Charlotte's Cowboy Page 7

  Charlotte clutched at the railing as a number of sensations swept tumultuously over her at the sight of golden-brown eyes brimming with amusement. The thought that Matthew could be dangerously attractive collided with the notion that he was laughing at her. She looked away, desperately seeking the threads of their conversation. Oh, yes, mathematics. “I was not one of those stupid girls. Aunt Faye taught me right from the start that how I did in school was based on how hard I tried, not on any worn-out gender-based stereotype.”

  “I’ll bet you were a prim and proper little girl.” He reached down and tugged on a lock of her hair. “I can picture you. Long red curls, a frilly dress, spotless white shoes and stockings. You always sat with your knees together and your hands folded in your lap.”

  “Naturally.” The man was too stupid for words. “Pink was my favorite color, and I loved tea parties.” She and Grandma Darnelle baked cookies with enthusiasm, leaving the kitchen a shambles of flour and sugar and dirty pans. “Of course, it was pretend tea because I didn’t want to get my white apron dirty.”

  “Have you ever gotten your apron dirty, cream puff?”

  “Matt, don’t tease her,” Helen scolded as she handed Charlotte the dinner plates. “He couldn’t keep clean for two minutes. Timmy’s just like him.”

  Tim clattered into the room. “I wanna be like Dad. He’s the greatest.” He grinned engagingly at his father. “Don’t you think I ought to stay up later and visit with Charlotte?”

  “Nope. It’s a school night.”

  “Dad,” Tim wailed. “I wanna have lots of time to bring Snowball down for Charlotte to play with.”

  “Tempting, very tempting,” Matthew said, “but your bedtime stands. I’m sure Charlotte is exhausted after her ride this morning. She’ll be turning in early, too.”

  That nicely hemmed her in. If she disagreed with Matthew, Tim would think she was siding with him against his father. Agreeing with Matthew meant she was allowing him to dictate her bedtime. Before she could decide how to answer, Tim demanded to know which horse she’d ridden. “Penny,” she told him.

  “I was right, wasn’t I, Dad?” Tim asked eagerly. “They are ‘zackly like.”

  Matthew grinned across the table. “I wouldn’t say they’re exactly alike.”

  “I should say not.” Charlotte made a face at Tim. “Are you saying I look like a horse?”

  “Aw, Charlotte, you know I mean your hair.”

  “The two of them could be peas in a pod.” Matthew winked at Tim. “The only way I could tell them apart was that Penny was the one who knew what she was doing.”

  “I’m a born rider, and you know it.”

  “I admit you didn’t fall off.”

  “What’s more, I refuse to be compared to a horse.”

  “You’re right. Comparing you to her is all wrong. Penny is the sweetest, gentlest, most even-tempered creature I’ve ever been around.” Matthew leaned back in his chair, his mocking gaze on Charlotte. “Now a mule,” he drawled, “there’d be a basis for comparison.”

  Helen hastily changed the subject. “Dennis said to tell you, Matt, he’s planning on sending twenty-five yearlings up with you to the summer pasture.”

  “Who’s Dennis?” Charlotte handed the butter to Tim.

  “Charlie’s foreman. You should have introduced him to Charlotte.” Helen gave Matthew a look of reproof.

  “He headed down to the south pasture long before she rolled out of bed.”

  “I don’t know what kind of plans you’ve made for this place, Charlotte, but you couldn’t go wrong keeping on Dennis,” Helen said. “He’s been working for Charlie for over twenty years. Over the years, Charlie sold off most of his land and cattle because—because of one reason or another.”

  “Because he had no son to leave the place to,” Charlotte said precisely.

  “Well, yes,” Helen unhappily agreed. “Anyway, Dennis is a hard worker. Admittedly he needs some guidance now and then, but I’m sure Matt will be happy to help you there.”

  Charlotte wasn’t thrilled with the notion forcing itself to the forefront of her mind. She glanced at Matthew. He was watching her, wickedly smug laughter in his eyes. Laughter directed at her. She forced herself to ask the question. “You don’t work here, do you, Matthew?”

  “No, Charlotte, actually I don’t. My place runs along Charlie’s land to the west.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were having such a good time grinding the hapless hired hand under your heel, I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

  A burning flush crawled up Charlotte’s face. The truth in Matthew’s sardonic explanation only added to her anger and humiliation. “I suppose you have more than a house, some outbuildings and a few acres.”

  “Gosh, Charlotte, our ranch is one of the biggest around,” a wide-eyed Tim said. “It’s belonged to us Thornetons for years and years and years. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. Silly me. I had the impression your father worked for Mr. Gannen.”

  “I don’t know where you could have gotten that idea, dear,” Helen said, “although in a way, I guess you could say it’s true. Matt has the power of attorney to make all the decisions and run the place until the final disposition of the estate.”

  “You mean he can do whatever he wants on this place,” Charlotte said slowly, “and I can’t.”

  “Naturally, cream puff, if you come to me and ask nicely, I’ll consider your wishes. Oh, and Charlotte, Dennis doesn’t have my easygoing personality, so don’t try your tricks with him. I wouldn’t be very pleased if he up and quit.”

  Charlotte curled her fingers in her lap. Matthew didn’t even have the decency to disguise the gloating in his voice. And there was no mistaking his unspoken message. He was in charge here and he didn’t want her to forget it. If it weren’t for Helen and Tim, she’d kick him out on his ear. Except, she realized bitterly, she didn’t have the power.

  A fact that had her inwardly still seething with resentment as she sat beside Matthew in the pickup late the next morning. Outwardly she was the picture of femininity as she apologized prettily for making Matthew wait so long for her.

  Matthew’s only response was a grumpy acknowledgment as the pickup rattled over a cattle guard.

  “I couldn’t decide what a long-lost heiress should wear.”

  Matthew gave her a dry look before easing the pickup onto the highway. “I’m well aware your being so late was a deliberate attempt to irritate me, so don’t bother to deny it.”

  “I wouldn’t think of denying it.” Charlotte tightened her seat belt with a jerk. “The liar in this truck isn’t me.”

  “I never told you I worked for Charlie, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

  “You knew very well what I thought,” she said furiously. “Not once did you bother to set me straight.”

  “Why should I when you were having so much fun abusing all that power you thought you had?”

  “I wasn’t abusing anything, and if I was—” Charlotte stared resolutely out the pickup window “—it was only because you’re such an arrogant, bossy jerk.”

  “Me, arrogant? From the minute we met, you looked down that freckled nose at me as if I were a cow pie you’d stepped in.”

  “I don’t like self-righteous cowboys who feel compelled to tell the rest of the world how to run their lives. You started giving me orders before we ever met. ‘Go visit a man who refused to recognize your existence, Charlotte. Go fawn over a man who treated your mother like dirt. Forgive him even though he won’t admit he’s been wrong. Spend two weeks on the ranch. Sell the ranch to me.’ Did you ever once consider my feelings? What I might want to do? No, all you cared about was what was convenient for you.”

  “Putting up with you is definitely not convenient.”

  “Too bad. What you want, Matthew Thorneton, is an ordered world. By which I mean, you giving all the orders. You want to do what you want to do, when you want to do it and how
you want to do it. You didn’t even have the common courtesy to ask me before you made an appointment for me in Durango today with Mr. Gannen’s lawyer. Maybe I didn’t want to see him today.” She conveniently forgot that had been her very intention. “I pity your poor wife. You probably spent your entire married life telling her what to do and when to breathe. No doubt she died just to get away from you.” The ugly remark seemed to echo endlessly in the cab of the pickup, and Charlotte was deeply ashamed of herself. Matthew’s jaw was rigid. A deer standing beside the highway suddenly turned and bolted up the rocky embankment. A west-bound truck rumbled past, engine whining as it ascended into the hills. “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, stricken by her own cruelty, “my comment was inexcusable.”

  Matthew passed a slow-moving motor home, and then another before he spoke. “I suppose I should have checked with you before making the appointment, but I assumed you’d want the will explained to you first thing.”

  Her remorse evaporated. “That’s your big problem. You assume too much. And mostly you assume you know better than everyone else about everything. Never mind that Charles Gannen didn’t want to see me and I didn’t want to see him. You decided we should meet. You assumed I would care he was dying. Why should I have? Because I’m a woman? Would you forgive someone who abandoned you?”

  “If I understood, yes.”

  “You don’t have an inkling what the word understand means.”

  “I sure as hell don’t understand you. You were raised by a mother who’s sweet and kind, and it’s apparent your whole family dotes on you. But underneath that soft and frilly exterior is a core of boiling anger and hatred.”

  “Stick to cows and spare me your psychoanalysis. The way you behave is enough to drive a saint to a temper tantrum. After you drag me down here totally against my will, you can’t expect me to be a Pollyanna about it.”

  “I certainly didn’t expect you to bite and kick and squeal at the idea of inheriting Charlie’s estate.”

  “What you expected, Matthew, was that you could drag me down here, dump me in your mother’s lap and not have to see me again until I signed the ranch over to you two weeks later.”

  “Considering the red hair and the fact you’re related to Charlie Gannen,” he said dryly, “what I should have expected was trouble with a capital T.”

  “I do not have red hair.”

  Other than bestowing upon her an extremely derisive look, Matthew didn’t bother to argue. Soon the motels and restaurants lining the highway gave notice they’d reached the outskirts of Durango. Matthew silently and competently threaded his way through the increasing traffic, his large hands resting easily on the steering wheel. Charlotte disliked the silence. Fighting with Matthew kept her thoughts from traveling down speculative and unwelcome paths. She didn’t care if Chick Gannen had eaten in that restaurant, walked across that bridge or looked down at the rushing river. Wrenching her thoughts to the present, she gave a disdainful sniff. “I suppose forcing me to ride in this sorry excuse for transportation is your idea of revenge for making you late this morning.”

  Matthew geared down the pickup with a smooth thrust of his arm. Sunlight picked out a few hairs on the back of his tanned hand where it rested on the gearshift. “As long as I’m in town, I may as well pick up some supplies.” He inspected her across the interior of the pickup. “I should have guessed a cream puff would dress for New York City or Paris, and not Durango, Colorado.” Parking the pickup, he walked around to Charlotte’s side of the truck and opened the door. “Here we are.”

  A discreet sign announced the building held the law offices of Frank Bernarde, Attorney at Law. Charlotte made a production of reading her watch. “My appointment was almost an hour ago, Matthew. After you went to all the trouble of arranging this meeting and driving me to Durango, I’m afraid Mr. Bernarde will never be able to fit me into his schedule now.”

  “Did I tell you your appointment was for ten this morning?” Matthew dramatically smacked his forehead. “What could I have been thinking of? Your appointment is for eleven.” The look in his brown eyes was one of pure satisfaction. “And what do you know? Here we are with a couple of minutes to spare.”

  Charlotte’s fingernails dug into her purse. In her twenty-four years of existence she’d been totally opposed to violence. Until now. Cramming that superciliously triumphant look down Matthew Thorneton’s throat would give her incalculable pleasure. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she yanked open her seat belt and reached for the curb with her right foot.

  Matthew caught her around the waist and swung her to the ground. “Be careful. In those shoes you’re likely to break your fool neck.”

  “You certainly wouldn’t want that, would you?” Charlotte snapped. “It might mess up your plans for acquiring my ranch.”

  Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Your ranch?”

  “I’ve been helping Aunt Faye manage her store ever since I can remember. I don’t think managing a ranch will be beyond my capabilities. Once it truly belongs to me and I get rid of any and all interference.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MATTHEW squinted against the overhead sun as he inspected her from the top of her piled-up curls to the tips of her flimsy high-heeled sandals. “I think yesterday’s horseback ride scrambled your brains.”

  “Not so much that I can’t handle this lawyer visit on my own.” He was too close to her, crowding her, but she refused to step back. He seemed to have forgotten his hands were resting warmly on her waist. “Don’t think you can horn in and dominate the conversation. There are things I want to know, and I intend to know them. If I have to stay there all day.”

  “If that’s the way you feel, I won’t go in at all.”

  His capitulation came too easily. Charlotte frowned at him. “Why not?”

  He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the pickup, one booted foot propped up on the curb. “You are the most contentious and illogical woman I’ve ever met. First you accuse me of never consulting you, and then, when I do go along with your expressed wishes, you immediately suspect my motives.”

  “Maybe because from the moment you walked into the shop, you’ve done nothing but coerce and manipulate me.”

  “I wouldn’t have to do either if you would listen to reason at least once in awhile.”

  “If you ever said anything reasonable, I might listen.”

  Matthew gave her a disgusted look. “You’re going to be late for your appointment if you don’t get in there.” Straightening, he pointed to a large brick building in view above the rooftops. “That’s the Strater Hotel. I’ll meet you there for lunch in two hours.”

  “I don’t want to eat there,” Charlotte said instantly.

  “The Strater’s an institution in this town—” Matthew rammed his wide-brimmed hat lower over his forehead “—and you’re eating there.”

  “I’m not.”

  “If I have to tear this town apart looking for you, wrestle you to the ground, hog-tie you, haul you in there over my shoulder and tie you to a chair, you are going to eat lunch at the Strater,” he said distinctly. “In two hours.”

  Charlotte spun around and flounced up the walk to the heavily carved front door of the law office.

  Two and a half hours later she ambled down Main Avenue, pausing occasionally to inspect the contents of store windows. An intricate silver and turquoise necklace caught her eye, and she stopped again. The Strater Hotel was one block farther down the street. No doubt Matthew Thorneton was complacently sitting there at this very minute in full expectation Charlotte would dutifully eat lunch with him. As ordered.

  Thinking about him made Charlotte’s teeth ache. Not only was he bossy and overbearing, he was a sneaky, underhanded thief. And insulting. His allowing her to see Mr. Bernarde alone spoke volumes about Matthew Thorneton’s arrogant self-confidence. It also clearly indicated he thought Charlotte too stupid to understand the significance and ramifications of the old man’s will.

  A noisy growl c
ame from the region of her stomach, and she glanced at her watch. It was after one-thirty, surely late enough to have made her point that no devious, blowhard cowboy should count on having things his way.

  Entering the imposing hotel through glass and carved wood double doors, it suddenly occurred to Charlotte Matthew was the type to head back to the ranch without her to teach her a lesson. She paused uncertainly at the entrance to the dining room. Matthew Thorneton was nowhere in sight.

  “Looking for someone, cream puff?”

  Charlotte started at the voice in her ear. “Certainly not.”

  “I was in the lobby waiting for you.” His hand in the middle of her back, Matthew directed her to a corner table by the windows in the elegant dining room. As she settled into the trim, fabric-covered armchair he pulled out for her, he added, “I’m glad to see you haven’t been cooped up in a stuffy law office all this time.”

  Charlotte stowed the large quantity of parcels beneath her chair and accepted a menu from the waitress. “That business took less than thirty minutes.” The lawyer had shown her the will, commented on its unusual nature, given her a list of what the estate contained and answered her questions. “I spent the rest of the morning shopping for presents to take home.”

  “And killing time,” he said with an amused gleam in his eyes as the waitress returned. When the woman departed with their orders, Matthew leaned back in his chair and sipped his water, studying her over the rim of his glass. “I wasn’t expecting you this early. I thought sure you’d hold out at least until two.”

  Charlotte ignored the provocative remark and surveyed the dining room decor. Stained glass, a crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and green walls with pink molded swags bespoke the elegance of a previous century.

  Matthew echoed her thoughts. “The hotel was built back in the l880s. About the same time an ancestor of mine filed claim to our place.”

  “He’d certainly be surprised to see the ranch today. Especially the way it’s grown over the past ten years.”

  Matthew had no trouble interpreting her words. “Charlie wanted to sell and I was willing to buy,” he said evenly.