Carol Ericson - The McClintock Proposal

She always managed to shift the focus back to him. “I own a ranch.”

“A ranch?”

“I’m planning to turn it into a dude ranch. You know, riding lessons, roping cattle, that kind of thing? It’s hard to make a profit on a midsize, working ranch these days.”

The waitress set down their plates with a clatter, and Rod grabbed his sandwich and took a big bite. He’d never admitted that to anyone outside his family. Maybe Callie’s reticence led him to fill the gap with his own personal revelations.

He may be in Truth or Consequences, but that didn’t mean he had to play the game. He wiped tomato juice from his chin with a napkin and asked, “What do you sculpt?”

“Interesting faces.”

THEY SPENT THE NEXT HALF HOUR talking about art and ranching in general terms. Callie skirted and danced around personal facts like a pro. He recognized the maneuvers as ones he used himself.

As Rod paid the bill, he asked the waitress the location of the nearest bus depot.

“If you go about two blocks up the street and make a left on Navajo, there’s a bus stop on your right. You can catch a bus there to the depot in Albuquerque, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“That would be perfect. If you could loan me the bus fare to L.A., I’ll pay you back when I get home.” Callie grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and a pen from the check tray. “Give me your address and I’ll send you the money to pay back the loan.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to pay me back.”

She gripped the pen, her knuckles turning white. “I always pay my debts.”

Rod covered her hand with his, smoothing his thumb across her silky skin. “It’s not a loan. It’s a gift…a wedding gift.”

Her fist unclenched, as one corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “There was no wedding, remember?”

“How about a thank-you gift then, for breaking up a long, tedious journey.”

“I guess I can accept that.”

He excused himself to use the men’s room, leaving her at the table doodling on the napkin. When he returned, her presence almost surprised him. She seemed as elusive as a puff of dandelion on the wind.

His visceral response of pleasure when he saw her surprised him even more. It had been a long time since he’d had more than a superficial interest in a woman.

They climbed back into the truck and crawled down Main Street, looking for Navajo. As they rounded the corner toward the bus stop, Rod said, “I can drive you to Albuquerque.”

“No. You’ve already done more than enough—a ride, a meal, bus fare. I don’t want to put you out more than I already have. I’ll be fine once I get on that bus.”

Rod helped her out of his truck for the last time and reached for his wallet. “If you have time in Albuquerque, and the bus depot is near a store, you should buy yourself some shoes.”

Callie stood on tiptoe to read the bus schedule while he thumbed through the bills in his wallet. He had no idea how much a ticket to L.A. would cost, but it had to be more than the cash in his wallet.

“How much longer do you have to wait for the next bus to Albuquerque?”

She squinted at the sign. “About forty-five minutes.”

“Good. That’ll give me some time to run across the street to that ATM to get some more cash, and then maybe we can find you some shoes.”

“Rod, please. You have to let me repay you. You would be home with your wife and kids by now if you hadn’t stopped to rescue me from those idiots in the SUV.” She tilted her head, studying his face.

She seemed to be making a lot of assumptions. He never told her where his ranch was located. For all she knew, it could be up in Montana. And he definitely didn’t tell her about any wife and kids.

“I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids that I know of, although in my family, that doesn’t mean much.”

She drew her brows together, and he laughed. “Long story about my brothers. Stay here while I get some money.”

He waited for a few cars to pass before jogging across the street. He’d come a long way from when he first passed Callie on the highway, but he never could leave a damsel in distress—which usually led to problems. Whenever he rescued a woman, she usually expected something more from him, and he never wanted to deliver on that something more.

He felt differently about Callie, probably because in another forty-five minutes she’d be out of his life forever. No expectations there.

The ATM sucked in the card and he punched in his code. Just as the machine began spitting twenties at him, he heard a squeal of tires.

He glanced over his shoulder at a white Cadillac with spinning rims pulling up to the bus stop. His mouth dropped open as Callie lifted her skirts and took off in the opposite direction of the car.

Grabbing his card and cash, Rod spun around and sprinted across the street. A man burst out of the Caddy as it lurched into a U-turn. The stranger lunged for Callie, her long dress encumbering her escape.

The man grabbed a handful of Callie’s dress and yanked her backward. She tottered for a moment, like the bride on top of a wedding cake sinking into the frosting, before tumbling sideways. As she fell, she screamed, “I’m not going back.”

Rod’s heart thundered in his chest. Callie’s bridegroom had tracked her down.

And he wanted a bride.

Callie’s attacker landed on top of her as they both crashed to the ground. The fall sucked the air out of her lungs and she gasped for breath. Inhaling grit from the sidewalk, she bucked and squirmed beneath the man to throw him off. She twisted onto her back and swiped at the man’s face, drawing blood.

She recognized him as one of Bobby’s associates, Clyde.

He cursed and rose to his knees, straddling her body. “You’re going back to Bobby, and I’m going to deliver you.”

Like some terrible, avenging superhero, Rod appeared, looming behind Clyde. Rod hitched an arm around Clyde’s neck and yanked him back. His weight shifted to Callie’s thighs and she reached over her head to grab a pole, trying to pull her legs free.

Clyde’s face above Rod’s corded forearm reddened as he choked and sputtered. After a minute of clawing at Rod’s unyielding arm, Clyde slumped to the side, slack-jawed.

Callie slid her legs from beneath his inert body. As she staggered to her feet, the driver of the Cadillac hooked an arm around her waist. He dragged her toward the open door of the car, lifting her off her feet. She drummed her heels against his shins and dug her fingernails into his arm.

Rod delivered a final blow to the prostrate lump on the ground and then charged the man holding Callie. He slammed his fist into the man’s face, which spurted blood.

“Damn you, stay out of this.” Her abductor released her and barreled into Rod, who welcomed his advance with a kick to the midsection.

As the driver doubled over, Rod grabbed Callie’s hand and they sprinted to his truck. Ever the gentleman, even in a time of crisis, Rod opened her door and lifted her onto the seat. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.

He pulled away from the curb, and a sharp crack propelled Callie about two feet off the seat. “What the hell was that?”

“Your scorned groom took a shot at us.”

“That’s not my groom. He sent his cohorts to do his dirty work.” Clutching her belly, she peered into the side mirror. “Are they following us?”

“Not yet, but let’s make it hard for them.” Rod skidded around the corner, and then another, before careening down an alleyway. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

She grabbed his arm. “You can’t do that.”