Barefoot Blue Jean Night

by Debbi Rawlins

  “Hell, they do now.”

  “Ouch.” Her four-wheeler bounced over a particularly rough patch of earth, and every muscle in her backside screamed in protest.

  She tugged down the tan hat she’d picked up in town, effectively keeping the sun out of her face, and stared at his taciturn profile. Even though she’d insisted she was fine to ride horseback, he’d stubbornly refused to listen. He’d chosen to take the ATVs, claiming that he often used one. A complete lie, she knew, because of the odd expressions on the faces of the men working in the corral as she and Cole rode past them.

  “I think it’s sweet that you’re so concerned about my ass.”

  He gave her one of those single-arched-brow looks that he seemed able to summon at will. She envied him that, and had even practiced the look in front of the mirror, but couldn’t get her eyebrow to cooperate.

  When he returned his attention to the road ahead of them, she did, too, although she wished they’d only taken one four-wheeler instead of two. This way she couldn’t lean in close to him and inhale his musky scent. Or wrap her arms around his waist. They rolled over another jarring bump, and she grunted at the pain.

  “You okay?” His arm shot out protectively, even though he couldn’t reach her.

  “Fine.” She noticed that the scarred tissue on his hand seemed more vivid in the sunlight. “How did you get the scars?”

  He shot her a confused look before noticing that she was staring at his hand. He flexed it, then made a fist. “They’re from a long time ago.”

  “I can tell. You must’ve been a kid.”

  “Around eight.”

  She let up on the gas and slowed the ATV to a stop. He kept pace with her, exactly, all the while staring at her as if she’d gone off her rocker. But he didn’t protest as she reached over, caught him by the wrist and placed his fist in her lap. He tensed a bit when she pried open his fingers but then he let her have her own way. She held back a smile at her little victory, but the grin died on its own as she studied his disfigured palm. “What happened?”

  “A friend and I were playing where we shouldn’t have been and he fell down an abandoned well.”

  She gasped. “Did he—was he—”

  “It turned out okay. A ledge about eight feet down broke his fall. I found a rope and dropped it to him.”

  “Was it Noah?” She lightly traced one of the tracks with the tip of her finger.

  “Nah, not that time.” He laughed a little. “Lord knows we got in plenty of other trouble.”

  She shuddered, thinking about how horrible and raw the original wounds must have been to cause this much scarring. Unbidden, an image popped into her mind of Cole as a wiry boy, a rope wound tightly around his small hand as he struggled valiantly to lift his friend to safety. “Your friend was lucky you were there.”

  “I’m gonna need that.”

  “What?” She glanced up, saw him nod back at the trail and released his hand. They took off again, but they didn’t go far.

  While he steered them off the dirt road onto the grass, a dozen more questions filled her mind, but she sensed that he didn’t want to talk about the incident anymore. She decided to leave it alone. Maybe he’d have more to say another time. For now she’d simply enjoy the beautiful country, the warm sunshine and, best of all, being alone with him.

  No, the very best part was the fact that he’d asked her to come with him in the first place. She’d been so sure he was trying to put distance between them. This outing was far more than she’d hoped for.

  “Any chance we’ll be driving past a stream?” she asked.

  “Thirsty?”

  “I am.”

  “Hang on a minute.” He led her toward a small grove of aspens and firs and made sure they both parked in the shade.

  She didn’t see a stream or creek, or even a mud hole for that matter. Then she watched him twist around and open the storage bin behind him. He pulled out a thermos and uncapped it.

  “Ah, very clever.” She laughed at herself. “You bring water with you.”

  “Yeah, an old cowboy trick.” He smiled and watched her take a sip.

  “What else have you got back there?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Go ahead, amaze and delight me.”

  With an amused expression, he turned off the engine.

  “Good start,” she murmured, her pulse quickening as she followed suit. There was lots of tall grass and tons of privacy all around them. Maybe he had a blanket stowed in the back.

  He took the thermos from her, but didn’t drink, just slowly screwed the cap back on.

  She waited for him to do something, grew impatient and asked, “Is this the end of the road, so to speak? Where you’d intended to go before I barged in?”

  “No, but I want to talk to you about Sadie’s.”

  “The bar? Friday night? Rachel and I have it covered.”

  With a forefinger, he touched the brim of his hat, inching it back until he captured her gaze with his serious brown eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”

  A frisson of unease shot down her spine. Mostly because she couldn’t read him. “Why not? It’s a good plan.”

  “If those boys get drunk enough to start talking, it should be to Josh and Kyle. Not you.”

  “The whole point is that they’re more likely to talk to Rachel and me.”

  “This isn’t your fight.”

  “I know,” she said. “I offered to help.”

  His entire demeanor had changed. A tinge of resentment hardened his face and made her heart catch. He shifted and managed to put a few more inches between them. “Rachel was wrong in drawing you into a family matter.”

  Caught off guard, Jamie sat speechless. She was well aware she wasn’t part of the McAllister clan. Did he think she was trying to worm her way inside his precious inner circle?

  “Don’t you leave Saturday?”

  “Yes,” she said, tersely. “What are you saying exactly? Do you think that because I’m staying on the same floor as you and Rachel and the rest of your family that I feel I’m entitled to overstep?”

  He reared his head, his expression appearing to be one of genuine shock. “No.”

  It was too late. Hurt and embarrassment had gripped her. “Or do you think that because Rachel and I have gotten friendly, not to mention you and I getting down and dirty last night, that I’m trying to infiltrate your tight little group?” She paused to catch a badly needed breath.

  “Jamie, no.” He leaned across the short distance between the four-wheelers and caught her hand, his face a mask of confusion. “I can’t even figure out what you’re talking about. All I’m saying is that you don’t wanna spend your last night at Sadie’s.”

  She took a deep breath, felt a bit calmer. “Why not?”

  He lightly squeezed her hand and hesitated. “I can’t show up there. I hardly ever go to Sadie’s. If they see me, Gunderson’s boys will clam up.”

  “It seems you think the plan has merit, so I’m still not clear.” She knew what she wanted to hear—that he’d like them to spend that last night together. But he’d have to admit it. She, apparently, was bad at drawing her own conclusions about him.

  He lowered his gaze to her hand and traced a light pattern on her palm. “What if they’re drunk and rowdy, and give you and Rachel a hard time?”

  “Josh and Kyle would be there.”

  Cole stunned her by bringing her curled fingers to his lips, then brushed them across the skin above her knuckles. “Don’t go.”

  “It’s not only about me.” Her hand trembled in his. “Rachel is involved.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” He leaned over, bracing one hand on her ATV. Her lips parted as he neared slowly until finally he kissed the corner of her mouth, then caught her lower lip with his teeth. The brims of their hats bumped, and she laughed shakily.

  He drew away, whipping off his Stetson, and came back to her with more force, taking her mouth and persuasively using his t
ongue until she couldn’t breathe.

  If he were another man, she might have thought he was trying to play her, coax the answer from her that he wanted. Cole wasn’t the type. He’d brought her out here because he wanted to be alone with her. Even though he’d tried to stay away he couldn’t. The idea thrilled her to her core. Maybe he really did have a blanket back there….

  The startling, unwelcome buzz of a ring tone broke the spell. She drew back and gazed dazedly at him. It wasn’t her phone.

  Cole muttered a mild oath, and gave her a small apologetic smile as he flipped open his cell. “Yeah,” he said to the caller. “I’m five minutes away.” He disconnected and exhaled sharply, staring bleakly at her. “I got two guys waiting for some gaskets.” He nodded at the cargo bin. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” To be fair, he had told her it wasn’t a joy ride.

  Dammit. Right now, fair seemed overrated.

  11

  HOURS LATER JAMIE still didn’t know what to think about the ride with Cole. Or the kiss. She refused to believe he’d been attempting to manipulate her, talk her out of going to Sadie’s. No, not quite true. Despite her ego wanting to reject the idea, a small part of her understood that it was possible. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her involved, and he might’ve rationalized his interference.

  After all, she herself had been known to enlist the art of persuasion, so to speak. So expressing outrage, even to herself, was bogus. Still, she wished he hadn’t ditched her as soon as they’d returned to the house after dropping off the gaskets.

  He hadn’t had dinner with Jamie and the rest of the guests, but that wasn’t unusual. Most of the women were exhausted from rafting and hiking, so the meal was short, with minimal chatter, and that suited Jamie just fine.

  After everyone scooted out of the dining room, leaving her and Rachel in peace, Jamie automatically started clearing the table. For the first time, Rachel didn’t argue. Together they stacked the platters and plates, each making two trips to the kitchen. Hilda was gone. Rachel had chased her out as soon as the casseroles had been placed in the oven during cocktail hour on the porch.

  Mrs. McAllister had helped serve the peach cobbler and coffee, then disappeared to take a phone call. Jamie glanced out the kitchen window. No sign of Cole. The question remained, should she bring up Sadie’s, or would that be butting in too much? After all, Cole had said he wanted to talk to his sister.

  The hell with it. Rachel and Jamie had put the plan together. If they decided to bag it, they needed to talk.

  Rachel positioned herself at the sink. “You want to scrape and rinse, or load?”

  Jamie hid a smile. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re fussy about how things go in the dishwasher, I don’t mind scraping.”

  “Really?” Rachel said dryly. “You think I give a damn about how the dishes are loaded?”

  “What was I thinking?” Jamie cut the grin loose. “Let me know if you see Cole out there, would you?”

  “Sure. You went for an ATV ride with him earlier, huh?”

  “Excuse me, but it wasn’t a joy ride. Didn’t you hear Cole announce it to all of west Montana before we left?” Jamie picked up a stack of rinsed plates, aware that Rachel was eyeing her with curiosity. “We took gaskets out to the men fixing the irrigation system.”

  Rachel burst out laughing.

  Jamie looked over at her. “What?”

  “I swear to God, my brother can be the most thick-headed man west of the Mississippi.” She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a really good guy, but he’s got these strange ideas about himself that make me want to just shake him sometimes.”

  Jamie pressed her lips together, hoping Rachel would elaborate without Jamie needing to prod. “Well…while we’re on the subject…he feels strongly about us not going to Sadie’s on Friday. He’s planning on talking to you, but I figured I’d give you a heads-up.”

  “See, that’s what I mean.” Rachel’s features tightened. She didn’t look happy, and already Jamie regretted butting in. “He thinks he should handle every little blip himself. That he’s responsible for everything that goes wrong on this ranch.”

  “Oldest-brother syndrome?”

  “That’s part if it, I suppose.” She stared out the window, her annoyance fading, replaced by a sadness that seemed to thicken the air. “It’s more than that. There was an incident in his childhood. He was about eight….”

  When it appeared that Rachel experienced a sudden loss of words, Jamie offered, “When his friend fell down the well?”

  She turned to Jamie, and regarded her with wide-eyed shock. “He told you about that?”

  Jamie swallowed; something that seemed kind of major was happening that she didn’t understand. “I asked about the scars on his hands.” She got rid of the plate she held and straightened. “Did I do something wrong by asking?”

  Rachel looked past her. “You heard?”

  Jamie abruptly turned. Mrs. McAllister had just entered the kitchen.

  She nodded, her expression an odd mixture of concern and curiosity. Her gaze drifted from Jamie to Rachel and when it came back to Jamie, she saw a kindness in the woman’s eyes that made Jamie’s heart twist.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. McAllister, if I spoke out of turn.”

  The woman smiled. “First, I’ve already told you to call me Barbara, and you did nothing wrong.” She moved closer and rubbed Jamie’s arm. “Cole never talks about what happened, that’s why we’re surprised.”

  “Well, with those scars… I mean, people must know.”

  “Oh, everyone around here does. That’s part of the problem, I suppose.” Barbara shuddered and rubbed her own arms. “Lord, it happened so long ago, but even if he weren’t my own son, the thought of any little boy, sitting out there for five hours, that rope wrapped so tightly that—”

  Jamie blinked. “Five hours?”

  Barbara stiffened and exchanged a glance with her daughter.

  “I better stop you,” Jamie said, her voice shaky. “Apparently he didn’t tell me the whole story.” She wanted to know the rest, desperately, but coming clean was the honorable thing to do. God, she hoped they ignored her confession.

  “Let’s all sit down and have a cup of coffee,” Rachel said. “Okay, Mom?”

  Jamie concentrated on loading glasses into the dishwasher, intent on giving the two women a modicum of privacy. If they were anything like Jamie and her friends, they could have an entire conversation with a few secret looks.

  But when she couldn’t stand the silence another second, she closed the dishwasher door and turned around, prepared to excuse herself.

  Barbara had been watching her. A small pleased smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I believe you’re right, Rachel. Time for coffee. Decaf okay with you, Jamie?” Barbara had already walked to the pantry and got out a black ceramic canister. “Or perhaps some tea?”

  In that instant Jamie knew Rachel had discussed her with Barbara. What they found interesting to talk about was anyone’s guess, but she was pretty sure she’d been the topic.

  “Fine,” she said, and noticed that Rachel had brought three pretty china cups out of the glass cabinet. “Either one.”

  Next the matching saucers came down, dainty and white, trimmed with gold. Very elegant, very scary. Jamie guessed the set had been passed down through generations and she did not want to be the one to break anything.

  “Um, I’m normally not clumsy,” she said, “but I’d prefer to stick to a mug.”

  Rachel grinned. “We trust you.”

  “Hope your faith isn’t misplaced,” Jamie murmured, her wary gaze following the china’s trip to the kitchen table.

  “The bad thing is these have to be hand-washed.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes.” With a laugh, Barbara measured out the coffee grounds. “I think I can handle that.”

  “I’ll get the cream and sugar.” Jamie had opened the refrigerator door before she realized her bad manners, and she gestured hel
plessly. “I hope you don’t mind….”

  “Right,” Rachel said. “No help wanted in this kitchen.”

  Jamie smiled, but it wasn’t her new friend she worried about offending. She didn’t know her mother that well.

  “I missed the peach cobbler,” Barbara said. “Mind bringing the leftovers out, too?”

  That easily, Jamie’s concern was wiped clean, and within ten minutes they were all seated at the kitchen table, pigging out on Hilda’s peach cobbler and strong coffee. Jamie prayed the conversation would be steered back to Cole and that day so long ago. That was the reason for this little powwow, she was pretty sure, but when it came to people and their motives, she’d been wrong plenty.

  “It’s nice to be able to use Great-Grandma’s china,” Barbara commented between bites. “We keep it under lock and key when the boys are around.”

  Jamie’s cup was halfway to her lips, and she froze. “You had to remind me, didn’t you?”

  Barbara added more sugar to her coffee. “If it’s survived my three little hellions, I suspect it’s safe for another generation.”

  “That include Rachel?” Jamie asked.

  “Hey, I thought you were my friend.” She threw her wadded-up napkin, and Jamie ducked.

  “It probably should have,” Barbara agreed, giving her daughter a mock glare. “But she couldn’t compete with her brothers in that department.”

  Jamie gave a snort of disbelief. “Not Cole.”

  “Yes, Cole.” Barbara paused thoughtfully. “Until he was about fourteen. Though he was never as bad as Trace or Jesse for getting into trouble.”

  Rachel helped herself to another dollop of whipped cream. “I was too young to remember a time when Cole wasn’t a straight arrow, what with eight years between us.”

  “And serious.” Barbara sighed. “Always so sober, that one.”

  “What changed?” Jamie asked.

  Neither woman seemed to mind her curiosity. Rachel looked to her mother to answer, and Barbara shrugged. “I personally think it started with Kenny falling into the well. Both he and Cole were normal mischievous little boys, and believe me, the final outcome could’ve been disastrous. The accident was traumatic for both boys. They probably needed some counseling, but we didn’t understand that sort of thing back then.”