McKettricks of Texas: Garrett Page 6

  “Not until you do,” Garrett said, grinning again.

  Julie smiled, plunked herself down on the bench and waited until Garrett was back in his chair.

  She was instantly nervous.

  Her heart thrummed away at twice its normal rate, and she knew it wasn’t just because she meant to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

  “The foundation—your family’s, I mean—has very generously promised to match any money the school district can raise to buy new computers and software for use in the library at Blue River High and—”

  A sudden blush surged up Julie’s neck and cut off her words. What was the matter with her? Why was she so self-conscious?

  This just wasn’t like her.

  “And?” Garrett finally prompted, putting his glasses back on.

  “We appreciate the gift,” Julie managed lamely.

  “You’re welcome,” Garrett said, puzzled now.

  Damn her pride.

  And for all she knew, Garrett wasn’t even directly involved with the McKettrick family’s foundation. Hadn’t she read once that his cousin, Meg McKettrick O’Ballivan, who lived in Arizona with her famous country-singer husband, handled such things? She would have to do some research before she broached the subject again, could have kicked herself for not thinking of that sooner.

  Garrett waited, and though he wasn’t smiling, something danced in his eyes. He was enjoying this.

  In the end, though, Julie outwaited him.

  Presently, with a tap of one index finger to the front page of the newspaper, he asked, “As a voter, what’s your take on the senator’s future in politics?”

  “I’m probably not the right person to ask,” she said moderately, remembering their somewhat heated exchange after a mutual friend’s funeral a few months before. It had been fairly brief, but they had gotten into a lively discussion of one of the major issues of the day.

  “Why would you say that?” Garrett asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  “I voted against the senator in the last election,” she admitted. Her cheeks burned, not with chagrin but with lingering conviction. “And the one before that.”

  “I see,” Garrett said, and his mouth quirked again, at the same corner as before.

  “Why?”

  Julie straightened. “Because I liked his opponent better.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  Julie’s shoulders rose and fell with the force of her sigh. “All right, no. No, it isn’t. I never liked Morgan Cox very much, never trusted him. There’s something…well, sneaky…about him.”

  “Something ‘sneaky’?” Garrett challenged, a wry twist to his mouth, sitting back in his chair, watching her. He slid the newspaper in her direction, somehow directing her gaze to the photo spread—every shot showed Senator Cox with smiling children, or golden retrievers, or an adoring and much-admired Mrs. Cox or some combination thereof.

  Julie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The whole thing seemed too perfect,” she finally replied. “Almost as though he’d hired people to pose as his all-American family. And then there was that hot-tub incident. It was downplayed in the media, strangely enough, but it happened. I remember it clearly.”

  Garrett gave a hoarse chuckle at that. He didn’t sound amused, though. “Ah, yes,” he said, far away now. “That.”

  “That,” Julie agreed. “Senator Morgan Cox in a hot tub with three half-naked women, none of whom were his wife. It was a family reunion, he claimed, and they were all just a happy group of cousins. As if any idiot would believe a story like that.”

  Something changed in Garrett’s face. “I can think of at least one idiot who believed it,” he said quietly.

  Julie wished she’d kept her opinions to herself, but it was a little late for that. “What happens now?” she asked, and this time her tone was gentle.

  “I can’t speak for Senator Cox,” Garrett said, after a long time, “but I’ll be staying on here for a while.”

  A strangely celebratory tingle moved through Julie at this news.

  Not that she cared whether Garrett McKettrick was around or not.

  “Well, good night,” she said.

  “Good night,” Garrett replied.

  Julie turned around too fast, bumped into the cabinet behind her, and gasped with pain.

  Garrett caught hold of her arm, turned her to face him.

  One wrong move on either of their parts, Julie reasoned wildly, and their torsos would be touching.

  “Are you all right?” Garrett asked. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders now.

  Their faces were only inches apart.

  It would be so easy to kiss.

  No, Julie thought. No, I am not all right.

  “Julie?” Garrett prompted.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, easing backward, out of his grasp.

  Julie turned around carefully that time, and walked, with dignity, out of the kitchen, managing not to crash into anything in the process.

  Tomorrow, she told herself, is another day.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAWN ARRIVED LONG BEFORE GARRETT was ready for it, and so did his brother. When he stumbled out the back door of the ranch house, after a brief shower, there was Tate, already waiting in front of the barn. He’d saddled old Stranger, their dad’s roan, for himself, and a black gelding named Dark Moon for Garrett.

  After flashing Garrett a grin, Tate swung up onto Stranger’s back and took an easy hold on the reins.

  “I’d kill for coffee,” Garrett said, hauling himself onto Dark Moon, shifting around to get comfortable. He’d forgotten how hard a saddle could be, especially when the rider was less than thirty minutes from a warm, soft bed.

  “It won’t come to that,” Tate assured him, still grinning. “But I know the feeling.” He turned, pulled a medium-sized Thermos bottle from one of his saddlebags and tossed it to Garrett. “Made it myself.”

  Garrett chuckled. “I might have some just the same,” he said, unscrewing the cup-lid and then the plug. He poured a swig and sipped. “Not bad,” he allowed. “You wouldn’t happen to have a plate of bacon and eggs in the other side of those saddlebags, would you?”

  Tate chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “We’d best get moving. Most of the crew is already on the range, ready to work.”

  Garrett resealed the coffee jug, rode close to hand it back to Tate, watched as his brother stowed it away again.

  He hadn’t had nearly enough java to jump-start his brain, but he supposed for the time being it would have to do.

  Tate led the way through a series of corral gates, and by then the darkness was shot through with the first flimsy rays of sunshine. They crossed the landscape side by side, their horses at a gallop, and Garrett was surprised at how good he felt. How…right.

  “You heard anything from our little brother lately?” Tate asked, slowing the roan as they neared the temporary camp, where a small bonfire burned. Cowboys and horses milled all around, raising up dust, and the cattle bawled out there in the thinning gloom as if they were plain dying of sorrow.

  “No,” Garrett answered. God knew, he had troubles of his own, but he worried about Austin. Their kid brother had taken his time growing up, and then he’d nearly been killed riding a bull at a rodeo over in New Mexico. Coming that close to death would have made some people a mite more cautious, but the effect on Austin had been just the opposite. He was wilder than ever.

  Tate reined in a little more, and so did Garrett. “I figure if we don’t get some word of him soon, we’ll have to go out looking for the damn fool.”

  Garrett nodded, stood in the stirrups to stretch his legs. He’d be sore for the next few days, he supposed, but riding wasn’t a thing a man forgot how to do. His muscles would take a little time to remember, that was all. “I’ll do some checking,” he said.

  “I’d appreciate it,” Tate answered.

  A couple of the cowboys hailed them from up ahead, and the din and th
e dirt clouds increased with every stride their horses took toward the herd.

  “Garrett?”

  Garrett turned to his brother. “Are you going to jaw at me all day, Tate?” he joked. Of the three McKettrick brothers, Tate was normally the one least likely to run off at the mouth.

  Tate grinned. “No,” he said. “But I’ve got one more thing to say.” He paused, adjusted the angle of his hat, pulling the brim down low over his forehead. “It’s good to have you back.”

  With that, Tate nudged Stranger’s flanks with his boot heels, and the horse bounded ahead, leaving Garrett to catch up.

  And since Garrett was out of practice when it came to cowboying, he was pretty much catching up all morning long.

  WITH A FEW MINUTES TO GO before she had to be at school, Julie followed an impulse and drove by the cottage she’d been renting since her return to Blue River, when Calvin was just a baby. The exterminator’s giant tent still billowed around it like a big, putty-colored blob.

  Watching the thing undulate from within, Julie didn’t immediately notice Suzanne Hillbrand, of Hillbrand Real Estate. Her Mercedes was parked nearby.

  Wearing high heels, a pencil skirt and very big hair, Suzanne was examining the spiffy new For Sale sign out by the curb.

  The shock of seeing that sign struck Julie like a slap across the face. She cranked the Caddie into Park and got out, slamming the door hard behind her.

  “Well,” Suzanne trilled, beaming, “hello, Julie Remington!”

  Suzanne’s outgoing personality wasn’t an affectation designed to sell properties; she’d always been that way. Even in kindergarten. The big hair only went back as far as high school, though.

  “Hello, Suzanne,” Julie responded, not smiling. She indicated the sign with a motion of one hand. “Are you sure this isn’t a mistake?”

  “Why, of course I’m sure, darlin’!” Suzanne replied, with exhausting ebullience, shading her perfectly made-up eyes with one perfectly manicured hand. “It isn’t as if there’s a real estate boom on here in Blue River, after all. I’ve got this cottage and the old Arnette farm on the books, and that’s it.”

  The flash of adrenaline-fueled annoyance that had propelled Julie from behind the wheel of her Cadillac dissipated in an instant. She bit down on her lower lip.

  “I take it Louise didn’t tell you she was putting the place on the market?” Suzanne asked quietly.

  “She might have tried,” Julie admitted, picturing her very efficient and quite elderly landlady. “I’m not sure she has my cell number, and I keep forgetting to check my voice mail.”

  Suzanne’s smile came back full force. “We all know you and Libby and Paige came into some money a while back,” she said. “Things like that get around, of course. Well, here’s the perfect investment for you. Your very own cottage. Think how easy it would be. You wouldn’t even have to pack up and move!”

  In spite of herself, Julie smiled. She’d always liked Suzanne, and the woman’s enthusiasm was catching. Plus, she’d often dreamed of buying the cottage—back when she didn’t have the means, especially.

  “What’s the asking price?”

  Suzanne named a figure that would nearly wipe out Julie’s considerable nest egg.

  So much for enthusiasm.

  “No way,” Julie said, backing up a step.

  Suzanne stayed happy. “Louise is firm on the price,” she said. “I told her she wouldn’t get that much, considering the state the market’s in right now, but she’s not about to budge. The place is paid for, and she doesn’t need the money. All that works in your favor, of course, because you’ll probably have all kinds of time before it actually sells—to find somewhere else to live, I mean.”

  All kinds of time to find somewhere else to live.

  Oh, right.

  There weren’t a lot of housing options in towns the size of Blue River.

  Let’s see. She could move in with Paige, who was in the process of renovating the small house they’d all grown up in, rent by the week at the seedy Amble On Inn on the edge of town, or make an offer on the Arnette farm, which was almost as much of an eyesore as the Wilkes’s junkyard.

  A fixer-upper, Suzanne would call it.

  In Julie’s opinion, the only hope of making that old dump look better was a bulldozer.

  For the time being, she’d have to stay on at the Silver Spur.

  Darn.

  Remembering the time, Julie checked her watch and turned to head back to her car. Calvin was in another mood, and she’d had to cajole him into getting out of bed, eating his breakfast, finding his backpack.

  By the time she’d dropped him off at Libby’s, so he could ride to school with the twins, Julie had been working on a mood of her own.

  “You think about making an offer, now!” Suzanne called after her.

  Julie waved, got back into her car and headed for Blue River High.

  Okay, so the day was definitely going in the downhill direction, she thought, as she pulled into the teachers’ lot and spotted a shiny blue SUV over in visitors’ parking. Things could still turn around, if she just looked on the bright side, counted her blessings.

  She had a wonderful, healthy son.

  She had a job she loved, even if it was a bummer sometimes.

  And, yeah, someone might come along and buy the cottage right out from under her and Calvin, but given the economic slowdown, selling would probably take a while. In the meantime, she and her little boy had a roof over their heads, and for the first time in Julie’s life, thanks to a fluke, she had money in the bank.

  A person didn’t have to look far to see that a lot of other people weren’t so fortunate. The Strivens family, for instance.

  Julie parked the Cadillac, grabbed her tote bag and her lunch, and got out.

  While she was locking up, she saw the driver’s-side door of the strange blue SUV swing open.

  Gordon Pruett got out.

  She barely recognized him, with his short haircut, chinos and polo shirt. A commercial fisherman by trade, Calvin’s father had always been a raggedy-jeans-and-muscle-shirt kind of guy.

  Julie’s stomach seemed to take a bungee jump as she watched the man she’d once loved—or believed she loved—strolling toward her as though they both had all the time in the world.

  Like Calvin’s, Gordon’s eyes were a piercing ice-blue, and both father and son had light blond hair that paled to near silver in bright sunshine.

  “Hello, Julie,” Gordon said. He was tanned, and a diamond stud sparkled in the lobe of his right ear, making him look something like a pirate.

  “Gordon,” Julie managed, aware that she hadn’t moved since spotting him moments before. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call?”

  “I did call,” Gordon answered mildly, keeping his distance, squinting a little in the dazzle of a fall morning. “I’ve e-mailed, too. Multiple times, in fact. You’ve been putting me off for a couple of months now, Jules, so I figured we’d better talk in person.”

  Julie sighed. Her throat felt dry and raw, and her knees were wobbly, insubstantial. “Calvin isn’t ready to see you,” she said.

  “If that’s true,” Gordon responded, “I’m more than willing to wait until he is ready. But are you sure our son is the reluctant one, Julie? Or is it you?”

  Tears of frustration and worry burned in her eyes. She blinked them away, at the same time squaring her shoulders and stiffening her spine. “Calvin is barely five years old,” she replied, “and you’re a stranger to him.”

  “I’m his father.”

  Julie closed her eyes for a moment, drew a deep, deep breath, and released it slowly. “Yes,” she said. “You’re his father—biologically. But you didn’t want to be part of Calvin’s life or mine, remember? You said you weren’t ready.”

  Gordon might have flinched; his reaction was so well-controlled as to be nearly invisible. Still, there had been a reaction. “I regret that,” he said. “But I’ve taken care of Calvin, haven’t I? K
ept up the child support payments? Let you raise him the way you wanted to?”

  Julie’s throat thickened. She swallowed. Gordon wasn’t a monster, she reminded herself silently. Just a flesh-and-blood man, with plenty of good qualities and plenty of faults.

  “I have classes to teach,” she said at last.

  “Buy you lunch?”

  The first-period bell rang.

  Julie said nothing; she was torn.

  “I could meet you somewhere, or pick up some food and bring it here,” Gordon offered.

  Already hurrying away, Julie finally nodded her agreement. “The Silver Dollar Saloon makes a decent sandwich,” she called back. “It’s on Main Street. I’ll meet you there at eleven-thirty.”

  Gordon smiled for the first time since the encounter had begun, nodded his head and returned to the SUV.

  Julie normally threw herself into her English classes, losing all track of time, but that day she simply couldn’t concentrate. When lunchtime came, she grabbed her purse and fled to the parking lot, drove as fast as the speed limit allowed to the Silver Dollar.

  Gordon’s SUV was parked in the gravel out front; she pulled the battered Caddie up beside his vehicle, shaking her head as she looked over at his ride. Although he’d made a good living as a fisherman, Gordon had never cared much about money, not when she knew him, anyway. Instead of working another job during the off-season and saving up to buy a bigger boat, or a starter house, or—say—an engagement ring, as some of his friends would have done, Gordon had partied through every nickel he earned. By the time he went back to sea, he was not only broke, but in debt to his father and several uncles besides.

  The SUV looked fairly new.

  His clothes, while nothing fancy, were good.

  Obviously, Gordon had grown up—at least a little—since the last time Julie had seen him.

  Now, reflecting on these things, she steeled herself as she walked up to the door of the Silver Dollar, started a little when it opened before she got hold of the handle.

  Gordon stood just over the threshold, in the sawdust and peanut shells that covered the floor, acting for all the world like a gentleman.