The Princess of Coldwater Flats (10 page)

“So, that explains it,” Jack said.

“Our furry friends are wreaking havoc,” Sammy Jo added, as if Cooper didn’t have the brainpower to figure it out himself. “We gotta move them.”

“You mean kill them?” he asked cautiously.

Sammy Jo’s face darkened. “I mean move them. You men always think of killing first.”

“Now, Sammy Jo,” Jack tried to intervene.

“I was just making sure of what you meant,” Cooper explained in exasperation.

“We’ll trap them. Humanely,” she added through her teeth, “and we’ll ask the forest service to relocate them.”

“Okay.” Cooper was abrupt, annoyed at her attitude. He didn’t need it, and he didn’t need Sammy Jo.

“Fine.” She set down her coffee cup and headed for the door.

“Fine,” he agreed just as sharply.

“Don’t you want some dessert, Sammy Jo?” Lettie offered in a rush.

“Looks to me like Ms. Whalen’s got better things to do,” Cooper cut in.

Sammy Jo wouldn’t even honor him with a look. “I’ll see you later,” she said in a softer tone, and Cooper knew she meant that for Jack and Lettie.

She’d pricked his ego, and Cooper couldn’t let it stand. “You know it’s not my fault you’re trolling around for a husband. You can take it out on me all you want, but you’re the one selling yourself.”

“What?” Lettie asked, aghast.

Every muscle Sammy Jo possessed tightened until she looked like a steel missile ready to hurl itself into space. Cooper watched in fascination, knowing he’d goaded her, unable to prevent himself.

“Sammy Jo would never,” Lettie blustered, tightening her lips. “You owe her an apology, Mr. Ryan.”

“Save it,” Sammy Jo retorted, her voice ice. “My business is my business, Mr. Ryan. I’ll take care of the beavers by myself.”

With that, she was gone in a whoosh of hot air as the front door slammed solidly behind her.

“Mr. Ryan,” Lettie said coolly to Cooper’s broad back, “I’m afraid you’ve made a bad mistake about Sammy Jo.”

“Have I?” He swiveled to look at her, wishing the knot in his gut would unfurl. Outside, Sammy Jo’s engine roared to life, angry and hot. Gravel spewed from her tires, pinging against the side of the house as she tore away.

“That girl’s seen more trouble and pain than a child oughta,” Jack agreed.

“She’s not a girl. She is a full-grown woman,” Cooper said.

“Sit down,” Lettie said.

He couldn’t believe it, but he knew Lettie Babbitt was about to give him a lecture. Dropping onto one of the chairs, he wondered if Lettie would offer him some dessert. She was, after all, employed by him and living on his property. To his annoyance and amusement, she carefully wrapped foil over the apple pie on the counter, set it aside, then turned to him, hands on her hips.

“I’m not certain why I’m sitting here,” Cooper said, “and I don’t guarantee I’ll stay.”

“Gil Whalen was a good man. Hardheaded, but a decent fellow and a good neighbor.”

“The hardheaded part must run in the family,” Cooper observed.

Jack took his seat opposite Cooper, rubbing his chin and dolefully shaking his head as if Cooper were the most dense, self-destructive human being on earth. Cooper surmised wryly that Jack had probably seen more of these lectures than a man ought to.

“He married a very pretty woman, and I mean pretty. People stared at Irene Whalen when she walked down the street. And she was smart. Real smart. But she kinda liked Irene more than anybody else, and she didn’t much take to bein’ a mother.”

Cooper sat in silence now, both uncomfortable with this window into Sammy Jo’s life and fascinated, in spite of himself. He should stop Lettie. Stop her now, before he found himself feeling sorry for Sammy Jo, understanding her more and therefore having to change all his plans concerning Ridge Range Ranch.

Jack got up, poured himself and Cooper each a cup of coffee, then settled down again. Lettie stared at Cooper as if the force of her glare could pound some sense into his thick skull.

“Irene took up with a cowboy a lot younger than her and she left that little girl in her daddy’s care. Sammy Jo never knew her. Gil woulda liked to stamp out every memory. He didn’t want Sammy Jo to be like her mama. Nosirree. And she’s not.”

“Except she’s pretty,” Jack mumbled.

“She’s Gil’s daughter,” Lettie argued. Relenting, she added, “But she is pretty.”

“We all agree Sammy Jo is pretty,” Cooper said dryly. “But she said herself she was looking for a husband. I didn’t make that up.”

“Gil ran the finances into the ground so she’d be
forced
to marry. Sammy Jo’s just statin’ the obvious.” Lettie sniffed, staunch in her defense. “Gil never really understood Sammy Jo.”

“And you do?” Cooper lifted one disbelieving eyebrow.

Lettie wagged a finger in front of Cooper’s nose. “I know her uncle showed up like a savior and told her he’d help. Now, Sammy Jo’s ornery and suspicious by nature, but she don’t have any other relatives. She welcomed him with open arms. I don’t know what happened, but the next thing you know, she boots him out but good. I asked her about it and she said this Uncle Peter wanted to get back at her daddy. Tried to steal the ranch from her.”

Cooper lifted his arms, easing the tension that had developed between his shoulder blades. The knot in his stomach had grown worse, too. Why did it feel as if Lettie was talking about
him?

“So, Sammy Jo has no one,” Lettie continued. “All she cares about is that ranch and that oak tree. Before you start condemnin’ her, you’d better think about her situation. I don’t think it’s such a bad idea for her to get herself a husband. A rich one.”

Cooper looked at Jack whose face was carefully expressionless. He glanced at Lettie. There was no mistaking the meaning behind her last remark.

“I’ve been married once,” he said. “I’m not getting married again. And I’m certainly not marrying a wildcat like Sammy Jo Whalen.”

“Damn the man to hell,” Sammy Jo cursed for the fiftieth time as she furiously scrubbed the kitchen floor. “May you die a slow, painful death.”

Okay, her half-baked idea to find herself a husband hadn’t been the wisest plan ever conceived, but did he have to be so mean about it? She let out a growl of frustration.

She scrubbed and buffed and cleaned until she was exhausted and the wooden floor shone with such a high gloss it looked as if it were coated in plastic. Trigger whined at the back door, but after all her work, Sammy Jo refused to let the dog in.

Throwing herself into bed, she ignored the images of Cooper Ryan that seemed to cross her mind like a succession of frames in a film. Cooper’s lips working into a smile. Cooper lifting one discerning eyebrow. Cooper glaring at her as if she were some kind of noxious bug he couldn’t wait to squash.

Blast the man. Did he have to be so good-looking? She hated good-looking men. All they did was stare in the mirror and spout sharp, witty comments about the state of the world as a whole, comments that were generally mean, small and just plain wrong.

Trigger’s whining finally got to Sammy Jo. She threw open the bedroom window. “Here, girl,” she called, but there was no need. The collie clambered over some boxes that sat against the exterior wall and sailed through the window, curling herself up contentedly at the end of the bed.

Patting the dog’s head, Sammy Jo climbed into bed, then spent the next half-hour thumping her pillow with her fist and grinding her teeth, mad even at the moonlight that sneaked through her window to trail a soft, blue-white stripe across her grandmother’s quilt. Tomorrow she was going to have to approach Brent in earnest. Forget her earlier reservations. She needed someone like Brent or the ranch was on the Valley Federal chopping block and some eager entrepreneur like Cooper would buy it for a song.

“Over my dead body,” she declared, squeezing her eyes shut tightly in a vain attempt to induce sleep.

By the time morning arrived, Sammy Jo was overly tired, grouchy and still just as infuriated. Only her sense of humor saved her when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

“Ugh!” she declared, laughing shortly at the disheveled sight. “No man in his right mind would look at you, let alone marry you.”

A quick shower, a brush of her hair and a clean pair of jeans and shirt and she looked almost presentable. Carl waved at her through the window as he did the morning chores. Sammy Jo’s heart twisted. She was thankful for the help but totally stressed over when and how she would pay him.

Grabbing the paper, she headed into town to find Doc Carey and talk about payment of the bill for Tick-Tock’s surgery. The one bright spot was that the mare seemed to be feeling well and the pregnancy was progressing on schedule. But that didn’t solve Sammy Jo’s financial troubles.

A familiar truck sat on the street in front of the veterinary clinic, its shiny black finish glittering under the hot sun.

Cooper’s truck.

“What’s he doing here?” she mumbled as she slammed her door and headed inside.

“The doc’s in surgery,” one of the girls who helped out informed Sammy Jo. “Can I help you?”

Dr. Carey performed minor operations at the clinic, usually on smaller pets like dogs and cats. Sammy Jo gazed thoughtfully at the closed door to the inner sanctuary.

“Where’s the owner of the black truck outside?”

“Right here,” Cooper’s deep voice said from a side doorway.

“The doc let you into surgery?” Sammy Jo asked in surprise. “You really do get around.”

“You’re still mad about yesterday,” he answered, unruffled.

The girl giggled, then held her hand to her mouth. Sammy Jo eyed her narrowly. “What do you mean?”

“About the marriage proposal.”

The girl collapsed into hysterical fits of laughter at Cooper’s bald disclosure. “You told her?” Sammy Jo asked, too stunned to be upset.

“Oh, it’s all over town,” the girl said, exonerating Cooper. “I’m sorry, Miss Whalen, but I just can’t picture you trying to…‌you know…”

“What?”

“Well…” she turned helpless eyes to Cooper who remained darkly silent.

“Sell myself to the highest bidder?” Sammy Jo asked in a tight, brittle voice.

The girl had the grace to look ashamed. Sammy Jo couldn’t read Cooper’s expression, but it didn’t matter. She knew what he thought of her. And she didn’t think much more of him.

She stood in utter silence for the space of five seconds, then marched through the door to Doc Carey’s surgery, the girl squeaking out protests behind her.

“Doc?” Sammy Jo called through a tight throat, cracking open the door.

“Whoa, there, Sammy Jo,” he called back. He was standing over an unconscious Irish setter, clearly getting ready to neuter the shaved animal.

“Sorry,” Sammy Jo murmured. “Do you have a minute when you’re finished?”

“I’ll be right there, darlin’,” the vet said, turning back to his task.

Nodding, Sammy Jo went the other way, down the hall to the back door and small wooden stairway that stood above a grass-choked alley. She was angry through and through. At herself mostly, but at the fates, too.

A hand settled on her shoulder. A strong, male hand. She prayed it was Doc Carey’s.

“You all right?” Cooper asked quietly.

Do I look all right?

“Couldn’t be better.” She lifted her shoulder pointedly, but he didn’t remove his palm. “What are you doing here?”

“The doc’s going to inoculate my new cattle. I was just waiting to talk to him.”

Sammy Jo nodded, her gaze straight ahead. “Me, too.”

The heat from his hand penetrated through her cotton shirt to her skin. It seeped in and prickled, like an itch she wasn’t able to scratch. Bothered, Sammy Jo moved away from his touch. Perversely, as soon as his hand was gone, she felt a pang of regret.

“I told him you were looking for him the other day,” Cooper said easily.

“Pardon?”

“When you came to the High Noon. You said you were looking for the vet.”

Did he know it was a lie? Was that what he was really asking? Sammy Jo turned to him carefully, her gaze narrowed. “I was really looking for you that day.”

“Ahhh…”

He
did
know, the bastard. The amusement deep in his blue eyes infuriated her. “I thought you might like to invest in Triple R. I made a mistake, okay?”

“So, then you decided to dig up a husband.”

“That’s right,” Sammy Jo said with a little less steam. Uncomfortable, she muttered, “What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Nothing.” He seemed to regret bringing it up, too. “Do whatever you want.”

“I will. And next time, if it isn’t too much to ask, maybe you could keep your nose out of my affairs instead of broadcasting them to the whole world.”

She brushed past him. His hand shot out and grabbed her bare arm. The image of his hard fingers closed around her flesh burned in her brain and she barely heard his words.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I didn’t know you’d be so sensitive.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Why do you feel like exploding every time we have the simplest conversation?”

“An old habit of mine.”

“I think it’s something else.”

She twisted her arm, attempting to ease up from his grip. Her emerald gaze met his. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”