A Husband Made In Texas. Rosemary Carter
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can’t afford any cowboys?’
‘I keep telling you there are some. Just not as many as there should be.’
‘Which is why you’re working flat-out yourself. A slip of a girl, taking on the work of a bunch of men.’
Two bright spots of red burned in Kaitlin’s cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with anger. ‘Is that pity I hear in your voice, Flynn Henderson? If it is, save it for someone else. The ranch is my life. I am where I want to be. Living the way I want to live. Sure, I admit things could be better, but they could be a lot worse, too. I’m coping. And if there’s one thing I can’t bear, it’s pity. I’ll manage, Flynn, somehow I’ll manage.’
Flynn thought admiringly, and not for the first time, that Kaitlin had more guts and drive and independence than both her parents had possessed together.
He asked, ‘What happened to the girl whose life was one mad whirl of fun? Horses, swimming, picnics, parties? What happened to her, Kaitlin?’
‘Did she exist?’ Kaitlin’s tone was brittle.
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Dimly.’
‘Whereas I remember her vividly. She was lovely, Kaitlin. Pretty beyond belief, with skin like roses just out of the bud. Vibrant, and so full of fun that you couldn’t help being happy, too, when you were with her. And sexy, Kaitlin. So sexy that a man thought he’d go crazy if he couldn’t make love to her.’
Kaitlin looked away from him, and then back. ‘Are you sure she was real, Flynn?’
‘Flesh and blood down to the last dainty toe. What happened to her?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Think you could find her?’
‘How can I, when she’s gone?’
‘Has she really gone, Kaitlin?’
‘Forever. Never to return.’ A small smile of wry amusement touched her lips. ‘And maybe it’s all for the best, Flynn—she sounds revolting.’
‘Actually, she was delightful.’
Kaitlin swallowed. ‘The fact is, she’s gone, Flynn, and she’s not about to return. That girl lived in another world, another era.’ Picking up her paintbrush, she began to paint once more, slapping paint on the fence with what seemed to Flynn to be unnecessary energy.
A few minutes went by. Then Kaitlin said, ‘Talking about the past, Flynn, I could ask you what happened to the guy I once knew. The young cowboy. He was fun, too, at least until—’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Until?’ Flynn prompted.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Maybe it does to me.’ His face was still, his tone urgent.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said again.
‘Until? The cowboy was fun until what, Kaitlin?’
She was working quickly now, her small oval face fierce with concentration. Briefly she turned to him. ‘Don’t press me, Flynn. That world, the one we lived in, has vanished. Forever. There’s no way it can ever come back to life.’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘Positive. The person you talk of, I can’t believe I was ever that girl, Flynn. If you must know, I wouldn’t even want to be like her any more. As for you, I just have to look at you to know you could never be that sweet young cowboy again, either. So just drop the subject—OK?’
For a few minutes she worked in silence. Presently she turned to him. ‘You still haven’t told me why you’re here, Flynn.’
‘We’ll talk about it later. When I’ve helped you with the fence.’
She stared at him. ‘Oh no, I don’t think so.’
‘Where can I find a brush and another pot of paint?’
‘It’s out of the question, Flynn!’
‘Two can do the job twice as quickly as one. Just think, Kaitlin, you’ll be able to go back to the house earlier. Imagine yourself in the tub, and after a nice long soak, enjoying a cool drink.’ He grinned at her.
Kaitlin hesitated a moment, her expression one of such open yearning that Flynn understood quite how tempting his offer was.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said at last, but her tone was reluctant.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I can’t afford to pay you for your labour.’
‘Did I say anything about charging?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? You keep telling me you’re a businessman. What would you do, Flynn—add the painting costs to the mortgage?’
‘Actually,’ he drawled, ‘just this once, my services won’t cost you a cent. Where’s a brush, Kaitlin? And don’t try putting me off, because it won’t work. Where’s all your stuff? In the shed, where it used to be?’
A glance at Flynn’s face must have convinced Kaitlin that he meant what he said, for after a moment she nodded. Minutes later he emerged from the shed, paintbrush in one hand, hammer and a screwdriver in the other in case something needed repair, he explained.
For a while they painted in silence. Eventually, Flynn said, ‘Time for a break.’
‘You can take a break, Flynn. I won’t.’ Flynn, the weakling, her tone implied.
He was unabashed. ‘Trying to prove something to me, or to yourself, Kaitlin?’
‘I’m not proving anything to anybody. I’m just determined to get a job of work done.’ Beneath her tan she was pale, and her eyes looked exhausted.
‘Do you think a break would hold you up?’ Flynn asked, quite gently.
‘When there’s so much left to do? Yes, it would hold me up.’ Her tone was defiant.
There was no arguing with her when she was in this mood. ‘Fine,’ Flynn said easily, ‘we’ll go on in that case.’
Side by side, they worked, sharing the same can of white paint. Around them the air bristled with tension, but Flynn pretended not to notice it. He began to talk, light talk, inconsequential: a question about a cowboy he remembered from the past; a comment about an oil-strike which had been reported in the Texas newspapers recently; the weather. Little by little, the tension lessened.
They had moved to another section of fence when Kaitlin said, ‘Remember when you roped the calf? I asked you if you’d been a rodeo rider?’
‘I remember.’
‘Were you on the rodeo circuit, Flynn?’
He looked at her. ‘Yes.’
‘After you left the ranch?’
‘Yes again.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘So I was right! What did you do on the circuit, Flynn? Roping?’
‘At first. Until I started riding the bulls.’
‘Bull-riding?’ She looked at him in disbelief. ‘Is that a joke?’
‘No.’
‘It’s so hard to imagine. Bull-riding! I’m not sure if you’re having me on.’
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