The Drifter

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.” Curtis touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll see you on the front porch in a little bit.”

  “Right.” She turned and walked into the room to be greeted by the sight of Chase, his legs planted apart, his fists on his hips and his expression grim beneath a hat pulled dangerously low over his eyes. The effect of outraged manhood was marred slightly by the feather duster he clutched in one big hand. Amanda pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  “What’s Curtis so chummy about?” Chase asked.

  “He’s a polite cowboy, that’s all.” Amanda took Chase’s show of jealousy as a promising sign. He couldn’t be jealous if he’d shut off all his feelings for her.

  “The way he looked at you as he closed the door was a darn sight more than polite, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t,” she snapped, but his possessiveness felt wonderful. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a private place to nurse Bartholomew.”

  At that moment, Duane came into the room pulling a canister vacuum cleaner by the hose. The cord and plug snaked out behind. “I done the hall.” Duane waved the hose, to which was attached the slim tool used to clean crevices and baseboards. Amanda wondered what he could have accomplished using that narrow attachment. Duane shifted his chaw of tobacco to the other side of his lower lip. “What’s next?”

  Chase glanced around, looking somewhat bewildered. “Everything, I guess.” He made a wide sweep with the feather duster that took in the entire main room.

  Amanda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and wished she had a camera. The picture of her big, tough cowboy waving a feather duster through the air was priceless.

  “If you say so.” Duane located an outlet and pulled the plug toward him as if reeling in a fish hand over hand. He shoved the plug into the outlet and the vacuum surged to life. Apparently, he felt using the on-off switch was wasted labor. Stooping down, he swung the crevice attachment across the tiled floor as if it were a metal detector.

  Amanda glanced at Chase, who shrugged. Shaking her head, she walked over to him. “Hold Bartholomew for a minute.”

  Chase stuck the handle of the feather duster in his back pocket and accepted the infant seat.

  Amanda turned and approached Duane. “Can I make a suggestion?” When he didn’t respond, she raised her voice. “Duane?”

  “Huh?” He glanced up.

  “Can I make a suggestion?”

  Duane grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Shore!”

  “Let’s turn off the machine first!”

  “Oh! Shore!” He grabbed the cord and yanked the plug from the wall in the same motion he might have used to tighten the noose on a steer’s horns.

  Amanda winced but said nothing about the wear and tear on the plug. This would probably be Duane’s only experience with this vacuum cleaner. “Your method is great, but I’ll bet there’s a special attachment for these floors somewhere,” she began.

  Duane took off his battered hat and scratched his head. “This here’s the one that was on it. You mean there’s another one?”

  “Probably several more.”

  “I’ll be hornswoggled.” Duane repositioned his hat on his head. “What do you make of that, Chase?”

  “It’s not my area.”

  “Mine, neither,” Duane agreed.

  Amanda controlled her amusement with difficulty as she turned to Chase. “If you’ll show me where the cleaning supplies are kept, maybe I can find the other attachments.”

  “Okay. It’s a storeroom just past the kitchen. I’ll go with you.”

  “What d’ya want me to do in the meantime, Chase?” Duane asked.

  Chase held the infant seat firmly in one arm as he reached behind him for the feather duster. He tossed it end over end to Duane.

  Duane caught it by the feathers and nearly choked on the black cloud of dust that flew out. “What do I do with this?”

  Chase paused. “Use your imagination,” he said finally.

  On the way through the dining room to the kitchen, Amanda could no longer control her chuckles. “You guys don’t know the first thing about cleaning this place, do you?”

  Chase looked offended. “Sure we do.”

  “What were you using the feather duster for?”

  He hesitated. “To sweep out the fireplace?”

  Amanda nearly choked on her laughter. “Is that an answer or a question?”

  “It worked,” he said with an air of injured pride.

  “I imagine it did.” She stifled a giggle.

  “Well, I sure couldn’t handle the decorating part, and you couldn’t do everything, so—”

  “Chase, you’re doing a fine job,” she said, suddenly contrite. “We’re all managing the best we can, under the circumstances. By the way, I saw you talking to the inspector from the health department. What did she say?”

  “It was the chicken soup.”

  “You’re kidding.” She held the swinging kitchen door open wide enough to accommodate Chase and Bartholomew in the infant seat. “Chicken soup is supposed to cure what ails you.”

  “I know, but somehow Belinda brewed up a toxic batch. Everybody here had some. Belinda’s famous for her chicken soup. She was planning to take a kettle of it down to the bunkhouse to feed the hands, but she didn’t get around to it.”

  “Lucky for us,” said a cowboy wearing a tea towel around his waist as he worked over a sinkful of suds. Nearby, a man with his stomach sagging over his belt buckle wielded a drying towel. Amanda had never seen kitchen help wearing Stetsons, but the men seemed to know what they were doing.

  “That’s Ernie up to his elbows in dishwater,” Chase said by way of introduction. “The guy drying is Davis.”

  Davis nodded. “Ma’am.” Then he turned to Chase. “This food poisoning’s going on the True Love’s record. Think that’s going to hurt business?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Chase said.

  “Ernie here’s been telling me about the True Love Curse,” Davis continued. “Guess I missed that story somewhere along the way, but it sure seems like the ranch has had a mess of accidents lately.”

  “The True Love Curse?” Amanda glanced at Chase. “What’s that?”

  “An old wives’ tale, most likely,” Chase said, sending a quelling glance in Davis’s direction. “You know how superstitions get started. Come on, let’s get those attachments for Duane.”

  “Okay. Nice to meet you both.” She surveyed the clean dishes stacked on a large cutting board. One counter was filled with recently washed champagne flutes. “Keep up the good work.”

  Chase inclined his head toward the flutes. “I told them to get those out and clean them.”

  “Great idea,” Amanda said as they started down the hall toward the storeroom.

  Chase grinned, flashing his dimple. “You mean I’m good for something?”

  She caught her breath. She loved his smile, she realized, and she hadn’t seen it nearly enough in the past two days. “You’re good for many things,” she said.

  “Oh, really?” His voice sounded a little richer, a little deeper.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. “Really.”

  “This door on the left is the storeroom.”

  She opened it, found the light switch on the right wall next to the door and walked in. He came in behind her. She heard the door close as she walked over to a shelf of cleaning supplies. The scent of lemon oil permeated the windowless room, lined with shelves on all sides. Enticed by the privacy of the tiny space, she searched for the vacuum attachments with trembling hands. From behind her came a sound that could have been Chase setting the infant seat on the floor. Or it could have been Chase bumping his elbow against something on one of the shelves.

  He came up behind her, too close to have Bartholomew still in his arms. “Care to expand on that last statement?”

  She turned, a vacuum attachment clutched in each hand. “Where’s Bartholomew?”

  “Stuff
ed him in the mop bucket.”

  She gasped.

  “No, I didn’t. Good grief, Amanda.” Chase swung aside to give her a glimpse of Bartholomew sitting in his infant seat on the tiled floor. “Seems to be having a great time examining his feet. He’s fine.” He turned back to her and his gaze traveled over her face. “You, on the other hand, have a large smudge on your nose.”

  She started to reach up with the back of her hand and he caught her wrist.

  “Let me.” He brushed at her nose with two fingers, then chuckled as he looked at his soot-blackened hands. “Now your nose is really dirty.”

  She remembered that soft chuckle, remembered the sound of it in her ear as he’d made love to her in the truck cab where they’d found themselves literally bouncing off the walls. “I always did have trouble keeping my nose clean,” she said.

  He looked deep into her eyes. “Especially with jokers like me around.” He reached out and grasped the shelf behind her head with both hands, imprisoning her between his outstretched arms. His lips curved in a lazy smile. “I have to admit I hated it when Curtis looked at you like he was ready to take a bite.”

  She lifted her face to his. “You did?”

  “‘Fraid so. It doesn’t speak well for my character, does it?” He leaned closer and his breath feathered her lips.

  “Curtis means nothing to me.”

  “But someday, some guy in New York might look at you that way, and he might mean something.” His lips hovered nearer; his eyes were half-closed. “I’ve never allowed myself to be jealous of anyone before. Now I can’t seem to help it.” His voice roughened. “God, Amanda, you’re tearing me apart.”

  The vacuum attachments clattered to the floor. “Then let me put you back together, cowboy,” she whispered, sliding her hands along his beard-stubbled jaw and bringing his mouth down to meet hers.

  He groaned as she slipped her tongue between his teeth and stroked the roof of his mouth. Nipping and teasing his lips, she reached down and snapped open the fasteners of his shirt so she could run her hands over his chest.

  “I hope you know what you’re starting,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “I have a general idea.” Stroking down over the pewter chain, she tunneled her fingers through his wiry chest hair and scratched her fingernails lightly over his hard nipples. His chest heaved and he deepened the kiss. Amanda opened to him, inviting him to delve into the moist recesses of her mouth. Inviting him to dare yet more.

  When she reached down to the fly of his jeans and stroked him there, the contents of the shelf he was clutching began to rattle.

  He wrenched his mouth from hers with obvious effort and stared down at her, his eyes glittering, his breath coming in great gasps. “You were supposed to be on a plane by now.”

  She rubbed the heel of her hand over the bulge in his jeans. “Is that what you want?”

  He stared at her for what seemed like forever. Finally, his answer came, low and full of tension. “I want you to leave your door unlocked tonight.”

  She trembled, her body already heavy with need. “All right.”

  “And snap up my shirt. If I do it, I’ll leave soot marks everywhere and people will think I’ve been massaging my own chest in here.”

  Triumph and desire surged through her as she refastened his shirt with slow, sensuous motions, taking time to caress him as she did so.

  “Amanda, you’re taking a big chance, playing around like that. You’re liable to end up on your back on this concrete floor with soot marks all over that white skin of yours.”

  Holding his shirtfront with both hands, she stood on tiptoe to brush his lips with hers. “I just don’t want you to forget to come by tonight. For my bedtime story, you can tell me about the True Love Curse.”

  He made a sound deep in his throat. “I have a slightly different bedtime story in mind.” He leaned down and ravished her lips once more before pushing away from the shelf with a resigned sigh. “We’d better get out there before Duane uses the feather duster on the white drapes.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “Would he?”

  Chase’s mouth curved in a smile. “Well, I told him to use his imagination. Duane is a good old boy, but he has the imagination of a hubcap.”

  “Judging from that night in the truck, that’s not one of your shortcomings.”

  “And I was working in a limited space, too.”

  She caught her breath as erotic images assaulted her.

  “Don’t give me that look, you devil woman. As it is, I’ll have to stagger out of here bowlegged.” He leaned down and scooped the vacuum attachments from the floor. “I’m taking these to Duane. This might be the most private place to feed Bart, if you want to stay. There’s a folding stool in the corner.”

  “Are you coming back?”

  “Knowing you’re in here with your blouse undone? Not likely.” His eyes took on a wicked gleam. “Shall I tell Curtis you’ll be a little later than you thought coming out to the porch?”

  She put a hand to her throat, where her pulse was beating madly. She’d completely forgotten about the rest of the decorating job. Completely forgotten about Curtis and his hopeless crush. A smile of feminine delight touched her lips as she realized that was exactly what Chase had intended. “Please,” she said.

  “Shall I tell him why you’ll be a little late?”

  “I doubt that will be necessary. I’ve discovered nothing’s a secret for long around here.”

  Chase stood with his hand on the doorknob as his gaze raked her possessively. “Good.”

  11

  CHASE MOVED through the rest of the cleaning and decorating in a daze. Freddy, Ry, Leigh and the wedding guests kept to their rooms and couldn’t be tempted to come out for the makeshift dinner, which consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches washed down with beer. None of the hands complained. Chase figured it was because peanut butter wasn’t known for giving anyone food poisoning. During the meal, Belinda called from the hospital and said Dexter was better but the doctor wanted to keep him overnight. They’d be back first thing in the morning.

  After dinner, Chase sent Amanda back to the cottage with Chloe as escort while he and the hands tidied up. Then he walked with them out to the front porch just as the last russet glow was fading from the sky. “Thanks, guys,” he said.

  “You’re shore welcome,” Duane said as he started down the flagstone walkway to the rusty pickup he’d used to haul the hands up from the bunkhouse. Then he turned and grinned at Chase. “‘Course, you know my dang manicure is ruined.”

  Davis sashayed up beside him, flung an arm around his shoulders and spoke in falsetto. “You should use rubber gloves, dear. I always do, and it keeps my hands so nice.”

  “I wanna know why I didn’t get to wear an apron with ruffles,” Ernie complained. “I always liked aprons with ruffles.”

  “I’ll get you one for Christmas,” Curtis said. “Red-and-white-striped, to match your eyes.”

  Laughing and trading insults, the cowboys piled into the back of Duane’s pickup.

  Just before he drove off, Duane leaned out the window of the truck. “I used to think that high-dollar woman of yours was a waste of your time,” he said. “But she’s okay. Purty little filly, too.” Duane beeped the horn and drove away.

  A high-dollar woman. Good description, Chase thought. He had a feeling Amanda was going to be very expensive indeed, and the cost would have nothing whatsoever to do with money.

  Fifteen minutes later he was showered, shaved, dressed and on his way through the patio when a voice called from the shadows.

  “What’s your hurry, cowboy?”

  Chase spun around and saw Ry lying on a chaise longue. “Hey. You scared the crud out of me. Feeling any better?”

  “Some. I was getting cabin fever in my room.”

  Chase walked back toward the chaise, a smile tugging at his mouth. “And bridegroom jitters?”

  “How should I know?” Ry grumbled. “I expect bridegr
oom jitters and food poisoning feels about the same.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Never had either one. Never plan to.”

  “Yeah, you’re such a free man you can hardly wait to get over to that little cottage.”

  “Uh...”

  “Don’t try to get high and mighty with me, Lavette. You’re as lovestruck as I am. If Amanda offered to stay at the True Love and wash your socks for the rest of your life, you’d jump at the chance.”

  Chase adjusted his hat and looked away. “Yeah, well, I can guarantee she’s not gonna do that, buddy.”

  Ry laughed. “You’re not giving yourself much credit. The night’s still young.”

  “That’s not what I’m looking for, going over there.”

  “You’re not looking for sex?”

  “That’s all I’m looking for.” Chase thought it sounded good, just the sort of thing the old Chase would have said. But the old Chase was fast disappearing in the force of this driving passion. “The last time was a one-night stand for her. Now it’s my turn,” he added, as if smart remarks could stop the momentum of his downward slide into neediness. Fat chance.

  Ry chuckled. “If you say so.” Then his voice lost its playful tone. “What do you make of this food-poisoning business?”

  Chase hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Could somebody deliberately cause something like that?”

  “I don’t know why not. Just drop some tainted chicken in the kettle. It could have been anyone who had access to the kitchen.”

  “Which was damn near everybody, today,” Chase said. “Was Whitlock over here?”

  “I don’t think so. But did you notice who didn’t eat any soup?”

  “Yeah, but come on, Ry. Belinda wouldn’t poison her own husband.”

  “How do you know he was poisoned? Those two old people are crafty. She could have coached him on how to react.”

  Chase shook his head. “I just can’t buy it. I saw her face just before she got in the ambulance. You know, Duane didn’t eat any soup, either. None of the hands did, for that matter. Maybe somebody has a grudge you don’t even know about.”