A Wife in Wyoming (3 page)

His silence was getting on her nerves, so she spoke the thought at the front of her mind. “You and your brothers didn't grow up at the Circle M, did you?”

“No.” The hand lying on his thigh fisted and then relaxed. “My folks had a house in town. When Dad died—” he paused and drew a deep breath “—Wyatt went to work for Henry MacPherson at the ranch. After a couple of years, the old man had us move out here. Dylan was twelve, I think. I stayed for the summer before heading off to college.”

“So you really haven't lived here that long.” She turned off the road to drive between two stacked-rock columns, which supported an iron arch carrying the ranch's brand—a circle with an M inside. “You didn't come back for the summers, did you?”

He glanced in her direction, his eyebrows raised. “You kept track?”

Caroline felt her cheeks flush. “It's just...I mean, for those first few years, the graduating class got together, you know, to have a party during the summer and find out what everybody was doing. But you were never there.” Even that was admitting too much. Why had she noticed whether Ford Marshall came or not?

“As I said earlier, I worked most summers in legal offices, getting experience to put on my law school applications.”

“But you probably wouldn't have come even if you were in town.”

“Probably not. I wasn't Mr. Social Scene when I was here.” After a moment, he continued. “But you were. I'm not surprised you made all the parties.”

That was the third strike, as far as Caroline was concerned. She stomped on the brake, put the truck into Park and turned in the seat to face him. “What did I do to you that made you resent me so much?”

Again, that look of surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“That's the third time you've insinuated that I'm shallow and stupid.”

“You said you got your master's degree. That's not stupid. I just meant you were Miss Popularity.”

“There you go again. Yes, I was popular in high school. When did that become a crime?”

“This is a ridiculous argument for two adults to have. High school was fifteen years ago.”

“But whatever grudge you've got against me is standing in the way of helping some troubled kids get the future they deserve. So I want to deal with it now and move on.”

His hand fisted again. “I was a poor orphan kid from the wrong side of town. You were the rich socialite with the world and most people in it at your feet. I grew up being reminded I wasn't good enough to breathe the same air as George Donnelly's kids. But I'm over it. Can we drive now?”

Caroline continued to stare at him. His explanation fit the facts and yet...didn't. What wasn't he saying? “People do change, you know.”

“Yes, they do. Some more than others.” He opened the door and dropped to the ground. “Thanks for the ride. Garrett will call you after we have the family meeting.” With a two-fingered salute from an imaginary hat brim, he set off in the direction of the house.

As he strode off, Caroline noticed the summertime beauty of the lush pastureland around her. Circle M Ranch sat at the base of the Big Horn Mountains, where a winter's worth of snow had brought up green grass and gorgeous wildflowers—pink fireweed, yellow buttercups, white daisies and blue lupines.

She also appreciated the physique of the man walking away from her. He'd taken off his jacket, and she enjoyed the play of shoulder muscles under his dark plaid shirt, the fit of denim over his narrow hips and long legs. He had certainly changed since high school—though still lean, he carried himself with a confidence the skinny teenager had lacked.

Yet he'd been the cutest boy in school. Which was why she'd always hugged to herself a secret crush on Ford Marshall.

Not that she would tell him about it. He was way too sure of himself for her to give him that kind of advantage. Maybe she'd had a lucky escape in high school—a man like Ford would dominate a woman's life rather than simply share it. And Caroline wouldn't surrender her hard-won independence just to be someone's “little woman.”

This summer, though, she wanted him on her side, which meant mending fences. So she put the truck in gear and followed him down the road, slowing as she came alongside him. Through the open window, she called, “I'm sorry for being cranky. Get in and I'll take you the rest of the way.”

He shook his head and kept walking. “That's okay. I don't get out enough in San Francisco. Feels good.”

“Are you going to make me follow you all the way to the house?”

“It's only about a half mile.”

“Come on, Ford. Get in.”

He stopped, set his hands on his hips and stood facing away from her, gazing out over the land. They were on a bit of a rise and could see all the way to the mountains, plus the ranch buildings in between—a timber-sided house, a big red barn with corrals around it and other structures.

“It's beautiful,” Caroline said. “I never realized what a view you have over the valley. My dad's ranch isn't nearly this pretty.” Especially considering all the metal buildings set up to house his quarter horse breeding business. With the stallion barn, the mare barn and foaling barn, the indoor arena, offices and equipment sheds, not to mention the landing strip for his plane, the place resembled a military base more than a Wyoming ranch.

“Yeah, it's pretty special.” He came to the door and leaned one arm on the windowsill. “You're a problem, Caroline Donnelly. Do you know that?”

“I don't intend to be. Why don't we let the past be over, and start from here and now?” She held her hand out across the seat between them. “Deal?”

He stared at her face for a long moment, then his gaze dropped to her hand. His shoulders lifted on a deep breath. “Deal,” he said, clasping her fingers with his. He let go quickly. “But I'm still walking home.”

* * *

F
ORD
DIDN
'
T
LOOK
BACK
when he heard the truck's engine rev up, or when the rattle of gravel announced a quick three-point turn and a rapid acceleration. He'd spent as much time as he could handle sharing the small space of the truck cab with Caroline. He wanted to clear his head before he had to deal with his sharp-eyed brothers. Teasing was a way of life with the Marshall boys—at the least sign of weakness, they would rib him without mercy.

He wasn't sure he could defend himself. Because, as pretty as she had been in high school—and he well remembered lying in the dark in the room he'd shared with Wyatt, thinking about the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts and the cute round butt she got from being a damn fine barrel racer—Caroline Donnelly was a hell of a beautiful woman now.

The years had refined the elegant bone structure of her face, setting her eyes deeper, sculpting her lips into a delicious smile. Because she didn't ride as much, her legs were long and slim, shown to advantage by the short skirt of the dress she'd worn today. He'd had to get out of the truck and walk away before she saw how he felt about her. How he'd always felt.

Not that Caroline would consider dating him, even though he wasn't one of “those poor Marshall boys” now. Her boyfriends in high school had been the “cool” guys, the ones with nice cars, stylish clothes and plenty of money to spend on their girlfriends. He'd watched them all from a distance, overheard details about the parties, the skiing trips and concerts and vacations. He knew, because his dad talked about it, how fancy the Donnelly house was, how the barn had heated water dispensers in the stalls and, incredibly, a swimming tank for the horses.

His dad also described life for Caroline and her brother Reid—expensive ponies to ride and train on, handmade saddles and custom bridles and boots, clothes that never seemed to get worn twice. Their vehicles, in high school, were pricey pickup trucks with all the latest gadgets. Nothing was too good for the Donnelly kids.

Ford had made money over the years, but there was still a big gap between his family's status and hers. George Donnelly had earned his fortune by producing world-class quarter horses. He and his family socialized with the governors of Wyoming and Texas as well as princes of countries in the Middle East. The Circle M Ranch sold grass-fed, all-natural beef in a few Western states—not the same scale at all. And Ford's own luxuries—the Mercedes, good suits, a nice apartment—did not compare to the Donnelly empire.

Caroline attracted him, distracted him and reminded him of the part of his life where the Marshall brothers counted for next to nothing. A part he would prefer to forget.

So he would be happy if she stayed away from the Circle M. Her plan was too big, anyway, too demanding, too risky. He'd come home to take care of his brothers and do some relaxing of his own before getting back to the career he'd worked so hard to build. End of story.

Feeling better for having sorted out his problems, Ford reached the house and climbed the porch steps.

As the screen door fell shut behind him, his youngest brother walked into the living room with a sandwich in one hand and a soda in the other.

“So what's this I hear about teenagers staying at the ranch for the summer?” Dylan dropped down onto the couch. “Are we going to have extra hands this year?”

“Not if I can help it.” Ford sat in the recliner near the fireplace and put up the footrest. “Caroline gave me the hard sell at lunch, but I told her this isn't a good time for us to be experimenting with a summer camp at the Circle M.”

“I'd be hard put not to buy whatever that woman had to offer. She's a beauty, and a sweetheart, besides.”

Ford unclenched his jaw. “You two would make a great couple.”

Dylan grinned at him. “Thought that would get to you. You looked pretty starstruck when she walked over this morning.”

“Eat your lunch. I'm taking a nap.” He closed his eyes, hoping his little brother would get the message and drop the subject.

“Not that I want a bunch of kids hanging around,” Dylan continued. “I've got a show coming up and the work's not half-finished. Playing babysitter doesn't fit into my plan for this summer at all.” When Ford didn't answer, he went on. “But if Garrett is on Caroline's side, then it comes down to the boss's opinion, I guess. What do you think Wyatt will say?”

“About what?” Wyatt stood in the doorway to the back of the house.

Ford sat up again. “You don't have your brace on. You're not supposed to walk around like that.”

“Yeah, well.” He made a rude hand gesture, which dismissed the doctor's orders. “What's this I'm supposed to have an opinion about?”

Honey sidled around Wyatt and came over to the recliner to get her shoulders and ears scratched. Ford obliged and then got to his feet. “I'll explain after we get you tacked up, so to speak. I'll fetch the saddle.”

Just as he'd finished strapping on the brace, Garrett showed up. “I'm starving—nobody offered to feed their preacher this afternoon. Did you leave the fixings out, Dylan?”

Wyatt snorted. “When does he ever put them away?”

“Just thinking somebody else might be hungry,” Dylan said nonchalantly. “Saving them some trouble.”

“Yeah, right.” Wyatt took the recliner across from the one Ford had claimed. “So are you going to tell me what's going on?”

“I'll let Garrett explain. I don't want to bias the jury.”

“That's lawyer-talk for...?”

“Garrett supports the idea. He'll give you the official sales pitch.”

Bearing a plate with a sandwich and a glass of milk, the man in question sat in the rocking chair, which was the only piece of furniture they'd brought from their childhood house.

“It was my idea, actually. Caroline was talking about trying to find something for the kids to do over the summer, to keep them out of trouble. And I suggested using the Circle M as a place for them to hang out, to learn and mature.” Between bites and gulps, he outlined the proposal with almost as much enthusiasm and optimism as Caroline had shown.

Ford had to admit he'd enjoyed the explanation a lot more when he was listening to her, watching the shine in her eyes, the tilt of her head when she'd smiled—yet another reason he wanted the entire idea to go away. Next summer, when he wasn't around, they could work on this project. Wyatt could handle Caroline and her teenagers.

Maybe Wyatt would fall for Caroline. Or maybe Garrett already had, and that was why he was pushing the plan.

“Ford, I can tell by your face that you're not in favor of this program.” Wyatt stroked Honey's head where it rested on his knee. “What are the arguments against the idea?” His mouth twisted with pain. “Wait a minute. I feel like I'm falling backward, trying to sit in this chair. Garrett, let me have the rocker.” He struggled to stand up as the brace kept his spine straight and prevented any twisting or bending between his neck and his hips. “Thanks.”

Honey looked at the new arrangement and opted to stay where she was with a different knee under her chin.

“Yeah, what are the arguments?” Garrett said. “I'm seeing only good things—the chance to help some kids to lead better lives and bring in extra hands for all the work around here. Where's the downside?”

Ford went through his objections yet again. “The legal liability is a big problem. If one of those kids gets hurt—the way you are, for instance, and you've been riding practically you're whole life—then I don't care what form the parents have signed, they're going to come at us with a costly lawsuit.”

“Spoken like a true legal eagle.” Garrett had moved into his usual defensive position, sitting forward in the chair with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands gripped together. “Not everybody is so sue-crazy.”

Relaxed in the recliner, Ford kept his hands loose, his expression neutral. “Both you and Caroline have mentioned that these kids come from families with financial problems. Wave a hundred thousand dollars in their faces and see what kind of crazy they become.”