A Wild Red Rose (17 page)

“Oh dear, you overheard. Santa Maria warned me. No, not a tramp. I think you are like these red roses, tough and hardy. You find them draped on crumbling adobe walls at abandoned home sites. Pioneer women brought them here to brighten their hard lives. They are beautiful and fragrant, but if you keep them well-watered, they bloom and bloom and bloom. Their hips make a wonderful tea that is curative and delightful. I dug the plants myself and brought them here to the hacienda for our courtyard. I admire their ability to survive. They are part of my home now, one that I love. Please, let Clinton talk to you. Afterward, if you still want the ride to the airport, I will arrange it.”

Embarrassed by the flowery compliment just paid her, Renee only nodded and set her feet on the path for a confrontation with Clinton O. Beck. He twiddled his thumbs on a bench near the fountain, all signs of the poor cowboy gone. He wore a pressed pale blue dress shirt open at the throat, ironed khakis looped by an alligator belt, and very expensive running shoes new from the box. Freshly shaven, his short, dark blond hair brushed back damp from the shower, he consulted a heavy Rolex wristwatch for the time, every inch of him a Bean King. He stood as soon as he heard her close the door.

“Renee, I know you are angry with me about lying to you.”

“No, I’m not.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his jaw drop. “I know my reputation, Clint. I suppose Bodey told you I was on the prowl for my third rich husband. I understand why you hid your identity—because Bodey is right. I would have pursued you for your money.”

“Would have? Here I am, still rich, eligible, and if I do say so myself—handsome.” Clint spread out his arms to display his charms.

“I know you just wanted the fun and games part of Renee Hayes. That’s all most men want. Then, when you found out about Uncle Dewey, you felt sorry for me. But, Clint, I’m no Brandy or Ginger or Bess to be dragged along home for your mother to take care of while you go back to your career.”

“Brandy and Ginger and—. They have nothing to do with this.” The old dog sitting near Clint pricked up her ears and wagged her tail. Clint rubbed the animal’s neck.

“This is Ginger. I found her when I was seventeen and brought her home. She gave birth to twelve mixed-breed puppies the next night. My mother found homes for all of them, but I had to go back to boarding school before they were weaned. As for Brandy, she’s buried out there in the pasture across the way.”

Renee startled and stared at him as if he might be a serial killer. Clint rushed to explain. “Brandy was a misused mare. Her first owner spoiled her; her second abused her. She was going to end up as dog meat for being incorrigible. The one summer I got to stay home, I worked with her until she turned into a very sweet mount.”

“I overheard your mother say she wouldn’t accept any other man.”

“True, but Brandy did accept our top-notch quarter horse stud. She produced twelve fine foals before she passed away. My sisters’ kids still have some of them.”

“You called Bess an old cow. Is that how you think of me?”

“No,” Clint said carefully. “Because Bess really was a cow. She got mauled protecting her newborn calf from coyotes. My father said to put her and the calf down. I begged him to trailer her in and get a vet. She mended, but my mother did get stuck bottle feeding the calf because Dad dragged me off on another business trip.”

“Forgive me if I still do see some parallels here.” Renee started to walk past him. She could wait at the end of the road for her ride.

“No, no, listen. I saw a beautiful woman going to waste, that’s all. When I had your purse stolen, I was trying to show you didn’t need all those props to be lovely, that fun could be had without a lot of money.”

“Says the super rich Bean King. I cannot believe you stole my bag. Everything I am was in that bag! Yes, now I’m angry.”

“Everything you
were
was in that bag. You don’t need the heavy make-up, the green contacts, and the super-sized spermatocide anymore!”

“You—you wanted to keep me plain, naked, barefoot, and—and…”

Here it came, the confession. Clint braced himself, prepared the words he had rehearsed last night, and hoped they would come to his lips without hesitation.

“Slightly overweight.”

“Tiger, I love every inch of you.” That wasn’t what he meant to say, not what he thought she would say either.

“Well, thanks for letting me know you think I’m fat.” Renee put her hands on her hips, which definitely had gotten bigger.

“Honey, you didn’t hear me right. I said I love you. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Yes. I want my purse. Now!”

“Okay. That’s a start. Let’s get the purse issue out of the way. It’s in the Nelle.”

Clint took Renee’s elbow and steered her toward the gate where the Nelle sat waiting. She shook off his hand.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting there on my own.”

“Of course you are. Watch those cracks in the tiles.”

Renee rolled her eyes, then found herself coming to a stop in front of the gate which Clint had to open. He squeezed the door opener on his key ring and let her stalk over to the Nelle by herself.

“Where is it? I’ve been riding around in this rattletrap for weeks and know my bag isn’t under the seats.”

Clint felt under the front bumper, found the lever and pulled it. The false back of the cab popped open into the bed of the truck. Miscellaneous boxes of bullfighting gear, mostly running shoes and shirts with logos, tumbled out. In one corner Renee’s huge leather bag slouched on top of a Toughbook laptop. Clint clambered over the tailgate and handed the purse to Renee. He jumped down beside her.

“Everything is in there. I haven’t touched the bag since I locked it away.”

Renee stared at the compartment. “So that’s how Snuffy made the miniature donkey appear.”

“Don’t get upset. Snuffy cleaned out all the donkey dirt before he put the stuff back.”

“Now that I have my bag, I’m over being upset. Are you taking me to the airport, or is one of the servants going to drive?”

“I was planning on taking you to Ellensburg with me—in the corporate jet since your driver’s license is expired and the passport you picked up at home burned up with the trailer. You won’t be able to get on a regular flight without an I.D., but we leave from a private airstrip,” Clint said with some satisfaction.

“Is this another trick?” Renee snarled.

“Was I the one who burnt down The Tin Can? Did I let my driver’s license expire because my picture was so pretty?”

She noticed a twinkle like sun on the sea appear in those deep blue eyes of his. He would try a new tactic. They had been together daily for so long she could read him the way he read the movements of wild bulls.

“Ever join the Mile High Club?” he asked, grinning.

“Yes.” Renee folded her arms. Let him deal with that.

“Fine. Ever do it in a comfortable bed while soaring over the Rockies?”

“No, but the real challenge is using the small restrooms.”

“We have a bathroom on board, too.”

“You weren’t planning to abandon me here?”

“No, I wasn’t. I wanted Mama to meet you, that’s all. We still have lots to say to each other. Will you come with me to Washington? Please?” Clint leaned up against the cab of the Nelle with his arms folded as if he could wait all day for her answer.

“Aren’t you afraid you are in danger of becoming my third rich husband?”

“Tiger, danger is my middle name.” Clint grinned.

“No, your middle name starts with O.” She couldn’t resist. “Odin, Othello?”

“Nope. Just get in the truck.”

“Odo?”

A maid came running toward the gate as Clint lifted Renee bodily into the Nelle.

She held the Walmart bag in one hand and the cuff bracelet in the other. “Senora Beck say you forgot these.”

Renee snapped the bracelet on her wrist and accepted the shopping bag. She shoved the sack and her huge, restored purse under her legs, and the maid shut the truck’s door.

Clint got in the driver’s seat. “You can toss that stuff. I’ll take you on a shopping spree when we get to Seattle. Think Nordstrom’s, think…”

“I think I’ll keep what I have. Just drive. Is it Otho or Odum?”

“No. Nope. You’re making these names up, aren’t you? You have to wait till my wedding day like everyone else.”

The sunlight winked off the emerald green eyes of the toy tiger on the dashboard. Renee picked up the straw cowboy hat resting beside her mascot. She cocked the hat over her eyes because she intended to be well rested before they flew across the Rockies.

Chapter Sixteen

Renee did punish him on the flight, but in the best possible way with unrelenting sex. Though the jet possessed a very comfortable bed because his father liked to sleep on overseas travel, she refused to use it. The bathroom proved to be much roomier than those on commercial flights. She pointed that out along with the lack of challenge as no one would be waiting in line to take a piss. Positioning him on the commode, Renee spread her legs over his lap, set her knees and did most of the work the first time.

For the second round after a light lunch, she decided on doing it upright with him supporting most of her weight against the wall. Narrower compartments actually made this easier, she felt compelled to point out, as she could have braced her legs on the other side. The third, thankfully, they completed in the bed. Renee appeared to be trying to prove what a total slut she could be, daring him to still care about her, making an effort to tame her. Leopards could not change their spots, nor did tigers their stripes.

But she had changed irrevocably, and Clint knew it. Renee’s inner spirit, the one he was sure she possessed, revived in the northwest, or maybe her soul responded to the mountain view corner suite at the Inn in Suncadia Resort that Clint booked. She’d settled into the buttery leather seats of the luxury rental car for a snooze as Clint drove to Ellensburg where she insisted they take full advantage of the vast bed and fluffy comforter again. But to his surprise, she hadn’t wanted to stay behind in the morning, soaking in the tub, and ordering up breakfast on a tray and an in-room massage.

Instead, Renee came into town with him and scarfed up a plate of hotcakes and sausage at the traditional rodeo pancake breakfast, passed up shopping in six brick blocks of shops housed in late Victorian buildings, and went along to find Snuffy. Clint found his motorcoach parked in a logjam of vehicles in for the rodeo. Snuffy had made himself right at home apparently. When they discovered the clown at his ease, Jones was enjoying his second cup of coffee brewed from freshly ground beans in Clint’s espresso maker. A shining brass spittoon sat handily at his feet.

“Sit yourself down in that nice leather chair, sweetheart, and have a donut,” Snuffy offered expansively.

“Too full,” Renee answered. “Mr. Jones, I have a confession to make. I take complete responsibility for my actions.”

Clint startled, and Snuffy shot him a look. The baby couldn’t possibly belong to Snuffy! They’d met Renee at the same time. He figured Bodey as the best possibility. Some men strayed when their wives were pregnant, and the bull rider had a history with Renee. Still, Clint reassured himself again that Bodey was too deeply in love with his ethereal Eve to wander. He waited tensely for the confession.

“I accidently burned The Tin Can to the ground. It’s not Clint’s fault. He wasn’t there at the time. I know how you loved that trailer.”

Clint exhaled and dove into the conversation. “I’ll sign the motorcoach over to you, Snuff.” Not that it would be a big sacrifice. Although Snuffy had gone upscale, dotting brass spittoons all over the place to catch tobacco juice, the flooring had some brown stains—and the air did have that funky smell.

Snuffy flung himself back in his seat and pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, my heart! And the Belly Nelle? Is she gone, too?”

“No, no, safe at airport parking in San Antone.”

“She could be vandalized sitting there all alone.”

“Come on, Snuffy, how would you be able to tell? No one will bother the Nelle. After this event, I’ll drive her to whatever destination you say. How about your place in Wyoming?”

“Thank you, son. That’d be good. I guess I’ll continue to suffer here in this luxurious vehicle because I got no other choice.” Snuffy buried his face with its two-day stubble in his hands.

Renee moved over to console the clown. He snuggled into the crack between her breasts and moved a hand around to squeeze her backside. Renee jumped.

“Had you both going now, didn’t I?” Snuffy Jones cackled. “I was thinking a while back that I’d gotten so spoiled I was gonna have to buy one of these rigs for myself and retire The Tin Can like a worn out cutting horse. Renee, you want to come clowning with me while this idiot works out on his exercise machines?”

“I’d like that more than anything, but I have to tell you, my short shorts—even if I could get into them—burned in the fire.”

“No problem, baby. Clint, you run along. We got a clown to create.

The next time Clint saw Renee, she was trailing Snuffy with the bag of toys the old clown collected in his travels and answering to the name of Bright Eyes. In a parody of her old make-up, Snuffy had applied ridiculously long fake lashes to Renee’s lids and smeared green paint in an arc up to peaked brows far higher than her natural ones. The rest of her face was dead white except for two red circles drawn on her cheeks and a big rosebud of a mouth that seemed to be in a permanent pucker.

She wore the tight red and white striped shirt again. The red suspenders held up baggy pants with large, attention-drawing crimson patches on both butt cheeks. A shaggy orange wig topped her head, and her nose tip supported a pink foam ball. Clint recognized her by the black cowboy boots. Renee and Snuffy were doing the “I’ll follow you anywhere” routine and doling out toys to the kiddies. Clint thought she looked happy—or maybe the makeup made her face seem that way.

“I was going to take you out for a fancy dinner tonight, but maybe we should find a Mickey D’s and get Big Macs. I can fix you up with Ronald McDonald.”