A Cowboy For Clementine

Clementine took a deep breath. All the more reason he should help her. It’d probably do him good not to have to live in this house, day in, day out.

She heard the clattering of dishes and the pleasant rumble of male voices. Surely that couldn’t be Dexter Scott.

With a deep breath, she walked in to find him and two other cowboys seated at the rickety dining table, elbows up as they talked, washing their food down with dark coffee.

“Hi,” she said.

Her words had the effect of a pause button on the VCR. All activity stopped; forks poised in the air, a cup of coffee stopped at a mouth. She felt as if they were watching her every move, but she didn’t let that deter her.

“Hey, there.” She greeted them. “That looks really good.”

The motion started up, as the two cowboys—obviously related—exchanged glances. Forks came down, coffee was sipped, then white teeth gleamed.

“Ma’am,” the one closest to her said with a nod.

“Hi, I’m Clementine Wells.” She stuck out her hand to the one who had addressed her.

“Randy. Randy Miller.” A big hand, slightly sticky, engulfed hers, but the grip was very gentle.

“Miller?” Clem felt some hope flare. They were part of the Dexter Scott package. They were the rough ones who’d done jail time that she should steer clear of. “Of the Russell Saloon fame?”

The brothers exchanged glances. Randy grinned and poked a thumb in the other cowboy’s direction. “That was Ryan’s fault.”

“I was defending your honor.” Ryan stood up and extended his hand. “Ryan Miller. Glad to meet you.”

Less sticky but just as gentle. Clem felt a whole lot lighter. She ventured a quick glance in Dexter’s direction. He was stirring milk into a cup of coffee, hard enough to create a racket with his spoon.

“The bathroom’s down the hall. Second door to your right.” He stopped stirring.

Randy grinned and Clem realized she did have to use the facilities. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

“Then you’ll be on your way,” Dexter said, his voice rough.

“Mmm-hmm.” Clem hedged her bets. Maybe she could get a breakfast out of this. And another opportunity to convince him.

“SO WHERE DID SHE COME FROM?” Randy asked as he leaned over the table.

Dexter stuffed a forkful of pancakes in his mouth even though they tasted like straw. He swigged some of the coffee and then added more syrup to the stack and took another bite.

One trait that this woman, Clementine, and Joanna had in common was the fact they couldn’t take “no” for an answer. Even when he’d said “no” to Joanna, she’d thought it meant “maybe,” and then through sheer persistence made him change the “maybe” to an “I’ll think about it,” eventually ending up with an “okay, with stipulations,” which Joanna had ignored, anyway.

He didn’t want to smile, but he couldn’t help it. Joanna had been the only person who really knew him, who could see past his dark moods, who could make him laugh at the most dire of times. Seven years older, he’d taken care of her forever, shielding her from their father’s abuse, telling her stories about their long-gone mother. Those stories were lies. Their mother had left them when Joanna was just a baby. Their father had never been the same. And when he’d taken an unnatural interest in Joanna’s ten-year-old body, Dexter had left with Joanna in tow. They’d ridden three buses to get to Las Vegas, where Uncle Grubb, their father’s older brother, had met them at the bus station and brought them here. For the first time ever, Dexter and Joanna had known what it was to live in a real home, the same Victorian their father had grown up in. Dex had slept in the attic Grubb had remodeled, because he believed a teenage boy needed his privacy, while Joanna had lived in a fairy-tale alcove.

Since Grubb didn’t have children, he showered a lifetime of love on his newly acquired niece and nephew. When he died, he’d made Joanna and Dexter equal partners in the ranch. At the time, Dex and Ben Thorton were getting their business together. Joanna met Randy and Ryan and talked them into joining. Convincing Randy had been easy. Soon he and Joanna were inseparable.

After Joanna’s death, the ranch had become as desolate and bleak as Dex felt. He certainly didn’t need some woman with a stubborn chin and big blue eyes lighting up a room that he’d dimmed on purpose. He’d hoped she’d gotten the message and would be gone as soon as possible.

No such luck.

Before he could think to protest, Randy had invited her for some pancakes, which she accepted, seating herself right next to him.

He stared at the nicks in the table.

“I’m starving,” she confessed, with a shy glance toward him, which he tried to ignore as well. That didn’t seem to daunt her at all. She just held out a plate toward Ryan, who heaped it full with sausage, scrambled eggs and pancakes.

“Enough!” Clem protested with a giggle. “I’ll waddle my way home.”

It almost hurt to hear feminine laughter.

“You’re leaving after you eat those,” Dexter told her.

She stared at him with those large eyes fringed with dark lashes, and then nodded, her eyes cast down in acquiescence.

Dexter didn’t believe it for a second. To make sure that she left after she ate, he would escort her out to her vehicle himself and watch until he couldn’t see her taillights any more.

“And where is home?” Randy asked her.

“Los Banos.”

“Pretty country,” Ryan commented.

Clem nodded. “I’ve just moved back to my father’s ranch. He and my mother retired to Arizona last summer.”

“And what brings you way out here?”

There was a long pause, and Dexter found that he’d stopped eating, because even though he knew what she had to say, he liked the way she spoke, as if she had to force herself to speak louder to be heard.

“I bought some cattle that’ve gone feral on me in a year.”

“Really, now?” Ryan perked up. “How many?”

“Lots. Over six hundred.”

“And?” Randy asked, his voice speculative.

“I’ve come to ask Mr. Scott if he’d like the job.”

“Dex’s retired.”

Dexter bristled. Funny, how he’d spent the morning trying to convince her that she was barking up the wrong tree, and now that Randy had confirmed it— Well, hell. He didn’t need Randy talking for him.

“You are retired, aren’t you, Dex?” Ryan asked, a speculative look in his eyes.

Dexter didn’t say anything. He knew what his friends were doing. They’d been trying to get him back into the business, telling him life went on even after death. Randy had said as much, but Dexter didn’t want to believe it. It still hurt too much—not just Joanna’s death or the massive hole that her presence left, but the undeniable knowledge that he’d caused it.

“Even ballplayers come out of retirement,” Clementine said. Then she took one look at his expression and turned her attention to Randy. “Since Mr. Scott isn’t available, maybe you and your brother would think about taking the project on. I’ve heard just as many good things about you. I’m offering forty percent.”

“How big did you estimate those cows were?” Randy asked.

“Conservatively— A thousand pounds. I think there are several up to fifteen hundred pounds.”

“In a season?” Ryan was skeptical. “I don’t think so.”

Clem shrugged. “I didn’t think so, either, but unless there were six hundred cows with our brand that we forgot to pick up last year, these are the ones I put out in October.”

“When would you need us to start?” Randy asked.

Dexter had been doing fine with the conversation. He’d been eating breakfast, minding his own business, disregarding the pointed looks his friends gave him, ignoring the fact that if he didn’t look down he’d be staring at the soft curve of Clementine Wells’s neck. But he coughed with Randy’s question. No. Randy couldn’t be thinking about taking the job.

“I thought you guys had sworn to take a couple weeks off before starting up again,” Dexter finally said.

All eyes turned to him.

Clem ignored his outburst. “I’d really like to get the cows in before Thanksgiving. I know that doesn’t give you much resting time, but my parents are coming back for the holiday, and it’d be nice to have this problem taken care of.”

Ryan grinned. “Thanksgiving? It’s only September.”

“You don’t know these cows,” Clem said, her voice ominous.

“You have any men to help us?”

Dexter made a noise of protest, but no one acknowledged that, either.

Clem nodded. “Three, I know I could call on if we had real work. I could ask around.”

Randy looked at Ryan for confirmation. “No. I think the five of us can do some considerable damage. Ryan?”

Ryan shrugged. “Why not?”

“Okay, Ms. Wells.”

“Clem, call me Clem, please.” She gave them a relieved smile and attacked her stack of pancakes. “Thank you. You don’t know what your help means to me. Thank you.”

Dexter couldn’t stand her effusive gratefulness anymore. He got up and went outside without a word.

THE ORANGE JUICE IN THEIR cups vibrated from Dexter’s abrupt departure, and a silence fell over the table. Clem ate as rapidly as she could, trying not to mind that he’d left so quickly.

“You should slow down,” Ryan cautioned her. “You’ll get indigestion.”

Clem looked up into his sympathetic eyes. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“It’s not that,” Randy told her. “You just caught him by surprise. You caught all of us by surprise.” He studied her face. “Though I’m wondering if this isn’t the best thing for him.”

Clem wiped her mouth and then stood up to take her dish to the sink.

Ryan intercepted her, taking the plate from her. “Don’t worry about that, we’ve got it.”

“Thank you so much for the breakfast and for considering the job. It seems as if I’ve searched a long time for men like you.” Clem scribbled her name and phone number on a scrap of paper by the sink. “You’ll call me when you’re ready to come?”

The brothers nodded. “Probably by the end of the week.”

“Where’s your car?” Randy asked.

“Truck,” Clem said. “Out by the last gate. I walked in. Well, rode in, when I found the brown horse.”

Randy looked at her hard. “What brown horse?”

“The nice one with the white star,” Clem smiled. “He’s a sweetie.”

Both brothers snorted.

“What?” she asked.

They exchanged glances with each other. Then Randy laughed with a rueful shake of his head. “I bet that stuck in his craw. New Horse doesn’t usually like to be ridden. Ms. Wells—”

“Clem, please.” Clementine insisted.

“Clem, I’ll drive you back,” Randy said, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

“Thank you. You will call, right?” She looked for affirmation from one or the other, but both nodded at the same time, wide smiles transforming their faces.

“Expect us at the end of the week.”

When Randy pushed open the screen door for her, Clem saw Dexter leaning up against a porch rail, staring pensively at the corral of horses. He didn’t look up.

“I’ll just be running Clem back to her truck,” Randy said, keys rattling.

Clem didn’t even think Dexter heard until he pulled himself off the rail. He put an arm out to block Randy’s way.

“I’ll take her” was all he said.

Clem looked over her shoulder at Randy, who just smiled and shrugged. Without waiting for her, Dexter Scott had already taken the three steps off the porch and was striding toward his truck.

“You coming?” he asked as he paused at the passenger side, yanking open the door.

Clem forced herself to walk, not trot, to where Dexter was putting a shotgun on the rack behind the seat. The shortness of his movements screamed his impatience.

“Thank you,” Clem said as he boosted her up. Lord, he was strong. She could feel his fingers, as if they were each individually imprinted on her upper arm. “I could have ridden with Mr. Miller.” Clem pushed the assortment of papers on the seat across to the middle before she sat down.

“I want to make sure you’re going to leave,” he said as he climbed in next to her. He indicated the wad of oil-stained rags Clem held in her hands. “Just put those on the floor.”

Clem dropped them at her feet.

“I am leaving.” She hunted for the seat belt. It was the dustiest truck that she’d ever been in, clearly not equipped for passengers. She was sure there would be bottom imprints where she sat. Disposable soda cups were everywhere, giving Clem a good idea what fast food he favored when he was on the road. She lifted off the seat and pried out a pencil from the seam between the seat and the back-rest, before positioning herself as far away as she could get from him, keeping her posture very straight. His quick glance told her that he noticed.

“I did find your horse for you.” Clem couldn’t keep the asperity out of her voice as he turned the key.

The engine revved.

“And I did provide you a way home, so you didn’t have to walk,” Clem reminded him.

When he spun the truck into a tight turn, she held on to the pipe that he’d rigged as a door handle.

“And I know first aid, so if you were hurt, I was prepared to patch you up.”

With that said she lapsed into prim silence.

It didn’t matter one bit that he wasn’t going to respond, though she did notice that contrary to the fast spin, they were moving at an awfully slow pace toward her truck. She glanced at his speedometer. Their speed didn’t even register.

“The faster you go, the faster I’ll be out of here,” she said, and braved a full look at him.

Her heart stopped.

He was smiling, or at least she thought he was smiling. There were crinkles in the corners of his eyes and his lips were definitely tilted up.

“And in return, I didn’t shoot you,” Dexter replied.

“Well, that’s true,” Clem agreed. “But that was because I had your shotgun.”

“I was close enough to get it back, if I wanted it. I could have shot you out in the desert and left you for dead.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Clem was positive. Even though he’d been none too friendly, his smile did odd, fluttery things to her chest.

He gave her a sidelong look. “And what makes you so sure? You know, a female all alone isn’t necessarily safe.”

She’d had that thought herself. But she’d forced herself to keep going. She’d found him, even though he didn’t want to be found. “Sometimes it’s not always a good thing to be safe.”

“Safety is a human need,” he said.

Clem nodded and saw that her truck was indeed closer, even though it seemed as if he’d actually stopped. “True. But I’ve been safe all my life. This was one time that I thought more about what I needed to do than what would be safe. And I got what I wanted. Your friends are coming to help me.”

There was a long pause. Clem could hear the tires crunch over the gravel.

Finally, Dexter admitted, “They’re good men. The best. If you have a cow problem, they’ll be able to fix it.”

Maybe it was a note in his voice, maybe it was the way that he furrowed his brow, but something made Clem want to reach out and pat his arm. Instead, she blurted, “You sure you don’t want to come, too?”

For a moment, no longer than it took to blink, Clem swore that he did. He studied her and Clem felt the familiar flush creep up her neck.

“You blush easy.”

Clem didn’t know how to answer that. “It’s because I’m so fair.”

“Or you’re shy.”

“Maybe. That’s safe, too, huh?”

“Shyness?”

She nodded. “Sure. If I’m shy, I don’t have to risk meeting new people. Shy is like those gates that you’ve got. They minimize the chance of people intruding. Seems as if we’re alike that way.”

Dexter didn’t say anything, and after a moment they were at the gates.

Clem struggled to open the door.

“The old handle broke,” he explained. “Let me.” He leaned over, his arm brushing up against her legs. With an easy jerk, he popped the door open. While he was at it, he unclipped her seat belt.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She saw him getting out and assured him, “I’ll be fine. I promise I won’t bother you anymore.”

“How are you going to get through the gate?” he asked, his voice dry.

“The same way I got in. I’ll climb over it.” She gave him a big grin.

He held up a key. “Save your energy. You’ve got a long drive back.”

She waited as he crouched down next to the lock. It was hard to believe that she was never going to see him again. She resisted the urge to lay her hand on his shoulder, to run the back of her hand along the soft skin under his collar.

He released the padlock and stood up, swinging open the gate. “There you go, ma’am.”

“I guess I should thank you for not shooting me.” She made her tone as light as possible, as she stepped past him, but it was hard because her lips felt dry and dusty. She licked them, not at all sure why she was possessed with the overwhelming urge to kiss this man. Was it the loneliness in his eyes? Her heart thumped harder at the thought. She knew about being lonely even when surrounded by other people, about being lonely even when you were married or sleeping in the same bed with someone. Maybe Dexter Scott had chosen solitude. Maybe he’d chosen to erect the fences around his property, but no one, not even Dexter Scott, would choose loneliness.

His eyes were trained on her face, as if he could read her thoughts. She focused on his lips.

It’d been so very long since she’d had a real kiss. There’d be nothing to regret, because kissing Dexter Scott would be merely a crowning regret on the top of the six hundred regrets running around on her father’s property.

Besides, she’d never see him again.

CHAPTER THREE

AS CLEARLY AS IF SHE HAD already kissed him, she could feel his stubble under her hand. Heat reflected off his clear eyes and she stepped toward him. As if choreographed, Dexter met her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the solid muscles. He flinched just slightly and she remembered his tender shoulder.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“What for?” His voice was right in her ear, low, husky. She could feel the moist warmth of his mouth right at the curve of her jawline.

“Your shoulder.”

“It’s fine.” He held her tighter as if to prove to her there was nothing wrong with his shoulder. The weight of his arm against her waist was reassuring. His hand was splayed across the small of her back, warming her. It had been a long time. Perhaps a lifetime. She didn’t remember having this feeling with Nick, not ever. Not even on their wedding night.

Dex’s face was so close she could see the individual pores that the rough stubble grew out of. She inhaled, smelling saddle wax, sweat, dust. It was a dangerous combination. Clem became fascinated by the slight cleft in his chin, the indentations in his profile, the distinct cupid’s bow, the dimple that flickered in and out. He seemed to have stopped breathing and was waiting.

Simply waiting.

“This isn’t what shy women do,” he informed her with a low, guttural whisper. “Kiss strange men.”

His words should have jerked her back to reality, but right now, she couldn’t think, all she could do was feel the strength of his arm behind her, the heat of his body in front of her, the brush of his powerful thighs, supporting the both of them, because she was certain that if he let go, she’d fall over.

“I haven’t kissed you yet.” She searched his eyes, which he tried to shutter.

DEXTER FROZE. Instead of letting go, as he intended, he found himself pulling this woman, this Clementine, closer to him, just to feel her press up against him.

Let go, his rational mind hollered at him. Just let go and step back. Okay, it finally conceded, if you can’t step back, just let go. You can step back in a second.

Too late.

He felt her lips graze his, the heat of even that slight contact exploding in his chest. Bad idea. This was what playing with fire meant. He felt like a moth, fluttering up against a stark lightbulb, drawn to the very thing that would cause the destruction of all his walls. He didn’t move, but rather lowered his head. If exploring that tender bottom lip of hers was going to be his destruction, then so be it.

His mouth covered hers, tentatively at first and then with the intensity of a moth that had been too long without light. She moaned and pulled herself onto her toes, her fingers stroking his neck and shoulders in a concentric circle that was making it hard to think. His eyes began to flutter closed, and then she was gone.

CLEM JERKED BACK, gulping for air, trying to pretend the kiss wasn’t the best kiss she’d ever had and wondering what else she’d been missing. If someone had told her Dexter Scott would one day kiss her the way he just had, she would have never married Nick. She would have waited for Dexter Scott, even if it took him years to find her. Incredible. What an incredible kiss. Clementine felt her cheeks burn.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me,” she apologized. She hunted around in her jacket pocket for her keys, too embarrassed to even look at him.

“Don’t be.” The words were gruff.

She looked up and saw that his pupils were dilated. He took the keys from her hand and walked the two steps to her truck and opened up the door.

Wordlessly, Clem climbed in, unable to sort out the feelings churning inside her chest. She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to see him again. Then she laughed. Los Banos and Barstow were far apart. A long-distance relationship would never work. She rolled down the window and then started up the truck.

“I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

“I guess so.”

“You sure you don’t want to come out and see my cows?”

There was a long pause.

Finally, he shut her door with a controlled slam and said, his voice short, “I’m retired.”

WITH CURIOUS ANTICIPATION Clem stepped into a clean pair of just-for-company blue jeans. When she’d gotten home the other day, she’d slept for sixteen hours. It was the first good sleep she’d had in a long time. Randy Miller had called her the following afternoon to confirm their arrival time today. She would be so glad to see them, so glad that she would be able to hoist this particular burden onto their very capable shoulders. She didn’t ask about Dexter Scott, or invite him again, but she couldn’t help but think that it was his phone number Randy had given her. After this was over, she could always call him.

And then do what?

She was as inept at this as a sixth grader.

She shook off thoughts of Dexter Scott and his kiss as she fastened around her neck a gold heart locket that her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. She needed to focus on her guests. Ryan had phoned earlier and told her to expect them at four o’clock. She’d spent most of the late morning and early afternoon cooking a supper she hoped would make her mother proud. A roast was slow simmering along with new potatoes, boiler onions and carrots. She’d made up a batch of coleslaw and prepared green beans, then she’d baked plenty of buttery garlic biscuits.

She hurried down the stairs, giving the dining room table another critical look. Her grandmother’s china and silver looked nice on the lace tablecloth. It was a big table for three, but the floral centerpiece she’d had specially made in town compensated for the expanse.

Clem pulled open the kitchen door to check on the roast. Frijole, her elderly tabby, was lying in a particularly comforting sunbeam and meowed her disapproval. She got up, arched her back and gave a languid stretch, her front paws fully extended, her toes splayed. Then she straightened and looked expectantly at Clem.

“Sorry, girl,” Clem said, and picked up the tabby. Clem felt her pulse slow considerably as she stroked Frijole. “Don’t you know company’s coming?” She buried her face into the soft fur. Frijole had absorbed many tears these past few years.