Cowboy Tough (6 page)

“Well, well, well.” Trevor flashed her a wicked smile and she heard the alarm bells again. “I think we've found the teacher's pet.” The smile bent down into a sneer. “I hope that won't affect the quality of our instruction.”

“Of course not.” Cat laced her hands in her lap, trying to look prim and teacher-like. Was it that obvious that she had a crush on the cowboy? She forced a smile. “I promise, the teacher's pet will be the one who's the best artist. I'm sure Mr. Boyd is hardly Leonardo da Vinci.”

Trevor tossed his hair and laughed. The sound made her grit her teeth, and she wondered how many times she'd have to endure it on this trip. A hundred spiteful retorts rose in her throat, but she only laughed along halfheartedly, hating herself for not standing up for Mack. She'd always believed in standing up for your friends, and while Mack wasn't exactly a friend, he was something.

Really something.

And she'd better make sure he didn't become anything more.

Cat returned to the bunkhouse to find Mack at the fire pit, constructing a dense nest of kindling. A slim figure stood beside him, holding a few sticks and twigs.

A very familiar slim figure.

It
couldn't be.

“Dora? What are you doing here?” Cat struggled to make her brain work. “You can't be here yet. You land tomorrow.”

Dora flicked her a tight smile, along with a fluttering finger wave loaded with adolescent irony.

Cat set her fists on her hips. “How did you get here?”

“Interstate 25.”

Her tone made Cat's heart sink. Her niece sounded as sour as she had the day of her mother's funeral, when she'd refused to look at the casket or shed a single tear. She'd always been a sweet child, funny and loving, but on the day her mother died she'd turned into an angry little ghost of her former self. Cat had worried that her niece would burst into emotional flames at any moment—although at this point, a crying spell would be a good thing.

Cat had hoped it was only the freshness of Dora's grief that had turned her into a grim-faced zombie, but it looked like nothing in her niece's attitude had changed. Who could say how long it would take a fifteen-year-old girl to get over the death of her mother? Trying to help her grieving niece was like navigating an unknown country without a map.

At least Cat was making an effort. Her brother-in-law, Dora's father, was so lost without his wife and playmate that he could barely spare a glance for their only child. Couldn't he see Dora was the one part of Edie that was left?

Cat turned over the notion that had been fermenting in the back of her mind ever since the funeral. Maybe Dora's dad wasn't capable of caring for a teenaged girl. Maybe she should be with her Aunt Cat all the time.

She pictured the two of them living in Chicago. Painting together, going to museums. Shopping for school clothes. She hadn't spent nearly enough time with Edie, and she was determined to do better with the little family she had left—which was standing here in front of her.

Dora bent down and poked a stick of kindling into the bottom of the pile. A few logs collapsed and fell to one side. Mack touched her shirtsleeve.

“Leave it alone. It's fine.”

To Cat's amazement, Dora gave Mack the same tight little sideways smile she'd always given her mother when she'd admonished her for some misstep. Cat had been hoping to dig that smile out from under Dora's grief on this trip. She'd figured a change of scenery would help, but Dora wasn't smiling at the scenery. She was smiling at the rakish cowboy who'd kissed Cat senseless within hours of her arrival.

Things were getting complicated.

Raking her hair back from her face, Cat bunched the wavy mass in her fist while she glanced from Mack to Dora and back again. Dora was supposed to arrive on the airport shuttle van tomorrow, along with Trevor and five other students who were scheduled to arrive on various flights between nine and noon. The shuttle had been scheduled weeks ago as part of a carefully thought-out plan that was apparently already in tatters.

“How did you get here?” she asked again.

“I took the shuttle.”

“The shuttle? By yourself?” Cat was trying not to screech, but she couldn't help herself. “The airport's three hours away. It must have cost you a hundred dollars! Dora, your dad said you were only supposed to use the credit card for emergencies. You can't…”

“Dad doesn't care.” She grimaced. “He didn't even care about the money the airline charged to send me a day early.”

“He sent you a day early?”

Dora shrugged. “He had to go to Costa Rica. He's buying a beach house.”

And that mattered more than his only daughter. Who had lost her mother only six months ago, and was clearly troubled. Cat had told herself to give Ross a break. He was healing too. But right now, what she wanted to break was his bones. Every one of them.

“The shuttle wasn't
that
expensive,” Dora said. “Would you rather I rode with that guy?”

“What guy?”

“That Trevor guy. I met him at the gate. He said he'd take me here, but I said no.”

“What?”

Dora rolled her eyes. “I saw his art supplies, put two and two together. We were going to sit together on the plane, but… I don't know, he's kind of weird.” She quirked a mischievous smile. “But he rented a Lexus. That's way better than one of those skanky airport vans.”

“I don't care if he rented a Cinderella carriage and flying monkeys.”

“So you're glad I took the shuttle.” Dora looked triumphant.

“Well, you can't go getting into cars with strange men.”

The crunch of gravel made her look up to see Trevor approaching from the house.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

“I don't mean that kind of strange.” Actually, she did. The guy gave her the creeps, and the fact that he'd talked to Dora at the airport set off warning bells in her head. But Dora had said that
she
saw
his
art supplies. So he hadn't instigated the conversation.

Still, it made Cat uncomfortable. “I meant that she doesn't know you.”

“We got to know each other.”

Cat literally bit her tongue to keep from responding. There wasn't a thing she could do about it now. And Dora was here, safe and sound and apparently unmolested.

“So where have you been since you got here?” she asked her niece.

“Helping Mack.”

“She's got a great touch with animals,” Mack said.

“I told you, if you'll just show me how, I'll be happy to help with the horses,” Cat said. “Dora's here to paint.”

“No shit?” The thundercloud was forming over Dora's head again. “I thought I was here to relax. Get away. Have some
girl
time
with my Aunt Cat.”

Dora looked angelic—tiny, balletic, and blonde—but she seemed to have developed a mouth like a sailor and the rebellious spirit of a spoiled princess since her mother's death. Ross said she'd been suspended from school once for fighting, and once for cussing out a teacher. But this probably wasn't a good time to wash her mouth out with soap.

“We'll have fun, hon. We will. But it's also a great chance for you to get some painting done. Some new subjects.”

Dora had always been a talented artist, but since her mother's illness, her paintings had taken on a dark tone. When she painted at all, she churned out abstracts, tortured scribbles in dark blues and blacks. Her work was incredible, especially for her age. But hanging one of her pictures on the wall was a sure way to suck all the air out of a room.

“I told you, I don't want to paint. I'm going to help Mack with the horses.”

“But…”

“They make me happy, okay? And Mack treats me like I'm normal.”

“You
are
normal.” That wasn't quite true; Cat thought Dora was exceptional in many ways, good and bad. “I'm just worried about you, hon.”

“I'm not the one who died, okay?” Dora's brittle veneer cracked for half a second, but she quickly straightened her shoulders and shot Cat a scathing glare. “I'm sick of people worrying about me.” She kicked a stone into the fire, which was starting to eat its way up the carefully stacked wood. “Just leave me alone.”

***

Dinner was everything Maddie had promised and more. Mack arranged log benches around the fire pit as promised, and the casual atmosphere and gorgeous setting made everything taste better.

Not that Maddie needed help coaxing flavor out of food. Two Dutch ovens nestled in the coals. Lifting the lid on one of them released a curl of swooningly fragrant steam and revealed a cozy cluster of biscuits, browned to golden perfection on top and light as spun sugar on the inside. Another bubbled over with glistening chunks of what proved to be venison floating in a rich sauce along with potatoes and carrots. Cat felt like she was eating Bambi's mother, but the meat was full of flavor. Corn, steamed in its husks, completed the meal. Dessert was apple cobbler cooked in a skillet over the coals.

Tippy spent mealtime circling the benches, staring pleadingly at each diner in turn. Dora chattered animatedly with Mack and Maddie, and even with the hired hand—a tall, quiet man who'd sat on the far side of the fire and eaten in near-total silence. But she ignored Cat, and when Maddie began loading the quaint enamel plates and cooking pots into wicker laundry baskets for the trip back to the house, the girl jumped up to help, chattering as if she'd known these people all her life.

Cat watched her niece trot up to the house, followed by Maddie and Trevor. She started after her niece and was stopped by a strong hand on her shoulder.

“Let her go,” Mack said.

She tried to shake him off, but the hand just got heavier. There was nothing sexual in his touch this time. It was just firm. Decisive. Somehow, that was sexier than if he'd caressed her.

“Seriously. Let her go. I have a daughter the same age. If you act needy, you're done for.”

“I'm not needy.”

“You need her to like you. It's pretty obvious.”

She toed a line in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “I just want her to be happy.”

“Right now, making you miserable is what makes her happy.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“It's about the only thing she has power over right now.”

That was true, and pretty perceptive for a cowboy.

“I know it's hard,” he said. “We took my daughter to a counselor when things got bad with the divorce.” He settled onto one of the benches. “He gave us a lot of tips on dealing with exactly this kind of thing.”

“Did counseling help?” she asked.

“A little.” He shrugged. “It's all theory. Not much of it seemed to work with Viv, but Dora seems more normal.”

If Dora was normal, Cat hated to think what his daughter was like. “So what kind of advice did he give you?”

“Be there for her. Care about her. But pretend you don't.”

She scraped up a little hillock of sand with the side of her boot, then tapped it down with the toe. “I'm not that good an actress.”

“I noticed.” He grinned, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. The firelight made his tanned skin glow like gold. His eyes were bright with reflected flames. “Your heart's pretty close to the surface.”

She felt her face warm, and it wasn't from the heat of the flames. Her heart had been close to the surface back in the barn—close enough to catch fire. But she'd laid down the law, and she was going to follow the rules she'd set for both of them.

No
touching.

“She's your sister's daughter, right?” he asked.

Cat swallowed and nodded. She pictured Dora's sharp little face, then let the image soften and melt in her mind, the features becoming Edie's. It had barely been six months since Edie's death, and yet she could only find her through Dora.

“She was. Edie—Edie's gone.” She sank down beside him, carefully keeping a hand's breadth of space between them. “We were close. Our parents were kind of distant, and we had to take care of each other. Dora's so much like Edie. I love her like crazy. Probably too much.”

“Girls that age need somebody to love 'em.” He grinned. “God knows it's not easy. Viv drives me nuts.”

“No kidding. The other night I had a dream where a pack of ravenous wolves brought Dora down like a deer in a nature documentary. When I woke up I was hardly even sorry. I still feel terrible about that.”

He smiled, poking a chunk of unburned wood into the center of the fire with a stick. A quick blue flame rose and danced. “That annoying, huh?”

“That frustrating.”

“Tell me about her mom.”

She shouldn't confide in this man. But what did it really matter? She shouldn't have kissed him either, but the whole thing would be over when she went back to Chicago. And there was nothing wrong with talking.

He nudged her again. “Earth to Cat. Your sister?”

She hadn't talked about Edie since the funeral. She'd gone home to her empty apartment with nothing but a photo of Edie that her brother-in-law had mounted in a silver frame. She talked to the picture now and then. One night she'd clutched it to her chest and let herself cry. But other than that she kept her grief quiet.

Of course, no one had ever offered to listen before. She felt her heart opening and was helpless to stop herself from spilling out her story.

“She was two years older than me. We both went to the Academy, both majored in visual arts. But we were so different.” She looked up at the sky, where the silver of twilight was fading to black and stars were beginning to wink out of the darkness. “I was the workhorse, studying hard, developing my craft. Edie was a natural.”

She smiled up at the sky, remembering how fearlessly her sister had wielded a brush, how boldly she'd attacked blank canvas. “She had so much talent. She'd sketch the simplest thing—an old shoe, a pigeon—and it would be
the
shoe,
the
pigeon. She caught the essence of things like no one I'd ever seen.”

“And you think Dora's just as talented.”

“I do. Trouble is, she's just as unmotivated. Edie was too busy living to paint. Boys. Parties. Crazy stunts, you know? She barely graduated. And then she married the richest boy in town and partied some more. And then she got cancer.”

“But first she had Dora.”

“Thank God. There's so much of Edie in Dora. But she's all we have left. My sister had a few sketchbooks, most of them half-full, and she did a Christmas card every year. That's all the art she did after she got married.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, but Dora inherited her talent, and I think she's got the drive to use it. She just needs a little guidance.”