The Legacy of Copper Creek (3 page)

“What I said was I played this game when I was a kid. I've also been known to pass the time beating boyfriends at it when they started thinking they were smarter than me.”

He shook his head. “I'll give you this. You've got a way with words, Goldilocks.”

“You're not bad yourself, Cowboy. I expected you to be easy, but it was a challenge just to keep up with you.”

“Uh-huh.” He chuckled. “Goldilocks, any time you'd care to sharpen your vocabulary, just let me know.”

“You do the same.”

He stretched his arms over his head. “All this competitiveness has made me hungry.”

She looked over, trying not to stare at those long, lanky legs accentuated in the faded denims and that muscled torso and flat stomach. “Tell you what. We could play one more game, double or nothing. The loser makes dinner.”

He shot her a look of surprise. “You never quit, do you? Especially since you're on a winning streak.” After a moment's hesitation, he nodded and took the seat across from her. “Okay. Loser makes dinner.”

They bent over the board, each studying the letters they'd fished out of the bag.

“I'll start.” Whit set out the word
sexy
.

Her eyes rounded. “An
S
and a
Y
. You're good, Cowboy.”

“Maybe I'm inspired by my opponent.”

She looked up sharply. “I'm not sure how to take that.”

“You're the one who's good with words. Are you going to tell me you don't know you're sexy?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm.

A moment later she laid down the word
hot
.

His smile grew before he set down the word
body
.

She couldn't stop the grin that tugged on her lips. “Is this some kind of message?”

“You can't blame a guy for trying.”

She set out four letters that spelled
uh uh
.

He looked at the words, then into her eyes, crinkled with laughter. “Nice try, but that's not a word.”

“It is when I say it firmly. Read my lips, Cowboy. Uh-uh.”

Despite the laughter, she felt his gaze narrow on her mouth. Though he remained perfectly still, she could feel a shaft of heat slice through her veins.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally he leaned back, reminding her of a sleek panther eyeing its prey. “Okay, Goldilocks. I'll give you a pass. But just this once. And only because you're making the game a real challenge.”

An hour later, Whit pushed away from the table. His tone was more than a little grumpy. “Since I'm cooking tonight, what's your pleasure?”

“Why don't you surprise me?”

“You surprise me, Goldilocks. You're good.”

“Thanks. You're not bad yourself. A few more lessons, and you might even manage to be a challenge.”

A challenge? While she took her time putting away the board and letters, Whit studied her backside as she reached into the cupboard.

He didn't even mind losing. He'd just spent the most enjoyable hour sparring with a woman who continued to intrigue him.

Who the hell are you, Cara Walton? And what delicious mystery are you hiding?

C
ara pulled a wooden rocker in front of the fireplace and lifted her feet to the raised hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire. It had been fun beating Whit MacKenzie at his own game. He'd been so smug. So sure that she would be an easy mark.

Of course, she'd had to work really hard to keep her mind on the game. Having an opponent who was rugged, gorgeous, and smart was a real distraction. She'd never met a man who could come up with so many suggestive words. She actually liked the fact that he'd been such a surprise. Not at all what she'd thought he would be.

Even though his presence here was forcing her to change her plans, she had to admit she felt a lot safer having him around. He might not believe her story, but in a duel with Suit-and-Tie, she'd put her money on Whit MacKenzie.

Anybody who could spend hours in the snow chopping wood, listen to an unbelievable story about a mysterious villain with evil eyes, and then calmly start a board game was either as cool a cowboy as they came or an empty-headed fool. And though she'd like to believe she was dealing with someone she could outthink, she knew better. She'd already detected a sharp mind underneath that spill of shaggy dark hair.

Which is why, while he'd been outside chopping firewood earlier, she'd made a rash decision.

What did Gram love to say? Truth was stranger than fiction.

Even though she'd known her story would be tough to swallow, she'd decided to forget about the lie she'd spent the night concocting and had instead told him the truth. Or at least as much of it as she could. In truth, she was already beginning to doubt what she'd seen and heard. She'd been in such a state of anxiety when she'd fled Ghost Mountain that she was sure every stranger she encountered was out to harm her. Maybe, with her life in such turmoil, the whole thing had been blown completely out of proportion. But she'd really tried to tell this cowboy as much as she could.

So much for honesty. Now he thought she was some crazy, half-baked lunatic who deserved to be locked up for her own good.

And there was no one to blame but herself.

She'd stumbled into a hornet's nest, and with every turn she was bound to get stung again and again. But hey, she'd been stung before. Too many times to count. Gram used to say adversity made you stronger. Cara wasn't so sure of that. With each stumble, she was finding it harder and harder to get up.

Still, she had to try if she were to ever reach her dream.

Maybe it was time to put childhood dreams aside and get real. Look where all her dreaming had taken her.

Whit MacKenzie had asked her what her Plan B was. She needed to have one, and she needed it soon.

It was her last coherent thought before the warmth of the fire defeated her, and she let her head fall back as she drifted off to sleep.

Whit rummaged through the cupboards. There were cans of ham, tuna, and corned beef, as well as boxes of rice, noodles, and freeze-dried potatoes. Enough staples to feed an army of starving wranglers.

His fingers encountered paper, and he retrieved an envelope. On the front of it was written the words:
I hope this covers the food and shelter I took without permission.
A signature,
Cara Walton
, was scrawled as an afterthought. Inside were neatly folded bills that totaled fifty dollars.

What a funny little thing she was. Such a contradiction. Fearless enough to break into a shack in the middle of wilderness, yet scrupulous enough to do something so unexpected in order to make it right. She had apparently used the last of her money to pay for her room and board.

Whit glanced over to see Cara lean her head back. Within minutes her breathing was slow and easy.

He tucked the envelope back in the cupboard where he'd found it, reluctant to let her know that he'd uncovered her secret honesty.

Goldilocks was asleep, and it wasn't even in a soft Baby Bear bed, but a hard, wooden chair.

No wonder. It must have taken her hours to put together that whopper of a lie about No Name. It sounded like the plot for a great who-done-it. And he wasn't buying a word of her fiction.

But he had to admit that he'd enjoyed hearing her recite it. Of course, she could probably recite the month's grain prices and he'd enjoy it just as much. It wasn't just that low, sexy voice. Or those deep, soulful eyes that a man could happily drown in. Or that killer body with the face of an angel. But all of it together in one fabulous package was enough to make a man overlook the lies and just enjoy having her around. If, he reminded himself, a man was looking for trouble. Because this little Goldilocks was trouble with a capital
T
. And he was smart enough to avoid the obvious trap.

With a vengeance, he opened a can of this, a box of that, allowing a vague recipe to form while his thoughts returned again and again to his strange visitor. Though it made no sense, he had to admit he was enjoying her company. He'd come here hoping for a little solitude from his very big, very raucous family, and here he was actually looking forward to this intruder's next surprise.

Part of her appeal was her easy acceptance of the situation. She'd quickly come to terms with the fact that she would have to share this space until the blizzard blew over. And once she'd satisfied herself that he wasn't a bully or a rapist, she'd actually become a model roommate. She was smart and neat and fun to be around. He especially enjoyed her clever mind and quick wit. And next time he wanted to play a game to pass the time, he'd suggest poker instead of a word game.

Hey. A guy was entitled to win some of the time.

Of course, he could think of a much more satisfying way to pass the time. But first, he'd have to find a way past that wall of mistrust she kept around her.

He'd always loved a challenge. And this challenge came wrapped in a gorgeous package.

He was actually smiling as he dug out a heavy iron skillet and several sturdy pots and pans.

Cara felt a touch on her shoulder and came instantly awake.

Whit was bending close, his eyes on hers as they opened. He shot her one of those quick, charming grins. “Wow. In the blink of an eye you went from Sleeping Beauty to Goldilocks. I wonder which one I'll be having lunch with.”

Still reeling from the rush of heat from his touch, her head came up sharply and she was forced to struggle to ignore his lips, mere inches from hers. “The Wicked Witch of the West if that food doesn't taste as heavenly as it smells.”

He smiled and, as if testing her willpower, leaned in even closer, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “You've got a quick mind, Goldilocks. Barely awake and already trading insults.”

“Just trying to stay one step ahead of you, Cowboy.”

He remained there, so close she could feel herself sweating, before he got to his feet and crossed to the fireplace, where he set slices of bread slathered with thick slabs of ham and cheese on a wire rack over the hot coals. Sitting back on his heels, he stirred some fried potatoes and onions in a skillet.

Watching him, Cara muttered, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

In his best John Wayne drawl he said, “Don't you worry your pretty head about my cookin', little lady. Everyone in these parts knows that Whit MacKenzie makes the best gall darned skillet taters in all of Montana.”

“Skillet taters.” She nodded. “I like the sound of that.”

“You writing a cookbook?”

“Something like that. Actually, I've been dreaming of having a book published for most of my life.”

“What kind of book?”

She chewed her lip, aware that she'd revealed more than she'd intended. Now she was forced to plow ahead. “An illustrated children's book about a girl growing up in a small town and her imaginary friend, who is really a magical flying horse.”

He thought about that a minute. “Sounds like something every kid dreams about. I always wished I could fly. What's the title?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I've played with so many titles, you can have your pick.
Adventures with Arac
.
The Great Horse Caper
. And my favorite,
Arac and Her Magic Horse
.”

He laughed. “And you think they're original?”

“Yeah. I hear you. But whenever I think about titles, I get stuck.”

“So, your amazing brain can't come up with a simple, catchy title?”

“I could always call it
Home on the Range
.”

He rolled his eyes. “Were you planning on growing a bushy beard and signing autographs from a rickety wooden wagon?”

That had her laughing. “Yeah. I guess it's a little too corny.”

Whit used a hot pad to remove the skillet from the fire and place it on the wooden table set for two. “I made coffee if you'd like some.”

“Thanks. I'll get my cup.” She stood and stretched before crossing to the table.

“You looked really comfortable in that chair.”

“It was a perfect nap. And what a great way to wake up.”

“You mean, seeing me next to you?”

“I was talking about this.” She spread her hands to indicate the fried potatoes and ham-and-cheese sandwiches, melted to perfection, laid out on the table.

“The story of my life. I come in second to a ham and cheese.”

She was laughing as she turned. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

She filled two mugs before taking her place across from him. As she bit into her sandwich, she couldn't help the sigh of pure pleasure. “Oh, this is even better than it looks.”

“Thanks, I think.” He grinned at the compliment before taking a bite of fried potatoes. “Hey, for something that came out of a box and was freeze-dried, these aren't bad either.”

Following his lead, Cara spooned the potatoes and onions onto her plate and tasted.

As they enjoyed their meal, Whit glanced over. “Now, about your book. What are you planning on doing with it?”

She blushed. “That's one of the things I need to figure out. So here I am.”

“You're up here hiding from the world to figure out your life?”

She stared hard at her plate, avoiding his eyes. “It's really hard to let go of a lifetime dream. But a…person recently let me know that I'm only fooling myself if I think I'm good enough to be a published author.”

Whit arched a brow. “Could this person be a guy?”

Her head snapped up. “I didn't say it was a guy.”

“You didn't have to. Now, about the book? How did it come about?”

Cara was relieved. She would much rather talk about the book than about the guy who'd caused her to question her long-held dream. “I grew up in my gram's house in Minerva. She was strict and tough, but she taught me how to read and write and to work hard to follow my dreams. And though she was tough, she loved me unconditionally. And when I finished high school, she pushed me to search for every tuition grant available so I could be the first in my family to go to college.”

“And did you?”

Her smile was quick and bright. “Yeah. At first I did it for Gram. And later, for myself.”

“I bet she's proud of you.”

Her smile faded. “Gram passed away while I was in Cheyenne.”

“Do you have any other family?”

Cara shook her head. “I never knew my dad. My mother was only fifteen when she had me. She left me with Gram and I never saw her again until I was twelve. Gram got word that she died somewhere in Wyoming when I was seventeen.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. When Gram told me the news, it was like hearing about a stranger. But my grandmother's passing really hit me. That's when I realized I was all alone and I'd have to figure things out for myself.”

“Like your book?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes danced with a sudden light. “Want to see it? It's really just a collection of my childhood notes and drawings.”

Before he could answer, she pushed away from the table and rummaged under the pillow of the upper bunk. Turning, she held out a handful of yellowed, lined notepaper.

As he studied them, Whit looked over at her. “You drew these as a kid?”

“Yeah.” She turned away. “Pretty silly, right?”

“Silly? Not at all. You know something, Goldilocks? I'm no expert, but I'd say you've got real talent.”

For a moment she was so stunned by his words that her eyes filled, and she was forced to blink rapidly before turning to him. “That's what I used to tell myself. And I wanted so badly to prove it. But lately I've been thinking that I've allowed this foolish childhood dream to take over my life.”

He caught her hand, sending heat pulsing along her arm. “Dreams are never foolish. They're what feed our souls.”

For a moment she was speechless, not only by the fierceness of his words, but also because they touched a place deep in her heart.

When he released her hand, she wiped furiously at her eyes, surprised that he'd made her cry. “Anyhow, that's all behind me now.”

“Hey.” Instinctively he was on his feet and gathering her close. “No tears.”

His words, muffled against her hair, sent shivers up and down her spine. “They're not.” She sniffed. “I never cry.” Sensing her battle with her emotions, Whit tipped up her chin. “Of course you don't. There's probably a leak in the roof.” With unexpected tenderness, he wiped at a tear with his thumb.

For the space of a heartbeat she went very still, knowing he was going to kiss her.

He actually lowered his head before suddenly moving back a space.

With studied casualness he remarked, “Okay, Goldilocks. You've been lazy long enough.”

“Lazy…” She couldn't seem to get her bearings. One second he'd been ready to kiss her; the next he was calling her names.

He touched his rough palms to her cheeks. “I chopped wood and made your lunch. Now it's your turn to pull some weight around here.”