The Man Who Had Everything. Christine Rimmer
Читать онлайн книгу.
now.” She cast a rueful glance down at her wet shirt and jeans. “And it’s a warm day and I couldn’t help thinking how good the water would feel without… uh. Well, you know.”
He grunted. Didn’t he? Hadn’t that been a grunt she heard?
“Uh, Grant?”
A grunt. A definite grunt. One with sort of a question mark at the end of it.
“I really didn’t expect anyone to ride by. I truly didn’t…”
“Steph.”
She gulped. “Yeah?”
A pause. Her dread increased. Was he irritated? Amused? What? She just couldn’t tell.
Then he actually looked at her again and gave her one of those gorgeous heartbreaker smiles of his. “Don’t sweat it, okay? I know the feeling.”
She felt her mouth bloom wide in a giant smile. “You do?” God. She sounded like such a dumb, innocent kid…
But he was nice about it. He was always nice. “Oh, yeah. Nothin’ like a cold, clear creek on a hot day.”
She clicked her tongue at Trixiebelle, who was showing more interest in cropping grass than in moving it along. “Well,” she said, and couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say. She finished lamely, “Good…”
They rode in silence the rest of the way. Stephanie tried to concentrate on the beauty of the green, rolling land around them and not to think about how he really must be irritated with her no matter how hard he tried to ease her embarrassment. He was so quiet, so reluctant to turn her way.
Bart, the old spotted hound, came out to meet them when they got to the house. He wiggled in delight, whining for attention from his old master.
Grant dismounted and took a moment to greet him, “There’s a good boy.” He gave the dog a nice scratch behind the ear.
Rufus emerged from the tack room as they walked their horses into the barn. He shook Grant’s hand in greeting and then started giving orders.
“Go on in the house, you two. Leave the horses to me. I’m still good for a few things around here, you know.”
So they thanked him and headed across the open dirt yard to the plain, white-shingled, two-story house. On the wide front porch, Steph paused to pull off her muddy boots.
Inside, the old wood floors had a warm scuffed gleam and a short walk through the front hall past the simple oak staircase led them to the kitchen in back.
Marie Julen had the oven door open. She pulled a sheet of cookies out and set it on a rack to cool. And then she turned, her face breaking into a welcoming grin at the sight of Grant. “Well, look what the cat drug in.”
Grant grinned. “Sure does smell good in here.”
“Get over here, you.”
In two long strides, he was across the room, grabbing Steph’s mom in a hug. When he pulled back, he held her by her plump shoulders. “You bake those cookies just for me?”
She grinned up at him. “Well, of course I did—even though I had no idea at all that you were coming to visit today.” She sent Steph a knowing look, taking in her soggy clothes and wet hair. “I’m guessing that cow is now safely out of the pond.”
Steph nodded. “And I really need a shower—hey!” She faked a warning look at Grant, who’d already grabbed a couple of cookies. “Leave some for me.”
“I’m makin’ no promises.” He winked at her when he said it and she dared to hope that the awkwardness between them was past.
She turned for the stairs as her mom tempted him with her fine cooking. “Pot roast for dinner.”
Stephanie’s heart lifted as she heard him answer, “Sounds too good to pass up. I’ll stay.”
Grant was downright relieved when Steph went upstairs.
He needed a little time to collect himself, to get used to the idea that she’d somehow grown up right under his nose, to get over his shock at how damn beautiful she was. How could she have changed so much, so fast? Shouldn’t he have noticed she was becoming a woman—a beautiful woman—before now?
He needed to stop thinking about her. He needed to remember his purpose here today. It wasn’t going to be easy, telling them about the sale.
But then again, now he’d said he’d stay for dinner, there was no big rush to get into it. He’d break the news during the meal. That way Rufus and the other hand, Jim Baylis, would be there, too. He could tell them all at once, answer whatever questions they had right then and there, and reassure them that he’d find other work for all of them.
Steph already gave riding lessons at the resort, by appointment only. He was thinking he could get her something full-time at the stables. And maybe he could arrange to get Marie something where there would be cooking involved. Not at the resort, but possibly in town. She did love to cook and she was damn good at it, too.
He washed his hands in the sink and took a seat at the kitchen table. Marie, as usual, read his mind.
“Beer?”
“You bet.”
She set the frosty bottle in front of him and then went back to the oven to take a peek at the other sheet of cookies she had baking in there. A born ranch wife, Marie loved taking care of the house and keeping the hands fed and happy. When she was needed, she would get out with the rest of them and drive cattle to higher summer pastures or work the chutes at branding time.
As he watched her bustling about, he couldn’t help comparing mother to daughter. Steph had inherited Marie’s light hair and green eyes, but she’d got her height and build from her dad. Andre Julen had been as tall and lean as Marie was short and round.
When Grant was growing up, the Julens had owned and worked the next ranch over, the Triple J. Marie and Grant’s mom, Helen, were the best of friends. So were Andre and John. Grant’s sister, Elise, and Steph used to play together, running up and down the stairs, giggling and whispering little-girl secrets while their mothers sat at the table where Grant sat now. Marie and Helen would drink strong black coffee and share gossip while they did the mending or snapped the beans for dinner.
Helen and Elise Clifton lived in Billings now. They’d signed over control of the ranch to him, though they still shared in any profits—including the big windfall that would come with the sale. His mom and sister seemed happy in Billings.
Marie and Steph, though.…
For them, losing the Triple J six years ago had been like losing a husband and a father all over again. They were ranch folk to the bone….
“I heard that resort of yours is full up for the Fourth of July.” Marie put the lid back on the cast-iron pot.
The Fourth was three days away, on Wednesday. Grant tipped his beer at Marie. “You bet we are.” Teasing her, he quoted from a recent brochure. “Treat yourself to magnificent mountain views, sumptuous luxury, and thrilling recreation at Thunder Canyon Resort.” He brought his beer to his heart and really hammed it up. “You’ve come to us for the best in winter sports and entertainment. Now, you’re invited to explore our winding mountain trails, weaving in and out of lush forests, dotted with cascading streams.” He paused, dramatically, then announced, “Thunder Canyon Resort. The ultimate vacation or conference spot—peaceful, refreshing, with an endless variety of activities. Come to relax. Come to party. We offer fun and excitement, rejuvenation of mind, body and soul in a majestic setting, year-round.”
Marie laughed and clapped her hands and joked, “Sign me up.”
He shrugged. “I admit, after Independence Day, things’ll slow down. But hey. We’re doing all right—and Marie, you’ve got to quit calling it my resort.” Grant did have shares in the partnership, but the resort had started out as the