“You mean, since I came.”
His fingers hovered over the dial. “Did I say that?”
“It’s what you meant.” Eyes defensive, she waved at the phone. “I suppose Donna never put a scratch on your precious truck.”
“True.” Donna had never even driven one of the Double-C vehicles. He punched out the number.
“And she could probably stitch up a bloody gash ten inches long without turning a hair.”
At his ear the phone began ringing. A curl of basic, male satisfaction wended its way through his gut. “Jealous?”
“Not in this lifetime,” she sniffed haughtily. And huffed her bangs out of her eyes. She bowed mockingly. “Since you’re not likely to bleed to death, I’ll leave you to your girlfriend.”
“She’s not—oh, hi, Donna. It’s Matt. What’s up?”
The mudroom door slammed shut when Jaimie stomped out.
He didn’t see her stride across the road and angle toward the fence post—the first one—that she’d Knocked down that unforgettable day. He didn’t see her stare at it for a long moment, only to swing her foot back and deliver a solid, bone-jarring kick.
Chapter Eight
Jefferson and Emily dropped by the Double-C right after dinner that evening, Emily bearing a plastic-wrapped plate, mounded with still-warm brownies. Jaimie had just finished giving the kitchen counters one final swipe when the mudroom door creaked open.
Squire and Daniel were still seated at the table. Both men had been noticeably silent through the meal. But no more so than Matthew had been. After Squire had irritably told her to sit down and eat with them, Matthew had barely looked her way during the whole dinner. Then as soon as he’d finished nudging his food around his plate, he’d disappeared.
Emily and Jefferson settled themselves at the table. Jaimie automatically poured coffee for Jefferson and milk for Emily, then excused herself.
“Oh, Jaimie, don’t go,” Emily invited. “Join us. I wanted to talk to you about my plans for our nursery. You have such a wonderful eye for color.”
“Better submit now, Jaimie,” Jefferson murmured, reaching for his second brownie. “Otherwise she’ll just keep hounding you until you give in.”
Emily shot Jefferson an affectionate glare. “You.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
Emily pointedly ignored her husband, looking at Jaimie. “Please?”
She smoothed her palms down the sides of her jeans. “I really should check on Maggie.”
Squire snorted. “Checked on her fifteen minutes ago, and she was sleeping like a baby. Lord, girl, you’re as jumpy as a prize-winning frog. Have been all through dinner.”
Emily caught her gaze, her eyes rueful. “I thought we’d stake out the comfy couches in the basement. And leave the guys here—” she tilted her head toward the three men “—to fend for themselves for an evening.” She touched the zippered binder she’d set on the table. “I’ve brought a bunch of samples that I ordered from a shop in Cheyenne.”
Jaimie’s fingers pressed into the counter behind her. She managed a smile. “Sure.”
Emily hopped up, bumping her growing tummy against Jefferson’s arm. “Oops. Sorry, darlin’.”
Jefferson looped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You can apologize to me. Later.”
“Gawdalmighty, Jefferson. You’ve already gotten the girl pregnant,” Squire complained, testy as he’d been all day.
“Shut up, old man,” Jefferson said mildly. “Get your own love life and stay outta mine.”
Squire harrumphed. He snatched up another brownie and devoured it in two bites. He wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin into the trash, then bent and kissed the top of Emily’s dark head. “Thought you’d taught that long-haired son of mine some manners.” He harrumped again, more for effect than anything, and stomped toward the door. “Poker,” he announced. “Ten minutes.”
Jefferson and Daniel both groaned softly.
Emily chuckled, her eyes on the doorway that Squire had disappeared through. “He having a disagreement with Gloria again?”
“Yeah. And I wish he’d just get it over with and marry the lady,” Daniel said feelingly as he followed his father. “I’d better find a new deck of cards. You know Squire’s tendency to cheat. See if you can roust Matt from his office, why don’t you,” he said to Jefferson. “He’ll keep everyone honest.”
Jaimie watched, fascinated, as Jefferson caught Emily’s slender hand and kissed her knuckles. She felt sure the man wasn’t even aware of the tenderness he displayed. Would Matthew be the same with the woman he loved? With...Donna?
Jefferson brushed a kiss over his wife’s lips, then gently set her aside to rise. Though Jaimie had begun to wonder if they even remembered her presence, she realized at once that Jefferson hadn’t forgotten. He smiled faintly at her. “Bet you think the Clay men are a strange lot.”
Jaimie shook her head, feeling her cheeks fire all over again. Darn her fair skin, anyway. Personally, she’d adored each and every one of the Clay men. It was just one particular Clay who was wreaking havoc with her mind. And heart, a tiny voice whispered.
“Jefferson, get your carcass in here!” Squire’s bellow could’ve been heard all the way to Colorado.
Jefferson made a face. “Nice to know some things don’t change. Think I can keep the old man honest?”
“Probably not.” Emily picked up her binder and milk glass before heading toward the back staircase. “Just don’t bet anything more valuable than our firstborn here.”
“If Matthew’s playing, it’ll be for matches or chips,” he predicted as he slowly headed out of the kitchen.
“Grab yourself something to drink,” Emily suggested as she flipped on the light and slowly descended the stairs.
Jaimie dragged her mind from the poker game she and Matt had played. She heard the men laugh and the scrape of chairs as they settled around the dining room table. She closed the refrigerator and slowly opened the pop top on her soda. The low tones of the men’s voices were audible, the words indistinct.
Until Matthew joined them. She easily picked his voice out from the others.
She closed her eyes and held the can to her forehead. Emily called up to her, and swallowing the knot in her throat, Jaimie headed downstairs.
Emily had spread her samples out across one of the low coffee tables situated in front of a deeply cushioned couch. She was perched on the edge, her hands folded over her tummy. “I feel like Buddha,” she grinned.
Jaimie couldn’t help smiling. “You look like Buddha,” she agreed, joining Emily on the couch. “You and Maggie could almost be twins.”
“How is she doing?”
“Still getting sick a lot. She’s not supposed to do anything much, other than get up to use the bathroom. I think it’s getting on her nerves.”
“I’ll bet. I’d be nuts. I learned the other day that if I lean back into these couches that are built for people the size of my darling husband, it takes me a week to get back to my feet.” She smoothed her palm over the swell of her child. “Pretty soon Jefferson’s going to need to hook me up to a crane just to get in and out of bed.”
Jaimie swallowed a mouthful of soda. “I’m pretty sure Jefferson’s more than capable of getting you into...and out of bed all on his own.”
“True.” Emily grinned delightedly. “Very true. Now.” She pressed her hands to her knees and scooted forward an inch toward the coffee table. “Tell me what you think of this fabric. So far it’s my favorite.”
Upstairs in the dining room, Matthew sat back, absently studying his cards. The double dose of aspirin had finally begun working its magic, and his headache had lessened.
He glanced up, waiting for Daniel to decide what to do. But his mind wasn’t on the game. Proof of that was in the diminishing pile of plastic poker chips near his elbow. Daniel raised the bet. Matthew folded.
“That’s three hands straight that you’ve folded on,” Squire remarked as pl
ay continued. “That conk on your noggin musta scrambled your brains, boy.”
Matthew tilted his bottle and let the cold beer slide down his throat. “Can’t fight the deal.” He looked at his father pointedly. “I don’t have any aces up my sleeve.”
Squire raised innocent brows. “Neither do I.”
Matthew shook his head, catching Jefferson’s expression. Everyone and their mother’s brother knew that Squire was an inveterate poker hustler. He crossed his arms and slouched in the straight-backed dining room chair. It was too hard to concentrate on the cards when his mind kept straying to the last poker game he’d played. Within minutes Daniel had scooped up the pot, adding the chips to his not inconsiderable pile.
Matthew knew the moment Jaimie appeared in the doorway behind him. Not that she made a single sound. But the hairs on his neck tingled, and he caught the lemony scent of her hair. He tossed down two cards, scarcely noticing their value.
Emily glided past him to take up her post behind Jefferson. She folded her arms over the back of his chair and watched over his shoulder, making a soft sound now and then until Jefferson turned around. “Go away, would you? I can’t concentrate, and you’re giving away my hand.”
“I am not.”
He eyed her. Grimacing with good nature, Emily straightened.
“Don’t stand by me,” Daniel warned.
“Or me,” Squire added. “I love ya, girl. But you couldn’t play poker to save your soul. We can read every card right in your eyes.”
“Well, fine then,” Emily retorted. “See if I bring you a batch of fresh brownies again, if you’re going to insult me.”
Jefferson laid his cards facedown on the table and caught his wife’s wrist to pull her down onto his lap. “Your talents lie in other areas,” he assured her, his tone dry. “And you hate playing poker. We all know it.”
Emily grinned. “So, Matt, how come you’re not cleaning up the house tonight? Looks to me like Daniel’s whipping everybody.”
Jaimie watched Matthew’s wide shoulders lift in a lazy shrug. The golden light of the chandelier centered over the big dining room table tossed glints over his gold hair. She tucked her fingers into her back pockets, hovering at the edge of the room.
Yearning, hard and tight, knotted in her stomach, but she didn’t belong here any more than she’d ever belonged anywhere. No amount of dreaming would change that inescapable fact.
She moistened her lips and silently left the family gathering. In the chilly mudroom, she slipped on her coat and picked up D.C., who’d followed her out from the kitchen. She would’ve put her back into the other room, but the bundle of fur curled into Jaimie’s arms, purring contentedly.
Stroking the cat’s dainty head, Jaimie let herself out into the night. Her nose wrinkled at the cold air, and her steps quickened as she headed home.
“Where are you going?”
She whirled on her heel. “Matthew.”
He continued walking toward her, shrugging into his heavy vest. “Why’d you leave?”
She hugged D.C. a little closer. “I...you...well—”
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Ha-ha.”
His teeth flashed for a moment, and he tilted his head back, looking up into the wintry night sky. “We’re in for more snow,” he commented after a moment.
“That’s not what the weatherman said on the news this morning.” He peered at her from beneath that ever-present cowboy hat. “Sniff,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Sniff the air,” he said patiently. “You can smell it coming. I don’t care what the weatherman predicted. Try it. Tell me what you smell.”
Not sure if he was pulling her leg or not, she gave a quick sniff.
“Well?”
“I smell the cattle,” she told him truthfully.
His eyes crinkled. “It’s hard to miss,” he agreed. “Beyond that. Try again.”
She did, closing her eyes this time as she concentrated. Her nose wrinkled at the brisk cold. She could smell the smoke from the fireplaces burning in the big house, and from Joe and Maggie’s place. She tilted her head slightly. She could smell something pure and cold. But mostly, she could smell the intensely seductive scent of him. Of denim and leather and soap. Her eyes flew open.
“Smell it?”
Grateful for the cover of darkness that hid the heat in her cheeks, she nodded. “Yes.”
“So you going to tell me why you left?”
She let D.C. jump to the ground when the cat pushed at her. Without the protection of that warm, furry body, Jaimie pulled her coat closer about her. “I just thought I should get back. You know. See to Maggie and all.”
“Joe’s with her, isn’t he? His truck is there.”
Jaimie looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, her brother’s truck was parked outside the foreman’s cottage. He’d been gone so much lately, she was actually surprised to see it there. So much for that excuse.
“You were welcome to stay. You could have joined the game.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“How’s Donna?” She cursed the waspish question that escaped without thought.
He nudged his hat back. “Fine, far as I know. Tell me why you left.”
She yanked up the zipper on her coat. “Just because. All right?”
“No, it’s not all right.”
“Why do you care?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know. But I do.”
“Sure, because I’m your employee.”
Beneath the cold white moonlight, she saw his jaw cock to one side. “That’ll do for a start,” he finally said.
“Okay, then how about because I’m your employee.”
He studied her. “What are you trying to say? That you’re not welcome among my family because you’re the housekeeper? Where the heck did you get a crazy idea like that?”
“Come on, Matthew. I’m good enough to...to pass a few hours with...but I’m still the housekeeper.” And you’re dating the neighbor-lady.
“That’s what you think? That I was just passing a few hours with you?” He settled his hat firmly. “Well, hell, darlin’. Why didn’t you just say so. We could’ve skipped all this foreplay and gotten right to it. Saved ourselves a lot of grief.”
She sucked in her breath, feeling the cold air freeze its way down into her lungs. She’d offended him. Even in the darkness she could see it. “Matthew—”
He waved his arm toward the cottage. “Mebbe you’d better just go home,” he said.
“That’s where I was trying to go when you stopped me.”
“You’d try the patience of a saint, do you know that?”
“Then just think how nice it’ll be when Maggie has her baby and you can get me out of your hair.” She whirled on her heel and stomped across the slushy gravel. The door to the foreman’s cottage slammed shut behind her.
Matthew stared at the small house for a long time, his jaw tight. If all went well, Maggie was due to have her baby in April. Soon after she would probably be able to return to her duties. But the idea that Jaimie would be leaving then was losing its appeal.
And that was the most dangerous realization of all.
Not ready to return to the house and the curious eyes of his family, he headed toward Joe’s office, partitioned out of a corner of the barn, stopping short when he found his foreman there.
Joe’s head lifted, his tanned hand tightening around the telephone receiver held to his ear. “I’ll get back to you,” he said into the receiver and hung up.
Matthew had no desire to interrupt Joe’s conversation. “I need the file for Wayland’s.”
Joe slowly reached for the file drawer. “Problem?”
Matthew shrugged. “Em’s looking into something for me.”
Joe eyed him strangely, then turned to paw through the file folders. Eventually he drew out one and extended it.
Matthew tucked it under his arm, wond
ering why Joe was still in his office at this time of the evening. “Maggie is hanging in there pretty well, isn’t she?”
Joe nodded, silent.
“We’ll all be happy when she can get up and about again.”
Joe eyed the stapler he was aligning with the edge of the desk. “If Jaimie’s not working out—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to keep her on,” he continued, as if Matthew hadn’t spoken. “I heard in Weaver that a new couple has moved to town. The wife is looking for work. She might be interested.”
“Why wouldn’t I keep Jaimie?” The words rang in his ears. He hadn’t meant that quite the way it sounded, he assured himself silently.
The chair squeaked when Joe leaned back. “Well, you know. She never sticks to anything for long. Never has. I think the only time she’s ever quit before getting fired was when she worked for Bennett Ludlow before coming here to take over for Mag.”
Bennett Ludlow, Matt knew, was a skirt-chasing fool. Naturally he wouldn’t have fired Jaimie. Personally he was glad Jaimie had been able to quit. She was a heck of a lot safer working on the ranch.
He went still for a moment. Jaimie was a city girl, he reminded himself grimly. And a ranch was not a safe place for city girls.
“Crazy kid,” Joe continued with a heavy dose of brotherly disgust. “Don’t know why she doesn’t just find a job and stick to it. Preferably something that pays better ’n baby-sitting a buncha rug rats. Kid never did finish anything.”
Matthew swallowed the words that sprang to his lips. He didn’t need to defend Jaimie to her own brother. Nor did he want to stand here and listen to more of Joe’s disdain, either. “Thanks for the file.” He settled his hat and turned for the door, then abruptly turned back. “And just so it’s clear, Jaimie’s doing a fine job.” Matthew left his foreman sitting in his desk chair, speculation growing in the man’s eyes.
He returned to the big house in time to hand over the file to Emily as she and Jefferson were leaving. Too keyed up for bed, he poured himself the last measure of coffee still in the pot and headed out to check on the new calves he’d brought in that morning.
The Rancher And The Redhead Page 12