Your'e Still the One Page 7

  “For you?”

  “No, for you.” She paused. “You haven’t seen your father yet, and when you do I doubt you want an audience.”

  “I saw him,” Matt said, the image of Wallace passed out on the couch still sharp in his mind.

  “Oh, last night you said...” She shook her head, looking confused. “Doesn’t matter. I must’ve misunderstood.”

  “Technically, I saw him. But we haven’t spoken. He was drunk when I got here. On his office couch, dead to the world.”

  She studied him for a moment, then let her gaze drop to her coffee. “I’m sorry. That had to be disappointing.”

  “Nope. Expected. The upside is that Nikki had a chance to get settled in peace.”

  The curiosity was back in Rachel’s eyes, and he regretted mentioning Nikki. Whether she met Wallace today or not, he’d decided to talk to her about letting him explain their relationship to Rachel. Now that she’d met the McAllisters, he hoped she’d be cool with it.

  “Look, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn,” Rachel said, lowering her voice. “But if things get uncomfortable, we have room for you and Nikki at the Sundance.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it, but I don’t see us sticking around that long.”

  “No.” Disappointment clouded her face. “I hate that.”

  “Why?” He gave her a neutral smile, tried to sound nonchalant, even though her frank reaction turned his heart into a jackhammer.

  “You have to ask why?” She glared at him. “It’s nice seeing you again, knowing you’re okay, knowing that you haven’t gotten too big for your britches.”

  A laugh escaped him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, please, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Trace said you have the second-best bull riding record in the country.”

  “Nice of Trace to be keeping track of my career.”

  She sniffed. “I never followed rodeo so I didn’t know—”

  “That wasn’t a jab. I meant it sincerely.” He shrugged. “I like your brothers. I wish I’d known them better when I was younger.”

  “I know.” She smiled sadly. “Your father, he doesn’t have many fans but—”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Matt cut in, hearing the bitter edge to his own voice. “He knows how to buy loyalty.”

  The sympathy in Rachel’s eyes pissed him off almost as much as his own careless slip. No, it wasn’t a slip. Wrong word, because he didn’t care. He felt no love or hate for Wallace; he felt nothing but indifference. And he doubted Wallace remembered he had a son. It seemed a convenient habit for the man to forget he had offspring.

  “Look.” Rachel reached across the table to cup her hand over the fist he’d made without realizing. “Obviously I know about your father’s drinking problem. But he’s been looking ill, and whether it’s a result of the booze or not, I just want to say I think it’s admirable that you’ve put your differences aside to come see him. That’s all.” Her hand trailed away as she leaned back. “I won’t bring up the subject again.”

  Matt relaxed his fist. Her touch had calmed him some. He’d wondered how much she knew, what her mother might’ve told her. It was clear now that Rachel was in the dark, just as most people were in Blackfoot Falls, he suspected.

  His coming home had nothing to do with caring about his father, and Rachel would see that soon enough. Maybe he should give a shit that she might not think so highly of him. And yeah, he did a little, but Rachel had never judged him. As a teenager she’d hotly and privately defended him against Wallace’s injustices. Yet she’d never criticized him for not standing up to the man.

  For his mother’s sake, he’d forced himself to keep his cool, even when he’d started busting the seams of his clothes and was big enough to take the old man. Flatten him in the dirt. Keep him prone until he begged for mercy, until he apologized for every harsh word he’d uttered to his wife, every condemning glance he’d sent her, every second he’d made her weep in despair.

  Yep, Matt could’ve humbled the bastard. But he’d swallowed his pride and his temper, held himself in check, until his self-control had started to slip. If he hadn’t left, blood would’ve been shed. Wallace’s blood. And as much satisfaction as that would’ve given Matt, it would have only added to his mother’s misery. He never could’ve forgiven himself for that.

  Rachel noisily cleared her throat, snapping him out of his preoccupation. “Will you remember the temperature to heat the casserole or should I write it down?”

  “You’re not leaving yet.”

  “I— You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

  “Yeah, sorry, it’s weird being here,” he said. “How about more coffee?”

  She smiled. “My feelings won’t be hurt if you want to be alone. I really get it.”

  “I want you to stay.” He moved, intent on getting their coffee, and wincing when his chair scraped the wood floor.

  “Wow, at my house that’s punishable by a week of table clearing and washing dishes.”

  “Ouch. Your mother’s tough.”

  “That’s my rule.”

  He laughed. “I bet you have your brothers whipped into shape.”

  “If only...”

  The rest of his coffee was cold so he dumped it in the sink. Rachel got up to help even though he motioned for her to stay seated. They didn’t talk, just fixed each of their coffees, and then Rachel found a sponge and wiped down the counter.

  If she’d wondered about his restraint back in the day, she never mentioned it. Never told him what he should do or pushed him into taking action. Pretty remarkable now that he thought about it. Not just because she herself had a spine of steel but because of her own experience. She’d had a perfect family until her father died when she was fourteen. Matt would bet his last dollar that Gavin McAllister had never abused his role as a father.

  Everyone in the county liked and respected the man—how he did business, treated his neighbors and loved his family. He’d produced another fine generation of McAllisters, a strong daughter and exemplary sons. People had said so, over and over again, without being asked as they stepped up to his casket. Even the old-timers hadn’t been able to keep their eyes dry.

  Two men couldn’t be more different than Wallace Gunderson and Gavin McAllister. Matt never heard talk, but he knew what people thought. No one would go to Wallace’s funeral. Well, Lucy would. As their housekeeper she’d seen plenty, but she was still loyal.

  Either she was bucking for sainthood or, more likely, her diligence was his mother’s doing. The woman could make a person promise things they regretted a moment later. Too bad Catherine Gunderson hadn’t been able to work her magic on her husband.

  Out of guilt, Matt rinsed the sink, and even used the spray nozzle since Rachel seemed determined to clean the countertop to death.

  He sat down first so she would quit fussing and join him. “How long you plan on staying at the Sundance?”

  Her back was to him and he couldn’t see her face, but the way she stiffened had him examining his own question. “Why?” she asked, squeezing out the sponge, then tucking it behind the spigot before turning around. “That’s an odd question. Except for college, I’ve lived there all my life.”

  “Yeah.” He waited until she sat again. “So? Going to college, getting a degree, that had to change your outlook.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  Obviously it was a loaded question, but he hadn’t meant to put her on the spot. “You seem happy. I don’t know why I asked.”

  “I have a responsibility to keep the dude ranch profitable and running smoothly, at least for now.”

  He knew last night that her being here had something to do with helping her family. She’d slithered out of an explanation, calling it complicated, but he knew Rachel. She was doing what she always did—she was taking the bull by the horns, finding solutions, making things work, even if it meant shelving her own dreams f
or a while. He didn’t fault her for delaying her future to help her family. Her selfless nature was one of the many things about her he admired.

  “And later?” he asked. “What are you looking at doing down the road?”

  “Hotel management. That’s what I have a degree in.” Her lips pulled into a wry smile. “Ironic, huh? I end up running a dude ranch.”

  “Good practice.”

  “Funny.” She slumped back. “My mom and brothers have no idea how I feel, so you can’t say anything.”

  “They won’t hear it from me.” He sipped his coffee, bothered that she didn’t feel she could freely confide in them. “You might decide you aren’t cut out for dealing with guests. I’ve stayed in my share of hotels, and I’ve seen the staff jump through hoops trying to please guests. It’s kind of sickening.”

  “That’s just part of the biz.”

  “Maybe so, but I know that temper of yours.”

  She glared, her lips parted, and then let out a huffing snort that made him laugh. She crumpled a paper napkin from the silver holder and threw it at him.

  He caught it midchest. “You see what I mean?”

  “I can behave like an adult when I need to. Apparently you bring out the worst in me.”

  “You can’t blame me for that purple hair. I wasn’t even here.”

  “What?” She was trying to stare him down and not laugh. “For your information, this is very stylish.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You wouldn’t have trouble getting a hotel manager’s job looking like that?”

  “Well, I’m not looking for one right now, am I?”

  “I reckon family-owned dude ranches aren’t so picky.”

  The fire disappeared from her eyes and she seemed to deflate right in front of him. “No,” she said. “So there is that upside.”

  “Hey.” He reached across the table for her hand. “You know I’m just teasing.”

  Her lips twitched into a smile, though not the one he was hoping for. He’d unintentionally hit a nerve. “You sure had me fooled. I used to think you were such a sweet boy.”

  “Sweet?” He spit it out like a cussword. “You have me mixed up with someone else.” He picked up her hand and turned it over so that their palms met. “When do you figure you’ll get the Sundance back on its feet?”

  “When beef prices stabilize and the cost of corn stops climbing.”

  “In other words, you have no idea.”

  “Sadly, none.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, treading carefully, wondering how he could pitch in. “You guys don’t deserve this. Your family was always the first to lend a hand to any rancher down on his luck.”

  “Everyone is struggling and none of them deserve it.” She sighed. “I think what kills Cole the most is that men he’s known his whole life have asked for work and he’s had to turn them down. He’s been running the Sundance on fumes to avoid layoffs.”

  Matt stared at their joined hands. How could he offer to help without ruffling feathers? He had money, a lot of it. What a guy his age with a basic education could make riding a bull was almost obscene. In the beginning when he’d started earning big, he’d done his share of reckless spending. Fast cars, gorgeous women, and shelling out cash to just about anyone with a heartbreaking story and their hand out.

  It was one of the rodeo clowns who’d set him straight. The old-timer had warned him to quit being a dumb-ass and think about his future so he wouldn’t end up pushing sixty and running around the arena in a costume distracting bulls. Matt had taken heed, even though it was for the wrong reason. He’d wanted to show up Wallace.

  Rachel moved her hand, and he looked up into her eyes. They were so beautiful, a true green, the color of spring grass that April showers help spread over the hills behind the Lone Wolf. How many times had he chased her up there, headed for Mill Creek, knowing each time he was asking for trouble? God, he’d wanted her with a fierceness that burned low in his belly and kept him awake too many nights.

  “You’re so quiet,” she said, her gaze roaming his face. “What are you thinking about?”

  He smiled. “Don’t believe you wanna know.”

  Her brows arched slightly. “I might surprise you.” She gave him a sexy dare-you look that reminded him she wasn’t that off-limits kid anymore. “Tell me.”

  “I will.” He released her hand. “If you come over here.”

  She frowned as if trying to figure out what he was up to, then smiled when he pushed back his chair. “This better be good if you’re making me get up.”

  “I doubt you’ll complain.”

  Rachel let out a short laugh. “Seems you’ve gotten a bit cocky, Matthew Gunderson.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I reckon I have.”

  “Oh, and laying it on thick, too.”

  He leaned back, tracking her as she moved around the table, her fingers grazing the oak surface as she took her time, her gaze refusing to break from his. “I’ll try to mind my manners,” he said and willed his body to calm down.

  “No, don’t do that.” Her mouth lifted in a teasing grin, and he really liked that she still blushed.

  A second before she moved within reach, the dogs started barking. She froze and turned her head toward the window.

  “It’s nothing,” Matt said, knowing the pair of border collies belonged to the hands who lived in the bunkhouse.

  “They weren’t here earlier.” She stepped away from him. “Your father might be home.”

  “Rachel, wait.” Matt jumped to his feet.

  He couldn’t guarantee the barking meant nothing, but that wouldn’t stop him. He caught her hand and pulled her close. Startled, she lifted her eyes to his face, her lips parted.

  Her skin looked so soft he had to touch her cheek. It felt like silk under the pad of his thumb. No one had skin this satiny, only Rachel.

  He lowered his head, and she raised hers. Their lips met, and his heart nearly exploded because he’d spent half the night picturing this moment. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he drew her into his arms, pulling her closer. Her fingers slowly curled into his muscles, and he slanted his mouth over hers.

  She tasted so sweet, her mouth soft, yielding and familiar even after all the years. But when he slid his tongue between her lips, there was nothing familiar in the way she welcomed him to delve and explore. Rachel was all woman now, stoking the heat that had been simmering inside him since he’d seen her last night.

  He slid a hand down her spine, wanting to touch every inch of her. Her breasts felt full and heavy crushed to his chest, and damn, he wished they were just about anywhere but the kitchen. Her hands slipped over his shoulders up the back of his neck until her fingers combed through his hair....

  Abruptly she broke away. “Matt,” she said, breathlessly. “The dogs—” Her face flushed, her eyes unfocused, she blinked blearily at him. “They’re still barking.”

  “The hell with them.” He pulled her back in and pressed his mouth against hers.

  She gave in, started to kiss him, but then jerked away, shaking her head. “No. I have to go.”

  He had no choice but to release her. She’d tensed, the mood was broken. A curse slipped out that he hadn’t intended. “Sorry.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling. “You have a pen?”

  He wasn’t thinking too clearly, but he remembered one had always sat by the kitchen phone.

  She grabbed the small notepad along with the ballpoint and scribbled something. “My number,” she said, passing it to him. “Call whenever.” And she was gone without looking back.

  7

  RACHEL WAS RIGHT. The dogs had been barking at a truck that had turned onto the driveway. It wasn’t Wallace, but one of the cowboys who lived in the bunkhouse. She’d left anyway, and Matt knew it was for the best. Wallace had to come home sometime, and there was Nikki to consider. Matt still didn’t like it. Man, he’d just started getting warmed up. They had a lot
more talking and kissing to do, and he hoped there’d be less clothes and more skin down the road.

  Evidently he’d underestimated the level of anxiety that had been dogging him over how he’d left Rachel. Now that he knew she hadn’t written him off or branded him a coward, he felt lighthearted, optimistic. No other way to describe the ease in his chest or explain the fact he could look around the place without the memories strangling him like a bolo tie he’d pulled too tight.

  Half an hour after she left, he looked out the window and saw Petey walking from the corral to the barn. The wrangler had been with the Lone Wolf for as long as Matt could remember. The giant of a man had always been gruff and rarely cracked a smile. Come to think of it, with all the wiry hair on his head and face, a smile could get lost. Chuckling at the thought, Matt grabbed his jacket off the oak coat tree on his way to the front door.

  As a kid he’d stayed clear of Petey. Matt had heard whispers about Petey wrestling bears or being able to kill a man with his bare hands. Now he knew the men had been poking fun at him, but at the time no one could’ve convinced him that the huge utility knife clipped to Petey’s belt was only used for shaving and camping.

  After leaving Blackfoot Falls, Matt hadn’t given the guy a thought—until his mother’s funeral. Petey had cleaned up, even wore an old brown suit to the church and sat in the second row, behind the family, while all the other hands gathered in the back. Matt almost hadn’t recognized him without his beard. But Petey had tapped him on the shoulder, leaned over, his pale eyes filled with tears and told Matt how sorry he was because Catherine Gunderson had been a fine lady.

  Sitting behind Matt, Wallace had stared stoically at the flower-draped casket. Until that moment, Matt figured it wasn’t possible to hate his father more. Turned out he’d underestimated himself.

  But hatred eventually made a man weak and reckless. And Matt was glad he’d learned that lesson early, before he’d gotten himself killed by a bull or knifed in a bar fight. He’d been lucky. Damn lucky.

  Matt’s boots crunched the gravel and snow as he skirted a pair of four-wheelers that shouldn’t have been left in the middle of the turnaround. “Hey, Petey.”