Married In Montana. Lynnette Kent

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ is my only kitchen skill. Our housekeeper, Beth, is the genius.”

      He nodded. “Genius covers it. I hear you work the ranch with your dad.”

      “That’s right.” She said it with the warm surge of pride she always got when she thought about her job. “I wouldn’t do anything else.”

      “It’s beautiful country, that’s for sure.” A fifth cookie left the plate. “But hard work for a woman, I’d imagine. I’ve done some climbing since I got here a few weeks ago—this terrain can be tough.”

      Eyebrows lifted, Thea sat up straight. “You think it’s easier for a man?”

      He stared at her a second, his jaw hanging slightly loose, then laughed. “So you do that, too.”

      “Do what?”

      “Your dad doesn’t have to yell—he can cut like a bullwhip with just a whisper. And your voice just did the same thing.”

      Her cheeks got hot. “I didn’t intend to go after you with a bullwhip. Still, if you assume that because I’m female I can’t—”

      He finished the cookie and dusted the crumbs from his big hands, shaking his head the whole time. “Sorry, my mistake. It’s just hard to imagine a woman as pretty as you out there castrating calves all day.” His smile was a clear invitation to flirt back.

      But Thea had seen that smile—heard the line that went with it—too many times. She wasn’t about to fall for another slick maneuver, wasn’t about to be used to curry favor with her father.

      Especially not when she felt so…so vulnerable to this man. After just ten minutes of his company, no less.

      “I can castrate with the best of them, thank you very much, Deputy. I’ve delivered breech calves by myself and spent three days alone on horseback rounding up cows lost in a blizzard. There’s nothing on Walking Stones I can’t or won’t do.” She stood up. “Now, if you’ve finished your coffee, it’s late and I’m going to be at work before sunrise.”

      He got to his feet and picked up his hat. Under the bright kitchen light, his cheeks were a dull red. “I apologize yet again, Ms. Maxwell. I seem to be stepping in it whichever direction I turn.” Without waiting for her guidance, he made his way to the front of the house, fast enough that Thea had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. Before she quite reached the door, he’d crossed the porch and started down the steps.

      The cold rain had gotten worse, whipping across the driveway like bullets. Rafe Rafferty drew up his shoulders as he jogged out to his truck. The engine roared to life, the lights blazed, and for a second she could see him through the water-glazed windshield as he wiped a hand over his bare head. He glanced her way, and his mouth tightened.

      Then the tires squealed against the stones of the driveway and the truck disappeared into the night. Heedless of the damp chill, Thea stood there for a while, knocking her forehead against the edge of a door.

      I can castrate calves, she mocked herself in a prissy voice, and deliver breech births and round up cows in a blizzard.

      But she didn’t know jack when it came to men.

      ROBERT MAXWELL WAITED to check on his son until the upstart deputy had left and Althea had gone back to her bed. Standing in the doorway of Bobby’s room, he shook his head at the sight of his boy, spread-eagled on top of the blanket. In the dim light, he looked so much like his mother…the same thick, wavy black hair, the same dark sloe eyes, the fair skin and curved lips. Helen had given beauty to all of their children, but especially to their son. If only she had lived to give them her good sense.

      Instead, his three daughters seemed determined to flout his authority at every turn. Jolie, the eldest, now a doctor in California, had gone as far away from home as she could just as soon as she graduated high school. Cassie, their middle girl, had married the first wastrel she’d set eyes on and was now raising her seven-year-old son on her own. Althea, on the other hand, had turned down every man who looked her way—including the governor’s boy, a fiasco that had nearly quashed an important land deal requiring his dad’s approval. Damn, the girl was stubborn. Wouldn’t even agree to get the sale papers signed first, before she booted him out.

      As for his son, his hope, his pride…the next generation of Maxwells and the future of Walking Stones Ranch depended on a boy who did everything he could think of to shirk the work, escape the responsibilities. Robert knew that time and trends were against the individual rancher these days—without constant and diligent work, without cunning and education and insight, a man’s property could be taken from him by one bad season, by an unexpected epidemic, by a few unlucky investments.

      But Bobby didn’t give a tinker’s damn. One hundred fifty years of Maxwell sweat and blood stood in serious jeopardy, unless something changed the boy’s attitude and bound him to the land.

      Only once in his life had Robert Maxwell failed to get what he wanted. He had not been able to save his wife’s life 15 years ago, not with prayers, or money, or even with the force of his will. He’d accepted that defeat as a circumstance beyond his control.

      But as long as he lived, he would not tolerate the loss of even a square foot of Walking Stones land. The ranch would remain intact, no matter what it took in terms of time, cash and determination. This was the legacy Maxwell men labored under from birth until death, a legacy Bobby would come to understand. To embrace.

      He simply had no other choice.

      WHEN RAFE FINALLY reached the questionable shelter he’d been calling home for the past few weeks, Jed waited by the door. “Not even a dog should have to go out in this,” Rafe told him. But Jed just heaved a heavy bloodhound sigh and headed into the dark. By the time he got back, Rafe had changed his clothes down to the skin and started a fire. After he toweled the dog off, they both settled down near the blaze.

      “You’d think I wouldn’t be so surprised,” Rafe commented after a swallow of beer. “I’ve seen folks like this before. The Maxwells own more of Montana than God. Which, at least in their opinion, puts them above the law.”

      Jed thumped his tail twice. “Yeah, I know it’s bull, too. But they don’t. And it’s gonna get worse. Bobby’s a nice kid, I’m thinking, who’s got a serious problem with alcohol. If his family has a clue, they’re not doing anything about it.”

      Rafe finished the beer and settled into the lumpy couch he was using as a bed until the moving company found his furniture. “Princess Althea almost had me fooled into thinking she was different. That smile of hers could keep a man warm through the worst Montana blizzard.”

      He pictured her as she’d looked across the kitchen table—her greenish-blue eyes wide and friendly, her mouth deep pink and richly curved, the crisp layers of her shiny black hair begging to be played with. He’d admired her stamina, her patience with her little brother, the fact that she didn’t get flustered about sharing cookies with him at one in the morning in her pajamas. She was far and away the best part of Montana he’d come across yet.

      Then, in a split second, the mask had crumbled, leaving him with just another Maxwell, arrogant and totally out of reach.

      “Doesn’t matter.” Rafe punched the couch pillow and pulled the mothball-scented blanket over his shoulder. “This town—and the family that appears to own it—may not want a deputy who does his job.” The guys in the county office had warned him about his likely reception СКАЧАТЬ