The Texas Way

by Jan Freed

  She started to climb. His hand clamped her wrist. “You have no personal interest in Ken?”

  Their gazes met and held. Her pulse accelerated beneath his thumb. Her body seemed to soften along with her expression.

  “No, Scott. None at all,” she said with quiet conviction.

  A fierce thrill tightened his hand. She leaned forward infinitesimally. He yanked her the rest of the way home and tightened his arms.

  She fit him as he knew she would. Perfectly. Laying her cheek against his chest, she sighed. He breathed in the scent of peaches and instantly grew hard.

  “You were terrific in there, Maggie. Ken was really impressed.”

  “You think so? I didn’t read the numbers wrong? I get so nervous under pressure.”

  “No, I was ready to jump in, but you didn’t need me once.”

  “Practicing my spiel on Grant last night must’ve helped.”

  Scott gave her a brief squeeze. “You were great.” He broke into a smile. “Did you see Ken’s face when you gave him the stud-fee projections? He looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.”

  Her bubble of laughter lifted his heart. “Kind of like you did when you saw that breeding dummy.”

  “Watch yourself, smarty. It’s a long way back to the ranch, and I’ve got the keys.”

  “I could always rough it in a hotel. A hot shower and room service doesn’t sound too bad right now.”

  A half-dozen images involving water, food and Maggie on a king-size bed flashed in Scott’s mind. From her sudden stillness, he figured she was doing some picturing of her own. He almost groaned aloud. God, what he would give to lock out the rest of the world and discover the sweetness of Maggie.

  She pressed into his erection and lifted her face, her eyes slumberous. He did groan then, and slowly lowered his head.

  A car horn blasted ten feet away.

  Scott and Maggie jumped apart. Four teenage boys jeered and whistled loudly out the windows of a Jeep trolling the parking lot. Cursing under his breath, Scott forced a sheepish wave to acknowledge their prank. They sped off with a squeal of tires.

  Maggie had already scrambled into the truck. He slammed the door and rounded the bumper. It was probably for the best, he consoled himself. All his noble plans to save her from himself would have dissolved at the first touch of her lips. Those kids had been a blessing in disguise.

  But if he ever saw the little punks again, they were dead meat.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ADA POPPED OPEN the lid of a rusting paint can and set it on a bed of newspaper. She’d bought the paint a year ago for her own kitchen, then switched her color scheme from yellow to ivory. Staring now at a layer of oily gunk concealing the paint beneath, she congratulated herself on a wise decision.

  Margaret crowded close and peered over the rim. “Maybe the other cans are better.”

  “It just needs a good stirring,” Ada said, forcing the doubt from her voice. Why hadn’t she checked the cans before donating them to the cause?

  A week had passed since Scott and Margaret had traveled to Gonzales. They were expecting a call from their bank officer “sometime this afternoon” after the loan-committee meeting. Margaret had suggested painting the kitchen to keep them occupied and near the phone. Grant had mentioned the plan to Ada—and here they were.

  Ada popped open another can and looked inside. “Don’t panic.”

  “Panic?” Margaret gestured to the room as a whole and made a face. “Any color would be an improvement over grunge.”

  “Good point.”

  The steady rasp of sandpaper abruptly ceased.

  “Grunge?” Grant cleared his throat with mock offense from a ladder by the upper cabinets. “I do believe we’re being insulted, Scott. What do you say we go on strike and see if their manners improve?”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me. My arm’s about to fall off.” Kneeling on the floor, Scott lowered his sandpaper and rubbed his shoulder. “How many times have these cabinets been painted, Dad?”

  “Two…no, three times. I repainted them after your mother died.”

  “They used to be blue, right?”

  “As a field of bluebonnets.” A reminiscent smile lit Grant’s eyes. He propped one elbow on a rung and stared into space. “Patricia nagged and nagged me the spring Laura was due until I painted the kitchen to match the bluebonnets outside. This was the heart of the house, she used to say, and it oughtta be as beautiful as her family. Remember that? She rocked Laura to sleep in here every day.”

  “I’d forgotten.” Scott’s voice sounded husky. “How could I have forgotten?”

  Ada’s throat thickened. She met Margaret’s eyes and they exchanged a misty look.

  Scott leaned forward, blew a puff of chalky substance from a cabinet door and scratched the sanded area with his fingernail. “Damn, I don’t remember it being this blue. It practically glows. Miss Harrison at the bank would’ve loved it.” He slanted an intimate smile up at Margaret as if they shared a private joke.

  Watching the younger woman’s melting response, Ada experienced a rush of empathy. No doubt she got that same sappy expression whenever Grant smiled at her. Frustration welled in her breast.

  “Better get back to work,” she told the men more harshly than intended. “We’ll be ready to paint soon.” She shoved the second can of paint across the table, along with a wooden stick. “Here you are, Margaret. Go to town.”

  As the rasping sound of sandpaper started up again, Ada plunged another wooden stick deep into her paint can and stirred. Pigs were a whole lot smarter than people sometimes. Anyone could see that Margaret was crazy about Scott—and good for his soul. He’d gentled around the edges since she’d arrived, and looked years younger.

  Instinct told Ada they hadn’t made the critical transition from friends to lovers. With a sensual man like Scott, that could only mean he felt more for Margaret than mere physical attraction.

  Yet like his father, he was letting male pride interfere with happiness. Ada churned the paint more vigorously.

  Men. Did they think all women judged a man by his bank account and what he could provide materially? Maybe some women did. But not her. And she’d bet the farm that Margaret didn’t, either.

  “You tryin’ to make butter over there, Ada?” Grant’s perceptive gaze belied his teasing tone.

  She released the stick as if burned. He was always sensitive to her moods. That was one of the reasons she wanted to marry him, whether the bank foreclosed on the ranch or not. She didn’t care if he had a pot to pee in, as long as she had him.

  Margaret cocked her head thoughtfully. “Actually it does look like butter now that it’s mixed. It’s pretty, Ada.” She scraped off excess paint from the stir stick and held it up. “Grant, Scott? What do you think?”

  They looked at the painted strip of wood, then at each other, then back at the strip.

  “It’s fine,” Scott said.

  “Fine,” Grant agreed.

  Margaret frowned. “But do you like it? You’ll be living with this color a long time.”

  Their eyes glazed.

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” Scott said.

  “Like butter,” Grant elaborated, looking pleased with himself.

  Margaret tossed the stick on the newspaper and rolled her eyes at Ada. “Why did I ask?”

  “You had to try. But remember, they’ve been happy as hogs in a potato patch living with grunge.”

  “Good point.”

  Waiting out two indignant groans, Ada suggested the women tackle the walls while the men finished sanding. Margaret had never done this before, and latex wall paint was much easier to apply than the thicker enamel paint the cabinets required.

  As Ada organized the supplies and studied the room with a critical eye, her gaze kept detouring to Grant’s broad back. Silver-threaded auburn hair curled slightly over the collar of his blue work shirt. Her fingers itched to rub his back, to smooth the goose-down softness of his hair. She jumped at a gentle touch
on her arm.

  Margaret dimpled knowingly. “What do you want me to do? You’re the boss.”

  “How about I take the ceiling trim and you edge the baseboards, then we’ll use the roller to fill in. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. Let’s do it.”

  Ada climbed the ladder she’d brought from home and dipped her brush. The first stroke of bright, sunny paint made the existing wall color intolerable.

  “Oh, Ada, it’s going to be beautiful,” Margaret murmured from the floor. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

  “Me, too.” Obviously Margaret shared her warm satisfaction in creating a cozier environment for these special men.

  The next two hours passed peacefully, broken by deceptively casual requests for the time or an occasional muttered expletive. Grant and Scott completed the sanding and cleaned the powdery mess as best they could. Margaret and Ada finished the trimwork just as the men started painting the cabinets.

  Ada climbed down the ladder and dropped her brush in a bucket of water. “Hand me that roller tray, would you, Mar—”

  The ringing phone jerked four pair of eyes to the wall between the refrigerator and hall door. Ada put a hand over her laboring heart, knowing the others must be feeling the same anxiety or worse. Survival of the ranch would give them all a chance at a future together.

  Scott carefully set down his brush and walked to the phone. He picked up the receiver on the third ring. “Hello.”

  Oh, please, let him get the loan.

  “Yes, hold on.” He turned to Margaret, his expression a mixture of relief and disappointment. “It’s for you.”

  She moved forward hesitantly and took the receiver. “Hello? Yes, this is she. Yes, of course I remember you, Mr. Brady.” She listened and held Scott’s gaze, excitement building in her expressive eyes. “I’m glad you feel that way. You’re smart to get a jump on other breeders while his fee is relatively low.”

  Her thumbs-up signal and brilliant smile had them all grinning. She listened for several minutes. “I’m flattered. I don’t think that’ll be a problem, but let me discuss it with Scott and call you back, if I may. What’s your phone number?” Snapping her fingers, she made a frantic scribbling motion with her hands.

  Grant yanked open a drawer and rushed over with a pencil and pad.

  Her distressed gaze sought Scott. “Area code 713,” she pronounced distinctly, relief flooding her face when Scott took the pad and began writing. She finished stating the phone number, promised to call back as soon as possible and hung up.

  “Yes!” Slamming down an imaginary football, she raised her fists and did a little victory dance. It was so out of character they all gaped. Scott was the first to recover.

  “Spill it out, Maggie.”

  “You’ll never believe what Mr. Brady wanted.”

  “Not if you don’t ever tell me,” he said.

  “He was impressed enough after seeing Twister’s workout to want to breed a couple of Oasis mares to him. And Mr. Brady wants me to recommend which mares to cross for the best results.”

  Scott looked as if he wanted to do more than smile at her. “That’s great! I could tell you blew him away when he asked you about Twister’s pedigree. But does this mean you’ll have to go to Houston?”

  She nodded. “Just overnight. I have to see the mares in person, look at them in motion, in order to make an accurate judgment. He wants us day after tomorrow if possible. But he said he’ll pay our expenses.”

  “Our expenses?”

  “Well…yes. We billed ourselves as a team last Friday. He specifically asked you to come, too.”

  Scott’s face grew shuttered. “I can’t leave the ranch.”

  They were talking as if they were alone in the room. As if no one else existed, which Ada suspected was true for them at the moment. She met Grant’s eyes with a silent plea. These two young people belonged together.

  “Of course you can leave the ranch,” Grant said, resting a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “It’ll be a nice break for both of you.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You can see Laura and Alec. They’ve invited us to visit for the past four months. Besides, if you don’t go, I’ll think you can’t trust me to run things here for two lousy days.”

  Ada knew Grant meant what he’d said. He’d confessed his guilt about taking a back seat in ranch affairs in the past and had made a dedicated effort recently to become more active. She prayed Scott would give the right answer.

  The phone rang shrilly, making them all jump.

  “Damn, I’m glad I had heart surgery,” Grant muttered, glaring at the instrument.

  Scott picked up the receiver. “Hello.” He quickly turned his back to the room. “Yeah, hi, Ken. What’s up?”

  Holding her breath, Ada listened shamelessly through a series of “uh-huhs” and “yeahs.” Where was the whoop of excitement?

  “I know. It was a long shot.”

  Ada suddenly felt as sick as Margaret looked.

  “Listen, Ken, I appreciate your calling and telling me. You bet. Thanks again. Bye.”

  When Scott turned, he looked as if he’d been whacked in the stomach with a two-by-four.

  “You didn’t get it,” Margaret whispered, her eyes stricken.

  Grant studiously avoided Ada’s gaze. “That’s all right, son. We’ll tighten the belt another notch and make it through. You’ll see.”

  Scott shook his head.

  Grant’s mouth thinned. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. We might have to sell a few of the cows—”

  “We got the loan,” Scott interrupted. “Ken’s depositing the money in our company account today.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Maggie stood on tiptoe and thumped Scott on the head with a flick of her thumb and middle finger. He clutched his skull and stared.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “For scaring us half to death, Scott Hayes. Why didn’t you tell us right away you’d been approved?”

  “I dunno. I was too surprised, I guess. Ken said it was a close call, but your income forecast made the difference.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “C’mon, Maggie, don’t be mad.”

  Ada would’ve handed him a cookie if she’d had one.

  Margaret only glared.

  His grin faded. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “Then prove it.” Her eyes gleamed with challenge.

  His glinted with wariness. “How?”

  “Take me to Houston.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. You might as well get used to dealing with the Mr. Bradys of the horse industry, Scott. You’ll be handling a lot of breeder requests once Twister’s made a name for himself. Don’t be chicken.”

  Scott visibly stiffened, then expelled a peeved breath.

  Margaret’s taunt had nothing to do with horses, Ada sensed intuitively. Her affection and admiration for Margaret increased.

  “I’ll think about it,” he muttered, massaging his neck.

  Margaret inclined her head like royalty. “Thank you.”

  Ada turned away to hide her smile. She’d been worried for nothing. Scott didn’t stand a chance of resisting this young woman. If only she felt as sure of her own effect on Grant.

  THREE DAYS LATER Scott draped his forearms over the Oasis paddock fence and watched the last of the mares being led in. Hell, they’d all looked good to him. But Daniel and Margaret had talked about length of shoulder and correctness of legs, subtleties of type and bloodlines, until Scott had given up trying to figure out what it all meant. He’d left them to their business and strolled the grounds, winding up here with nothing to do but hold up the fence.

  It’d been a pleasant drive from Riverbend—once Maggie’d recovered from leaving Twister there. She’d accepted Liz’s offer to supervise his gate training, but Lord, had she regretted it this morning.

  Between Orca’s distressed squeals as they pulled away from
the H & H and Maggie’s welling eyes the first fifty miles on the road, Scott had been tempted to turn around and cancel the whole trip. He was damn glad now that he hadn’t.

  Stretching mightily, he adjusted his hat and scanned the surrounding complex. He’d be busting butt right now if he was home. The knowledge heightened his appreciation of the view.

  Located on the rural outskirts of Houston, Oasis Arabians’ paddocks, pastures, barns and two-story brick home were impressive, but not as showy as Riverbend. Of course, what was? Scott waited for the familiar sour envy to burn away his pleasure.

  Nothing. His gut stayed calm.

  He probed his new contentment experimentally, expecting residual pain. Instead, his sense of well-being spread. Deepened.

  Healed.

  He lifted his gaze heavenward. The sky seemed bluer, the air sweeter, the possibilities greater than since he’d learned ten years ago that Donald Winston had bought Andrew Perkin’s ranch. His gaze snapped to Maggie. Lovely, gifted, tenderhearted Maggie, who’d borne the brunt of his scorn and vengefulness with courage and grace. She’d forced him to take risks and fight for his future. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped regretting his past. Could he dare put it behind him for good?

  He believed in Twister now as much as Maggie always had. After the bank note was paid off, after the necessary improvements were made, the H & H could be a prosperous and comfortable homestead. Never a showplace, but hadn’t Maggie proved that wasn’t important to her? Scott’s heart thrummed crazily.

  She’d known that the thought of being alone with her on this trip terrified him, because his self-control was already strained to the limit. Yet she’d pushed for him to join her, anyway. Don’t be chicken, she’d said.

  Doubt clashed with hope. Excitement warred with fear. Don’t be chicken.

  Maggie finished examining the last mare, a bay with black points, and handed her over to a groom. She and Daniel appeared to compare notes. Scott couldn’t read the expression in her eyes, but her animated gestures and dazzling smile said the mare was a winner. Finally she gave the bay’s neck an admiring pat and scanned the surrounding area.

  The moment she spotted him, he could feel the signals crackling between them. She wanted him, too.