Lone Star Rancher. Laurie Paige
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Three
Jessica stopped at the back door. Inside she could hear the laughter of a woman, then the deeper chuckle of a man, also her host’s rich baritone. She listened but couldn’t detect any other voices in the house. The guests were most likely Clyde’s parents.
She opened the door and felt the cooler, drier effect of conditioned air on her face. The day had gotten much warmer that the previous one, and the humidity was high. As a result, she was rather bedraggled.
After she’d explored the home area of the ranch that morning and found a lovely little lake formed by an earthen dam on the creek, she’d returned to the house and had a solitary lunch. Actually Smoky had kept her company. She’d napped, then set off exploring again in midafternoon. It was now almost six.
She quickly glanced around the pleasant kitchen. Yes, there were three people present. All eyes turned to her.
“Hello,” she said, drawing on the poise learned during her years in New York. “I’m Jessica, Violet’s friend. I spent a lovely weekend at your home last summer.”
“And brought a lovely basket of flowers. I now use the basket on my desk to hold my mail,” Lacey Fortune said, coming forward to take Jessica’s arm and lead her into the room. “Patrick, you remember Jessica, don’t you?”
“Yes. She beat the socks off all of us at tennis.”
“It’s my height,” Jessica explained, shaking hands with Clyde’s father. “It makes serving easier.”
She’d learned to play the game as a teenager at the Double Crown Ranch when she’d gone there with Violet. She and her friend had played regularly until this year when the demands of their careers had intervened.
“I’ve brought food,” Lacey continued, motioning toward the counter next to the refrigerator. “The boys live on air and liquids, it appears. I hope you like steak and shrimp.”
“Yes.” Jessica glanced at Clyde. She noticed he and his father each had a glass of the iced tea she’d made at lunch. She was thirsty, too, but first she needed a bath. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up and change. Smoky and I have been exploring the ranch this afternoon.”
“She likes to wade barefoot in the creek,” Clyde said in a somewhat lazy, somewhat amused drawl that sent an unexpected tingle through her nerves.
“How could you know that?” she asked.
“The foreman at the egg barn heard Smoky barking and checked it out. When he spotted a strange woman romping in the creek with the dog, he called my cell number and wanted to know if I had a…”
Jessica found herself hanging on the words as Clyde paused, as if censoring the foreman’s term for her.
“…a guest at the house,” he finished.
Jessica frankly doubted that “guest” was the word used.
Lacey laughed and returned to putting the groceries into the proper storage bins. “Did Clinton think she was your, ahem, lady friend?” she teased with open delight, giving the younger two a speculative perusal.
Jessica felt Clyde’s dark gaze drift over her in an insouciant manner that almost felt intimate. It lingered at her legs for a second before returning to her face.
“Yes,” he said. He paused before asking her, “I told my parents why you’re here. Do you mind?”
If he’d already explained her presence, there was hardly any point in objecting. She refrained from mentioning this obvious fact and shook her head instead.
“You and Violet both work too hard,” Lacey scolded. “I’ve often told her to bring you out for Sunday lunch, but you rarely take a weekend off,” she said.
“I’m frequently out of town or out of the country, according to what season it is,” Jessica told the friendly older woman to excuse her lack of visits.
Actually she didn’t want to impose on their friendship or give the impression she was a stray who couldn’t make it on her own in the city. She was a big girl and she’d made her own way in the world for a long time.
“Yes, well, no wonder you needed to rest and get away from it all,” Lacey said.
Jessica glanced at Clyde in confusion. He gave her a brief nod as if to say this was all he’d told his parents. She gave him a brief frown to tell him she’d appreciate being clued in on what she was to say. His answering grin was sardonic.
“Violet nagged her until she gave up and came down here,” he informed his parents.
His father chuckled. “That’s our daughter. She takes after her mother when it comes to noble causes…and to bossing others around and telling them what’s good for them.” He gave his wife a friendly tug on her hair as he teased her.
For some reason the couple’s playfulness brought the stereotypical lump to Jessica’s throat. She excused herself and headed up to her room.
Years ago she’d suspected that Violet’s family had considered her a sort of charity case, an underdog that their daughter had taken under her cloak of compassion. The remarks confirmed this suspicion…and hurt in a way she couldn’t explain.
Pride brought her head up and her chin forward as she went into her room. That same pride had made her cautious in dealing with them and was one reason she’d usually declined going to their home when Violet had tried to get her to attend family functions. It was the mother, not the daughter, who had a propensity for “causes,” and Jessica had been determined not to be one.
After showering and drying her hair, she slipped into a pair of pink silk slacks with a white silk blouse printed with pink flowers. A pink stretchy band held her hair away from her face, leaving it free to flow down her back in a nearly straight, shimmering cascade that was part of her casual hometown-girl persona the photographers loved.
She brushed bronze highlights onto her cheeks and a coral pink color onto her lips. A couple of flicks with the mascara wand brought out the length of her eyelashes and the robin’s-egg-blue of her eyes. She pulled on the black ballerina slippers she liked to wear around the house and returned downstairs.
Clyde was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables.
“May I help?” she asked.
“You want to finish the salad?”
“Sure. Are all these to go in it?” She indicated the vegetables on the counter beside the sink.
“Yes. Mom’s a stickler for lots of veggies. Don’t chop them too fine. She likes to be able to identify what she’s eating, she says.”
“Right. Uh, about my being here,” she said, lowering her voice to a near whisper as she came close to him. “Was that all you told your parents—that I was here for a rest?”
“Yes.” His gaze was cool when he glanced at her. “She would worry if she thought one of her chicks was in danger. That includes you, I’m afraid.”
“Me? Why?”
He gave a sardonic snort. “How long have you and Violet been friends?”
“Since we were twelve.”
“That’s twenty-one years. With you both being in New York, that friendship has grown. Mom considers you one of hers now.”
“Oh.” She had to laugh.
“What?” He handed her the paring knife and observed while she sliced carrots into the huge salad bowl.
“When I was a kid I saw a cartoon about a city mouse that visited his mouse cousin who lived on a farm. I’ve always wondered if your family thought I was a country mouse that Violet befriended. I think you just answered that.”
“You’ve traveled far from