Charlotte's Cowboy Page 6

  A more insincere sentiment Charlotte had never heard uttered. She batted her eyelashes at him. “After lunch I’ll have a good long rest and I’ll be fine.”

  Matthew’s hands tightened. “Good. Since you did so well today, we might take a longer ride tomorrow. Maybe move a little faster. If you’re still tender, a good trot will jar the soreness right out of those muscles.”

  “Do you really think so, Matthew?” Charlotte asked artlessly. His strategy was flagrantly obvious. No wonder he’d been so patient this morning. Matthew Thorneton was counting on her lily-livered constitution, not to mention tender bottom, to make her shelter in the ranch house for the remainder of her two-week stay. The really insulting part was he wasn’t even bothering to make things tough for her. Of course, he couldn’t go too far and risk her running back home to Denver. Charlotte gave him a warm smile.

  An answering smile curved Matthew’s mouth. “We don’t get women like you—” he lifted her from Penny’s back “—around here much.”

  Charlotte bent her head to look into his face. “What kind of woman am I?”

  “Soft, sweet-smelling.” He ran a finger under her lacy blouse collar. “Pink cotton candy, the lady on a chocolate box, the kind a boy dreams about. Silky lace nighties and perfumed sheets. Not a woman for shoveling out stalls or facing over the breakfast table, but a woman for loving on warm summer nights.”

  Charlotte dropped her eyes to hide a flash of anger. “That’s very pretty talk, Matthew.” The open V of his faded blue shirt exposed skin tanned to a golden brown. “But you make me sound rather insubstantial.”

  “Dream ladies usually are.” He tipped up her chin. “Although I don’t remember any of the ladies of my boyhood dreams having freckles. Maybe I didn’t look closely enough.” Shoving back his hat, he lowered his head.

  “I thought last night we settled you weren’t going to kiss me anymore, Matthew.”

  “We settled that the next time a man kissed you, you weren’t going to act like a silly schoolgirl.”

  He was as subtle as a sledgehammer. Charlotte decided she’d better find out what else was brewing under his cowboy hat. He tasted of mint. The smells of the stable yard faded as the subtle scent of soap mingled with the warm smell of his skin. The Colorado sunshine directly overhead bathed her with heat. Charlotte slid a hand up his neck and pressed it against his cheek. He’d missed a tiny patch of beard in shaving, and the bristles rasped the sensitive skin of her palm. His warm, solid body curved protectively around her, filling her with a sense of safety and belonging. The well-washed denim of his shirt felt soft and comforting beneath her fingers. She slipped the fingers of one hand between the buttons of his shirt and was rewarded by the silken warmth of his chest. Matthew’s mouth moved over hers and then his tongue slid between her lips.

  Sometime later Matthew lifted his head. “It’s a damned shame I have to live with Mom for Tim’s sake.”

  Charlotte toyed with one of his shirt buttons. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’d enjoy sharing my bed with a certain pretty lady. I’d like to count her freckles.” He trailed a finger across Charlotte’s cheek. “All of them.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHARLOTTE went very still. Matthew’s provocative declaration went beyond frightening her into staying out of his way. Stiffening her arms, she broke free of his loose embrace. “I don’t believe I ever indicated bedding the boss is part of your job description.”

  “I’m not averse to putting in a little overtime.”

  She could almost believe he was serious. Which made no sense. Even if he could coax her into his bed, which he couldn’t, what could he hope to gain? It would be prudent to squash this little idea before he went too far. “Your attempts to seduce me, Matthew, are a total waste of your time.” She’d only kissed him to find out what he was up to. His kisses were pleasant—well, maybe more than pleasant, but that was irrelevant.

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He aimed a sensual smile at her mouth. “I thought my time was rather well spent.”

  Charlotte felt the color highlighting her cheeks. “I allowed you to kiss me because it amused me. I admit—” she fiddled with Penny’s bridle “—the experience was somewhat pleasant, but I’m not looking for a two-week fling, and I’m not so simpleminded that a couple of kisses and some heavy breathing will blind me to what you’re really after.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “You’re determined I carry out the conditions of Charles Gannen’s will for your own selfish purposes. Your problem is, I couldn’t care less if you get the ranch.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I want this ranch, Charlotte, and I intend to get it. One way or the other.”

  “If you wanted it so badly, you should have convinced him to will it to you,” she snapped. Enlightenment burst over her. “I see,” she said slowly. “It must have been quite a disappointment to have hung around all this time thinking Charles Gannen would leave his ranch to your mother, and by extension to you. Undoubtedly you worked hard for him and deserved some consideration, but you should have realized Charles Gannen and fairness were total strangers. While I can certainly testify to that, I feel no obligation to right any wrongs he perpetuated.”

  “Are you telling me you won’t sell me the ranch?”

  “Sell? Or give? I doubt very much a hired hand makes enough money to buy a ranch of any size these days. Isn’t that what all your heavy-handed seduction is about?” Charlotte absently combed Penny’s mane. “We both know you’re not the least bit attracted to me. You thought you could seduce me into handing over the ranch to your mother for little or no payment. I’m afraid, cowboy, you rate your charms a little high.”

  He pulled his hat low over his forehead. “At least I don’t accuse a woman of ulterior motives every time she kisses me.”

  Undoubtedly because he assumed every woman who kissed him was madly in love with him. She flicked some horsehair from the sleeve of her blouse. “I’m sure you need your job, so I’ll forget about this episode.”

  The ensuing silence was broken by Penny’s soft nickering as the mare rubbed her nose on Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew’s eyes were shaded by his wide-brimmed hat. “I suggest, cream puff,” he said levelly, “you get that fancy, pampered bottom of yours up to the house before I decide what I want from you isn’t worth putting up with you for one more second.” Grabbing Penny’s reins, he led both horses toward the barn.

  Charlotte refused to let him think he intimidated her. “What about Penny?” she called after him. “Aren’t I supposed to give her a bath or something after a ride?” Matthew ignored her.

  * * *

  Charlotte outlined her lips in pale coral and bared her teeth at the mirror, checking for lipstick smears. She hoped Matthew’s teeth were in as good condition. Leading the horses to the barn, he appeared to be grinding all the enamel from his molars. He hadn’t liked discovering Charlotte had figured out his scheme. For a minute she’d feared for the horses’ well-being, but decided Penny wouldn’t be drooling all over Matthew as if he were the herd stallion if Matthew were the type to mistreat valuable animals.

  Matthew had not joined Charlotte and Helen at lunch. Fortunately his mother hadn’t questioned his absence, so Charlotte had been spared the need to explain Matthew was pouting. Charlotte ran her fingers over the ornate pattern of her great-grandmother’s silver-backed hand mirror. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit Matthew’s kisses affected her more than she liked. Surely an attraction to cowboys couldn’t be inherited, like blood type or eye color. Just because her mother had been putty in the hands of a handsome cowboy—Charlotte was proof of that—didn’t mean Charlotte had to go weak in the knees at the sight of low-slung blue jeans and outsize hats.

  Opening a flacon of perfume, Charlotte absently dabbed some on her pulse points. One day down and thirteen to go. In other circumstances she might have enjoyed the visit. The sky was blue, the air was clear, colts were frisky and ca
lves were adorable. The danger was in succumbing to feeling pride of ownership. She was no more than a tourist, passing through. All the silver and crystal dressing table appointments, all the lace pillows and flowered silk scarves over lampshades, all the family photographs in antique frames couldn’t hide the fact that beneath the accessories hauled here from Denver in her trunk was a room Charles Gannen had never wanted to see her in. The ranch was no more a part of her life history than a trip to the moon.

  Charlotte soothed an errant eyebrow. The mere suggestion of possibly keeping the ranch herself would be enough to set Matthew foaming at the mouth. She toyed with the idea. Men such as Matthew and the Gannens, father and son, assumed they could rearrange life to suit themselves. The Gannen men were beyond her reach, but it wouldn’t hurt for Matthew to learn a small lesson in humility.

  Standing, she stepped into her dress with its dropped waist and pale green floral print cotton and wide, creamy Battenberg lace collar. Matthew would undoubtedly think the old-fashioned, feminine dress suited a cream puff. Charlotte smiled. Men like Matthew underestimated cream puffs. Tomorrow she’d make plans for seeing Charlie Gannen’s lawyer and discover for herself the exact worth of the estate she was due to inherit. The ranch meant nothing to her, and in the end, she supposed she’d sell it to Matthew if he could meet her asking price.

  Charlotte’s smile switched to a thoroughly unladylike grin. Negotiating with Matthew Thorneton when she had the upper hand promised to be entertaining. True to his name, he had been a thorn in her side from the first letter he’d sent her about her grandfather’s illness. Since then his transgressions had multiplied—the second, lecturing letter, his forcing her to come to the ranch and his behavior since she’d arrived. He was a true cowboy, thinking because he filled out a pair of jeans nicely, had a devastating way of kissing and looked terrific on a horse...

  Charlotte shook her head and plopped herself on the dressing table stool. If she wanted those kinds of fantasies, she could rent a Western video. She pinned a cameo at the deep V of her collar. Matthew was hardly a heroic figure. For heaven’s sake, the man had to be over thirty years old, and he still lived with his mother. She chose to ignore the reason for Matthew’s style of living.

  The reason knocked loudly at her door. “You in there?”

  Charlotte swung around. “Come in.”

  Tim peeked his head in. At her smile, he advanced the rest of the way. Animal-like, he sniffed the air. “Gosh. It stinks in here.”

  Charlotte laughed. “You wait a few years and you’ll be singing a different tune. I see you have your friend with you.” The rat was sniffing the air in almost perfect imitation of the boy whose shoulder he rode on.

  Tim’s eyes widened as he looked around. “This room sure looks different. Kinda sissy.” He jumped up on the bed. “Grandpa Charlie’s son, Chick, was your dad, wasn’t he?”

  “So I’m told.”

  “You remember him?”

  Charlotte ignored the dirty tennis shoes on the washable white coverlet. “I never knew him. He was killed in a war before I was born.” Her mother had known him a week. Jewel’s sole mementos of her only love were three pictures and a few letters. And Charlotte.

  Tim lifted the rat from his shoulder to his lap, curling the animal’s tail around his hand. “If you was two when he died, would you remember him?”

  At the odd note in Tim’s voice, Charlotte glanced at him. He was bent over the rat. “I don’t think so.” She inserted a gold earring. “Hardly anyone remembers that far back.”

  “If somebody’s mom died when he was two, and he couldn’t remember her ‘cept for a picture in his room, would you think he was bad?”

  “Certainly not. I can’t remember a thing in my life before I broke my arm when I was four. My mother said the only reason I remember that is because everyone fussed over me so much I thought I was pretty special.”

  Tim slid the rat’s tail through his fingers. “Snowball thinks you’re special.”

  “Thank Snowball for me.”

  “You thank him.” Tim dumped the small animal in her lap.

  Charlotte shot a swift glance toward the half-open door. “I thought I heard your father come in.”

  “He’s in the shower.” Tim watched the small rodent climb up Charlotte’s arm. “Snowball likes hiding under long hair. Sometimes I take him to school. Some of the girls hold him but most of them scream.” He rolled his eyes in disgust.

  “Not everyone appreciates rats.” Bending over carefully so as not to dislodge the dozing rat from beneath her loose-hanging hair, Charlotte fastened her sandals.

  Tim inspected her. “You going to a party?”

  “No. After my bath I felt like putting on a dress for dinner.” She stood up and pirouetted slowly. “How do I look?”

  “Dad says you’re frizlous. What’s that?”

  “Frivolous? It means—” just in time she caught the innocent look on Tim’s face and finished awkwardly “—I don’t know much about cows.”

  “I can tell you about them. They’re big and we eat them and I like horses lots better.”

  “Spoken like a true cowboy.” Hearing footsteps in the hall, Charlotte hastily removed Snowball from the back of her neck.

  Matthew knocked perfunctorily at her open door. “Here you are,” he said to his son without looking at Charlotte. “Shouldn’t you be doing your chores?”

  “I’m done. Smell, Dad. Doesn’t it stink in here?”

  Charlotte’s gaze flew involuntarily to meet Matthew’s. Answering amusement gleamed in his brown eyes before his gaze iced over. A second later, frostiness was replaced by wicked laughter as he saw Charlotte holding Snowball awkwardly in her hands, as far away from her as her arms would stretch. “I didn’t realize you had two visitors.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame. “You’re quite the animal lover, aren’t you?”

  Charlotte gave him a baleful look. “I adore them. Tim, I think Snowball wants to go back to you.” Putting on a brave smile, she added, “I don’t think he likes my perfume, either.”

  “Go put him in his cage and wash up for dinner,” Matthew said to Tim. He watched his son go down the hall to his room and then turned to Charlotte. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He shifted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. “Leave Tim alone.”

  Charlotte carefully set down her comb to keep from throwing it at him. “I told your mother I’d set the table for dinner.”

  He blocked the doorway. “She’s managed to get dinner on the table for over thirty years without your help. I expect she can manage tonight. Do we understand each other?”

  “I understand you, Matthew.” Reaching up slowly, Charlotte dabbed a speck of shaving cream from in front of Matthew’s ear. “You think sleeping with me would be a nifty way to persuade me to sell you, on your terms, what’s soon to be my ranch. However, apparently even you have some moral standards, which prevents you tomcatting around in front of your son and your mother. You’re frustrated, you blame your son, and you want to punish him. You can’t beat him or send him to his room, so you’ve decided to take away his new toy. Me. And to cast a favorable light on the matter, you’re pretending you’re afraid I’ll harm Tim in some mysterious way.” She wiped the cream off her finger onto his shirt collar. “Is there anything else I should understand?”

  He grabbed her finger. “You should understand you rub me the wrong way. I don’t like a woman who goes through life thinking she can get whatever she wants just by looking soft and pretty. I don’t like a woman who’s afraid of work because it might soil her hands or chip her nail paint. And I don’t like a woman who feels sorry for herself and who thinks the world owes her because she had no father.”

  His contemptuous words immediately fired her anger. “For your information, Mr. Thorneton—” she jabbed him in the chest with her other finger “—I don’t care one little bit whether I had a father.”

  “Stop poking me.”

  “Stop saying I feel sor
ry for myself. You’re just jealous because Tim and I are friends.”

  “My son has plenty of friends.” Matthew grabbed her stabbing hand. “He’s looking for a mother.”

  “A mother,” Charlotte echoed faintly.

  “A mother. So I suggest, cream puff, unless you plan to become the next Mrs. Matthew Thorneton, you keep away from Tim.”

  “The next Mrs. Matthew...” Her hands were swallowed up by his larger ones. His hands were warm, the skin work-roughened and callused. A raw abrasion rode one knuckle. They were strong hands, yet she’d seen them pick a flower, pet a horse, tousle a small boy’s hair. Those same hands had caressed his wife in their marriage bed. Had he been a gentle lover or an impatient one? Disturbed by the direction of her thoughts, Charlotte wrenched her hands from his grasp. “Don’t be silly. We both know you wouldn’t marry me if I owned the entire state of Colorado. I suppose threatening to marry me is another plan to scare me into hiding in my room for the entire two-week visit. I’m a necessary evil if you are to get the Gannen ranch, but that doesn’t mean I’m welcome here, does it?” She glared at him. “You ought to be grateful I like Tim. If it weren’t for him and your mother, you’d be out of here by now. And now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said pointedly as he continued to bar her way, “your mother will be wondering where I am.”

  He made an elaborate production of stepping aside. “I’ll bet in school you were one of those little girls who thought it was feminine to flunk math.” He followed her down the stairs.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You can’t add. In your book, two and two make seven or three hundred, or anything but four.”

  Charlotte looked disdainfully over her shoulder at him. “If that’s your clever way of calling me stupid, let me remind you, I’m not the one simple enough to think he can seduce his boss for material gain.”

  “That’s right. You’re the one who’s—” his eyes gleamed at her “—toying with the hired help.”