The Traveling Kind (2 page)

“Mr. Russell.” She acknowledged the introduction as her hand was engulfed in the hugeness of his. Again she felt that vague disturbance flutter along her nerve ends, warning her to be careful around him.

He was taller than she had expected, easily six foot. Charley slid off the stool to negate some of the difference in their height. There was a lean and hungry look about him as he stood before her with loose-limbed ease. He was a man with a big appetite for many things—excitement, life, women and adventure. She watched with reluctant fascination as lines broke from the corners of his eyes over his cheekbones when he smiled lazily at her.

“Make that Shad. I’m not much for formality,” he said.

“All right, Shad.” Her mouth curved into a smile that was deliberately casual because Charley realized she wasn’t indifferent to his particular brand of potent charm. “If you want to collect your gear, we’ll head out to the ranch now.” She turned to Frank Doyle who had been silently observing the exchange. “Thanks for the coffee. We’ll see you again.”

“Don’t make it so long between visits,” he stated and added as Charley started to move away from the counter, “Give my regards to Gary.”

“Will do,” she promised and tried not to notice how effortlessly Shad Russell swung the heavy saddle onto the back of his shoulder with one hand. His free hand reached down to pick up his duffel bag. “My truck is parked outside,” she informed him. “Do you want to follow me or are you on foot?” She didn’t recall seeing any other vehicles parked out front.

“On foot. I was riding my thumb,” he stated and waited for her to walk out the door ahead of him.

Outside, Charley waved a hand in the general direction of the truck’s rear bed. “You can put your gear in back,” she instructed and walked around the cab to the driver’s side while he swung his belongings over the side of the truck’s bed. When he had sprawled his lank frame in the passenger seat beside her, she started the motor.

As she turned the truck onto the highway her glance flickered to him. The stained brown hat was pulled low on his forehead, half shielding his features. “What prompted you to leave your last job?” she asked.

His arm was draped along the back of the seat, not far from her shoulder. “I got tired of the flatlands and decided I wanted to see some mountains for a change.” It sounded like a facetious answer, but Charley didn’t doubt his reason could be as flimsy. Drifters often needed no more motivation than that.

“Where were you headed?”

“Bitterroot country.” Then he asked a question. “How did your husband get hurt?”

Her glance ran to him with a startled expression, then changed to one of amusement before refocusing on the highway. “Gary is my older brother, not my husband. The horse he was riding lost its footing on some mud, fell and rolled on him before Gary could kick free. He ended up with a compound fracture of the upper leg bone. He is in a cast up to his hip . . . and will be for another six weeks.”

“That’s rough.”

That was an understatement in Charley’s opinion. It pulled a sighing laugh from her throat. “He isn’t adjusting to the restrictions of a broken leg too well. He lumbers around the house like a bear with its paw in a trap, growling and snapping at everything, so be prepared. He acts more like a rebellious teenager than a man of thirty.”

“How old are you?”

She turned to find him studying her through heavy-lidded eyes, so blue and sharp with male interest. She fought down the sudden acceleration of her pulse. “Twenty-six. Why?” She managed a smooth response and countered with a question.

“Divorced?”

She wanted to tell him that his questions were becoming too personal, but on second thought she decided against it. A certain frankness seemed to be in order so a relationship could be established and maintained for the rest of the summer . . . if Shad Russell stayed that long.

“Never been married,” she admitted to her single status, using an indifferent tone.

“No fiancé in the wings, either?” His sidelong glance was taking in the maturity of her figure and the cleanness of her profile.

“None.” Her reply was cheerful, if a little defiant.

“For a woman of twenty-six, that usually means she was jilted somewhere down the line and hasn’t recovered from a broken heart,” Shad observed. “Especially when you’re talking about an attractive woman like you.”

The last comment was designed to have an effect on her and it did, but Charley didn’t let it show, except to laugh it off. “Sorry. There is nothing so melodramatic in my past.”

“Then how have you managed to stay single?” His curiosity was aroused. She could hear it in the inflection of his voice.

“Actually it was easy.” She cast him a bland glance. “Around here, if you don’t marry your high-school steady or go on to college to check out that marriage market, you don’t find much husband material. The men are either already married or too young or too old—or like you.”

“Like me?” Her remark caused him to lift a dark eyebrow and give her a penetrating look that was both curious arid amused.

“Yes. You are the traveling kind—just passing through on your way to some other place, never content to stay anywhere too long.” She had recognized his type right from the beginning, which didn’t lessen his attraction. Men who were rogues always held a fatal fascination for women. She wasn’t an exception, but at least she knew the danger signals.

“Is that a bad way to live?” Shad Russell sounded amused, mocking almost.

“Not for you, maybe,” Charley conceded. “But it can be bad for the girl who is foolish enough to think she can change you.”

“And you aren’t a fool.” It came out soft, a borderline challenge.

“No, I’m not a fool.” She smiled without humor and continued to look at the road ahead. She was nearing the turnoff to the ranch and slowed the truck to edge off the pavement onto the dirt lane. “This is Seven Bar land. The ranch house sits a couple of miles back from the highway.”

Although he didn’t change his relaxed position, Charley was conscious that he became more alert to his surroundings, the sharpness of his gaze taking mental notes on the abundance of graze, the condition of the cattle and fences—things a cowboy needed to know to do his job. She didn’t question his ability. The one flaw Charley could see in his character was that broad streak of wanderlust. It would never do to rely on him too much. The thought saddened her, but she didn’t examine too closely the reason why it depressed her.

The mountain lane wound along the slope and opened into a meadow where the ranch headquarters was situated with a panoramic vista of the surrounding peaks. Besides the two-story white wood house, there was a log barn and shed and a set of corrals of rough-cut timber. It was a small operation by modern standards but its clean, well-kept appearance was a source of pride for Charley. A half-used stack of last summer’s hay stood near the barn, with the summer’s yet to be cut. The horses in the corral whickered a greeting and rushed to the front rail as she slowed the pickup to a stop in front of the house.

“Our facilities don’t stretch to include a bunkhouse,” she explained to Shad Russell. “There is a spare bedroom in the house you can use.”

A mongrel cow dog trotted out from the shade of the house to greet her. The sight of the stranger climbing out of the cab of the truck changed the dog’s pace to a stiff-legged walk. The mongrel sniffed suspiciously at his legs but a low word from Shad started its tail wagging and a panting grin opened its mouth. Charley observed the dog’s acceptance of the new hired hand without comment and waited at the porch steps for him to join her.

Leaving the saddle in the back of the truck for the time being, Shad lifted out his duffel bag and started toward the house. There was no hurry in his long stride as his gaze made a slow study of the ranch and its buildings. When his eyes stopped on her they held the glint of approval. The curve of her mouth softened under its light.

“It looks like you and your brother have a sound, well-run operation here,” he observed.

False modesty didn’t come naturally to her so she admitted, “We like to think so.” She turned to climb the steps. “Come in and meet my brother and I’ll show you where to put your things.”

He followed her up the steps and across the porch floor, his footsteps an echo of her own. She pulled open the screen door and entered the front room with Shad behind her. The loud thumping of crutches sounded from the solitary downstairs bedroom.

“Is that you, Charley?” Her brother’s voice called impatiently as the steady thud of the crutches moved closer to the front room. She opened her mouth to make an affirmative answer but he spoke again before she had a chance. “Damn it all! Where have you been all this time? You said you’d only be gone a couple of hours!”

“It took longer than I thought,” Charley replied and would have said more but her brother appeared in the archway of the hall leading off the front room. When she saw him she didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or laugh at his predicament. A bulky plaster cast encased the whole of his right leg. His chambray shirt was half buttoned, the tails hanging free but not concealing the jockey shorts he was wearing. A pair of jeans was trapped in a hand gripping the crutch of his left side. Her brother stopped short at the sight of the stranger beside Charley, a dull red creeping up his neck.

“Meet our new hired hand, Gary.” She just barely managed to contain the smile that was playing with the corners of her mouth. “This is Shad Russell. And the half-naked man with the broken leg is my brother, Gary Collins.” As she half-turned toward Shad Russell she caught the glint of humor that was quickly veiled.

There wasn’t any way for her brother to gracefully get out of his embarrassing situation so he chose to ignore it. 44Russell,” he repeated the name in a searching way. “Are you from around here?” he frowned at his inability to place the name.

“No,” Shad replied and volunteered no more information than that.

“Why don’t you follow me, Shad?” Charley suggested, moving toward the staircase. “I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking.”

“Good idea.” His lazy blue gaze slid from her brother to her, aware that she was rescuing her brother from an awkward situation.

The door to the stairwell stood open. Charley preceded him up the steps and paused in the hallway of the second floor. When he stood beside her, there didn’t seem to be as much room as she remembered. It took her a second to realize that she was feeling the effect of his nearness, the breadth of his shoulders and the towering leanness of his height. She opened the door fronting the staircase.

“This is the bathroom.” She unnecessarily identified the room, then pointed to the door below the washbasin. “The towels and washcloths are kept in there.” She saw his gaze light on the bottles of makeup and lotions on the surrounding counter and didn’t bother to mention that they would be sharing the facility. “You’ll have the bedroom to the right of the stairs.” He backed out of the bathroom doorway and let her take the lead.

When Charley entered his assigned room, she found herself avoiding the area where the double bed stood. She walked instead to the closet. “There are extra blankets on the top shelf if you need them. There are some wire hangers in the closet for your clothes. Let me know if you need more.”

When she turned, she realized he hadn’t been paying much attention to her. His gaze was skimming the contents of the room, skipping the furniture to inspect the pictures on the wall and the assorted knickknacks on the bedside table and dresser. None of them were special or out of the ordinary. Charley was confused by his absorption in them. When the silence ran on, his gaze shifted back to her. His mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile.

“It’s been years since I’ve slept in an actual bedroom,” he explained. “I’d forgotten some of the little things that make it different.”

Her glance ran around the homey room, suddenly seeing it through the eyes of someone who had spent most of his time in bunkhouses. The personal touches did stand out. She began considering the loneliness of his existence, then realized sharply that she was treading on dangerous ground. His life-style was one he had chosen. He had the ability to change it—
if
that was what he wanted to do, which it obviously wasn’t.

“I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” she said briskly, moving toward the door. “Come down whenever you’re finished.”

Without waiting for a reply she left the room and ran lightly down the steps in search of her brother. She found him, still half dressed, rummaging through her sewing basket, balanced unsteadily on his crutches.

“Gary, what on earth are you looking for?” she asked with a hint of exasperation. He’d become almost childlike.

“I’m trying to find the damned scissors,” he grumbled.

“Scissors?”

“Yes, scissors,” he snapped irritably. “So I can cut the pant leg off these jeans. I can’t get them over the cast and I’m tired of running around in a bathrobe. I want some clothes on for a change.”

“If you asked me nicely, I might do it for you,” Charley suggested.

He glowered at her over his shoulder. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her in silent challenge. His hair was a darker shade of brown than her own light color but he had the same hazel eyes. His build was heavier and carried more muscle than her slender frame, but a stranger would instantly guess they were brother and sister. Their resemblance was strong in other ways, too. Both possessed the same proud, stubborn streak that often produced a contest of wills, as now. This time it was Gary who surrendered.