by Jeanne Allan
“Let me see.” Matthew pushed her head to one side and ran his fingers over her lobe. “I don’t see any damage. You’ll both survive.” His fingers gently massaged her tingling earlobe.
Charlotte made the mistake of turning her head. Matthew’s face was only inches from hers. Brown eyes warm with amusement met her gaze, and then his eyes darkened with a message as ancient as Adam and Eve. And as easy to read as a kindergarten primer. A sudden breeze came through the open bedroom window, riffling the hem of her skirt and bringing the scent of pine. There was a flash of lightning, and thunder boomed in the distance, but the heavy tension in the room had nothing to do with the outside elements. Charlotte forgot how to breathe.
“I think the time has come,” Matthew said coolly, “to discuss your proposal.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
NERVOUS adrenaline surged through Charlotte’s body. Though why she should be nervous...she had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Sitting down, she picked up a comb and ran it through her hair. “What’s to discuss?” Her voice sounded almost as cool as Matthew’s. “All I require from you is yes or no.”
“Maybe that’s not all I require from you.” Matthew stood looking at her, his shoulders braced against the wall.
Charlotte braided her hair down the back of her head. “Matthew, let us not forget here, I’m the one who has the water rights and you’re the one who wants them.”
“I have to tell you, cream puff, excuse me, Charlotte,” he said with excessive politeness, “I’m getting a little tired of that sword being held over my head.”
Tying a ribbon at the end of her braid, Charlotte held Matthew’s gaze in the mirror. “I’m not.”
Matthew laughed wryly. “At least you’re honest—” he crossed booted feet and tucked his thumbs in jeans pockets “—even if your proposal is juvenile, ludicrously stupid and totally unworkable.”
“Gosh, Matthew, you don’t have to sugarcoat your opinion for me,” Charlotte mocked.
“I can go along with the notion of a truce—”
“How magnanimous.”
“But the rest of it...” He shook his head. “Won’t work, cream puff.”
She raised her eyebrows at his image in the mirror.
“Excuse me. Charlotte.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t seriously expect me to work with you trailing along behind me for the rest of your stay. You have no clue what’s involved in running an operation like mine.”
“Surely it’s in your best interest to show me. Otherwise I might decide to keep Mr. Gannen’s place. As sort of a weekend hobby or vacation cabin.”
Matthew snorted. “A ranch isn’t a hobby. You’d run the place into the ground before you knew what hit you.”
“If I go bankrupt, I can always sell those water rights to the highest bidder, can’t I?”
“Damn it, Charlotte, you don’t even own a pair of jeans. Charlie never said you had to turn into a rancher. Why can’t you be sensible? Sit on the porch swing, sip some lemonade and enjoy your vacation. If you want to ride Penny I’ll arrange for one of the hands to go out with you for a couple of hours a day.”
“I don’t want to ride with one of the hands.”
“Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “Afraid if you try to grind some honest cowboy under your heel he’ll up and throw his job in your face?”
Charlotte ran her thumb over the teeth of the comb. “Of course,” she cordially agreed. “The great Matthew Thorneton, on the other hand, has a great deal more at stake. Doesn’t he?”
“The great Matthew Thorneton doesn’t like having a gun held to his head,” he said tightly.
Charlotte squeezed her hand, the comb’s teeth biting deeply into her palm. “Neither do I, Matthew. I wanted nothing to do with Charles Gannen, his ranch or his wishes. I didn’t want to come here, and I don’t want to be here. Yet here I am.”
“That’s not my fault. I didn’t write the will. I only delivered the message.”
“No, Matthew, you did more than that. You played my mother, my aunt and my grandmother as if they were violins and you a virtuoso violinist. If you’d accepted my refusal when I gave it to you at the store, I wouldn’t be here now. So all this is definitely your fault. I’m getting nothing out of—”
“The money you’ll get for selling the ranch to me.”
“There isn’t enough money to pay me for having to endure being here. No, Matthew, as I see it, all the rewards go to you. You get the water and you get to give the ranch to your mother. I think the stakes here are much higher for you than for me.” His face gave her no clue to his thoughts as he watched her in the mirror.
“I see,” he said slowly. “You don’t want to be here and have decided it’s my fault you are. We’re actually talking about some childish, perverted notion of revenge. You want to disrupt my entire life, stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and generally be a pain in the—” he barely paused “—neck. In return you’ll sell to me something you don’t want and have no use for.”
She gave him a sincere look. “I said I’ll sell you Charles Gannen’s ranch, including the water rights and everything else, at a fair price agreed upon by both. All I’m asking in exchange is that you allow me to familiarize myself with ranch life by accompanying you as you go about your business.”
“Why?”
“For my mother. She knows nothing of ranch living and her time with Chick Gannen was so short. If I can tell her and show her photographs of what ranch life is really like, her image of him will be more complete.” At Matthew’s skeptical face, she decided there was nothing to lose by telling the truth. She peered at him from beneath lowered lashes, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Why should I be the only one inconvenienced?”
“This is rough country, Charlotte. A soft tenderfoot could get hurt.”
“I have confidence in your ability to keep me out of trouble.” Surprisingly, she did.
He raised his eyebrows at that before saying, “When I give you orders, Charlotte, I’d expect you to obey them. Instantly.”
“If they’re reasonable.”
“I don’t give unreasonable orders,” Matthew said coolly. “I also want your promise you won’t cry and whine and complain from dawn to dusk. I want your promise you won’t run back to Denver the first time you break a fingernail or get a smudge of dirt on your clothes.”
“Do you want my promise in writing? We can go into Durango and get it notarized.”
“Forget notarizing anything. Your promise in writing, and we send a copy to your aunt. Miss Darnelle strikes me as the kind who’s death on promise breakers.”
Charlotte made a face at his accurate reading. Standing up, she held out her hand. “Do we have a deal then, Matthew?”
He stared at her hand for a long moment before folding his own large one around it. “If I had a horse this stupid, I’d get rid of him.” Releasing her hand, he turned and left.
“Matthew,” Charlotte called after him. “Don’t forget our truce. You’re supposed to be nice to me, too.”
Matthew stuck his head around the door. “I’m a human being, cream puff, not a damned saint.”
Which told her exactly what she was getting herself into. She questioned whether exacting revenge against Matthew would be worth the price he’d undoubtedly attempt to make her pay. Despite her threats, she knew the smart and easy way of wiping Charles Gannen and his intrusive will out of her life would be to sell everything to Matthew. The money wouldn’t come amiss. She and Aunt Faye were the only wage earners in the family, and Aunt Faye was getting on in years. The store was only profitable because the two of them paid themselves low wages.
It wasn’t as if she were considering keeping the ranch. She didn’t want the ranch. She didn’t want to live on the ranch. Ranching wasn’t in her blood; all her genes came from her mother. Playing cowgirl for two weeks was ridiculously stupid. One would think she’d fallen off Penny and landed on her head. The whole idea w
as as dumb as her begging her mother to send her to a riding camp all those summers when she was growing up. Not that she’d had to beg very hard. Her mother had fallen in with Charlotte’s wishes so quickly Charlotte had been astonished. Only later had she realized her mother naively expected Charles Gannen to relent and invite Charlotte to his ranch.
Charlotte smoothed down a stray hair. Stupidity must run in the Darnelle family. If she knew anything about men like Matthew Thorneton, he was going to do his level best to make the remainder of her stay an absolute living hell. The trick was in making it more miserable for him. Absentmindedly she rubbed her tender earlobe, wondering what kind of devilment Matthew would devise in an effort to send her scurrying back to the security of the porch swing. As long as he continued to believe she was the rawest, wimpiest tenderfoot, Charlotte was positive she could handle anything he dreamed up. She was wrong.
“What do you mean, Tim’s gone?”
Matthew helped himself to more pancakes. “He’s spending the rest of your visit with Lara’s parents.”
“You sent him away?” Charlotte asked in a choked voice. Now she understood why Matthew had allowed her to sleep late this morning when she’d been expecting a predawn wake-up call. He’d needed time to sneak away his son.
Helen handed Charlotte a glass of juice. “I still don’t understand why you took Tim over there now. He was having such a good time with Charlotte being here.”
“My being here is exactly why Tim was banished,” Charlotte said tightly.
“You have him all year,” Matthew said to his mother. “It’s not so strange his other grandparents want him for awhile. You know they’d like him and Paula to be closer, and they never can count on her being home long.”
“That one,” Helen said in disgust. “It was probably her idea. She wants Tim at her folks’ place because she can’t figure out how else to get you over there.”
* * *
“She doesn’t even call him by name. ‘Your son’ is how she refers to him.” Two hours later as the pickup bounced down a ranch road, Charlotte was still hurt and furious. “And if she harms Snowball, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Actually, I promised Tim you’d take care of Snowball while he’s gone.” He slanted a look at her. “For some reason Tim trusts you to keep Snowball healthy and happy.”
“It’s nice to know one of the Thorneton males thinks I can be trusted. Or is it less a matter of not trusting me around Tim and more a matter of sending him away because you’re mad at me?”
“What one has to do with the other is beyond me.”
“It’s not beyond me. Sending him away was your way of saying I’m such a despicable person I’d deliberately harm Tim in order to score off you. I know you don’t like me, but I can’t believe you think I’m that cruel.” Charlotte angrily wiped moisture from her cheek. “I hate you, but Tim’s my friend and you know it.” She sniffed. “You made me promise not to cry or the agreement is off, but if you thought your acting so ugly would force me into crying, you’re wrong, because I’m not crying, so don’t think you can weasel out of our agreement.” Only the seat belt kept her from flying through the windshield as Matthew braked to an abrupt halt.
“Damn it, Charlotte,” he yelled, facing her. “Quit acting like you’re in a TV soap opera. I wasn’t thinking of you at all when I decided to take Tim to the Kenton place. I was thinking of Tim. He’s my son and I have to protect him the way I think best. No—” he forestalled her angry comment “—I don’t mean protect him from you. At least, not in the way you think. I apologize if taking Tim to the Kentons hurt your feelings. That was never my intent.” He turned away, staring straight ahead. “But even knowing it would hurt you, I’d do it again.” After a second he went on. “Last year in school, Tim’s class made Mother’s Day presents. Some smart-mouthed kid told Tim he couldn’t make one since he didn’t have a mother.” His voice was bleak. “Mom does her best, but I know I ought to marry and give Tim a mother.” Matthew rubbed the outer rim of the steering wheel with the palm of one hand. “When it comes right down to it, however, I’ve never been able to. Marriage means more to me than a convenience.”
Charlotte immediately thought of the day years ago when she’d taken Grandpa Darnelle to school on a Bring Your Dad Day. Remarks made by some of the other children had cut deep. “While I can appreciate your concern, I think you’re overreacting. Tim and I are just friends.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Last night when Tim was getting ready for bed, he asked me if I thought you were pretty. When I said yes, he told me one of his friends had a new baby sister. Then he said he wouldn’t mind a baby sister.” Matthew gave her a level look. “A baby sister with red curly hair.”
His words startled a nervous giggle from Charlotte. “Whatever else Tim is,” she said in response to Matthew’s raised eyebrows, “he’s definitely not very good at reading people. The thought of you and me...”
“Which is why Tim is at the Kentons. There’s no point in him getting his hopes up or building air castles. If he saw us spending day after day together, he’d imagine something quite different from reality.”
“All you’d have to do is explain to him that—”
“His good friend Charlotte is blackmailing me?”
“Why not?” Charlotte asked slowly. “That would surely convince him I’m hardly mother or wife material.”
“What would Tim care about a spot of blackmail when he’s found him a woman who likes rats?” Matthew started the truck.
A mourning dove sounded plaintively through the open truck window. A mixture of sadness and pity settled over Charlotte. Sadness at the unfairness of life. Pity for Matthew, for Tim. And for a child who’d never had a father to read to her, to hear her evening prayers, to hold her on his lap, to banish her nightmares. Charlotte struggled to rein in her thoughts. She’d managed just fine with only one parent. It was Tim who thought he needed a full set. Tim who needed a mother.
“If you’re applying, let me remind you Tim’s mother would be my wife.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud, but at least sparring with Matthew distracted her from profitless thoughts. “As if I’d want to marry you. The minute I saw you I knew you were a man who’d put his wife in a flannel nightgown.”
“There’s nothing wrong with flannel.”
“Matthew,” Charlotte said, injecting her voice with the proper horror, “tell me you never, ever bought your wife a flannel nightgown.”
Matthew pulled over to the side of the road and parked. “Lara liked it,” he said coldly.
Charlotte threw up her hands. “That settles it. Tell Tim no red-haired baby sisters. Not with a dad who buys flannel nightgowns for his wife.” She flinched as the driver’s door slammed shut. Who’d want red-haired babies anyway? Towheaded babies were sweeter. With brown eyes. She frowned. There were no brown eyes in the Darnelle family. Which was just as well. Brown-eyed babies undoubtedly were demanding, obstreperous and difficult to get along with. Just look how they grew up. She grabbed her camera and scrambled out of the pickup.
Matthew stood in back of the truck, his hands clenching the top of the tailgate. “Just for the record, my wife did not leave me because I bought her a damned flannel nightgown.”
For a second, Charlotte could only gape in confusion at him. A confusion quickly replaced by chagrin as she belatedly realized she’d trespassed on private territory and stumbled across a mine field. “Matthew, I didn’t mean...I never intended...I was just babbling. Whatever happened between you and your wife...please—” She touched his arm as the tailgate dropped with a loud clang. “I’m sorry if I inadvertently caused you pain.”
Drawing on a pair of worn leather gloves, he rolled a spool of wire toward him. “You don’t have the power to cause me pain.”
So much for apologies to arrogant cowboys. A second’s reflection blunted most of Charlotte’s indignation. Matthew had undoubtedly been thinking of his wife and the pain he still felt over her death
. Remembering Paula’s claim that Lara had left Matthew, Charlotte wondered if that eased or deepened his grief. And she wondered why Matthew’s first wife had left him. She knew better than to ask. The silence had stretched too long. Charlotte sought a safe topic. “A rat is an unusual pet for a kid living on a ranch.”
Matthew almost smiled. “I thought Charlie was going to have a coronary when Tim hauled Snowball home. Ranchers don’t exactly cotton to rodents.” He clipped a length of wire and headed toward the sagging fence alongside the road.
“You let Tim keep Snowball even though Charles Gannen disapproved?”
“You have to quit thinking Charlie and I were clones. We disagreed on a number of issues.” Matthew wired a loose strand of fence to the post. “Tim’s dog had died of cancer a couple of months before. He was pretty cut up about it. Considering everything—” he twisted the pliers with a vicious movement, a small spasm rippling through his jaw muscles “—letting him keep the rat seemed the least I could do for him.”
“What if Mr. Gannen had refused to allow the rat in his house?”
“Bring me the fence stretcher out of the back.” At her blank look, he described the tool. When she’d handed it to him, he hooked the stretcher to a wire and began tightening it. “I guess Tim and I would have moved back to my place. It would have made things tougher, but we’d have managed.”
“You’d have defied Mr. Gannen for Tim?”
“Sure.” He yanked on the strand of wire. “I’m his father.” He hooked the stretcher onto the next strand. “If Chick had lived, he’d have taken on the world for your sake.”
Charlotte lowered the camera. “I’m past the age of fairy tales, Matthew. Chick Gannen would have dumped me as easily as he dumped my mother.”
Matthew straightened up, looking at her in surprise. “He was killed in Vietnam. You blame him for that? You think he wanted to die? What kind of screwy thinking is that?”
“No, I don’t think he wanted to die,” Charlotte said shortly. “But I don’t think he planned to come home to my mom, either. Grandpa Darnelle told me Charles Gannen was honestly stunned when my mother called. Chick had never written a word about her.”