She didn’t think much of him or his lifestyle, so nothing would happen between them.
Dusty would deal with his desire by hiding it from her and keeping his distance in the future.
No more massages.
He pretended to snore, because as much as he loved her touch, he needed her to stop.
She touched his forehead sweetly, brushing hair away from his face.
She gave the back of his thigh one last caress. Yes, unless he missed his guess that was a caress, not the end of a massage.
God. He had to be careful with quirky, passionate Max.
* * *
Two days later, Dusty and Max sat in the diner waiting for Sam Carmichael to show up so they could discuss the polo match further.
Dusty had been studying the videos of matches that Marvin had brought back from Sam late in the afternoon of Max’s massage.
Damned if Dusty didn’t get excited watching them, polo every bit as tough and exciting as rodeo.
Marvin had sat with him after Josh went to bed, and even his resistance had softened.
After one match, they’d stared at each other and Dusty had admitted, “Max might be onto something.”
Marvin had nodded.
Now Dusty sat with Max in the diner ready to move ahead with planning the thing.
He shifted on the bench. His hamstring might be better today, but his knee still ached.
After watching the videos, Dusty hoped like hell it would be healed in time to play polo and ride a bull. If it had to happen, he had to be part of it.
Remembering Max massaging his thigh, he stared at her while she ate and wondered about her relationship with Joel.
“What happened with Josh’s father?”
Max stared at him, the burger in her hand forgotten. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, was he your one true love? How soon after Josh was born did he die?”
She put her burger down onto her plate carefully and said, “He never met Josh.”
“Man, that’s tough.”
Max chewed on a french fry before agreeing.
“Tell me what happened.”
Max wiped her fingers on her serviette. “Joel and I spent only one night together. Josh happened.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Dusty said.
“Yes. A shock. Joel agreed to do what he considered the right thing.”
She stared out the window and her eyes widened. “My stepfather—”
“Your stepfather?” Dusty asked.
“The man kicked me out.” She pointed through the window onto Main Street. “Speak of the devil.”
Dusty glanced outside. “The guy in the green shirt? He’s your stepfather?”
Max nodded.
Whipcord thin, with a bulbous forehead and nose, he might be the oddest man Dusty had ever come across. Tufts of hair stuck out in an unruly, uneven halo around a receding hairline.
What had Max’s mother seen in the man? Gold glinted from his baby finger and from a chain around his neck.
He wore a well-tailored, expensive sport jacket and shirt.
Maybe his allure had been money.
Maybe Max’s mother had been looking for security.
The man spotted Max in the window and entered the diner.
Max stiffened.
Dusty went on high alert, strangely protective all of a sudden.
“When can I see my grandson?” the guy asked without preamble. “It’s been too long.”
“He isn’t your grandson.”
The man’s lips thinned. “He’s the closest thing to one I’ll ever have.”
“Boohoo for you.” Max ignored the man and continued to eat.
Dusty sat back, shocked that she would deal with the guy so poorly. In Dusty’s world, family loved family. They treated each other with respect.
Her business didn’t matter to him, but his curiosity spiked at the hostility invading their table. He’d gathered from Marvin that her stepdad wasn’t a stand-up guy.
“I want to see him,” the man said. She hadn’t introduced the man to Dusty, another indication of Max’s displeasure.
Despite being gruff and rough around the edges, Max had good manners. She knew the basics and taught her son accordingly.
The overwhelming animosity coming off her in heated waves spoke volumes about her hatred of her stepfather.
“I demand to see Josh,” the guy insisted. Big mistake to demand anything of Max Porter. “Send him over this weekend.”
“No,” Max said. “You kicked me out when I was pregnant, remember? You have no rights where Josh is concerned. Stop pestering me, Graham. It isn’t going to happen.”
Graham stormed out of the diner.
In the quiet vacuum left by the overdose of emotion, Max slowed down on eating her meal.
“Keep eating,” Dusty said, knowing that outings were rare for Max and this was his treat. “You need to keep up your strength when dealing with scum.”
Her hazel eyes shot to meet his placid gaze.
“How do you know he’s scum?”
“By the way you treat him. If you liked the man, or even if you disliked him and yet respected him, you would treat him accordingly.”
She huffed out a breath that sounded to Dusty like a sigh of relief.
“Tell me about him,” he said.
“Not here. Please.”
“Okay. On the drive home.”
She nodded.
“So Marvin stepped up to the plate when he wouldn’t?” Dusty gestured with his head out to Main Street.
“Marvin is a better man than Graham will ever be and more of a father to me than him. When Marvin found out I was pregnant, he was delighted. Then Graham kicked me out of the house and—”
“Your mother let him?”
Stillness settled over Max. Her shoulders bowed as though someone had just tossed a heavy cloak over her. “My mom was already dead by then.”
Dusty reached across the table and took her hand.
She didn’t pull away, and that said a lot about how upset she was.
“So Graham kicked you out and...?”
“And Marvin took me in.” Max swallowed hard. “I will never have the words or the means to thank him enough. If he ever gets sick I will nurse him to health. He will have a home with me forever. I will never put him into a nursing home.”
Her passion astounded Dusty. He’d suspected that she would be loyal to friends, but the ferocity of her whispered confession stunned him. He didn’t doubt for a moment she meant every word.
Marvin would always have a champion named Max in his corner.
“I’m not a big spender,” Max said, “and I’ve worked since I was old enough to do so. I wanted to get out away from...the house.”
The house? Or Graham? Suspicions pecked away at him. He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.
“I don’t buy much,” she continued. “Not clothes or makeup or whatever people spend money on. I like dealing with animals. As a teenager I liked to ride and to ranch and to care for cattle. So I never spent money.”
“You saved it up.”
“Yes. Then I bought Marvin’s ranch. I just barely had enough for a tiny down payment—it’s a fair-sized ranch—but the bank allowed what I had. Marvin has a place to live free of charge for his later years.”
“And someone who loves him to take care of him.”
“Yes. Very much so.”
This different side of Max, a quiet one without attitude and animosity, appealed to Dusty. He suspected her hostility sprang out of feeling constantly overwhelmed by short finances and too much duty resting on her shoulders.
Here in the diner for these few minutes away from all of that, she seemed inclined to treat Dusty as a friend and let her guard
down.
He liked her without her guard, with a relaxed softness that made him want to wrap his arms around her while they discussed painful topics, to rub her back and tell her it would all work out. He wanted to offer comfort, not in his usual offhand “hey, I can make you feel better, babe” way, but with more compassion.
He’d like to lift her burdens and give her enjoyment. A fun day or weekend or holiday. Or night.
Max’s problems were ongoing and chronic. They weren’t fleeting and couldn’t be solved with a hug.
Sam showed up at that moment.
Dusty swung around to sit beside Max so they could both face Sam. She scooted closer to the window to make room for him.
“Hey, what’s up?” Sam signaled to Vy, pantomiming that he wanted a coffee.
She brought it over herself, kissed her new husband and sashayed away with an exaggerated sway of her hips that Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from.
Max cleared her throat and two pairs of male eyes swung their attention to her.
“We need to nail down details about the polo match,” she said.
“This is what we have so far.” Sam outlined how the ponies were being shipped out and when they would arrive, any day now, how many there would be and who their riders would be.
“These are all your friends?” Dusty asked.
“Friends and acquaintances. One former business colleague.” Sam sipped his coffee. “They all have money and they are all willing to spend it here in small-town Montana.”
“Will they lord it over the townspeople?” Max asked. “That they’re rich and we aren’t?”
“One guy, Emory, will. He’s a stiff-rumped descendant of ancestors who came over on the Mayflower. Thinks he’s better than everyone around him.” Sam caught Vy’s eye and smiled. “His snobbery is probably why he’s currently on his fourth wife.”
“Fourth,” Max breathed. “What are the other men like?”
“Decent. Hardworking. Some of them have old money and some is newly earned. Either way, what they all have in common is their love of polo and their fierce need to win.”
Dusty smiled. He couldn’t relate to wealth on that level, but he understood competition like it was imprinted in his DNA.
Sam had carried a book in with him. He plopped it onto the table.
“What’s that?” Dusty thumbed through it.
“Everything you ever wanted to know about polo. It covers all of the rules, the objectives, the care of the animals.”
Dusty tucked it onto the seat beside him. Bedtime reading.
Sam turned his attention to Max. “How are you doing finding homes for all of our precious ponies?”
“Really well,” Max responded. “Ranchers lined up to help out. They’re generous people. They are also incredibly interested in the entire business of bringing in the ponies.”
“It’ll be good for our guys to get a look at the horses they’ll be riding.” Dusty sipped his coffee.
“They’re spectacular,” Sam said. “And they are the reason you’ll be able to pick up the game so quickly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our horses are trained for the job. A really good polo horse can almost do the job alone. Your horses are trained for rodeo events, which is how my guys will have a fair shot competing against you all. They know what needs to be done. Simplistic, maybe, but a bit valid, too.”
He glanced at Dusty’s crutches. “We might not be able to win each other’s events, but maybe we can make a good accounting of ourselves anyway. Even you with your injury.”
Dusty nodded. He’d continued to worry about how his cowboys would compete with the city folks. So now he had one more piece of information to share with the rodeo people committed to the polo match.
“Did Sam tell you his ponies are already here?” Vy leaned one hip against their table and rested her free hand on her round belly.
“Already? When can we meet them?” Max sounded like her little son, Josh, all excitement and unbridled curiosity.
“As soon as we finish up here, you can drive out. I have errands to run, but you can head out on your own.”
“I’ll stop in and say hi to Carson while I’m there.”
“Not today, Max. Sorry. He’s having one of his bad days. He didn’t recognize me this morning.”
Max frowned with gentle concern. “Who’s with him now?”
“Chelsea.”
To Dusty, Sam said, “She’s my teenage daughter. She and my granddad have a special bond. He never forgets her name and always knows who she is.”
“Dementia?” Dusty asked.
“Alzheimer’s.” The sadness on Sam’s face tore at Dusty.
Sam asked Max questions about the feed that would be provided for the ponies, edging the conversation away from a subject that obviously pained him.
“Samantha Read has given us a budget for their feed.”
Sam shook his head. “No. The committee is not paying for this. The owners will pay their own expenses for their own ponies. They all agreed to that.”
Max’s expression eased. Obviously, any and all financial items for the fair and rodeo concerned her.
Sam’s elegant features erupted with a feral grin. “I made sure they agreed to those terms before I let them come here.”
“Let them?” Dusty asked. “What do you mean?”
“Because these guys were reluctant and I wasn’t sure how many I could convince to come all the way out here, I contacted more players than we had room for.”
“You didn’t ask them to come out here,” Dusty said, wonder in his voice. “You got them competing for the privilege.”
Sam grinned. Dusty laughed. He had to admire a man who could pull that off.
“It worked,” Sam said. “They’re covering all of their costs.”
To Max, he gave voice to a concern. “I need to know there are enough supplies.”
“Plenty,” she said. “No worries. We’re all good to go as soon as the other ponies start to arrive.”
“We?” Dusty asked. “You’ll be housing ponies, too?”
She nodded, still looking as excited as her son with the prospect of a late night and popcorn.
“Let’s go look at Sam’s ponies.” She nudged Dusty to get him moving out of the booth and onto his crutches.
Yep, as excited as a little kid.
This relaxed, animated Max charmed Dusty.
He caught a glimpse into her soul, into a part of her that had probably been left behind when Josh came along and she’d been thrown into too much responsibility at too young an age.
He glimpsed a flame that hadn’t been completely extinguished.
Chapter 9
Dusty hauled himself into the passenger seat of Max’s truck.
Max tossed the crutches into the bed and climbed into the driver’s seat.
She pulled out of Rodeo onto the small highway leading to the fairgrounds, a satisfied smile on her face. “Were you happy with today’s meeting?” he asked.
She grinned. “I am. I’m glad things are coming together smoothly with the polo match, now that we’ve got enough players on board.” She stared out the windshield. “I know a lot of people doubted it, but I think it’s going to work out.”
Dusty inclined his head.
Many people were in the habit of underestimating Max—himself included. Still unsure about the outcome of the polo match, he kept his doubts to himself. He wouldn’t dampen her spirits.
She leaned one elbow on the open window well and let the warm breeze rush over her. “Nadine’s going to write up a series of articles to push the novelty of the whole idea. First one comes out tomorrow.”
Silent for a long time, Dusty pounded his fist onto one thigh. “You know,” he said, nodding slowly, “I’ll admit that despite having concerns,
I’m really coming around to the idea.”
Max smiled at him, as if to say, I told you so.
Dusty ignored her triumphant expression. “Coming around to the idea” didn’t mean that he was foolish enough to think it was going to be a blazing success.
“How bad is the hamstring today?” Max asked and Dusty didn’t like the change of subject. He didn’t want to be reminded of the injury.
“Not too bad. Painful, but better than the knee.” Reluctant to share how much it still hurt, he didn’t think he could survive another massage.
“Is it going to affect whether you can participate in the polo match and the rodeo events?”
“Nope.” Nothing in Dusty’s tone intimated that he wanted to say more.
Max slowed the truck and stared at him.
“Eyes on the road,” he said.
“But—”
“The discussion’s closed, Max. Move on.”
“Fine.” She pressed her foot to the gas and they shot forward.
“We’re private here,” Dusty said. “It’s you we should talk about. Spill about Graham. Is it what I think?”
Max’s foot hesitated on the gas, but a second later their speed evened out. “Probably, if what you think involves a grown man trying to get into a young teenager’s bedroom at night.”
Dusty groaned, because that’s what he had suspected.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I never have before, but I think Marvin’s probably guessed. My friends, too.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “Maybe it’s time to talk about it. It’s not good to keep things bottled up inside. Maybe it would be therapeutic to get it off my chest.”
That word chest had him thinking about how she had felt when he’d lain on top of her in the mud. The urge to ask her about it filled him. He tamped down on it.
“You haven’t talked to your friends about your stepfather trying to get into your bedroom?”
“No, but they’re smart women. I’m sure they’ve guessed.”
“Why me?”
“What?”
“If you haven’t talked to them about it, why tell me when you don’t even like me?”
She stared at the road ahead for a while before breaking the silence.
Home on the Ranch: Montana Rodeo Star Page 14