“Yeah.” After a moment her shoulders relaxed. The knife stopped sawing its way through the plate. “Ever been there?”
“A few times on business. Was pretty congested.”
“It’s been growing a lot. I never much liked the heat during the summer.” She nibbled at the steak. “My dad was a city engineer. As soon as he could, he took an early retirement, and he and Mom moved to Florida. They liked the weather.”
“Why not California? It would’ve been closer. To hear my little brother talk, San Diego must be the closest place to heaven on earth.”
“Mom had an old friend who lived in Florida. She and Dad had always talked about one day going there, too.”
Once they did, they weren’t alive long enough to enjoy it, Matthew deduced. Finally he set down his fork. “I don’t think it matters how old you are when you lose your parents. It’s still hard. I was nine when my mother died.” He remembered the day like it was yesterday. And he wondered why on earth he was even bringing it up, skirting close to areas that he never wanted to think about, much less speak of. Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d opened his mouth about BethAnn?
“Squire told me that your mother’s grave is on the far side of the swimming hole.”
Matthew went still in surprise. Squire never mentioned the grave. In fact, he rarely even spoke of his deceased wife. As for Matthew, he’d stood at the gravesite only once. When she was put there. And though he’d been back to the swimming hole often enough over the years, he’d never traipsed around to where that marble headstone was located.
“What was she like?”
Jaimie’s voice drew his thoughts. He paused, waiting until the waitress finished refilling his coffee mug and pouring Jaimie more tea. “Happy. She was always singing around the house.”
“And Squire? He never remarried.”
Matthew shook his head. “Until he brought Emily to live with us...she was, oh, seven, I guess...we never had another female on the Double-C.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Seems like we’re overrun with women these days,” he murmured. Mostly to see her hackles rise.
She didn’t disappoint him. She slanted her head, peering at him through those wispy bangs that waved in her startlingly green eyes. “Gloria Day is probably going to land your father, you know. How do you feel about that?”
He shrugged, leaning back again as he sipped his coffee. “If she’s up to the task of handling Squire, more power to her.”
The diamonds at her wrist glittered as she slowly revolved her iced tea glass. “Squire.” She sounded the name. “Why do you all call him by his name?”
That amused him. “Does Squire look like ‘Daddy’ to you?”
“Well, no,” she admitted wryly. “But—”
“Actually, Jefferson is the one who started it. He called Squire ‘Old Man’ so often to his face, that Squire finally exploded. Told him to call him Dad, Pops, Father or whatever. But ‘Old Man’ was out. Naturally, Jefferson, who’s as stubborn as Squire, wouldn’t comply. But he also was only about six. ‘Squire’ was the result. We all started calling him that, just to keep him off of Jefferson’s butt.”
“Six,” she echoed.
Matthew smiled, remembering. “Jefferson started early. He and Squire were butting heads before Jefferson was out of diapers. Of all of us, his coloring is the most like my mother’s, but his attitude is all Squire. Not that he’d agree, of course. And, he still calls Squire ‘Old Man.”’ He took a glance at his watch and lifted his finger to the waitress. She immediately brought the check and he pulled out his wallet, peering out the window. “Is it snowing again?”
“I think so.” Her auburn head leaned closer to the window. “up.”
Matthew flipped some bills onto the table and stood up, settling his hat on his head.
Jaimie quickly gathered her belongings. “I’m just, uh, going to—”
She would sass him about his love life, but blush over visiting the ladies’ room. Women. Go figure. He lifted his chin toward the rear of the restaurant. “Back there.”
He was waiting by the door, watching the snow drift down, when she emerged. Her new scarf was draped over her head and twisted around her neck, looking graceful and elegant. Something he’d never expected when he’d shoved the sturdy knit into her hands at the store. The black color sharply accentuated her ivory skin and lush green eyes. She had one arm in her coat, and as she twisted trying to find the other armhole, he had to close his eyes against the sight of her curves thrusting against that heart-scattered thermal shirt.
Disgusted with himself, he yanked open the door, feeling the rush of frigid air. It did little to cool the heat pooling in his gut.
He stifled an oath.
Jaimie had to rush to keep up with his long legs as he strode across the small parking lot toward his Blazer. And she wasn’t too shortlegged herself. But her new boots were stiff, and she felt like an elephant in the side show. She brushed a snowflake off her nose. “Where’s the fire?” she asked breathlessly when she finally caught up with him at the truck. Here they’d just shared a meal together, they’d carried on an adult, civilized, conversation. What had happened? What had she done this time?
He yanked open the door and turned to her. Towered over her. His hat, pulled low over his forehead as usual, blocked out the pale illumination from the parking lot light behind him. She felt engulfed by his warmth. And he wasn’t even touching her.
She peered up at him, but couldn’t see his eyes. The night was too dark and the Blazer’s interior light too dim. “Matthew?”
His shoulders, even wider than usual beneath the thick layer of coat, moved with his sigh. He shook his head slightly, then tucked the edge of her scarf against her throat. She trembled, and his lips tightened. “Let’s go,” he said curtly.
But she hesitated. “What’s wrong?”
“Get in.”
“But—”
“Woman, get in the truck.”
She crossed her arms at the autocratic order. “Excuse me?”
He gave that mighty sigh again. “You would try the patience of a saint,” he said, clearly aggravated.
That stung more than she wanted to admit. “Well, pardon the hell out of me.”
“Don’t swear.”
“You’re not my father,” she retorted. “I’ll swear anytime I please!”
His gloved hands suddenly closed over her arms, and she gasped, fearing he would bodily deposit her in the truck. But he lifted her onto the toes of her stiff new boots and pulled her against his chest. “You’re right. I am not your father,” he gritted, then closed his mouth over hers.
Stunned, off balance, Jaimie caught hold of his shoulders. His lips were cool from the wintry air. But they burned right down to her bone marrow. Then coherent thought vanished when his tongue traced the seam of her lips.
Her lips parted, and her knees turned to jelly. A soft sound rose in her throat and she softened against him. If it weren’t for his arm, an iron band about her waist, she suspected she would have just oozed into a puddle on the snowy ground. When he finally lifted his head, she was plastered against him, her gloved fingers twisted in his short hair. She had no idea what had happened to his hat.
All she knew was that she didn’t want him to let go. Even with the snow whirling about their heads and her nose growing numb with cold.
“Get in,” he ordered, pulling her arms down from his neck.
She had no choice. It was either tumble into the truck or slide to the ground like a limp noodle. He scooped up his hat, dusted off the snow and jammed it back onto his head, striding around to the driver’s side. He’d climbed in and started the engine before she’d barely closed her own door. “Matthew—”
He lifted his hand. “No. Not one word.” He shook his head, peering out the windshield. “Bloody weather,” he growled, turning on the radio and flipping through channels until he found a news station.
This time Jaimie decided not to press his edict. She didn’t know what she woul
d say, anyway. Please kiss me again, didn’t seem to be something he would want to hear, even if it was a chant going round and round inside her head. Her hands shook as she fastened the seat belt around herself. The window was cold, and she pressed her forehead to it, willing her heart to slow.
Before it had a chance to, though, he’d opened his door again and climbed out. She leaned over to his side and looked out at him. He was pacing back and forth, a steady stream of soft oaths accompanying the wisps of his visible breath.
“Matthew? What’s wrong?”
He went silent. His head lifted. He removed his hat, wiped his forehead as if he’d just endured a hot summer day, then jammed his hat back on his head. He shook his head once, then walked back to the door, pointing inside. “Weren’t you listening?”
Sure. To my heart pounding in my ears. “The news?” she ventured.
“The weather.” He lifted his arms to the sky. “The weather. ” His teeth practically snapped between words as she received the mother of all looks.
She swallowed. It was snowing, true. But it had been snowing off and on since the beginning of November. What was so different now? She would have asked him, but he’d resumed his stomping up and down in the parking lot. Rubbing her forehead, she adjusted the scarf more securely around her neck and wiped the blowing snow off his seat, paying closer attention to the news broadcast. And then she wished she hadn’t.
Matthew reappeared at the door. He climbed inside and pulled the door shut. Snow drifted from his hat, melting into nothing as it hit the seat between them. “They’re closing the highway,” he said grimly.
“I, um, just heard.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need this,” he muttered. “I really don’t.”
“We’ll just have to stay here tonight,” Jaimie offered. Sensibly, she thought. “There’s a motel right across the road.” She pointed through the windshield. “A couple of rooms and we’ll be all fixed up. Surely the snow will be through by morning.” Frankly, when she thought about it, she grew a bit miffed at his attitude. It wasn’t as if he’d be cooped up with Medusa, after all. Or maybe he was afraid that she would try compromising his virtue. That, after that display of mind-blowing kisses, she would throw herself at him at the earliest possible opportunity.
“Not with my luck,” he said under his breath, clearly thinking about the possibilities of the snow ceasing.
She huffed and crossed her arms. He snapped off the radio and drove across to the motel.
“You might as well come in, too,” he said when he pulled up outside the office. “It’ll be warmer inside than waiting in the truck.”
She would have liked to argue. It wasn’t as if his invitation had been particularly gracious. But common sense said that he was right. Through the window she could see a small line of people waiting at the registration desk. More people stuck by the storm, no doubt.
She followed him inside. Peals of childish laughter filled the small registration area, and, leaving Matthew standing in line, she headed around the corner to the lobby area. Half a dozen children sat around a big, square coffee table, their young heads bent over the brightly colored papers littering the table.
They were chattering away a mile a minute, and Jaimie found her feet carrying her over to one of the couches beside the table. She sat on the arm, looking over the heads of the children.
“They’re making Valentines,” the woman who sat on the other couch said, looking over at her.
Jaimie could see that. “You must carry a well-stocked purse,” she observed. On the table, the children had red, white and pink papers. Pipe cleaners and white lace paper doilies. Safety scissors and glue sticks rounded out the art supplies.
The other woman held up a voluminous bag that was on the floor beside her. “We’re moving to California to be closer to my family,” she explained, glancing at her children. “It’s a long trip.”
One of the little girls turned to Jaimie, and gave her a gap-toothed smile. “Wanna help?”
Charmed by that sweet smile, Jaimie glanced over her shoulder. The line at the registration desk hadn’t moved. Matthew was still acting like he’d been sentenced to torture. “Sure, why not?” She shrugged out of her coat and scarf and tucked her gloves in her pocket. Then she scooted forward to the edge of the couch. “What do you think I should make?”
The little girl giggled. “Hearts, of course.”
“Of course. But just one, I think. That way you won’t run out of paper.” Besides, Jaimie had made her share of hearts back at the Double-C in the past few weeks.
Finally finished with registering for a room that cost three times as much as it should have, Matthew followed the sound of Jaimie’s laughter. He walked into the lobby and stopped short. There she sat, cross-legged on the floor, looking as innocent and carefree as the passel of children surrounding her.
She looked up then, noticing him. Her smile widened and something curled in his gut. He thumped his hat against his thigh and headed toward the couch. “You ’bout done there?”
She nodded. “Just let me finish this one part.” She finished cutting the paper, then unfolded it. The littlest girl gave a heartfelt ooh when Jaimie held it up and handed it to her.
“It’s like a snowflake,” the child said, peering through the delicate lacy cutouts of the pink heart. “You better keep it,” she said shyly, handing it back to Jaimie.
“But I made it for you,” Jaimie said softly. “Have a good trip to California,” she said to the mother, pushing to her feet.
“lzzat your husband?”
Matthew suddenly found himself the object of several curious eyes.
“Ah, no,” Jaimie said hurriedly. “We’re...he’s my bo—”
“We’re friends,” Matthew said calmly, earning himself a quick look from Jaimie.
“Okay, honey. We’re all set.” A harried young man rushed into the lobby, brushing snow from his coat. “The room’s ready now.”
Jaimie scooted out of the way as the kids suddenly flew into motion, hastily shoving hearts and scraps back into their mother’s bag. Matthew took her arm. “I need to move the truck,” he said. She nodded and followed him back outside, donning her coat once more. Even in the protected overhang of the registration parking, the wind blew harshly.
He bustled her into the truck and then he drove around to the parking lot. finally finding an empty spot at the far end. He pulled in and shut off the engine. The thought of the motel room nagged at him, making his tone short. “You want any of that stuff brought in?”
In answer, she reached over the seat and took hold of the shopping bag that contained the rest of her new clothing, then pushed open her door.
The snow blew hard, stinging Jaimie’s cheeks. She tilted her head against it, watching Matthew round the Blazer, then he was taking her arm and heading her toward the glass doors leading into the motel. His size took the brunt of the wind, for which Jaimie was grateful, though she would rather choke than admit it. He was still so obviously annoyed at this turn of events.
Inside, he glanced at the key in his hand and pointed at the stairway. “Upstairs.”
Jaimie led the way, unwinding her scarf as she went At the top of the stairs she paused and nearly jumped out of her skin when the ice machine next to her chugged into life, dumping a load of ice into its big bin. “Which way?”
He joined her, his fingers automatically flipping open the buttons of his coat. “Down there,” he said after looking at the numbers on the wall.
She should have been warned. Should have expected it. But she chalked it up to that befuddled thinking thing that always happened to her when he was near. He stopped in front of room number 216 and inserted the key. The door swung open. “After you,” he said.
Jaimie, mindless fool that she was, walked into the room. It was clean. Wonderfully warm. And looked like other motel rooms she’d stayed in. She saw that a large bed dominated the center of the room, and there was a television bolted to
the wall, which hung above a dresser-desk combination. The bathroom was directly to her left. She dumped her sack, purse and scarf on the dresser. “Where are you?”
He closed the door and tossed his hat onto the dresser, where it settled atop her scarf. “Here.”
Her finger paused on her coat zipper. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged out of his coat and shook it. Snow drifted to the tan carpet and melted. He hooked the coat over the chair tucked beneath the desktop. “One room.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks. “No way.”
Matthew brushed his hands through his hair, determined not to dwell on that one wide bed. He knew his expression couldn’t be any happier than hers. “Sweetheart, if you want to sleep in the truck tonight and freeze, have at it. I’m sleeping on that bed there. What you do is up to you.” He gestured politely to the door. “They’ve got one room. This is it.” He didn’t bother to mention that he’d had to pay the night clerk nearly three times the regular rate just to get it. Naturally it had been his luck to get stuck in town the same night every motel room in town had been booked. The people after him in line had not been pleased that he’d gotten the last room. “The bathtub is available if you’re so inclined,” he added.
“But—” She whirled to face the bed, color coming and going in her face. “But...we...this...” She turned to him again, then buried her chin in the collar of her coat.
“Relax, Red. I can control myself if you can,” he snapped, more angry with himself than anything. If he hadn’t been so bloody crazy and kissed her like he had, maybe this wouldn’t be so blasted awkward. Maybe his nerves wouldn’t feel like they were ready to jump out from beneath his skin.
Her color had risen again, and she shrugged out of her coat, hanging it up with jerky movements. Her eyes, wide and dark, met his or a fraction of a second before she soundlessly sailed past him, purse and shopping bag clutched to her chest. The bathroom door slammed shut, three inches from his nose.
The Rancher And The Redhead Page 5