With One More Look At You Read online

  "There are no guarantees." Silently, Sophie laughed at herself. Spouting worn platitudes? Is that what she had come to?

  "You're good at the one-line answers, Sophie," Forbes said.

  "Yes."

  With a bark of laughter, Forbes ran a hand through his dark-blond hair. "Every girl I've ever known talks my ear off—given half a chance. Getting you to say more than two words is like pulling teeth. Why is that?"

  "Maybe you're hanging out with the wrong girls."

  The deadpan answer brought Forbes up short. Tilting his head, he held her gaze. Sophie didn't blink. If staring her down was his attempt to get her to spill her guts, he would be bitterly disappointed. Sophie was a master of protecting her thoughts from prying eyes.

  After several seconds, Forbes sighed. "You may be right. However, until I head off to college, there isn't much chance of meeting any new ones."

  You met me. Sophie didn't know where those words came from. In her head, they sounded flirty. Like something Joy would have said. God forbid.

  Sophie picked up her plate. Not a speck of food remained, just a bare chicken bone. Copying what she had observed after dinner, she dumped the bone in the trash before opening the dishwasher.

  "Thank you for the food."

  "And the company?" Forbes put his plate in the machine next to hers.

  Sophie was confused. She had politely thanked Forbes. Wasn't that enough? They sat on a couple of stools, ate some leftovers, and exchanged a few words. Was she supposed to compliment him for deigning to honor her with his presence? Had she misread Forbes? Did he need her to stroke his ego?

  If that were the case, he barked up the wrong tree. The only thing Sophie was willing to stroke was Bailey's head. Forbes, his ego—and anything else—would have to rely on one of his babbling girlfriends for gratification.

  "Aren't you going to say good night?" Forbes called out.

  Halfway out the kitchen door, Sophie stopped. Annoyed, she turned her head. Unable to resist, she had to take a shot. "For a kid raised like a prince, you're kind of needy, aren't you?"

  Sophie knew she shouldn't have done it. She saw no logical reason to poke at Forbes. However, when she saw the flash of anger in his blue eyes, she received a burst of satisfaction. Sure, it was a petty emotion. But as she bounced up the stairs, Sophie knew she was just fine with that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "SHE'S A WEIRD kid."

  "How so?" Mike asked, handing Forbes a pair of wire cutters.

  With an expertise earned from years of doing the same task hundreds of times, Forbes grasped two pieces of broken barbed wire in his gloved hand. With the other, he twisted the ends together using the needle-nose end of the tool, then efficiently clipped off the excess.

  They had found the broken fence near one of the lower fields by an outcropping of pine trees. Though the sun was up—had been for several hours—it was still early. Just after dawn, Forbes had met Mike, saddling Jubal—the horse he had received on his tenth birthday. Mike was on Prairie, his longtime mount. Together, they set out to ride fences, checking for breaks or downed poles. By mid-morning, the temperature would be pushing the mid-eighties, so they liked to get this kind of job out of the way before noon.

  This kind of work was mindless, but Forbes enjoyed it. There was nothing like the open range. It provided a peacefulness that was impossible to duplicate.

  Some of the best conversations Forbes could remember had occurred while riding. With his father or Mike. Or one of the other hands. They didn't have much else to do besides watch the scenery and talk. He never knew what the subject would be. Often, they began in one area, ending up someplace completely unrelated.

  This morning was a perfect example. Mike opened. He went on and on about a fly that had gotten into his bedroom. To hear the cowboy tell it, there had been an epic duel, ending—naturally—in death. There were some forgettable exchanges in between, leading—somehow—to the subject of Sophie Lipton. She was weird. Period.

  "She's antagonistic." Forbes tried to think of a way to explain. "For no reason that I can think of."

  "Huh." Mike scratched the growth on his chin that never seemed to get any longer than a three-day stubble. "Seemed nice enough last night. Polite. Quiet. Didn't do more than nod when Newt introduced her. Jerry and I thought she came off as a little shy."

  "Shy, my ass." Patting Jubal on the neck, Forbes grabbed the pommel, swinging onto the horse with one smooth motion. "The girl has a mouth on her. Plus a razor-sharp tongue." When Mike looked skeptical, Forbes rubbed his chest. "I have the painful cuts to prove it."

  "I see," Mike chuckled, urging his horse to an easy walk.

  "What do you see?"

  "Since you were in the crib, every female in a fifty-mile radius has flattered and fawned over your every word. Sophie didn't follow suit?" The dirty look that Forbes sent him didn't stop Mike from laughing even harder. "Must kind of stick in your craw."

  "There is nothing wrong with my craw. Stick-free," Forbes muttered.

  "Must be up your ass then. Something's making you squirm."

  Forbes knew from head-thumping experience that winning an argument with Mike was impossible. Facts and figures didn't matter even when they were shoved in his face. He had a comeback for everything—usually nonsensical—and staying power beyond the reasonable.

  Mike believed that wearing his opponent down was equivalent to a victory. And nobody—nobody—could outtalk Mike Phillips.

  "Forget Sophie." Forbes certainly wanted to. "With any luck, she won't be around for long."

  "I wouldn't count your chickens, son. That Joy is a looker. And sweet. It's been a long time since I've seen your daddy smile that much."

  "You liked her?"

  "Sure. Didn't you?"

  Forbes agreed with Mike. Joy was pretty. And sweet. The interest Newt showed seemed to go both ways. If his father was happy—not just temporarily infatuated—then Forbes would welcome the woman wholeheartedly. Even if she came with a sniping little sister in tow.

  "Call me cautiously optimistic."

  "Cautiously optimistic." Mike said it with an exaggerated accent somewhere between a terrible upper-crust British, and his natural southern-Texas drawl. When he chuckled, it was as much at himself as Forbes. "I love the way you put things. Drop the cautiously, Forbes. That woman has put a heap of bounce in your daddy's giddyup. That's all that matters."

  When Mike put it like that, Forbes knew he was right. He would keep his fingers crossed that Joy was everything she seemed to be. As for Sophie? He would think of her like a gnat. Annoying, but easily shooed away and forgotten.

  "It's almost noon. Let's get these ponies back to the stable and find out what Maeve has cooked up for lunch."

  The idea of filling his belly put a smile on Forbes' lips. Giving a sharp whistle, he waited for Bailey to come loping from the stand of pine trees. The dog never lost an opportunity to explore the area even though he already knew the land like the back of his paw. He always found something new to see and smell.

  Satisfied that the dog was with them, Forbes touched his heels to Jubal's flanks and headed home.

  A WEEK HAD passed since Sophie had set foot on the Branson ranch. She went to bed each night happy, full, and wondering when it would end. But the time in between was pure magic.

  Newt had kept his promise to let Sophie drive the swather. He let her take a full turn around the field—with the cutting blades engaged.

  The vehicle shook as it moved along caused by a combination of the bumpy field, the chugging engine, and—Sophie was certain—her exuberant, vibrating excitement. Sitting in the air-conditioned cab with Newt standing behind her, Sophie held the steering wheel. For the first time in her life, she felt a real sense of power. That she was in control. She wanted to yell. Whoop. Pump her fists.

  Sophie did none of those things. But she couldn't keep from looking over her shoulder, her eyes glowing, a grin on her face.

&
nbsp; Newt grinned back. Her obvious enjoyment contagious.

  "Want to make another round?" he asked when Sophie would have taken her foot off the gas.

  "You wouldn't mind?"

  "Heck, no. If you get expert enough, I'll gladly turn it over to you for good. This has never been one of my favorite jobs."

  Sophie knew he was joking. But that didn't stop her from wishing it could happen. She discovered that she liked working at something with a purpose. That had a goal where the end product was tangible. In this case, it was cutting alfalfa that would soon become bales of hay.

  "Have you ever ridden a horse?"

  "No."

  "Would you like to?"

  This time, Sophie couldn't control herself. She pumped one fist in the air and let out a resounding whoop. The sound echoed through the insulated cab.

  Laughing, Newt winced, shaking his head to clear the ringing caused by Sophie's exuberance.

  "Should I take that as a yes?"

  "Yes. Yes, please."

  "Then it's a date. Tomorrow morning. Bright and early."

  Sophie gripped the steering wheel even tighter. Newt could have no idea what this meant to her. It wasn't driving the swather. Or the promise of riding a horse. It was Newt. The small gestures of kindness that came so naturally to him were like a revelation to Sophie. She had never been around anybody like him. When he placed a guiding hand on her shoulder. Or sent her an encouraging smile. Sophie didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry. Most of the time, she felt like doing both.

  A good man. That's what Newt Branson was. Sophie had known it from the beginning. The last week had driven the point home. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to stay on the ranch as long as possible. She wanted to stay forever.

  But if Sophie stayed, that meant Joy was sinking her talons deeper into Newt's unsuspecting flesh. Maybe his heart. That was something she couldn't allow.

  "One more week."

  "What was that?" Newt leaned closer.

  Sophie hadn't realized she spoke the words aloud. Thinking quickly, she raised her voice. "One more round?"

  "Sure. Then we'll stop for lunch."

  Turning the wheel, she kept her eyes on the field. The odds were still good that Joy would ruin this very good thing before Sophie had to shut it down. That would be the easy way. Easier for Newt—and Sophie. Mentally, she crossed her fingers that her mother would be good for seven more days—then do something that would make Newt break up with her. If Joy were the one to screw up, it wouldn't keep him from a bit of pain and embarrassment, but the fallout would be a lot less.

  Sophie knew from watching Joy over the years that it was always better to be the breaker-upper than the breaker-uppee —or whatever you called it. Sad but true.

  "You were great, Sophie." Newt talked her through shutting off the machine. Opening the cab door, he jumped out, turning to help her down. "Did you have fun?"

  "It was great. Thank you, Newt."

  "My pleasure." Newt gave her shoulder a brief hug. "Ready to eat?"

  At the mention of food, Sophie perked up, letting go of her heavy thoughts—at least for the time being.

  "What do you think Maeve made for dessert?" To Sophie's delight, Maeve always made dessert.

  "I heard rumblings that there might be cookies. You haven't lived until you've tasted one of Maeve's chocolate chip specials."

  Chocolate chip. Sophie's mouth watered. As much as she liked Newt. And the ranch. When the time came to leave, she knew without a doubt that it would be Maeve's cooking that she would miss the most.

  One more week, Sophie vowed, as she hoisted herself into Newt's truck. Looking around, she felt a moment of panic. Seven days wasn't enough time. She had a lot more memories to make. Two weeks. Three at the most. That had a better ring to it.

  Sophie sighed. She edged onto a slippery slope. One wrong step and boom—disaster. But damn it, didn't she deserve some fun? Joy was having a good time. So was Newt. He started each morning with a goofy smile on his face—one that popped up from time to time throughout the day. She would keep an eye on things. If that smile started to slip, she would act.

  Until then? One month. Maximum.

  FORBES GRIMACED. HIS muscles protested as he carried a saddle from the tack shed. Football practice was in full swing, and he suffered the consequences. Damned freshmen. One or two were always intent on impressing the coaches. Forbes knew that. But it hadn't stopped him from a moment of inattention just as a two-hundred-fifty-pound rookie linebacker decided to show off by plowing into the team's all-state quarterback.

  The move had gotten the kid a chewing out from Coach Riggins—and an early trip to the shower.

  Though gasping for breath, Forbes had popped right back to his feet. He had a reputation as a tough S.O.B., and no overeager freshman would keep him down for long. That said, today, he paid the price, with a bruise the size of Rhode Island down his back, ending at the slope of his right butt cheek. It made lifting a fifty-pound western saddle—a task he usually did with little effort—harder than it should have been.

  With a grunt, Forbes settled the expertly constructed leather onto Dolly's back. The dapple brown mare placidly waited while he ran the cinch under her belly, leaving it loose for the time being. The horse was pushing fifteen years old and knew the routine. At one time, she was a pony tasked with cutting cattle from the herd or zipping after stray calves. These days most of her time was spent basking in the sun and eating. Her reward for years of loyalty and hard work.

  On occasion—like today—Dolly was trotted out to initiate a newbie to the joys of horseback riding. She was calm, unflappable, and no longer had the energy or inclination for more than a leisurely walk.

  Dolly sighed—long and heartfelt—telling Forbes that she was resigned to what she had to do. But not particularly looking forward to it.

  "I'm with you, girl," Forbes said, patting the horse's rump.

  Off the top of his head, Forbes could think of a dozen things he would rather do than spend the morning with Sophie Lipton. Hell, he would trade places with Hack Tredway in a heartbeat. A seasonal worker, Hack had been given the not-so-pleasant task of cleaning the horse stalls. It was sweaty. Backbreaking. Monotonous. But compared to an hour or two with the annoying Sophie? Forbes would have volunteered in a heartbeat.

  "Hello."

  The voice was barely more than a whisper, but it had Forbes jumping a foot.

  "Jesus Fucking Christ." He grasped his chest, certain his heart had skipped a few beats. Taking a deep breath, he frowned at Sophie. "Where the hell did you come from?"

  "That way." Sophie pointed to the side of the barn.

  "There isn't a trail back there. It's nothing but brambles and brush from here to the main house."

  Sophie shrugged. "I like to explore. The view of the river is beautiful."

  "You can get the same view from the main road." Forbes looked Sophie up and down. "Your arms are covered with scratches. Ticks breed in those bushes. Check yourself tonight."

  "How?" Frowning, Sophie tugged at the neck of her t-shirt, peering down the opening at her chest. By her side, Bailey, his dark coat covered with leaves and sticks, pawed at his ear in apparent sympathy.

  "It serves you right," Forbes told the dog. "If you stayed with me—where you belong—instead of following Sophie to hell and back, you wouldn't be dealing with creepy-crawlers. Do you want another flea and tick dip at the vet's?"

  Vet. Bailey knew the word. Acting accordingly, he shuffled behind Sophie's legs. Whether he thought he was now invisible, or that his new friend would protect him from a fate worse than death, Forbes didn't know. But the sight of the big dog cowering behind a girl he outweighed by a least twenty pounds was so ridiculous, Forbes had to laugh.

  "Don't worry. You're probably safe." Forbes patted his leg. Without hesitation, Bailey trotted over, his eyes filled with love and trust. "I'll give you the once over this afternoon—just to be sure. As fo
r you."

  Sophie crossed her arms, her expression wary. "Keep your once overs to yourself."

  "Trust me. You're safe from me," Forbes raised an eyebrow when Sophie snorted.

  "Never trust a man who says trust me."

  "Who gave you that stupid piece of advice?"

  "My mother. It's one of the few smart things she ever told me."

  Grimacing, Sophie unwound the rubber band that held her hair in a ponytail, her fingers running through the shoulder-length locks, checking for an infestation.

  Forbes didn't comment. What could he say? According to his father—as told to him by Joy—Sophie's mother hadn't been a very good role model to either of her daughters. She alienated the oldest and kept the youngest isolated most of her life. What education Sophie had was done by hit-and-miss homeschooling.

  It explained a lot. No wonder Sophie seemed socially backward. Her life before Joy took charge couldn't have been easy. Forbes took a deep breath, reminding himself to try a little patience. If that didn't work, he always had time to give the girl a swift kick in the butt.

  Though Forbes knew he would never carry through on it, the image was enough to make his spirits lift.

  "I expected your father."

  "Dad sends his apologies. He had a late night out with Joy. He asked me to fill in."

  Forbes went about tightening the cinch around Dolly's middle. To his surprise, Sophie moved closer, her eyes keenly focused on his movements. Realizing she was interested, he slowed down so she could follow what he was doing.

  "Does it hurt him?"

  "Her. This is Dolly." Forbes looped the end cinch through a metal circle, tying it off. "It doesn't hurt."

  Sophie didn't look convinced. She put her finger between the horse and the leather strap. "It's awfully tight."

  "If it were any looser, the saddle would slip from her back. You with it. You wouldn't want that?"

  "No. But…"