The Truth About Tate. Marilyn Pappano
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in the morning.”
“He’s kinda cranky in the afternoon and evening, too, isn’t he?”
He ignored the teasing and concentrated on his coffee. Usually it wasn’t hard to do, but usually Natalie Grant wasn’t standing a few feet away, a bright light in his dusky morning.
Dress appropriately, he’d told her, and she had. Her shirt was chambray, well-worn and tucked into faded jeans that fitted snugly and held a sharp crease all the way down each leg to a pair of running shoes. Her incredible hair was pulled back and caught with a glittery band, and she wore a Crimson Tide ball cap. The outfit made her look closer to Jordan’s age than his own.
He wished she was ten or twelve years younger. Of all the women he’d ever known, she was the most dangerous. He very much needed to keep his distance from her, but that was easier said than done.
“So, Jordan,” she was saying. “You’re handsome, a star athlete, you cook and do dishes, too. You’re going to make some lucky woman a very good husband someday.”
“I’m not planning on getting married,” he replied, his manner offhand. “Nobody else does. Go ahead and have a seat. You want coffee, milk or orange juice?”
“Juice, please.”
Natalie joined Tate at the table, bringing with her a faint hint of fragrance—something light and flowery that he didn’t recognize—but he hardly noticed. He was thinking instead about Jordan’s comment. I’m not planning on getting married. No one else does.
The last thing Tate wanted was for Jordan to get any ideas of what marriage, relationships and family were supposed to be from his own family. Lucinda hadn’t set out to have two sons with different fathers and no husbands. She’d expected to get married when she’d finished school—had certainly expected to be a wife before she became a mother. Just as he had always expected to be married before he became a father. Sometimes things just didn’t work out the way people expected.
But he still believed the ideal family included a mother and a father, married and committed before the kids came. That was what he wanted for Jordan when he was old enough. He didn’t want his grandchildren to carry on the family tradition of illegitimacy—didn’t want Jordan to give up one single dream to take on the hardships of single fatherhood. He wanted his son’s future to be every bit as normal and routine as his past wasn’t.
Jordan brought platters of food to the table, refilled both Tate’s and his own coffee and poured Natalie’s juice before sliding into his chair. They passed the food around, then ate in silence until Natalie, obviously not as comfortable with it as they were, spoke up. “When does school start?”
“In a couple weeks,” Jordan replied.
“Are you looking forward to it?”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve had much time to be bored. But it’s okay. I don’t mind going back.”
“I loved summer vacations,” she said with a faint smile. “My father and I usually did some traveling—always related to his job, of course. Depending on what was happening in the world, we’d spend a few weeks in London, Paris or Rome. Of course, they were working trips—” her smile slowly slipped “—so I spent a lot of time alone in hotel rooms.”
“Jordan doesn’t get summer vacations,” Tate said sharply. “His time off from school is spent working on the ranch.”
“But at least I don’t have homework.” Under the table Jordan nudged Tate with his foot, then frowned.
Just what he needed—to be reprimanded by his sixteen-year-old son. The fact that the reprimand was deserved brought a rush of warmth to Tate’s cheeks.
Still wearing that warning look, Jordan asked, “What’s on the schedule for today, Uncle J.T.?”
“Ms. Grant wants to follow me around, so I’m putting her to work. We’re going to check fence and replace that section out by the creek.”
“I thought I’d try again to get the truck running, then go out and spray for weeds.” After sandwiching two strips of bacon between halves of a biscuit, Jordan stood up, drained his coffee, then headed for the door. “I’ve got practice at three. If you need anything from town, leave a list on the table. I should be home around the usual time, unless the coach is in a bad mood.”
After he left, Tate finished his own coffee while studying Natalie. She hadn’t eaten a fraction as much breakfast as he and Jordan had, and seemed preoccupied at that moment with separating the half biscuit remaining on her plate layer by layer. She didn’t seem to want to talk to him or even acknowledge him in any way.
So, naturally, he left her no choice. “Ready to go?”
Abruptly she dusted her hands, slid to her feet and began clearing the table. Instead of offering his help, he got a large cooler and filled it with ice and water. By the time he finished, she was ready, too, with a large bag slung over one shoulder.
“What’s all that?” he asked after he’d locked up and they’d started across the yard.
“Tools of the trade. Tape recorder, notebook, camera.” She gestured toward the materials Jordan was loading into the bed of the pickup truck parked in front of the bar. “What’s all that?”
“Tools of my trade.” He put the cooler in back, then slid into the driver’s seat. “Thanks, Jordan. See you later.”
Natalie settled in on the passenger side, putting her bag on the seat between them. After taking out a camera, she opened the lens cap, then looked through the viewfinder. “Looks like you’ve got company,” she remarked as she wiped the lens with a soft cloth.
He looked in the same direction she had and saw a lone rider on horseback coming up the driveway. “That’s Mike, our neighbor’s kid. If Jordan can’t fix the truck, she probably can.”
“Tall, plain and mechanically inclined to boot. Poor Mike.”
Tate gave her a sharp look before he drove around the bar and onto a well-used, if primitive, road that crisscrossed the ranch. “Mike is one of Jordan’s best friends. She’s a good kid, smart and sweet. She doesn’t deserve your insults.”
“I’m not insulting her. I’m commiserating with her. You were a teenage boy yourself at one time. You were handsome, a jock and, I presume, fairly popular with the girls. Was there one girl in school who wanted to be best friends with you?”
He’d gotten his share of attention from girls from the time he was about thirteen years old. He’d had girlfriends and friends who were girls. But he’d always known he could have more from his girl friends. All he’d needed to do was let them know.
“Mike may be one of Jordan’s best friends,” Natalie went on. “But that’s not all she wants to be. She’s settled for what she can have, not what she wants.”
“And you know all this about a girl you’ve never met…. How?”
“I saw the way she was looking at him in the photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The one in your mother’s living room.” When he didn’t respond, she scowled. “The one with Jordan gazing adoringly at the Barbie doll. Sheesh, you didn’t even realize Mike was in that picture, did you? Men.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Okay, so he should have known Mike was in the picture. And, yeah, maybe he hadn’t noticed her because Barb—Shelley had grabbed his attention, or maybe just because he was so accustomed to seeing Mike. She’d practically grown up here on the ranch. But he wasn’t any more attracted—or distracted—by a pretty face than anyone else, man or woman.
But red hair and long legs… That combination could make him a goner real quick.
After a moment she withdrew the tape recorder from her bag and pressed the record button.