Roping In The Cowgirl. Judy DuarteЧитать онлайн книгу.
to get it cleaned out properly, but he didn’t want any part of that.”
“Where is he?” Shannon asked.
Sam nodded toward the bright red barn, which appeared to have been recently painted. “When Nate spotted you in the yard and realized I was going to ask you to check him out, he swung around to the back entrance. He’s probably washing off the blood and planning to slap a bandage over it. But that cut was pretty deep.”
“Then I’ll hurry and take a look at it before he covers it up and heads back to work.” Shannon lifted the mug she’d been holding, took a sip and then set it on top of an old tree stump near the porch. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Before Blake could resume talking to his uncle, the screen door swung open and the older brunette returned.
“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked Sam. “You didn’t have your second cup this morning.”
“Not yet.” Sam nodded toward Blake. “I need to speak to Fancy Pants first. Then I’ll come into the kitchen and share a cup with you.” He winked at the woman. “And if you have any of that carrot cake left over from last night, I’ll have a piece of that to go with it.”
She laughed. “You got it.” Then she went into the house, the screen door shutting behind her.
When the two men were finally alone, Blake said, “Like I said, I owe you an apology.”
“Just one?” Sam let out a little snort. “And just what would that be for?”
“Not visiting you more often.”
Sam straightened his shoulders, which tugged on his red flannel shirt and made them appear to be just as strong and broad as ever. “Once you went off to law school, you put me and Nellie on the back burner.”
Why’d Sam have to mention Nellie? If Blake had felt guilty before, the reminder of his aunt and the fact that he’d been too busy to come to Texas and spend either Thanksgiving or Christmas with the couple during the last five years she’d been alive made it all the worse. And no matter what he said, what excuses he’d given himself, there was no making up for that.
Sam glanced at Blake’s suitcase. “You planning to stay here?”
“I thought it might take some time for me to prove to you just how sorry I am. So, yes, I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay. Otherwise, I’ll find a place in town.”
That seemed to touch the heart of the rugged rancher, at least a little. And for that, Blake was grateful. His aunt and uncle had been good to him while he’d been growing up and had felt neglected by his unfailing focus on his career.
He could argue that he’d offered to move them to California, but neither of them would have been happy leaving Texas. He knew that now, even if the truth of it had escaped him before.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam pointed at Blake’s luggage. “Get your stuff and come with me. I don’t have all day.”
Blake grabbed the suitcase and followed his uncle past the barn and down a short path to a small outbuilding that also appeared to be freshly painted. The exterior walls were clean and white, and the bright red door was the same color as the barn.
“This is my place,” Sam said, as he let Blake inside.
Blake scanned the cozy living room with a small stone fireplace on the outside wall and a built-in bookshelf next to it. His uncle had certainly downsized. Before Sam and Nellie sold their ranch, they’d lived in a sprawling house on more than five hundred acres of prime grazing land.
“I hope I don’t inconvenience you,” Blake said.
“You won’t bother me. For the most part, I’ve been staying with Joy in the big house.”
Blake’s gut clenched. What did Sam mean by “staying with” her?
“You’re sleeping with her?” Blake had meant to mask his surprise, but the tone of his voice let him down.
“So what if I am?” Sam snapped. “I’m an adult.”
“Yes, but...” Blake bit back his response, which would only serve to make matters worse.
“Did you think your generation invented sex?” Sam asked. “Or that I’d outgrown the need for it?”
“Neither,” Blake said, although he’d assumed that a man his uncle’s age... Well, hell. Clearly his assumption was wrong, and he was glad to know that. He’d hate to think he’d ever “outgrow” the need or desire for sex.
“And just so you know,” Sam added, “I don’t need any little blue pills, either.”
Blake had no response for that, other than to hope he’d inherited some of the Darnell strength, stamina and hormones.
“Go ahead and make yourself at home,” Sam said. “I’ve got work to do. We’ll have to talk more later.”
A nap did sound good. Blake hadn’t been able to sleep on the plane.
“Lunch is at the big house at eleven-thirty sharp,” Sam added. “I’ll see you then.”
After Sam left, Blake scanned the ten-by-ten-foot living room, with its brown leather sofa, dark oak coffee table and the colorful Navajo rug that adorned the hardwood floor. The place was cozy and clean, although it was a far cry from the high-rise condo in which Blake lived.
But Blake was prepared to stay as long as it took to bury the hatchet. He’d also do whatever he could to protect Uncle Sam’s heart and bank account while he was at it.
And if he had to buy off the gold digger and her niece, then so be it. He’d be damned if he was going to just roll over and let nature—or greed—run its course.
* * *
If there was one thing Shannon had learned during her first few days on the job at the Rocking C, it was to be prepared for the unexpected. There seemed to always be one minor crisis or another occurring that would keep her busy from morning until night.
And today had been no different. From the traffic jam at the bridge to Blake Darnell’s surprise arrival, nothing had been routine. Even dealing with Nate’s injury hadn’t been easy. She’d had to override his objections and insist upon cleaning and dressing the wound properly.
After the cowboy had gone back to work, she’d called Doc Nelson, who’d be coming by this evening for the weekly poker game, and asked him to arrive early so he could take a look at it. In the meantime, the doctor had prescribed an antibiotic, as well as a tetanus shot. So she then had to get into the all-terrain vehicle and drive the injections out to the south pasture, bushwhacking the young cowboy, who’d rolled his eyes but let her do her job.
Once that was out of the way, the rest of her morning went as usual. It was just after noon when she prepared the midday medications. As she passed them out, she took time to visit with each of the elderly men, all of whom she’d grown to care about.
The last one on her med list was Rex Mayberry, one of her favorite old cowboys. She often found him outside, seated in one of the rockers on the porch, so that’s where she started her search.
She’d barely reached the screen door when she heard him blurt out a curse. Sure enough, she’d found him. She adjusted the small tray she carried with disposable cups of water and medications labeled with residents’ names, then went outside.
As she opened the screen door, the hinges squeaked. Rex, who’d been watching the younger cowboys try to gentle a yearling in the corral, turned and watched her approach. The scowl he’d been wearing morphed into a wry grin. “Well, if it ain’t my personal Florence Nightingale. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.”
“My favorite resident? No way would I ever forget you.” She’d only been working at the Rocking C for three months, but everyone here had managed to touch her heart, especially