The Cowboy Imports a Bride(The Cowboys Of Chance Creek #3) (3 page)

"I'll buy my own drink, then. Hope you don't mind the company." She smiled at him and leaned closer, all the better to flash him some cleavage.

Pretty impressive cleavage.

"Free country," he mumbled. He'd already consumed a hefty amount of alcohol, but the sting of the afternoon's confrontation at the airport was still sharp.
Some friends.
Not one of them had defended him. No respect at all.

She laid a hand on his arm. "I've got the night off."

He frowned, trying to work that one out. The feed store wasn't open past six. "Night off from what?"

"From my boyfriend, silly. From Jessie – you know Jessie Henry."

Sure. Maybe. But he couldn't bring the man's face to mind.

She leaned even closer, her breast brushing his arm as she whispered into his ear, "Thought I'd have a little fun while he's out of town. You know what I mean?" She dropped a hand to his thigh.

Yeah. He knew exactly what she meant. Rob straightened a little and eyed her speculatively. "Why pick me?" he asked, surprising himself. Why even bother asking? Why not take the gift he'd been handed and show the lady a heck of a good time like he usually would?

"You won't be no problem tomorrow," Georgette said cheerfully. "Nor tonight. Some guys get squeamish about fooling around with another man's girl. Not you. And I know I won't get any phone calls next week wondering where I am. You'll be too busy chasing after some other guy's woman."

Wow. That was harsh. Suddenly he felt all too sober.

"Guys like you are handy," she said, as if sharing a confidence. "A girl can yank your chain, have her way with you, and kick you back into the closet when she's done. You're like a pair of high heels. Great now and then when you want a party, but useless for the day-to-day."

Rob blinked.

She must have caught his expression, because she rushed to add, "But pretty. You're real pretty, ain't you, Rob?"

"Fuck off." He stood up, slapped some cash on the bar and stalked toward the door, weaving a little before he got his bearings. Guess he was a little drunk after all.

Cab cut him off before he made it halfway across the room. He hadn't even seen the man enter the Boot.

"Tell me you're not driving," Cab said.

Rob pushed past him, into the still-warm Montana evening. Cab followed him outdoors. Aside from the music spilling out of the Boot with them, Chance Creek was already quiet. Most folks were tucked in for the night. Past nine o'clock this town shut down.

"Can't let you do that, buddy. Give me the keys."

Hell
.

With a sigh, Rob handed them over, but instead of heading toward his Chevy, he struck out on foot.

"Where you going?" Cab called after him.

"Nowhere."

Nowhere at all.

CHAPTER TWO

Morgan hopped on one foot as she threaded a leg into the tailored pants she planned to wear to work this morning. She tried to keep her cell phone between her shoulder and her cheek, but the thing was too darn small to balance there.

"So first Mom spends twenty-four years telling me never to have children, and now she tells me I better get pregnant again right after this one's born," Autumn said in her ear. They talked most days – Autumn filling her in on all of the ranch gossip and venting her frustrations about guests and family. It was barely getting light out, but Morgan knew ranch life started early. Ethan would already be out doing his chores, and Autumn would be prepping breakfast for her guests. Often she and Autumn squeezed in a call before the day got busy.

"Why is she rushing you?" Morgan asked. "You've got tons of time." As usual when she talked to Autumn she felt a jealousy she tried to squash. Autumn had all the things she wanted – a business of her own, a husband she adored.

And a baby on the way.

Morgan couldn't believe she was still single at this age. Maybe getting married earlier and having a family would have screwed with her career. Fine – she didn't need to rewrite the past. It was the future that scared her. What did all her successes mean if there was no one to share them with?

"You're forgetting who Mom's patients are; women who can't conceive on their own. When you spend all day telling forty-something-year-old women that they're not fertile anymore and are going to have to spend thousands of dollars on invasive procedures, you tend to get a skewed view of things."

"Don't you mean fifty-something-year-old women?" Morgan asked, trying to shrug into her blouse.

"No, I mean forty-something. Even thirty-something. Don't tell me you're one of those women who thinks they have all the time in the world to start a family. There's no guarantee it'll work, no matter what your age. Even women in their twenties can have trouble conceiving. If you want kids, you need to get a move on."

Suddenly Autumn had her full attention. Morgan stood stock still, the blouse still gaping open. "What?"

"Oh, I…shoot." Morgan could picture her in the Cruz ranch Big House kitchen, whipping up breakfast. She'd be standing by the counter that separated it from the huge living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows and their incredible view of the Montana landscape. "I’m sorry, that came out all wrong. You know what my mom's like; I think I was channeling her for a minute there. Forget everything I just said. You do have plenty of time."

But Autumn's tone told her she didn't entirely believe that. "You really think I might not be able to have kids?"

"No! I don't mean that at all. Boy, I really stuck my foot in my mouth, didn't I?" Autumn paused. "Here's what Mom would say. Even if you got married next month and got pregnant right away, you wouldn't give birth until you were 33. Let's say two years later you try again. You're 36 or 37 when your second child is born. Now you're looking at forty around the corner. Two kids is plenty for most people, but no one tells women that if they want a big family, they need to start early. And let's face it – you're not getting married next month, are you?"

"N…no." Feeling like she'd been sucker punched, Morgan hastened to do up her buttons with fingers that suddenly didn't work right. Sure she was looking forward to getting married, but she had felt like she still had plenty of time to start her family. Lots of time to have two, three, even four children. She'd always wanted a houseful, and now she was too old?

"But…what if I don't get married for a couple of years?" she said.

"Then you might need the help of someone like my mom." Autumn's voice changed. "But no one's saying you even have to have kids. You have a great career, right? Oh, darn – I gotta go. Ethan just came in."

She clicked off, leaving Morgan speechless. Yes, she had a fantastic career. Sort of.

Okay, actually it sucked. Elliot Cassidy was a tyrant and Duncan was all hands and innuendos. She'd been desperate to leave for months, but was afraid if she did so, she'd have to leave Victoria, as well. The wine industry on the island was small and tight-knit. If the Cassidys heard she was looking for work elsewhere, she had no doubt they'd do their best to undermine her job search.

Besides, she wanted more than a job. She wanted to own her own winery someday, and she wanted to create vintages that would bear her name, not the Cassidys'.

She wanted a family, too. A big one.

She was sick to death of being alone.

* * * * *

Rob pulled his hat off as he paced wearily down the center aisle of the Chance Creek Lutheran Church. He slid into a pew about halfway down and leaned back against the wooden seat, thankful to take a load off.

He didn't know how long he'd walked during the night, striding along the highway as if he meant to leave Chance Creek behind him for good. When he sobered up and realized it was himself he was trying to leave behind, not the town or the people in it, he turned around and walked back again.

His feet were sore, he stank of alcohol and sweat, and he was sure if Georgette saw him now she'd run the other way screaming, but he wasn't ready to head home yet. Not until he'd thought a few more things through. This seemed as good a place as any to do that, with its wooden floors and clean, spare lines.

He scraped the back of his hand against the stubble on his chin. He was a mess, all right. Through and through. His life today bore no resemblance to the one he'd expected to lead. Sure, he was a rancher, after a fashion. Although he acted more like his father's hired hand. But somehow he thought his life would add up to more. He'd thought he'd be respected, like his father was. That he'd be in charge…of something. That he'd have more to show for the work he did.

Instead, he was a joke.

No one took him seriously. They certainly didn't look up to him. He couldn't blame them, either. He spent his time goofing off, drinking, sleeping around, and playing jokes on everyone who came near.

"Been a while, Rob."

Startled, Rob glanced up to see Reverend Joe Halpern standing at the end of the pew.

"Sure has." He ducked his head, embarrassed to be caught here.

"Don't mind me," Joe said, as if reading his thoughts. He was a husky man in his late 60's. Out of his Sunday garb he looked like any other rancher in these parts. His jeans strained below a somewhat protruding belly. A green button-down shirt was tucked in neatly at his waist. "I'll go about my business unless you'd like some company."

Suddenly Rob found it difficult to speak. He could use a little company right now. Anything to stop the dark thoughts that chattered in his mind.

Joe nodded as if he understood. "I remember when you used to come to church like clockwork – all you Matheson boys did back then. I had the feeling you didn't mind it as much as the others, though, even though your parents had to herd the lot of you between them like so many cattle. You were only a pipsqueak and I had a full head of hair back in those days."

Rob nodded. He remembered those days, too. The reverend was right; he hadn't minded church that much when he was young. For one hour a week his brothers couldn't hassle him and no one said a word if he kept his mouth shut and daydreamed. As Halpern's voice droned on above him, he'd think about the stones he'd found in the creek that morning, how they'd got there and why there were different colors, or about the grouse he'd snuck up on, or why sometimes clouds were fat and puffy and sometimes thin as pulled cotton.

He was happiest when he was alone, and quiet – watching something. Learning about it.

But no one ever left him alone. Not for long, anyhow.

"Mind if I take a seat?" Joe prompted.

"Make yourself at home," Rob said and it occurred to him it was a particularly stupid thing to say to a man of God in his own church. Still, he slid over and made room.

"Just say the word and I'll leave you to your thoughts," Joe said. "But in my experience, when a man shows up in church at this time of the morning, dressed in the same clothes he went out in last night, he might be looking to make some changes in his life."

"Yeah," Rob said. "You got that right."

"Tell me about it." Joe settled back, his gaze fixed on the pulpit at the front of the sanctuary. Like being in confession, Rob thought, as he sat back, too. His own gaze forward. If they had some walls around them they might be Catholics. Maybe the Catholics had the right idea.

"Not much to tell," he started. "Just…this isn't who I want to be."

"Who do you want to be?"

"I don't know. A good man. Useful." That brought Georgette to mind again. Her clinging grasp and the way she'd dismissed his worth with a single word. Useless.
Useless but pretty
.

Son of a bitch
. He glanced toward the ceiling.
Sorry
.

Joe nodded. "Do you have a calling?"

A calling?
"Like being a preacher?" That was the last thing he'd ever be. He tried to picture himself in that pulpit, preaching a moral lesson to the congregation. The idea was laughable.

But it sparked another memory. An idea he'd had as a small boy, right in this church one Sunday morning. He'd been feeling particularly aggrieved at the way Ned and Luke liked to rush up whenever they spotted him and scare away the bird he'd been stalking, or stomp to bits the nest he'd found, or splash in the water of Chance Creek until every fish for a mile went into hiding.

With the ignorance of youth, he'd thought that if only he could stand in Halpern's pulpit, he could take on the minister's authority and turn of phrase. He could tell everyone in the congregation about all the wondrous things he saw on the Matheson ranch – the tiny bugs and the towering trees; the ceaseless life that teemed and thronged in the grasses; the ever-shifting shades of light that filtered through pine branches in the hills; the sound of the water that ran in the creek – and by telling them about it, he could teach them to know God. No one ever interrupted the reverend when he was preaching. Maybe if Rob was able to preach in his own way, people would listen to him. And if the congregation listened to him, then his family would have to listen to him, as well. And then maybe his father would stop rushing around and barking orders all the time, and his brothers would stop bickering and pushing him around and…

Beating on him.

Joe held his silence beside him and Rob was thankful for that.

No amount of talking about the natural wonders surrounding their home had stopped Ned from kicking his ass. Boys were boys, and four boys were too many for one ranch. He'd soon learned to cultivate his fists, his careless attitude and a wicked way of playing jokes that made his enemies the laughing stocks of all their friends. Ned backed off…in time.

"I'm not sure," he said finally, the memories making him raw. Coming here was a mistake. There weren't any answers for him in church.

"I think the trick is to think about who you were before the world got to you," Joe said.

Rob looked at him in surprise. A bit too close to his own train of thought.

Joe grimaced. "I see more of what goes on from that pulpit than people think," he said. "It looks like I'm the one on display – front and center for everyone to stare at when I preach. What people don't realize is from up there I can look just as hard at each and every one of them."