Taking the Bull by the Horns (4 page)

She'd never been so glad for a song to end. She broke away, not meeting his eyes.

"Thanks for the beer."

"Where you going?"

"I'm more tired than I thought. I ... Thank you.” She turned and wove through tables to where Melissa sat alone. Laurie and Jerri were dancing. She unlooped her purse from the back of her chair, made her excuses and bolted from the Blue Bug Saloon.

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Ah, yes, another exciting Friday afternoon grocery shopping at the Dixie Pig with her grandmother. Gertrude Cates insisted on the weekly outing to beat the Saturday crowds. Lavender hadn't really minded until today. She wanted to be anywhere but in public.

Jerri, Melissa and Laurie had been waiting for her when she got to school this morning and she'd cursed herself for not giving into the desire to take a personal day. But that would have been the coward's way out and she'd used up her allotment of coward last night.

"Where'd you run off to last night?” Jerri had asked.

"You looked completely freaked out,” Melissa added. “What did he do to you?"

Nothing. She hadn't given him time to do anything. She'd berated herself all night, consoling herself that she'd never see him again.

Lavender had turned away and unlocked her classroom door. “I hadn't realized how tired I was."

"You didn't look tired. You looked upset. Like he'd upset you."

"I just felt ridiculous,” Lavender admitted, though saying it aloud made her sick. She didn't know these women well enough to know if they'd hold her confession against her, but clearly they weren't going to leave her alone till she said something. “He's so young and he bought me a beer and was flirting with me. I felt like he was making fun of me."

"Why would he do that?” Laurie asked, her tone shrill with concern.

"It was just a feeling."

Melissa shook her head. “He asked me to dance and didn't buy me a beer. He asked me about you."

Lavender reddened. God only knew what Melissa told him, and she didn't want to ask. She didn't want to read anything into his curiosity. She was never going to see him again, remember? And if she wondered what he saw in her, didn't they? She'd never been so glad to hear the bell signaling the start of classes.

She lost her grandmother in the store, which was a trick since it was only six aisles. She was pretty sure she'd left her back in the jelly aisle trying to decide if she wanted to buy a new flavor or stick with the same strawberry preserves she always bought. She'd get the preserves. Gertrude Cates was the one member of her family who acted with any kind of predictability.

Lavender turned her cart back around, her list done, and her heart jolted when she saw a lean cowboy surrounded by several older women, including her grandmother.

Gertrude's voice carried down the aisle as she gestured to Taylor's hand basket. “What kind of meal do you think you're eating there? That's nothing for a growing boy to eat—no nutrition at all."

Despite her better judgment, Lavender crept closer to see what products had earned Gertrude's ire. Macaroni and cheese, beanie weenies—she didn't even know they made those anymore—Pop Tarts. She was right. He was a child.

"Now, ma'am, I'm fully grown.” Taylor's deep voice carried, too, and hit a chord in Lavender that had her vibrating with an energy she didn't want to name.

"You'll hardly stay healthy enough eating like that. What you need is a good home cooked meal,” one of Gertrude's friends, Corrinna, chided.

"It's been awhile since I've had one of those,” he admitted.

"Gertrude is a very good cook,” another friend, Fiona, chimed in. “And she's training her granddaughter to do the same. You can't find many young women who like to cook these days."

Old busybody. Where was she going with this?

"Granddaughter, hm?” And as if he'd known she'd been standing behind him the whole time, Taylor turned and smiled, not even bothering to look surprised. “Hey, where'd you run off to last night?"

Past him, Gertrude stiffened.

"I was more tired than I thought after that field trip.” Lavender approached cautiously, not sure who to be more wary of. Maybe he'd buy her excuse even though the other teachers hadn't.

His gaze traveled lazily over her. “All rested now?"

She lifted her chin and pushed her hair back, aware of the trio of elderly ladies watching. “Yes, teaching a roomful of five-year-olds is better than yoga."

He laughed. “I hear you're a good cook."

She used every ounce of concentration not to blush. “I am a very good cook."

"As you can see,” he lifted his basket for her inspection. “I am not. These ladies seem to believe you'll cook for me."

When she looked into those grey eyes, she couldn't form the word “no.” Where had that word disappeared to? Instead, she said, “Do you like lasagna?"

"You know that boy?” Gertrude demanded once they'd brought the groceries into the house. She was too much of a lady to contradict Lavender's invitation once issued, but she was upset.

"I met him at the rodeo yesterday. He showed us his horse."

"And he's the reason you wanted to go out last night even though you never go out with your friends."

She didn't even have friends, really, but didn't say so. “Yes, ma'am.” No point in lying now.

"And you told him to finagle an invitation to dinner?"

"No, ma'am!” Lavender set the canned tomatoes on the counter with a thunk. “I don't know how he knew that we'd be there."

"But you think he was there for you?"

Lavender turned to put the butter in the refrigerator. “That would be arrogant of me, wouldn't it?"

"Lavender, you know what kind of people those rodeo riders are. People who can't settle down, who shake the dust off their feet when they leave a town."

"Like my parents.” Her tone was sharper than she intended, and pain creased her grandmother's face.

"You've been hurt enough by that type. Why would you think about getting involved with these people?"

Because she'd stopped being a victim a long time ago, and had learned to appreciate her life, filling all the holes. “I'm not involved with anyone. I danced with him. Once. And not well."

"I saw the way he looked at you, Lavender."

"I'm not responsible for that. And you're the one inviting strange men to dinner, so either help or get out of the kitchen."

Gertrude eyed the lasagna ingredients on the counter, then propped her hands on her hips. “You're better at the Italian than me.” And she got out of the kitchen.

There hadn't been a man in the house since ... well, unless you counted the plumber, who was in his fifties and putting two kids through college, or the air conditioning guy, who was younger than her, happily married to his high school sweetheart and had four kids ... since she couldn't remember. Or wouldn't remember. Even if there were available men in Wayback, other than the transient cowboys, she didn't have a place for them.

Lavender was studying the cabinet, trying to decide what to make for dessert and thinking about how nice it was to cook for someone else for a change when a quiet knock came at the kitchen door. She leaned back to look around the open cabinet door and saw Taylor standing on the other side of the screen, a pink bakery box in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.

"I hope you haven't made dessert,” he said, brushing past her as she held the screen door open for him.

He smelled delicious, the scent she'd noticed last night layered beneath Ivory soap, shaving cream—was there a more delicious smell?—and shampoo. And that was beyond the rich scent of chocolate coming from the box.

"I was just trying to figure out what to make. You didn't have to bring anything."

"Good manners, right? And when I passed by the bakery, I saw this cake.” He set it down on the counter and motioned for her to open it.

She untaped it gingerly and peeled back the top to reveal a fudge coated layer cake.

"Mm. Big sweet tooth?” She smiled.

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, I hope you have enough room after my lasagna.” She nodded toward the noodles boiling on the stove, the sauce cooking beside it.

"What can I do to help?"

"You don't have to."

"Lavender.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just because I'm a guy doesn't mean I'm helpless in the kitchen. What can I do to help?"

She slipped out of his reach, watched the strands of hair fall from his fingertips, then sucked in a deep breath to focus. “Can you grate cheese?"

He eased back, relaxed in victory. “I can do that."

She gathered the supplies he'd need, grateful. She hated to grate cheese, always worried about scraping her fingers on the grater.

Taylor, however, used it with confident, long strokes. His hands mesmerized her.

"Why don't you use a food processor?” he asked.

"I hate cleaning it."

She stirred the sauce, then got salad ingredients from the fridge, and checked the noodles. Good, they were ready. Removing them with her tongs, she began layering them into the pan.

"So did you know who Gertrude was when you started talking to her?"

"Who's Gertrude?” He placed the bowl of cheese on the counter beside her and hefted the head of Romaine. “What do you want me to do with this?"

"Rinse it, then you can start tearing it into the bowl on the top of the refrigerator there. Gertrude is my grandmother. Did you know that when you started talking to her?"

"No, I didn't know who she was. And she and her friends started talking to me."

"Ah."

"I did know you would be there, though."

She whipped around to look at him. “Are you kidding?"

"No. Everyone knows you shop after school on Friday. I wanted to find you and apologize for whatever I did to upset you last night."

She rested a hip against the counter and waved her tongs at him. “So you weren't really buying that stuff? You were just trying to find me?"

"Oh, sure, I bought the stuff. I cook sometimes in the RV.” He rinsed off the lettuce and started tearing.

She turned back to the lasagna, aware that her next question would open her up to more questions than she might want to share the answer to. “So why did you think you upset me?"

"You left in kind of a hurry, and you didn't look too happy. I thought I'd done something wrong, and I want to apologize."

She shook her head. “It's not you. I'm just not very good out of my element."

"So why did you go last night?"

"I was invited. Not a usual occasion."

"Why not?"

"I say no too much. People stop asking."

"Why do you say no?"

"I have other responsibilities.” Not that he would understand that.

"What, your grandmother?” He glanced toward the door where she'd disappeared. “She seems fine to me."

"She has her days. And when her schedule is disrupted she gets agitated. When I got home last night she was a mess.” Why was she telling him this? “Sorry. Not your problem."

"I asked,” he replied easily. “Alzheimer's?"

She shook her head. “She had a stroke when I was in high school. She never fully recovered and can't really be on her own."

"So where's the rest of your family?"

"God knows."

He stopped tearing and looked at her. “Are you kidding?"

"Nope. No idea where they are.” She finished layering the lasagna and slid it into the oven. “Are you okay with that?” She gestured to the lettuce.

"Sure, I got it."

She reached for another bowl and pulled out ingredients for the salad dressing. “She can't eat raw eggs, so I have another recipe for Caesar salad."

"What does she do while you're at school?"

"She stays here. The neighbors keep an eye out."

"And last night?"

"She stayed here. She wasn't happy about it."

"Where is she now?"

"Taking a nap in front of Jeopardy, probably."

Taylor finished the lettuce, wiped his hands on a towel. “So without you-?"

"She'd be in a home. Don't make me a hero,” she said quickly, seeing the contemplative look he slid her way.

He nodded and stepped back. “You got a corkscrew, or do you want to wait for dinner?"

"The drawer to your right there.” Maybe a glass of wine would settle her nerves, though honestly she wasn't as nervous as she'd thought. He was easy to talk to. And she had hardly thought about those long hands and how they'd felt when he danced with her last night.

"Wine glasses?"

"Right above you there.” She pointed to the cabinet by the refrigerator.

"You think your grandmother wants some?"

"Maybe just a little glass with dinner. So, what's your story? You have mine. What do you do when you're not steer wrestling?” She grinned just saying the words. “I don't think I've ever asked anyone that before."

He handed her a glass of wine and leaned back against the counter with his own glass. “I work a ranch near Alpine."

"Alpine. Can you believe I've lived in Texas all my life and I've never been there? Is it pretty?"

"Prettiest land you ever saw.” He smiled. “You should come down."

"Right.” Just what she wanted to go visit some cowboy in a bunkhouse someplace she'd never been. Despite herself she could imagine snuggling up in a narrow bed with him, looking out over the wild land.

Who was she kidding? She had no idea what a bunkhouse was like and she had no business imagining herself in his bed, in his arms. No business imaging leaving this place.

"Tell me about it."

"It's great.” A smile wreathed his face, and his eyes took a faraway look as he described it, the open desert, the mountains, hot days, chilly nights. Again she thought about being wrapped in his arms as they looked out over the scenery.

"It's the most beautiful place I've ever been,” he said, his low voice taking on a dreamy quality.

"Have you been a lot of places?"

The pleasure in his eyes dimmed. “A few."

"I imagine, with the rodeo."

Now the line of his mouth thinned. “Yeah."

"So why do you leave so often if you love it so much?"