Matt (8 page)

“You can add this to the bill.”

Trudy walked over to cut off the tag. Glancing at the clock on the wall she smiled. “You made good time. I see Matthew has just finished with his order, too.”

She motioned toward the street, where the ranch truck was just pulling up, its back loaded with sacks of supplies.

Matt stepped out and paused in the doorway for a moment, staring intently at Vanessa, as though unwilling to believe what he was seeing.

“Well.” The smile came slowly, spreading across his handsome features. “Now you look like Burke's niece. That old cowboy's going to be mighty proud of you, Van…”

He took some time reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a credit card. When Trudy handed him a pen, he seemed distracted as he signed it and returned the card and receipt to his pocket.

He turned to Vanessa. “I think maybe we'll stop at Clay's Pig Sty for a beer and a sandwich before we head home.”

“Okay.” Vanessa offered a handshake to the shop's owner. “Thanks again for all your help, Trudy.”

Before she could pick up the packages, Matt was there, grabbing a dozen handled bags.

Outside he stowed them in the truck before catching Vanessa's hand and leading her across the street. Once there he released her hand.

It took her a few moments before her breathing returned to normal. She didn't know if it was the way he was looking at her, or the fact that he'd held her hand as they crossed the street. It was such a sweet and unexpectedly courtly gesture. But for now, there was no time to figure it out as she stepped into the saloon.

Inside, they were assaulted by the smell of onions on a grill, and the sizzle of burgers.

Hank Williams was wailing about being so lonesome he could cry, and men's voices were punctuated by occasional curses and laughter.

A white-haired man in jeans and suspenders, his rolled sleeves revealing Popeye muscles, waved to them from behind the grill. “Matt Malloy. They let you off the ranch in the middle of the day? You got a broken arm or something?”

“Just had to pick up some supplies for Yancy.” He cupped a hand to his mouth. “What's the special, Clay?”

“Pork sausage. Pulled pork sandwiches. And for the hungry—”

“And the brave,” one of the cowboys at the bar shouted, to a chorus of raucous laughter.

“—there's stuffed pork chops.”

“What's in the stuffing, Clay?” another customer shouted.

“I call it my mystery stuffing.”

“That's why you've got to be brave to order it,” the first cowboy added, to another round of laughter.

Matt joined in the laughter before turning to Vanessa. “Want to be brave, or do you want the pulled pork sandwich?”

“Pulled pork.”

“And to drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you're having.”

He had to shout their order to be heard above the noise. “Two longnecks, and two pulled pork sandwiches, Clay.”

“Got it. Grab a table. I'll be right there.” The old man bent to his grill.

Matt led the way through the haze of smoke to a table in the rear of the room where the music wasn't as loud.

A short time later the owner hurried over with their order.

“Clay Olmsted, I'd like you to meet Burke's niece, Van Cowley.”

“Nice to meet you, Van.” He set down two beers and two plates loaded with sandwiches and curly fries, as well as a big bowl of coleslaw. “Didn't know Burke had any kin. Never heard him talk about family in all the years I've known him.”

“Well, I guess he never figured I'd come all this way to visit.”

Clay straightened. “Where you from, Van?”

“Chica—”

Matt's voice drowned her out. “Saint Louis.”

The old man looked from one to the other. “Never been there. To either place.” As he ambled away, Vanessa lowered her head and stared hard at the table. “Sorry. This just isn't working.”

Matt lay a hand over hers. “Hey. At least you know how to think on your feet. But—” he paused to bite back his grin “—Vanilla?”

She was shaking her head. “See? I'm no good at lying.” She tried to pull her hand away.

He tightened his grasp. This time his laugh broke free. “Well, I have to say Vanilla Cowley is a stretch. But since you dug that hole, you're just going to have to stand in it.”

She grinned. “Such a stupid name. But it was the first thing that came to mind.”

“It works. You're doing just fine.” His voice deepened even while his smile grew. “And you're looking just fine, too.”

“You don't think it's too much. I mean the boots, the jacket, the…hat?”

“It's perfect. You're perfect.”

“I wasn't sure about the hat. But once I put it on, it just felt right.”

He picked up his beer and took a long pull, to keep himself from gushing. The truth was, that first glimpse of her back in the shop had all the breath backing up in his throat. In the course of a couple of hours she'd gone from cool, polished city lawyer to the most gorgeous country girl he'd ever seen. She wasn't just perfect. She was breathtaking.

She slanted him a catlike look. “I enjoyed spending your money.”

He laughed out loud. “I just bet you did.”

“I actually bought more than I needed. To get you back for laughing at me.”

She bit into her sandwich, then shot him a look of amazement. “This is good.”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“I thought, the way those men were teasing, that the food would be horrible.”

“Clay's a good cook. Maybe not as good as Yancy, but he knows his way around pork.”

“Of course. The Pig Sty. I guess I forgot about that.” She looked around at the gleaming floor and tables and chairs. “I guess with a name like that, I expected it to be filthy, and the food to be barely tolerable.”

“Don't let a name fool you.”

“This from the man who just gave me a new identity.”

He looked around, relieved that nobody was near enough to overhear them. “You might want to keep that to yourself.”

“Right.” She sipped her beer and polished off the rest of her sandwich. “Vanilla Cowley knows how to keep secrets.”

M
att walked to the counter to pay their bill.

Clay Olmsted rang it up and handed Matt his change before saying to the young woman beside him, “Bye, Van. Be sure and say hello to your uncle.”

“My…?” She caught herself. “Yes. Uncle Burke. I'll do that. The pulled pork sandwich was the best.”

The old man brightened. “Next time you're here, try the stuffed pork chops.”

One of the regulars at the bar called out, “That's why we call him Colonel Clay. His secret ingredient is in the stuffing.”

To a chorus of laughter, Matt and Vanessa walked outside.

Before crossing the street Matt caught her hand. At the truck he held the passenger door while she settled inside before circling around to climb up to the driver's side.

As they pulled away, a car fell into line some distance behind them, leisurely trailing along Main Street until they left town and turned onto the interstate.

Vanessa swiveled her head, trying to take in all the things she'd missed on their way here.

“Oh, look at those hills in the distance.”

Matt followed her direction, trying to see everything through her eyes.

“There's so much space here. I bet there are more cattle than people.”

He nodded. “You'd be right about that.”

“And it's all so clean and fresh and pretty. No streetlights. No throngs of pedestrians. No office buildings, or smoke from buses, or horns honking.”

“Just remember you said all that when you complain about no fast food places, or easy transportation when you need a prescription for pain, or directions to the nearest hospital when a friend is about to deliver a baby.”

She laughed. “Okay. Point taken. I'm sure there are plenty of drawbacks to living so far from civilization. But just allow me my fantasies for a little while longer, will you? It's called trying to make the best of a situation.”

“And you are.” He laid a hand over hers. “I know this isn't easy for you.”

When she clasped her hands in her lap, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Though the car remained far behind them, he had an uneasy feeling. “How would you like to make a detour on the way back?”

She shrugged. “You're the driver.”

“Okay.” He slowed the truck before turning the wheel.

Though there were no exits, he merely left the highway and started across a bumpy stretch of field toward a distant hill.

The vehicle that had been trailing them stopped, but didn't follow.

“What's up here?” Vanessa was straining to see beyond the high ground.

Matt drove up and over the incline, cutting off their view of the highway. He continued on until they came to a swollen stream that was overflowing its banks.

He parked and stepped out before speaking to the sheriff on his cell phone. Scant minutes later he took Vanessa's hand and led her to a small promontory overlooking the water.

“This is Malloy Creek.”

She turned to him. “You actually have a creek named for your family?”

He nodded. “My great-great-grandfather, the original Francis Xavier Malloy, came here from Ireland and cleared this land. When the state was charting its landmarks and asked the name of this creek, he decided to name it for himself.”

Matt pointed to the hills beyond. “In the middle of summer, this will be nothing more than a small stream. But right now, with all the snow melting high in the hills, it's a gusher. Old Francis X. realized there was enough runoff to irrigate these fields. This was where his first herd of cattle grazed, and later, when he moved them to higher ground, this was where he planted enough crops to see him through the winter. According to legend, the minute he saw this place, he thought of the green fields of Ireland, and knew his future lay right here.”

“That's nice.” She shielded the sun from her eyes as she peered around. “I guess to someone far from home, it would be comforting to feel something familiar.”

“Yeah.” Matt held his silence and allowed her to drink in the view, knowing she was seeking her own comfort in a strange place.

Nearly an hour later they returned to the truck and headed for the ranch.

Matt noted that the car that had been trailing them was nowhere to be seen.

He'd reported its presence to Sheriff Graystoke, who had assured him it would be checked out immediately.

It could turn out to be a real threat, or it could mean that he was seeing danger where none existed. The sheriff had suggested another possible explanation for that car. It could be someone sent by the Chicago police to investigate the Malloy family.

Whatever the reason, he recognized a duty to report anything that seemed out of place. He had no intention of ignoring something that could prove to be a real danger.

He felt responsible for the woman entrusted to his family's care. Though neither of them had asked for this, he felt it was his job to keep Vanessa Kettering safe until she was able to return to the life she'd left.

After putting away all the things she'd bought in town, Vanessa stepped into the kitchen to find Yancy and Nelson sharing coffee at the big wooden table, their heads bent close in quiet conversation.

The both looked up as she entered.

“Sorry.” She hesitated. “I didn't mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn't.” Nelson waved her close. “We're talking about an unsolved Hollywood mystery from the fifties.”

Yancy produced a thick hardcover book with a lurid cover depicting a bloody female draped over the arm of a blood-soaked sofa. “Natasha Leonid. She was a legend in the thirties and forties.” Yancy flushed. “I'm afraid Hollywood scandals are my passion. I love reading about them. I especially love the unsolved murders. And since Nelson lived through a lot of them, he knew the people involved.”

Vanessa turned to Nelson. “Matt told me who you are. The minute I heard your name, I knew of you. What an exciting life you've led.”

The old man puffed up his chest, obviously enjoying the moment.

Yancy motioned toward the coffeepot. “Would you like some?”

Vanessa shook her head. “Matt and I had lunch in town. I promised him I'd join him when I put my things away.”

“He and the others are out in the barn.” Yancy pointed toward the back door. “The first barn is for equipment. The second is where some of the horses or farm animals in need of attention are stabled.” He glanced at her new clothes. “You look pretty, Nessa. You shouldn't go out there. You wouldn't want to get your new duds all dirty.”

“These are work clothes, Yancy.” She couldn't help grinning. “Though I can't imagine what kind of work I'll be doing.”

Nelson set aside his cup. “You might want to stay here and join us for coffee. I'm not sure a big-city lawyer like yourself is ready to join the Malloy ranchers in their favorite pastime.”

“I promised myself I'd earn my keep here.”

“Then at least find a pair of rubber boots that fit you before you walk into the barn.”

“If you say so.” She turned toward the mudroom and exchanged her new leather boots for a pair of cracked rubber ones. As she opened the door she called over her shoulder, “What can be so hard about caring for a couple of farm animals? I think this could be fun.”

The two men exchanged a look. And as the door closed behind her, they burst into peals of laughter.

Taking a last deep breath, Vanessa stepped from sunshine into the cavernous interior and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The first thing that assaulted her was the smell. It was an outhouse, only magnified a thousand times. And then there were the sounds of men's voices raised in laughter, bouncing off the walls.

Seeing her in the doorway, the voices stilled.

Luke called, “Hey. You're late.”

“Late?”

“Yeah. Matt said you were putting away your gear. So we decided to work a little slower than usual so you wouldn't miss out on all the fun.”

Getting into the spirit of teasing, Reed pointed to a wall of ranch implements hanging on hooks. “Grab some gloves and join us.”

“Okay.” Vanessa crossed to where Matt was standing. “Where do I find gloves?”

“Here.” He reached into his back pocket and handed her a pair of well-worn leather gloves. “You'll need these.”

She slipped them on and followed him to a stall, where Reed was knee-deep in wet, smelly straw.

“This is what the horses leave behind. It's part of a rancher's daily routine. We have to fork up the old straw and spread clean. Since you need to start slowly, we'll do the forking and leave the spreading to you.”

“I thought…” She stopped to look around the empty stalls. “Where are the horses and sick animals?”

“No sick animals at the moment. But we turned the horses into the corral so we can get our work done in here.” Matt led her toward a stall that had recently been cleaned and showed her how to spread fresh straw.

While she bent to her task, the three brothers cleaned the rest of the stalls, keeping up a steady stream of conversation and jokes, often at their own expense.

“So.” Reed paused to rest his hands atop his pitchfork while he eyed Luke. “I heard your phone ringing around midnight. Who called?”

His brother shrugged. “Nobody.”

“Is this the same nobody who said she never wanted to see you again?”

Instead of a reply, Luke gripped the handles of the wagon. “This is pretty full. I'll be right back.”

Vanessa couldn't help staring at he shoved the overloaded wagon through the doors as if it weighed nothing. She'd expected his brothers to lend a hand.

He returned a short time later with the empty wagon, only to pick up his pitchfork and continue on as before without a word.

Matt joined in where his younger brother had left off. “You're not going to evade our questions, bro. So why did this nobody phone you if she never wanted to see you again?”

Luke never missed a beat as he lifted a heavy load and deposited it in the wagon. “She didn't say anything about never ‘speaking' to me again.”

Matt and Reed exchanged a look before Matt deadpanned, “So when are you and nobody getting together again?”

“She wants me to join her and some friends at Clay's Pig Sty Friday night. And she said to bring Reed along.”

Reed paused. “So she can look at me instead of you? Not that I don't understand,” he added, “since I'm a whole lot better looking.”

“She's invited some friends. One of them is Carrie.”

Reed snorted. “If Carrie Riddle was standing in the doorway of our barn right this minute, wearing nothing but her birthday suit, I wouldn't bother to turn and give her a look.”

Luke gave a laugh. “Oh, you'd look, bro. You may try to pass yourself off as a saint in front of our guest, but I know you better'n that. You'd look.”

Matt and Vanessa stood back, enjoying the banter.

“Okay. So I'd look. Hell, I'm a guy. But that's as far as it goes. I'm not interested.”

“You feeling sick?” Luke touched a hand to his brother's forehead. “Carrie Riddle's had the hots for you since she was fifteen. I'm not asking you to marry her. But you could at least go to town with me Friday night.”

Matt shook his head. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Burke is expecting both of you to spend this weekend up on the South Ridge helping him and Colin with the herd.”

Luke turned to stare at his brother. “Then I guess you'll get your wish.”

Reed looked puzzled.

“I think Carrie was planning on showing you her birthday suit. Now you won't have to worry about ignoring her.”

Reed turned to Luke. “Well, that will solve your problem about your ‘nobody.' She won't have to worry about seeing you again.”

“There's always next week.”

Matt glanced at Vanessa in time to see her convulsed in laughter. He was laughing as he ambled over. She kept her voice low. “Do they go on like this all the time?”

“Endlessly.”

She shook her head. “And I thought nothing exciting ever happens in a small town.”

Overhearing her, Reed called, “There should probably be a billboard just outside of town. Horny cowboys. Women in birthday suits. You just never know what you'll discover in Glacier Ridge, Montana.”

Still laughing, Matt nodded toward the last cleaned stall. “Come on. I'll give you a hand and we can let these two get on with their fantasies.”

“You mean Nobody and Birthday Suit don't really exist?”

“Oh, they're real.” Luke hung his pitchfork on a hook before peeling off his work gloves. “But Friday night is big business in Clay's Pig Sty for every wrangler who gets a paycheck. And that means that every female old enough to drink, and some who ought to be home doing schoolwork, will be helping them spend it. Frankly, I'd rather muck stalls on a Friday night than have to head to town. So”—he turned to Matt—“herding cattle on the South Ridge sounds about perfect to me.”

Matt watched Reed follow suit, hanging up his pitchfork before heading toward the open doorway of the barn. “You okay with the weekend plans?”

Reed shot him a quick grin. “Nobody's gonna miss me.”

“I'll just bet she will.”

They were still chuckling as they ambled out.