Denim & Diamonds (13 page)

“Work. I’m a trucker. Just passing through and thought I’d stop to see my favorite nephew.” Lana grinned. One of her top teeth was missing. “I guess the storm’s so bad you didn’t hear my big rig rumble in. Hope it’s OK to leave it parked out here in front.”

“Absolutely. Glad you stopped in,”
Charlotte said, “I will fix up one of the guest bedrooms for you. You able to stay a few days?”

“She can stay in the spare room in the small house with me,” Beau broke in, “It’s empty since Gabe quit a couple of months ago. And I’m sure Aunt Lana won’t be able to stay more than one night.”

“I might be able to stay a few nights,” Lana said, still grinning from ear to ear. An oatmeal cookie peeked from Lana’s skirt pocket.

“But, Aunt Lana,” Beau said firmly, lowering his chin and looking straight at Lana, “We don’t want to put you behind schedule.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. No hurry at all on this load. Don’t have to be to Pittsburgh 'til the end of the week,” Lana said as she grabbed another cookie.

Beau stood, “I’m sure you’ve had a long drive today, and it sounds like the rain’s let up out there. Better take advantage of the lull. Let’s head over to my house and get you settled in.”

Charlotte and Beth stood and traded a suspicious glance before they said their goodbyes to Beau and his aunt. He took her by the arm and guided her through the kitchen and out the side door. Shep followed at Beau’s heels, the thick black hair still standing up on his neck.

The two women stood there for a few moments, then Beth said, "That was odd, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it was. Maybe they need some time alone." Charlotte shrugged, sat back down in her easy chair and pushed the play button on the remote. “Best we just finish our movie. Beau will tell us what’s going on in his own good time.”

Beth settled into her usual spot on the sofa. The three-legged cat appeared from under the table and hopped up beside her. He turned three times, then curled up in the crook of Beth’s legs.

O
utside, Beau stopped for a moment to admire Lana’s semi, a pink Peterbilt with a large sleeper. A pretty nice rig. Much nicer than the old green one she had. It had a sleeper, but it was tight quarters even when he was a kid.

Lana climbed up and disappeared in the cab for a moment, then tossed out a worn Army green duffel bag. Beau threw it over this shoulder and held out his hand to help her down.

“You always were a good boy, Beau,” Lana said as she grasped his hand and dropped to the ground. “Well, usually, anyway.”

“That’s behind me,” Beau hissed. “I don’t want to hear anything about the past. Let’s just get inside and get you settled in. For tonight only.”

“Now is that any way to treat the woman who raised you?” Lana asked with wide eyes.

Beau shook his head and walked up the steps to the small house, with Shep at his heels. Lana followed, looking around as she went. Thunder rumbled in the distance, wind whistled through the trees and horses shuffled through the wet grass in the pasture.

“That Chevy pickup is pretty nice,” Lana commented as she nodding towards the Silverado, “Whose is it?”

“Mine,” Beau answered with a frown, “And don’t even be thinking what you’re thinking. You were going to straighten out.”

Lana’s only reply was a grin and a shrug.

Once inside, Beau walked straight to Gabe's old room and dropped the bag on the hardwood floor. Without a word, he produced a set of cotton sheets from the cedar chest at the foot of the twin bed and began making it. Lana poked her head in the small bathroom that connected the spare bedroom to Beau’s room. She closed the door with a firm thud. When she returned, Beau stuffed the goose down pillow into the pillowcase.

“What's wrong with you, boy?” Lana asked as she perched on the side of the bed like a bird.

“What’s wrong is that I have built a normal life for myself, and I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it. And now you show up here, and all sorts of memories came flooding back. I’m different now, Aunt Lana.” Beau sighed. He’d been so young when his parents died. He'd felt alone and abandoned, stuck with an aunt who he'd never spent time with. She drug him all over the country in that big rig. Claimed she was home schooling him, but the education he got wasn't what his parents would've wanted.

“You’re different all right, boy.” Lana said, grinning that wild grin. “But you can’t run from who you are.”

“I’m not running from who I am,” Beau said firmly, “Who I
am
is the foreman on this ranch.”

“People like us--”

“No! I am not ‘like us’ anymore. There is no us,” Beau declared. He went through the bathroom and paused to glare at Lana before he closed the door. He remembered the night he had seen her dancing and singing around a bonfire, surrounded by old travel trailers. Back then, he hadn’t known the stigma of the word gypsy. “I love you, but I’m different now. I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

He stalked into his room, angry and frustrated, with himself and his aunt. Aunt Lana took him in when no one else wanted him. She was the one to put her arm around him during the double funeral. Those empty holes had been like toothless mouths, waiting to swallow his parents up.

That afternoon, he packed a bag with his most important possessions: his scrapbook, his copy of
The Black Stallion
, and his model horses. When Lana pulled out of town that night in her big rig, Beau went with her and left any semblance of a normal life behind him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
he next morning, Lana added an interesting dimension to the breakfast table discussion. Joe and Cole asked her lots of questions about her truck, her lifestyle, and the sights she had seen while on the road. She asked her own share of questions, about the ranch, the livestock and the surrounding ranches. With each question, Beau stuffed a mouthful of pancakes into his mouth, and his nostrils flared.

“Your neighbors raise cows, you say?” Lana asked.

“Charlotte, how ‘bout another round of coffee?” Beau said, cutting Cole off before he could answer. Lana shot him a look, but he either missed it or ignored it.

“Now, is that neighbors on both sides?” she persisted.

“Yup, but Jackson Brown, to our north, has the nicest herd. He takes it more seriously than Junior Rutledge, to our south," Joe said, warming up to the subject. "Jackson’s got registered polled Herefords. Nice bunch of animals. Good beef producers.”

Beau stood and leaned forward, palms resting on the table, “Instead of jawing about the neighbors, y’all need to make sure we’re ready for the big Labor Day barbecue Beth planned. Everybody’s got work to do, so let’s get to it."

Beau picked up his plate and carried it to the counter, clanking his fork loudly as he did, signaling the end of the meal. Cole and Joe followed suit, nodding to the women as they left. Beth offered to help Charlotte clean up, but was shooed out the door. Lana stayed instead, insisting on earning her keep.

Beth followed the men to the barn, and waited until Joe and Cole were busy with their chores, anxious for an opportunity to talk to Beau. She watched as he snagged a leather halter from a brass hook and slid the heavy door open on a two-year old’s stall. He murmured to the animal as he ran his hands and eyes over every inch of the colt before slipping the halter over his head. As they walked down the aisle towards the arena, Beau’s movements loosened up and relaxed.

Beth followed them and ventured, “Your Aunt Lana seems very nice.”

He straightened. “I suppose she does.”

She pressed on, “It’s too bad you aren’t as close as you used to be. I suppose that happens though. Kind of like me and my father.”

He pointed towards the gate and snorted, “Don’t compare the two.”

Beth swung the gate open and watched as he and the horse moved through. “I just mean--”

He broke in as the muscles in his jaw worked. “Your father was a wonderful man, a hard worker who was well thought of.”

“And Lana isn’t?” A strange vibe came from him, and Beth wanted to get to the bottom of it. After all, what affected Beau affected the ranch, and what affected the ranch, affected her. She swung the gate closed and latched it.

“That’s not what I mean.” He started the horse moving in larger circles, and made a clucking sound with his tongue. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll drop that subject right now.”

Just like a man to not talk about what was going on. Like her father who wouldn’t talk to her mother when things got rough. Like Quinn, who wouldn’t talk about the video tape of him and that woman. She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight at that memory. No matter how many times he apologized, no matter how contrite he seemed, she couldn't forget.

“Hey!” Beau’s voice drew her back to the dirt arena. “Are you going to answer me, or not?”

“I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

“You women are always thinking. That’s half your problem.”

Her eyes narrowed as she propped her boot on the bottom rail. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

"Nothing. Forget it." Beau moved the young horse into a steady trot. “I said, is there anything else you need me to do to get ready for the big barbecue?”

“Cole and Joe are doing all the yard work, right?” She climbed onto the top rail of the fence and balanced.

“Not too keen on it, but they’ll do it. Katie painted the fence along the driveway. That looks good.” He flicked the lunge rope and the horse broke into a canter. “Aidan is working with the farrier throughout the week to make sure the horse are all shod.”

“Will Lana be joining us for the barbecue?”

“Don’t know if she can stick around or not.”

Beth considered that for a moment, “Why not?”

“It’s best for everybody if she moves along.” He shortened the lunge line, and slowed the animal. His muscles rippled under his clothes, and he was graceful in every movement. It was as though he was telegraphing his thoughts to the colt through the nylon lead line.

She sighed. The better she got to know Beau, the more she liked him, but since that night they kissed on the porch, he hadn't shown any interest in her at all. Not like she could do anything about it anyway. Wouldn't be right.

His eyes flicked to her, “And that’s all I’m going to say. Just drop it.”

It took her a split second to catch up and realize he was talking about Lana. She shrugged, “Whatever you say.”

Cole walked up and leaned on the fence next to her. He nodded towards the center of the arena, “He givin’ you trouble, Boss?”

That brought a smile to her face. It felt good to be accepted. She shook her head, then asked, "How are things going? Think the ranch'll look good for the big barbecue?"

“Just fine. Joe mowed and I ran the weed whacker. Miss Charlotte made sure all the flowers there in the front are all weeded out. It looks great. Everybody’s been workin’ real hard.”

It was the most words she’d ever heard him string together at once. It was difficult to get more than five words out of him at a sitting. They talked a few more minutes, but she had the feeling he was dancing around whatever was on his mind. The direct approach was best.

“What’s up, Cole?” She glanced at Beau, and wondered how the direct approach would work with him. For a moment, she considered telling him how she felt. Or just kissing him again. Maybe she could just reach up and kiss him when he led the horse through the gate.

Cole’s voice broke her reverie. “I hate asking, but I don’t know what else to do, ma'am.”

“I’m sorry, I was watching the horse,” she lied, hoping it was a believable lie. “What was that?”

“You know that old gray Chevy pickup I got? The shortbed? Well, the transmission’s shot, ma'am. And I don’t have the money to fix it.”

“And you want me to give you the money?” Beth saw Beau watching them out of the corner of his eye. The horse walked in a lazy circle, his muzzle inches from the ground.

Cole rubbed the toe of his worn cowboy boot against a fence post. “’Course not, ma’am. I’d pay you back, or work it off. Whatever you want, ma’am.”

She pushed herself off the rail and landed in the dirt with a thump. “Come up to the house with me and I’ll get you a check. On one condition.”

Beau held out the whip and turned the colt. A grin lit his face as he urged the young horse into a trot.

Beth and Cole turned away from the arena and walked down the aisle towards the bright sunlight. The cowhand’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, “Anything, ma’am.”

“Stop calling me ma’am, Cole.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

B
efore she knew it, the big day had arrived. It felt like a coming out party. Beth stood at the corner of the deck, and looked out over the stone patio. Beau manned the large barrel grill. She had to smile at the get-up he had on – his apron boldly proclaimed “Caution – Man Cooking” and a white chef’s hat perched on top of his cowboy hat. Katie turned the crank on the ice cream machine. Quinn sat beside her on the porch step. He'd come to town to have Beth sign some documents for a client and, when he'd asked if he could stay, she'd given in. Things between them had been civil, now that some time had passed. Charlotte made the rounds with a tray of beer mugs, and it seemed as though everyone in town had turned out for the big barbecue bash.

Since it had been Beth’s idea to have a barbecue to celebrate Labor Day and show off their stock, she had a vested interest in the event’s success.

As she had hoped, many of the rodeo cowboys they had invited stood around chatting and admiring the horses in the back pasture. And also, as she had hoped, many of the townspeople had come. Even though she had come to think of Diamond J Ranch as home over the last few months, she knew that most of the townspeople, and even some of the ranch hands, regarded her with suspicion and considered her an outsider.

Beth turned her attention back to Beau, who was attractive as a cowboy chef. He smiled and laughed, flipped the hamburgers on the grill and rolled brats in and out of the flames.

His eyes narrowed and his face darkened. Beth followed his gaze and saw Aunt Lana round the corner of the house. She was dressed in her usual manner – the red tennis shoes peeked out from under a multi-colored, tie-dyed skirt, and the ensemble was topped off with a white peasant blouse accented with giant daisies. She grinned widely, arm hooked into the crook of the Jack Brooks' arm. The owner of the