The Rebel Rancher. DONNA ALWARDЧитать онлайн книгу.
you,” she replied dryly, proud that she’d managed to keep her tongue from tying in knots and trying to summon what used to be, in the before Jackson days, a ready sense of humor. “Do you have a girl in mind? Tradition says you’ll be the next bachelor to be married.” She smiled, but it felt forced, like she was baring her teeth. “Who caught the bouquet? A likely candidate for the next Mrs. Diamond, perhaps?”
“Amy Wilson, and I hardly think so.”
His displeasure was so obvious Clara let out a half laugh, half gasp. She was familiar with Amy’s vivacious and gossipy ways. Amy had had plenty to say about Tyson today and little of it good. It had sounded a bit like sour grapes. “That’s not very nice.”
He shrugged. “Amy and I have never seen eye to eye. She wanted Sam, you know. And when she saw me catch the garter she hightailed it to the other side of the garden, well out of my reach.”
“Why?” She looked up and saw he was still smiling that sexy half smile and she bit down on her lip. “I mean, why doesn’t Amy like you?” She couldn’t imagine being repulsed by Ty. He might look slightly out of place in formal wear, but it didn’t disguise the fact that he was a stunning display of masculinity. Gorgeous enough even to fluster her—someone who’d been immune to any sort of charms for some time now. The new Clara was far too practical to be distracted.
He stepped back. “Easy. The adopted bastard doesn’t have the same shine as the heir apparent.”
Clara turned away and began walking back to the kitchen so they would be out of the close confines of the hall. The words had been said flippantly, but he hadn’t quite been able to disguise the bitterness behind them.
“Did you say that just to shock me?”
In the kitchen, Ty went to the fridge and took out a beer, popping the top as he leaned his hips against the counter. “If I said no, would you believe me?” He took a drink.
She watched him for a few seconds. He wanted her to think he’d been joking but she saw something behind his eyes. Hurt. She was more sensitive to that sort of thing after what she’d been through. All she knew about Ty was that he was really Sam’s cousin, and Virgil and Molly had adopted him. What had it been like, growing up at Diamondback, in Sam’s shadow? Being a Diamond but still knowing that he didn’t quite belong? She found the Diamond house with all its expensive trappings a bit intimidating. Had Ty? Was that why he’d left?
“I don’t think I would believe you,” she said. “I think you might just enjoy shocking people.”
His eyebrow came up and his grin flashed. “You could be right, Clara.”
There was something intimate about the way he said her name. Her pulse began to hammer again. How did he do that?
He gestured with his bottle, a careless flick of the wrist. “So, what would it take to shock you?”
She swallowed. She might be practical but she understood a come-on when she heard it. Ty hadn’t moved an inch but he suddenly seemed much closer. She replayed the conversation she’d heard today to center her thoughts. Ty Diamond is a flirt and a player, the woman had said. It’s as natural to him as breathing.
Clara knew she was nothing special. And if this was Tyson’s way of making this a game, she wasn’t playing. She met his gaze and raised a single eyebrow. “That won’t work with me.”
He laughed. “You’re tougher than you look. Well, here we are anyway, both avoiding all the wedding hoopla. Get you something to drink?”
She shook her head, a bit surprised he seemed to brush off her comment like it was nothing. And he’d called her tough. He probably had no idea how much of a compliment that was. “If Sam and Angela have gone, I should probably be getting home.”
Ty leaned a hip against the counter. “To Butterfly House, right?”
She nodded. It was no secret where she lived, but she didn’t quite like Ty knowing, for some reason. His dark eyes assessed her a little too closely until she felt like a bug under a microscope. She momentarily wondered if Angela had sent Tyson in on purpose to make sure she wasn’t alone. While she appreciated the sentiment, lately she’d found herself chafing against the constant analysis of her every move and thought. Sometimes she just wanted to get on with her life rather than dissect it to pieces.
“Whatever you’re thinking, just ask, Tyson. Don’t try to guess. And don’t stare at me. It makes me uncomfortable.” She was learning to stand up for herself, to set her own boundaries, but even so a quiver of anxiety always followed such a demonstration of self-assurance. It was hard to get past the “don’t rock the boat” mentality.
“I didn’t mean to stare.” His gaze softened. “Angela told me you are a … is client the right word?”
“It works.” Her heart started drumming all over again, and not in the glorious anticipatory way it had before. He was going to ask. People always got curious when they found out she lived at the shelter, like they were somehow entitled to her story and the sordid details. “Is that why you followed me inside? To get the details?”
He put the beer bottle down on the countertop. He’d undone his tie and the black silk hanging against the brilliant white of his shirt made him seem approachable. Touchable. Not for her, though. He probably had a string of buckle bunnies clear down to Texas. A man like Tyson Diamond would eat her alive and spit out the bones before moving on to the next conquest.
She felt a tiny stab in her heart, remembering how she’d fallen for Jackson only to discover the true man underneath after it was too late. Too late for so many things. Her throat tightened as she grieved for all that she’d lost. Jackson had been handsome and charming, too. In the beginning.
Angela had talked to her about not judging every man by the abuser’s yardstick, and in her head Clara knew she was right. Her heart was still a little too bruised, though, to trust her judgment completely. She was perfectly happy going along the way she was. It would be even better when she was completely independent. She couldn’t wait to be one hundred percent in charge of her own life.
“You looked panicked out there. I know the feeling, and I wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”
He wasn’t asking about her past. And he was telling the truth. His words were utterly sincere.
“You don’t strike me as the panic type,” she responded, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.
“I’m okay—in my element,” he responded smoothly. “Garden weddings? Not so much my element. Neither is this monkey suit.”
“I imagine you are more of a jeans and boots kind of guy.”
“Definitely,” he answered. “Anyway, back to my original question. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” she replied.
“Okay,” he said, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets, making his suit jacket flare away from his hips in a most attractive way. Clara swallowed. She remembered not two months ago, asking Angela about Sam as he chopped wood in the back yard at Butterfly House. She had told Angela there was a big difference between appreciating the package and taking the leap into something more. She’d looked at Sam through the window that day and found him handsome. But Ty … Ty resembled Sam but with an added something she couldn’t put her finger on. For the first time since crawling away from Jackson, battered and bruised, she was definitely appreciating the package, all wrapped up in a suit and patent shoes.
Her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and she saw Ty’s gaze follow the movement. All the air seemed to go out of the room.
She fought to be rational. Other than his hands briefly on her arms as she came barreling out of the bathroom, he hadn’t touched her or made any sort of suggestion that he was interested.
Except …
Except