Her Last Chance Cowboy. Tina RadcliffeЧитать онлайн книгу.
opened the back seat passenger door. “I’m Hannah Vincent. This is my daughter, Clementine.” The child sat in a booster seat and stared up at him while clutching a pink stuffed horse. She was dressed in clean pink jeans and a pink patterned long-sleeved shirt. Clearly, the kid had a penchant for that color.
“Come on, baby, we’re going to the ranch.” Hannah unbuckled the straps and pulled her daughter into her arms.
“Horses?” the little girl asked.
“Shh,” Hannah said. “We can discuss that later.”
Tripp glanced at Hannah’s left hand. No ring. Though his head tried to stop him, his gut moved quickly to judgment. Plain irresponsible. Who ran out of gas in the middle of a tornado?
Irritation continued to brew as he ran a hand over the scar on his face and worked to control the emotions he’d so carefully learned to stuff years ago. He’d spent a lifetime paying for the sins of an irresponsible single mother. Now the memories all came rushing back.
Hannah faced him with Clementine in her arms. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Just dandy.” Tripp turned and headed to the truck. He held the passenger door open. Hannah lifted Clementine into the cab and then put her foot on the truck’s running board. When she reached for something to hang on to, he took her arm and guided her into the truck.
“Thank you,” Hannah said.
He offered a curt nod.
She pulled Clementine onto her lap and inched nearer to her side of the vehicle as he went around to the driver’s side.
Once he got in, Tripp gripped the steering wheel and turned his head a fraction to meet Hannah’s dark eyes.
With that tumble of wavy chocolate-brown hair that touched her shoulders, and a face devoid of makeup, she seemed harmless. But he knew only too well how deceiving looks could be. As if sensing his annoyance, Hannah moved even closer to the door.
They headed down the ranch drive toward a split-log archway with the words Big Heart Ranch burned into a hanging sign. He stopped the truck in front of a drop-arm barrier that kept unauthorized visitors out and put his key card in the reader slot.
“Is this the ranch?” Clementine asked as the arm lifted.
“It is,” he said.
The child’s orange corkscrew curls bounced when she turned to look out each of the pickup’s windows. “Where are the horses?”
“They’re in the barn because of the storm. You’ll get to see them before you leave.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Cowboy.” She rewarded him with a huge grin. The kid had a smile that could warm even the most frozen hearts.
When his cell phone rang, Tripp pressed a button on the dashboard. “Walker.”
“Looks like the funnel cloud jumped past us. Storm moving in. A big one,” the mature female voice on the speakerphone said.
“Thanks, Rue. I’m bringing guests to the admin building.”
“Guests?”
“A Hannah Vincent. She ran out of gas on her way to see the Maxwells.”
The sound of papers shuffling could be heard. “The receptionist is out until Monday, but I’m looking at the appointment list she left and I don’t see a Hannah Vincent. Is she here to see all of them?”
Tripp turned to Hannah, and she nodded.
“That’s right, Rue.”
“Well, no worries. I’ll find them and we can sort it out.” She chuckled. “Just get out of that weather.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Once again, Tripp looked at his passenger. “You have an appointment at Big Heart Ranch, right?”
“Not exactly,” Hannah said.
“Not exactly?” Tripp exhaled and held back a biting retort. Though the tension in the cab was palpable, he focused on driving, staring straight ahead out the window where fat drops of rain began to splash on the glass as he approached the administration building.
His job was to manage the horses. It would be good to remember that. Hannah Vincent was Lucy Maxwell’s problem now.
Tripp pulled the truck into a parking lot and led them out of the rain and into the brick building. “This way.” He opened the door to a small conference room where Rue Butterfield sat with a cup of coffee watching the news. The gray-haired physician and retired army general turned to offer their guests a welcoming smile. “Welcome to Big Heart Ranch.”
“I hope I’m not...” Hannah began. She pushed back rain-dampened hair from her face.
“You’re not.” Rue stood. “Big Heart Ranch aims to be a refuge in the storm. Literally.” She chuckled and held out a hand in greeting. “I’m Dr. Rue Butterfield.”
“Hannah Vincent. This is Clementine.”
“Clementine!” Rue grinned. “Now isn’t that a unique name?”
“It’s ’cause of my hair,” the little girl said. “It’s orange.”
Tripp bit back a smile when Clementine shook her head back and forth, causing the bright curls to move with the motion.
“Your hair is quite lovely and I am certainly pleased to meet you, Miss Clementine.” Rue offered a hand in greeting. “I’m Miss Rue.”
“Rue. That’s a nice name, too.” Clementine shook Rue’s hand and smiled, obviously delighted by the grown-up gesture. “Mr. Cowboy is going to show me horses.”
Rue lifted her gaze to Tripp. “Oh, are you, Mr. Cowboy?”
He knelt down next to the little girl. “You can call me Mr. Tripp.”
“Mr. Tripp.” She scrunched up her face and looked hard at him. “You are a cowboy, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do cowboys keep their promises?” Clementine asked.
“Always.” He stood and turned his attention to the television screen on the wall. “What’s going on with the storm?” he asked Rue.
“Funnel touched down on Route 66. No damage reported. Looks like we’re safe. For now, only thunderstorms.”
“I like rain,” Clementine said.
“So do I.” Rue smiled at the little girl and then turned to Hannah. “You’re here to see the Maxwells?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know you were coming?”
“Um, no.” Hannah adjusted the purse on her shoulder and clasped her hands together. “This was sort of spontaneous. I drove straight from Denver.”
“That’s a long drive,” Rue returned.
“Yes. Thirteen hours.”
“We paid our respects,” Clementine interjected.
Rue’s eyes rounded, reflecting confusion and surprise at the comment. “How did you say you know the Maxwells?”
“I’m a relative.”
Rue blinked. “I wasn’t aware that they had any living relatives.”
“Neither was I... I mean, until recently,” Hannah stammered, her attention on Clementine.
“So how is it you’re related to the Maxwells, dear?”
Tripp kept his eyes on Hannah Vincent. She took a deep breath and looked up. Her gaze moved from Rue to him.
“If you don’t mind, I thought I’d discuss it with the Maxwells,” Hannah continued.
“Of