Cowboy Defender Page 6

  Was this the way her life was going to be until she had some answers? Would fear rule each and every movement she made? She couldn’t be an effective teacher and a great mom if she was scared all the time.

  She’d just sat down at the table to grade some papers when her doorbell rang again. She peeked out the peephole to see Clay on the front porch. She opened the door and saw that he had his ball glove in hand.

  With the memory of his very hot kiss far too present in her mind, he was one of the last people she wanted to see at this moment. “Good morning.” He swept his hat off his head and gave her his beautiful smile. “Is Henry here? I thought maybe we could toss around a ball for a while.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “The kids are always with Hank on Saturdays.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot about that.” His expression turned more somber. “Have you heard anything from Dillon this morning?”

  “No, nothing. What about you?”

  “Same.”

  She didn’t want him to come into the house but now that he was here she wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave, either. “Uh...would you like to sit and have some lemonade?” She gestured toward one of the two wicker chairs on the porch.

  “Sure, I’d like that.” He walked to a chair, placed his hat and the ball glove on the porch next to him and sat.

  “I’ll just go get the lemonade.” She turned and went into the kitchen, chiding herself for inviting him to sit a while. She’d spent the entire morning telling herself she needed to keep her distance from him.

  However, the minute he had smiled some of her fear had dissipated and a sense of well-being had swept through her. What was up with that?

  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to visit for a little while and pass some time with him. At least if they were sitting on the front porch nobody driving by could gossip about her having Clay inside the house while her kids were gone at Hank’s.

  She poured two tall glasses of lemonade and re-joined him on the porch. She handed him the drink and sat in the chair opposite him.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. “That’s an odd question to start a conversation.”

  “I figure if we’re going to be good friends, then I need to know some of those kinds of things about you.”

  He made the word “friends” sound like something slightly sinful and yet his clear blue eyes radiated complete innocence. “Turquoise. And I’m a Libra. My favorite food is anything Italian. There, now you know everything you need to know about me,” she replied.

  He laughed. “That hardly scratches the surface, but it’s a start.”

  She gazed at him for a long minute. Clad in a navy T-shirt and jeans and with his blond hair shiny and tousled by a slight breeze, he looked like a model for a calendar of hot cowboys. “Why do you even want to be my friend?” she finally asked.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Why wouldn’t I want to be? You’re pretty and you’re smart and it’s my belief you can never have too many friends.”

  “You didn’t really forget that Henry wouldn’t be home today, did you?”

  “Okay, you’re right. I didn’t forget. The truth is I wanted to check in on you. I was worried about you. You were pretty shaken up last night.” Both his warm gaze and his expression of sweet concern caused her heart to flutter.

  She couldn’t remember the last time a man had worried about her. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”

  “Then have dinner with me tonight at the café.”

  “Oh, no,” she replied quickly.

  “Why not? Wouldn’t you like to spend some time at the café instead of here in your house all alone?”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Clay Madison, don’t you dare try to manipulate me by using my own fear against me.”

  He had the grace to look sheepish. “You’re right, that was uncool. So, have dinner with me anyway? I know it wouldn’t be a date because you don’t date. We’d just be two friends enjoying a meal out together.”

  She had to admit she was torn. She had really been dreading the long hours of the evening without the kids in the house. Dinner at the café was definitely far more appealing. But if people saw them together at the café on a Saturday night, those people would definitely assume they were dating, especially since they’d also been at the carnival together.

  Under the circumstances she wasn’t sure she cared what other people thought. It was really just important that she and Clay were on the same page, and she’d made it clear to him she wasn’t interested in a relationship.

  “Come on, Miranda. It’s just dinner. You said you like Italian and on Saturday nights the special at the café is always lasagna.”

  “All right,” she finally capitulated. Rumors had never bothered her before, and all that was important was that Clay understood there wasn’t going to be any romance between them. Besides, having dinner out sounded far more appealing than sitting in the quiet house all evening.

  “Great,” he replied. “Why don’t I pick you up around six?”

  “That would be fine,” she agreed. To her surprise he didn’t stand up to leave. “So, what is your favorite color?” she asked after a long awkward silence.

  “Sky blue,” he replied. “I can’t imagine a prettier blue than the Oklahoma sky in the spring.”

  “Did you always want to be a cowboy?” she asked curiously. Clay had a confidence about him, and even at ease he seemed to own and command the space around him. He seemed like a man satisfied with who he was and that only added to his overall attractiveness.

  “No way.” He laughed. “When I was younger I wanted to be either a professional ball player or a psychiatrist.”

  “A psychiatrist?” She looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really. I wanted to try to understand why people do what they do.” His eyes darkened. “Like why some people believe it’s okay to beat their kids, or why would a mother decide to abandon her children.” He shrugged and then laughed, although his laughter didn’t sound quite genuine. “And then I was introduced to Cass Holiday and I decided the life of a cowboy was right for me.”

  “I didn’t know Cass personally, but I heard lots of stories about her. I was sorry to hear about her death last year.”

  “Yeah, she could be tough, but she was like a mother to me and all the others at the ranch.” He stood abruptly. “I guess I’d better get out of here.” He drained the last of his lemonade and handed her the empty glass. “Thanks for the cold drink and I’ll see you at six.” He offered her his usual charming smile and she watched as he walked toward his truck in the driveway.

  Before he could pull away she went back into the house and relocked the door. She stood there for a long moment, thinking about the man who had just left, the man she was going to have dinner with.

  The man she’d thought rather vacuous, the cowboy she’d believed had sailed through his life on his good looks and flashing dimples, had displayed a hint of depth...of a darkness inside him. And she was surprised to realize she was eager to explore that depth—strictly as a friend, of course.

  Chapter 5

  Clay was thrilled and vaguely surprised that Miranda had actually agreed to have dinner with him. Not only was he looking forward to spending more time with her, but he also knew for sure she would be safe as long as she was with him.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon going about his chores—and with a bit of grief nagging at him as thoughts of Cass Holiday flittered through his mind.

  He’d been scared to death the first time he’d met her. He’d stood beneath her sharp, speculative gaze in the small formal living room of the ranch house and waited for her to toss him back out on the streets.

  “You’re kind of a scrawny kid,” she’d finally said. “No worries, we’re going to fatten you u
p and make a man out of you...a great man and a good cowboy.”

  And that was exactly what she had done. He wasn’t so sure about the great man part, but she’d taught him how to rope and how to ride. She’d taught him everything he knew about taking care of cattle and horses.

  She had been a tough but fair employer and a successful rancher. But she had also been a mentor and a mother figure who had grown to love fiercely the boys she had helped to raise.

  There had been many moments since her death that he had missed her terribly. He knew all the men who had been raised by her had those moments as well. She’d been such a huge force in all of their lives.

  He knocked off work at five and went to his room in the bunkhouse to shower and clean up. Thoughts of Miranda filled his mind and he was eager for their evening together to begin. He was just about to leave to go pick up Miranda when Dillon called.

  “I’ve got nothing,” the chief said, a deep frustration rife in his voice. “I interviewed dozens of people at the carnival, and I followed up with the three boys you told me about and unfortunately I’ve got nothing to give to you.”

  The hope Clay had entertained when he’d seen Dillon’s number on his phone quickly died. “So, we still don’t know if this was some sort of a crazy random act or if somebody specifically attacked Miranda.”

  “That’s correct. I don’t have enough information to know the answer to that. I just got off the phone with Miranda and told her the same thing. Hopefully, it was just a random act. Still, I’d love to arrest somebody. Throwing acid on anyone is a serious offense and I don’t want that person walking the streets in my town.” Once again Dillon’s voice was filled with a frustrated anger.

  “I guess all we can hope for is that somebody who knows something will come forward,” Clay replied.

  “I’ll keep you informed if I learn anything new.”

  “Yeah, or hopefully the perp will get drunk at the Watering Hole and confess to somebody who will then tell me,” Clay said. “I’ll definitely be keeping my ear to the ground.”

  “That makes two of us,” Dillon replied.

  The call ended and Clay headed out of the bunkhouse and toward the huge garage where his truck was parked. He was troubled by Dillon’s call. He’d hoped that by now the mystery would be solved and the perpetrator would be behind bars.

  He couldn’t imagine Miranda having any enemies. She was well-liked by everyone, as far as he knew, but maybe there was something he didn’t know about her. Still, he was leaning heavily toward the idea that it was a random act by some nutcase.

  Bitterroot definitely had more than its share of nuts, like Leroy Atkinson, who up until a few months ago, had believed space aliens were rocketing off and on his land. Rumor had it his entire house was lined with aluminum foil to keep spacemen rays from getting into him and harming him.

  Then there was Raymond Humes and the men who worked for him. They weren’t nuts but they were all crazy mean. Even just thinking about the old man who owned the ranch next to the Holiday place stirred a rich anger inside him.

  Although things had been relatively calm between the two ranches through the winter, he figured warmer weather would bring out the worst in Humes’s men and there would be the usual criminal mischief going on.

  In the past those men had ripped down fences, set fires and stolen cattle from the Holiday Ranch. Raymond Humes had hated Cass, and even after her death he wanted to destroy the very legacy she’d built with her ranch and the men who had loved her.

  But it was difficult to believe any of those men had attacked Miranda. They would have absolutely no reason to do such a thing.

  The Watering Hole was the most popular bar in town with cheap drinks and a huge dance floor. He definitely hoped the perpetrator would have one too many and tell somebody else that he’d thrown the acid at the carnival.

  He shoved all these thoughts away when he pulled into Miranda’s driveway. As always, a touch of excitement fluttered in his chest as he thought about spending more time with her. She must like him a little bit to have agreed to have dinner with him this evening and that made him excited to see what might come next between them.

  Before he reached her door it opened and she stepped outside. He nearly lost his breath at her loveliness. The waning sunshine painted her features in a golden glow and sparked in her blond hair.

  “You look very nice,” he said. Black slacks hugged her long legs and a long-sleeved lightweight pink sweater showcased her slender waist and the shapeliness of her breasts.

  “Thank you. You don’t clean up so bad yourself.”

  He was glad he’d decided to wear his best jeans and a blue-and-white pinstriped dress shirt.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked as they got into his truck.

  “Starving,” she replied. “I got busy grading papers this afternoon and forgot to eat lunch.”

  Clay laughed. “I don’t know how anyone ever forgets to eat a meal. I’m usually one of the first ones in line when Cookie puts the food out.”

  “Is he a good cook?”

  “He’s great, especially given the fact that he cooks for twelve hungry cowboys,” Clay replied. “Are you a good cook?”

  “I can hold my own. At least, my kids never complain about what I feed them.”

  “Do you have a specialty?” he asked.

  “My kids would tell you my specialty is my homemade mac and cheese, but I think I make a pretty good spaghetti sauce, as well.”

  “Mac and cheese is one of my all-time favorites, and talking about all this food has really made me hungry,” he replied.

  It didn’t take long for them to drive from her house to the café. The parking lot was nearly filled, attesting to the popularity of the café, especially on the weekends. Despite the crowd they managed to find an empty booth toward the back.

  They had just barely gotten settled in when waitress Carlie Martin greeted them. The pretty young blonde handed them each a menu. “Now, what can I start you two off with to drink?”

  “An iced tea,” Miranda said.

  “Make that two,” Clay added.

  “So, I assume Dillon called you, too,” she said once Carlie had moved away from their booth with their food orders.

  “He did, but let’s make an agreement not to talk about anything negative while we eat.” He smiled at her. “I just want us to relax this evening and I don’t want to see any worried frowns on your face.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she replied.

  And that was how it went. As they waited for their orders and then as they ate they didn’t mention anything about the acid attack.

  She told him how much she loved teaching, but she was also looking forward to summer and spending more time with her own children.

  “It’s tough sometimes, juggling everything, and there are times I feel like I give all my attention and time to other people’s children and not enough to my own. So during the summers it’s really important to give my kids lots of quality time with me.”

  “What do you like to do?” he asked.

  “We always spend lots of time at the city swimming pool.”

  “That sounds like fun.” He tried not to envision her in a bathing suit. “What else?” he asked in a desperate attempt to banish the visions that were attempting to form in his brain.

  “We take nature walks and play games in the back yard, and one day we’ll probably drive into Oklahoma City and go to the zoo. Now, tell me about you. What is it a cowboy does on the Holiday Ranch?”

  He told her about his chores and how the men rotated their duties. She asked him questions, letting him know she was genuinely interested in the information he was giving her. He also told her how close he was to the other men who had grown up with him on the ranch, and even though some of them were no longer working on the ranch and instead had places of their own, the men remaine
d tight and kept in touch with one another.

  Throughout the meal occasionally people stopped by their booth to greet them. Several offered their condolences and concern about what had happened at the carnival. Thankfully those interruptions were brief and didn’t interfere with the positive tone of their personal conversation.

  She told him about her love for her parents and how much she missed her father. “He was the center of my world,” she said. “I was definitely a daddy’s girl.”

  “I didn’t know him. What did he do?” he asked.

  “He was a mail carrier here in town. At the end of each day he would bring home a piece of special mail for me. It was either a card or a note telling me how much he loved me.”

  “He sounds like he was a wonderful man,” Clay replied, enjoying the glimpse she was giving him into her childhood.

  “He was, and watching him die was horrible. My mother grieved deep and hard for him, but she managed to keep it together for me.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “What about your parents?” she asked. “Do you have any kind of a relationship with them?”

  “None. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of the lost boys at Cass’s.” It was a story most people in town knew. After Cass’s husband died she lost all of her help at the ranch. Most of the men walked off because they didn’t believe Cass had the toughness to run the big spread. Twelve runaway boys who were living on the streets in Oklahoma City were brought in to work for her.

  “You know I’m one of those lost boys,” he continued. “I ran away from home when I was thirteen. Thank goodness I was only on the streets in Oklahoma City for a couple of months when a social worker who was friends with Cass took me to Cass’s ranch to work.”

  She gazed at him curiously. “Why did you run away? What made you choose living on the streets instead of living with your parents?”

  Clay’s head filled with the memories of the beatings he’d taken from his father. As bad as the beatings had been, the verbal and emotional abuse had been equally horrible.

  You’re nothing but a pathetic and ugly kid. You’re as ugly as your whore of a mother was. She was so ugly nobody else would have her. I married her ’cause I felt sorry for her. And I feel sorry for you, kid, having to wear that ugly face for the rest of your life.