The Swinging R Ranch: The Swinging R Ranch / Whose Line Is It Anyway?. Debbi Rawlins

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СКАЧАТЬ wanted to see a noose around his neck.

      Max gave her a big grin. “Excuse me, but isn’t the Swinging R legal in this county?”

      “Oh, don’t pay her any mind.” Mona tugged at Abby’s arm. “Go to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of lemonade and quit stirring up trouble.”

      Abby wouldn’t pull her gaze away from him. “For now. But that’s going to change real quick.”

      “When you’re mayor?”

      She lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

      Mona reared back her head. “Abigail Cunningham, what kind of foolishness is this? I never heard you say any such thing before now. Does your gramma know about this nonsense?”

      Abby turned red and looked away.

      “Seems I bring out the best in Abigail,” Max said, which earned him another glare.

      “Ah, shoot, she’s just joking.” Herbert slid an arm around Mona’s shoulders. “Aren’t you, Abigail?”

      “She’s got her nose out of joint because Estelle spent the night here,” Mona said before Abby could respond. “Let’s go have some lemonade and forget this crazy talk.”

      “Estelle spent the night here?” Herbert frowned, glancing briefly at Abby before returning his attention to Mona. “Why?”

      Abby’s entire body language changed. No longer looking defensive, she turned toward Mona, her light brown eyes turning dark and uncertain as she waited for the answer. Something so raw and vulnerable in Abby’s expression caught Max off guard and triggered an odd flutter in his gut.

      No one said a word for what felt like an hour. Mona’s nervous gaze darted to Abby, then back to Herbert. She fiddled with the fake string of pearls around her neck. She was stalling, thinking of something to say.

      Max glanced again at Abby. A crestfallen look dulled her eyes, and Max had a strong and strange urge to comfort her—which was of course absurd. Not just because he wasn’t the nurturing type or because he didn’t even know this woman. Not even because he had no idea who Estelle was or what the hell was going on. But the trace of longing and disappointment that lingered in Abby’s face, even as she bravely lifted her chin, struck a chord so deep inside him that he wanted to climb back into Herbert’s car and drive straight to the company plane and get as far the hell away from Nevada as he could.

      “I’ll answer that question, Herbert.” Abby gave the older man a tight smile. “My grandmother is trying to get away from me.”

      “Oh, hogwash.” Mona shook her head. “That’s not true. She wants to give you some breathing room.”

      “Of course it’s true. She thinks I’m too overbearing just because I’m concerned about her welfare. But this isn’t the time or place to discuss it.” Abby took a step toward the door. “So please tell her to give me a call when she gets in.”

      Max straightened. To his amazement, he didn’t want her to leave. “You running away from a fight?” he asked, and she glanced at him, looking a little startled, as though she’d forgotten he was there. “I never knew a successful politician who tucked their tail between their legs and ran.”

      “What on earth are you talking about?” She made a face. “Mona and I aren’t fighting.”

      “Now you sound like a politician—evading the question.”

      Abby wrinkled her nose. “I think you’ve been out in the heat too long.”

      “You boldly tell me you’re going to shut me down, then without a word of explanation you’re running off.” Max shook his head. “When you take a stand, you’d better be prepared to back it up if you want to be taken seriously.”

      She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him with tolerant amusement. “Really? And you know all about this sort of thing?”

      “More than I care to,” he said, and when she raised her brows, waiting for him to explain, he shrugged. “Let’s just say my family has some history in the political arena.” A small understatement, considering he came from several generations of senators. But he didn’t like to think about that.

      “Oh? And what do they think of you owning a brothel?” she asked, her tone so sticky sweet he was surprised she wasn’t swarmed by flies. “One that’s made money off of helpless women.”

      Max kept as straight a face as he could. From the looks of things, it had been a long time since this place had turned so much as a dime. And helpless? Mona looked like she was ready to take a switch to somebody’s behind.

      “What’s the deal, Abby? You sound like a disgruntled ex-employee or something,” he said seriously. At her wide-eyed indignation, he started to crack, but his poker face lasted long enough for him to add, “Or maybe you were turned down? If that’s the case, I’m sure we can reevaluate your application.”

      Abby obviously had a temper. He could see she was trying to squelch it by pressing her lips together and taking deep breaths, but her eyes had that unmistakable glint of malice.

      “How generous of you, Mr. Bennett,” she said with remarkable aplomb. “But I assure you that had I chosen to seek employment here, I would have had no trouble whatsoever.”

      Herbert chuckled.

      Mona gave him a warning look and placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, you two. That’s enough.”

      “He started it,” Abby blurted, and promptly turned red again.

      A grin tugged at Max’s lips. She really was cute. Refreshing, too. The women in his circle never blushed. In fact, a few of their ribald comments had made him squirm a time or two.

      “Okay, this is last call for lemonade,” Mona said, motioning Herbert to usher Max into the kitchen. “You’re still welcome, Abigail, if you promise not to bring up any more sore subjects.” She slid a glance to the door. “Otherwise I’ll have your gramma ring you later.”

      Abby gave the older woman a conciliatory smile. “I’m going to pass on the lemonade, but I would like a few minutes alone with Mr. Bennett.”

      Mona chortled. “When pigs fly.”

      Max held up a hand. “It’s okay, Mona. I think I can handle her.”

      Before Mona could voice another protest, Herbert slipped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the kitchen.

      “We’ll be lapping up some of Rosie’s lemonade while you two are pow-wowing,” he said. “Come join us when you’re done.”

      They waited until the other couple disappeared, and then Max gestured toward the living room. “Why don’t we sit down?”

      Abby smiled. “Didn’t take you long to make yourself at home, did it?”

      “I do own the place.”

      Rolling her eyes, she walked stiffly past him toward a frilly pink love seat beneath a velvet painting of Elvis Presley. So much for the room being furnished СКАЧАТЬ