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?”
“Most of my friends are going off to universities or enrolling in community colleges.”
Clint joined her at the table.
“I’d like to go away to college. Maybe study green technology.”
Whoa. Where had that come from? The term green technology brought back memories of the pretty blonde Curly had tangled with.
“My chemistry teacher, Mrs. Benton, taught a unit on cutting-edge technology. She said lots of jobs in the future are going to be tied to green energy.”
“Sounds interesting.” And way over Clint’s head.
“Mrs. Benton said green jobs pay well.”
“You’re a smart girl.” His comment erased the frown line across Lauren’s forehead.
“You think so?”
Why did she act surprised? “You’ll be successful at whatever career you choose.”
She opened her mouth then snapped it shut.
“What?”
“Mom said you don’t like to talk about your childhood.”
“She’s right, I don’t.” Clint had lost count of the foster homes he’d been raised in—some decent, but most best forgotten.
“How come you didn’t go to college?” she asked.
“Got sidetracked by rodeo.” Because P.T. owned a rodeo-production company, Clint had taken a liking to the sport. Rodeo had given Clint a worthy goal to focus on and a way to put the pain of a lonely childhood behind him and find his own identity.
“Mom said you rode bulls.”
