Have Cowboy, Need Cupid (7 page)

And if what he said was true, if his land was his pride, if he really thought he’d have nothing left if he lost the ranch, she would be calculating how she planned to take it all away from him.

Chapter Six

“Come back tomorrow and I’ll show you some other sights on the property,” Rafe said as they brushed the horses after dismounting at the barn.

“Sure.” Suzanne patted Blondie’s back. “I enjoyed the ride.”

“You’re a natural.” She would probably be a natural at other things, too. He put the supplies away, then washed his hands, trying to cleanse himself of his lustful thoughts. But their fingers touched briefly, a frisson of awareness rippling through him. The same kind of longing he’d felt by the pond when she’d stretched out those long legs and he’d imagined them wrapped around his waist.

That was the reason he’d abruptly decided they had to return to the ranch. The clearing by the pond was too secluded, too tempting. Back at the barn, there was safety in numbers.

Besides, he had work to do, and no time to flirt with Suzanne Hartwell.

He dried his hands, waited until she’d done the same, then gestured for her to lead. He’d follow her to her car, then put her out of his mind. At least until tomorrow.

But as he crossed the yard, he spotted his mother holding on to her walker, clipping the rosebushes along the trellis, and he took off at a jog. Seconds later he stood beside her, gazing at her weathered features, her pale complexion. “What are you doing out here, Mom? I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

Suzanne appeared beside him, looking flushed, windblown and concerned.

His mother chuckled, pushing a loose thread of gray hair beneath her straw hat. “Honey, I have to tend the flowers. I can’t stay holed up all the time or I’ll go plumb nuts.”

Rafe’s heart was still pounding irregularly. “I know, but you should wait until I’m here or one of the hands are nearby. What if you fell?”

“I’d call for Maria. She’s out back hanging the sheets on the line to dry.” She hesitated, straightening her hat, and peered from him to Suzanne. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Rafe? You didn’t tell me we had company or I’d have changed.”

“She’s…” A friend, he started to say, then caught himself.

“I’m Suzanne Hartwell.” Suzanne extended her right hand, her big sapphire ring shimmering. “And you look fine, Mrs. McAllister. I just came out for a riding lesson.”

“Oh, yes.” Rafe’s mother flattened a hand over her housedress. “Rafe said he’d decided to teach. He’s such a good rider. I hope he showed you the lovely pond.”

Rafe frowned, determined to get rid of Suzanne before his mother got any matchmaking ideas in her head. The wheels were obviously spinning already.

“Yes, it was beautiful. And so are your roses.” Suzanne’s smile seemed genuine. “My Grammy Rose adores her flower garden, too. She has this lovely gazebo draped with roses that overlook Pine Mountain.”

“It sounds like a postcard,” Rafe’s mother exclaimed. “Or a lovely place for a wedding.” She gave Rafe a pointed look, which he ignored, silently praying Suzanne hadn’t detected the hint. Lately, his mother had been badgering him about wanting grandchildren.

Like he could afford another mouth to feed right now.

“As a matter of fact, my cousins and sisters got married there.”

Mrs. McAllister’s gaze dropped to Suzanne’s ring. “Oh, are you engaged yourself, dear?”

The ring tightened around her finger. “No. Sapphire is my birthstone.” She hated to lie to the sweet woman, but she wasn’t officially engaged.

Rafe barely managed not to grunt. “Well, ladies, I have to get back to work. Mom, can I help you inside?”

“Certainly. Why don’t you join me, Suzanne? I’ll have Maria bring us some sweet tea. I believe she baked some homemade lemon-drop cookies this morning, too. You want to have some with us, Rafe? You look awfully hot and sweaty.”

“No tea for me, too much work to do. I’m sure Suzanne has other stuff to do, too—”

“Tea and cookies sound fabulous,” Suzanne said, surprising Rafe. “I’d love to visit a while.”

Rafe frowned. She would? “Don’t you have to get back to Atlanta?” he asked, more bluntly than he’d realized because his mother threw him one of her reprimanding glares.

“I’m not in a hurry.” Suzanne took his mother’s arm and helped her up the creaking porch steps.

“We can carry them out back to the screened porch,” his mother said, her voice gaining excitement. “It’s nice and cool there this time of day. And I have a bird feeder out back and this lovely nest of baby sparrows we can watch.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. He did not want Suzanne to stay and visit with his mother or tempt him to shirk his work and eat lemon-drop cookies in the shade. And, damn it, he
was
tempted.

Suzanne’s backside swayed as she ascended the stairs in her tight jeans. He definitely didn’t want her cozying up to his mother and have her fabricate some crazy romantic notions that she would harp on for the next week. “I just thought Suzanne might be in a hurry to leave today. She’s not much of a farm girl.”

“Rafe McAllister, don’t be rude to our guest,” his mother said. “You know how much I love company.” She turned to Suzanne. “Poor boy hasn’t had any women around in so long, I guess he’s forgotten how to behave.”

“I wasn’t being rude, I thought she might have a date or something.”

“No, no date,” Suzanne offered.

He could have sworn her eyes were laughing, and wondered why he had made that inane comment.

“So, no date,” his mother said with a triumphant smile, as if she’d thought Rafe was fishing for information. “See, Rafe, she can stay.”

“But I can’t.” He backed away, almost stumbling over the rocking chair on the front porch in his haste to escape her.

“I understand perfectly.” Suzanne’s eyes twinkled. “I certainly don’t want to bother you, either.”

He gestured toward her little sporty car. “I thought you might be visiting your family while you were here, Suzanne.”

“Actually I am. I’m staying at Rebecca’s old apartment, right down from the bookstore.”

His mother hooted as if she’d just realized the connection. “Oh, mercy, you’re related to Wiley Hartwell, aren’t you?”

Suzanne blushed. “He’s my uncle. Hannah, Mimi and Alison are my cousins, and my sister is Rebecca.”

“They are lovely girls. And that Wiley, he is such a character.” She pushed her walker slowly ahead into the foyer. “We were downright lucky he was giving that pickup truck away for New Year’s. Things have been mighty tight around here, and your uncle saved Rafe—”

“Mother,” Rafe practically ground out the word. “I doubt Suzanne is interested in our family problems.”

Suzanne’s expressive eyes found his, a flicker of emotion darkening the depths as if he was wrong. As if she might be personally interested in his life.

In him.

Then the moment passed, and he realized he’d misread her. There was nothing between them but a little heat and the matter of their opposing opinions over the future of Sugar Hill. So he offered a clipped goodbye and strode down the steps to finish his day while his mother and Suzanne enjoyed their tea party. Maybe Maria’s cookies would be hard as bricks and Suzanne would chip a tooth on them and never come back.

Then he wouldn’t be tortured by her presence.

“S
EE THAT MAGNOLIA
out there,” Mrs. McAllister pointed to the right side of the porch. “Frank and I planted that tree when Rafe was born. His birthday’s in April, right when the flowers bloom.” She laid a hand over her stomach. “We wanted more children, but it didn’t work out. But Rafe has been the best son a mother could want. He works night and day to keep this place going.”

Suzanne sipped the sweet iced tea and reached for another cookie. “You’ve never thought of moving someplace where he wouldn’t have to work so hard?”

Mrs. McAllister laughed. “That boy grew up here, ranching’s in his blood. He wouldn’t know how to do anything else.” She dusted powdered sugar from her dress. “God rest his soul, my husband sure didn’t know anything else, either. Some men are just born to live off the land.”

Suzanne grew quiet, studying the green leaves on the magnolia tree. Another month and the white flowers would bloom, celebrating another year for the tree and honoring Rafe’s birthday.

The same month the developer for the mall project wanted to break ground.

“Those tulip buds out there remind me of my mother,” Mrs. McAllister said softly. “Lordy, she loved tulips. And that oak tree by the pond, why that was where Frank and I said our vows. We didn’t have a fancy wedding, just family, but I can still see him standing under that tree wearing his suit and tie.” She swiped at a tear pooling in the corner of her eye. “Sometimes when I sit out here in the evenings, I can hear his voice whispering to me through the pines.” She gave Suzanne a beseeching look. “It’s almost as if he’s still here. Every time I smell Old Spice, I break down and cry.”

Suzanne nodded. She had tried so hard
not
to think about her mother, not to miss her, to be strong and move on, that she had never really felt her presence. Emotions converged inside her, though, and she fingered the cross dangling between her breasts, remembering the sadness in her mother’s eyes as she’d handed it to her on her deathbed.

She tried to remember her mother’s face, to see her eyes and hear her voice. To remember the perfume she’d worn.

Instead, she envisioned that awful metal hospital bed that sat like a big claw holding her mother’s emaciated frame in the dark corner of the den. She smelled the scent of alcohol and antiseptic and fear that had nearly choked her when she’d entered the room. She heard the wheezing sound of the oxygen mask when her mother had gathered pain-filled, frightening breaths. And the drip of that IV—she used to wake up sweating, dreaming about that sound.

Maybe that was the reason her father had sold their house so soon after her mother had died. So he wouldn’t see her mother everywhere he turned, so he wouldn’t hear her voice whispering to him at night or hear that haunting drip. So he wouldn’t have to look at the place where that horrid hospital bed had sat, the place where her mother had died.

“Well, it’s so good to have you visit,” Mrs. McAllister said, drawing her from her reverie. “I think we’re going to be good friends.”

Suzanne smiled and squeezed her hand, guilt suffusing her. She would like that, she thought. Except the kind old woman might not like her so much if she knew the real reason Suzanne had come to the Lazy M.

R
AFE HAD WORKED
all afternoon replacing rotten fencing out on the edge of the west pasture, hammering and digging post holes, grateful for the physical labor to work off his tension. While his mind zigzagged from thoughts of Suzanne Hartwell to the committee that had been formed to explore the pros and cons of the new development proposed for the town, he struggled for other ways to increase his income. Hopefully, he’d take in some horses to board soon. And if worse came to worst, he’d agree to lease some of his property to his neighbor, Harold Landon, who’d been wanting to increase his herd for the past year, although that would be a last resort. He didn’t like Landon or his methods of breeding, and despised the fact that his father had owed him money. The fact that Landon knew Rafe was in financial trouble made things worse. The developer hounding him was bad enough, but Landon had offered several times to buy the Lazy M.

It would be a cold day in July before Rafe sold his land to Harold Landon.

Rafe finished stacking the supplies, then loaded the extras in the back of that gaudy purple pickup truck and headed back to the farmhouse for dinner. His stomach growled, a reminder he’d skipped lunch. He only hoped Maria’s cooking was better than her laundry skills.

Surely Suzanne Hartwell was gone by now.

But as he drove up, he saw her walking toward her convertible, a smile on her face as she waved to his mother. His mother looked refreshed and pleased as punch.

Why was Suzanne Hartwell getting all chummy with his mother?

“Hi, Rafe.”

“Hey.” He glanced at his mother who was overflowing with good spirits, then glared at Suzanne. “I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

“I guess the day got away from me.”

“I invited her to stay for supper, but she said she’s meeting her sister,” his mother called. “We had the nicest visit, Rafe. Did you know Suzanne can cook? She told me about this chocolate layer cake, and I just have to try it.”

Oh, great, he was in big trouble now. According to his mother, anyone who had half a brain in the kitchen was wife material. Although he was surprised Suzanne could cook; he’d pegged her as more of the eat-out type.

“And I showed her how to crochet. She’s never done it before.”

Suzanne Hartwell crocheting? “Glad you two had a nice visit.” He strode past Suzanne, ignoring the way his body hardened at the mere sight of those dark eyes raking over him. She’d probably never seen a man come home filthy and sweaty and covered in dust from a hard day’s work.

“Thanks for the tea and cookies, and for showing me those basic crochet stitches,” Suzanne said.

“It was my pleasure, dear. Come back to see us,” his mother chirped. “You’re welcome anytime.”

“Actually, I have another riding lesson tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you then.”

Oh, Lord. He’d forgotten about that.

She offered him a smile, and he tipped his head down toward her, his Stetson riding low on his head. “Yeah, tomorrow we’ll finish what we started today.”

She arched a brow, and he realized she might have mistaken his words.

“By the end of the week, you’ll see things my way,” he said to clarify his meaning. “Then you’ll jump on the bandwagon in town and help us get rid of that developer.”

A small frown twitched at her forehead, but she smiled and climbed into her sports car. “We’ll see,” she said, then waved goodbye.

He glared at the car as it barreled down the drive. Old mistrusts rose like a hawk breathing down his neck. Cecilia had seemed nice, too. She’d even played up to his mother. But she’d set him up to make her rich boyfriend jealous, and Rafe had suffered one of the worst beatings of his life when her little act had worked.

He’d learned a very good but painful lesson that day.