Peggy Moreland – In Name Only (страница 2)

“A steer wrestler.”

She arched a brow. “Really? I’d think steer wrestling would be as dangerous as bull riding.”

With the long stretch of loneliness that awaited him on the drive ahead, Troy was glad for the company. Settling in for a visit, he wrapped his hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth, and lifted a shoulder. “Not to my way of thinking. If a man’s got a good horse and a good hazer, he narrows the odds some in his favor.”

A shiver shook her thin shoulders beneath a uniform about a size too big for her bony frame. “I can’t imagine jumping off a running horse and wrestling a horned steer to the ground. I’d be afraid one of those horns would run straight through me.”

Troy chuckled. “It happens, now and again, but not as often as a bull turning on a rider he’s thrown and goring him.”

When a bell pinged impatiently, the waitress glanced over her shoulder and saw the truck drivers waiting beside the cash register. She offered Troy an apologetic smile as she tipped her head toward the counter. “Duty calls. I’ll get your order out to you quick as I can.”

“No hurry, ma’am.”

She winked and gave his hand a motherly pat. “The next time you see your grandmother you tell her she did a fine job raising you.”

Troy watched the waitress hustle over to the cash register, sobered by the reminder of his grandmother. Then, with a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the window. Yeah, he’d tell Granny all right, he thought sadly. But he doubted his grandmother would even recognize him, much less understand the compliment enough to appreciate it. Alzheimer’s had stolen a mind that had remained sharp for more than seventy years, and overnight had turned his grandmother into a stranger to him. He always came away from the nursing home where she now lived, wondering how life could be so cruel to a woman with a heart as big as hers. She’d worked hard all her life, and when she should’ve been enjoying her golden years, she’d taken in Troy to raise after his mother had died.

He caught a movement on the window’s reflection and saw that the waitress was heading back his way, juggling his dinner. Shaking off the melancholy thoughts of his grandmother, he leaned back and forced a grateful smile for the waitress as she slid the plate and basket of cornbread in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

He glanced at the generous helpings on the plate. “No, ma’am. This’ll be fine for now.”

As she went back to her duties, Troy unwrapped his silverware, shook out his napkin and spread it over his thigh. His mouth watering at the tempting scents that rose to meet his nose, he lifted the fork and dug in.

He’d cleaned about half his plate when he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He glanced over and caught the woman in the booth on the opposite side of the room staring at him again. Her expression was an odd mixture of appraisal and desperation, which he found a bit unnerving. But damn she was a pretty little thing. All soft and feminine and innocent, much like the angels he remembered pictured in the family Bible his grandmother kept on the coffee table in the front room of the home they’d once shared.

Baffled by the intensity with which she was studying him, he dabbed the napkin at the corner of his mouth, wondering if he had food on his face or something. He nodded a quick, embarrassed greeting, then turned his attention back to his meal.

He hadn’t taken more than two bites when a shadow fell across his plate. He looked up and found the woman standing beside his booth. She was even prettier up close, but she had a scared-rabbit look about her that concerned him.

“I apologize for interrupting your dinner,” she said, her fingers clutched tightly around the strap of a shoulder purse, “but would you mind if I join you for a minute?”

Her voice was as sweet as her face, but there was a quaver in it that confirmed his suspicion that something was bothering her.

He rose and gestured to the bench opposite him. “No, ma’am, I sure don’t. In fact, I’d welcome the company.”

She slipped into the booth and waited for him to take his seat again. Once he had, she stretched a hand across the table. “I’m Shelby Cannon.”

He wiped his palm down his thigh before taking her hand in his. Small. Delicately boned. His own work-roughened hand swallowed her smaller one. “Troy Jacobs,” he returned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Her eyes sharpened when his fingers closed around hers, and he couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same kick to the system as he had when their palms first met.

Slowly she withdrew her hand, then fisted it with the other on her lap. “Mr. Jacobs—”

“Troy,” he insisted, and smiled, hoping to put her at ease.

She inhaled deeply. “Troy, then,” she said, and forced a polite, if tremulous, smile in return. “I know this may seem presumptuous of me to approach you in this way, but I’m running short of time and forced to be blunt.” She drew in another deep breath, then leaned toward him, leveling her gaze on his. “Are you married?”

The question came out of left field, catching him totally off guard. He wondered if she was planning on trying to pick him up, though she certainly didn’t look the type. “No ma’am,” he replied cautiously.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank goodness. I didn’t see a ring, but I had to make certain.”

“Are you?” he asked, thinking he ought to establish her marital status, since she’d considered his so important.

She shook her head, then leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, earlier, when you were talking to those two men who were leaving.”

“The Corley brothers?” At her nod, he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. Me and the Corleys go way back. They’re steer wrestlers, too, and we’ve competed against each other over the years. Lately, though, they’ve been collecting all the winnings.”

She closed her hands around the edge of the scarred table and drew herself forward, her expression growing more earnest. “I heard you say that you might have to sell your horse if your luck didn’t change pretty soon.”

His ego took a beating, knowing that she’d overheard that. Not that he was desperate for money. He wasn’t. The comment had been made in jest. What embarrassed him was that she was aware of his current losing streak. He dropped his gaze and stirred his fork through his mashed potatoes. “My situation’s not quite as bad as it sounds.”

“How much is your horse worth?”

He jerked up his head to peer at her. “You’re wanting to buy my horse?”

Obviously startled by the question, she shook her head. “Oh, no! I don’t want to buy your horse. Heavens!” She laughed weakly and placed a hand over her breasts, as if the idea alone was enough to bring on a heart attack. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a horse. I’ve never even been on one.”

“So why do you want to know how much he’s worth?”

“I…I—” She pressed her lips together and forced her chin up a notch. “I’m just interested, is all.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Twenty-five thousand dollars!” At Troy’s nod, she sank weakly against the back of the booth. “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she repeated, then closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

When she opened her eyes, Troy would have sworn he saw tears in them.

“I don’t have that much money,” she said, her voice heavy with regret. She pushed to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Troy. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He stretched a hand across the table, stopping her. “Hold on a minute.” She glanced at the hand that gripped her arm, then back at him and slowly sank back down, her gaze now watchful. Realizing he’d frightened her, Troy released his hold on her. “I thought you said you wanted to buy my horse?”

“Oh, no! I just wanted to know how much he was worth.”

“Why?”

She shifted uneasily on the booth. “Well,” she began, then averted her gaze, her cheeks turning pink again. “I was hoping that I could…well, that I could make a trade with you.”

“If you don’t want my horse, then what is it you want me to trade?”

He watched the pink turn a brilliant red. She plucked a paper napkin from the holder on the table and kept her gaze on her fingers as she began to shred it.

“Your name,” she said in a low voice.

Troy leaned closer, sure that he’d misunderstood her. “My name?”

A tear rolled over her lower lashes and down her cheek. She swiped at it furiously with the shredded napkin. “Yes. Your name.” Another tear quickly fell to replace the first.

Troy lifted a hip and worked a handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sniffing as she blotted the handkerchief beneath her eyes.

“Why would you want my name?” he asked in confusion.

“Not just your name, actually.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Frustrated, Troy shoved aside his plate and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Maybe you should tell me just exactly what it is you want from me.”

She pressed the handkerchief against her lips, then fanned it in front of her eyes when they filled with tears again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. It’s just that I had so hoped you would agree to marry me and let me use your name.”