Wide Open Spaces. Roz Fox Denny

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СКАЧАТЬ dipped her head in deference to her customer, then dashed away. It was Helen who returned with Summer’s horseradish. “How is everything?” she asked, anxiously surveying the trio.

      Rory had tucked into his chicken. He paused, letting his mom answer as he took a swig of milk. Colt smiled and continued to cut the meat steaming on his plate.

      Summer looked around the table. “Everything appears fine, Helen. Rory and I will be leaving as soon as we finish eating. Could you prepare our check, please?”

      “Sure you two won’t save room for Elvin’s deep-dish apple pie? Apples came in fresh today from Hood River.”

      “Audrey bought some. I only went into the house briefly this afternoon, but I know the whole place smelled of apples and cinnamon.”

      “Well then, enjoy your meals. I’ll leave your check at the register, Summer.”

      “You have someone at home who makes you pies?” Colt asked when curiosity got the better of him after several awkward minutes of silence.

      “Um, yes. Audrey Olsen. She and her husband, Virgil, came to work on the ranch when my grandfather was alive. Audrey cooked for the main house as well as for the wranglers. She also ran the chuckwagon during roundups. Still would if I’d allow it, despite the fact that she’s getting on in years. Virgil keeps our equipment running. Technically, they’re both past the age to retire, but the Forked Lightning is the only home they’ve known for forty years. When Dad died, I set aside retirement funds for them. I just discovered my husband had them canceled.” Glancing up with a guilty frown, as if she’d revealed more than intended, Summer exhibited a sudden interest in the food on her plate.

      For a moment, Colt thought she might cry. She merely blinked several times and scraped the left side of her hair behind her ear. It was something he already noticed she did—a sort of nervous gesture. An emotion akin to empathy wound tight as a watch spring in his stomach. He knew without Summer’s saying it that the faithful old couple would be out of a home when she lost the ranch.

      And losing it was inevitable.

      Hell, why was he feeling sorry for her? She’d walk away with a chunk of cash large enough to establish another annuity for the Olsens. It probably wasn’t fair that she’d have to fund it alone, but given what he’d learned of Frank Marsh, it was a cinch she wouldn’t get a cent from him.

      Colt continued to stare at Summer across the table as one emotion after another dulled the burnished gold of her eyes. He lacked words to lessen her pain, but somehow wished he could offer something to bring back their light.

      She shoved her nearly full plate aside and inquired softly as to whether Rory was ready to go. At the same time, Colt stumbled upon the only thing he could think of to offer. “If you need a hand rescuing those stranded eaglets, I’d be glad to drive out in the morning and help.”

      “What?” Summer’s head spun around until her frown connected with his hesitant smile.

      He shrugged. “You mentioned that Virgil shouldn’t climb cliffs. And you sounded as if it’d be taking your wranglers away from important work. I’m free tomorrow, and I’m a fair mountain climber, if I do say so myself. I haven’t done much lately. But a rescue like that isn’t something you should tackle alone.”

      “I, ah, frankly have no idea how to reach the nest. However, I don’t buy for a minute that you’ve got nothing better to do, Mr. Quinn. I hate to question your motive for making this gesture, but I’m afraid I do.”

      “Colt or Coltrane, please.” He sawed off another piece of roast beef and forked it up, wishing to heck he’d kept his mouth shut.

      “Col…trane.” She dragged out the syllables. “The only other Colt I’ve known was short for Coulter. His mother’s maiden name, if I recall.”

      “My mom gets the blame for naming me Coltrane, too,” he said, talking fast. “Except her maiden name was Potts. I should be grateful she was more committed to jazz than to her family. I did run the risk of being named Thelonious, however. After her other jazz idol, Thelonious Monk.”

      He laughed at Summer’s obvious confusion, and she noticed how laughter brought attractive laugh creases to his narrow, otherwise serious face. “Jazz,” she repeated slowly. “You’ve lost me. At the risk of sounding unsophisticated, I admit my musical education is stunted. When you spend as much time with cows as I do, about the only music you hear is an occasional harmonica, or a guitar around the night campfires. So…Coltrane is—was—your mother’s jazz idol?”

      “Yeah. Avid followers of John Coltrane called him Trane. My dad, a bronc-riding champion in his heyday, thought a son named Colt sounded cooler around the rodeo circuit. Ultimately, he won out. More people know me as Colt.”

      “Your parents are…?”

      “Dead,” he supplied, the coolness returning to his eyes and his voice. “It happened during a time I’d rather forget.” His capture at the hands of South American rebels. “If you want my help tomorrow, name a time and point me in the general direction of your ranch.” He pushed his own plate back and slid from the booth. Delving into the front pocket of snug-fitting jeans, Colt peeled off ones for a tip and dropped them on the table.

      “I’m sorry for your loss,” Summer said with honest feeling. “I didn’t mean to pry. My parents are both gone now, too,” she murmured, her tone sad.

      Rory, who’d remained silent throughout the exchange, scrambled out of the booth in Colt’s wake. He gazed at Colt raptly, but then turned and addressed his mother. “If Colt’s coming to the ranch to save the baby eagles, can I stay home from school?”

      Colt’s eyes, still trained on Summer, saw her power up to refuse. Again wondering why he felt compelled to intervene between mother and son, he quickly set Rory’s Stetson on the boy’s head. “Tell you what, pardner,” Colt drawled. “Nothing’s more important than school. But if we’re successful at rescuing those babies, I’ll just bet your mom will let you feed them when you get home.”

      “Can I, Mom?” Rory hopped from boot to boot, apparently oblivious to the sound of his heels clacking on the tile floor.

      Amazed at how easily Colt had solved her problem, Summer nevertheless stilled her son’s hyperactive jig, while feeling somewhat disgruntled by this stranger’s easy rapport with him.

      Hanging back to watch Colt gather his own hat and a leather binder she’d only just noticed, Summer said rather tartly, “You segued into that so smoothly, Mr. Quinn, it makes me wonder how many children you have of your own.”

      Colt yanked his Stetson over his eyebrows, trying to hide his surprise. Or was it simply his wary imagination that made him think Summer Marsh’s question held the tone of a woman personally interested in his answer? “No kids,” he mumbled at last. “I was married once, though,” he added, if for no other reason than to remind himself to carve a deep line in the sand, letting Summer Marsh know his mind didn’t run in that direction. “Once was enough.”

      His caustic declaration smacked Summer in the teeth. She fell back a step and let Colt lead the way to the register. Her face grew warm. Goodness, surely he didn’t think she’d been flirting—that she had designs on him?

      Marching up beside him, Summer slapped her money down as Megan arrived to cash them out. “One marriage was more than plenty for me, СКАЧАТЬ