Kitabı oku: «Loving A Lonesome Cowboy», sayfa 3

Chapter Four

“On the count of three, lift your side and move it three feet to the right.” Sara paused. “One, two—”

She waited a moment for Ethan to pick up his end, and when he didn’t, she let go of her corner of the couch and popped her head up to see what was taking him so long.

He stood there glaring at her.

“What?” She left her crouched position and scrambled to her knees and propped her elbows on the arm of the couch. “Three comes after two. Why isn’t your side off the floor?”

His gaze narrowed. “Would you please get out of the way and let me move this by myself?”

“That’s silly. I’m perfectly capable of helping.” She shoved away the stray tendrils of hair that clung to her damp flushed cheeks, then cupped her hands under the corners of the couch. “One, two—” No movement on the other side.

She popped up again, this time climbing all the way to her feet, and planting her hands on her hips. “Ethan Slade, you may be paying my salary, but you’re making me madder than a—than a hungry grizzly bear.”

He eyed her a moment then moved to the center of the couch, muttering, “You’ve never even seen a grizzly bear.”

“I heard that.” She stepped back when he lifted the couch off the floor by himself and moved it. “Who says I haven’t?”

He didn’t answer, and she hadn’t expected him to. He’d barely uttered four sentences all day. She didn’t know why he’d bothered showing up since it was obvious this was the last place he wanted to be. Except he was too chauvinistic to leave her to handle the moving and lifting.

Which was absurd. She could practically lift her own weight. All the forced hours of working out in the exercise room Cal had built for her was one thing for which she could thank him.

Arms folded, she watched Ethan mosey around the room, moving pieces of furniture so that she could get at the dust beneath them. Other than sliding her a couple of guarded looks, he avoided her gaze. Nothing new. He’d treated her like she was a wildcat he needed to stay clear of, making sure she didn’t trespass or attack.

Still, she had to admit, with his help she’d accomplished more today than she’d expected. But maybe that was his plan. Get rid of her as soon as possible.

That thought stole some of her thunder. Staying here through the holidays would be so perfect. Misty had been quietly occupying herself with the limited toys Sara’d been able to bring, but she knew that wouldn’t last. However, a six-year-old friend would be a godsend.

Sara pressed her lips together. Letting her temper get the better of her would not further her cause. Uncrossing her arms, she pasted a smile on her face. “Ethan?”

He paused, his entire body tensing as he looked her way.

Good heavens. What did he think she was going to do to him? She broadened her smile. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

His gaze touched her mouth, lingered for an unnerving moment, then skittered away. “No thanks.”

“Water?”

He shook his head.

She sighed. Loudly. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Ethan, have I done something to offend you?”

He looked now, his gaze narrowed, his brows furrowed. “No.”

She waited for him to ask why. He went back to moving furniture.

Sara mentally counted to ten, then picked up the dust mop and attacked the floor with a vengeance. When she’d finished one side of the room, he quietly began returning the chairs and tables to their original places. She continued working, countering his silence with her own, until he put the brown leather club chair in the corner near the fireplace.

She opened her mouth to tell him it couldn’t go there, but a perverse streak of rebellion changed her mind. Instead, she leaned the dust mop against the stone hearth and dragged the chair three feet to the left.

Dusting her hands together and standing back to see if she’d cleared enough space for the Christmas tree, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ethan scowling at her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His words were low and deliberate.

She turned a smile on him. “Me?”

“Are you that bound and determined to hurt yourself?”

“Come here.”

His glare melted and he blinked. “Why?”

She scooted around the couch and approached him, amazed when he actually took a step back, fear flashing in his eyes. “I’m not going to bite.” She stopped directly in front of him and flexed her right bicep. “Feel this.”

A startled laugh lightened his expression. “What?”

“I’m serious. Feel this.”

“Why?”

Impatient, she grabbed his hand, but she wasn’t prepared for the slightly rough texture of his fingertips and her thoughts skittered in a shocking direction. Quickly, she composed herself, then brought his hand to the small but firmly carved muscle she had developed over the years.

Astonishment flickered in his eyes.

“Not bad, huh?” She released his hand almost as hastily as he pulled it away.

His gaze met hers, held it for a moment, and then he slowly, wordlessly shook his head and took two steps back.

“Ethan.” She cupped her hips and stomped a foot. “Would you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He picked his hat up off the table near the door. Their gazes met again, and something in his eyes sent a shaft of heat through her. “I just remembered something I forgot,” he mumbled, and took off for his truck.

“Damn coward,” she muttered, then took a deep breath, relieved he was gone.

ETHAN THREW his hat down on the passenger side of the truck, picked it up and threw it down again. He’d forgotten how stubborn females could be.

Not Emily, though, he amended. She was as sweet-natured as they came. He pictured her sitting near the fireplace on the brown club chair, knitting or crocheting, smiling and humming as she worked. A cross word never fell from her lips. The one time he’d heard her say darn she’d been horribly embarrassed.

Relief and guilt warred within him. This was the first time he could remember thinking about her without a knife slicing through his heart. Time would lessen the pain and grief, his friends and neighbors had told him. He hadn’t believed them. Hadn’t wanted to believe them. Emily deserved more from him.

His gaze strayed toward the house, his thoughts toward the little spitfire inside. She may look small and fragile, but she had muscles in her arms that would put some of his ranch hands to shame. Still, her biceps weren’t all that big, more unexpected because she looked so feminine with all that flowing red-gold hair and full wide mouth, and it got him wondering about where else she might have a muscle or two that would surprise him.

Disgusted as he was with his thoughts, he couldn’t let go of them. Sara’s smile had somehow dug a groove in the replay area of his brain and kept bushwhacking him when he least expected it. Like last night in the shower, and then after he’d hung his hat for the night. What he had to do was get the hell out of here. Go string some fence. Chop wood. Take Jet for a long ride. The stallion hadn’t been exercised today.

And when Ethan was finished, he’d go straight back to his shack in his own corner of the world and stay put until it was time to pick up the girls. He glanced at his watch. Erika and Denise would be here in less than twenty-four hours and he’d have more than he could handle. Sam could give Sara a check out of the ranch account and Ethan wouldn’t have to see her again.

He patted his shirt pocket for his keys. Then his jeans pocket. No keys. He patted his shirt again. What in the hell had he done—

“Mr. Ethan?”

He turned abruptly at the sound of Misty’s soft voice. She immediately turned pink and half hid behind the white picket gate to the sidewalk.

Oh, hell. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Are you coming back?”

His gaze rose over her head. Had Sara put the girl up to this? “Does your mom know where you are?”

Her eyes got big, and she shook her head.

“She’s not going to like you being out here alone.”

A shy smile lifted her tiny lips. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”

Something in her tone and face tugged at him. Something akin to trust. It pierced a corner of his ice-encased heart, shattering it, the pieces melting faster than he knew how to respond. “Well, I’m not sticking around, so you’d better go inside.”

He expected her to bolt for the house. He didn’t want her trust. Didn’t deserve it. Emily had trusted him. Look where it got her.

Obviously he hadn’t sounded as gruff as he thought. Misty’s expression didn’t even waver. “When are you coming back?”

He passed a weary hand over his face. “I don’t think I am.”

Alarm widened pretty blue eyes so much like her mother’s. “Who’s going to bring us dinner?”

Surprised, Ethan frowned, then started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not polite to laugh at somebody.”

“I’m sorry.”

The corners of her mouth started to lift again. “Mom says you’re a nice man. You’re not really a grouch. Just maybe sad about something.”

Ethan’s humor fled. What did Sara think she was doing analyzing him?

From inside the house, Sara’s panicked voice called out for her daughter. Misty spun toward the sound, then she looked back at him. “Don’t tell her I was out here, okay?”

He nodded.

“Promise?” She was halfway down the sidewalk but she stopped and waited for him to answer.

“Promise.”

“Then cross your heart,” she said, walking backwards toward the house.

Using his index finger, he made an X on the left side of his chest where his heart should have been. At least someone still thought he had one.

AS SOON AS SARA saw Ethan’s truck in the drive that evening, she let go of the drapes so he couldn’t see her waiting. At least she assumed the dust that had been kicked up belonged to his truck. The dusky twilight hampered her vision and easily camouflaged the dark-colored pickup.

She was glad Misty was still changing into her pajamas, just in case Ethan put up a fight. Not that he’d win. Sara pushed back her sleeves, then leaned against the door and listened.

A minute later she thought she heard the truck’s engine and possibly the door opening. She didn’t hear it close, but that didn’t surprise her. The coward had probably left the driver’s door open and the motor running.

When she heard the steps to the porch creak, she flung open the door. The astonished look on Ethan’s face was priceless. He’d been just about to set a picnic basket on the porch, but he immediately straightened.

“Here,” he said and tried to hand her the basket.

She didn’t take it. “What’s this?”

He shrugged. “Supper.”

“How nice.” She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped back. “Come in. I’ll set an extra place at the table.”

He rolled a shoulder, and tried to pass her the basket again. “I’m not staying.”

“Why not?” She tilted her head to the side and eyed him quizzically. What in the heck did he think she wanted from him other than a job?

“I have things to do.”

“I see.” She straightened her back. “Thank you, Mr. Slade, but we don’t accept charity.”

He put his booted foot in the door when she attempted to close it. “What are you talking about?”

She eyed his boot meaningfully, and he drew it back. “I thought you were bringing some food to share so that we could all sit down together, not make a charitable deposit.”

“A what?”

“I’ve already made something for our dinner, but thank you, anyway.”

He still didn’t move so she turned around and headed for the kitchen. As she passed the hall, she called to Misty that dinner was on the table. Behind her, she heard Ethan mutter a curse.

She bit back a smile and kept on going.

When they got to the kitchen and all that was on the table were crackers and cheese, a nearly empty jar of peanut butter and a cut-up apple that was beginning to brown, her bravado faltered. Embarrassment swelled in her chest until it blocked her throat. What kind of mother did he think she was? He wouldn’t know that eating like this for an entire month would still be better than staying under Cal’s cruel and controlling thumb.

Without a word, Ethan set the basket in the center of the table, sat down and started unloading the food. A ribbon of steam spiraled up from the slab of ribs he unwrapped, and the pan of baked beans was also still hot, judging by the way he handled it. Two large ripe tomatoes and a bag of baby carrots had been carefully kept away from the hot stuff.

When he pulled out the lattice-topped pie, her stomach rumbled indelicately. Horrified, she turned away and got out another plate and silverware.

“Wow!” Misty walked into the kitchen, her eyes wide and focused on the table. “I’m having seconds.”

Sara smiled, but the ache in her chest grew. She should be the one providing this meal for her daughter. “Maybe you’d better have firsts first, huh? After you say hello to Mr. Slade.”

Misty looked shyly at him. “Thanks, Mr. Ethan.”

He winked at her, a rare smile curving his mouth, and a flutter replaced the ache in Sara’s chest. Then she watched in amazement as Misty, who was normally shy around men, took the chair closest to him.

Putting Ethan’s plate and silverware in front of him, Sara nodded to her daughter. “Let’s see your hands.”

Misty held up both palms.

Sara vaguely acknowledged they were clean. Standing so close to Ethan, she’d gotten a strong whiff of a musky pine scent that made her understand her daughter’s attraction to the man. When his gaze warily lifted to her face, she knew she’d lingered too long.

Unnecessarily, she reached over and fussed with the stack of napkins. “This looks great.” Her voice sounded high, unnatural. She cleared her throat. “Did you make it?”

“Only the beans.”

“Oh.” She sat down and lamely passed the plate of crackers to Misty, who looked at her as if she were insane. “The drinks,” Sara said abruptly and started to jump up.

Ethan laid a hand on her arm. “Here.” With his other hand, he brought out a carton of orange juice.

Sara stared numbly at it. He hadn’t released her arm yet, and his warmth was doing strange things to her thought process. “Glasses,” she said weakly.

“I’ll get them.” His hand trailed away from her and her entire body tightened.

Sara swallowed. How pathetic. A man treated her with decency and she turned into a disgusting puddle of need. She helped Misty fix her plate, noticing that Ethan had gone unerringly to the cabinet where the glasses were kept. He took three down and was about to turn toward the sink when he realized she’d already washed them all.

Their eyes met and she quickly looked away.

“That’s enough, Mom.”

Sara stared down at Misty’s plate. She’d dished up enough food for three linebackers. Quickly, she put the filled plate in front of her own chair and fixed Misty a new one.

Ethan sat down and glanced at the mound of food. She thought she saw a twinkle of amusement in his eye, but he said nothing, just silently poured three glasses of juice.

“Thank you,” she said, and Misty immediately echoed her.

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, Misty eating so fast that Sara had to put a restraining hand on her arm twice. Sara’s own appetite had dwindled as she worried about what Ethan must be thinking.

She wanted to explain to him she really wasn’t a bad mother, that her daughter had a good appetite, that she really wasn’t starving…that she was far better off today, homeless and poor, than she was a month ago, living in the Conroy mansion.

Sara reminded herself often enough. It was essential in order to fend off the self-doubt that had been so intricately molded and sculpted by years of criticism and belittlement.

Swallowing, she slid Ethan a glance. He chewed slowly, glancing up to give Misty a fond look before he took a sip of juice. There was no censure in his expression. He wasn’t sitting in judgment, finding them both lacking. He wasn’t Cal.

As if he sensed her stare, his gaze connected with hers, and his mouth slowly curved in one of his rare smiles. The lump in her throat grew so large she thought she’d choke. She picked up her glass and sloshed juice all over the oak table.

She scooted back to avoid getting the front of her shirt splashed, and Ethan promptly reached over and soaked up the spill with his napkin.

“God, that was so clumsy. I’m sorry.” She used her own napkin to dab at the table.

He gave her a strange look. “It was an accident. Forget it.”

She nodded unevenly and looked at Misty.

Her daughter’s eyes had widened on Ethan, then she looked at Sara. “Daddy would have yelled all the way to Houston, huh, Mommy?”

Sara stiffened. “Finish your dinner or you don’t get any pie.” She stared down at her own plate and picked up her fork, not wanting to meet Ethan’s eyes or answer any questions.

After another lengthy silence, she chanced a peek at him. He was staring at something on the table where he’d mopped up the juice, his expression melancholy. For an instant she feared she’d stained the wood, but all she could see were several lines carved into the oak. Initials perhaps, she thought, squinting for a better look.

“I’m finished. Can I have pie now?” Misty took a noisy slurp of juice.

Ethan’s gaze stayed glued to the spot on the table, his face so bleak it gave Sara a chill.

“Wait a few minutes and we’ll all have some together, okay?”

Misty made a face and slumped back in her chair. “Mr. Ethan, why aren’t you eating?”

He blinked and slowly turned to look at her. Clearly still preoccupied, he didn’t respond right away. Blinking again, he gave her a faint smile. “I bet you’re ready for some of that peach pie.”

Misty giggled. Even she realized Ethan hadn’t been paying attention. “Peach? I don’t think I’ve had that before. Have I, Mommy?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” Sara got a knife from the drawer and proceeded to cut the pie, aware the entire time of Ethan’s mood swing.

He wasn’t grouchy or surly or unpleasant in any way. In fact, he said nothing else. But the sadness in his eyes stirred her curiosity and carved a path straight to her heart.

“Ethan?” She offered him a generous slice of the dessert.

He stared at it for a few seconds, then shook his head and scraped back from the table. “None for me. I need to hit the road.”

“Already? We haven’t had—it’s early.”

He gave her an odd look.

“I mean, I haven’t even shown you how much progress I’ve made.”

A sad smile lifted his lips as he got to his feet. “The house looks real nice, Sara. You’ve done a fine job.”

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.” She set the plate on the table, then dragged her palms down the front of her jeans. What she did want was an offer to stay. For another twelve days, anyway.

“I know that. All the same, the place looks nice.” He carried his plate to the sink and didn’t look at her when he added, “I’ll ask Sam to give you a ride back to town tomorrow, while I’m picking up the girls. He’ll have a check for you.”

“Oh.” She stood, glancing at Misty who was busy getting peach pie all over her face. “Ethan, have I done something wrong?”

The startled look he gave her should have been enough reassurance. “No.” He shook his head. “No. I just—you’ve done everything I asked. And more. In fact, you’ll find a bonus in that check.”

“That isn’t necessary.” She picked up her plate, no longer interested in dessert. “We had a deal. I simply fulfilled my part.” She’d obviously sounded more curt than she intended, judging by the look of dismay on his face. But she was tired of being told she’d never measure up, then dismissed with a credit card and permission to go shopping.

“Can I have more pie?” Misty asked.

“No, but you may go wash your face.”

“But, Mom…”

“Now, Misty.”

Her daughter recognized the tone, immediately excused herself and headed for the bathroom. Sara continued to clear the table without looking at Ethan. “If there are any other instructions, I guess Sam will let me know.”

“Sara?”

She sidestepped him to get to the sink, already regretting having thrown the bonus offer back at him. Damn her stubborn pride. She could use the money for Misty’s Christmas presents. Not to mention a roof over their heads since Ethan didn’t want them staying.

“Sara, could you just listen a moment?”

“I’m listening.” She started filling the sink with warm sudsy water.

“Could you stop and listen?”

“Not really. I have a lot of work to do yet tonight.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and when she stiffened, he immediately released her and stepped back. “I’m a little nervous about the girls coming tomorrow, so don’t take anything I say or do personally.”

She left her hands in the water, and slid him a sideways glance. “I can stay and help.”

He took two more steps back, his expression tightening. “I don’t think that would work.”

She sighed and resumed washing the dishes. So much for not taking things personally. “It was just a thought,” she muttered.

When he allowed too much silence to pass, she glanced over her shoulder. He stood near the table, a dirty dish in his hand, but he was just watching her. Their eyes met and the longing she saw there made her breath catch.

He set the dish back on the table. “I really have to go. Sorry I can’t help with the cleanup.” He picked up his Stetson, and fidgeted with the rim. “Thanks for everything, Sara. And good luck.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he hurried out the back door.