The Rancher and the Runaway Bride Part 2. Сьюзен Мэллери
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seemed a little put out by my conversation with McGregor. He was just joking. I knew that. I don’t want you to think I took his flattery seriously.”
Brady winced. Bad enough to act like a jerk, worse to be caught. “I’m sorry, Rita. That wasn’t it at all. You’re welcome to go to the dance or anywhere else. Your free time is just that. Yours. I think you’d have fun, so I hope you’ll go. McGregor is a great dancer, if you don’t mind some theatrics along the way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I might even claim a dance myself, seeing as you have this thing for old men.”
That earned him the smile he’d been waiting for. As her mouth curled up, her eyes began to sparkle. “I consider humoring the elderly my good deed for the day.”
“When have you humored me? Weren’t you the one encouraging insurrection with my horse just a few minutes ago?”
“Hardly.” Her humor faded a little. “Are you or Tex going into town in the next few days? If either of you are, I need a ride. I have to buy a couple of things.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Rita. I should have thought of that. You’ve been trapped out here on your afternoons off.”
“I don’t mind,” she said quickly. “I like being on the ranch. A couple of the cowboys have invited me to ride in with them, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. Until now, shopping hasn’t been an issue, but I’d like to buy something for the dance.”
So much for being a thoughtful employer, he thought grimly. He paid her in cash, as he did all his employees. The people who worked for him often didn’t have bank accounts. But he hadn’t considered that she might want to spend some time in town. And maybe not alone.
He’d told her not to make trouble with the men and she’d listened. “You don’t have to avoid all social contact with the men,” he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. “If you would like to see one of the cowboys off the ranch, no one will interfere. What I’m trying to say is when you’re on your own time—”
She cut him off with a wave. Faint color stained her cheeks. “I know what you’re saying. That’s not what I meant. There’s no one that I want to see that way. I mean, they’re all very nice men and I appreciate the time they’ve taken to befriend me, but it’s not anything else.”
Did that include him, too?
The thought came out of nowhere, and Brady wished it back to that spot. “Okay,” he said slowly. “That’s clear. I have to go into town day after tomorrow. You’re welcome to take the afternoon off and ride in with me. My business will keep me busy for a couple of hours. Is that enough time?”
“More than enough.” She rose to her feet and smiled. “Thanks, Brady.”
He watched her walk out of the office, trying to ignore the sensation of being sucker punched. It had just been a smile. Nothing more. So why had it hit him like a blow to the gut? And lower?
* * *
Randi Howell, a.k.a. Rita Howard, tried to dispel the butterflies dancing in her stomach, but however much she imagined calming pictures and words, those darned butterflies just kept acting up. It was as if they moved to a wild music only they could hear.
Nerves, she thought in disgust. When would she be able to control her emotions? They were just going to town, yet she was as tense and nervous as she’d been when she’d first run away from her wedding to Hal Stuart.
Maybe it was that all small towns looked alike, she thought as she stared out the side windows at the stores lined up on the single main street. This one could have been any of a dozen she’d driven through as she’d hitched rides to escape from Grand Springs. Familiar yet unfamiliar, reminding her that she’d chosen to run instead of stand up for what she wanted.
Don’t think about that now, Randi told herself. She didn’t want to ruin her afternoon. So as Brady pulled the truck into a parking space, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind.
“Everybody knows everybody,” he warned as he turned off the engine. “You’re going to get a lot of questions and be the favorite topic at dinner for the next couple of days. Think you can handle that?”
“As long as what they’re saying is nice.”
“A pretty girl like you? What else would they say?”
She laughed. “You’re as bad as McGregor. All hot air and flattery. Here I was thinking you had substance.”
He winked. It was all just a game. Harmless conversation. Yet she couldn’t help but be pleased by his words. No one had ever told her she was pretty, not even in jest. Whether or not Brady meant the compliment, she was going to hang on to it with both hands.
She slid out of the seat and slammed the door behind her. Brady paused on the sidewalk and pointed up the street.
“We have a general store on the corner. Some folks call it a department store, but that’s stretching things a little. There’s clothes, shoes and other female kind of stuff.”
“Gee, what would that be?”
Confident Brady looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You know. Creams and junk.”
“Makeup?”
“That, too.”
“Creams and junk. What a way you have with words.”
He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Just because I’ve brought you into town doesn’t mean you have the right to say anything you want to me.”
“Sure it does. Here you’re not my boss. You’re just a guy who’s terrified of female stuff.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I’m not afraid.”
Wondering what it was about this man that made her want to have fun, she stretched out her hand and touched his cheek. “You ever have a facial, Brady? You could use something to tighten those pores.”
He jerked his head away as if she’d burned him. “My pores are just fine.”
“And those little lines around your eyes. They have stuff to prevent that.”
He turned toward the storefront next to them. The large plate-glass window reflected the street. Brady frowned, then smiled, as if checking his wrinkle quotient.
Randi covered her mouth to hold in her laughter. Who would have thought this big, tough cowboy would be so easy to tease?
“I don’t know what you’re—” He glanced at her and drew his eyebrows together. “You’re laughing!” His voice accused her of an unforgivable crime.
“No, I’m not.” She swallowed hard and forced her expression to stay neutral.
“You’re mocking me. I don’t have a problem with my pores, or my eyes.”
She gave in to humor and chuckled. Brady grinned. “I’ve been had,” he complained. “You should warn a man when you’re going to take advantage of him.”
“You love the attention.”
“Hey, I’m the strong, silent type. You want to continue to make fun of me, or do you want to shop?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Tough decision. Can I really pick either one?”
“Why do I put up with you?” He placed his hand on the back of her neck and pushed her forward.
“Because there isn’t another alternative.”
She was proud of herself for managing a relatively long, coherent sentence. It was hard enough to keep breathing, let alone talking, while Brady was touching her neck.
She told herself it was an impersonal gesture at best. That it didn’t mean anything. He was treating her like a little