Marin Thomas - Arizona Cowboy

Chapter Two

“Lauren, you home?” Silence greeted Clint’s question when he stepped into the foreman’s house at Five Star Ranch. He had a hunch this was going to be the longest summer on record if he and his daughter didn’t come to an understanding. Until recently he hadn’t played an active role in the eighteen-year-old’s life. After he’d gotten Lauren’s mother, Liz, pregnant, he’d proposed but she’d declined, preferring to take care of Lauren on her own in California.

He wished he and Lauren had gotten off to a better start when she’d arrived at the ranch two weeks ago. Through the years his bimonthly phone calls to his daughter had been quick and non-informative and his visits with her in Los Angeles had fallen short of his expectations. Instead of spending quality time together he’d chaperoned his daughter and her friends at Disneyland, a shopping mall or the beach.

When Liz had asked if Lauren could spend the summer with him while she honeymooned in Mexico with her fifth husband, Clint hadn’t hesitated. He’d hoped he and his daughter would grow closer—that is, if he could coax Lauren out of her bedroom. She considered her stay at Five Star Ranch a jail sentence and was determined to make Clint as miserable as she was.

Speaking of miserable, Clint couldn’t help thinking of the sassy woman he’d rescued Curly from a short while ago. The lady’s fiery spirit amused him and he doubted he’d forget those sleek, sexy legs of hers any time soon. Clint had kicked himself all the way back to the ranch for forgetting to check the car’s license plate—not that it would have mattered, but he wanted to know if the blonde lived in the area.

Shoving thoughts of the pretty bull-hater aside, he guzzled a water bottle from the fridge, then strolled down the hallway off the kitchen. He rapped his knuckles against his daughter’s door. “Can I come in?”

No answer.

Eyes closed he prayed for patience—a virtue in short supply since he’d learned of P.T.’s cancer diagnosis. The older man’s health weighed heavily on Clint’s mind. He hated not being able to fight P.T.’s cancer for him but would do his damnedest to make sure the summer rodeos went on as scheduled while P.T. received medical treatment in Phoenix.

“I’m coming in.” Clint knocked on the door a second time, then counted to ten before stepping into the room. Lauren was sprawled across the bed, with iPod headphones stuck in her ears. He waved his arm to catch her attention.

“What?” she snapped.

“Did you do the chores on the list I left in the kitchen?” Simple chores—scrubbing the toilet and straightening the bathroom. There wasn’t an inch of available counter space for his razor or aftershave. Lauren had claimed the bathroom as her own, forcing Clint to stow his toiletries on the top of his bedroom dresser.

“I didn’t see a list.”

Hadn’t she left her room all day? Maybe she was ill. He approached the bed and placed his palm against her forehead.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Just checking for a fever.”

“I’m not sick.” She glared. “I’m bored.”

“There’s plenty to do on the ranch if you’ll haul your keister out of bed.” He’d offered to teach Lauren how to feed the livestock, muck the barn and ride a horse, but she’d turned him down.

“It’s too hot outside.”

Not much he could do about the heat—summer months in Southwest Arizona were hotter than Hades. “The laundry hasn’t been done in a while.”

“I’m not your slave!” Lauren’s nostrils flared.

Wishing he had more experience handling rebellious teenagers, Clint was forced to wing it with his daughter. “Want to see a movie tonight?”

“No.”

Clint had risen earlier than usual the past few days. He worked his butt off, even skipping lunch to free up time to be with Lauren in the evenings. So far she’d evaded his attempts to bond with her. “What would you like to do?”

“Drive back to California.”

“Sorry, kiddo. No can do.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Clint had a hell of a time following the female train of thought.

“Talk to me like I’m twelve.”

Huh?

“Why did Mom have to get married again?” Lauren crushed the pillow to her mouth and released a muffled scream.

Lauren had grown up with stepfathers entering and leaving her life in short intervals, but Clint suspected she resented him most. He was her biological father, yet he’d never been there for her. This summer he hoped to make up for his absence in her life, but Lauren appeared intent on sabotaging his efforts.

“You might feel better if you eat.” His daughter was small in stature and too slim for his liking.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Maybe you’ll be hungry in an hour. I’ve got to check in with P.T., then afterward we’ll drive into town for supper.”

P.T. had asked Clint to stop by the main house to discuss a few business details. He expected P.T. to officially hand over the reins of his rodeo-production company to him before checking into the Phoenix cancer clinic tomorrow. The income from Five Star Rodeos paid for the feed and care of the retired rough stock, and P.T. worried about the company failing to bring in enough money to support the sanctuary ranch.

“I’m tired of eating out.” Lauren’s whining returned Clint’s focus to the present.

“We’ll drive into Yuma and grab a handful of microwavable meals at the grocery store.”

“Mmm…tasty.” Lauren curled her nose.

His daughter wouldn’t give an inch. “Want to buy ingredients and make a meal from scratch?”

“No.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll get up if you stop badgering me.”

Clint backed out of the room and made it halfway down the hall before Lauren shouted, “Dad!”

As much as he didn’t deserve it, he liked hearing his daughter call him Dad. He returned to the doorway. “What?”

“I didn’t want to spend the summer before my senior year of high school stuck in the middle of a desert.” Angry tears shimmered in Lauren’s eyes.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted.” Although Lauren had become an adult a month ago, the apartment she shared with her mother wasn’t in the safest area of L.A. and he and Liz agreed that the best place for Lauren this summer was at the ranch.

Hoping to goad his daughter into a better mood, he said, “I’ll pay to have your hair done while we’re in Yuma.”

“No one’s touching my hair.”

When Clint had fetched Lauren in L.A., his jaw had dropped to the ground at the sight of her neon-pink hair and piercings—a silver hoop in her eyebrow and a fake-diamond stud in her nose. Deciding the best course of action was no comment, he retreated to the kitchen and washed the previous days’ dishes left in the sink.

“If I drive into Yuma with you, I want a Caramel Frappuccino at Starbucks,” Lauren said from the kitchen doorway.

Didn’t his daughter own a pair of shorts longer than two inches? He studied her outfit, careful to keep his expression neutral. At least her T-shirt wasn’t ripped or torn. “Did you pack any jeans this summer?”

“Only stupid people wear long pants when it’s over a hundred degrees.”

“Are you calling your father stupid?”

Eye roll. “You know what I mean.” Lauren helped herself to a bottle of apple juice in the fridge, then sat at the table and stared into space.

Clint dried the dishes, wondering if he and his daughter would ever have a conversation that didn’t turn into an argument. They’d bickered more in the past two weeks than they had the past eighteen years. He glanced at the wall clock. He had a few minutes to blow before his chat with P.T. “Have you decided what you want to do after you graduate from high school?”