by Lori Wilde
“Dutch’s daughter.”
“My Lord, is this Mariah?” The man stepped around Joe to envelop Mariah in a crushing hug. “I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. I am so sorry about your daddy, little one.”
“Um . . . thank you.” Mariah had no clue who he was.
He let her go, stepped back. “Oops, where are my manners. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Austin Flats. I run the tractor supply.”
Mariah couldn’t help smiling at his unusual name.
“I know, blame my daddy for not changing the family name. Could be worse, I suppose. Could be Austin Butts.” He chortled at his own joke, but then quickly sobered. “We sure are gonna miss Dutch something fierce around here. He was one of a kind.”
An arrow of pain pierced the tough armor she was trying to effect. Apparently, Dutch had been quite beloved in this town. She felt cheated. She’d wanted to love him too. Why hadn’t he wanted to love her?
Joe paid for their order. When she tried to protest, he’d held up a hand. “My treat, no argument. An apology for acting like a horse’s ass earlier.”
Since she was broke, Mariah didn’t argue. “Thank you.”
They took their plates loaded with barbecue brisket to one of the picnic tables covered by red and white checkered tablecloths.
More people waved, nodded, and said, “Hello.”
Joe said, “Give them a chance. They’re ready to like you.”
It was irritating the way the man could read her. She didn’t much care for his skill.
An awkward silence fell. Mariah concentrated on the food, enjoying the sweet, smoky taste of the brisket more than she thought she would. The potato salad was the best she’d ever eaten. To keep from looking at Joe, she glanced at the pictures on the wall, all of them featuring rodeo or cutting horse events. One photo, on the wall over Joe’s head, caught her eye. It was a snapshot of Joe holding up a huge gold belt buckle. He was surrounded by a group of women grinning at him like he’d created the cosmos. The caption underneath the photo read: “Glory Joe wins again.”
Glory Joe? She remembered what her mother had told her. Joe had been a big deal rodeo champion.
“That was a long time ago,” Joe said.
“What?” She startled.
“The photograph you’re starting at. I’m not that guy anymore.”
“It’s irritating, you do know that.”
“What is?”
“Your ability to know what I’m thinking.”
“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to read.”
Mariah scowled. She was not easy to read. She’d spent years affecting a noncommittal expression so she could successfully maneuver in the lives of the rich and famous. Many times, she’d been accused of being a sphinx. She’d considered it a compliment. Her ability to keep her mouth shut and her face impassive was one of the things Destiny had liked most about her. Now here was Joe telling her that he could read her like a first grade primer. She did not like this. Not at all.
“Lucky me,” she sniped dryly, trying to regain her emotional equilibrium. “I got to see Glory Joe in the buff.”
“I wasn’t naked.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”
“You have a dirty mind,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. “And you were trespassing.”
“How was I to know I was on the wrong ranch? It’s not like there were street signs.”
“You think Dutch would own a house like mine? You think he would have that kind of money and not share it with you? Your father was a proud man, Mariah. He didn’t make peace with you because he was ashamed of his circumstances. Don’t you get that?” Joe stared at her like she was the dumbest woman on the face of the earth.
“Didn’t he get that a kid doesn’t care about money? A kid just wants her dad to hang around.”
“Yeah, and the time he tries to make things up, you shun him for being exactly what he was. A poor cowpoke.”
Guilt flamed her. She changed the hot potato topic. “So what happened to your admiring throng of women?”
“What?”
She nodded at the photograph. “The lineup of buckle bunnies. Your drinking chase them off?”
His face turned stony. “You don’t know me. Stop acting like you do.”
“I’m thinking maybe you’re denying some hard truths about yourself.”
“Can we just drop this entire line of conversation?”
“And just when we were getting so close.”
“You’re kind of a smart ass, huh?”
She smirked. “I can be, when the need arises.”
“I can see why you’re not married.”
“How do you know I’m not married?”
“For one thing, no ring.” He nodded at her hand. “For another thing, Dutch told me he was worried he’d turned you into a man hater.”
“I don’t hate men.”
“You got a husband?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean why not?”
“You’re attractive, sexy, smart, and pushing thirty downhill, why aren’t you married?”
She bristled. “I’m twenty-eight.”
“And?”
“I’ve had boyfriends.” She heard the defensiveness in her own voice.
“But none that stuck.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Why not indeed? Secretly, was she afraid of getting hooked up with a guy who would walk out on her the way Dutch had walked out on Cassie? “I’ve been busy building my career.”
“A career that has gone belly-up.”
“Thank you for pointing that out.”
“That was tacky. I’m sorry.”
“Apparently, I bring out the worst in you.”
“It’s not you.” He did look contrite. “You’ve caught me at a bad time in my life.”
“Same here.”
They looked at each other. Joe smiled. Mariah couldn’t help smiling back.
“Let’s talk about something neutral.”
“Like Switzerland.”
His smile widened, transforming his face. “Like Switzerland.”
“Okay, here’s the burning question about Switzerland. Why do they make army knives when they have no army?”
“It’s just one of those paradoxes of nature.”
The awkward silence was back. An uneasy image flashed in Mariah’s head. She saw Joe as he’d looked in the horse trough, bare muscled arms, exquisite naked chest, granite abs. She closed her eyes and forced the picture from her mind.
“Mariah?”
She opened her eyes halfway and stole a surreptitious glance at him. He had long, extravagant black eyelashes that contrasted with the rest of his decidedly masculine features. The lashes softened his rugged looks, brought a bit of tenderness to his angular face. Her gaze dangled there and she could not make herself look away. A dreamy languidness rolled over her. It bothered her, this physical pull. “Uh-huh?”
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Joe asked.
Dragged back from fantasyland, Mariah shrugged, wiped the sticky barbecue sauce from her fingers with wet wipes provided on the table. “Clean up the cabin, I suppose. What about you?”
“Training Miracle. I’m already behind for the day.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset your schedule.”
“You didn’t. Dutch’s dying upset my schedule.”
Mariah let that go because she didn’t know what to say.
“Would you like to meet him?” Joe asked.
“Who? The horse?”
“Yeah, the horse.”
She shrugged. “I’m not much of a horse person.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a city girl.”
“Just because you live in the city doesn’t make you a city girl.”
“No? I thought that was the defini
tion of city girl.”
“You can take the girl out of the country . . .” He left the cliché unfinished.
“I’m not a country girl. I like noise and hustle and bustle. I like the symphony and crowds and shopping on Magnificent Mile. The closest I’ve come to livestock is the bronze cow on parade at Michigan Avenue and Washington. City girl to the bone. That’s me. If I had any choice, I would be so out of here.”
“Hey there,” he said. His tone was smooth, but his flinty eyes flashed a warning. No one messes with me and mine. “That’s my hometown you’re maligning.”
He was sitting right across from her and when she shifted, her knees brushed his. Quickly, she moved her legs away.
A sultry look came into his eyes. Today, he wore a blue flannel button-down shirt over a white T-shirt. His jeans were starched. In spite of their arguing, or maybe even because of it, things felt too intimate sitting here with him, as if they made a habit of taking their lunches together every day. She didn’t really know what to say, so she said, “The food is really good.”
“You doubted my taste?”
“I doubted the decor.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
She certainly knew that. “Tell me about it.”
“Seems like you should be the one telling me about it.”
“About what?”
“Whatever or whoever’s got your face screwed up like that.”
Mariah ironed out her expression, putting on her best noncommittal stare. It came in very handy when working with bridezillas of questionable tastes. “It’s not important.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He raised his palms. “Nothing, nothing, it’s just—”
“What?”
“You’ve got a burr under your saddle and you can buck all you want, but it isn’t coming out. You’ve got to have help to remove it.”
“And I suppose you’re an expert on burr extraction.”
He suppressed a grin. “I am at that.”
“Lucky me.”
“Yep.”
“Yep what?”
“I’d say you’re pretty darned lucky to have landed in Jubilee, Mariah Callahan. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a woman so in need of true friends.”
Affronted, she said, “I have friends.”
“Yeah?”
Yes, and except for Abby, who’d let Mariah crash on her couch when she lost her apartment, they’d all abandoned her after Destiny gave her the boot. She purposefully ignored Joe and took a bite of the beans. She’d assumed they were baked beans but they had a completely different taste. Pinto beans cooked in some kind of zesty sauce and spiced to perfection. “Mmm, what kind of beans are these?”
“Cowboy beans.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious. That’s what they’re called.” He pointed to the grease board menu mounted behind the checkout counter. Sure enough, they were cowboy beans. Mariah slid him a sidelong glance. This man was not at all like what he initially seemed. Yes, he was a good-looking, swaggering cowboy, but upon closer examination, she discovered he had unexpected layers. Smooth on the surface, but complicated beneath. She could almost feel the conflict radiating off him. His wanted to do good things like start an equine facility for underprivileged kids, versus the self-destructive streak that had driven him to down a bottle of tequila and end up in a horse trough.
The silence was back and it wasn’t the good kind. Conversation buzzed around them, most of it related to horses.
Mariah concentrated on the meal, and when she was finished, wiped her sticky fingers with the wet wipes while she waited for Joe to finish eating. He seemed to be taking his time, savoring the food, in no rush. Did he normally eat so slowly? Did he do everything this slowly?
The creak of leather shoes on hardwood floor had her looking up. The female sheriff’s deputy from the day before loomed over their table.
“Hello again,” Mariah said, and extended her hand to the formidable woman. “I apologize for not introducing myself yesterday morning. I’m Mariah Callahan.”
“I know who you are,” the deputy said, and sat down on the picnic bench beside Joe.
She made no move to give her name, so Mariah said, “And you are . . .”
“Ila Brackeen,” she answered in a begrudging tone.
“Nice to meet you, Ila.”
The woman just stared at her, then reached into her pocket, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and tucked it under Joe’s plate.
Joe pushed it back to her. “Keep your money.”
“A bet’s a bet.”
“It was a silly bet.”
“I pay my debts.” Ila put an arm around Joe’s shoulder, leaned in, and whispered something.
“Yeah, okay,” Joe said.
Mariah squirmed, feeling out of sync with these two and their familiarity. She wondered if they were sleeping together.
“Will I see you tomorrow night at the billiards tournament?” Ila asked him.
“Maybe. I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Joe said.
“C’mon, you’ve got to give me a chance to earn my money back.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Ila got up, tipped her cowboy hat to Mariah, and strolled away.
“What was that all about?” Mariah asked.
Joe shrugged, tucked the hundred-dollar bill into his wallet. “Nothing.”
Fine. Great. Okay. Be secretive. Have an affair with the Amazon deputy. She didn’t care.
She might be stuck in Jubilee, but that didn’t mean she had to get sucked into small-town drama, politics, and gossip. She’d view this as simply marking time and keep from getting close to anyone.
It was safer that way. The few times she’d ignored that policy and let herself get deeply involved with someone, she’d gotten hurt. Keeping an emotional distance had always kept her safe. It was the one truth she’d been able to rely on.
She wasn’t about to change now.
Ila sat in her cruiser and watched Joe and Mariah leave the Mesquite Spit. They were keeping their distance from each other—Joe on the outside of the sidewalk, Dutch’s daughter nearly hugging the old stone buildings—a good three feet of space between them. Even so, Ila could almost see the sexual chemistry jumping from Joe to Mariah and back again. That’s why they were staying so far apart. The current was too strong to cross.
She gritted her teeth against the anxiety knotting her stomach, resisted the urge to spring from the car and take Joe’s arm, claim him as her man and make it clear to Mariah that he belonged to her. Ila narrowed her eyes at the interloper—petite, blond, vulnerable. Sweet little waif. She was a damsel in distress, and the last thing Joe needed was to get saddled with some helpless female. Especially a city girl who was bound to break his heart.
A knock at her window made Ila jump. Irritated, she jerked her head around to see Joe’s foreman, Cordy Whiteside, grinning at her. She rolled down her window. “What?”
“How you doin’, Ila?” His earnest eyes searched her face.
But Ila wasn’t looking at Cordy. She was watching Joe hold the door of his truck open for Mariah. “What do you want, Cordy?”
“You.”
“What?” That got her attention. Cordy was good-looking. Not Joe handsome, by any means, but certainly attractive. He was an honest guy. She’d never known him to lie. He was a volunteer fireman and ran a side business as a farrier. Too bad he was so short.
“As my billiards partner,” Cordy said quickly. “For the tournament tomorrow night. You’re the best pool player I know.”
“Maybe.”
“Ila? You okay?”
She shook her head. “Just got a lot on my mind. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“It’s Joe, isn’t it?”
“Joe?” She made a dismissive noise. What did Cordy know? Had he picked up on her feelings for Joe? Was she that transparent? God, she was going to have to be more careful. S
he couldn’t let her love flag fly. Not until Joe felt the same for her as she did for him. “ ’Course not. We’re just friends.”
Cordy looked skeptical. “What is it then? You’ve been distracted for the last two days.”
“Possums.”
“Huh?”
“It’s possums,” she said, grasping at any excuse. Lame. Truly lame. Why had she thought of possums?
“Possums?”
“Yeah.”
“The marsupial possum?”
“Yes.”
“What about possums?”
“They’re ugly.”
“What’s your point?”
“They’re just big rats who hang upside down from trees and carry their babies around in a pouch. The females have two wombs and the males have bifurcated penises. It’s unnatural.”
“Not to the female possum. Can you imagine if he showed up with a regular penis? She’d be all like, ‘Freak,’ ” Cordy said.
Ila pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Possums are obnoxious. A family of them lives in the oak tree above my roof. They scamper around all hours of the night keeping me awake.”
“So this has got nothing to do with Joe?”
“Maybe. If I named one of the possums Joe.”
“That’s all your moodiness is about? Possums?”
“Yep.”
“I could come over,” Cordy offered. “Get rid of them for you.”
“Cordy, I’m an officer of the law. I carry a gun. If I really wanted to get rid of them I’d shoot them.”
“So you don’t want to get rid of them?” Cordy sounded confused.
“If I got rid of them, what excuse would I have for being bitchy?”
“Good point.” Cordy’s soulful eyes met her. Those eyes said, I get you, Ila Brackeen. “So . . . um . . . possums, huh?”
A hard shiver gripped Ila. Shit. Was it true? Could Cordy see straight through her? Well, she wasn’t about to let him know it. “Yep. Possums.”
Chapter Seven
Tug on enough reins, eventually one of them will give.
—Dutch Callahan
Following her lunch with Joe, Mariah spent the rest of the day scrubbing and dusting, sweeping and mopping the disheveled cabin. She made room in the dresser drawers and unpacked her clothes with more than a smidge of reluctance. Unpacking her things felt like she was moving in, and moving in felt like resignation.