Galahad in Blue Jeans

by Sara Orwig

  “Mary Catherine, come here and I’ll read.”

  “Sorry, Mary Catherine. I need to do something,” he said, getting up and striding out of the room, and Vivian sensed something was wrong, but she couldn’t guess what. He had been more than patient with Mary Catherine, pampering her, doing what she wanted, being careful with her and cautious. Suddenly, on the simplest request, he had gruffly refused and left the room. Maybe he had something urgent, but the past few minutes were so unlike him, Vivian was baffled.

  With the corners of her mouth turned down, Mary Catherine climbed into Vivian’s lap, but in minutes she was laughing at the pictures in the book. As Vivian read to her she heard Matt open the back door. What had disturbed him so badly? Vivian wondered. She couldn’t imagine Mary Catherine’s request for a few more minutes of his time would set him off, but something had upset him.

  The phone rang and she heard Matt come back into the house to answer it.

  While thoughts and questions about Matt swirled through her mind, Vivian read perfunctorily and then took Mary Catherine to bed. She tucked her into Matt’s big bed and kissed her good-night, singing a lullaby to her. Mary Catherine was asleep almost at once. Vivian crossed the room to look at Julia, in the portable crib, touching her other daughter lightly, feeling a swell of love for both little girls and so thankful again to have Julia.

  Vivian straightened. She had had three short naps during the day and she was awake and restless. She decided to read her e-mail and, while the two girls slept, perhaps catch up a little with her work. She went to the kitchen and glanced out, seeing the floodlights on at the barn and corral, wondering about Matt. Were they beginning to bother him?

  Beneath the floodlights Matt worked with one of the horses he was training, finally yanking off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and flinging it on the fence. It was almost midnight when he had groomed, watered and fed the horse and headed back to the house.

  It was quiet and he wondered whether Vivian was asleep or not. He needed to talk to her when he could about the phone call he had had earlier. He wanted to protect Vivian himself, yet she had a right to know a stranger was making inquiries about her. He yanked off his boots and carried them and his T-shirt to set them in the bedroom he was using. Light spilled from the room down the hall where he had set up Vivian’s computer.

  In his stocking feet. Matt walked down the hall to that room. Vivian was seated at the table he had put up, her head bent over papers spread before her. She was in a red skirt and blouse, her hair still pinned up with more locks falling down around her face.

  He rapped lightly on the door. “Ready for a break?”

  She looked startled and then seemed to focus on him, her gaze running swiftly over him, but the look was sensual, like a touch of her hand. “I came in here to look at my mail and then suddenly I got busy. I should have told you—”

  “No, you didn’t need to tell me. I’ve been outside with a horse. Vivian, I need to talk to you and I didn’t want to talk in front of Mary Catherine.”

  “What is it?”

  “You might as well know,” Matt said, “I had a phone call earlier tonight. It was about you.”

  A knot of anger tightened in Matt. He had debated with himself whether to tell Vivian or not, but decided she would want to know.

  “Chet Gonzales, the sheriff in Dakani, called me. He wanted to tell me that there’s a man in town asking about you.”

  Chapter 7

  She stared beyond Matt. “I’m not surprised. I’m not afraid, but I don’t like it, either. I expected Baker to send someone to learn where I settle. He’s kept up with me through his lawyer and through friends and some of my clients.”

  “He doesn’t have visitation rights?”

  “He didn’t want visitation rights. Baker and I were together some last year. I told you, there was a last-ditch reconciliation effort and Mary Catherine saw him twice then, but he cares nothing about her.”

  “Well, damn,” Matt muttered, shaking his head.

  “I’m certain Baker will try to talk me into going back, so he has to know where I am if he wants to contact me again.”

  “Will he fight you for custody of Mary Catherine or Julia?”

  “He didn’t fight me for custody. That’s settled. I have full custody.”

  “He’s a fool,” Matt said.

  “Well, I agree, but I’m surprised to hear a bachelor feel so strongly about little girls.”

  Matt gave her a level stare. “Families are important. At least the good kind are. If they’re bad, they’re just something to escape from.”

  Vivian heard the bitterness creep into his voice and knew he was thinking about his own family. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “You can have your own family now and it would wipe away the past.”

  “Nothing can ever completely wipe away a man’s past. It’s something he lives with, like his shadow. And I’m not tying someone else up in all my mistakes. I wouldn’t know how to be a good family man.”

  “You could have fooled me,” she said, and his dark eyes focused on her, something changing in their depths, and her heartbeat quickened. Each time he let his desire show, she was becoming more ensnared by it. She was acutely aware of him all the time and she responded to the slightest touch or look. Even when she had casually touched him at the table tonight, she had done it without thought, but the moment her fingers had closed on his muscled arm, she had become intensely aware of the physical contact. Now he stood in the doorway, one hip against the jamb, his fingers splayed on his other hip. He was bare-chested, his jeans riding low on his flat stomach, and she couldn’t resist letting her gaze roam over him. He was fit, his broad shoulders and chest and arms taut with muscle. His skin was smooth and as dark as chocolate.

  “The sheriff said he’ll find out more about the man and call us. I’ll drive into Dakani tomorrow and see who the man is.”

  “You don’t need to get involved.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “Vivian, I’m involved up to my eyeballs. How about a break? Want a cold drink?”

  She stretched, her arms going wide and the red blouse pulling tautly over her high, full breasts.

  “Yes. If I could figure out this letter, I would have all the e-mail answered. Just a minute, let me save this and close things down.”

  Matt crossed the room, hooked a folding chair with his toe and sat down beside her. “I thought you’d sleep while Julia sleeps.”

  “I keep thinking I’ll stop in the next five minutes.”

  Vivian knew he was right and she should sleep while Julia was asleep, but it was the first time in days she had worked on anything for her clients. She closed the e-mail and glanced at the letter she had printed out.

  As she studied it, her concentration drifted and focused on Matt, who was sitting close beside her. It was difficult to keep her gaze from roaming over him again. She had her work spread out on the table around her and he picked up a brochure.

  “What do you do for your clients?”

  “Public relations. I do these brochures, plan ad campaigns, do ads—whatever they need done.”

  “You did all these? These are your clients?” he asked, leafing through brochures spread near her.

  “Yes,” she replied without thought because she was still studying an e-mail letter from a Denver client.

  “Look at this letter,” she said without thinking, trying to get her mind back on her work instead of on Matt. “I can’t decide from this man’s letter whether he wants me to work on his ad campaign or just do a logo. His instructions aren’t clear.” She shoved the letter toward Matt.

  He gave her a long look, and instantly she regretted asking him. It was past midnight and she knew he would be up by five in the morning. “Sorry. Never mind.”

  He stared at her and she wondered whether she had offended him or what. He took the letter and bent over it.

  “Matt, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you because it’s late, and I know you’re up early—�
��

  “Vivian, I’m not overworked,” he said flatly, with such a strange note in his voice that she stopped talking.

  He bent over the letter again and she saw his lips move as he read. Finally he looked up.

  “What do you think he wants?”

  Matt stared at her for so long she wondered what was wrong. “I don’t know what he wants,” he answered evenly. “Did I hurt Mary Catherine’s feelings tonight?”

  The question startled her. He looked so solemn and concerned that she wondered why he was still worrying over Mary Catherine.

  “No, of course not. Children get told no all the time, and she forgets.”

  “She looked hurt.”

  “She’ll forget about it tomorrow. Let’s go get that cold drink.”

  Frowning, he rubbed his temple. “Damn, I hate hurting Mary Catherine. Look, I want to read her little stories to her, but I don’t know those stories because I don’t recall any stories from my childhood. No one read to me.” He looked as if he were debating something and he sounded worried, puzzling her. She waited because he seemed to be groping for the right words to say.

  “Why don’t you get a few of her little books and tell me what they’re about?” Matt asked Vivian.

  “Sure. But you can take them and look at them.”

  He inhaled and rubbed his temple and she knew something was definitely wrong. She glanced down at the letter that lay in front of him. It occurred to her what the problem might be, yet she couldn’t imagine that she was right. She tapped the letter with her finger.

  “Who’s the letter from? If you’ll just read his name and address to me and that first line, I’ll start a letter back to him.”

  She turned to the computer and waited and then looked back at him. He studied the paper, holding it in his big, dark fingers, and then his gaze met hers.

  “You have to be able to read to run this farm,” she said quietly, unable to imagine that he had difficulty reading, yet that appeared to be the problem. It couldn’t be reading, but what was it?

  “No, I can’t read this letter,” he said gruffly. Beneath the dark tanned skin, she could see he was flushed. He clamped his mouth closed and shrugged. “I just hate like hell that I hurt Mary Catherine. It’s late,” he said, starting to stand.

  She caught his wrist, feeling again that current that jumped between them any time they had physical contact. “Wait a minute. Matt, what—”

  “I don’t know how to read,” he said bluntly.

  “You manage this farm, which means you have to do a certain amount of reading,” Vivian said, unable to believe that his reading was really so poor he couldn’t read one of Mary Catherine’s little books to her.

  “You don’t have to read to rope a steer or plant wheat.”

  “You have to read to sign invoices and order equipment—”

  He waved his hand as if those things required little ability. “I can read enough to get by in my world. My world isn’t your world,” he said, looking at the brochures spread around her, and she felt as if a huge wall had gone up between them. At the same time, she suspected he hadn’t admitted to anyone what he was telling her. She guessed it was taking a major effort for him to open himself up to her like this and that he never would have done so if it hadn’t been for Mary Catherine and his fear he had hurt the child’s feelings. He might be worrying about Mary Catherine asking him to read to her again.

  “That’s why you didn’t read to Mary Catherine, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Vivian, I told you, I’m country. I ran away from home when I was a kid.”

  “You went all through grade school.”

  “Yep, but I got by. I knew everyone. Teachers liked me. Probably in grade school some of them passed me because they were afraid my old man—whichever the current one was—would beat them to a pulp if they didn’t. Some of them probably passed me because they knew he would beat me to a pulp if they didn’t. I squeaked through until junior high and then I was playing ball. That was the magic pass through school. It got me out of classes; it got me through classes. By my freshman year in high school I was a quarterback and good at ball playing, so they passed me right on through. My teachers knew I couldn’t read.

  “So I can’t read to Mary Catherine and I know I hurt her feelings tonight,” he said with an angry tone. “It’s late,” he said again, and started to turn away.

  Again, Vivian placed her hand on his arm. “Wait a minute. With a little effort, while I’m here, we could change that.”

  “Change what?” he asked.

  Her fingers were still on his arm. She was aware of touching him, aware of him standing so close to her, aware of the intent way he was watching her. “I can teach you to read while I’m here. I’ve done volunteer teaching of reading and I’ve worked a little with Mary Catherine on phonics. It shouldn’t take much for you to get phonics, and then you can be off on your own.”

  “I think it’s too late,” he remarked dryly. “I’m an old dog and you know the saying.”

  “You’re neither old nor a dog. Sit down and let me get one of Mary Catherine’s books.”

  “Aw, Vivian, forget it. If you want to help, tell me some of Mary Catherine’s little stories so I won’t have to turn her down again. Other than that—”

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t you move.”

  Amused and embarrassed, Matt watched her rush out of the room. He knew she would be polite, but he had expected a different reaction from her. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would want to teach him how to read.

  He had never admitted to anyone that he couldn’t read. Teachers had known, but since he’d been out of school, he had been able to muddle his way through anything. He picked up the letter that lay on the table and looked at words that he had no idea about. He let it fall back onto the table and looked over the brochures and letters spread on the table. The lady must have a very successful business. These were big companies and big clients. And very impressive ad work. Matt inhaled, wondering if she would be bored out of her mind during the next few days, but then he thought about Julia and Mary Catherine and knew they would keep her busy.

  Dropping a slick brochure, he heard Vivian returning. She was barefoot, hurrying, her long hair twisted and pinned loosely on top of her head, long strands tumbling down around her face. The top buttons of her blouse were unfastened and he could see the curves of her breasts, which swung slightly with each step, the red material shifting and pulling as she walked.

  “Here are some little books that are basic and one of her alphabet books.”

  “Look, I get up in not too many hours.” He felt ridiculous and he was embarrassed to deal with this and wished she would forget about it.

  “Fifteen minutes is all. Fifteen minutes of phonics won’t be long and then you can go fall into bed.”

  Amused by her determination, he took her hand. “Okay, I’ll give it fifteen minutes if you’ll come to the kitchen and let me get a beer and we can sit in there where I can put my feet up.”

  “Fine,” she said as he released her hand.

  She leaned over to turn off her computer and his gaze ran down her backside, his imagination running rampant while he wished she wore jeans or something that fit instead of the full skirt that hid her figure.

  In the kitchen he poured a glass of lemonade for her and got a beer and then they sat down beside each other at the kitchen table. He looked at the alphabet book that was meant for preschoolers.

  “Damn, Vivian. I do know the alphabet.”

  “I’m just going to teach you some phonics,” she said, like a dog getting a good grip on a new bone.

  “Sure.” He took a long drink of beer and wondered if he should have gotten something stronger. This could be a long fifteen minutes. “Vivian, I’m no scholar.”

  “You don’t have to be with this,” she said, waving the book at him and flashing him a smile. He hitched his chair closer to her to see the book. Her perfume assailed him and he looked at her. She smell
ed like roses, with a faint smell of baby powder still clinging to her. After a day and most of the night spent with men, hay and sweaty horses, she smelled wonderful. He inhaled deeply again. He was only inches from her, and since he had an excuse, he moved closer. He casually placed his arm across the back of her chair and leaned toward her.

  “Pronounce the different sounds of the letter A. You know them. That’s why this will go so fast and be so simple,” she said, looking up at him. “A. Say the sounds.”

  He watched her mouth and forgot what she was asking him. Her skin was flawless, smoother than porcelain with faint pink in her cheeks, full rosy lips and those enormous blue eyes that were looking at him expectantly. He reached up to remove a pin from her hair.

  “Ay—ay—ay,” she said. “That’s long A.”

  “Ay—ay—ay.” He repeated, drawing out the simple sounds while a lock of hair fell to her shoulder.

  “Ah—ah—ah,” she said.

  As he watched her mouth, his blood thickened and his pulse jumped. His fingers brushed her nape.

  “Ah—ah—ah,” he said, sounding out short A, saying sounds he knew full well and not giving a thought to them except that it held her still only inches away. He pulled out more pins and another lock fell.

  Vivian forgot the lesson. She was aware of his arm behind her on the back of the chair, his other hand slowly, sensuously pulling pins from her hair. He was inches from her, his dark eyes holding her as if he had placed two hands on her shoulders, his broad, bare chest only inches from her. His gaze drifted over her face and then to her mouth and desire burned blatantly in his dark eyes.

  He kept saying sounds and dimly she knew she should be concentrating on what he was saying. Instead she looked down at his chest that tapered to a flat, muscled stomach with jeans that rode low on his hips. She realized how she was studying him and her gaze flew back to the book in her hands. She turned a page of the little book, looking at a big red drawing of the letter B.