Clearly Gran wasn’t going to say what that something else might be.
“And turkey’s associated with all that?”
Gran didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. It brings all those memories up again, just like having you around does—at least for Thomas.”
“Me? What do I have to do with this?”
“You’re young, pretty, from somewhere else and you show up out of the blue. Doesn’t take a diagram to see the possible connection in Thomas’s head.”
“So he’s viewing me the way he views his stepmother?”
“I wouldn’t say precisely that.”
Judi decided to ignore the chuckle that accompanied the words.
It made sense that he was wary of women showing up the way she had, the way Maureen had. It could even explain that sensation of stormy weather brewing whenever she was around Thomas. That had to be it.
On the other hand, the man had to get the idea through his head that the past was the past, and she was not Maureen Vance.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Gran, I am not throwing out that turkey—I worked too hard on it. And if Thomas doesn’t like it he can go hungry. It’s about time he gets over his problems with turkey.”
A slow smile spread across Gran’s face. “Thatagirl. That might just be what’s needed.”
Humming, Judi snapped the cover onto the large container where she’d put the stuffing, then put it and two packets of sliced turkey in the refrigerator.
Behind her she heard the rustle of papers as Thomas dug into the pile on the desk, muttering. He didn’t sound happy.
To someone listening to her humming and his muttering, it might sound like one of those counterpoint duets in an opera, when one character was upbeat and happy and the other was—
A whoosh of papers sliding off the desk segued into an oath.
Cranky.
Yup, the other singer in this duet was definitely cranky.
He bent over, scooped up the papers and thudded them on the desk, obscuring the one open area he’d created.
She set to work cutting the rest of the turkey to freeze for later meals. Maybe she’d make a casserole. Hah! Thomas wouldn’t even know he was being fed turkey.
And soup. Gran had a recipe, and helping with the preparations should help her mood. Which brought to mind something Judi wanted to ask about. “Thomas?”
“What is that you keep humming?” He sounded thoroughly exasperated. Possibly with her for humming. Possibly with himself for asking.
“The Chicago Bears fight song: Bear Down, Chicago Bears.”
“You’re from Chicago?”
She’d answered automatically. Now she opened her mouth, closed it, then turned away from him. “I don’t know.”
For the first time she wondered if the reason she had always been such a bad liar was because she didn’t like the way it made her feel.
He grunted, flipping through the papers that had fallen, extracting one, then looking around as if searching for a place to put it.
His desk needed organizing, but he also had to be tired. He seemed to stay up every night working at the desk, yet rise with the summer dawn. From comments from the others, this had been his routine for the past year. The candle he’d been burning at both ends had to be down to a stub.
“Thomas. You said to come to you about anything about Gran, right?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not wrong. Just something that could be better.”
The line of his shoulders seemed to ease, but he still demanded, “What?”
“Gran could use a desk that rolls. Nothing fancy, just a smoothed board on legs with casters on the bottom would do, as long as she can push it or pull it easily.” She took the sketch she’d made to him. “I found a board to put across the chair, but it’s not real steady and if she wants to get up…”
Thomas was already nodding. “Keith is pretty good at that sort of thing. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“I could talk to him.”
He looked up, with the slant of his brows announcing his surprise. “You?”
“Sure, why not? You think I’m not capable of discussing a simple project with one of your employees? I’m not incompetent you know.”
“Who said you were?”
His rhetorical retort stopped her cold. There’d been people who’d acted it without ever quite saying it. The high-school counselor had rolled his eyes when she’d said she didn’t know what she wanted to do. The college job-fair recruiter had sniffed at her liberal arts degree and said specialization was the way to get ahead. And of course there had been her boss, Christine Welmer.
But those people were in her past. What had she just told Gran about Thomas needing to get over the past? And Thomas, who was looking at her with curiosity mixing into the surprise in his green eyes, was none of those people.
“Sorry. Guess you hit one of my buttons.”
“Guess I did. So, who said you were incompetent?”
He really wanted to know? That, and the fact that she wanted to tell him, stopped her as completely as when she’d thought it was rhetorical.
She’d never talked to anybody about the first two incidents. They’d seemed fleeting, and her family and friends would have told her she could do anything she set her mind to. That was the problem, she didn’t know what she wanted to set her mind to. She’d never had a passion like Paul, with the antique toys he appraised, or her cousin Tris, with her efforts to preserve historic buildings. She liked variety, and challenge.
Neither of which she’d had in her late, unlamented job as Christine’s assistant.
Her family and friends had known she wasn’t particularly happy in her job, but she’d explained it as a personality clash, and they’d accepted that.
She couldn’t very well tell Thomas that. He’d wonder not only how she remembered her recent boss, but how she’d gone from the assistant to the head of Human Resources for a major medical supply company outside of Chicago to a health aide working for an agency in South Dakota.
“I don’t remember anyone saying it.” Her frustration came through, which made it sound all the more convincing—and nudged her guilt up another notch. This masquerade had definite down sides.
“Go ahead and talk to Keith. It’ll be one less thing that needs doing.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, glad to steer the topic in a new direction.
“Paperwork.”
“I’d figured that much out on my own. What kind?”
“Paying bills. Keeping track of orders. Filling out forms for the fall sales. Doing the payroll and taxes for Gandy, Keith and Steve.”
“I could do that for you when I have a chance.”
His head came around sharply. “Why?”
She propped her hands on her hips. “Because maybe if I did that you’d get more sleep and then you wouldn’t be such a grouch. I know that’s a long shot, but I’m willing to give it a try if you are. At least I could organize that mess so you’d have room to work.”
Judi had done that task for Christine, too. She just hoped the woman was suffering mightily now that her organizing genie had left.
He looked at the stacks of paper, as if mentally cataloguing what damage she might do.
“If you’re worried about me stealing money or financial information, you could lock that up.”
But he didn’t respond to her sharp tone at all the way she’d expected. His mouth gave that quirk, and he said, “If you can find anything worth your while to steal, more power to you. And I’d be obliged if you organized this desk. Though I’m making no promises about it changing my mood.”
“That’s all right. I wouldn’t recognize you if you weren’t frowning.”
He smiled then, and Judi almost didn’t recognize him.
She turned around and looked for something to keep her occupied at the far end of the kitchen, while a voice in the back of her head started screaming, Uh-oh, uh-oh.
“Hey, what are you doin
g?”
His voice overrode the little voice, and she looked down at her hands. “Emptying out the last of this pot of coffee.”
“Don’t. I’ll drink it in the morning.”
“You’re kidding, right?” His face said, no. “Why would you drink this? There’s fresh coffee every morning.” Not great coffee—she doubted the aged coffeemaker had ever been capable of great coffee and it sure wasn’t now—but at least fresh coffee.
“Yeah, because I start it going when I get up. But I need something to get the blood moving while the first pot’s brewing.”
She looked down at the sludge in the pot again. “No wonder you’re cranky.”
If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the sound that came next was a chuckle.
Chapter Five
Thomas arrived at the bottom of the porch steps on his way into the house as Judi reached the top of the steps. She couldn’t resist firsthand exposure to the bright blue sky, fluffy clouds and easy breeze of this Thursday.
He looked up, and they both hesitated.
“Something wrong?” he demanded. The man had to get out of the habit of expecting the worst.
“No. Why would something be wrong?”
“Thought you might be looking for me. If something happened with Gran, or—”
“I’d take care of it myself or call 9-1-1. I know you’re a busy man. I wouldn’t call you away from your work.” Now, in her second week at the Diamond V ranch, she had never seen him take a break from his long, hard hours.
“If something happened with Gran, you sure as hell better call me away from my work. That’s what the cell phone number’s for.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent speech she’d heard, but the love and concern he felt for his grandmother came through loud and clear. It did him credit.
Her charitable attitude toward him lasted for somewhat less than fifteen seconds—the time it took him to open his mouth again.
He propped his left foot two steps up from where he was standing and rested his hand on his now horizontal thigh.
“Good Lord, I keep thinking I’ve seen the least practical outfit possible for a ranch, and you keep proving me wrong.”
She wasn’t too happy with what she was wearing today either. The cotton skirt was perfect for pulling on over a swimsuit to sit at a poolside bar in the Caribbean. But it was so short that it made doing housework an adventure in exposure. Even with no one else around, she’d felt odd bending down to get the scouring pad.
And the strip of midriff exposed by a halter top designed for sultry breezes felt a little chilly in the Wyoming wind.
Eliminating the three bathing suits, beach coverups and lacy nightwear left about half the items in the suitcase. With the days on the road before she’d reached here… She really had to do laundry.
Aiming for cool dignity, she took two steps down, hoping he would move aside. He didn’t budge.
“What are you, the fashion police?”
“It’s not fashion I’m wondering about, it’s common sense.”
“Well, fashion police or otherwise, unless you intend to arrest me, I’d appreciate it if you let me get by and go for my walk.”
“I wouldn’t dream of adding handcuffs to that getup.” He nodded toward her woven sandals. “But if you wear those out it won’t be only a shoe covered with, uh, yuck.”
Oh, how she wanted to keep going. To ignore him with high disdain. But he was right. If she stepped in anything, the low, open sandals would provide no protection.
She pivoted and went up the stairs quickly. Being careful of the skirt, she bent at the knees to reach for the canvas shoes she’d worn during her nocturnal survey. She had to sit on the bench to unbuckle the sandals or risk giving him a peep show. If he would just go in the house… No, of course not, he had to make it difficult.
She finished changing shoes, and headed down the stairs. He hadn’t moved.
“Satisfied?”
“Makes no difference to me. They’re your feet. I was just being neighborly.”
“Well, then, you wouldn’t mind doing me a neighborly favor, would you?” Before he could answer, she took his unresisting hand from his thigh and hooked the back strap of each sandal over his fingers. “Take these inside for me, will you?”
She didn’t look back until she was well down the drive. He still hadn’t moved.
Thomas reined Dickens to a stop in the ring and gave him a pat on the neck and the words of praise he’d earned.
Under other circumstances he would have worked a little longer on neck reining. But he didn’t want to risk undoing the good they’d achieved by having a bad session now. And that could happen when neither man nor beast had his mind entirely on what they were doing.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t looked toward her or spoken to her. He was still aware of Helga standing outside the corral fence, silently watching. Dickens was just as aware of her—well, no, probably not just as aware.
When she’d turned around on the stairs forty minutes ago, and the bottom of that short-short skirt had flared out he’d thought he was going to have a coronary. The flare had given him a glimpse of the top of a smooth thigh curving in to where it would round out to her firm behind. That glimpse had produced recall of his arm wrapped around her there after he’d knocked her off the chair. Along with recall of the rest of her being pressed against him, her breasts so close he could have put his mouth over a nipple outlined by fabric drawn taut.
When she’d started up the stairs, with a tiny bounce of irritation on each step, he’d known he wasn’t in danger from a coronary’s loss of blood supply. Hell, no, blood flow was fine. Just in a different region.
He could only be grateful that having his one foot on the step above meant his thigh provided cover. And that no one had come along to ask why he remained on the porch stairs for several minutes after she left.
The memory was going to put him back in the same state if he didn’t snap out of it. He dismounted—while he could—and set to work unsaddling Dickens.
The horse shifted his weight as Thomas turned back and he thought he noticed something. He removed the saddle blanket, walked Dickens again to make sure, then looked around. The shed door was locked. The only soul in sight was Helga. He looked at her for the first time.
“Have you seen Gandy?”
“He left for town about twenty minutes ago.”
He swallowed down the curse that might have relieved his feelings but would make Dickens edgier. “I could use help. Unless you’re afraid of horses or—”
“Nope. You want me in there?” She was already on her way.
She spoke softly to Dickens from behind him, but also skirted his rear end, the way wise people did in case the horse decided to be startled anyway. That confirmed his impression that she’d been around horses before.
“He picked up a stone?”
And she was observant.
“Yeah. Get around to his other side,” he instructed while he tied the reins to the fence. “If he starts to shift toward you, hold the pressure on his side. Don’t shove him, just hold steady. But if he keeps coming, get out of the way.” He pulled his pocketknife out and opened the blade. “Don’t take chances.”
“That’s a good idea, isn’t it, Dickens?” Her voice changed when she talked to the horse.
She kept talking as he raised the horse’s left front leg and bent the knee across his thigh to get a good angle. Dickens naturally shifted his weight to accommodate having one less leg to support himself. He started to shift even further though, as if to pull away from Thomas’s hold, then stopped when he met the pressure of Helga’s hands. And maybe when he heard her voice.
It didn’t get more gentle exactly, because even when she was being sassy, she didn’t get sharp. And no baby talk the way some folks did with animals. Instead, her tone remained conversational, like she was chatting while rocking on the porch swing. But even slower and softer.
He closed his knife and rel
eased Dickens’s foot. “Done.”
“Was it deep?”
“Not bad.” He untied the reins.
“Now what?” she asked, like they were a team.
“I’m gonna let him out in the pasture.”
“Oh, good. I haven’t been there yet.” She fell in step on the other side of Dickens’s head.
“A lot of ground, a little grass and a few horses.”
“I promise to ooh and ah in admiration.” The horse nudged her shoulder. She chuckled and rubbed his head. “Besides, Dickens likes me.”
“Horses don’t like or dislike people. They respect people who treat them fair, and lead their herd.”
“You’re jealous because he thinks you’re a grump.”
“You probably just smell good from being in the kitchen.” She did smell good, but not from cooking. He’d noticed that those first moments when he’d pulled her dented car door open and bent down. And then when he’d touched her…
“Here’s the pasture.” As if she couldn’t see that—but he’d had to say something to interrupt his own thoughts. “Like I told you, not much to see.”
He opened the gate, unhooked Dickens and let him loose, before rejoining her.
“Oh, look at those beauties,” she said softly as two mares and their foals came to the fence that divided this pasture from theirs. They seemed to be checking out Dickens’s return and showing curiosity about the humans nearby. “Are you boarding them? Or are those yours?”
“They’re ours. We’ve been breeding for about five years. Starting to show success with them.”
The Runaway Bride Page 9