the ladies a hand in the barn.”
The old man’s eyes went wide. “Think you’re strong enough?”
He wasn’t sure he could even walk to the barn, but he was willing to do whatever it took to get away from the shark at the table.
“I guess I’ll find out.” With a smile he ambled out of the room, pausing at the back door to retrieve his boots. He noted with surprise that they’d been polished. He removed his battered hat from a hook by the door before stepping outside.
As he made his way to the barn, he thought about the latest twist. So this was Mama Larsen. There was nothing subtle about her. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to try to look like a hot chick. The candy-apple-red hair, the heavy-handed makeup, and the skinny jeans and too-tight T-shirt were over the top. But nothing could hide the desperation in those eyes. She looked determined to hold on to her last vestiges of youth.
He thought of his grandmother, Gracie, at least twenty years older than Nadine but infinitely more beautiful. She had not only a physical beauty but also an inner light and peace that radiated from her, casting everyone around her in a golden glow.
Luke stepped into the barn and paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. In a far stall Ingrid forked straw and manure into a wagon. Lily worked beside her, spreading fresh straw.
Ingrid worked like the very devil himself was after her. It occurred to Luke that he always did the same, whenever he was working off a temper.
Though she’d remained mostly silent in the kitchen, Luke figured Ingrid had found a better way of expressing herself. He’d bet good money that she was not only angry but also embarrassed by her mother’s behavior, and this was her way of getting past it.
He watched her for several silent minutes. Even the loose, faded work clothes couldn’t hide a killer body like hers. And the unexpectedly short, tousled haircut that looked as though she’d taken scissors to it in a fit of anger only added to her cool, Nordic beauty.
She looked up in surprise when he helped himself to a pitchfork and walked to the adjoining stall.
Apparently she wasn’t expecting a man to pass up the chance to be charmed by her mother.
Her tone expressed both surprise and anger. “What are you doing?”
“The same as you.”
“You’re not strong enough…”
He shrugged. “I’ll quit when my body tells me to.”
“Fine. It’s your body.” She bent to her work. “But don’t ask me to pick you up if you fall on your face. Once was enough.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He was chuckling as he turned away.
Lily climbed up to perch on the upper railing of a stall as Luke stepped into his horse’s stall and was greeted by a friendly head-butt.
“Hello, Turnip.” He ran a hand over the horse’s forelock and was rewarded by a soft nickering. “How’re you doing, old boy?”
“Why do you call your horse Turnip?”
“Because when he was just a foal, he wandered into Yancy’s garden and started eating the turnip tops.”
“Who’s Yancy?”
“Yancy Martin is our ranch cook and all-around housekeeper.”
“You have a cook and housekeeper?” The little girl turned to her sister with a look of amazement.
“The best cook in Montana. And when Yancy saw that animal chewing up his tender garden greens, he was ready to have him ground up into horsemeat. And ever since then, poor Turnip has had to endure that silly name.”
“It is silly.”
“But he likes it. Don’t you, boy? Speaking of names…” He studied her, perched on the top rail, looking like a tiny doll. “I think instead of Lily, I’m going to call you Li’l Bit.”
The look on Lily’s face was priceless. She couldn’t hide her pleasure at having her very own nickname.
Luke began forking dung and straw into the wagon.
“Do you do this at home?”
“You bet.”
“Do you own your own ranch?”
“I live on my family’s ranch. My father and grandfather before him lived there, too.”
“But if you can afford a cook and housekeeper, why not hire people to do your ranch chores?”
“I like doing my own, like my daddy.”
“Is your daddy as big as you?”
He paused for a moment before saying, “My dad is dead. My mom, too. They died when I was little.”
“My daddy’s dead, too. But I’ve still got Nadine and Ingrid. Who do you live with now?”
“My two brothers. My uncle. My grandparents. And old Burke, who’s tough as nails.”
“He’s…mean?”
Luke shook his head. “Never. Burke doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. But he’s tough. When he says he wants something done, it had better be done to his liking. And he’s fair. He’s as much a pa to me as my own. You’d like him. He’s like Mick.”
“Ingrid says Mick is like our grandfather. Except he isn’t.” She watched him for long, silent minutes before asking, “Do you and your brothers always look out for each other?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “That’s what brothers do.”
“Do you fight?”
He winked at her. “That’s one of the first rules of being a guy. You have to know how to fight. Especially if you have brothers.”
Her tone grew wistful. “I wish I had a brother.”
“You have a sister.”
“I know. But she’s not big and strong like a man and sometimes I worry…”
“That’s enough, Lily.” Ingrid shot her sister a warning look.
Her head swiveled as a shadow fell over the doorway and a rough voice called, “Where is she?”
Ingrid stepped from a stall. “Nadine isn’t here.”
“I didn’t ask if she’s here.” The man was well over six feet, with a thick midsection and the muscled shoulders of a rancher. His face was red with anger, or possibly sweat. “I asked where she is.”
“You know Nadine.” The soft voice was tinged with sarcasm. “She doesn’t leave us her itinerary.”
“Don’t be funny with me, girl.” The man’s breathing was ragged, as though he’d been working up a fierce anger. His hands were fisted at his sides. “I told her I wanted an answer to my offer.”
“And as you already know, I told her not to accept your offer until the cattle are sold at the end of summer.”
“Yeah. She told me. What right do you—”
As he started toward Ingrid, Luke stepped out of the stall he’d been cleaning, the pitchfork resting casually over his shoulder. “If you have something to say to Ingrid, you’ll stop where you are and say it.
You take another step toward her and you’ll answer to me.”
The stranger gave a sneer. “Think you’re big enough, cowboy?”
“Try me.”
“You’d better bring an army if you decide to go up against me.”
“I don’t need anyone but myself.” Luke kept the pitchfork resting lightly on his shoulder. Though he smiled, there was something about his voice that had the man blinking before reaching for the gun at his hip. As he withdrew it, he grinned. “I don’t give your puny weapon much of a chance against mine.”
Luke set aside the pitchfork and reached for the rifle in the boot of his saddle, which was hanging over the top rail of the stall. Taking aim, he drawled, “Now that the odds are even, how about it? Are you a gambling man?”
That had the stranger backing up a step. He turned to Ingrid with a scowl. “Tell your mother I’m not in the mood to wait until the cattle come down from the hills. She’d better give me an answer soon, or else.”
Luke never raised his voice, but the thread of steel beneath his words was clear. “You’ve had your say. Now get off the lady’s property.”
The stranger shot him a killing look before stalking away. Minutes later they heard the sound of a horse’s hooves pounding the earth. Lily scrambled down from the railing to stand beside her sister.
Luke studied the two of them. “Who was that?”
“A neighbor. He wants to buy our ranch.”
“This neighbor have a name?”
“Bull Hammond.” Ingrid spoke his name with contempt.
Luke saw the way Lily’s small hand crept into Ingrid’s, their fingers tangling.
He set aside the rifle and sank down on a bale of hay.
Ingrid studied him as she stripped off worn leather gloves. “I’ll give you this, cowboy. You surprised me. There aren’t too many people around here who would stand up to Bull Hammond.”
“I’m just glad he couldn’t see that I’m almost out on my feet.”
Ingrid stepped closer. “Come on. You need to get inside.”
She caught his arm, then, seeing the dark look in his eyes, released her hold on him and backed up a step.
“In a minute. Tell me what happened to your wranglers.”
“They left after my dad died.”