A Cowboy for Clementine (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Floyd, Susan

  “Really?” One of Ryan’s eyebrows went up. “Actually, I’m not surprised.”

  Clem began to understand how very private Dexter was. The fact that he’d even told her about Joanna was clearly a giant step for him, and she’d treated it as if it was normal conversation. No wonder he couldn’t talk about it for more than a moment at a time.

  “Why not?”

  “When Dexter told us that you rode New Horse, I could tell you’d made an impression on him.”

  Clem furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure why that would make a difference.”

  Ryan looked at her in amazement. “Hell, Clem. I won’t ride New Horse. Dexter can only ride him sometimes. The fact you rode him as if he was the tamest beast in the world blew Dex’s mind. He couldn’t stop talking about you after you left.”

  “Dexter? The same man who can barely string two sentence together?” Clem laughed.

  “He talks once you get to know him.”

  “I didn’t know New Horse was dangerous,” Clem said. “If I had, I probably wouldn’t have tried to ride him.”

  Ryan grinned. “Isn’t that how it always is? If you’d known about Dexter before, you probably wouldn’t have looked for him in the first place.”

  Clem stayed quiet. It wasn’t true. She’d certainly been aware of his reputation but had looked for him anyway.

  DEXTER LAY ON HIS BUNK and stared up at the ceiling. Once let loose, he had no way of controlling the emotions that were rolling through him. Was it bad that he’d never cried for Joanna?

  The light clicked on.

  “This has got to stop.” Randy’s voice came from the doorway.

  “Go away.” Dexter didn’t want to be rude to his friend, but he really wasn’t in the mood for Randy.

  “Stop doing this to yourself. I’ve watched you wither away for the past three years. I think it’s time for someone to tell you enough is enough.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that you’ve withdrawn from the world so much that you can’t see what a horse’s behind you’ve become.”

  Dexter sat up and glared at his friend. “You act like everything’s fine, like everything’s the same. Don’t you even miss her?”

  Dexter never saw the fist that smacked him in the mouth. “You want to hit me back?” Randy taunted. “Go on. Give it your best shot.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Dexter’s forearm was cocked.

  “Anytime you think you can take me on, I’m ready. I’m sick and tired of walking around you. How the hell can you ask if I miss her? You don’t know what I feel, because every time her name’s mentioned you clam up or walk out.”

  Dexter swung, but Randy ducked and caught him in a fierce bear hug. “You know, Scott, that’s the first real emotion you’ve shown in three years.”

  “Let me go.” Dexter jabbed his elbow into Randy’s ribs. Randy didn’t even flinch.

  “I will when you promise you’ll go invite Clem to come with us.” The laughter in Randy’s voice infuriated him.

  “No.” He flailed a little more.

  Randy’s bear hug tightened. “She’s not going to die the way Joanna did.”

  “You know that for sure?” Dexter felt an unbearable pressure on his chest, and it wasn’t caused by Randy’s massive arms. “You can guarantee Clem won’t go over a cliff the higher up we get? You saw those trails.”

  “Clem’s been roaming around these mountains most of her life. She can ride better than most men.”

  “That didn’t save Joanna.”

  “Nothing could have saved Joanna.” Randy let him go abruptly, and Dexter tumbled and fell. “Don’t you know that? Nothing, not you, not me, not anybody could have saved Joanna.”

  Dexter lay on the ground breathing hard, trying to fight against the throbbing headache that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Randy crouched next to him. “But there’s time to save yourself. Joanna would have never wanted her death to affect you this way.”

  Dex’s eyes were dry. He could feel the chill of the floor seep through to his back. “Joanna had no idea she was going to die.”

  “And there are worse ways to go.”

  “I miss her every day.”

  “Me, too.”

  Finally, Dexter struggled to sit up and Randy held out his hand. “Sorry about the fat lip,” Randy apologized as he helped Dexter to his feet.

  Dexter touched his mouth. It was sore. “I probably deserved it.”

  “Life goes on, buddy.”

  “I know. But I can’t help thinking about Joanna.”

  Randy didn’t say anything. He walked over to his bunk and fished around under his pillow and came up with a worn snapshot. He handed it to Dexter. “I sleep with this under my pillow every night. And every morning I say hello.”

  Dexter didn’t want to take the picture. He hadn’t seen a photograph of Joanna in three years.

  “Say hello,” Randy insisted, holding it out.

  With the greatest reluctance, Dexter held out his hand, for the photo. He slowly brought it into his line of vision.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of. She’s not a ghost,” Randy said.

  Dexter stared at the picture and the force of Joanna’s smile knocked the breath out of him.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Dexter nodded.

  “That’s what it means to be alive, Scott. It’s right there in that smile.”

  Dexter studied the large grin, then looked at the simple round locket around her neck.

  “I’ve still got that locket,” Dexter whispered. “I take it everywhere, but I don’t open it.”

  Randy nodded in understanding and answered Dex’s original question. “Do I miss her? Hell, yes. Do I regret anything about her life? Not at all. And you should realize there’s a wonderful woman out there who’s full of life and can cook her ass off, but should really be riding in those mountains. If only you can put Joanna to rest.”

  CLEM SAT ON THE PORCH in her mother’s rocker and waited. She didn’t know if Dexter would come out of the bunkhouse, but she hoped he would. Ryan had left more than an hour ago and she could hear voices and laughter drifting over from the bunkhouse. It was pretty ordinary as bunkhouses went. Ten pine bunk beds lined the large living space, and there was a big stone fireplace with a generous hearth. Clem had played there when it wasn’t in use and remembered being able to stand upright in the fireplace until she was about fourteen. It was a comfortable place to hang out when it wasn’t filled with the seasonal cowboys who’d come in the fall to brand and in the spring for roundup.

  At those times, Clem would linger by the door listening to the men discuss loudly and colorfully their day on the range, hearing names like Beercan Ridge, Portegue Canyon and Huckabee Camp, their deep laughter surrounding her like warm smoke. Every once in a while, one of the cowboys would catch sight of her, then toss her a peppermint and tell the others to watch their language because there was a lady in the room. When their jobs were over, the cowboys and their noisy banter would be gone and it would just be her mother and father.

  Now the cowboys who worked for her lived in town and drove to the ranch when they were needed. Clem rubbed her arms, starting to feel the chill of the evening. She wanted to talk to Dexter, but after glancing at her watch, she decided to give him fifteen more minutes before heading inside.

  As if on cue, a solitary figure wandered out of the bunkhouse and over to the corral where New Horse was. Just from the angle of his body and his gait, Clem knew it was Dexter. She watched him pull something from his jacket pocket and hold it out to the horse. He pranced back and forth, before quickly nipping at the offering and then retreating.

  It was now or never. Clem stood up and walked across the courtyard. Dexter was leaning up against the fence, elbows on the top rail, watching his horses, absently chewing on the stem of a small leaf.

  Clem came up and stood next to him.

  He shifted sligh
tly to give her room, the leaf still in his mouth.

  His earlier tension seemed to have subsided.

  He’s trying, Clem realized. He’s trying. She could try, too. She could wait for him to heal.

  As the silence lengthened, she began to think she might have to stand and wait all night.

  Before she could decide what to do next, Dexter looked up at the stars. “Pretty here.”

  “Not like the desert,” Clem conceded.

  “Different, but pretty in its own right.” He nodded, then shifted and glanced down at her.

  With an easy hop, she climbed the fence to sit on the top rail—right in front of him where he couldn’t miss her. Maybe if she stared at him long enough, he’d actually tell her why he didn’t want her to go out with them.

  However, once in position, Clem was unnerved. Their proximity was oddly intimate. If she put her hands out, she could wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer until her legs straddled his waist. But she didn’t. She simply hooked the heels of her boots on the next rung of the fence and used her hands to keep herself from teetering foolishly. At least this way they were almost eye to eye.

  Dexter didn’t move away as she’d expected. She’d thought he’d pull back and put a respectable eighteen inches between them or maybe even walk away again. Instead, he placed his hands on either side of her hips and leaned forward.

  They were close. Terribly, terribly close.

  Too close for anyone looking at them to believe they weren’t touching. She could see the moonlight reflected in his eyes, the darkening stubble on his chin. The gentle curve of his bottom lip. What was it about that bottom lip of his? Actually it looked swollen.

  She gently touched it. He winced.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “A gift from Randy,” he said with a real smile.

  She frowned. “I hope you hit him back.”

  Dexter laughed. “I tried. He’s big but he’s quick.”

  “I hope you deserved it, then.”

  “He thought I did.”

  They lapsed into silence.

  “Are we alone?” he asked finally, his voice low and husky.

  Mint.

  Dexter Scott was chewing on a spring of peppermint, which grew in abundance around the property. She fought the urge to kiss him. “I think so. Everyone’s fat and happy after that supper.”

  She could feel his breath on her cheek.

  “That meal was good. Best I’ve had in a while.”

  “I haven’t had anyone to cook for in ages. Ryan made quick work of the dishes and the mess.”

  As they talked of inconsequential things, a new tension developed between them. One that wasn’t based on their differing opinions. Clem wasn’t sure her heart could take it.

  “Well, I guess I better turn in, too,” Dexter said, and pushed himself away from her. The chill of the night air hit her right in the face.

  “Morning comes early,” he continued. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels to study the stars. “We have a lot of work to do, so we need to get an early start in the morning.”

  “I’m an early riser,” Clem said.

  Dexter regarded her. “And you’re telling me this because?”

  “I’m going, too.” She made her voice soft but determined.

  “Can I offer you a piece of advice?” he asked in a voice so strained that she felt it rumble through her very soul.

  “What?”

  “Persuasion is always more effective than force.”

  Clem flushed. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that for someone who wants something real bad, you sure aren’t going about asking for it very nicely.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHILE SHE CONSIDERED his comment, Dexter’s face remained impassive, as if emotions were simply not allowed to pass across it. She swallowed hard and then bestowed on him a wry smile.

  “Excuse me,” she said, lowering her voice. “And do you have any suggestions on how I might ask you more nicely? What if I said please?”

  He moved closer to her but still didn’t touch her, though that hardly seemed possible. “I’m not sure that a simple please will do it.”

  “Not even if I said it really nicely?” Clem shifted. His scrutiny was disconcerting, and Clem felt the force of his presence surround her, engulf her. It was almost as if she could feel him touch her cheek, her temples, the nape of her neck. But his hands remained in his pockets. Then his gaze went to her locket.

  She self-consciously brought a hand up to it. “My parents gave this to me,” she said in explanation.

  He didn’t say anything.

  She cleared her throat. “You probably believe I won’t be very good. But I will be. I’m very familiar with the area, no matter what you think about me.” She couldn’t help the defensiveness that crept into her voice.

  “You have no idea what I think about you.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Really, now?”

  She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat. “I bet you think I’m some sort of princess who’s been waited on all her life. And you think I’m only happy if the world revolves around me. Mostly, you think I shouldn’t be doing this job.”

  “And you’d be wrong on all accounts.”

  TIME SEEMED TO STOP as she lifted her eyes to his. If she hadn’t had ligament and tissue holding her bones together, what she saw in his eyes would have made her melt. She could see life and love dancing there, but she also saw fear. She swallowed hard, trying not to look away from the intensity in his stare.

  “Clem.” His voice was so low she could barely hear it.

  “Yes?”

  “We ride at five.” With that he pushed himself away from her, and strode toward the bunkhouse.

  THERE WAS PANDEMONIUM in the courtyard the next morning as Randy and Ryan hitched the trailers to the truck and, loaded up the horses. For two men, they made a lot of noise. Clem enjoyed every sound. When Dexter walked into her line of sight, she tried to ignore the alarm bells that went off. By the grim set of Dexter’s mouth, Clem knew that this morning was all about business. He was here to find the cows.

  The sound of the horse’s hooves on the trailer ramps brought back fond memories to Clem. When she was young, she had loved to be around cowboys. She loved how they talked to one another and to their horses. How they smelled, and how they teased her.

  Odd she would marry a man who wore Italian silk rather than cotton and leather, a man who could never quite capture the right rhythm to make profanity sound like music. Looking back, she realized Nick and his friends weren’t men—not real men, anyway. She’d been so anxious to get away from home and prove herself different, she’d turned her back on her true self, making her easy prey for someone like Nick. Now she understood what her father had meant when he’d said his son-in-law had never felt “right” to him.

  She was certain her father would find everything about Dexter Scott and the Miller brothers “right.” They were an impressive sampling of the male species, all towering height, broad shoulders and muscled arms that easily took the weight of whatever load needed to be hauled. So fit they could keep up their continuous banter in spite of the heavy work.

  “Clem, shake a leg,” Randy hollered at her. “You’re riding shotgun with Dex.”

  Shotgun with Dexter. Clem raised a hand in acknowledgement, then walked over to Dexter’s truck.

  “Get on in,” Dexter invited.

  She’d been in his truck before and was prepared for the worst. To her amazement, he’d thoroughly cleaned the interior. No leftover fast-food wrappers, no soda cans, no layer of dust thick enough to write in. In fact, it seemed as if he’d shined the seats, because she kept sliding forward.

  “Like what you’ve done with your truck,” she commented when he climbed in next to her.

  He shifted into a lower gear to compensate for the load that they were hauling. He gave her a small grin. �
�Guess I didn’t notice the dust until you did.”

  “It’s your truck.” She gave a shrug and ignored the small drizzle of pleasure she received from the thought he’d cleaned it up for her.

  “But you’re riding in it.”

  Clem smiled but didn’t say anything, content to let Dexter focus on his driving.

  After a few minutes, Dexter asked, “Where to?”

  “We’ll go about three miles down this road, then cut left at a service road. That will take us up about halfway up the mountain and drop us right about where you spotted evidence of the herd yesterday.”

  Dexter nodded, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

  Clem was getting used to the quiet. Nick had been a talker. He’d woken up talking, gone to sleep talking. She’d come to believe that he allocated himself a certain number of words to use in a day—and he couldn’t sleep until he met his quota. Amazing how she could feel so lonely when he was talking at her all the time. She didn’t feel lonely now, and Dexter hadn’t said more than ten words to her.

  She shifted in her seat.

  “You okay?” Dexter sent her a quick glance before he turned his attention avoiding a pothole.

  She nodded. “Fine, just fine.”

  And that was the truth.

  When they reached the plateau and began to saddle up, Clem pointed north and said, “We should go up there. You’ll be able to get a bird’s-eye view of the whole valley.”

  Randy nodded. Mounting Shuckabur, he waited for Clem to lead the way. If she had felt any trepidation about guiding them, it evaporated once she was on Archie. She’d spent her whole childhood wandering through these mountains. And even though it’d been a few years since she’d been this high up, the familiarity of the terrain was very comforting to her. She inhaled deeply. Even though they were only a thousand feet up the air smelled different.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Dexter said next to her. His eyes on her face.

  She smiled. “I can’t believe that I’ve been away for so long.”

  “But now you’re back.”

  “Yes. Now I’m back.”

  By the third cowless hour, their good spirits had started to wear a little thin.