The Rancher and the Redhead (10 page)

The young woman giggled flirtatiously while she rang up his purchase—a small bottle of prescription painkillers—on the register. “No, why?”

The cowboy draped his rangy form over the counter and gave a wide grin that lifted his black mustache and made his dark eyes dance. “To meet nurses, of course.”

Sam stiffened as he recognized Travis King's brash cowboy charm at work. Truth be told, it had always attracted women like flies, and it seemed things hadn't changed. Especially the fact that Travis, for all his likability and good-ole-boy charisma, was a hell-raiser and a troublemaker from the word go. And there was no getting around the fact that if he hadn't been liquored up after a big win, Kenny might still be alive today.

The girl giggled again, flirting back with the handsome cowboy. “Well, I'd say you've met your share of pretty nurses, Travis.”

“Doctors, too.” He winked. “You'd be surprised what a starched white coat can do to a man's imagination.”

The salesgirl, who was wearing just such a jacket, blushed. Then she noticed her other customer. “Hey, Sam. What can we do for you today?”

“Missy.” He tipped his straw hat and passed the prescription number to her. “A refill for Jessie.”

Travis turned to the newcomer, and some of the mischief went out of his expression. “Howdy, Sam. Long time no see.”

Sam barely nodded an acknowledgment. “Travis.”

“Hear you got yourself hitched again. Roni Daniels, wasn't it?”

“That's right.”

“You're a lucky man.”

“I think so.” Sam's measured gaze took in Travis's saucer-size rodeo trophy belt buckle and the white sling. “Still riding rank stock, I see.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “That's where the money is.”

“Looks like you had one wreck too many.”

Travis's lean features tightened at the double meaning, but he chose to ignore any intentional reference to the past, and his smile was easy as he indicated his injured arm. “This little old thing? Just a minor dust-up. I'll make the Reno rodeo in June, easy.”

“Gettin' a mite old for that kind of cowboying, aren't you?”

“Naw, I'm indestructible. Too mean to quit, anyway. Besides, I got me a few Mexican Corrientes out on my place now.”

Sam's attention sharpened. Corrientes cattle were the favorite rodeo roping steers. That kind of prime stock could make the difference when a rodeo supplier was talking contracts.

Travis hung a thumb in his belt loop and gave Sam a speculative look. “If I can sweet-talk Buzz Henry, maybe I can get me something going with the Wichita rodeo. Heard you're dealing with Buzz, too. Brahmas, right?”

Sam had always been a man who played his cards close to his chest, and his reply was typical. “Could be.”

Travis laughed without humor. “All right, have it your way, Sam. But you and me, we could make an attractive package to offer to old Buzz. You take a notion that direction, you let me know.”

When hell freezes over.
“Sure.”

At the bitter sarcasm in Sam's single-word reply, Travis's affability vanished, and his look turned hard. “You ain't ever going to let me off the hook, are you, Sam?”

Sam didn't pretend to misunderstand. “Kenny's dead.”

“Hell, we weren't much more than kids. I made a mistake.”

Sam's mouth tightened with anger that was still festering after more than ten years. “You sure as hell did, but don't look to me for absolution.”

“As if I'd want it from a stiff-necked Preston.” Travis picked up his pill bottle and stuffed it in his jeans pocket, unable to hide the stiffness of his movements, an indication that his arm wasn't his only injury. “Blame me all you want, but I've paid well for that night. I'm still paying.”

Sam's only reply was a stony look. Regret and resignation flickered in Travis's dark gaze for a moment; then his mask dropped, covering whatever he was feeling with a smile that didn't reach the bleakness in his eyes. He tipped his hat at Missy behind the counter and gave Sam a brief, two-fingered salute.

“Give Roni my best, will you? I only hope the gal knows what she's in for.”

Travis's parting shot ate at Sam all the way back to the ranch.
What the gal was in for?
Roni ought to know, especially since this marriage had been all her idea. But Sam's conscience besieged him as he drove down the dusty highway toward the Lazy Diamond. Roni's rough time with Jessie, his preoccupation with the ranch's troubles, maybe going flat broke with him, being groped in her sleep by a horny husband—no, she probably wasn't expecting any of that.

Sam's confidence as father, husband and breadwinner was battered, and it made his mood morose. He was a bad bargain all the way around, and if he had any sense at all, he'd try to find a way to make it up to Roni. He was supposed to be giving her time and space so she could get accustomed to living with him, then come around eventually to sharing his bed in more than just a platonic fashion, right? So he'd better not let his hormones get the better of him again as he had this morning.

For starters, he would look after Jessie this afternoon so Roni could get some more rest. Then he would get a baby-sitter this Friday and take his wife out to Rosie's for their usual weekend ritual. She needed a break from motherhood, and a resurrection of their previous friendly footing was bound to diffuse the volatile atmosphere. Under the circumstances, it was about the only thing he could come up with.

Feeling somewhat better for having a plan—even one so modest—Sam entered the house, only to find that the sickroom atmosphere he'd been expecting had turned magically into a bustling hive of activity. Country-western music blared from the radio, a pot of something aromatic bubbled on the stove, what appeared to be all of Jessie's nursery furniture and equipment had been transferred to the front parlor, and the faint but undeniable scent of paint permeated the air.

“Sam? Is that you?” Roni popped out of Jessie's doorway, appearing totally restored in tight jeans and sleeveless cotton top knotted at her midriff. Her eyes were bright, and a perky ponytail bobbed at the back of her head. “There you are. What took you so long? Have you eaten? I made some soup—”

“Whoa, woman.” Slightly boggled, Sam walked to her and caught her by the shoulders, inspecting her closely. She had made a total transformation from the weeping wreck of the night before. “How do you feel?”

“Great.” She beamed up at him. “Best night's rest I've had in years. How'd you sleep?”

“Uh...” Sam gulped, forcing back the images of a sleep-tousled female in his arms. His palms tingled on her bare skin, and it was all he could do not to pull her into himself and ravish her smiling mouth.
So much for good intentions.
With an inward groan of self-denial, he released her and cleared his throat. “I slept just fine. How's Jessie?”

“See for yourself.” Roni pointed. Jessie sat in her walker, babbling to herself and swatting the tray that held an assortment of brightly colored plastic toys. “No more fever.”

“Well, hallelujah for that,” Sam drawled, amazed. He registered the mostly empty room, the spread newspapers, the open paint cans, and his amazement grew. “So
now
what's going on?”

“Oh, this?” Roni shrugged. “I started scrubbing the medicine off the walls, but then I figured it would be simpler to paint. Remember, I told you we'd have to do something with this room to make it special for Jessie? So why not now? What do you think about a mural?”

“A mural?” Sam blinked, knocked for a loop by this display of boundless energy from a woman he'd sworn mere hours earlier was at death's door.

“I've got the cutest idea for some Western critters,” Roni enthused. “I can use trompe l'oeil to bring the outdoors inside. You don't mind, do you?”

“What? Of course not. I just don't want you knocking yourself out.”

“But this is fun. And I have plenty of paint left over.” She pushed Jessie's walker ahead of them with her foot and looped her arm through Sam's. “Come on, I'll fix your lunch and you can tell me how the meeting at the bank went.”

“How did you know about that?” he asked sharply.

“Angel mentioned you might be going.” In the kitchen, she handed Jessie a wooden spoon to play with, then reached for a soup bowl as Sam took his accustomed place at the head of the table. “How bad is the truck?”

“It was dead on arrival at Hartwell's Garage.”

Accepting that, she placed the bowl of vegetable beef soup on the table with a basket of crackers. “Okay, now what?”

“Now, nothing.” Hungry as he was, having to admit defeat stung his pride and stole his appetite.

“But, Sam—”

“I'm working on it, all right?” To keep from having to explain further, he picked up his spoon and began to eat.

Roni looked up from handing Jessie a cracker, taken aback by his vehemence. Sam ignored her, swallowing soup as if he were on a deadline. Roni stepped up behind his chair, and he jumped as she began to knead the tight muscles in his neck.

“Didn't you give me a lecture about communication last night?” she asked softly. “How are we going to make this work if you don't come clean with me, cowboy? Tell me what's going on.”

Irritated at being backed into a corner, as well as by the way his body leapt at her soft but insistent touch, Sam threw down his spoon. “All right, you want to know the worst? Here it is.”

Succinctly, he laid out the situation with the vehicle, the bank, the necessity of landing the rodeo contract to ensure the survival of the Lazy Diamond.

“I see,” Roni said when he finished. “We're between a rock and a hard place.”

“Yeah.” Sam pushed aside his unfinished soup.

“But there's something else,” she guessed. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Sam...” In a revival of a childhood ritual, she pinched the tendon in the curve of his neck and shoulder in warning. “Communication, remember?”

“Would you cut that out?” He caught her hand and drew her around. Obediently, she perched on the edge of the bench, knee to knee with him, but her gaze held a demand he couldn't ignore. His mouth twisted.

“All right, I saw Travis at the drugstore. Turns out he's running a few roping steers and trying to do business with Buzz Henry, too. And he had the nerve to suggest we throw in together.”

“Sounds as though he was testing the waters.”

“Well, he can drown in them for all I care,” Sam growled.

“Think about it, Sam. It's not such a bad idea.”

“What?”

Roni nodded, her expression serious. “He's raising roping cattle, and you've got riding bulls. Having a partner would cut expenses in half. You know everything about raising cattle, but hate the traveling and selling. We all know Travis has never had a clue about ranching, but he's got a line of bull that could sell an Eskimo an ice maker.”

“You're crazy if you think I'd hook up with that rodeo bum,” Sam said, his face going dark as thunder. “So you can just keep your damn-fool advice to yourself.”

“You used to value my ‘damn-fool advice' when I was your drinking buddy and not just your wife,” she retorted hotly.

He groaned. “Now don't start that.”

“Well, it's true. Holding a grudge against Travis all these years about what happened to your brother is a waste of emotional energy.” Her expression softened. “You need to let it go, Sam, for your own sake, if not for Travis's.”

“Forget it. I can't.”

“Then think about it this way. Can you really
afford
to let pride make you turn down an opportunity that could save the Lazy Diamond?”

Her question cut deep, and his jaw hardened. “I never noticed before that you've got a real mean streak in you, Curly.”

“Then what
are
you going to do?”

“Hell, I'll figure out something.” He rubbed his nape irritably. “I suppose I could borrow Buck Dawson's hauling trailer for a couple of days next week to deliver those three bulls to Denton.”

Roni chewed her lip. “If worst came to worst, you could sell off a parcel of land.”

“That's not an option.”

“Well, let me help. I've got some savings....”

“Absolutely not!” Disturbed at the implication that he couldn't support his family, Sam rose from the table.

Roni's own annoyance showed in the compression of her mouth. “Look, we're partners, aren't we? Why can't I pitch in? It's not for you or me, it's for Jessie.”

“And I'd be a sorry SOB to start draining your resources the first time I hit some rough going, wouldn't I?” he returned, his voice harsh with a mixture of pricked pride and masculine defensiveness. He saw the flicker of hurt behind her eyes and made an effort to temper his flayed emotions. “Look, it's going to be all right. I'll figure something out, okay? Don't worry about it.”

She opened her mouth to continue the argument, then apparently thought better of it. “All right, Sam. If you say so. Have you seen Jessie's newest trick?”

Relief that she'd dropped the subject made Sam's response almost genial. “No, what's she done now?”

Lifting the baby out of her walker, Roni popped her into Sam's waiting arms. “Come on, Jessie, show Daddy how to patty-cake.”

Chortling merrily, the redheaded charmer dimpled, then clapped her plump hands together at Roni's prompting.

“Looks like we got us a prodigy, Mom,” Sam said, grinning. “Say, if she's well enough, maybe we could get Krystal to keep her so we could go to Rosie's Friday night for a while.”

“Why, Sam,” Roni smiled warmly, “I'd love to.”

He bounced the little girl slightly, evoking a squeal of delight. “And I thought maybe I could watch her this afternoon so you could take a nap or something.”