McKettricks of Texas: Garrett. Linda Lael MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
Why was she so self-conscious?
This just wasn’t like her.
“And?” Garrett finally prompted, putting his glasses back on.
“We appreciate the gift,” Julie managed lamely.
“You’re welcome,” Garrett said, puzzled now.
Damn her pride.
And for all she knew, Garrett wasn’t even directly involved with the McKettrick family’s foundation. Hadn’t she read once that his cousin, Meg McKettrick O’Ballivan, who lived in Arizona with her famous country-singer husband, handled such things? She would have to do some research before she broached the subject again, could have kicked herself for not thinking of that sooner.
Garrett waited, and though he wasn’t smiling, something danced in his eyes. He was enjoying this.
In the end, though, Julie outwaited him.
Presently, with a tap of one index finger to the front page of the newspaper, he asked, “As a voter, what’s your take on the senator’s future in politics?”
“I’m probably not the right person to ask,” she said moderately, remembering their somewhat heated exchange after a mutual friend’s funeral a few months before. It had been fairly brief, but they had gotten into a lively discussion of one of the major issues of the day.
“Why would you say that?” Garrett asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“I voted against the senator in the last election,” she admitted. Her cheeks burned, not with chagrin but with lingering conviction. “And the one before that.”
“I see,” Garrett said, and his mouth quirked again, at the same corner as before.
“Why?”
Julie straightened. “Because I liked his opponent better.”
“That’s the only reason?”
Julie’s shoulders rose and fell with the force of her sigh. “All right, no. No, it isn’t. I never liked Morgan Cox very much, never trusted him. There’s something … well, sneaky … about him.”
“Something ‘sneaky’?” Garrett challenged, a wry twist to his mouth, sitting back in his chair, watching her. He slid the newspaper in her direction, somehow directing her gaze to the photo spread—every shot showed Senator Cox with smiling children, or golden retrievers, or an adoring and much-admired Mrs. Cox or some combination thereof.
Julie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The whole thing seemed too perfect,” she finally replied. “Almost as though he’d hired people to pose as his all-American family. And then there was that hot-tub incident. It was downplayed in the media, strangely enough, but it happened. I remember it clearly.”
Garrett gave a hoarse chuckle at that. He didn’t sound amused, though. “Ah, yes,” he said, far away now. “That.”
“That,” Julie agreed. “Senator Morgan Cox in a hot tub with three half-naked women, none of whom were his wife. It was a family reunion, he claimed, and they were all just a happy group of cousins. As if any idiot would believe a story like that.”
Something changed in Garrett’s face. “I can think of at least one idiot who believed it,” he said quietly.
Julie wished she’d kept her opinions to herself, but it was a little late for that. “What happens now?” she asked, and this time her tone was gentle.
“I can’t speak for Senator Cox,” Garrett said, after a long time, “but I’ll be staying on here for a while.”
A strangely celebratory tingle moved through Julie at this news.
Not that she cared whether Garrett McKettrick was around or not.
“Well, good night,” she said.
“Good night,” Garrett replied.
Julie turned around too fast, bumped into the cabinet behind her, and gasped with pain.
Garrett caught hold of her arm, turned her to face him.
One wrong move on either of their parts, Julie reasoned wildly, and their torsos would be touching.
“Are you all right?” Garrett asked. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders now.
Their faces were only inches apart.
It would be so easy to kiss.
No, Julie thought. No, I am not all right.
“Julie?” Garrett prompted.
“I’m fine,” she lied, easing backward, out of his grasp.
Julie turned around carefully that time, and walked, with dignity, out of the kitchen, managing not to crash into anything in the process.
Tomorrow, she told herself, is another day.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAWN ARRIVED LONG BEFORE GARRETT was ready for it, and so did his brother. When he stumbled out the back door of the ranch house, after a brief shower, there was Tate, already waiting in front of the barn. He’d saddled old Stranger, their dad’s roan, for himself, and a black gelding named Dark Moon for Garrett.
After flashing Garrett a grin, Tate swung up onto Stranger’s back and took an easy hold on the reins.
“I’d kill for coffee,” Garrett said, hauling himself onto Dark Moon, shifting around to get comfortable. He’d forgotten how hard a saddle could be, especially when the rider was less than thirty minutes from a warm, soft bed.
“It won’t come to that,” Tate assured him, still grinning. “But I know the feeling.” He turned, pulled a medium-sized Thermos bottle from one of his saddlebags and tossed it to Garrett. “Made it myself.”
Garrett chuckled. “I might have some just the same,” he said, unscrewing the cup-lid and then the plug. He poured a swig and sipped. “Not bad,” he allowed. “You wouldn’t happen to have a plate of bacon and eggs in the other side of those saddlebags, would you?”
Tate chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “We’d best get moving. Most of the crew is already on the range, ready to work.”
Garrett resealed the coffee jug, rode close to hand it back to Tate, watched as his brother stowed it away again.
He hadn’t had nearly enough java to jump-start his brain, but he supposed for the time being it would have to do.
Tate led the way through a series of corral gates, and by then the darkness was shot through with the first flimsy rays of sunshine. They crossed the landscape side by side, their horses at a gallop, and Garrett was surprised at how good he felt. How … right.
“You heard anything from our little brother lately?” Tate asked, slowing the roan as they neared the temporary camp, where a small bonfire burned. Cowboys and horses milled all around, raising up dust, and the cattle bawled out there in the thinning gloom as if they were plain dying of sorrow.
“No,” Garrett answered. God knew, he had troubles of his own, but he worried about Austin. Their kid brother had taken his time growing up, and then he’d nearly been killed riding a bull at a rodeo over in New Mexico. Coming that close to death would have made some people a mite more cautious, but the effect on Austin had been just the opposite. He was wilder than ever.
Tate reined in a little more, and so did Garrett. “I figure if we don’t get some word of him soon, we’ll have to go out looking for the damn fool.”
Garrett nodded, stood in the stirrups to stretch his legs. He’d be sore for the next few days, he supposed, but riding wasn’t a thing a man forgot how to do. His muscles would take a little time to remember, that was all. “I’ll do some checking,” he said.
“I’d