“Be right back.” Clint left his mug on the small wooden table between their chairs and went inside.
After he left she peered into his cup to see if he’d diluted the coffee with half-and-half. He hadn’t. He must have a cast-iron stomach.
It was also a nice flat stomach. As a veteran guy-watcher, Meg paid attention to those things. From what she could see, everything about Clint Walker was premium-grade.
He returned with the carton of half-and-half and handed it to her. “I apologize if the coffee’s too strong. When you asked about espresso I figured I was safe to make it my normal way.”
“It’s a good, hefty brew, that’s for sure.” She poured a serious dollop of half-and-half into her mug, nearly causing it to overflow. “How many cups do you drink in a day?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe eight or ten.” He settled back in his chair.
“Eight or ten? I’m amazed you’re not jitterbugging across the porch!” Maybe he was so hopped up on caffeine that he didn’t notice how boring his life was. Yet he seemed steady as a rock, no tremors.
He shrugged. “I’m one of those people who’s not real susceptible to caffeine. And when you’ve grown up drinking chuckwagon…see, my dad drank strong coffee, too.”
“Your dad was a rancher?”
“The best.”
“But you didn’t follow in his footsteps?” She’d slipped into interview mode, another habit she couldn’t seem to break.
He looked away. “Pretty hard to do. Those days are disappearing.”
She knew an evasive answer when she heard one. On the show, people reacted that way when they were hiding something. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I made it out here before the cowboys are all gone.”
“Right.”
Interesting how much emotion could be packed into one word. She was used to reading inflections, gauging reactions. He didn’t like this contest, but why not? If he was the business major he claimed to be, then he should appreciate good old-fashioned marketing techniques.
She decided to hit the problem head-on. “You wish we weren’t doing this.”
His blue eyes became unreadable. “I’m happy to help out.”
“Bullshit! You don’t like this cowboy contest one bit, although I’m not sure why. You’re not a cowboy.”
His mouth twitched, as if he might be holding back a grin. “Right.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ll bet you don’t get to say bullshit on the air.” The grin began to peek through.
“No, I don’t, but you’re evading the issue.” And damned if that didn’t fascinate the hell out of her.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Why?”
His gaze was assessing. Finally he seemed to come to a decision about her. “George Forester owns the Circle W now. What he wants, he gets.”
Her heart softened. “He bought your family home out from under you, didn’t he?”
“That’s business. My dad couldn’t afford the place anymore.”
“And your dad…he’s…”
“Died five years ago. Mom a couple of years before that.”
“I’m sorry.” So this complicated guy had dealt with his share of sorrow. She was a sucker for a man who’d weathered pain.
“In some ways, it might be better. Their way of life was getting harder to maintain. Dad died shortly after he sold to George. I think losing Mom and then the ranch took the heart out of him.”
Meg cradled her coffee cup, getting all the warmth from it that she could. The lower the sun sank, the colder it became. But the coffee had surely taken care of her caffeine deficit. She was ready to tackle anything or anyone. Like this hottie, for instance. “I can imagine how hard it must be to work for something all your life and then lose it.”
“Yep.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “I’m sure you’ve paid your dues to get where you are.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Looks like you’re in good shape, though.”
She had a choice of turning his comment into something suggestive or taking it the way it was meant. Until she knew whether he had a girlfriend or not, she was safer with option two. “Not as good as it might seem. The woman who’s filling in for me on the show would love to steal my spot.”
“Do you think she can?”
“It depends on how she does while I’m gone.” She was grateful to him for taking her seriously instead of thinking she was paranoid. Maybe a guy who’d lost his family ranch understood that sometimes the worst really did happen. “The thing is…” She paused and considered how candid she wanted to be about the falling ratings and the rumors about lack of chemistry between her and Mel.
When she didn’t continue, Clint said nothing—didn’t ask her what she’d been about to say or prompt her to keep on talking. Instead he sipped his coffee and looked out across the valley.
That was the unique thing about those blue eyes of his, she realized now. They were the eyes of a man used to distance and open spaces. He seemed very comfortable with all that emptiness stretching out in front of him. He was comfortable with silence.
She tried seeing the landscape through his eyes, a view he’d known since he was born. There was a kind of peacefulness to looking out over miles and miles of uninhabited land. She wasn’t used to peacefulness, but a person would be used to it if he grew up that way.
And she could understand wanting to hang onto a place you were used to. Her parents didn’t want to leave their bungalow in Brooklyn, even though she now had extra money and could help them buy a nicer house. So the extra money she was earning had started piling up. That might be a good thing, because she could soon be unemployed.
“Those big mountains across the valley are the Santa Ritas,” Clint said.
She hadn’t asked, but it might be good to know for the broadcast. “How about the mountains in back of the ranch?”
“The Mustangs.”
“Perfect.” She was already composing her intro in her head. I’m talking to you from the historic Circle W Ranch, which is tucked right up against the Mustang Mountains.
She’d better check out the historic part, though. “How old is this place?”
“The ranch itself, or this house?”
“The ranch.”
“My great-grandfather,
