But most kids wanted to be pretty. Most kids didn’t want to be left alone.
Unless…
“Does he bother you? That Beau, or whatever his name is, does he…?”
Phaedra shrugged. “I just don’t like the way he looks at me. He never did anything.”
Nate’s anger deflated like a punctured balloon. He didn’t like this kid, but that’s what she was—a kid. He thought of Sam, down in Denver. For all he knew, his own daughter could be traveling the same road as Phaedra—living in some apartment with Sandi, gradually growing into a bitter teen while Sandi brought home men she barely knew and chased all those dreams she claimed he’d killed.
He pictured his daughter grown tall, dressed in Phaedra’s ghoulish getup, giving him that cold, hard-eyed stare that had seen way too much.
It could happen, he realized. Without him there to protect Sam, anything could happen. He had to get her back.
And that meant dealing with Sandi.
He tamped down the thoughts of Charlie that had been smoldering in the back of his brain. He’d been tempted to protest this morning when she passed off their union as a non-starter. Hell, he’d felt like falling to his knees, right there in the barnyard, and begging her to give him another chance. Her kisses, her passion, the stunning surprise of it, the way it made him feel—she’d made him realize what it was like to be with a woman who actually wanted him.
But she didn’t want him—not for good. It was just a fling. What had she called it? “Crazy, hot, gotta-have-it sex.”
That’s all it was.
And that was all it could be. After all, they’d known each other less than a week. Nate had never been a believer in love at first sight, and yet he’d let this woman’s exotic looks and spunky manner go to his head like a teenager with his first crush. It was crazy. Irresponsible. He had a daughter to raise, and he needed to be careful who he brought into her life. After all, “flings” didn’t stick around. “Flings” went away, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind them. He couldn’t let that happen. Not to him, and especially not to Sam.
He needed to stay away from temptation—away from Charlie—and concentrate on Sam. He’d get hold of Sandi as soon as he got back. Talk her into bringing his daughter home. There had to be something his ex wanted—something she hadn’t already taken. He’d give her anything if she’d just let him keep Sam.
He’d even give up Charlie.
Chapter 21
Charlie commandeered the rusting gas grill and played chef that night, flipping burgers and trying not to watch Nate too much. Doris was doing her best to stir up a little cookout camaraderie, but getting a conversation going with Phaedra was kind of like getting Butt to play fetch. Charlie had tried to give the dog some exercise that afternoon, throwing a tennis ball over and over, then plodding after it while the dog lay grinning and panting in the grass.
Doris lobbed a few conversational volleys onto the dinner table, trying to get the girl talking, but she wound up mostly talking to herself while Charlie and Nate avoided each others’ eyes and Phaedra stared at her plate. The girl had been eerily silent all through Nate’s demonstrations that afternoon.
“Wow,” Charlie said as she cleared the table. “Those were, without a doubt, the best veggie burgers I’ve ever had.” Usually the frozen ones were a gluey amalgam of unidentifiable soy products. These had been tasty, crisp on the outside and seasoned just right. “We need to get some more of those. Quick, before they run out.”
Nate pushed back his chair. “I doubt they’ll have many takers for them,” he said. “This is beef country.”
“They were good,” Phaedra said, her eyes on her lap. “Thank you.”
Charlie cocked her head and studied the teenager. The girl was utterly miserable, her black getup obviously in sync with her psyche. Charlie’s heart ached for the girl, but the most important thing right now was to keep everybody safe—humans and horses. They couldn’t risk Phaedra taking off again. So she’d lit into the girl, chastised her to within an inch of her life. It seemed to have worked—maybe a little too well. The girl was all manners and no personality, trotting out her pleases and thank-yous like a brainwashed debutante.
“Help me with the dishes,” Charlie said impulsively, grabbing Phaedra’s hand and pulling her up from the picnic bench. Phaedra looked stunned, fixing her with those cool gray eyes as if considering a life-or-death decision, then nodded, biting her lower lip.
They cleared the table in silence, but once they were alone in the kitchen, Phaedra turned to her with urgency in her eyes.
“Nate won’t tell my dad, will he?”
“Tell him what?”
“About me taking the horse, or—or anything.”
Charlie cranked the faucet on hot and glanced over at her helper. The gray eyes were no longer expressionless. They were panicked. “I won’t tell,” Charlie said. “But Nate probably will. He was ready to send you home.”
Phaedra gathered the silverware in her fist and let it clatter into the sink. “Don’t send me home.” Her voice was shaky and piped up an octave on the next words. “Please. I don’t want my dad to know I’m not—I’m not good.”
“Okay,” Charlie said soothingly. “And you’re not bad, hon. You just made a bad decision.” She’d found Phaedra’s weakness. As long as she feared they’d talk to her father, she’d behave. “We won’t call your dad.”
We. She’d done it again. There was no “we.” There was just her, all on her own, driving straight toward the future she wanted.
No detours. No passengers.
She rinsed a plate, then handed it to Phaedra, who slipped it into the dishwasher.
“But he’ll be here tomorrow,” Phaedra said. “If he’s on time. Mom says he’s late a lot, if he even shows up at all.” She ducked her head. “I hope he doesn’t. Nate’ll probably tell him, and then he’ll hate me too.”
“Your dad’s coming here?”
The girl nodded. “He thought we could, like, bond over this horse training thing.”
“Sounds good to me,” Charlie said. “I mean, you like horses, right? It should be fun.”
Phaedra nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m just nervous. I don’t know my dad very well.”
Charlie scrubbed the next plate a little harder than necessary, avoiding her helper’s eyes. “Well, at least you know him,” she said. “I never knew mine.”
“You didn’t?”
“Not really.”
“But you seem so, you know, sure of yourself. I thought that would’ve come from your dad.”
Charlie almost laughed. Whatever had happened to her parents’ relationship, it hadn’t been her dad who was the strong one. Charlie wondered sometimes if he’d really left on his own, or if her spunky, smart-mouthed mother had run him off.
“So what’s your dad like?” she asked.
Phaedra shrugged. “He’s a cowboy.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Another one,” she said.
“Yeah. Cowboys are so not cool,” Phaedra said. “I wish he was a rock star, or a Mafia don or something. That would be so much better.”
“Yeah?” Charlie almost laughed at the thought of Phaedra as a Goth Mafia princess. The rock star thing would fit, though. Except she’d probably end up like that Osbourne chick, a poor little rich girl flailing around for her own identity.
“Well, at least he can probably ride,” Charlie said. “That’ll make Nate happy.”
“I don’t know.” Phaedra shoved a knife and fork into the dishwasher’s flatware basket. “Mostly my dad just pretends to be a cowboy. I don’t think he’s really that good.”
Charlie sighed. Wannabe cowboys were probably even worse than real ones. “How often do you see him?”
Phaedra shrugged. “It’s been a while,” she said. Her eyes lit on the countertop, on the window—everywhere but Charlie’s inquiring eyes.
“How long?” Charlie asked.
“I think I was five,” Phaedra mumbled. “I do
n’t really remember.”
Charlie almost dropped the dish she was washing. “You haven’t seen your father for ten years?”
Phaedra shrugged. “My mom and I do okay,” she said. “We don’t need him.” She delivered the line with a singsong quality that told Charlie she’d said it many times before. And no wonder, Charlie thought. She’d had ten years to practice it.
Ten years to build up a defensive façade against the fact that her father didn’t give a crap about her. No wonder Charlie felt such a kinship with the girl. They were wearing matching suits of emotional armor.
“I’m sure you do fine,” Charlie said fiercely. “No woman needs a man like that. But you deserve better.” She put her damp hands on Phaedra’s shoulders and turned the girl to face her, looking in her eyes. “You deserve much, much better, okay? You’re smart, and you’re your own person, and a real father would be proud to have you.”
“You think?”
Charlie went back to the dishes. “I know,” she said. She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. As if this wasn’t a topic that had haunted her own childhood. “It’s just how men are. They don’t love like we do.” She handed Phaedra another plate. “That’s why you have to be able to rely on yourself.”
They finished the rest of the task in silence, but something between the two of them had shifted. When Phaedra slid the last spoon into the dishwasher, she turned to Charlie and actually smiled. It was a wan smile, sort of a sad clown thing, but it was better than her usual scowl. Charlie smiled back. For some weird reason, she kind of liked this kid.
“Do you think I should apologize to Nate?” Phaedra asked.
“Yes,” said a voice behind them. It was Nate, tramping into the room, Butt trailing close behind.
“Okay.” Phaedra took a deep breath, but she never got any further. A car horn blared outside, sounding a sharp nasal root-a-toot-toot, and Charlie whirled toward the window at the familiar sound.
It was her Celica. Her adorable little red Celica, miraculously healed of its wounds. It stood out against the gray and brown dullness of the ranch like a ruby in the dust, its wide, unblinking headlights fixed on the horizon like it couldn’t believe where it had ended up.
“My car,” Charlie whispered. It should have looked good to her. She was free to go now—free to leave Latigo Ranch and all its problematic denizens behind. Free to run away before her feelings for Nate got the best of her.
But for some reason, the sight of her car gave her a heavy feeling inside, as if she’d swallowed a rock.
She glanced over at Nate to see how he was taking it. He looked like he’d swallowed the same stone.
“Ray,” he muttered. “He must have gotten it fixed somehow.” He surveyed the clean kitchen counters, the floor, the ceiling—everything but Charlie’s face.
Charlie stepped to the front door in time to see a child leap from the car almost before it came to a full stop and rocket toward the house, flailing heels kicking up dust. She turned to Nate. “He’s got someone with him,” she said over her shoulder. “His daughter, maybe.”
The color drained from Nate’s face. “His… oh,” he said. He looked totally shocked. Scared, even. “His daughter?”
The door swung open and a miniature redheaded tornado spun into the room like a swirl of autumn leaves, pausing a moment at the door, then rushing over to Nate and enveloping him in a storm of affection.
“I’m back,” it squealed. “I came back!”
Nate let out a noise, something between a grunt and a sigh, and the color flooded back into his face as he dropped to his knees and embraced the child.
The hurricane subsided a little, slowing enough to reveal a pale, freckled child with Nate’s gray eyes, a tousled head of fervently auburn hair, and a grin the size of Latigo itself. Even if Charlie hadn’t seen the key fob, she’d know this was Nate’s daughter. The eyes were a dead match.
“I missed you,” she squealed. “What happened to your head? How’s Peach? Grandpa said she hurt her leg. How’s Butt? Who’s that lady? Why is that girl dressed funny? Are you glad I’m back? You have flowers on the table! Thanks, Daddy! Did you pick ’em yourself? Did you know I was coming?”
Nate wrapped the child in a bear hug, burying his face in her hair. He didn’t answer her questions. He didn’t speak at all. He just closed his eyes and clasped the child close, swaying gently from side to side as he held her. Charlie thought she saw his lips moving, as if he was praying.
Charlie watched through a blur of rising tears. Glancing over at Phaedra, she realized the girl was having the same reaction. Not all men were the same. There were fathers who loved their children. There were men who would never walk away—not willingly. The proof was right there in front of them.
Oblivious to Nate’s emotion, the tornado pulled away from him and whirled toward the door.
“Can I go see Peach?” she asked. “I missed Peach too.”
“Sure,” Nate said. He looked a little bewildered—shell-shocked, almost, Charlie thought.
The little cyclone spun outside, almost trampling an older man who was just stepping up onto the porch. Sweeping off a battered cowboy hat, he turned and gently slapped at her receding form, grinning at Nate.
“Surprise,” he said, running a hand through his grizzled hair and setting the hat, crown down, on the table.
Nate stared out the door, still looking dazed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Surprise. What the hell is going on?”
Chapter 22
The grizzled man grinned. “I had to take a truck to Dooley over in Lusk, and he had the part. So we don’t have to wait.” He turned to Charlie. “Your ride’s all fixed, ma’am. Ready to go when you are.”
“Great,” Charlie said. A day ago she’d have meant it. But now—now, she didn’t know what to feel.
“So what brings you here?” he asked. “You one of Sandi’s friends?”
Charlie smiled. “No, I’m just a customer,” she said.
“Well, you’re a pretty one. I wouldn’t say you needed any of that Mary Kay stuff, but Sandi could probably convince you to buy something if she was here.”
“Oh, I’m not here for Mary Kay,” she said. “I’m here for Nate.” She blushed—again. What was it about Nate that kept her in a constant state of embarrassment? “I mean…”
The man chuckled and shook his head. “Always said he ought to get a stud farm going. But that wasn’t quite what I meant.” Charlie’s blush intensified, but then he laughed, a slow, easy chuckle, and she instantly felt more comfortable. He offered her a calloused, blue-veined hand.
“I’m Ray Givens,” he said. “Sandi’s dad.” He turned to Nate. “Now, what about that bandage for Peach?”
Nate was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, gaping like a grounded trout. “Sam,” he said. “Sam’s here.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ray said, as if he’d just remembered something. “Sandi dropped her off. She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Ray sighed. “That girl. I’m sorry, Nate. We raised her to do better.”
“It’s all right,” Nate said, but his lips were drawn into a tight, thin line.
“She needs you to take Sam for a while so she can go to beauty school. In Denver, I guess.”
“Ray, I’m happy to have Sam. Heck, I’m thrilled. I missed her like crazy. But what the hell?” He shook his head. “She just dumps our daughter off like—like baggage?”
“You know how it is, Nate,” the older man said soothingly. “Sandi gets a bug up her butt, there’s no stopping her. I’m sorry. Lord knows, she should treat you better. Sam too.”
There was an awkward silence. Charlie cleared her throat, figuring she might remind them they had strangers horning in on their family issues, but they didn’t seem to notice her.
“So is she coming back?” Nate asked. “Or is this it?”
Ray started to answer, then paused as Charlie cleared her throat again. “Let’s go see about that hors
e,” he said.
***
Nate pressed his head against Peach’s shoulder and held the mare’s knee in his cupped hands while Ray wrapped a length of purple vet tape around the animal’s pastern. “Don’t know why you keep this animal around,” Ray said. “Sam’s ready for a full-sized horse, and this one’s nothing but trouble anyway. You’re lucky she didn’t get to Junior. You’d have some pretty interesting offspring from that pairing.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Send Peach to auction? You know where she’d end up.”
“Alpo,” Ray said. “The way of all flesh.”
Nate could hear Sam’s piping voice rising and falling out in the corral as she introduced Charlie to the other horses. At least he wouldn’t have to explain anything later. Sam was probably giving her a somewhat skewed version of his life story, but what did it matter? Charlie had her car back. She’d be gone soon. And that was just as well. There was nothing between them. Nothing but sex. Crazy, hot, gotta-have-it sex. Nothing more.
Not to her, anyway.
He felt a ripple of regret. The picture of her pale face resting against the stallion’s dark hide, lips parted, eyes closed in ecstasy, gave way to the image of her naked in his bed. He could still feel this morning’s stolen kiss hot and hard against his lips. She’d been tense, surprised. Not like last night. Last night she’d kissed him like she was dying of thirst and he was the only water for a hundred miles.
Hell, she’d kissed him like she loved him. Or at least, like she maybe could. He pressed his forehead into Peach’s warm flank and squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t matter. She’d be climbing back into that shiny red spaceship of a car any minute now, going back to Planet Jersey.
“So how many customers showed up for the clinic?” Ray asked.
Nate narrowed his eyes. “You knew about that?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I didn’t. You might have warned me.” Nate set the horse’s foot down and rested his arms on the animal’s broad back. “How many of those brochures did Sandi send out?”
One Fine Cowboy Page 15