That Man Matthews

He sensed her grimacing reaction. “And your response to that?”

Cody took his eyes off the road for a moment to meet her inquiring gaze. “Personally, I think Miss Beasley is still the same dried-up, embittered old biddy she was when I had her as a kid, but I couldn’t let Sarah call her teacher a liar. I lectured her until I ran out of breath and then sent her to her room without supper. I told her if she got held back a year, she could kiss her horse goodbye.” He snorted, remembering what a storm of protest that comment had brought. “She still wasn’t speaking to me this morning. When I told her I would be back around noon and she’d better be there ready to meet you at lunch, she just looked at me.”

Joan Paxton nodded absently, and he wished he could tell what she was thinking. He switched his attention back to the highway.

“Why do you think she called her teacher a liar?” she asked after a long silence. “Why not just call her mean or crazy or too hard? Why specifically that accusation?”

He thought about it a moment, but came up empty. “I don’t know. Maybe she felt cornered. Maybe she’d got caught not completing an assignment,” he said at last, “and that was the first thing she could think to say.”

“Is it possible she did complete it? That Miss Beasley is wrong?”

That approach surprised him. He’d expected her to state Sarah’s behavior was classic ADD. “I’d like to think that Beasley’s wrong, but Sarah’s record on follow-through has been crap lately. More likely this is just one more project she decided not to finish.” He slid a glance toward her. “And isn’t sticking with a project a problem for ADD kids?”

She lifted an amused brow. “You’ve been reading up.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to get a better feel for it.”

She gave him a smile that made the interior of the cab feel suddenly airless, then turned her attention back out the window, seemingly absorbed in the flat, boring landscape. A few wisps of hair trailed against the high collar of her blouse, like gold filaments unraveling from a tapestry. He wondered why she insisted on confining it in that roll, when it would have looked magnificent caught in a stray breeze, swirling around her head and shoulders like the gilded hooded cape of some ancient warrior queen.

He was annoyed with himself for noticing, and for turning so fanciful all of a sudden. Experience always left its mark, and long ago he’d had his fill of women with flawless, aristocratic features who had very little going for them underneath all the window dressing. Sure, she seemed bright, in addition to good-looking. She might even have a spark of interest in him—if he could believe that list he’d read in her apartment. But there was no sense in trying to ignite that spark, because it always got out of control, and sooner or later they’d both end up burned. No more Daphnes, he’d sworn six months ago. And he’d meant it.

He squinted ahead, down the long highway. She was here to help Sarah. Not him. Whatever magic this woman might be able to work with his daughter, he’d better plan on staying immune to it himself.

SPARSE.

That was the only word that came to mind as Joan watched the dry monotony of southern Texas parade past her window. Nothing moved out here. No brooks giggling over slick rocks. No ancient hardwoods competing for space along riverbeds and waterfalls. Not even a puff of dust as a jackrabbit sprinted across the road.

The land here looked hot and hostile. Even the rock formations dotting the landscape resembled the jagged teeth of some fire-breathing dragon, and the battered pickup seemed to be rattling them down into the bowels of the beast.

As though he’d heard some unspoken complaint, the man beside her notched up the air-conditioning. Cool air fanned her cheeks.

“Gonna be another hot summer,” Cody Matthews said suddenly. His eyes flicked over her suit. “Too hot to spend it wrapped up like a New York banker. You bring anything cooler?”

She tossed a quick look his way. In jeans and a well-worn Stetson, he was once more playing the tall, laconic Texan. “I’m sure what I’ve brought will be fine.”

“Uh-huh. First scorcher we get, I’ll be scooping you up out of a dead faint.”

“I doubt that. I’m very adaptable.” She kept her voice as smooth as whipped cream, having already decided that William Cody Matthews was a man who delighted in keeping a person off balance.

“We’ll see,” came his skeptical reply. He gestured over the steering wheel, pointing toward a line of dark clouds on the horizon. “Might get some rain soon. That’ll cool things down a bit.”

“It’s much more dry and barren than I expected.”

“You get used to it.”

She couldn’t miss the affection in his voice. “You like living here.”

“I was born and raised here. My grandfather bought the property Luna D’Oro sits on when there was nothing there but an abandoned line shack. Pa got busted up on the rodeo circuit and decided to try his hand at ranching. Ended up striking oil, instead. Not enough to put us on easy street, but enough to add considerably to the land. Since that time, I’ve expanded our holdings, bought the house we live in now. I can’t imagine living anywhere else but on the ranch.”