The Rancher and the Redhead (16 page)

Laughing softly, Roni passed him the baby. “You little toot! When are you going to say ma-ma?”

“In her own sweet time, like all women,” Sam commented.

“Yes, I suppose.” For a brief instant, the constraint had left her, but now it returned, leaving Roni feeling stiff and awkward as she reached to open the door of Sam's truck.

“Curly.”

She looked up to find his blue eyes on her. “Yes, Sam?”

But he had no idea what it was he'd intended to say. “Uh, nothing. Let's get going. I've got a lot to do.”

Time,
he thought, driving the truck down the long road home.

Time,
she thought, watching his hands on the steering wheel.

Just give it a little time.

* * *

It was time to take the bull by the horns.

“I need to give Jackson an answer.”

Roni set a plate of sandwiches in front of her husband. He and the crew had taken a late lunch after a Monday morning of cutting hay, not a cowpuncher's favorite pastime by any means, but a necessary one, nonetheless. Sam's hair was wet from the dousing he'd given it washing up, and his cheekbones were rosy under his tan from the sun's harsh bite and his rapidly growing annoyance.

“Don't start this again.” He picked up a turkey-lettuce-and-tomato-sandwich and took a bite, mumbling, “He's got his answer—forget it.”

“No, Sam. That's
your
answer.”

The sandwich hit the plate. “Dammit, Roni—”

“Lower your voice. You'll wake the baby.”

“We're not going to discuss this again.” He glared at her. “And I hate turkey.”

“It's good for your cholesterol level, cowboy. And we
are
going to discuss my helping us out of our present bind in a cool and logical manner.”

“Discuss all you want. It won't change anything.”

“No?” Leaning against the sink, she crossed her arms over her paint-smeared T-shirt and pinned him with her gaze. “Have you found an alternative?”

“I'm working on it.” He looked away. “I may have a buyer for Diablo.”

She blinked, stricken. “Oh, Sam, no. Not Diablo.”

He pushed the plate away. “He'll bring top dollar. Henderson's wanted him for a long time.”

“But you meant to breed him yourself to improve your own stock.”

“Yeah, well, plans can change.”

“This is ridiculous.” Picking up a dish towel, she began to wipe furiously at the already spotless counter. “There's no need for you to sacrifice Diablo. And his selling price would be a drop in the bucket anyway.”

“I told you to let me worry about it.”

“Well, it's not that easy. Other men's wives work. This whole country is filled with two-income families.” She gave him a crooked smile and attempted to inject a little humor into the situation. “Anyway, don't they say that behind every successful rancher is a wife who works in town?”

“In town. Not across the country. And not for Jackson Dial.”

“It's just another commission,” she snapped, exasperated. Throwing down the towel, she snatched her latest sketch of Jessie's animals—coyotes and prairie dogs—off the refrigerator door and held it out. “Are you going to tell me not to try to sell this storybook? Or not to accept the next magazine cover?”

“That's not the same thing.”

“It's exactly the same thing. What are you so afraid of? Do you think accepting my earnings will contaminate the Lazy Diamond or something?”

Balling up his paper napkin, he tossed it on his plate and rose with a scraping of chair legs. “This is useless.”

“No, that's it, isn't it?” Her eyes widened. “If you accept my help, you have to acknowledge that I have a share in this ranch and this family, too. It might obligate you to open up a little, actually reveal something about your hopes and dreams, but you're just too yellow to risk it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm talking about the fact that you're not so much jealous of my seeing Jackson again as interested in protecting your territory and your emotions.” Her lips trembled suddenly. “Even against me.”

“Jeez, don't you start crying. I can't stand it when you cry.”

“Shelly slashed your heart and nearly took the Lazy Diamond, but you have to remember one thing—
I'm not Shelly.
”

“I know you're not.”

“No, you merely treat me that way by your every deed and action. You hold me at arm's length, afraid to let me get too close on any level.”

“Now you're the one being ridiculous and melodramatic.”

She looked at him sadly, despairingly. “You don't get it, do you? You don't trust me. You live with me and share my bed, but you're afraid someday I'll put a knife in your back.”

“I've got work to do.”

“Sam—”

He grabbed his hat off the peg, then scooped up the remains of the sandwich. “I'll be back by suppertime.”

The porch door slammed behind him, and Roni heard him gun the truck down the drive. She sat down at the table, realizing that she'd crushed the sketch in her fist. Deliberately, she smoothed it out with her palm, but the pastel colors smeared, spoiling hours of labor.

She'd gotten to the crux of the problem, she thought. How could she convince Sam to trust her? And that pride of his. Like a spirited stallion, she didn't want to break Sam so much as gentle him, but he couldn't see it.

Patience,
she counseled herself. She sighed. And that meant refusing Jackson's offer, no matter what the cost to the Lazy Diamond, to her career or to her marriage. Stubborn, stubborn man!

Lips twisted in a grimace of resignation, Roni reached for the stack of letters Sam had brought in from the mailbox earlier and automatically sorted through them, her mind whirling, searching for alternatives and possibilities. She frowned curiously over an envelope from Cutler's Plumbing, slit it open, then stared in disbelief at the contents.

A note from Steve Cutler thanked her for her business and apologized for any inconvenience, then explained that her husband had made alternative arrangements. The note was clipped to a check—Roni's personal check for the plumbing job, uncashed and marked Void.

Her breath caught, and her throat constricted with a flash of pain that was so blinding, she nearly cried out. Dropping the check as though it scorched her fingertips, she rose from the table, feeling dazed and violated and betrayed.

“Not even that much.” Her voice was broken, unrecognizable to her own ears. “Damn you, Sam Preston, you won't even give me that much!”

On the brink of shattering altogether, she reached and found a center of icy calm, closing down on a maelstrom of screaming emotions—anger, hurt, love, fear. She knew with a clarity born of the stripping away of all illusions that life was not fair, that virtue was rarely rewarded and that wishing never, ever made a thing so. Faced with that reality, stripped of choices by her husband's unbending pride, she also knew there was only one trail left to follow.

* * *

He found her packing.

“I knew you wouldn't stick it out.”

Roni looked up from her suitcase, and her eyes were chilly and faraway. “How very astute of you. And you so love being right.”

Sam winced inwardly as she echoed Travis King's words, but his features were frozen, stoic, unrevealing.

He hardly recognized her. Dressed in ballerina flats and a flowing purple gauze dress with lots of artsy jewelry and her hair flowing wild around her head, the Curly he knew was submerged beneath a fashionable West Coast facade. She was much too sophisticated for Flat Fork, Texas, just as he'd known—and feared—all along.

Roni shut the suitcase. The click of the latches made an ominous sound in the bedroom.

“I've arranged for Maria Morales to baby-sit Jessie while I'm gone. They're outside swinging right now, and Maria will be here first thing every morning and stay as late as needed,” she said, her voice stony. “I'll catch the red-eye out of DFW tonight. I'll call with the number where I'm staying as soon as I get settled.”

“What's the point?”

“The point, Sam, is that I'm going to work for Jackson Dial, not sleep with him.” Chin lifted at a haughty angle, she hoisted the suitcase, swept past him and went into the kitchen. “Strangely, he's not the one who insists on treating me like a hooker.”

“What the hell's that supposed to mean?” he growled, following her.

She picked up the check from the table and held it out to him. “For services rendered, I presume?”

He took the check, realized what it signified, then tossed it back on the table with a disdainful flick of his wrist. “Damn you, Curly! That doesn't mean anything.”

Her jaw worked. “It does to me. And let's get this clear. It's not about the money. It's a symbol of what I can and cannot expect to share with you. But I see now that all you expect, or want, or are even capable of seeing in this relationship is sex and business, and...” Her voice quavered, and she stopped, swallowing hard to regain her composure. “I'm sorry, Sam. I love you, and it's harder than I thought. I don't know if I can settle for so little again. I need some time to think. When I get back, we'll talk.”

A claw gripped his heart, squeezed hard, brought on a rising panic that he forced back with harshness. “If you leave now, don't bother to come back.”

She stared at him. “You don't mean that.”

“The hell I don't.”

Her gaze moved from his face to his feet and back again, analyzing him, measuring his character, and finding him wanting. “Then you're a damn fool.”

“Two times a loser—I guess you're right.” His throat was so thick he thought he'd be sick. “What about Jessie?”

“What about her?” Roni's head snapped around, and there was a flare of anguish and maternal protectiveness in her eyes. “She's as much mine as yours. She's why I'm going. And she's why I'm coming back.”

“I told you, don't bother.”

Her lashes quivered at that blow; then she raised her eyes and defiantly met his gaze. “You can still change my mind, you know.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And?”

“Tell me you love me, Sam.”

His throat closed completely, clogged by misery, stopped up with pride and the fear that she was making a fool of him.

In the silence, she reached for her purse and her suitcase, her features set in lines of resignation, but not surprise. At the door, she paused, but didn't turn to look at him.

“Kiss Jessie good-night for me.”

Then she went.

A gaping chasm opened in Sam's soul, but as he looked at the emptiness, he had the satisfaction of knowing that his dignity was unbowed.

O
ne week stretched into two, and by the third week in June, Sam understood that Roni wasn't coming back. He wasn't surprised. He'd known it would end up this way. He just wasn't prepared for how badly it hurt.

For the first time in his life, he found no comfort at the Lazy Diamond. The house was too big and empty, and his little redhead was mopey, brightening only when “Da-da” appeared, then looking around for the one they were both missing. He knew that Roni called Maria every day about Jessie. He also knew that she never asked to speak to him. Maria had posted Roni's hotel phone number on the refrigerator, and he looked at it a hundred times a day, but he never dialed. What would he have said anyway?

Of course, everyone in Flat Fork knew that Roni had gone to California. Little towns loved gossip, and it hadn't taken a bevy of rocket scientists to connect California with Jackson Dial. And while he hadn't volunteered any details, he'd seen the pity and the curiosity and the accusation in people's eyes.

Even Krystal's concerned expression held an element of censure when she'd come by to kidnap Jessie for the evening. Although she'd had the grace to avoid mentioning Roni, she'd given him some advice.

“You need a break,” she'd said. “It's Friday night. Go to town. Take in a movie or something. And don't worry about the baby. My boys are dying to have her spend the night again.”

He'd had no intention of taking Krystal's suggestion, preferring to lick his wounds in private, but with Jessie gone, the deserted house was intolerable. Roni's perfume lingered in the bedroom, and visions of her haunted him—asleep on the tumbled bed after a night of loving, laughing at him over the breakfast table, cuddling Jessie to her breast. Those mental pictures had finally chased him from his hole.

Now he slumped in his favorite booth at Rosie's Café, nursing a beer and a bruised ego. Texas honky-tonk music swirled in the smoky air as couples circled the dance floor. Boisterous conversations foamed unnoticed over Sam's head. He studied the label on the bottle and tried not to think.

“Mind if I join you?” A fresh long-neck bottle hit the table in front of Sam. “You look like you could use a friend.”

Travis King stood at the edge of the booth, one thumb hooked in the loops beside his championship belt buckle, a canned soft drink in the other hand.

Sam lifted an eyebrow, then shrugged. It was too much trouble to remind Travis that they weren't friends. “Suit yourself.”

“Thanks.” Travis slid into the opposite bench, then tilted his own drink in a toast. “Cheers.”

“Salut.”
Sam responded in kind. After all, his first bottle was empty and to have done otherwise would have been downright un-Texan. He eyed the soft drink can curiously. “You not having one of these?”

Travis's shoulders lifted beneath his black shirt. “I stay away from the hard stuff these days.”

They drank in silence for a while. Finally Travis said, “I hear you got woman trouble. I'm sorry. I like Roni a lot.”

Sam shifted off the base of his spine, uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, I never had much luck with women.”

Travis wiped a fleck of moisture off his mustache. “Me, neither.”

“You?” Sam couldn't hide his skepticism. “You've left a string of broken hearts from Calgary to Brownsville.”

“You call that good luck? Being fair game for every buckle bunny from here to the Sierras was fun for a while, but it eventually wears thin, you know what I mean?” Travis shook his head and looked away. “Anyway, it's always the filly who got away who haunts you, especially if it was your own damn fault.”

Sam had no comment for that. Taking another pull on his beer, he changed the subject. “You're moving a tad easier these days.”

“I'm healing.” Travis rotated his shoulder, demonstrating. “Getting out of that sling was a big improvement.”

“Still heading for Reno?”

“Yeah. The docs say I ought to quit it, but hell, all I know is rodeoing. What else am I going to do?”

But Sam knew the answer to that. Well, maybe the best man had won. He could give the devil his due, even if it was grudgingly. “Congratulations on landing the deal with Buzz Henry.”

Lacing his rope-scarred fingers around his can, Travis blew out a breath. “I let it go.”

“What?”

“I couldn't swing it. I got no head for business. Shooting the bull with fellows, okay, but keeping the books straight, figuring out deliveries and still making fifty rodeos a year—no way.”

Dumbfounded that Travis had turned down a deal—the one that could have rescued the Lazy Diamond—in such a cavalier fashion, Sam didn't know whether to commiserate with him or punch him in the mouth. “You're mighty calm about it.”

“I've had plenty of practice being a screwup.” He finished his drink with a sour grimace. “In fact, not much has gone right since the night your brother died.”

Perhaps it was his own sensitive state that allowed Sam to hear the bleakness in Travis's words. He looked at the other man, thinking they were much alike, showing a strong and solid front to the world, torn apart on the inside. And for what? Holding on to a grudge, nurturing resentment—what good did it do a man?

“That's a mighty heavy burden to carry,” Sam said, his voice quiet. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Travis's expression was startled. “You never wanted to hear—”

“I'm asking now.”

Haltingly, Travis spoke of two boys, riding high on their rodeo wins, and too much liquor, a rainy night, lights coming out of nowhere and then the crash...

“Kenny was to hell and gone a better man than me,” Travis said finally. His dark eyes were flat and lusterless with painful memories. “Smarter, more guts, good-hearted and the best bull rider I ever saw. He was winning all the big ones already. If I hadn't insisted on driving that night, he'd be the one wearing these championship buckles today, not me.”

Sam was silent. Even Travis's success had been tainted by his guilt. But Sam was guilty, too, of being too prideful to see that the other man's pain and grief had matched, if not exceeded, his own. After all, Travis had lost his best friend in that accident. Sam had only recently learned how truly devastating that could be.

Travis was watching him closely, but at Sam's continued silence he began to rise to his feet with a muttered “Oh, hell!”

“Keep your seat, cowboy,” Sam ordered. “I got a few things to say.”

Reluctance etching his lean features, Travis subsided. His expression said he knew he deserved a cussing and was man enough to take it. “Well, speak your piece.”

“Antsy, aren't you?”

Travis's jaw clenched. “I just got better things to do than have my hide peeled by the likes of you.”

“Life can sure slam into you sometimes, can't it?” Sam asked conversationally. “Bad things happen, and it's really nobody's fault, and yet we're human and weak and think it'll make us feel better if we can just point the finger.”

“So get to the point.”

But Sam wouldn't be rushed.

“The real tragedy is when you don't learn from that slap upside the head. Well, I never was too bright or even grown-up about these things, so it's taken me a while, but life's too short to hold on to bitterness. I've been a damn fool, Travis. Kenny's death was a tragic accident. I was wrong to blame you, and you have to stop blaming yourself.” Sam offered his hand across the table. “I hope you can forgive me, my friend.”

Travis's face reflected his surprise, his confusion, his sudden hope. Swallowing hard, he reached across, and they wrung hands. “There's nothing to forgive.”

“There is, but let's cry peace and put it behind us like we should have done years ago.”

One corner of Travis's mouth lifted. “Suits me.”

“Same here.” Sam smiled, a weight lifting that he hadn't even realized he carried. “You want another drink? I'm buying.”

“No, but I think I could do some damage to one of Rosie's steaks. How about you?”

“Sounds good.”

They flagged down a waitress and placed their orders. While they waited, Sam said thoughtfully, “You know, it's a shame we can't figure out a way to talk Buzz into giving us another crack at that contract.”

“Us?” Travis leaned back as the waitress placed platters of man-size sirloin steaks and baked potatoes in front of them. “You mean that?”

“Throwing in together still has possibilities, don't you think?”

“Sure. Always said so myself. Your brains and brawn, my beauty. Helluva combination. Except that you're such a damned stubborn cuss on occasion.”

Sam knew Roni would agree with that assessment. “Yeah. Maybe I can turn over a new leaf. To be frank, Travis, I'm almost busted. Landing something with Buzz could save my butt.”

“Why didn't you say so?” Travis stuffed a bite of rare steak into his mouth. “But what do we need Buzz for?”

“Huh?”

Travis pointed with the tip of his steak knife. “Look, I got cash coming out my kazoo, but no time or know-how. On the other hand, I got plenty of rodeo contacts and I could sell a boa constrictor a pair of snakeskin boots. You have the rancher's expertise and the management skills to run an operation like this.”

“Like what?”

“How's King and Preston Stock Company sound?”

A slow grin split Sam's face, and he began to feel excited. “Damn good. Think we can pull it off?”

“No question. We bypass the middle man and make our own bundle. Partners?” Travis stuck out his hand.

Sam took it again, sealing a gentleman's agreement. “Partners.”

They talked particulars until long after there was nothing left on their plates but greasy smears, and the dance floor was empty of all but a single amorous couple. By the time the management turned off the lights and chased them outside to the deserted gravel parking lot, Sam knew that although it might be tight for a while still, the Lazy Diamond would squeak by, thanks to King and Preston Stock Company. Strangely, the triumph he knew he should be feeling didn't materialize. What good was success if Roni wasn't there to share it with him?

The irony of that thought hit him like a loaded eighteen-wheeler.
Sharing.
Wasn't that what Roni had wanted to do? And he'd stonewalled her at every turn out of some mistaken sense of pride and driven her away. Lord, when he made mistakes, they were gargantuan ones.

“Man, what a night.” Travis tilted his head back to gaze appreciatively at the panorama of stars shining in the Texas darkness. “Been a lot of places, seen a lot of bright lights, but I don't think there's a prettier spot on earth than right here.”

“Some folks I know wouldn't agree.”

Travis shot Sam a sharp glance. “Look, I know it isn't my place, but as your new partner I've got a vested interest in your welfare. What the devil's going on with you and Roni, anyway?”

Sam's jaw flexed. “I guess I screwed up.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“What?”

“She's out in L.A., and you're letting that old boyfriend make time with her. Unless you've decided you don't want her—”

“Hell, no! But...”

“Chicken, huh?” Travis grimaced. “Yeah, me, too. I climb aboard two-thousand-pound bulls all day long, but when it comes to leveling with your lady about how you feel—” He shook his head.

“It's not that easy,” Sam muttered.

“What? To tell her you love her? You never did, did you?” Travis gave a disgusted snort. “You jackass.”

Sam stiffened. “You're treading a fine line there, partner.”

“Only because it's the truth.” Travis clapped Sam on the shoulder. “I'm speaking from experience, my friend. You've got the same look in your eye that I see in my mirror every morning. It's too late for me, but maybe not for you.
If
you're man enough. Think about it.”

Whistling under his breath, Travis sauntered toward his truck. Head reeling, Sam automatically climbed into his own vehicle, reached for the key, then forgot what he was doing. His hands clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel as he wrestled with his own culpability.

Roni had accused him of holding out on her. Had even she realized how much? Because Travis was right—Sam loved her, so much it frightened him to death, so much he'd been incapable of risking his heart to that kind of hurt again. He didn't know when it had happened, but somehow over the years it had taken root, to blossom full-blown under the sunny light of her presence in his house, in his heart, in his life.

He was a jackass, all right. He'd just taken Travis on as a partner, and that was all Roni had ever wanted, to contribute something toward a mutual goal, to be a part of the big picture with him. Why had that been so hard for him to see? Why had he felt so threatened? The answer was in the wide yellow streak running down his spine. But all his cowardice and self-protection and damn-fool pride had earned him was an empty bed, a motherless daughter, an existence that would never be worthwhile or joyous again.

Unless he found the courage to change things. Roni was worth it. Jessie deserved it. But he'd fallen short of the mark in every area so far, so what made him think that he warranted a second chance, or that Roni would even care now? Could he open his heart and risk it all? Could he survive if he didn't? There was really only one answer.

Sam stared into the deep Texas night and wondered if he were man enough for the job.

* * *

“I'm telling you, darling, the producers are wild about you.”

“And I'm telling you, Jackson, that I'm out of here.”

Roni smiled too politely over her champagne flute and wondered what she'd ever seen in this slick tennis-blond filmmaker. Completely unmoved by his emotional pleas for her to stay on just a few more days to consult on another project, she let her attention wander over the crowded room of Beverly Hills party-goers.