The Crush Part 16

After all the feed buckets had been filled and she had said a personal good-bye to each of the horses, she led the way from the barn to the house. She excused herself to go inside.

"You can enjoy the porch swing."

"Exactly what I had in mind." Rather than make an issue of not being invited inside, he sat down in the swing and gave it a push. "Take your time."

"If Toby shows up, tell him I'll be right out."

"Toby?"

But she had disappeared inside and Toby remained a mystery until a few minutes later, when a man drove up in a rattletrap pickup. He climbed out of the cab and paused there to stare at Wick before coming up the front steps onto the porch. Wick wouldn't have been surprised to hear the ring of spurs.

He was tall and barrel-chested. Gray hair curled beneath his sweat-stained cowboy hat. When he removed his sungla.s.ses, his deep-set eyes reminded Wick of the bad-a.s.s lawmen in cla.s.sic Westerns. He curbed his impulse to say "Howdy, Marshal." Somehow he didn't think Toby would appreciate the humor.

"Where's Rennie?"

Not much of a greeting, was it? "Inside. If you're Toby, she said for you to wait, that she'd be out soon."

He sat down on the porch rail, propped a size-twelve Lucchese boot--no spurs--on his opposite knee, folded his arms over his chest, and made no bones about staring at Wick.

"Nice day," Wick offered.

"If you say so."

Okay, Toby hated him on sight. Why?

After a lengthy silence that was broken only by the squeaking chain of the porch swing, the old man asked, "You live around here?"

"Fort Worth."

He snorted as though Wick had replied "I live in Sodom, just this side of Gomorrah."

"h.e.l.lo, Toby." Rennie emerged from the house and joined them on the porch.

Toby came to his feet and whipped off his hat. "Rennie."

"How are you?"

"Doin' good. Everything meet with your approval?"

"You ask me that every time I come out, and the answer is always the same. Everything is perfect." The way she smiled at him would've made a jealous man murderous.

Wick was afraid to define the spark it kindled in him. "Did you meet Mr. Threadgill?"

"We hadn't got quite that far." Wick stood up, extended his hand, and said his full name.

"Toby Robbins." He seemed reluctant to shake hands, but he did. His hand felt even rougher than Gus's. His palm was spiky with calluses.

"Toby owns the neighboring ranch," Rennie explained.

"He looks after the horses for me. Sometimes it's a week or more between my trips out here."

"Then you're a good man to have around."

Toby ignored him and addressed Rennie. "The vet came out this week and gave them all a good goin' over.

No problems that he could see."

"I hadn't spotted any, but I wanted to be sure. Thank you for arranging his visit. Will he be mailing me a bill?"

"He left it with me." He removed an envelope from the breast pocket of his shirt and pa.s.sed it to her.

"Thanks. I'll take care of it tomorrow." She stuffed the envelope into her shoulder bag. "Any more signs of the bobcat?"

"Not since he got that calf a few weeks back. Hopefully we scared him off. I think one of my shots might've wounded him. Maybe he crawled off and died or just moved on to friendlier hunting territory."

Wick wouldn't have thought the man capable of smiling, but he did and Rennie returned it. "I hope you're right."

"He's a big cuss," Toby continued. "Big as I've ever run across, but I think we've seen the last of him."

"Well," Rennie said, "we were just about to leave."

"Don't let me hold you up. House secured?"

"I locked up on my way out."

Toby motioned for her to precede him, and the three of them filed down the porch steps. "Anything special you want me to do this week?" he asked.

"I can't think of anything offhand. If I do I'll call you.

Just take good care of the horses for me."

"You bet."

"Say h.e.l.lo to Corinne."

"Will do." He tipped his hat to her and shot Wick a look that made his b.a.l.l.s shrivel, then replaced his sungla.s.ses, climbed back into his truck, and drove away.

Rennie gave the house and barn a wistful glance, then announced, "I'm ready."

The ice-cream parlor was doing a summer Sunday afternoon business. When one of the small wrought-iron tables became available, Rennie held it for them while Wick stood in line to place their order for two hot fudge sundaes.

As he carried them back to the table he was thinking that between Crystal's banana pudding and this sundae he would probably gain several pounds today.

They were well into the ice-cream confections when Rennie asked, "Do you experience panic attacks?"

Coming out of the blue like that, the question stunned him. "Pardon?"

She gave a quick shrug. "I noticed the rubber band around your wrist. It was there last night, too."

"Oh. That. It's a, uh, just an old habit. Can't remember when I took up wearing it or why."

She nodded, but she was regarding him closely. "Sometimes people who suffer acute anxiety are urged to wear a rubber band around their wrist. If they feel a panic attack coming on, they can pop the rubber band. Sometimes that halts the false signal being sent to their brain that they're in mortal danger. It wards off the panic."

"Huh. I didn't know that."

They finished their sundaes in silence. When she was done, she pulled a napkin from the dispenser in the center of the table and blotted her lips. If one could will the dreams he had, Wick would have willed having a dirty dream about her mouth. That would be something to look forward to.

"What made you think I might own property outside the city?" she asked.

"Last night when I walked you to your car I saw a saddle in the back."

"I could've been a member of a riding club."

"You could've been a Canadian Mountie, too, but I didn't think so."

"You're very clever."

"Thanks. But probably not as clever as I think I am."

"That was going to be my next observation."

Her smiles transformed her face. Unfortunately, she didn't smile very often. All afternoon he'd been looking

for evidence of the audacious barrel racer who slept around and had all the studs in Dalton standing three deep to catch a glimpse of her. He hadn't seen any. Other than the attire. The jeans did in fact make her b.u.t.t look saucy, but that's the only aspect of her that came across as such.

What had happened to that wild, reckless girl? he wondered.

And who was this tightly contained woman who'd

taken her place? He was interested to know what had caused such a dramatic transformation. Rennie was a puzzle he wanted to solve whether or not she was Lozada's client.

His mystified stare must have made her uneasy, because suddenly she declared, "I need to be going."

"How come?"

"I have things to do."

That was what she said. What her expression telegraphed was None of your d.a.m.n business.

He groped for something else to talk about so she wouldn't bolt. "How many acres do you have out there?"

"Two hundred and twenty."

"Ah, that's nice. A good place to escape from the grind."

"What do you do, Wick?"

Well, he'd made some headway. She was still seated, and she had asked him a question about himself, and she had finally called him by his first name. "Computer software."

"Sales?"

"And design."

"Hmm."

"What?"

'Just an observation."

"What?" he probed.

"I can't see you confined to a desk all day working on computer software."

"Very insightful. My job is boring as h.e.l.l."

"Then why don't you do something else?"

"I'm in the process of looking. I guess you could say I just haven't found my niche yet."

"You don't know what you want to be when you grow up?"

He laughed. "Something like that." Scooting his empty dish aside, he propped his arms on the table. "You seemed sad when you left today. You must really like being out there on the ranch."

"Very much. I love the house."

From what he could see, he could understand why. She