The Truth About Tate

“Are you kidding? He could run this place if he had to. There’s not a job here he can’t handle. After all, it’ll belong to him someday.”

“Along with any children you might have. But what if he doesn’t want to be a rancher?”

“He can be whatever he wants…but the land will be here for him.”

“It’s the Rawlins Ranch, right?” She waited for his nod. “Does the elder Rawlins—Tate’s father—mind that you’re a partner in his family’s spread?”

Tate opened a bottle of pop and started filling three glasses. This wasn’t the time to tell her that the only elder Rawlins around was his grandfather, that Rawlins was Lucinda’s family name and not that of her elder son’s father. As long as he could keep things straight in his head, she didn’t need to know all the details of his family’s lives. “T-Tate’s father can’t complain about me being a partner for several reasons. First, he hasn’t been around for a long time.” Truth—his old man had disappeared five months before he had appeared. He hadn’t offered to shoulder any responsibilities or pay any support. He’d kissed Lucinda goodbye and walked out the door. “Second, this place was never in his family. The Rawlinses of Rawlins Ranch are us—my mother, my brother, Jordan and me.”

“He calls you ‘uncle.’”

“Yeah? So?”

She shrugged. “No older than you are, I’d expect him to simply use your name.”

“I’m old enough to be his father.”

“Not quite. Not unless you discovered sex very young. Did you?”

Tate slowly looked at her. No one would guess, just by looking, that she’d asked such a provocative question, or raised his body temperature about twenty degrees, or made his throat clamp down so tightly that he wasn’t sure he could speak. No, she simply stood there, a bright splash of color and texture, cool, calm, unaffected.

“You tell me about your first time, and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said in a low, thick voice.

She moved, revealing an edge of restlessness that hadn’t been present earlier. “I’m not the subject of this book. No one’s interested in my first time.”

“I am.”

“You’d be bored.”

“Try me.”

She shuffled her feet, slid her hands behind her back, then clasped them in front of her. “I was nineteen. He was in too big a hurry. It was painful, messy and thoroughly unpleasant. End of story.”

“And I wasn’t bored at all.”

Her cheeks pink, she gestured. “Your turn.”

When the oven timer went off, he removed the lasagna and slid the bread under the broiler. He took plates from the cabinet, utensils from the drawer and serving utensils from another drawer. Out of diversions, finally he faced her. “I was seventeen, and I wasn’t in a hurry at all. It was better than I expected, not as good as it could be, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.”

She picked up one of the glasses and took a long drink of pop before continuing. “Jordan is only a year younger than you were then. Do you worry about him?”

“We’ve talked.” His smile was sardonic. “It’s one of the benefits of being no older than I am. We can easily discuss things that might be more difficult if I were ten or fifteen years older.”

“You’ve talked. Not Jordan and his father, but him and you. Why? Isn’t his father interested?”

Tate scowled as he used hot pads to carry the lasagna to the table. She followed with the dishes. “Of course his father is interested. They’re very close.”

“But…?”

“But nothing. They get along just fine. Why don’t you take notes?”

The abrupt change of subject threw her, as he’d intended. She blinked, then gave a shake of her head. “I will when it’s necessary. Right now we’re just getting acquainted.”

“So that’s what you call it,” he said dryly, then raised his voice. “Jordan, come on and eat.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Their voices sounded alike, Natalie thought as she slid into the same seat where she’d had lunch. They also looked a lot alike. She wondered about Tate, and if his son resembled him half as much as his uncle.

Carrying the bread and his own pop, J.T. sat across from her, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Jordan.

“Is there any work around here that doesn’t require a horse?” she asked while they waited for the boy to join them.

“Plenty. Why?”

“I’d like to follow you around for a few days, to get a feel for what you do.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “But I’ll be using Rusty all week. And you probably don’t know how to ride, do you? Too bad.”

“You’re not funny, Mr. Rawlins,” she said primly as she tried to suppress a smile.

“I wasn’t trying to be. How did you manage to reach the age of— How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

“—without learning to ride?”

“Gee, I don’t know. I guess horses were just too cumbersome for the high-rise apartments where we mostly lived.”

“Around here kids learn to ride as soon as they can sit up by themselves.”

Natalie studied him skeptically. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Not by much. Hold your ears for a minute.” Pursing his lips, he let out a shrill whistle that could vibrate loose the fillings in her back teeth.

From down the hall came a grumbled, “All right, I’m coming.” A moment later, Jordan joined them. “I was just talking to some girls in California.”

“Here’s a novel idea—why don’t you pick up the phone and have a real conversation?” J.T. countered. “Better yet, after you do the dishes, why don’t you saddle up Cougar and ride over to see Mike in person?”

“Nah.” Then the boy’s eyes lit up. “But if you want to give me the keys, I can go into town and see a bunch of people. Then you two can talk all evening.”

“If you’re back by ten. Why don’t you invite Mike?”

“Aw, Da—Uncle J.T. If I show up with Mike, Shelley’s gonna spend the whole evening ignoring me. She doesn’t like Mike.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan mumbled.