The Last Real Cowboy. DONNA ALWARD
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the fit of a man’s jeans to personal involvement. They rubbed each other the wrong way. Then she remembered how he’d brushed by her the other night and how her body had suddenly become attuned to his. The real trouble was in the few moments where they had rubbed each other exactly the right way. At least on Saturday there would be tons of other people around and she’d be too busy keeping the kids busy and the food on the go to worry about Sam.
They were at the fence gate now and there wasn’t much left to say. He threw the reins up over the saddle horn and mounted, settling into the saddle with a creak of leather. “I’m not afraid,” he said. “Two hours. I’ll give you two hours Saturday afternoon to talk to whatever press you’ve lined up. Just keep your social-worker analysis to yourself, okay? I’m not interested. Save it for your clients.”
“Scouts’ honor,” she replied, lifting two fingers to her brow. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips. It wasn’t all she’d asked for, but more than she’d dare hoped and she counted it as a significant victory. Perhaps she’d be spared the public face after all.
He shook his head and gave the horse a nudge. As they were walking away he twisted in the saddle, looking back at her. “I’ll send over a check. I’d advise you to cash it before I change my mind and stop payment on it. Maybe you can cater your food for Saturday with it.”
He showed her his back again and they took off at a trot, stirring up dust.
Sam looked up from his desk and realized it was nearly dark outside. That meant … He checked his watch. It was going on ten o’clock. He’d been at it longer than he realized. But he wanted to start the construction on the new project before the end of summer, marking a new era for Diamondback. As he got older the more he realized he was caretaker not only of the Diamondback name but the land. The environmentally friendly initiatives were exciting, and he loved the idea of reducing Diamondback’s footprint. But his father’s stubborn refusal to sign off on the contracts was stressing him out.
He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. It grated on his nerves, having the responsibility of the ranch without also having the authority to make the changes he wanted. And with Virgil’s health so precarious, he was doing some fancy footwork these days trying to get his way without upsetting the proverbial apple cart. Between his father and the everyday running of the ranch, he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Angela that he didn’t have a moment to spare.
But then she’d had to go and challenge him and he’d been suckered in. It rankled that she knew how to push his buttons without really knowing him at all. He didn’t think he was usually so transparent.
She’d looked exhausted. There was the annoying realization that she’d been right in just about everything. A Diamond family member had promised to appear and her assertion that Butterfly House would need community support was valid.
But for Sam it had been more than that. It had been the look in her eyes, the way all the color had leached from her cheeks in the split second he’d grasped her wrist within his fingers. The expression had been enough to give even his jaded heart a wrench. There was more to Angela than the prim and proper businesswoman he’d met at the board meeting. This was personal for her and he wanted to know why.
He scowled. It was none of his business. The last thing he needed was to get sucked into someone else’s problems. If only his mother would agree to a hired nurse, she could go back to being Angela’s right hand and cheerleader. He worried about Molly, taking on all of his father’s care herself and refusing any help. With a sigh he closed his eyes. He was trying to hold everything together and not doing a great job of it.
A light knock sounded at the door and he turned in his chair. “Mom. You’re still up?”
Molly Diamond came in, and Sam thought she looked older than she had a few short weeks ago. There were new lines around her eyes and mouth, and she’d lost weight. The light sweater she wore seemed to hang from her shoulders.
“I just got your father settled. You’re up late.”
“Just going over the latest information on the biogas facility. I’m close to finally having the details nailed down. The sooner the better, we’ve had enough delays. I’m excited about it.”
“Sam …” Molly’s brow furrowed. “Right now those plans are more like building castles in the sand.”
“Then help me convince him,” he replied easily. “He won’t listen to me. This will take Diamondback into the future.”
“What sort of future? Who for, Sam?”
There it was again. The constant tone that said when are you going to start a family? Surely she realized it wasn’t a simple snap of the fingers to find the right woman. There had to be love. Whoever he married was taking on not only him but Diamondback as well. He gritted his teeth. “Two different subjects, Mom. And right now this facility is the right thing.”
Molly sighed. “It’s a big undertaking. And your father sacrificed a lot to make Diamondback what it is. He’s just … cautious. Please don’t trouble him about it. Not now.”
“It’s the way of the future. And I’ve spent a lot of hours putting this together.” Disappointment was clear in his voice.
“And it’s taking its toll,” she said, coming to the desk and pulling up a chair. The desk lamp cast a circle of cozy light and despite the recent troubles, Sam thought how lucky he was to have grown up here. It hadn’t always been easy, and there’d been a good many arguments and slammed doors, especially in younger years.
But he’d never once questioned their love, never once felt insecure. He thought of Angela, standing in the farmyard in paint-smeared, shapeless overalls and dark glasses. He wondered what her upbringing had been like, thought about the women who would benefit from Butterfly House. Not everyone had had the advantages that he’d had.
“What’s really on your mind, Sam?”
“Nothing, really. Just trying to keep up.”
“You met Angela Beck,” Molly said, leaning back against the cushion of the chair and crossing her legs. “She’s a worker.”
“A dog with a bone, more like it,” he muttered. Molly laughed and it was good to hear the sound. Ever since she’d found his father on the floor of their bedroom after his stroke, there hadn’t been much to laugh about.
“She’s doing a good thing, Sam.”
“I know. But you’re much better at this kind of thing than I am. I belong out there.” He lifted his chin, looking out the window. In the darkness, only the reflection from the lamp looked back at him. “We totally rub each other the wrong way. We can’t occupy the same space without arguing. I have intentions of being nice, and I end up being an idiot.”
To his surprise Molly laughed. “At least you acknowledge when you’re an idiot,” she answered, “which puts you a step ahead of most of the population.”
“Mom, why don’t you let me hire some help for you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Then you can still work on this project. It’ll be good for you.” Plus it would mean he wouldn’t be pulled away from the farm, and he wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with Angela’s acute observations—never mind her smoky eyes and delicious curves. She’d tried to hide them in the overalls, but they were still there. He didn’t like that he kept noticing. Didn’t like that she seemed to be on his mind more often than not.
“Because I want to be with your father.” Molly looked tired, but Sam noticed how her eyes warmed. “You’ll understand someday, when you’re married and you’ve been in love with that person for most of your life.”
Sam sighed. “Mom, I’m thirty-seven. Don’t count on it, okay? At this rate, Ty’s your best chance for a grandkid.”
Ty. Sam’s cousin by blood but also his adoptive brother. Any child of his would be considered a grandchild. But Ty was barely on speaking terms