Charlotte's Cowboy

by Jeanne Allan

  The window beside Charlotte had shattered, and pieces of glass lay in her lap. The front windshield was gone, and cold rain poured in. For an moment she sat stunned, then a single thought roused her. “Fuel tanks. We have to get out of the truck. In case it blows up.” Helen looked blank. Charlotte’s door was jammed shut. Reaching over, she unbelted Helen’s seat belt, breathing a sigh of relief when Helen’s door opened at a push. She couldn’t shove the older woman out of the truck when she didn’t know the extent of her injuries. Snaking out through the open windshield onto the hood of the pickup, Charlotte jumped to the ground and hastened to help Helen from the vehicle. Helen was still dazed, but Charlotte managed to half-carry and half-drag her to what she judged a safe distance from the truck. Lowering the older woman to the ground, Charlotte dropped beside her. “Are you OK?” she asked Helen anxiously.

  Helen slowly shook her head. “I think I must have hit my head and blacked out for a minute.” Helen shivered. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry.”

  In the movies wrecked cars always seemed to explode, but there was no sign of fire around the truck. Charlotte had no idea if it was safe to return to the vehicle. Not that the windowless pickup would keep them much dryer, and she doubted the crumpled truck was drivable. The words Helen had said just prior to the accident came back to her. “What is gumbo?”

  “When the dirt around here gets wet, we call it gumbo. It’s slicker than grease. I’ve driven on it enough, we’d have been OK if I’d been paying attention to my driving.”

  “It was my fault,” Charlotte said. “Distracting you with questions. What do we do now? How long do you think it will be before Matthew or one of the hands comes along?”

  Helen winced. “They’ll be coming from the north pasture, not from where we had lunch. I’m afraid they’ll be taking the other road.”

  The rain had eased up, only a few drops falling around them. “I guess we better start hiking,” Charlotte said.

  “I’m sorry, but—” Helen look a deep breath “—I don’t think I can. I’m afraid I’ve dislocated my shoulder, and unless you know how to pop it back in—” she managed a smile at Charlotte’s horrified disclaimer “—I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

  “You must be in agony, and here I manhandled you out of the truck. I didn’t do it then, did I?”

  “No. I bounced off the door when the pickup rolled. I’ll be all right as soon as it’s popped back. Meanwhile—” Helen made a face “—we’ll have to wait here. We’re still about ten miles from the ranch.”

  Ten miles. Charlotte’s heart sank. Still, there was a road. “I’ll start hiking and hope someone comes along.”

  “Unfortunately, this road doesn’t see much traffic, so you might have to walk all the way.” Helen looked at Charlotte’s feet. “It would probably be best if you waited here. Matt will come looking for us when he gets home, and I’ll be fine until he finds us.”

  Charlotte wanted desperately to believe Helen felt only the barest twinge of pain, but she could read the suffering etched on the older woman’s face. She wished she could believe Matthew would find them soon, but chances were Matthew would hang around the Kentons’ for dinner and until Tim went to bed. Wet and chilled, Helen was a candidate for pneumonia. There was only one answer to their problem. Charlotte had to hoof it. She looked ruefully at the sandals that had caught Helen’s doubtful gaze. At least they were flat sandals, not the three-inch-high heels she’d contemplated wearing.

  Leaving Helen as dry and comfortable as possible with a tarp, a plastic tablecloth and some drinking water gingerly retrieved from the pickup, Charlotte scrambled up the rocky, slick incline, slipping back two steps for every forward step she managed. Bidding Helen a cheery farewell, she set off briskly down the road, carrying water in a bottle she’d found in the pickup.

  After what seemed an eternity of walking, Charlotte was reduced to concentrating on moving first one foot and then the other. Dusk had come and gone, and a star-studded sky and black lace clouds over a partial moon held little charm. Her eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness, but the road was slick and rutted and she’d lost track of the number of times she’d tripped and fallen. Half the gumbo in the state of Colorado must be plastered to her. The last time she’d picked herself up, Charlotte had decided to heck with bears and mountain lions and rustlers and snakes and whatever else lurked in the brush. She no longer had the energy to run in panic at every looming shadow and frightening sound.

  Plodding along, her labored breathing echoing loudly in her ears, at first Charlotte paid no attention to the sound of an approaching vehicle. When the noise registered, she moved to one side of the road and waved her arms and shouted. The dark pickup braked to an abrupt stop. Matthew erupted from the driver’s side. Charlotte sank wearily to the ground. “It’s about time.”

  “What happened?” Rushing to her, Matthew lifted Charlotte from the ground and carried her to the pickup. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Back that way.” Charlotte brushed her hair away from her face with a muddy hand. “We had a little accident, and she thinks she dislocated her shoulder. We have to go get her.”

  “We will.” Matthew grabbed a jacket from behind his seat, tucked it around Charlotte and fastened her seat belt, scrutinizing her face in the pickup’s interior light. His eyes narrowed and he reached up and gently touched her cheek. “Blood. Yours or Mom’s?” he asked roughly.

  “I don’t know. There was broken glass, but I’m OK.” She gave him a tired smile. “I’m afraid I have more than a little smudge on my dress, and I’m sure I chipped my toenail polish.”

  Matthew’s lips tightened and he turned the key with a hard, impatient gesture. “Can you show me where Mom is?”

  “I think so. I put a white food cooler beside the road in case we couldn’t see the truck.” If Matthew had any idea how many times she’d tripped and fallen hauling the awkward cooler up to the road, his contempt for her would only deepen. Obviously he’d taken seriously her attempts at humor. Now she was safe, Charlotte had difficulty controlling her shivers. Tears hovered near the surface, but she refused to burst out bawling. Matthew already believed her silly and weak. The little game she’d been playing on him no longer seemed so amusing.

  The distance that had taken her eons to walk was quickly covered by the pickup, and in no time at all, the cooler showed up white in the headlights. “There it is,” Matthew said. “Good work.” Then he was out of the truck and plunging down the side of the ravine.

  Hearing Helen’s voice, Charlotte sagged weakly against the back of the seat, only now willing to admit how scared she’d been that leaving Helen might have been the wrong decision. Head injuries could have frightening consequences, and more than once along the road the fear had surfaced that Helen might have been suffering from a heart attack instead of a dislocated shoulder. At any rate, exhausted as Charlotte was, Helen was the one needing medical attention. Wearily Charlotte climbed out of the pickup as Matthew carried his mother up to the road. His easy ascent made a mockery of the struggles Charlotte had had earlier climbing the same incline.

  Matthew carefully settled his mother in the middle of the seat and fastened her seat belt. “OK?”

  “I don’t need to see a doctor,” Helen protested. “You or Dennis can pop it back into place.”

  Charlotte had the feeling Helen had been arguing this particular point since Matthew had climbed down to her. Scrambling into the pickup, Charlotte took Helen’s cold hand in hers and gently chafed it in an effort to restore some warmth. “Did you think I’d never get back?”

  “It was a long wait,” Helen admitted. “I passed the time by swearing at Charlie. Told him if he hadn’t been such an ornery, stubborn old coot, you wouldn’t have grown up wearing party clothes to a cattle drive. I worried about you in those shoes.”

  “I am personally going to burn every stitch on her body,” Matthew growled, “starting with those damned shoes. Of all the stupid...” He punctuated his opinion with a few curse
s.

  Fortunately the dark hid from Matthew the sudden, hot tears cascading down Charlotte’s cheeks. Matthew’s opinion of her didn’t mean a thing. She was just so very tired. She should have anticipated that, once at the clinic, he would immediately spot the tear tracks down her mud-splattered face and demand to know the cause. Without waiting for an answer, he’d bundled her in for her share of medical attention.

  Hours later Charlotte sat wearily on the side of her bed, attempting to summon the energy to take a bath. Her extremities had been scrubbed and treated by medical personnel, but she still felt as if she’d been wallowing in a mud puddle. Her eyes closed. She’d run the water in the tub in a minute.

  “Mom’s settled. You’re next. You’ll sleep better after a nice hot bath.”

  Charlotte didn’t bother to open her eyes. “Go away.”

  “I put lots of the bubble stuff I got Grandma for Christmas in for you.”

  Her eyelids flew up. “Where’d you come from?”

  “I was with Dad, and when you wasn’t here, I stayed to answer the phone. In case you called.” Tim gave her a shame-faced look. “I fell asleep on the sofa after Dad called, and I didn’t hear you get home. Dad said you was OK.”

  Charlotte dredged up a smile. “Just tired.” Conscious of Matthew leaning against the doorjamb, she added, “My idea of hiking is walking to my car in the mall parking lot.”

  “Dad says you’re a hero.”

  Charlotte’s astonished gaze flew to Matthew. He gave her a crooked grin. “Tim’s translation.”

  She refused to ask his actual words. Turning to Tim, she thanked him for fixing her bath.

  “Dad done it. I put in the bubbles.”

  “OK,” Matthew interposed, “you’ve seen for yourself that your grandmother and Charlotte are OK, so hit the sack.”

  “Aw, Dad...” At his father’s steady look, Tim disappeared down the hall.

  “I’m surprised you allowed him to return while I’m still around,” Charlotte said.

  “Paula is spending the night at her folks’, so he didn’t want to stay there.”

  “I thought she was staying with them.”

  Matthew shook his head. “She drops in occasionally, but she has an apartment in town where she spends most of her time.” He straightened up. “Your bathwater is getting cold. Get moving.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “If you’re too tired, I’ll be happy to help you off with your clothes and scrub your back.”

  Charlotte struggled to her feet. “I can manage.”

  Lowering herself into the heavenly bathwater, she smiled at the overpowering scent. Tim had poured in the bubble bath with a liberal hand. It was odd Matthew had brought his son to the ranch. Even odder he was allowing Tim to view her as having done anything heroic. Helen had thanked Charlotte profusely for her help, but Charlotte had the distinct impression she’d fallen way short of Matthew’s standards. No doubt Lara would have fixed Helen’s shoulder and then jogged cross-country to town bearing Helen on her back. Charlotte held one foot above the bubbles and surveyed her poor, scratched toes. In the process of the rescue Lara would have snapped heads off rattlesnakes and wrestled grizzly bears. Charlotte decided she would have intensely disliked Lara, perfect paragon that Matthew’s wife had been. Even Helen sang her praises. One would think Matthew’s mother would harbor a little resentment against the woman who’d abandoned Helen’s son and grandson.

  Not that Charlotte blamed Lara for walking out on Matthew. He’d probably carped and criticized her every waking moment. Look at the way he’d... Charlotte moved restlessly in the water. Well, actually, he hadn’t criticized her excessively. In fact, he’d been remarkably patient and nonjudgmental, considering her behavior. Only because he didn’t want to alienate Charlotte before he secured his precious water rights. He’d probably only filled the tub for her because he intended to ensure her health until she’d sold him what he wanted. It was a miracle he hadn’t insisted on barging in here and taking care of her bath.

  If he’d wanted to scrub Lara’s back, he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. Well, she wasn’t Lara, was she? Charlotte thought of the other woman’s striking blond beauty, Lara’s suitability to be Matthew’s wife and the loving look on Matthew’s face in their wedding picture. No, Charlotte was definitely not Lara. Not that she’d ever want to be.

  “How you doing in there? Need any help?”

  Charlotte jerked upright as Matthew’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Don’t you dare come in here!”

  He chuckled. “I thought that would wake you up. Come on, get out of the tub before you fall asleep and turn into a freckled prune.”

  The amusement in Matthew’s voice and his choice of words made it clear he considered Charlotte the same old useless pest he’d thought her from the beginning. She pulled the tub’s plug, and the water gurgled noisily down the drain. “I’m out. Go away.” His footsteps moved down the hall. Charlotte stepped from the tub, toweled herself off, put on a silk nightgown and wrapped her heavy flannel robe snugly around her. After twisting the towel turban-style over her hair, she straightened up the bathroom. In her bedroom her bundle of filthy clothes fell to the floor. Most were beyond salvation.

  “I’ll be damned, cream puff. I could swear that thing you’re wearing is flannel.”

  Charlotte whipped around. “What are you doing in here?”

  Matthew lay at ease on her bed, her pillows piled beneath his head, his feet propped on the footboard of the bed. “Making sure Tim’s little heroine is safely tucked into bed.” He gave her a slow smile. “You know you’re dying to ask. Go ahead.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied. Turning her back squarely to him, she sat at the dressing table and reached for her face cream.

  “Since you asked in such a nice prissy voice...” He grinned at her reflection in the mirror. “I told Tim you didn’t panic but helped Mom from the pickup, made her comfortable and went for help. I told him you used your head and marked the road to help us find Mom. I told him you were alone in a strange place on a dark night and were probably scared to death and you were scratched, cut, bruised and covered with mud, but you didn’t quit.” He folded his arms behind his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “And I told him you’d walked over eight miles wearing the worst shoes for walking man ever devised, and you were exhausted and your legs had probably long ago turned to rubber, but you kept on going. To Tim, that makes you a hero.”

  Charlotte stared speechlessly at his image in the mirror. He must be joking.

  Matthew stood and walked over to her. He rested his hands on her shoulders, his eyes holding hers in the mirror. “Thank you, Charlotte. I’m in your debt.”

  “I didn’t do anything. You were looking for us before I ever reached the ranch.”

  “You helped Mom, and you saved us a lot of time searching.”

  Tim burst through her door. “Dad, I got a great idea. Why don’t you marry Charlotte and she can stay here?”

  “Sure. Why not? What do you think, Charlotte?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “WHAT do you think, Charlotte?” Over a week later the words still reverberated furiously inside Charlotte’s head. What did she think? She thought a herd of cattle stampeding over Matthew Thorneton’s body was too agreeable a fate for him. She thought dropping him in a hole with one hundred angry rattlesnakes would be treating him too kindly. Most of all, she thought she’d be much happier, in fact ecstatic, if she’d thrown everything on her dressing table at him instead of staring stupidly at him and stammering out an idiotically polite refusal of his offhand proposal.

  Charlotte slammed her fist down on the stapler, fastening several invoices together. Too bad Matthew’s head wasn’t between the papers. Not for the first time she told herself she should have accepted his proposal. To see the look on his face.

  Of course, he would have been prepared for that. One thing living practically in Matthew’s pocket for two weeks had taught her was that lit
tle took him by surprise. In the split second between Tim’s artless suggestion and Matthew’s agreement, Matthew might have concluded the idea had merit.

  Thinking logically about her qualifications, Charlotte could come up with several reasons Matthew might marry her. Matthew admitted he needed a wife for his son. She and Tim liked each other, which, as much as she detested the scum bag, she knew would matter to Matthew. Matthew didn’t love Charlotte or even particularly approve of her, but he had a man’s needs, and she didn’t think he’d be averse to meeting those needs in her bed. “Fat chance!” she muttered, wielding her eraser. Two plus two did not equal six. Fortunately it didn’t take a mathematical genius to add up her other considerable asset—one ranch with a house, some outbuildings, a few acres and this and that. This and that including the water rights Matthew admitted he’d go to any lengths to obtain. He’d probably convinced himself he’d be doing Charlotte a favor by marrying her. She’d retain, at least symbolically—as if he’d allow her to make one tiny little decision—the Gannen family ranch, which he’d never been convinced she wanted no part of. Matthew Thorneton was stupid enough to think marrying her would compensate for the way Jewel had been treated by Charles and Chick Gannen.

  Charlotte wished a customer would come into Romance and Old Lace so she had less time to dwell on things she’d rather forget. Such as Matthew driving her to the airport the day after his astonishing proposal and never mentioning it. Such as the offer to buy the Gannen property, which had arrived yesterday in the mail. Charlotte hadn’t bothered to read it. She had no intention of haggling over price. She simply wanted the ranch, the Gannens and Matthew Thorneton out of her life.