The Bride Prize. Susan Fox P.Читать онлайн книгу.
heard from Shane so infrequently in the past six years that she hardly ever thought about him anymore. Until yesterday when Nick had left a message on her answering machine. Since then, her memories of that time had come drifting back.
Nick had obviously taken for granted that she’d had contact with his brother. When you see Shane, would you have him give me a call?
The out-of-the-blue message had taken her completely by surprise. She hadn’t planned to call Nick back because the message had led her to believe she’d soon see Shane and would be able to pass on the request.
Now it had been over twenty-four hours and there’d been no sign of him. Surely Nick had heard from Shane himself by now, so there was still no reason to phone him unless he’d left a second message asking her to.
The walk from the stable to the house seemed particularly long after the tiring morning she’d put in. She was a hot, filthy mess, with grease stains on her hands and beneath her short fingernails, probably some in her hair, a torn sleeve and a layer of dust over the rest of her. Visual proof of a frustrating tinker with a windmill and a bruising fall from the colt she’d been working. Both had been extra chores she wished now she’d put off until she’d been less distracted.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, she’d get a cold lunch then make a pass at paperwork and take care of a few things around the house. Safe enough pursuits while she tried again to banish the Merrick brothers from her mind and put the past back in the past, where it belonged.
As she walked along, she was inspecting the torn shirtsleeve and debating whether to sew it or cut it off, when a laughing male voice drew her gaze to the back porch.
“What’s the other guy look like?”
Shane Merrick was sitting on the porch rail, handsome as ever, dressed in an outlaw black Stetson and a jewel blue, pearl snap Western shirt that matched his eyes. His jeans still carried enough color to look reasonably new, and his black boots had a subtle, go-to-town shine, but it was the large gold belt buckle that proclaimed his champion rodeo status that completed the picture.
As she took the two steps up onto the porch, Shane eased off the rail and came toward her. The instant she realized he was about to sweep her into a hug, Corrie put up a hand and took a hasty step away.
“You’ll get dirty.”
“A little dirt won’t hurt.” In that next moment, he caught her against him in a tight hug, startling a self-conscious laugh from her. “Damn, but it’s good to see you, Corrie.”
The words were wonderful to hear and the hug far too personal, but she was careful not to take them as anything more than they were.
“You’re looking good too, stranger. And you smell downright pretty.” She drew back and grinned up at him as she righted her Stetson. “How’s the champion bronc rider? Going for a third buckle?”
Shane smiled down at her and lifted a hand to pluck a wayward lock of dark hair off her cheek that had worked out of her braid. “Took me long enough to get that far. Might as well quit while I’m ahead.”
As Corrie pulled farther away, she reached for the door. “How about something cold to drink?”
“Sounds good.”
She led the way into the house and hung her Stetson on a wall peg before she walked to the sink.
“Help yourself to whatever you want. I need to get at least one layer of dirt off.”
She rolled up one shirtsleeve then did what she could with what was left of the other before she turned on the faucet and reached for the bar of soap and small hand brush in the dish next to the sink. In seconds, she’d worked up a lather then set about scouring the grease stains from her hands and from beneath her nails.
“Name your poison,” Shane called and she glanced over to where he stood in front of the open refrigerator door.
“Ice water for me,” she said, then turned back to her task.
She heard him close the refrigerator then walk to her side to hold the glass of water within reach. She turned her head a little to smile at him.
“Thanks. Just set it down till I get a little cleaner.”
“You look good enough to me.”
Corrie had been about to look away when he’d said that, but she detected a flash of something new in his blue eyes, something that flustered her. She pulled her gaze away to give her fingernails another going over with the small brush. After a quick rinse she soaped up again and bent over the sink to wash her face before she rinsed and blindly turned off the tap.
She put out a wet hand for the towel, but Shane pushed it into her fingers. Once she’d dried her face, she took care of her hands.
“Your brother left a message yesterday. Wanted you to call.” She finished with the towel and tossed it aside to reach for the glass as she added, “But I reckon you’ve had time to get home by now though.”
“Been home, heard the pitch.”
Corrie picked up the glass and had a reviving drink before she turned and briefly leaned back against the counter. Shane still had the pitcher, so she held out her glass for a refill.
“The pitch?” she asked after he’d finished pouring.
Shane walked to the refrigerator to put the pitcher away. “He’s willing to let me rule and reign with him without a business or agricultural degree.”
Corrie studied his face when he turned back to her and saw that his earlier teasing smile had flattened. “It’s a good offer, isn’t it?”
Shane made an attempt at a half smile. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that fifty-five/forty-five split. Aside from the fact that Nick has more say, there’s also the fact that I haven’t contributed forty-five percent, so I don’t reckon I deserve equal control. Less trouble to buy a place of my own, be my own boss.”
Corrie didn’t comment on that, but she wasn’t surprised. Shane had a strong independent streak. Proof of that had been his frequent clashes with his father and older brother, then after old Jake’s death and just before he’d started college, Shane’s clashes with Nick had multiplied. The fact that Shane had left school to pursue his own plans had been the ultimate declaration.
She didn’t agree that Shane wasn’t entitled to his inheritance though. Being born to a Merrick entitled him just as being born to a Davis had entitled her to her inheritance.
“Let’s go in and sit down,” she said, then led the way out of the kitchen into the hall. She heard Shane chuckle softly.
“Might be a good time to mention that there’s a hand-size grease spot on the right cheek of your britches.”
Corrie halted to glance back to see if he was teasing or serious, and of course, his blue gaze danced with amusement.
“Truly?”
Instead of answering, Shane held up the folded newspaper he must have picked up off the kitchen table on his way past. “You can sit on this.”
Corrie walked on into the living room. She waited while he opened the newspaper on the seat of an overstuffed chair before she dropped down on the cushion, grateful for the soft landing, and that she’d managed not to spill her glass of ice water.
Shane took a seat on the upholstered footstool that matched the old chair. He nodded toward her glass.
“By rights, that water should have slopped all over. You always did have a kind of elegance.”
Again Corrie caught a glimpse of…something…in his gaze. And again she tried to ignore it and made a doubtful face.
“No more elegance than the nearest gate half off its hinges.”
A little of his smile faded. “You still don’t know how to take a compliment. You probably haven’t figured out