Charlene Sands (2 page)

Clint poured himself another drink, chasing away shivers of regret. He hadn’t wanted to come. He’d wanted nothing to do with his father, his land or his holdings. But Heaton wired him about his father’s death and the widow who laid claim to the Double H.

He’d been drawn here by a sense of justice. Hoyt Hayworth had used Clint’s mother’s money to start up his business ventures, to purchase the land and the cattle. Without her financial backing, Hoyt wouldn’t have had the means to build his empire. The cattle baron had used his wife and then, when her health had begun to fail, he’d tossed her away like a rich pile of horse dung.

Melody Hayworth hadn’t deserved that treatment. Frail and broken by her disheartening marriage, she’d taken Clint away to live with her brother’s family.

Clint lay down on the parlor sofa, finishing off his drink and closing his eyes. He hated this house. He hated everything about the Double H. And he hated his father for ruining his mother’s life. And his own.

At one time Clint had been happy here. He’d loved ranching, loved the smell of the earth beneath his boots and the open spaces. He loved growing up with the ranch hands, all the entertaining stories they’d tell. As a boy, the work had been hard, but he’d loved every minute of it.

But one day Clint caught his father in the greatest betrayal of all, and his relationship with him had deteriorated. Clint began to believe every wrenching story about his father’s business manipulations and ruthlessness. He’d seen firsthand how his father’s faithlessness had torn his mother up.

They’d moved to his uncle’s horse ranch outside of Houston, and after some years Clint had become foreman. He built his uncle’s ranch into a prosperous enterprise, working with the animals, taming wild horses in his own way. He had a knack for it—and some said it was a gift. When his mother died three years ago, Clint vowed he’d never set eyes on his father again. Though the old man had tried to contact him a few times, Clint had never responded. He couldn’t abide a man betraying his trusting wife and child.

Hours later, Clint woke up, disoriented for a moment. It’d been years since he’d dozed in this room. The scents of his youth surrounded him: the musky fibers of sturdy suede, fresh-cut lilies, hyacinth and roses sweetening the air, the hint of smoke from cooled ashes in the fireplace.

Noises coming from the kitchen sparked his curiosity, and he wondered if Greta still worked here. Was she baking her German delicacies before dawn, the way she had when he was a child?

He rose, stretching out his legs. From now on he’d be damn sure to sleep in a bed. He walked quietly into the kitchen, the aroma of rich coffee beckoning. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. When he reached the kitchen doorway, he leaned heavily against it and quietly watched the widow Hayworth, silhouetted by golden lamplight.

She stood with her back to him, facing the cookstove, waiting for the coffee to brew. Her hair, down in long waves, shimmered like sparkling embers of firelight. A flimsy nightdress flowed over her in soft folds, outlining her body. When she turned slightly, her profile reflected delicate features, smooth cheekbones, a straight, pert nose and plump lips that reminded him of ripe peaches.

Her breasts lifted the nightdress, and in the dim glow he found their shape round and full. His groin twitched at the beautiful sight she made, and he imagined how she’d feel under his palms. Even the reminder that she was his father’s widow couldn’t bank the urge to take her in his arms.

Wouldn’t that be a fine revenge?

Sell the land his father loved.

And claim his widow.

A man has needs,
after all.

Clint’s boots clattered on the wood floor as he entered the room, and she turned, startled. “Oh!”

Her arms wrapped around her breasts, her attempt to conceal them.

“It’s too late for that,” he said. “You’ve got a body any man would want. You can’t hide it.”

Fury flamed her face, her blue eyes gleaming with anger. “What are you doing here?”

“About to fill my belly,” he said, walking to the long kitchen table and unwrapping a loaf of bread. He broke off a piece and bit into it. “You didn’t offer me supper last night. Or a room to bed down in. I slept on the sofa.”

She poured a mug of coffee and set it so firmly in front of him liquid swished out. “I didn’t think you needed an invitation.”

He didn’t. He took what he wanted. Dear old Dad had taught him that. He lifted the mug. The coffee flowed hot and smooth down his throat. “Can’t sleep?”

She poured herself a cup of coffee, refusing to meet his eyes. “No…I…” she began. “I have some worries.”

“You don’t want me here,” he stated. He knew his appearance on the Double H must have muddied up her plans. She hadn’t expected to share the wealth. “Figuring how to get rid of me?”

She scoffed, her full lips pursing together when she shook her head. “You don’t worry me,” she said quite convincingly. “I’ll never sell you my half of the ranch. I owe your father my allegiance. He wanted this ranch to survive him, to thrive and live on. So if you’ve come all the way from Houston to buy me out, I suggest you go home. I promised your father I’d never sell and I intend to keep that promise. Nothing will change my mind.”

Clint stared at her. She was good, he thought. Those earnest summer-sky eyes and her sweet, melodic voice could probably squelch another man’s suspicions. But Clint didn’t trust lightly. Not anymore. His entire childhood had been a lie. His father hadn’t been the man he’d thought he was. Clint had looked up to him, admired him, only to find out he’d been ruthless in his every pursuit, hurting many along the way.

“You’ll sell. I can be just as calculating as my father.”

Her eyes widened and she appeared flustered, as if something had just dawned on her. “I hope to God you’re not the cause of my worries.”

With steaming mug in hand, she brushed past him.

He caught her arm, stopping her from leaving the room. He was close, breathing in the scent of lilacs from her hair. Her skin glowed like fine porcelain in the faint light. “What in hell does that mean?”

She balked, fear entering her eyes when he touched her. She appeared like a frightened child, then she took a full breath and her body eased. He witnessed a transformation of sorts, her face taking on a steely resolve. “Don’t ever touch me like that again, Clint.”

She pulled her arm free.

He blinked, noting the relief on her face. “Who’s hurt you, Tess? Was it Hoyt?”

She shook her head. “No one’s hurt me.”

It was a bold-faced lie. But she masked her expression well, angering him with her puzzles.

He glanced at the alluring nightdress that hugged her curves, then looked into her eyes. “From now on wear a robe. I’m moving in.”

B
y sunrise, Clint had moved himself back into his childhood room. Amazing how nothing had changed. Just about everything he recalled looked identical to when he’d left. The same blue curtains covered windows that looked out to the barns, stables, equipment sheds and, beyond that, a pasture dotted with wild bluebonnets. His mother never wanted those bluebonnets trampled on, so Hoyt had had them fenced in, protecting them from the livestock.

“He’s a good man,” his mother would say, looking out at the field of flowers. But Melody had thought the best in everyone and she hadn’t seen life clear enough when it came to her husband.

Clint snorted at the memory. Fencing in a parcel of pasture had kept his mother happy so that Hoyt could go about his business without any opposition. He’d give in to her small requests and she’d hold him in high esteem, but Hoyt never truly had made his mother happy when it really mattered.

Clint scoured the room, glancing at the desk where he’d do his figuring in the evening and the bed with the blue patchwork quilt his mother had designed for him. The dressing table and mirror, the pitcher and bowl—everything brought back memories of his childhood, but none more than that last year when he’d lived here and wished he didn’t.

Clint plopped his hat on his head and took the stairs briskly, striding out into the burgeoning sunshine. He spotted Sonny Blackstone by the bunkhouse, in his morning meeting, speaking with the twenty-four-man crew. Sonny, the Double H foreman, lived in a house on the ranch, a small place about half a mile from here, and he’d been as solid as the Hayworths’ massive brick fireplace he’d helped build years earlier.

Clint waited until the men dispersed, then he approached. “Mornin’, Sonny.”

Sonny stared into his eyes a moment. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, his thin lips cracking into a sliver of a smile. Sonny wasn’t much on emotion. “Clint.” He shook his head. “I’m not used to looking up at you, boy.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Sonny said, his brown eyes narrowing. Sonny was fifty-five if he was a day and he wore his years of hard work on his face and body, yet he appeared as healthy as they come. “Your pa would’ve liked seeing you grown up.”

Clint glanced out at the acres of Hayworth land, avoiding Sonny’s scrutiny. “You know why I left, why my mother saw fit to take us both away from here.”

“Yeah.” Sonny stared down at his boots. “Melody was a fine lady, Clint.”

“She didn’t deserve the way Hoyt treated her.”

“Well, I don’t claim to know what went on between the two, but you’re back now. The ranch needs running, and you’re the man to do it.”

Clint shook his head, holding his anger in check. “I’m not planning on running the ranch, Sonny. I want no part of this place. I plan to sell it off in small parcels—soon as I get Hoyt’s widow to sell me her share.”

“Well, that’s a tall order, boy.” Sonny’s disposition changed quickly, his voice stern, fatherly. Hell, at times, Sonny Blackstone had been more of a father to him than Hoyt ever had. “And I doubt Mrs. Hayworth will sell. She’s at home here.”

“She’s got no right here, and as soon as I make her see that, she’ll be gone.”

Sonny’s gaze bore down on him. “You doing this out of spite? I never thought you’d turn out so bitter.”

Bitter? Hell, Sonny didn’t know the half of it. But Clint didn’t put names to his feelings. Most times they just burned inside him like a raging fire. “Don’t worry, Sonny. You’ll be well compensated for your loyalty. I won’t shove you out in the cold the way my father did me and my ma. I’m not as ruthless as Hoyt Hayworth.”

Sonny grimaced, put his hat on his thinning gray hair and sighed heavily. “You sure about that, boy? Because, from the looks of things, I’d say you haven’t got half the heart your father had.”

Clint watched Sonny mount his mare and ride off, wondering what in hell Hoyt Hayworth had done around here to inspire such high and mighty allegiance in the people surrounding him.

Tess wasn’t one for eating her meals in the formal dining room. When she’d first come to the Double H, it was as an employee, and she’d preferred taking her meals in the kitchen alone. Then, once married, she’d spent most of her time eating upstairs with Hoyt, keeping him company and making him as comfortable as possible.

Today she sat at the kitchen table with a full cup of steaming coffee in front of her and one of Greta’s delicious fruit-filled Berliners. Usually she refrained from eating the small, sweet doughnuts that Hoyt had loved so much, but today boiled eggs and oatmeal didn’t sound appealing.

She sipped coffee as the splintering sound of rapid boots grazing across the floor broke the morning’s silence.

Clint.

She looked up to find him in the kitchen, his brisk entry commanding attention. He said nothing to her as he picked up a plate, filled it with Berliners and Brötchen rolls and sat facing her, slamming down a mug of Greta’s thick coffee on the table. He lathered the bread rolls with honey and dug into a Berliner.

“Damn, they taste better than I remember.” Clint closed his eyes. His whisper of satisfaction hadn’t been meant for her ears, she was certain, but she couldn’t help smiling at the comment. She’d reacted the same way the first time she’d tasted Greta’s German delicacy.

Clint opened his eyes. “My mother tried making these a few times. She never came close, but I ate them anyway and told her they were better than Greta’s.”

The sentiment tugged at something deep inside her, thinking of Clint’s mother trying to make up to her son for pulling him away from all the things that he loved.

“It’s a wonder I don’t look like a fat milk cow from eating Greta’s food,” she said.

Clint noted her soft expression, then scoured over her body with that same arrogance she’d met with last night. “You’ve got a long way to go before looking like a fat milk cow, Mrs. Hayworth. But you already know that.”

And the unguarded moment was gone. Just like that, Clint’s remark had told her exactly what he thought of her. “If you’re staying here, I’d hoped we could get along.”

“I’m staying.” He sipped his coffee and stared into her eyes. “But unless you’re planning on selling out to me, we won’t be getting along much.”

“If that’s how it has to be. I already told you I don’t plan on selling.” Tess scraped her chair back and stood, anger rising in her chest. She’d hoped to have a bit of help with the ranch. Figuring costs, writing out the payroll, making important decisions about Hoyt’s other holdings in town all added to her worries.

Lately there’d been some disruptions on the ranch. Nothing overwhelming yet, just some things that had started happening since Hoyt’s death that worried her. She’d hoped to speak with Clint about them, but now she realized he wasn’t going to be much help to her at all.

She brought her plate to the counter and set it down slowly, breathing in the fresh morning air from the open window. The sunshine and vast horizon always helped calm her. She really loved living here on the ranch. Sonny had finally come around to accept her. She felt a friendship with him and she’d hoped that Greta would come around soon, too.

Clint walked to the counter, bringing his plate. She didn’t dare look at him—he was just a breath away, and his tall frame and hale body unnerved her. When he set his plate down, their fingers brushed. She snatched her hand away, the accidental contact creating a rush of heat. She rebelled from the sensation, remembering the callous man who was, in fact, her stepson by law.

“We won’t be talking about any pleasantries,” he explained. “But I plan to do my share around here until I convince you to sell,” he said. He leaned near her ear, his lips only inches away, and spoke quietly. “And I expect your full cooperation.”

She gazed up into his eyes then, seeing a captivating gleam. He reached out slowly, his fingers gently touching the crest of her cheek and caressing along the slope of her jaw. She stood frozen, allowing his tender touch. There were so few times in her life that she’d been touched with anything other than harshness that she craved a soft touch, even from an angry, bitter man.

“The same kind of
cooperation
you showed my father.”

Tess blinked. Instantly she knew she’d made a mistake letting him touch her. She pulled away sharply and banked the trembling of her traitorous body. “You get half the ranch, Clint. And
nothing
else from me. That will never change.”

He leaned against the counter, a crooked smile curling his mouth. “If you’re issuing a challenge, I accept.”

Tess had enough experience with cold, unyielding men to know how to react. She’d been fooled once by Clint’s tenderhearted behavior. She’d never be fooled again. And she wouldn’t allow him to disrupt her life. She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “It’s not a challenge. It’s plain fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I’ve been running this ranch since before you got here and I darn well plan on running it after you’ve gone.”

Tess strolled out of the room at a lazy pace, while her insides quaked uncontrollably. She wouldn’t allow Clint to see her cower ever again. He had to know she wasn’t the kind of female that could be bullied into his way of thinking.

Hoyt had taught her that much. And what he hadn’t taught her, she’d managed to learn from hard knocks and years of experience.

“It’s good to see you, Laura.” Tess hugged her best friend as she stepped down from the two-seater buggy. “I’m sure glad you made it out to the ranch today.”

Laura’s bright smile always managed to cheer her. Tess often wondered how one such person could contain two lifetimes’ worth of joy in her heart. Laura bubbled over with happiness all the time and never had a bad thing to say about anyone. Thank goodness for that, because Frank Metcalf wasn’t a kind soul and caused a ruckus wherever he went. Yet Laura had remained friends with Tess for the five years that they’d been homestead neighbors while living in Oklahoma. Laura’s friendship had gotten her through some rough spots in her young life.

“I wouldn’t miss afternoon tea with my dearest friend.” Laura’s sweet voice and friendly face made Tess forget all her problems. Too bad she couldn’t get a daily dose of her. They managed to see each other a few times a month at best.

Tess took her hand and they climbed the stairs that led into the house. “I think Greta’s made plum tarts for us today.”

“Greta has my undying love. When I worked on the Double H, she’d make them for me every Friday. And give me a batch to take home to Tom.”

“She likes you,” Tess said, keeping the envy out of her voice. Everyone liked Laura Larson. Laura fit in. She was a member in good standing in the community. She was married to the editor in chief of the
Hayworth Herald
newspaper, and folks thought Tom a fair-minded man.

Though Greta had been civil to Tess in the beginning, once she married Hoyt, the cook had looked upon her as a freeloader who didn’t belong. She made no bones that Melody Hayworth had been the one and only true woman of the Double H ranch.

Tess sat on the brushed-velvet sofa and Laura took the floral wing chair. Greta brought a tray of tea and tarts out from the kitchen. Her ruddy, pinched face relaxed by delight. “Miss Laura, it’s
goodt
you are here. I made plum tarts—your favorite.”

“Hello, Greta.” Laura rose to hug the cook. “Thank you. No one makes a crust as light as you. And is that your special cream?”

“Yes, yes. Vanilla cream.” Greta beamed at the compliment, and when Laura sat again, she poured the tea.

“Thanks, Greta. They look wonderful,” Tess said, and the cook only nodded before walking out.

Tess sighed. “She’s still unsure of me.”

“Give her time, my friend. She’s worked here for more than twenty-five years. She was especially fond of Melody, and when Clint was born, she coddled him like her own babe.”

“She should be in her glory, then. Clint showed up yesterday. He’s moved in. Now Greta has an accomplice in making me feel like an outsider.”

Laura reached over to squeeze her hand gently. “You’re no outsider. You’ve kept this ranch running and tended to Hoyt all at the same time.” Laura leaned back and took a sip of her tea. “So Clint is back? How is he?”

“Rude. Uncaring. He hates his father, even in the grave. Isn’t that horrible?”

Laura shrugged. “Clint always had a mind of his own. But when I knew him, he was kind and friendly. And oh-so handsome. I had a terrible fascination with him when I was twelve.”

“You did? I didn’t know that.”

“Tom wouldn’t care to hear me talking about it. I liked Clint for two full years. Then I met Tom.” Laura’s smile curved as wide as a watermelon slice. “It’s been Tom ever since.” She patted her stomach. “And now we’ll be having a little one.”

Tess peered at Laura’s rounded belly and set her cup down.

Laura giggled and nodded. “It’s getting close now, Tess. I can hardly wait to see my baby. I think Tom’s just as excited. I’m sure when the time comes he’ll write an editorial in the
Herald
for all the town to read.”

“Tom’s a good man. And you’ll make a wonderful mother, Laura.”

“Do you really think so?”