Cattleman's Choice (12 page)

Jake glanced at her curiously, puzzled by her rapt expression, by the odd look in her gray eyes. So that was it. He looked back at his boss and smiled slowly.

Patty was standing near him, clapping and laughing. He glanced up at her and grinned as he finished the piece. The band gave the last chord and cheered.

“How about ‘Choices ‘?” Jake yelled.

Carson looked up and frowned when he saw Jake standing beside Mandelyn.

“Yes, how about it?” Patty seconded. “Come on, Carson, do it!”

“He wrote that one,” Jake told Mandelyn. “We made him copyright it, but he never would let anyone record it.”

She studied the man in the red checkered shirt and couldn't fathom him. He gave in to the prodding finally. What he did to the guitar then was so sweet and heady that Mandelyn felt a rush of emotion. It was a love song, pure and simple. All about two different worlds with no bridge between them. And he sang it in a deep, sultry voice that would have made a dedicated spinster's heart whirl. He had the sexiest voice Mandelyn had ever heard, and she watched, spellbound, while he sang. His eyes lifted once, glanced off hers, and went to Patty. He smiled. And Mandelyn closed her eyes on a wave of pain.

When he finished, there was a moment's pause, and then uproarious applause.

“And he's raising cattle, can you believe it?” Patty burst out. She laughed and bent over to kiss Carson firmly on the mouth. “You're great!”

Mandelyn felt sick. Jake said something rough under his breath. He looked down, noticed her sudden paleness and took her arm.

“Are you okay, ma'am?” he asked gently.

“Just a little wobbly,” she laughed nervously. “I've been working hard lately.

“You're not alone. So has boss man.”

The band had started to play some dance music now. Jake glanced at his boss, who was glaring in his direction. He glared back.

“Would you dance with me, Miss Bush?” he asked.

“Well…”

“He dared me,” he said curtly, glancing past her to Carson. “Two can play that game.”

“I don't understand.”

He led her onto the dance floor. “Never mind,” he grumbled. He shuffled around, much the way Carson had the night she'd taught him to dance.

Patty was looking at the two of them curiously. Jake gave her a cold smile and whirled Mandelyn around.

Mandelyn looked up, and saw murderous fury in his face. So that was it, she realized, Jake and Carson were competing for Patty!

Her eyes fell to Jake's collar. She sighed miserably. It seemed that she wasn't the only one suffering. So Jake wanted Patty, too. He wouldn't win. She knew instinctively that Carson would beat the younger man in any kind of competition, especially when it came to loving.

“Are you sure you feel okay?” Jake asked quietly.

“Not really,” she admitted. “But I'll make it.”

He smiled at her. “Yes, ma'am, I imagine you will.”

The evening wore on, and Carson never left the brothers Gibson for a minute. He played and Patty stayed by him. Mandelyn sat down after the first dance, leaving Jake to circulate among the other women. There was a large crowd, larger, she suspected, than Patty had anticipated. But everyone seemed to be having a great time.

Patty brought Carson a beer and held it to his firm lips while he played. Mandelyn got more and more morose, until finally she was praying that it would all be over and she could go home. She'd never been more miserable in her life. Watching Patty and Carson ogle each other was more than she could bear.

Eventually, Jake joined her again, squatting down beside her chair to watch with narrowed angry eyes as Carson and Patty talked while the band was preparing to play their closing song.

“Patty looks nice,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. His eyes went to a piece of string that he was twisting into a hangman's noose in his hands. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She felt a sudden kinship with Jake and impulsively murmured, “You, too, huh?”

He looked up, flushed, and looked down again. “Maybe it's contagious.”

“Maybe it's curable.”

He laughed reluctantly. “Reckon? If you find an antidote, share it with me.”

“Same here.”

He glared toward Carson and Patty. “It's disgusting. She's too young for him.”

Her eyes widened as she gaped at him. “You're almost Carson's age. She's a little young for you, too, isn't she?”

“What's that got to do with anything?” he grumbled.

She only smiled. He probably felt as miserable as she did. She laid a gentle hand on his broad shoulder. “Don't let it get you down. Take up the guitar and practice.”

“I can't even carry a tune,” he sighed. He looked up. “You might study veterinary medicine.”

“I faint at the sight of blood,” she confessed.

He smiled warmly. “I guess we're both out of the running.”

“I guess.” She smiled back.

It was too bad they didn't look across the room at that moment. If they had, they'd have seen two furious pairs of eyes glaring at them from the bandstand.

Carson hadn't danced one single dance all evening. But as the band launched into the “Tennessee Waltz” he led Patty to the floor and held her close during that last dreamy tune.

He shook hands with the Gibson boys, bent down to brush his lips over Patty's cheek and thanked her for the evening. And then he turned to Mandelyn with such evident reluctance that she wanted to scream and throw things.

“Thanks, Patty,” she said with forced politeness. “I had a lovely time.”

“Good. I'm glad,” Patty said with equally forced politeness. “See you.”

Mandelyn shot out the door past Carson and climbed into the Thunderbird with ill-concealed impatience. He sauntered along, taking his time, cocking his hat at a jaunty angle.

“You're in a flaming rush,” he remarked as he climbed in beside her and started the car.

“I'm tired,” she said. Her gaze went out the window to the ghostly shapes of the saguaro cactus against the sky.

“From what?” he asked. “You only danced once. With Jake.”

“Jake dances very well.”

“He stepped all over you.”

She stared ahead as the headlights penetrated the darkness. She almost said, “So did you the other night.” But she wasn't going to fall into that trap. She kept her silence.

“Patty looked good, didn't she?” he remarked. “I haven't seen her let her hair down and wear a dress in years.”

“She looked lovely,” she said through her teeth.

He glanced at her and away again. “Want to declare a truce? At least until the ballet? It would be a shame to waste those tickets.”

“I'm not going to any damned ballet with you,” she said vehemently. “And, no, I don't want to declare a truce. I hate you!”

He whistled through his teeth. “Temper, temper.”

“I've seen so much of yours lately that it's affected my mind,” she said sweetly.

“I thought it was your loving memory of your late fiancé that had done that,” he said.

She turned, eyes glittering. “Stop this car and let me out, right now!” she demanded.

Amazingly, he did just that. He stopped the car abruptly. “Okay! If you want to walk, go ahead. It's seven more miles.”

“Fine. I love long walks!” She got out, slammed the door violently, and started down the road. He took off, leaving skid marks behind him.

She couldn't believe he'd really done that. She stood gaping at his disappearing tail-lights and tears welled up in her soft gray eyes. She felt lost and frightened, and she really did hate him then. Leaving her alone in the darkness on a deserted highway.

She looked around nervously. She could hardly see her feet at all, and she just knew there were rattlesnakes all around her. Diamondbacks! She began to move gingerly, wishing she had a flashlight, wishing she could have kept her stupid mouth shut. She'd set him off again, just when his temper seemed to be improving.

Her lips trembled. She was really afraid now, and there wasn't a soul in sight. There were no houses, no cars, no nothing. She rounded a curve, shaking, and there was the Thunderbird. Carson was leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.

“Damn you!” she bit off, but she was crying and the words hardly registered.

He said something rough and threw the cigarette to the ground. The next minute, she was in his arms.

He held her much too close, rocking her, his arms warm and hard and protective. And she cried, because of the miserable night she'd had, because of the way things were between them.

“I'm sorry,” he said at her ear. “I'm sorry.”

She trembled at the deep softness in his voice. “I was afraid,” she admitted unsteadily.

His arms tightened slowly. She felt the length of him and something kindled in her own body. Her eyes closed. She clung to him, her hands flat against the rippling muscles of his back, her breasts crushing softly into his chest, her legs brushing the powerful muscles of his. Out on the desert, a coyote howled and the wind blew. And Mandelyn had never felt so safe, or so happy.

“We'd better get home,” he said after a minute. “Come on.”

He held her hand, led her to the car, and put her in on the driver's side. She slid reluctantly across, wondering what would have happened if she'd stayed close to him. Probably, she thought miserably, he'd have pushed her away.

Driving, it was only a short way from there to her house. He stopped outside the door, but he didn't switch off the engine.

“I…would you like some coffee?” she offered.

“No, thanks. I've got to get some sleep. We're moving cattle in the morning.”

“Oh. Thanks for the ride.”

“Sure. Any time.”

She opened her door and hesitated. “About the ballet…”

“Since I've already got the tickets, it would be a shame to waste them. I can't take anyone but you with me.” He laughed shortly. “Patty would laugh her head off.”

Her teeth ground together. “No doubt. What night?”

“Wednesday. We'll need to leave here by five, to get there in time.”

“I'll close up early.” She got out, hating him more than ever, and slammed the door.

“Mandelyn.”

She paused. He'd rolled down the passenger window and was leaning across. “Yes?”

“This will be the last time,” he said curtly. “I think when we get through with the ballet, I'll have learned enough to cope.”

“Good. It was getting a bit boring, wasn't it?” she asked coldly.

“I'll tell you something, honey,” he said quietly. “I've about decided that I like my world better than I like yours. Mine has the advantage of real people and honest emotions. Yours is an old house with elegant furniture and the warmth of a tomb. Speaking of which, there's yours. Why don't you go and moon over your lost love?”

Her fists clenched by her sides. “If I had a gun, I'd blow you in half,” she spat.

“Hell. If you had a gun, you'd shoot yourself in the foot. Good night.”

He rolled up the window while she was stomping onto the porch. She jammed the key into the lock and broke it in half as he roared away.

Her eyes widened. The back door had an old lock and she didn't have its key. The windows were down and locked. Now what was she going to do?

With a heavy sigh, she went out and got a big rock. She took it to the side of the house and flung it through the window. The sound of shattering glass made her feel a little better, even though she knew she was going to have an interesting story to tell the repairman in the morning.

Unfortunately, the handyman she had to call was out working on the renovations at Carson's place. He was too busy to come. She managed to talk his wife into giving her the number of a man who put in windows in his spare time. She contacted him and got a promise that he'd do the window first thing Monday morning. Meanwhile she got a locksmith to come out and fix the door. She hadn't asked the handyman's wife how things were going over at Carson's, although she was curious about how the house would look when they got through. Carson's preparations were none of her business. Probably Patty knew, though, she thought miserably.

She went up to Phoenix and spent the rest of the weekend there just to get away. How drastically things had changed in just a few short weeks, she thought. She and Carson had been on the verge of friendship, but those few days together had changed everything. Actually, she decided, that long, hard kiss he'd given her behind the bar had done it. She'd been curious about him after that, and when he'd made a pass, she hadn't had the strength to put him off. She'd wanted to know how he would be as a lover. And now she knew, and the knowledge was eating her up like acid. She'd never known that a man could be so tender, so protective and possessive. She could have had all that, if not for Carson's obsession with changing to suit Patty.

Patty. She went out to the balcony of her hotel room and glared over the city's lights. The wind tore through her hair and she drank in the sounds and smells of the night. He'd kissed Patty at her party. Why had he done that? She closed her eyes and she could almost hear Carson's deep, slow voice as he sang. She leaned her head against the wall and wondered how it would be to sit with him on his porch late on a summer evening while he sang to her. And if there were children, they could sit on her lap….

The thought was intensely painful. She remembered how it had been that night, the night she'd wanted him so much. If only he hadn't turned on the light and seen Ben's photograph.

Dear Ben. Her bastion against emotional involvement. Her wall that kept love out of her life. And now she was twenty-six and alone and she'd lost the only man in the world she wanted to live with.

Of course, she hadn't a chance against Patty. She'd always known that. Carson was too fond of the woman. She turned back into her room. How odd that he wanted to learn cultural things for Patty, though. Especially when Patty seemed to like country things and country people. How very odd.