The Rancher's Untamed Heart (18 page)

Two weeks later, that stupid form was back on my mind. Clint and I were out at a nice Friday-night dinner, but I only picked at my pasta.

Clint watched me.

"I thought you liked Italian food," he said, finally.

"What?" I asked, looking up. "Oh. I love Italian food, sorry," I said, twirling a mouthful of pasta onto my fork and eating it, smiling at my date.

"You don't have to apologize to me," he said.

I hesitated.

"I'm sorry I've been bad company tonight," I said, sighing. The pasta I ate felt like lead in my throat and I gave up, putting my fork down and going for my glass of water.

I didn't pick my fork back up. I didn't feel like eating any more.

"I'm not always a chatty fella myself," he said, "It's not like you, though. I'm a little concerned."

I met his green eyes and hesitated.

Quickly, I looked away, staring around at the restaurant. It was a pretty place, with long white curtains on the windows and candles on the tables, low lighting and soft-edged artwork on the walls.

Very romantic, and I was ruining the mood.

"I think I did something wrong," I said.

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

I told him about Herman's visit to my office two weeks before, and didn't bother to hide my discomfort when I told him that I did, in fact, knowingly put the wrong date on a government form.

"So, you lied at your job, but only because your boss told you to?" he asked.

I grimaced.

"Yes," I said. "I'm not proud, but I didn't think it was a big deal until, well, today."

"What changed?" he asked.

"Well, I really thought that it was Herman's mistake, and I was doing the right thing to help a rancher avoid a fine for our office's mistake," I said.

Clint nodded, slowly.

"Today, though, I got flowers delivered to my office, with a note that said "Thank you for the date," with the initials of the rancher from that paperwork thing, which made me feel like I was bribed. Now, Sarah thinks I’m going out on the town, but I just feel gross,” I said.

Clint said nothing.

"Was I bribed?" I asked. "Did I break the law?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know about the law," he said, "But if your boss comes to you again and asks for a favor, I'm not sure I'd do it."

I nodded.

"He is my boss, though," I said. "I don't know that I would have a choice."

Clint frowned at me across his plate of meatballs.

"You always have a choice," he said.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Really?" I asked, "If the choice is between losing my job and changing a date on a form, I should give up the job I have worked this long for?"

He nodded. "Of course," he said. "No job is worth your honor or your pride."

"Easy for you to say," I said, "You are your own boss, you don't have to worry about getting into a situation like this."

He put his own fork down and glared at me.

"That's right, I'm my own boss, and everyone else's boss on that damn ranch," he said. "I'm the one who has to make all of the moral decisions, and so I bet I've made a sight more of them than you have."

My mouth was in a thin line of anger by now.

"Your work is always more important than mine, isn't it?" I asked. "You always know better about things you've never done, because you run a ranch."

"That's not what I said at all," he fired back, "Don't go putting words in my mouth, I can't stand that."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Those words sounded pretty natural in your mouth, like they'd been there before."

He pursed his own lips.

"Naomi, that's not fair," he said. "I've never said anything like that."

I raised my eyebrows.

"You've implied it enough times, though," I said. "You can't get out of that totally."

"I mean what I said. No job is worth your honor. If that Herman Banks asks you to do something wrong, you should just leave," he said.

"In what universe is it that simple?" I demanded. "I have bills, Clint. I have bills and I have a resume to worry about and I have to think about the next place I could work and whether or not they'd hire me."

"Just move in with me," he said, "If you can't pay for your apartment because your boss isn't doing the right thing, you can just move to the ranch."

"Oh, so I can live in your guest room?" I asked. "That's not weird at all. That is totally normal. I'm glad you suggested it. It sounds fantastic."

I bit off each sentence with sarcastic anger.

"Come on, Naomi," he said. "I'm trying to give you a solution."

"I don't want you to give me a solution," I hissed. "I'm not an idiot, I can solve my own problems."

"I never said that you were an idiot," he said, "I just don't think you should let one lousy boss turn you into someone you don't want to be."

How did Clint know who I wanted to be and who I didn't? The assumptions he was making were pissing me the hell off.

I stood up and grabbed my purse.

"I'm ready to be done with this dinner," I said, sarcastically, "If that's not too big an imposition."

He scowled. "Not at all," he said. He pulled out his wallet as he stood, and put a few bills on the table.

As I left the restaurant, he was on my heels.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To my truck, to take you home," he said.

"Don't bother, I can get home by myself," I told him.

"I'm angry at you," he said, "But I'll never be angry enough at you to want you to walk home in this neighborhood in those heels."

I looked down at my feet. I was wearing some of the dressiest shoes I owned, and they weren't at all comfortable. If I tried to walk home in those, I'd either break them or my own ankle.

When I looked back up at him, my lips were twitching.

"Want to trade shoes?" I asked.

He opened his mouth, angry, and then shut it. Finally, slowly, the scowl on his face as he tapped his foot turned into irritated amusement.

"I do not," he said, very deliberately. "Those shoes look ridiculous, I don't know how you walk in them. I would break my own ankle and you'd have to take me out back and shoot me."

"I'd like a ride," I admitted.

He nodded and we walked over to his truck.

"Need a hand up?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said. He was right. Those shoes were ridiculous.

Before he started the truck, we both sat there, arms crossed, staring out the window at the wall of the restaurant. We could see the table where we'd been sitting. The food hadn't been cleared away quite yet.

I sighed.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have gotten angry at you."

His arms relaxed, a little.

"I'm sorry, too," he said. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was trying to boss you around like a hand."

I shook my head.

"I didn't think you were, not really," I said. "It's my own pride, I'm really angry at Herman and I don't want him to do that to me again."

"Are you going to tell him that?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't want to be fired."

Clint shifted in his seat. "I don't want you to be fired, either. I know you like your job and I know you worked for it," he admitted. "It would be pretty lousy for you to have to leave now."

Clint admitting that made me feel a lot better. I relaxed more.

"They haven't touched our plates," I pointed out.

He nodded. "Would you like to go back in?" he asked.

"Well, it sure sounds better than fighting with you and sleeping alone in that crappy apartment of mine," I said.

He nodded, and got back out of the truck, walking around to help me out. I took his hand and swung down.

"There we go, didn't even break your shoe," he said, smiling at me.

We walked back through the restaurant to find that our table was still as we'd left it, money and all. Clint slipped the bills back into his pocket and we moved on, trying to relax and enjoy each other's company.

It was definitely not the easiest meal we'd had, but by the end of it, we were not quite so grumpy, and that helped.

"I meant it, you know," Clint said, in the car on the way to his ranch.

"Sorry?" I said. I'd been staring at the window, enjoying the flashes of night countryside I saw, dozing a little. I sat up and turned to face him again.

He shot me a glance out of the corner of his eye.

"If you ever need to, you can move onto the ranch," he said. "If you don't want to stay in that room, you can have the guest house to yourself."

I smiled at him.

"Do you want me to move in with you?" I asked. "It seems a little fast, and we haven't, well, slept together yet."

He flushed a little.

"I'm just saying, you'd be welcome," he muttered, staring intently at the road.

"Thanks," I said. "I don't want to live with a guy in the first year, though, the last time I tried that it didn't go well."

Clint grinned at me.

"Am I still some guy?" he asked. "Is that all I am to you?"

I shrugged. "I care about you, of course, but we don't have any sort of title, do we? You're the guy I'm dating," I said. "I don't know, we haven't really talked about terms, have we?"

"I'd like to be able to say you were my girlfriend," he said, plainly.

"I'd like that too," I admitted. The idea set a happy shiver down my back. "Do you want to be my boyfriend, then?"