Kitabı oku: «Call Of The West», sayfa 2
Oooh, that one smarted. She’d been unfavorably compared to Blair more than once and, while Hope didn’t care about hearing it from some people, she definitely minded hearing it from Jake. “We’re not very different from them.”
“Hey, at least Blair eats meat,” he said.
“That’s important?”
He snorted at her. “This is beef country. I’m a rancher. Yeah, it’s important.”
“Well, I don’t care if other people eat meat,” Hope protested. “I simply don’t like it.” In fact, red meat actually gagged her. Jake rolled his eyes as if what she’d said was silly. He had some nerve.
“Fine,” he said. “How about the age difference? I’m too old for you.”
Hope let out an incredulous huff. “You can’t be more than forty-five.”
“I’m only forty,” he grumbled. “But that’s still too old for you.”
“Oooh, ten whole years. You’re ancient, McBride. Shall I find a cane for you?”
“Well, it just wouldn’t be right. It’s not appropriate.” He glanced at her hair, opened his mouth as if he would say something, then clamped it shut again.
“What?” she said. “You don’t like my hair?”
“It looks okay now,” he admitted, his tone grudging.
“But?” She left the word hanging between them. “Come on, you’ve obviously got a problem with my hair. Tell me.”
“When you make it spiky and turn it all those different colors, it looks mighty strange.”
“I suppose it does here.” She grinned, enjoying the idea immensely. “But it’s just a little thing I do for fun. It washes right out.”
“It’s not just the hair.” He sounded as if his patience was stretching thin in spots. “It’s the whole package.”
Hope caught a harsher note of criticism in his voice that surprised her. She raised her chin and met his gaze head-on. “Do tell.”
“You’re too flashy for a guy like me,” he said bluntly.
“Flashy?” She raised her eyebrows and patted her collarbones, feigning surprise. “Moi?”
“You know what I mean.”
She supposed she did, but sincerely hoped she was wrong. “Why don’t you explain it to me anyway? Just to be absolutely certain?”
He gave her a long, considering look, as if he were debating whether or not he should answer. “It’s the hair. The fingernails. The clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked, carefully maintaining a neutral tone.
“Nothing’s wrong with ’em. I doubt anybody’d even notice ’em in L.A.”
“But they don’t work in Sunshine Gap.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. They’re not practical or even modest. Everything you wear is missing a strategic hunk or two of material. There’re guys all over town nursing sore necks from trying to get a better look at your…assets.”
“Oh, really, you’re exaggerating.” At least she thought he was. It was the middle of July for heaven’s sake. Everybody peeled down a bit when the weather was hot.
“The hookers in Cheyenne and Denver wear more on a work day than you do. Your stuff is too damn sexy.”
“Women aren’t supposed to be sexy in Sunshine Gap?”
“I didn’t say that.” Muttering a rude word, he jammed his right hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not personal. The thing is, if I wanted a woman in my life now, I’d be lookin’ for an old-fashioned Wyoming gal with ranching in her blood.”
Well, that certainly left her out, didn’t it? But it didn’t have to.
“Blair learned how to do all that stuff. If she can do it, so can I. You could teach me.”
“No way.” He held up both hands and stepped back, shaking his head. “I’m workin’ on important plans for my future. I don’t have time to play with a flaky little California floozy who writes raunchy books, causes scandals and looks like she came out of a can of spray paint half the time.”
Time stopped long enough to imprint every humiliating detail of Jake’s critical assessment of her into Hope’s permanent memory banks. The backs of her eyes stung, her throat closed around a golf-ball-sized lump and her chest ached as if he’d punched her just under her sternum. After three months of seeing her every day and working with her on this wedding how could he still think so little of her?
And how could she have been so wrong about him?
Automatically falling back on Rule Number Two, Hope plastered an amused smile onto her mouth. “My, my my,” she drawled. “Been reading the tabloids, Jake?”
His face flushed, but he didn’t look away. “You’re news, Hope. All the magazines and newspapers have stories about you.”
“You believe everything you read?”
“Not everything.” His tone told her he believed all but the most outrageous stories. “But you’ve gotta admit you have one colorful image.”
“Of course, I admit it,” she said calmly. “I’ve worked hard to build it.”
He frowned as if he’d never entertained the idea a celebrity might deliberately develop a certain kind of image. “I only wanted to point out our differences. I didn’t mean to offend—”
“Don’t apologize for being honest. There’s far too little honesty in this world. And since we’re being so honest, I have to say I’m terribly disappointed in you.”
“Come on—”
Hope slashed at the air like a conductor halting an orchestra. “Save it, McBride. I’ve clearly misjudged you.”
Frowning, he asked warily, “What do you mean?”
“I thought you were more than just a handsome face. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Wait a minute,” he protested.
“You had your turn. Now it’s mine,” she retorted. “I may be a flaky California floozy, but you’re a shallow, narrow-minded idiot who can’t see past the end of your own nose.”
“Hey—”
Hope continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You don’t have the faintest clue what you’re passing up, but someday you will. And when you do, you’re going to be one sad and sorry cowboy.”
Before Jake could even begin to think up a reply, Hope stepped down from the fence and headed back toward the party. Holding herself straight and tall as a queen, she crossed the barnyard with a smooth, unhurried stride. He watched until she rounded the corner of the house, then returned his attention to the horses, feeling a mixture of relief and regret.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but she hadn’t been listening to him, just brushing aside his arguments as fast as he’d made them. After all of that, any man in his right mind would’ve gotten desperate, but he’d gone too far and said too much. He was sorry as hell about that. She’d gotten in some good licks of her own, though.
He almost had to smile at the idea of Hope DuMaine calling him shallow. Brother. Talk about your pots and kettles.
Still, he’d stop by the guesthouse tomorrow and apologize. He didn’t want to cause Dillon any problems with Blair’s family. He didn’t want to cause himself any problems with his own family, either. They all really liked Hope. When she wasn’t pestering the hell out of him, so did he.
But dammit, tonight was all his fault. What had possessed him to kiss her like that? And why had he done it in front of everybody?
He’d love to blame it on the alcohol he’d consumed, but he hadn’t had that much to drink. And he’d been tired, but not that tired. Well, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen again because he wouldn’t let it. Even though he regretted hurting her feelings, he’d meant everything he’d said.
He wondered if Hope had meant what she’d said. That part about him being a sad and sorry cowboy had almost sounded like a threat. Jake laughed and shook his head.
“Yeah, right. I’m shakin’ in my boots. What could she possibly do to me?”
Not a blessed thing. And with any luck, by this time next week, she’d go back to L.A. She’d be off the Flying M and out of his life, and he’d finally get a little peace and quiet. After all the craziness of the past twelve weeks, surely that wasn’t too much to ask for.
Chapter Two
Still fuming at dawn the next morning, Hope loaded her luggage into the rental car and wedged a thank-you note under the back door of the Flying M’s main house. She hated to leave like a thief in the night, but if she ran into Jake, she feared she would hit him. She’d mentally replayed their argument again and again during the night and couldn’t believe he’d actually said some of those things to her.
Flaky little California floozy, indeed.
Taking one last look around the ranch yard, she got into her car and drove down the long, winding lane. She turned right onto the graveled county road, intending to say goodbye to her good friend George Pierson at the Double Circle Ranch. Three miles later she rounded a familiar curve.
On impulse, she pulled over and parked the car. She got out, put her hands on her hips and slowly turned in a complete circle. Yes, this was the right spot.
No matter which way she faced, the scenery was breathtaking. Soaring, snow-capped mountains to the west, and to the north, south and east, the green of irrigated hay meadows, the long, tidy rows of fences and power lines beside the dusty road, the endless blue sky without even a wisp of a cloud in sight.
It was so quiet. So peaceful. So private.
There was room to breathe here. Really breathe. And there was a timelessness to this land that was evident in the rock outcroppings and gullies, in the subtle, shifting colors that stretched out to a horizon that went on forever. Nothing ever changed much in this country.
No wonder Jake and his family worked so hard to keep their piece of it.
What would it be like to belong here? To have a place of her own with some reasonable expectation of permanence? Where people stayed and businesses survived beyond the latest trends in entertainment, fashion and food.
She turned around again, shading her eyes with one hand as she looked her fill of this incredible landscape. Her chest ached with the beauty of it. With the longing somehow to be a part of it. With something close to grief at the prospect of leaving it.
But leave it, she must.
Heaving a deep, regretful sigh, she slid back into her car and drove the rest of the way to George’s place. His gangly, rambunctious pup galloped out to greet her when she parked at the back door. A semi-ugly mixture of several large breeds, the dog’s name was Doofus. Unfortunately, the name seemed to fit the animal quite well, but at least he was friendly.
Hope scratched his ears for a moment, then climbed the steps and waited for George to answer her knock. If his arthritis was acting up, it could take him a few minutes to get there. Somewhere around ninety and still blessed with an excellent memory, George had been telling her about the history of the area for the next book she wanted to write next.
He was cantankerous, blunt, meddlesome, nosy, opinionated and terribly prone to gossip. The juicier the better. Hope adored him.
George had outlived his friends, chased off most of his neighbors and infuriated his relatives to the point they barely tolerated him. But, to Sunshine Gap’s surprise, crusty old George Pierson appeared to adore Hope right back.
Opening the door, he looked out, his rheumy gray eyes alight with pleasure when he recognized her. He wore faded baggy jeans held up with orange suspenders, a yellow Western shirt and a ratty pair of brown leather slippers.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be out of bed much before noon after that shindig yesterday. Why’s your hair black?”
“Because I’m in a black mood, George.” Hope leaned inside and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “May I come in?”
“Well, I reckon I can spare a few minutes, but you’ll have to make your own coffee.”
Though he had few visitors, George always acted as if spending a few minutes of his valuable time with her was a huge favor. Hiding a smile, Hope followed his thumping cane through the gloomy old house to the kitchen. He also claimed arthritis prevented him from doing much beyond the bare necessities for his survival, but Hope suspected he was malingering in order to get attention. He could be amazingly spry when he chose.
She gladly played along with him, filling his ancient percolator with cold water, adding the coffee and setting it on the stove. Turning around one of the straight-backed wooden chairs at the table, she straddled it, facing George’s rocker.
Once they both were seated, he smiled, showing off chewing-tobacco-stained teeth. “What do you want to know this time?”
“Actually, I’ve come to say goodbye.”
“What?” Rocking forward so hard his rocker squeaked in protest, George frowned at her, his bushy white eyebrows jutting out from his face. “You said you were stayin’ until you finished your book.”
“That’s what I’d planned,” Hope agreed, touched by how upset he was about her news. Other than Blair, she’d had few people in her life who cared if she stayed or left. “But sometimes plans have to change.”
“Why? What the hell’s happened?”
Hope tried to smile at him, but found herself surprisingly near tears instead. Jake wasn’t the only one she’d grown fond of in Sunshine Gap. She would miss this old man, the other McBrides, her dear friend, Emma, who had married Jake’s brother Cal. Hope wasn’t ready to leave any of them. But after that scene with Jake…
“Aw, jeez, don’t start blubberin’,” George grumbled, shifting restlessly in his chair. “Never could stand a blubberin’ woman.”
“Oh, get over it,” Hope grumbled back at him. “I’ll blubber if I want to. You won’t melt.”
Slapping his knee, the old man let out a cackle of laughter. “You’re somethin’ else, gal. Go ahead and bawl your head off if it makes you feel better.”
She uttered a shaky laugh and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “No, I’m okay now.”
He put the chair in motion, filling the room with soft creaking sounds. “Tell me what brought this on.”
Hope related an abbreviated version of what had happened at the wedding reception. With a few adroit questions, George dragged the rest of the story out of her. He kept rocking for several moments after she’d finished, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to go back to California.”
“Yes, I do. I can’t stay at the Flying M now.”
“You want Jake to think he can run you off that easy?”
“No, but there’s not even a decent motel in Sunshine Gap.”
“So find some other place to stay. Hell, stay here.”
“I couldn’t impose on you.”
“I invited ya, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“But nothin’. You wouldn’t be imposin’. This old house is so big, I rattle around in it all by myself. We could go for a week and not even see each other.”
“It’s not that big, George,” Hope said with a chuckle.
“Long as you don’t blubber all the time, I reckon we can get along well enough.” George’s expression turned shrewd. “Maybe we could even help each other out.”
The old man was up to something, but what? In spite of her better judgment, Hope asked, “How?”
“You love livin’ here. Around Sunshine Gap, I mean.”
She hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Something here calls to me. I don’t know quite what it is, but everything’s just so…real here. I don’t know if it’s the land or the people.”
“Could be the lack of people,” he suggested. “Must be mighty nice to drive down a road that ain’t all clogged up with traffic.”
“That’s true.” She smiled at him. “But it’s more than that. When I’m in Wyoming, I feel as if…as if I’m home. I can think here. And see life more clearly. I know I’ve done some of my best writing here.”
“Then why don’t you buy this place?”
Hope felt her mouth fall open and knew she was gaping at him. “The Double Circle?”
“It’s the only ranch I own. I won’t even try to rip you off ’cause you’re rich. All I want’s the fair market value.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why the hell not? I’m ninety-one years old, gal. When I croak, somebody’s gonna buy it. Might as well be you.”
“But I’m a writer. I don’t know anything about ranching.”
“That’s the beauty of my idea. I got a couple of conditions before I agree to this sale.”
“Conditions?” She might’ve known. There were always conditions, and they often were unacceptable.
Scowling, he shook his head at her as if she were trying his patience. “Hear me out before you get your drawers in a knot. First condition is, I can keep my room in this house as long as I want it. I ain’t afraid of dyin’, but I am afraid of bein’ helpless. If I get to where I need a nurse to take care of me, I’d like to have somebody I trust here to keep an eye on things. Make sure I’m treated right, ya know?”
Hope blinked at the sudden vulnerability in George’s wrinkled face. Having been raised by servants, she knew exactly how it felt to be dependent on people who weren’t always kind. But she didn’t dare show any emotion he might interpret as pity. “Of course,” she said in a businesslike tone. “What are the other conditions?”
“There’s just one. If you ever decide to sell this place, I want your word you won’t sell it to some developer who’ll cut it up into five-acre lots. That’s what my idiot nephew’ll do if he ever gets his hands on the Double Circle. Kid never was worth the bullet it’d take to shoot him.”
“I could live with your conditions, but I still don’t know anything about running a ranch. From what I’ve seen, it involves a great deal of hard work.”
“That it does, but I can teach you what you need to know, and you can always hire whatever help you need. Shoot, my hand Scott pretty much runs this place on his own.”
“But doesn’t Jake want the Double Circle?”
George grinned. “Yup. Jake’s wanted this ranch for years. Made me some nice offers and he helps me out when I need somebody to check up on Scott.”
“Then why don’t you sell it to him?”
“’Cause then I’d have to leave, and where would I go? Some damn nursing home? I’d rather be dead.”
“Surely you could make other arrangements—”
“Not in Sunshine Gap, and this is my home. Besides, Jake’d want to take over running everything, and I’m not ready to give it all up just yet. It’s a good place. You want it or not?”
Oh, she did want it. The Double Circle was smaller than the Flying M but every bit as pretty. And she loved this old house. Redecorating it would be a pleasure. She’d do the kitchen in French provincial, the garden in English casual and completely redo the bathrooms. She’d have to study up on antique furniture and—
The thought of having her very own house that wasn’t on anybody’s tourist map… But, as Jake had so bluntly pointed out, her sense of style wouldn’t exactly be appreciated, much less accepted around Sunshine Gap.
“I don’t think I really belong here, George.”
“Hell, girl, didn’t you get a thing I told you about the settlement of the West? Anybody could belong here if they wanted to bad enough. That’s why so many different kinds of people came out here.”
“That was the old West.”
“Horsefeathers. Long as you’re honest, halfway decent and a good neighbor, you’ll belong just fine. Don’t listen to Jake. He’s the one who put that fool idea in your head, isn’t he?”
Hope nodded stiffly, feeling hurt all over again. But while she was still angry at Jake, she wasn’t vindictive enough to take away something he’d wanted—and undoubtedly worked for—for years. And there was a gleam in George’s eyes she didn’t entirely trust. He was up to something, all right, but he wasn’t going to tell her about it. Until he did, she didn’t intend to commit herself to anything.
“It’s a big decision, George,” she said. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“You do that,” he said, grinning again. “I want you to stay here while you’re thinkin’. Stay until you finish your book, anyway. What do you say?”
“I’d love to. May I use the room upstairs with the lovely view of the mountains?”
“You bet. By the way, do you cook?”
A week later Jake sat at his desk, studying his personal balance sheet with a critical eye. His cash flow would be awful tight if George Pierson accepted this new offer for the Double Circle, but Jake was getting so desperate for a place of his own, he didn’t give a rip. If he didn’t get away from the Flying M soon, he was bound to do or say something he might regret for years to come.
But it wouldn’t be without just cause.
Of course, being provoked by his big, complicated family was hardly anything new. His mother and Aunt Lucy were identical twins who had grown up in a village in Italy. His dad and Uncle Harry had met them while they were in Europe serving in the military.
After whirlwind courtships, the McBride brothers had married the twin sisters and brought them home to the Flying M. Between them, the two couples had produced seven children and raised them as siblings rather than cousins. As the oldest, Jake had been held responsible for keeping Zack, Dillon, Alexandra, Cal, Marsh and Grace out of trouble.
It hadn’t been easy. Since they’d all survived to adulthood, however, Jake figured he’d done a fine job of it. Not that it was doing him one bit of good now.
Though Hope hadn’t said a word about him in her goodbye note, Jake’s mother and Aunt Lucy were blaming him for Hope’s early departure. They’d loved having a famous author living in the guesthouse, and the idea that Hope preferred cranky old George Pierson’s company to the McBrides’ was, in their eyes, unthinkable. Every time the Mamas, as they were affectionately called, saw Jake, they glared at him, heaved sorrowful sighs and turned away, shoulders slumped, heads bowed as if in shame.
And they hadn’t cooked one blessed thing he liked since Hope had left.
It probably shouldn’t matter so much, but dammit, they’d always been proud of him before. It rankled that the two women he loved most would turn on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. And all over some wacko woman from Hollywood.
His dad and Uncle Harry were driving him just as crazy, though for different reasons. They were supposed to be retired and leave the management of the Flying M to Jake. The arrangement had worked well while the four parents had been on an extended world tour for the past two years.
But now that they were home with nothing to divert their attention, neither Gage nor Harry McBride could resist the urge to “help” Jake tend to business. One or the other of them questioned every decision he made and griped over every innovation he’d instituted while they were gone. They were especially disgruntled to discover he’d put the ranch accounts onto a computer rather than using the old ledger system that “had been plenty good enough for three generations of McBrides.”
“If they’d just sit down and learn to use the computer, they could still see the books anytime they wanted,” Jake grumbled, knowing his dad and uncle weren’t going to touch that “dang machine” unless they absolutely had to. “And that’ll never happen as long as they’ve got me around to torture for information all the time.”
He loved his job. Loved the Flying M. Loved the Mamas and Papas. But he needed relief from the stress of living so close to them. Somebody was on his back all day, every day.
It wasn’t just the parents, either. Whenever he was in the ranch office, his brothers and sister felt entitled to ask him to do all kinds of things for them. It was time for all of them to grow up and handle their own problems.
Dammit, he needed a place where he could have some privacy. A place that was his and his alone to do with as he pleased. A place where he didn’t have to consult anyone or be responsible for anyone but himself. But he couldn’t be too far away in case of an emergency at the Flying M.
The only ranch close enough that might be for sale in the near future was George Pierson’s. Stashing his papers into their file folder, Jake grabbed his straw cowboy hat and hurried out to his pickup. He climbed in and drove off, intending to make that greedy, stubborn old coot an offer he couldn’t refuse.
And maybe, if Jake was real lucky, he could convince Hope to come back and stay in the Flying M’s guesthouse again. Then the Mamas would smile and cook his favorite meals again, and he could at least try to make up with Hope. Every time he remembered what he’d said to her the day of the wedding, he felt guilty all over again.
He hadn’t laid eyes on her since then, and the thought of seeing her now made him smile. He wouldn’t say he’d actually missed her. But without the possibility of Hope turning up with some flimsy excuse to see him, his days had seemed a little…flat.
Shaking his head at his own contrariness, Jake turned in at the Double Circle’s entrance. He drove around back and parked behind Hope’s little red car. Doofus ran across the yard to greet him. Jake leaned down and scratched the pup’s ears.
“Hey there, Doofus. You’d better stop growing or George might mistake you for a horse and throw a saddle on your back.” The possibility didn’t seem to worry Doofus much. He ran off when Jake pretended to throw a stick for him.
Chuckling, Jake climbed the steps to the back door and gave it a good, solid knock. George opened it a moment later, a surprisingly cheerful smile curving up the corners of his mouth. He stepped back out of the way and motioned for Jake to come in.
“Mornin’, Jake. What brings you out this way?”
Jake stepped over the threshold and took off his hat. “I want to talk to you if you’ve got time, George.”
“I reckon I can spare a few minutes.” Using his cane, George hobbled over to the round oak table and settled onto a straight-backed wooden chair.
Jake took the one adjacent to George’s and glanced around the kitchen. He saw new, colorful dishtowels hanging beside the sink in place of the dingy, ragged ones that usually hung there. A canning jar full of fresh flowers sat on top of a microwave oven that hadn’t been there the last time Jake visited the old man. Hope must be making herself at home.
“What can I do for ya?” George asked.
“Tell me what it’ll take to convince you to sell me the Double Circle,” Jake replied.
“Well, now, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about that since the last time you tried to buy it.” George’s smile grew wider.
Jake’s heart swelled with hope until his chest hurt. This was the first time George had ever admitted he’d even considered selling the Double Circle. Jake had wanted this for so long, the desperation he’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance. Hardly daring to breathe, he said, “Yeah?”
George nodded. “Your offer was damn generous. But back then, I just couldn’t stand to let the place go.”
“What about now?” Jake asked, his voice tinged with the desperate agony of hope that had been dashed too many times before.
“I’d like to sell it to ya, Jake. I really would, but…”
His heart already plummeting, Jake read the refusal coming in George’s eyes. “But what?”
“But you better look for another place,” George said. “I’m gonna be usin’ this one myself for the foreseeable future.”
His stomach painfully clenching with disappointment, Jake stared at the old man. Then Jake’s temper got the best of him. “Dammit, George, what are you thinking?” he demanded. “You’re going to have to quit sometime. And you know good and well that even with a hired hand, you can’t handle this place anymore.”
“I won’t have to.” George’s eyes sparkled with an unholy glee Jake didn’t understand.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m tired of bein’ alone.” George ran one hand over the top of his head as if he still had hair up there to smooth down. “I’m thinkin’ about gettin’ married again. Maybe havin’ some kids this time.”
“Married?” Jake sputtered. “Kids?”
“Yeah. You know, babies. Heirs.”
Jake’s mouth fell open. Had the old boy finally gone completely senile? Jake doubted there was a woman of child-bearing age in a hundred-mile radius who’d even pretend to consider such a thing.
A soft, whispery sound distracted him. He glanced up in time to see Hope saunter into the kitchen, wearing a shiny purple robe that barely reached the middle of her thighs. Her hair was slicked back as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. He’d never seen it black before.
Hope’s gaze met his, her eyes widening as if he was the last person she’d expected—or wanted—to see in George’s house. She hesitated a fraction of a second, then turned toward the counter beside the sink and crossed the room without so much as another glance in Jake’s direction. Jake gritted his teeth and found himself watching the sway of her hips beneath that short robe and wondering what, if anything, she had on beneath it.
Her slender legs looked smooth and tanned, and when she went up on her tiptoes to take two coffee mugs from the cupboard, her calf muscles stood out in sharp relief. Jake held his breath while the back of her robe hiked up—but not quite high enough to satisfy his curiosity about her underwear. Or the lack of it.
Lowering her heels to the floor, she moved to her right, filled the mugs with coffee and carried them to the table. She set one mug in front of George, then affectionately patted his bony shoulder, took the chair on his other side and sipped from the second mug.
George glanced over at her, his eyebrows arched in query. “Aren’t you gonna offer Jake some coffee?”
“No,” she replied with a grin. “He might stay longer if I did.”
Jake refused to acknowledge her deliberate rudeness. His sister Alex used to start fights with outrageous remarks and he’d learned not to get suckered in by them. George opened his mouth as if he might protest, but Jake held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it, George. I don’t want coffee.”
“Don’t know what you’re missing, boy. Hope brews a mean cup.” George exchanged a warm smile with Hope that chilled Jake’s blood.
No. It couldn’t be. Hope wouldn’t take up with an old guy like George. Would she?
Jake gave his head a hard shake in denial, but the shocking idea remained. Hope wasn’t from Wyoming. He didn’t have a clue about what she would or wouldn’t do. Sure wouldn’t be the first time a young, pretty gal married an old man for his money. Happened all the time. Especially in a place like Hollywood.
