Reunited With The Bull Rider. Christine WengerЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Three

      Callie was as prickly as a saguaro cactus. Reed should take the hint and stay away, but instead he was going to enjoy the challenge of getting to know her all over again.

      In senior year of high school, he had fallen in love with the shy girl who was always ready with a smile and a laugh, but this Callie had ten years of secrets that had etched worry lines on her forehead. He planned on finding out what had caused them. And he wanted to bring laughter into her life again.

      Or was he just being a fool and trying to salvage a relationship that was in the dreams of an eighteen-year-old?

      Right now, he was thinking of an excuse to go to his father’s study to look for something, or to ask her something, or to maybe bring her a glass of iced tea.

      He went into the kitchen and looked into the fridge. Inez had made a pitcher of iced tea, bless her.

      Finding a glass with a snap-on top, he tossed some ice into it, poured in the tea and put the container into a plastic grocery bag. Then he made his way into the study.

      He found Callie sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by papers and envelopes. There were two pens stuck into her hair and a pair of glasses on her head. Another pair was on her face. She was chewing on a pencil.

      “Callie?”

      She was concentrating so hard that she didn’t appear to hear him.

      “Callie, how about some iced tea?”

      He’d spoiled her concentration. “Huh?”

      “Iced tea. I brought you some.” He held up the bag.

      “Thanks. I need a break.”

      “I’m not staying,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.

      Oh, yes, I did!

      He made his way to the big maroon leather chair he remembered his dad sitting in, smoking a cigar and barking orders. Big Dan’s booming voice hadn’t scared even the most timid of their help. His big smile and even bigger cigar were always present.

      Fortunately, after three barroom brawls, Big Dan had been sentenced to probation and ordered into inpatient rehab for his alcohol problem. That had brought his drinking and gambling to a screeching halt, with a couple of relapses thrown in just to keep everyone on their toes.

      Someday his dad would be back sitting in his chair just like before. Or maybe Big Dan would like to keep his apartment in town since every inch of the ranch reminded him of how he’d lost the love of his life.

      After Hurricane Daphne hit, many historically accurate repairs of the ranch house and outbuildings had taken place under his brother Luke’s watch. Unfortunately, Luke had ignored some of the mail and invoices, having much more pressing things on his mind, like bailing the ranch out of foreclosure.

      “Um, Reed?”

      Lost in thought, he didn’t realize that Callie had her hand on the plastic bag with the container of iced tea and he wasn’t giving it up.

      “Oh, sorry. I was thinking of something.”

      “Big Dan’s study is bringing back memories, isn’t it?”

      She could read him like good ol’ Cowabunga—Cowabunga always knew if Reed was on his game or could be bucked off.

      “Callie, you take Dad’s chair. I’ll sit in the brown leather one. That’s where I always had to sit when he was lecturing or dishing out some kind of punishment.”

      He sank into the chair. He remembered the smell of leather, the sun shining in through the window and making patches on the carpet, and the swirl of the dust motes.

      The room still smelled faintly of cigar smoke. As a kid, he’d both hated and loved that scent. It meant one of two things: that his father was nearby and some kind of punishment was headed his way, or it meant that his father was nearby and was going to do something fun with his brothers and him.

      “How are you doing, Callie?” Looking around at the cluttered room, he realized what a dumb question that was. “I hate to tell you, but this office is looking worse, with all the assorted papers and envelopes on the floor.”

      She took a sip of iced tea. “It’ll get worse before it gets better. I’m sorting.”

      “I see. Need help?”

      Then Reed saw the perfect way to keep him near Callie when he wasn’t busy hiring contractors: he could answer his own fan mail. He had a stack of unsigned pictures he could autograph and some nice paper with his letterhead. He could write a quick note to the fan.

      “No. But thanks, anyway. I’m making progress,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.

      He looked at the now six bags full of mail. He never realized that he and his brothers had all those fans.

      “I think I should answer my own fan mail, Callie. I feel bad that I neglected them. I’m going to write a note and send a signed picture.”

      He repeated himself. “Yes. It’s time I answered my own fan mail.”

      Callie grunted. “I could set you up in the kitchen. Or your bedroom. You could answer it there.”

      “Why bother? I have everything here that I need.”

      “Reed, I see what you’re doing. You want to pester me and drive me crazy.”

      “Nah. I have better things to do. Besides, you made it crystal clear—I think those were the words you used—that you weren’t interested in me. So I don’t see a problem. Pretend I’m not here in my own father’s study.”

      “Reed—” He felt like her eyes were throwing daggers at his chest.

      He grinned. “I think you’re protesting way too much. I can only think that you have feelings for me.”

      “Just wait until I show you how wrong you are, cowboy.”

      * * *

      EARLY IN THE morning on her second day of work, Callie received a call from the brothers’ agent.

      “Reed, I have to talk to you,” she said, waiting for the sound of his crutches. He was in the expansive ranch house somewhere. “Reed?”

      “At your service, ma’am.” He was in the kitchen reading the paper and chugging coffee.

      “Rick would like to know if you could fill in for one of his other clients. They want you to cook with a celebrity chef.”

      He shrugged. “When and where?”

      “This afternoon. They will come here to you. The show is called What’s in Your Refrigerator?”

      “That sounds easy enough. What are we going to cook?”

      “Whatever they find in your fridge. They are going to make a meal out of it.”

      “Interesting concept,” he joked.

      “Can you cook, Reed?”

      He shrugged his shoulders. “No, I can’t. But I’m a master with a microwave.”

      “If they use a microwave, I’d be surprised.”

      “You never know.” He smiled. “Maybe I’ll go shine it up. Then I’m going to see what Inez left in the fridge before she went on vacation.”

      “No.