“Hello?” she inquired, peering into the shadows, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.
No answer.
She supposed Dexter Scott figured she’d find her own way to the bathroom and then her own way out. She walked down the hall, looking at pictures that were covered in more than a layer of dust. Cobwebs strung the frames together, and Clementine frowned. What a sad, gloomy house. If she didn’t know that he lived here, she would have thought it was abandoned. Any happiness that it had once known had long since leached out, leaving just a shell of a house. Maybe that was what was wrong with Dexter Scott—the fun, the adventure had leached out of him.
Clementine took a deep breath. All the more reason he should help her. It’d probably do him good not to have to live in this house, day in, day out.
She heard the clattering of dishes and the pleasant rumble of male voices. Surely that couldn’t be Dexter Scott.
With a deep breath, she walked in to find him and two other cowboys seated at the rickety dining table, elbows up as they talked, washing their food down with dark coffee.
“Hi,” she said.
Her words had the effect of a pause button on the VCR. All activity stopped; forks poised in the air, a cup of coffee stopped at a mouth. She felt as if they were watching her every move, but she didn’t let that deter her.
“Hey, there.” She greeted them. “That looks really good.”
The motion started up, as the two cowboys—obviously related—exchanged glances. Forks came down, coffee was sipped, then white teeth gleamed.
“Ma’am,” the one closest to her said with a nod.
“Hi, I’m Clementine Wells.” She stuck out her hand to the one who had addressed her.
“Randy. Randy Miller.” A big hand, slightly sticky, engulfed hers, but the grip was very gentle.
“Miller?” Clem felt some hope flare. They were part of the Dexter Scott package. They were the rough ones who’d done jail time that she should steer clear of. “Of the Russell Saloon fame?”
The brothers exchanged glances. Randy grinned and poked a thumb in the other cowboy’s direction. “That was Ryan’s fault.”
“I was defending your honor.” Ryan stood up and extended his hand. “Ryan Miller. Glad to meet you.”
Less sticky but just as gentle. Clem felt a whole lot lighter. She ventured a quick glance in Dexter’s direction. He was stirring milk into a cup of coffee, hard enough to create a racket with his spoon.
“The bathroom’s down the hall. Second door to your right.” He stopped stirring.
Randy grinned and Clem realized she did have to use the facilities. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”
“Then you’ll be on your way,” Dexter said, his voice rough.
“Mmm-hmm.” Clem hedged her bets. Maybe she could get a breakfast out of this. And another opportunity to convince him.
“SO WHERE DID SHE COME FROM?” Randy asked as he leaned over the table.
Dexter stuffed a forkful of pancakes in his mouth even though they tasted like straw. He swigged some of the coffee and then added more syrup to the stack and took another bite.
One trait that this woman, Clementine, and Joanna had in common was the fact they couldn’t take “no” for an answer. Even when he’d said “no” to Joanna, she’d thought it meant “maybe,” and then through sheer persistence made him change the “maybe” to an “I’ll think about it,” eventually ending up with an “okay, with stipulations,” which Joanna had ignored, anyway.
He didn’t want to smile, but he couldn’t help it. Joanna had been the only person who really knew him, who could see past his dark moods, who could make him laugh at the most dire of times. Seven years older, he’d taken care of her forever, shielding her from their father’s abuse, telling her stories about their long-gone mother. Those stories were lies. Their mother had left them when Joanna was just a baby. Their father had never been the same. And when he’d taken an unnatural interest in Joanna’s ten-year-old body, Dexter had left with Joanna in tow. They’d ridden three buses to get to Las Vegas, where Uncle Grubb, their father’s older brother, had met them at the bus station and brought them here. For the first time ever, Dexter and Joanna had known what it was to live in a real home, the same Victorian their father had grown up in. Dex had slept in the attic Grubb had remodeled, because he believed a teenage boy needed his privacy, while Joanna had lived in a fairy-tale alcove.
Since Grubb didn’t have children, he showered a lifetime of love on his newly acquired niece and nephew. When he died, he’d made Joanna and Dexter equal partners in the ranch. At the time, Dex and Ben Thorton were getting their business together. Joanna met Randy and Ryan and talked them into joining. Convincing Randy had been easy. Soon he and Joanna were inseparable.
After Joanna’s death, the ranch had become as desolate and bleak as Dex felt. He certainly didn’t need some woman with a stubborn chin and big blue eyes lighting up a room that he’d dimmed on purpose. He’d hoped she’d gotten the message and would be gone as soon as possible.
No such luck.
Before he could think to protest, Randy had invited her for some pancakes, which she accepted, seating herself right next to him.
He stared at the nicks in the table.
“I’m starving,” she confessed, with a shy glance toward him, which he tried to ignore as well. That didn’t seem to daunt her at all. She just held out a plate toward Ryan, who heaped it full with sausage, scrambled eggs and pancakes.
“Enough!” Clem protested with a giggle. “I’ll waddle my way home.”
It almost hurt to hear feminine laughter.
“You’re leaving after you eat those,” Dexter told her.
She stared at him with those large eyes fringed with dark lashes, and then nodded, her eyes cast down in acquiescence.
Dexter didn’t believe it for a second. To make sure that she left after she ate, he would escort her out to her vehicle himself and watch until he couldn’t see her taillights any more.
“And where is home?” Randy asked her.
“Los Banos.”
“Pretty country,” Ryan commented.
Clem nodded. “I’ve just moved back to my father’s ranch. He and my mother retired to Arizona last summer.”
“And what brings you way out here?”
There was a long pause, and Dexter found that he’d stopped eating, because even though he knew what she had to say, he liked the way she spoke, as if she had to force herself to speak louder to be heard.
“I bought some cattle that’ve gone feral on me in a year.”
“Really, now?” Ryan perked up. “How many?”
“Lots. Over six hundred.”
“And?” Randy asked, his voice speculative.
“I’ve come to ask Mr. Scott if he’d like the job.”
“Dex’s retired.”
Dexter bristled. Funny, how he’d spent the morning trying to convince her that she was barking up the wrong tree, and now that Randy had confirmed it— Well, hell. He didn’t need Randy talking for him.
“You