Leftover Love (20 page)

It was difficult to tell where the solid ground ended and
the mud began, but she made her guess and leaped across the ditch-bottom. The cattle nervously crowded close to the fallen fence post. All they had to do was step over the downed wires and they’d be back on home range. But they waited until Layne started up the slope, waving her arms, before they bolted in panic, nearly stampeding themselves.

A yelp came from Mattie. Layne swung tiredly around and paused to stare in amused dismay. Mattie had misjudged the width of the ditch. One foot was buried in mud up to her well-turned ankle. For an instant she stood poised in that position, then she lifted her foot. Only the shoe didn’t come with it.

“Damn,” she said softly and hopped to keep her balance on one foot.

With all the running and chasing, her hairdo was drooping. Her dress was disheveled and her slip was showing. Layne guessed that she didn’t look much better but she started to laugh just the same.

“Oh, Mattie, you look ridiculous,” she declared between breathless gasps of laughter while she pressed a hand to the ache in her side.

“Well, you don’t look like a raving beauty yourself,” Mattie retorted before finally seeing the funny side of the predicament. She laughed too. “Don’t just stand there. You’ve got to help me get my shoe.”

Layne wiped at the tears of laughter in her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re damned right I’m serious. That’s my good shoe in that mud. I’m not going to walk off and leave it there,” Mattie asserted.

“You mean ‘hop’ off,” Layne corrected with more bubbles of laughter while she moved down the slope to rejoin Mattie. “I hope you don’t expect me to reach down in that mud and fish it out.”

“Check the trunk of the car and see if there’s anything we can use to hook onto my shoe,” Mattie suggested.

Layne scrambled across the ditch and returned to the car parked on the shoulder of the road. She checked out the tools in the trunk, but the tire iron seemed the most likely one suited for the job.

After several unsuccessful attempts they finally retrieved Mattie’s mud-soaked shoe. Then the fence had to be jerry-rigged to keep the cattle from getting out again until more permanent repairs could be done. In all, the delay cost them an hour.

Cars and trucks were parked in the ranch yard by the score when they finally reached the Powell ranch. They had managed to straighten their clothes, brush their hair, and retouch their makeup, but there was nothing they could do about Mattie’s shoe.

Creed came out of the large, modern ranch house as they started up the walk. An eyebrow shot up at the sight of Mattie walking with one shoe off and one shoe on.

“Where have you two been?” he asked. “Mary expected you almost two hours ago.”

“What does it look like?” Mattie wagged her muddy shoe at him. “I had to hunt for my glass slipper.” She continued past him to the door but Layne paused to explain.

“Some cattle got out on the highway so we stopped to chase them in.” As she recounted the details of their zany escapade, his smile kept getting wider and wider. “So there we were prancing about in this mud like a couple of comic ballerinas, trying to hook the heel of her shoe with the tire iron.”

His low chuckle evolved into deep, hearty laughter at the picture of absurdity she painted. Layne laughed with him, taking secret delight in the rich, full sound of his laughter.

It finally subsided into a broad smile. “And I thought you’d had car trouble.”

“Do you know that’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh? I mean really laugh—not one of your smug chuckles,” she told him.

His expression sobered slightly, although he continued to smile with faint bemusement while he smoothed a strand of hair away from her temple with his forefinger. It was a very light caress.

“Maybe this is the first time in my life I’ve had something to be really happy about,” Creed suggested, then met her gaze. Her heart seemed to do a skipping turn and whirl away while her throat went tight. “The party’s already started.” He took her arm, breaking the spell of the moment. “We’d better go inside.”

“Is this one of those parties where the men go off into one room and the ladies congregate in another?” Layne asked on a lightly teasing note.

“Sometimes it happens, but usually there’s an intermingling.” He smiled down at her as he opened the door.

A wave of voices engulfed them when they entered the house. Every room was crowded with people, and there was a constant ebb and flow of traffic from one room to another. Creed steered her to the dining room where the buffet tables were set, crowned by a large anniversary cake. The Powells were there, the hosts as well as the guests of honor, and Creed reintroduced her to them.

“It’s a shame there aren’t going to be more young men here tonight to entertain you,” Tom Powell declared with an admiring glance at Layne. “But it’s Saturday night and most of them are out whoopin’ it up. I got a feeling when they hear about you, they’re gonna be sorry they missed the party.”

“I think I’ll enjoy the party just the way it is, Mr. Powell,”
Layne said, reserving the smile in her eyes for Creed. “Congratulations.”

Creed drew her away to go through the buffet line. There was certainly no lack of food; the problem was deciding what to eat. All along the way, she was constantly being introduced to someone. Layne didn’t even attempt to keep the names and faces straight. There were too many.

The house was a whirl of activity and noise, and Layne was caught up in it and swept along. Talk was as abundant as the people and the food. At some point Creed drifted away from her to speak to someone, but it was impossible to feel abandoned. There was a never-ending supply of friendly faces, male and female, eager to strike up a conversation. Several times she bumped into Mattie and went through more introductions.

It was an hour, at least, before her path crossed with Creed’s. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“I’ve had my leg pulled by some tale-spinner, learned all the latest gossip, and know the easy way to make bread and butter pickles,” Layne said in a brief summary of the variety of conversations she’d had, and smiled. “I’m having a ball.”

“I thought you were.”

“How was the sale today?” She hadn’t had time to ask him what the outcome had been. “Did you buy anything?”

“I bought about twenty head of young calves.” His gaze made a slow sweep of the room. “You know, a lot of people are wondering why you’re spending so much time with me tonight.” The sweep ended with a sidelong look at her that was warm and disturbing.

“If they have eyes, they can see,” she countered.

They were in the middle of a crowded room with people all around them, but she had the strongest urge to touch him and have those arms go around her. She swayed with
the impulse. His broad chest lifted on a deep breath and his look darkened as if he was reading her thoughts.

“We’d better circulate,” he said abruptly.

His hand applied pressure to the back of her waist to guide her into the next room. It was the family room, and the teenagers in attendance at the party had gathered there to play some records. Only a few adults had intruded on their domain. Except for the music playing, it was a fairly quiet corner of the house. Creed started to lead her away, but Layne resisted.

“Let’s stay here for a while,” she urged.

He hesitated, then shrugged his agreement. “If you want.”

“Wanna dance?” she asked when a slow song came on the stereo.

“I can’t dance,” Creed said.

“Of course you can,” Layne chided and grabbed at his hand.

“No. I mean it.” He resisted her pull. “I haven’t danced with a girl since grade school when the teacher made us choose partners. My experience is limited to that simple box step.”

“I’ll teach you,” she coaxed persuasively.

He glanced at the young people in the room, then shook his head. “No.”

“It’s simple,” Layne assured him, not giving up. “All you have to do is take me in your arms, stand in one spot, and shift your weight from one foot to the other.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Creed replied with a trace of impatience.

“Couples dance like that all the time,” she countered with a provocative smile. “Just try it once.”

For a long second he looked at her. “All right.” He seemed to give in grudgingly. “I’ll give it a try.”

There was an appealing awkwardness about the way he took her hand, so small that it was lost in the large grasp of his, and placed his right hand on the side of her waist. At least six inches separated them.

“You’re holding me as if I were some stranger,” Layne chided and positioned his right hand behind her back, then moved closer until their bodies were touching. “Isn’t this better?” she murmured, peering up at him through her lashes.

His fingers spread out, fitting themselves more comfortably to the small of her back. “I don’t know,” he said, rocking from side to side the way she had told him to do. “Holding a woman in your arms and trying to concentrate on moving your feet is just as difficult as rubbing your stomach and patting your head at the same time. The coordination isn’t always there.”

“It just takes practice.” She relaxed against him, swaying with his movements while she rested her head along his jaw.

“This is the way it’s done, is it?” The tension was easing out of his body as he instinctively reacted to the soft pressure of hers.

“Mmmm.” It was an affirmative sound. “And sometimes”—she slipped her hand out of his grip—“the girl puts both her hands around her partner’s neck and he puts both arms around her.”

While she linked her fingers behind his head, Creed splayed his hand over the middle of her spine. Barely any notice was taken of the music as they swayed, shifting their feet slightly, yet moving not at all.

The heat from his long, muscled body went through her clothes and warmed her flesh. The clean, male smell of him filled her nostrils with each breath she drew. Layne felt the instinctive play of his hands over her spine, pressing
and caressing to fit her shape to his contours. It was all the sensation of an embrace without its accompanying intimacy. And like a strong wine, its intoxicating effect seemed to go straight to her head.

His mouth was in her hair, moistly rubbing against its silken texture. The warmth of his breath moved onto her skin, a feathery caress in itself. Her heart raced, stirring up her blood.

“Your hair smells so good,” Creed muttered.

“I just washed it.” There was a breathless quality to her voice.

There was a sudden tightening of his hands on her ribs as he forced a small distance between them. “Let’s get out of here,” he said roughly. “I’ve had about all of your dancing I can stand.”

“Okay.” The shakiness inside made Layne more than willing to agree with him.

“Let’s go find Mattie and make sure she knows you’re coming with me.” The grip of his hand was unconsciously rough as he took her by the elbow and steered her through the crowd in search of Mattie.

Layne spied her in the living room. When Mattie saw them approaching her, she excused herself from the couple she was with and came to meet them.

“Leaving already?” she guessed with a knowing look at both of them.

“Yes,” Creed said. “Layne’s going to ride home with me.”

“Don’t wait up for me,” Mattie said to Layne. “I’ll probably still be here talking at midnight.”

A man in a western suit came up to Mattie. Layne vaguely recalled being introduced to the tall, well-built man, close to Mattie’s age.

“Looking at these two beautiful women standing here,”
he said, addressing his comment to Creed, “a man would think they were sisters.”

“Blair, your flattery may have turned a lot of women’s heads,” Mattie declared. “But you and I both know I am old enough to be Layne’s mother.”

Layne stole a glance at Creed, but no expression was showing. Yet she knew Mattie’s innocent remark had dampened the evening. Her deception had trapped her in such a tangled web.

“If you’ll excuse us, Blair, Layne and I are leaving,” Creed inserted.

At his announcement, the man turned to Mattie. “You aren’t going now too?”

Layne didn’t catch Mattie’s answer as she moved away with Creed.

When the door closed behind them, the din of all those voices was completely shut off and the stillness of the crisp night echoed around them. Layne glanced at the night’s star-studded canopy and the silver sickle of a moon riding high in the sky, but it was only the silence that registered. She threw another glance at Creed, his strides shortened to match hers as they walked through the parked vehicles to his truck.

His blunted profile was etched sharply against the faint light while his Stetson hat was pulled low on his forehead, shadowing his expression. There was something condemning in his stony silence. It galled Layne that he would shut her away from him like this. It was the one trait about him that irritated her. No disagreement was ever resolved by silence.

As she climbed into the passenger side of the truck cab with the impersonal support of his hand, Layne decided he needed a taste of his own medicine. If it was silence he wanted, it was silence he was going to get.

With a forced air of calm, she settled into the seat and directed her attention to the night scenery outside the passenger window as they started for home. But her tension grew with each mile that rolled by. They weren’t far from the turnoff to the ranch when it suddenly struck Layne that it was childish to maintain silence just to get even with Creed.

“This is ridiculous, Creed,” she said with tightly suppressed impatience. She wanted to banish this feeling of estrangement that hurt so, but she didn’t know how when their views were so opposite. “Why did we leave the party if we suddenly aren’t even talking?”

His attention never strayed from the road. “I was thinking,” he said finally.

“I already guessed that, so why don’t you do it out loud?” she prodded.

With a turn of the steering wheel, he swung the truck onto the narrow ranch lane to the Ox-Yoke. “You told me you’d spent the last eight years looking for Mattie.” Even when he glanced at her, Creed seemed distant. “You must have been very determined.”