The Texan Tries Again Page 5

  That serious look had returned to his face and she wasn’t sure what to make of him. Nor did she understand what had caused her heart to suddenly leap into a ridiculous tap dance. “Oh. What’s that?”

  “Would you be willing to have dinner with me? I can’t tonight. But I think I’ll be free tomorrow night—if you are.”

  Free? He couldn’t possibly know just how long ago a man of any caliber had looked in her direction, much less asked her on a date.

  “Uh—I’m not busy, if that’s what you mean. But I—”

  “But what?”

  She frowned, unwilling to believe that this cowboy wanted to spend time with her. “Are you—would this be like a date?”

  “I guess you could call it that. Why?”

  She felt her jaw drop and she realized she was probably staring at him like she’d lost her senses.

  “Well, you—uh, you said we were going to be friends.”

  “That’s right. Friends can eat dinner together, can’t they?”

  She was growing more flustered by the second. “Yes. But friends don’t go on dates.”

  A slow smile spread his lips and she found herself staring at his white teeth. What would it feel like to push her tongue past their rough edges? To taste his inner mouth and press her body so close to his that not even a hair could be wedged between them?

  Oh Lord, she was already losing control, she thought desperately, and they’d not gone any farther than the front yard of the coffee shop.

  He reached across the table and clasped his hand around hers. The contact caused her heart to thump even harder.

  He said, “After we go on a date we might decide we want to be more than friends.”

  “No!”

  His brows arched in question and before he could make any sort of reply, she tried to explain, “I mean—you don’t know who I am, Tag.”

  “Why don’t I? Your name is Emily-Ann Broadmoor. You work at this little coffee shop and you’re studying to be a nurse. You’ve always lived in Wickenburg and you’re not married or attached. Right?”

  The sigh she released was rough and shaky. “Yes. But you don’t understand. I’m not a girl that someone like you would want to date.”

  He appeared unaffected by her admission. “Why not?”

  Annoyed with herself and with him, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Look, Tag, I know you’re a smart guy, so don’t insult my intelligence by playing dumb. There are social ladders, you know. And I’m on the bottom rung. Got it now?”

  “No. I don’t have it. You can’t be a friend of the Hollisters and be on the bottom rung. That just isn’t possible.”

  “The Hollisters see everyone as equal. And when two little girls become friends in elementary school—they don’t care about such things. They just want to be together. And because of Camille, the Hollisters have always included me. It’s not that way with everyone around here. And please don’t ask me why. It’s something I don’t want to get into. Not now.”

  She rose from her chair and gathered the remnants of her snack from the tabletop. “I need to go back in and finish closing up,” she told him.

  He rose and, with his trash in hand, followed her into the building. After the door had shut behind them, he asked, “Would you like to know what I’m really thinking?”

  Walking behind the counter, she began to sack up the last of the pastries. “Sure. Go ahead,” she told him.

  He tossed his trash into a nearby basket, then pulled out his wallet and placed several bills on the glass countertop.

  “I think you’re talking a lot of nonsense. If you’re afraid to go out with me just come out and say it. That would be much better than you giving me all this double-talk about you not being good enough—or whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

  She closed the doors on the back of the case and placed the last of the sacked pastries on a cabinet top that ran along the back wall of the room. Behind her, she could hear Taggart’s boots shuffle restlessly against the tiled floor.

  He was obviously waiting on her reply. But what could she say without lying? She was afraid to go out with him. Afraid she’d do something foolish like fall head over heels for him.

  Turning, she walked over to where he was standing. “Okay. You’re right. I am a little afraid to go out with you, Tag. I—you see, I haven’t wanted to date anyone for a long time. It never turns out good for me. And to be honest, I like you too much to ruin things between us.”

  He shook his head. “Having dinner together isn’t going to ruin anything.”

  Before she could stop it, a cynical laugh rushed past her lips. “That’s what you think.”

  He grinned a charming little grin at her. “I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  She laughed again, only this time it was a sound of amusement. “I believe you.”

  “So does that mean you’ll go?”

  It was stupid for her to keep hesitating, she thought, when every cell in her body was screaming at her to accept his invitation.

  “Yes, I’ll go. I just don’t understand why you’re asking me. If you’ll look around town you’ll see there are all sorts of women who are much prettier than me.”

  “Maybe I want more than pretty,” he said, then smiling smugly, he tapped a finger on the bills he’d placed on the countertop. “Here’s the money for my things. I’ll see you tomorrow night. About seven. Is that time okay with you?”

  “Sure.”

  She scratched down her address on an order pad and handed the small square to him. “That’s where I live. And I put my cell number below. Just in case you change your mind and need to call me.”

  He slipped the paper into the pocket on his Western shirt. “No chance I’ll change my mind,” he said, then tipping the brim of his hat at her, he left the shop.

  After the door had closed, Emily-Ann let out a long breath and sank weakly onto the wooden stool sitting next to the cabinets.

  This morning as she’d driven to work, she’d pretty much convinced herself that Taggart had put her out of his mind. Now she was going on a date with him. It was a bit unbelievable to Emily-Ann. And what was Camille going to think about it?

  She wasn’t going to tell her, Emily-Ann thought. Not yet. If she did, her friend would immediately start harping about that damned bridal bouquet again. No, she’d wait until the date was over and Taggart came up with a reason not to see her again. Then she’d have proof that she needed more than a bridal bouquet to find a man to love her.

  Chapter Four

  Taggart hadn’t realized just how many things he’d accumulated until he started unpacking the boxes he’d brought with him from Texas. Dishes, bedding and bath linens, clothing, boots and toiletries. Each evening before he’d gone to bed, he’d tried to unpack at least one box and put the items where they belonged.

  This evening Matthew had insisted they wrap up work early so he could finish getting his house in order. Now, as he stacked coffee cups and cereal bowls in one of the kitchen cabinets, he was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

  Forgetting the task for the moment, he went out to the living room to answer the door.

  “Blake, come in,” he said, surprised to find the ranch manager standing on the wide wooden porch.

  “I can just stay a minute. Mom and I are about to leave for Prescott to a cattle buyer’s convention.”

  Taggart pushed the door wide and gestured for Blake to enter the house. “I was in the kitchen trying to put away the last of the dishes. This moving thing is a pain.”

  “I’d be happy to send Jazelle over here to help you. That is, if Katherine and Roslyn can make do without her. These days she’s turned into more of a nanny than a housekeeper,” he added with a chuckle. “Poor girl. Mom has decided she needs to hire someone to help her and I agree.”

  �
�Thanks for the offer, but I have most of the necessary things put where they belong. Come on back to the kitchen,” Taggart told him. “We can talk while I finish with the dishes.”

  “Fine. This won’t take long,” Blake said, while following him through the living room. “Actually, I stopped by because I have something to give you.”

  Inside the kitchen, Taggart gestured toward a long white farm table with matching chairs. “Pull up a chair. I have a bit of coffee left in the carafe if you’d like a cup.”

  “Thanks. But I’m fine.” He reached inside his Western-cut jacket and pulled out a long envelope, then handed it to Taggart.

  “What is this?” Taggart asked curiously.

  “A check.”

  Taggart paused and looked in stunned fascination at the ranch manager. “What for? Are you terminating my job already?”

  The question produced a long, loud laugh from Blake. “Not hardly. We couldn’t be happier that we have you here. The check is a little bonus. Just to show how much we appreciate you. We understand it’s been costly for you to move out here. Especially with you bringing horses and tack, besides your household goods and personal things. We want to help cover the expense.”

  “I don’t expect that, Blake. And it’s totally unnecessary.” He opened the envelope and the amount of the check he pulled out very nearly floored him. “No! No way can I accept this. I didn’t spend a fraction of this on moving cost.”

  Blake laughed again. “Don’t argue. Just trust me. You’ll earn it all back before the first month is out.”

  Shaking his head, Taggart said, “I don’t know what to say. This is far beyond generous, Blake.”

  The ranch manager swatted a dismissive hand through the air. “No need for you to say anything about the check. But I would like to know how you’re settling in. Not with the house, I can see things here are taking shape. I’m talking about the ranch and the men. You and Matthew have been so busy, I’ve not had a chance to talk with either one of you.”

  Taggart studied the eldest Hollister brother, while thinking how differently he was being treated here at Three Rivers compared to the last year he’d spent on the Flying W. No matter how hard he’d worked, the Armstrongs had never been satisfied. They’d demanded more from him and all the hands, all the while insisting they had to cut their wages or go under. Which the whole crew had known was utter nonsense. It had been a hellish situation and one that Taggart was glad to have behind him. “Everything is going good, Blake. Thank you for asking.”

  Blake gave his shoulder an affectionate slap. “That’s what we want. But if you do have any problems of any kind I want you to feel comfortable about coming to me. Or Mom. She stays in the thick of things and knows more about this ranch than I’ll ever learn in my lifetime. But you’ve probably already figured that out for yourself.”

  “Matthew told me what an incredible woman his mother-in-law is and I’m beginning to see he wasn’t exaggerating. Today Maureen helped drag calves to the branding fire and I’m being honest, she outworked most of the men,” Taggart replied.

  “That’s Mom,” Blake said with a grin, then turned to go. “And speaking of Mom, she’s probably waiting on me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Uh, Blake, if you have another minute I would like to ask you something.”

  At the back door of the kitchen, Blake paused to look at him. “Okay. Shoot.”

  Feeling a bit foolish, he cleared his throat, then asked, “How well do you know Emily-Ann?”

  If the question surprised Blake he didn’t show it. In fact, he chuckled. “I thought you were going to ask me something about roundup.”

  “I’m not worried about roundup,” Taggart told him.

  Blake looked even more amused. “But Emily-Ann does worry you?”

  “Not exactly worries me,” Taggart tried to explain. “More like she confuses the heck out of me.”

  “I didn’t realize you were interested in her.”

  Taggart could feel his cheeks growing warm. He never discussed women with anyone. Since he’d lost Becca, he’d never really thought that much about any particular female. But since he’d met Emily-Ann something had happened to him. He couldn’t seem to get his mind off the curvy redhead or that kiss they shared the night of the party.

  “I’m taking her out to dinner tonight,” Taggart admitted, then with a helpless shake of his head, added, “To be honest, Blake, she came damned close to turning down my invitation. Which is her right, of course. I hardly expect just any and every woman to go out with me. But she—well, it’s like she mistrusts me or something.”

  Blake grinned. “You must’ve done something right. She’s agreed to go out with you. But as far as giving you advice about women, I’m not the right man for that job. You need to talk to Holt. He’s the charmer of the family.”

  Taggart swiped a hand through his dark rumpled hair. “Go ahead and laugh, Blake. I realize I sound like I’m twenty years old instead of thirty-two. It’s just that she puzzles me. She seems to have a low opinion of herself and I can’t figure why. I thought you might clue me in about her.”

  Blake’s grin quickly vanished. “I don’t know that much about Emily-Ann’s personal life, Tag. Except that it hasn’t always been easy. She’s had to deal with plenty of heartaches and hardships. But she’s a good person and very hardworking. We all love her.”

  “Hmm. It’s odd that you say that. She has the notion that you Hollisters just tolerate her because she’s Camille’s friend.”

  Blake muttered a curse. “That’s not true at all,” he said, then after a thoughtful moment added, “but I can see where she might see things that way. Feeling accepted doesn’t always come easy for some people. Especially when they’ve been raised up hard. I figure Emily-Ann needs to move on from the stigma of her past. But that’s a hard thing to do, too.”

  Taggart frowned. “What about her past?”

  Blake shook his head. “That’s something she’ll have to tell you.”

  Blake let himself out and as the door shut behind him, Taggart thoughtfully picked up the check from the countertop.

  The bonus was nearly half of the year’s salary he’d made on the Flying W. The Hollisters’ generosity was hard to believe, much less accept. He wasn’t worth this kind of money.

  Let’s just say I know my limitations. And you’re on the other side of the boundary.

  Emily-Ann’s words suddenly pushed their way into Taggart’s thoughts and he wondered if her lack of money made her think there was a wall separating them. Or did her reluctance have something to do with a man? One that she’d loved and lost?

  Taggart intended to find the answers to his questions.

  * * *

  With a critical eye, Emily-Ann studied herself in the dresser mirror. Throughout the day, she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to fret over her appearance tonight. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to agonize over what to wear or how to do her hair. Glamming herself up for Taggart would be foolish and futile. She couldn’t turn a dandelion into a lovely rose.

  Yet, in spite of all the self-lecturing, she’d taken pains to pick out a dress that flattered her complexion. And she’d done her hair three different times to get it to drape perfectly against her temple.

  And why not, she asked herself. Futile or not, any normal girl would want to look her best when she went on a date with a man. Especially a man like Taggart.

  Turning away from the mirror, she reached for the thin yellow cardigan lying across the foot of the bed. Even though it was April, and the days were hot, the nights cooled enough for a jacket. And since Taggart hadn’t given her any hint as to where they might be eating, she had no idea if she’d be spending any time outdoors.

  With the sweater thrown over one arm and her handbag in tow, she left the bedroom and walked out to the living room to wait for Taggart to arrive. As she took a
seat on the couch, she wondered what he would think about her house.

  What can he think, Emily-Ann? It’s the same little bungalow your mother lived in when you were born. You’ve never gotten beyond its walls. Except for a few little road trips, you’ve never ventured outside Wickenburg. You have a small, modest life. Before the night is over he’s going to see all of that for himself.

  Emily-Ann was fighting against the disheartening voice in her head when she heard the sound of a vehicle pull up in the short driveway in front of the house.

  She was struck with the urge to jump up and go meet him on the front porch, but she quickly told herself that she needed to behave in a dignified manner. He didn’t need to see that she was chomping at the bit to welcome him. Besides, he needed to get a good look at the inside of her house. Just so he’d see the huge gap in their living conditions.

  After a short moment, a knock sounded on the door and Emily-Ann tried to gather her composure as she went to answer it. But as soon as she pulled back the door and saw him standing across the threshold, everything inside her began to tremble.

  “Hi, Emily-Ann.”

  “Good evening, Tag. Please come in.” She pushed the door wider, then waited while he stepped past her and into the house before she shut it behind them.

  “I don’t suppose you had trouble finding the place,” she said as he came to a stop in the middle of the small room. “Wickenburg isn’t very large.”

  “No problem,” he told her. “GPS wasn’t going to let me make a wrong turn.”

  “Would you like to sit for a minute?” she asked gesturing toward an armchair. “Or are you ready to go?”

  “Since we have plenty of time I’ll sit a minute,” he said.

  Emily-Ann watched him sink into the armchair, then remove his Stetson and place it on his knee. She’d expected him to want to leave. Most men did once they saw her house. Not that it was cluttered or nasty. But the old furniture had seen better days and the flooring needed to be replaced.

  “If you’d like something to drink I can make coffee,” she offered. “Or I have soda.”