No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) Page 9

  The minute he walked into Betty’s to pick up his dinner, he realized what day it was. There, in a separate room used for special parties sat Sally and her Buckle Ball entourage. Laughter filtered out over the scant number of visitors on the chilly Tuesday evening. From what he could tell, it appeared they were having a great time.

  “Hey, Clay. How are you this evening?” Betty met him at the register located at the end of the old soda fountain counter with its eight chrome-and-red leather ice cream stools. “Jerry’s just about got your order ready. Why don’t you take a load off, and I’ll get you a cup of fresh coffee while you wait?”

  “Thanks, Betty.” Clay sat down on the first stool nearest the door. He had no desire to see Sally. He’d had a hard enough time trying to put behind the lingering smoke of that fiery kiss they’d shared.

  Betty set a cup in front of him. She glanced toward the room. “Those girls have been laughing like that since they sat down. Like a bunch of schoolgirls.” She smiled. “Like to hear laughter like that once in a while—does a heart good, you know?” She eyed the group. “Still, can’t help wanting to be a fly on the wall to cause such a ruckus.”

  Clay nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Nope, he had no desire to know what they might be talking about. He peered over his cup at Jerry standing at the stove in the kitchen. They’d never put a door between the kitchen and customers. Jerry wanted folks to feel at home, wanted the smell of food to lure people in. He was busy at work, putting together the café’s famous special cheeseburger with bacon and cheese that he’d ordered.

  “What have you been up to?” Betty asked, swiping vintage malt glasses with a dry towel and setting them in her special display cabinet above the malt machine.

  “Got in a few more horses at the ranch this morning. Sent one out to live with a good family. We’ll check on them, make sure things are going well. But it looked really promising.” He sighed and rubbed one eye. “I’ve been helping Rein up at his place, helping him finish that basement project.”

  “Oh, yes, Liberty mentioned you boys were working on that tonight,” Betty said over her shoulder. “Making it into a family room?”

  Clay nodded. “Family room, guest room that walks out to the patio. They wanted to get it ready for times when they have family and friends over.”

  Betty smiled. “Those boys have been through a lot, and Liberty, too, for that matter. Rein losing his parents when he was just a kid, and poor Liberty.” She tossed down her hand towel. “I’m just glad she had the good sense to get away from that poor excuse of a father.”

  “You got any kids, Betty?” Clay had never seen any pictures behind the counter. Never heard her talk about her own kids, always somebody else’s kids.

  She cleared her throat and after a moment looked at him, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Nope, wasn’t able to carry them to term. A glitch in my body, I guess. But my sis has got seven kids. We’re real close to all seven, God-parents to the oldest four.”

  Clay smiled at the vivacious, friendly woman that seemed a mother figure to almost everyone in town. “You’ve got a heart as big as Texas, Betty, and I should know since I was raised there.”

  “No kidding? Jerry and I once drove all the way down there to compete in a chili-cooking contest. Winner received ten-thousand dollars toward his restaurant and the recipe in some fancy cookbook.”

  “Really? Did you win?”

  Betty laughed. “Heck, no. but we had a great time sampling the food between here and there.”

  “Clay!”

  He turned to see Aimee waving him over. “Come here and give us your opinion.”

  Clay grinned and held up his hand. “I’m no good at decorations.”

  “Yes, but you are one of our esteemed bachelors for the auction and since this will be displayed around the stage, that makes your thoughts valuable.”

  Clay glanced at Betty, who nudged him to go with a nod.

  “I’ll bring out your food when its ready.”

  “Evenin’ ladies,” he might have let his southern drawl slip out in the greeting. He stood in the wide arched entrance to the room. Liberty, Ellie, Aimee, Angelique, Kaylee, and Sally sat around the large farmhouse table. Rainbow colored squares of tissue paper littered the surface.

  “Hey, Mr. Spring Buckle Ball bachelor.” Ellie said with a smile. “Say that ten times really quick.” She said, nudging Angelique beside her. “Are you prepared to have hundreds of single women fighting over you—figuratively speaking, of course?” Ellie looked around the table. “This auction thing doesn’t get ugly, does it?”

  Aimee shook her head and took another bite of what looked to be a mile-high meringue on a slice of coconut cream pie. She closed her eyes, bliss etched on her face. “This little one loves coconut cream pie. What do you suppose that means?”

  Clay hadn’t given much thought to the date aspect of the auction, or who he’d end up with. He’d been focused on too many other things of late. He glanced at Sally, quickly looking away. “Well, I can’t speak for what might happen, but I’m honored to be part of such a good cause.”

  Ellie smiled. “You are a darling young man, and if I were younger I’d be saving my pennies to snag you for myself.” She blew him a quick kiss.

  “Well, you can bet I’ve been saving my pennies,” Kaylee stated, tossing another completed flower into the corner.

  Clay hoped that she was saving them for Tyler. Poor guy hadn’t stopped talking about Kaylee since he first saw her. “Ladies, it looks like you’re off to a great start. I’ve got to check on my dinner. Have fun.” He turned, and Betty, her face washed in fear, ran into him, grabbing his arms.

  “It’s Jerry, something’s wrong. H-he’s n-not moving.”

  Clay moved around her and hurried to the kitchen. Jerry lay on the floor. He was out cold.

  Betty followed. “I heard him call my name, and by the time I reached him, he was on his knees, speaking… but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.”

  Clay knelt down and did a quick physical assessment, his combat training kicking in instinctively. He noted the distorted features of one side of the man’s face. A gash, likely from the fall, bled from his forehead. He found a pulse and looked up. “Someone call 911.”

  Aimee held up her phone. “Got it.” She stepped away to make the call.

  “Sally, get everyone out of here. We need to make room for the paramedics.” The Emergency Medical Unit resided in the firehouse. Only two medics comprised the EMT staff, and they served all the tiny mountain towns in the area. Clay prayed they were close by.

  Betty grabbed a wad of hand towels and gently tucked them beneath Jerry’s head. She looked over her shoulder. “Sally, Liberty, would you girls take care of things out front? Take care of the customers, tell them we need to close early.”

  Liberty touched Betty’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of things here. Don’t worry.”

  When it was just her and Clay, she looked at him. Her vivid blue eyes, normally alive with joy, were filled with concern.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “He has a pulse, Betty, and he’s breathing. It looks like he bumped his head in the fall—maybe the stove handle.” He covered Betty’s hand, resting now on her husband’s chest. He couldn’t be sure, not until the medics had a chance to look at him, but his best guess was that Jerry had suffered a stroke.

  The blue and red flashing lights of the Medivac truck flickered through the front windows.

  Clay stood and draped his arm around Betty’s shoulders as the medics worked on Jerry. They placed him on oxygen, got him on a gurney and wheeled him outside, choosing instead to go through the alley door. “You go on with Jerry. We’ll lock up.”

  Betty grabbed her purse and coat. She looked at Clay and then scanned the kitchen as though unsure whether to leave.

  He took her by the shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this. It’ll be fine.”

  She hadn’t shed a single tear. Shock still held
her emotions at bay.

  Angelique appeared and took Betty’s hand. “Come on, we’ll follow the ambulance to Billings.”

  Betty nodded and grabbed Clay’s hand in a fierce grip. “Thank you.”

  He stood at the alley door and watched the ambulance take off with Angelique and Betty close behind. It dawned on him that the stove was probably still on and drawing a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he locked the back door and set to the task of shutting down, and cleaning up the kitchen.

  In the main room, Sally and Liberty had taken care of the customers, locking the door behind them and were bussing the tables. The rest of the group was busy gathering up the flowers and bagging their completed work.

  Sally walked into the kitchen carrying a gray tub full of dirty dishes. “Put these in the dishwasher, wipe down the tables, refill the napkin dispensers, check the salt and pepper shakers.”

  “Sally,” Clay said listening to her ramble under her breath.

  “Put the pies in the refrigerator.” She stood with her hands braced on the sink. “Count the till…drop it at the bank.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him, or checking off a mental list.

  “Sally,” he said a little louder, hoping to shake her from her reverie. He’d seen many different ways that people handled trauma and stress—hell, he was no poster child for calm, that much was true. But twice now, he’d seen her unravel before his eyes. She turned suddenly to face him. Given the look on her face, he wasn’t sure whether to duck or run.

  “Why does shit like this always seem to happen to good people?” Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head. “Betty and Jerry are two of the nicest people I know. They’re always doing something for this community.”

  Clay listened, something he’d done a lot around Sally Andersen of late—besides kissing her. “He’s going to be okay. It might be a while before he recovers fully though.”

  She shot a laser-like gaze to his. “What do you mean? Did the medics say what happened?”

  “No,” He went back to scrubbing the stove. “But I know what a stroke looks like.”

  “A stroke?” Sally pushed her palm to her forehead. She glanced at Clay. “You know it’s Betty who comes up with the ideas, but it’s Jerry who’s the real cook. He’s the one who puts out the food. Well, except of course Rebecca’s pies and pastries.”

  Aimee stuck her head inside the door. “What else can we do?”

  Sally tucked her arm through Aimee’s. “Come on, Liberty and I can show you. You know that I used to work here as a waitress back in high school.” She stopped suddenly. “Wow, that was a long time ago.”

  They walked out and Clay was grateful to have the kitchen to himself. He glanced at the sack on the serving shelf, realizing it was likely his supper. After popping it in the microwave to heat it through, he sat down on an old wooden stool at the prep table and dissected the burger, eyeing its content, tasting the simple spices of garlic, salt, pepper, and something he couldn’t quite detect. Hungrier than he thought, he finished the second burger, making note of how Jerry had put it together. Licking his lips, he sat back with a satisfied sigh. Damn, if it wasn’t one of the best burgers he’d ever tasted. He scanned the L-shaped backroom—it had a walk-in freezer tucked in one corner, surrounded on the remaining walls by floor-to-ceiling pantry shelves filled with dry goods and canned staples. A stainless-steel island separated the longer portion of the room in half, dividing the stove from shelves of dishware and serving pieces. Jerry had an extensive alphabetized spice wall rack within arm’s reach of the stove. “I could do this,” he said quietly as he shifted on the stool to take in the entire kitchen set-up. He’d have to run it past Betty, of course, and Rein. He didn’t realize that he wasn’t alone.

  “Do what?” Sally asked, walking past him, her arms loaded with an arsenal of condiment bottles.

  Clay used a napkin to wipe his fingers and mouth. “Fill in for Jerry, at least temporarily, until Betty finds someone else.” He took his plate to the dishwasher, aware that as he did, it placed a greater distance between him and Sally. That was probably a good thing.

  “You can cook?”

  Clay tossed her a lingering look, observing how efficiently she’d lined up the bottles to refill them. “I took a couple of classes in college. I’ve always messed around in the kitchen.”

  “Messed around?” She chuckled softly. The sound of it washed a little too well over his tired mind just now.

  He shrugged, choosing to stay focused and not allow the conversation to drift into dangerous waters—like discussing that night in the barn. “I used to watch my mom in the kitchen. She was a great cook. My dad wasn’t around much—workaholic, so I learned how to cook meals so it’d be ready for mom when she got home from work.”

  He’d been so busy loading the dishwasher that it took him a moment to realize she hadn’t responded. He glanced back, expecting to find himself alone. Instead, he found her standing behind him. She had her arms folded across her chest, the grey Mickey Mouse T-shirt and those faded jeans looking every bit as sexy to him as peek-a-boo lingerie. He cleared his throat, letting those thoughts dissolve. “What is it? What’d I say? You’ve got that look that teachers give you when it seems they’re trying to dissect your brain.”

  “No.” She smiled, eyeing him. “It’s you. Everything you say, everything you do. It’s like you’re not the same person who came here less than a year ago.”

  Clay’s brows rose. He hadn’t expected that. “I suppose it’s been good for me. The Last Hope Ranch has lived up to its name as far as I’m concerned. The hard work, being around my old college buddies, working with Michael and the horses—”

  “I want to have a baby.” Her gaze was steady.

  He’d tiptoed his way through a minefield or two in his time—he could handle this. He reached for a towel and wiped his hands, proceeding cautiously. “Yeah, I saw the brochures.” He glanced over her shoulder and saw the rest of the ladies seated in the other room, busy talking.

  “No, what I mean is…I really hadn’t given this much thought—you know, about asking somebody to help me.” She looked away as though piecing it together in her brain. “I could pay you a fee, of course, and there would have to be some legal issue—a contract.

  Whoa. Contract? Clay suddenly felt the need for a drink. He opened one cabinet and then another. Surely Jerry kept a stash of whiskey around, if only for cooking.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Looking for the whiskey.”

  “Jerry’s a beer drinker,” Sally answered.

  “That’ll do.” He continued to check every cabinet and shelf in the kitchen.

  “You think I’m crazy.”

  It wasn’t really a question. More of a statement of fact as presented—he just happened to agree. “Bingo.” He leveled her a look, then went back to his quest.

  She walked toward him and he had the strongest urge to grab a rolling pin. But a greater battle roiled inside him. His libido was on fire, ready to sign on the dotted line, but common sense cautioned him to keep his dick as far from her as possible.

  “Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to commit to anything.” She scooted her fine little ass on the wooden stool and crossed her legs. “You know; it was really that kiss that got me to consider this idea.”

  Good to know she’d been affected. Crazy train wasn’t exactly the response he’d planned on.

  “It’s perfect,” she continued. “You have no ties here. I assume you’re not planning on staying since your only family is out in California.”

  Clay stared at her, trying to decide if the woman was certifiable or simply delusional. Did he look like the kind of guy who could walk away from his own child? “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Her face lit up. “I know, that’s why it’s perfect. I don’t really need to know much. I already know you’re kind to animals, patient with kids, you’re a hard worker, former military, good in medical emergen
cies, and you can cook.” She lifted her palms. “What more, other than your health, do I need to know?” She eyed him. “And from here you look pretty damn healthy.”

  Clay blinked, waiting for his brain to catch up with his good sense, which kept tripping on his libido. He felt like a damn racehorse, and if she asked him to smile— “Look, Sally. I’m flattered, really. But they have places—clinics—I’m sure they’re mentioned in the brochures. Places where guys can donate—”

  “Sperm, Clay,” she interjected. “And yes, I know. I’ve done the research. Crunched the numbers. And honestly, the bottom line looks grim. My insurance covers only the initial exams and tests. The rest of it I would be financially responsible for.” She held his eyes for a moment more, then slapped her hand on the table. “You know, you’re right. It’s a crazy idea.” She hopped off the stool. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  ***

  Later that night as he lay staring at his bedroom ceiling he decided that when it came to Sally Andersen, he had a lot to try to forget. First, was the kiss that jumpstarted his motor in a way he hadn’t felt in way too long, and now this…proposition. Both difficult to shove aside, especially given that he hadn’t had sex since his split with his fiancée’ and that was just before he came to the ranch.

  “I don’t need to know anything, really.”

  Her words played over and over in his brain. Looking down, he lifted his stump of a leg and wondered how she’d feel about being in bed with that. He hadn’t given a second thought to how his fiancée would react. They’d been madly in love before he deployed, active sexually, and on more than one occasion had phone sex while he was overseas. He’d been more focused on adjusting to his new condition than considering what she might want or need. He’d mistakenly assumed she’d be there for him, no matter what. Hell, everything else, thankfully, was fully operational. As it turned out, she couldn’t make the adjustment. It was a blow, one that came on the heels of his mother’s stroke that ultimately evolved into Alzheimer’s.

  He pushed his hands over his face, mentally washing off the residual pain of the look on his fiancée’s face as she left him. He shook his head to clear it, pulling his thoughts back to the present. All the woman really wanted was his swimmers. Maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe she wouldn’t notice his partial leg, or the deep scars that marred his skin from shrapnel. Simple mechanics. Insert tab A into slot B. What guy wouldn’t jump at the chance for unbridled, commitment-free sex? No strings attached. The very idea semi-aroused him. Was he insane to even give this ridiculous plan of hers a second thought? She was right. He hadn’t planned on making his life here. His only family lived on the coast and thanks to X-box, he and his nephews had found common ground. Besides, he’d probably be gone before she had the baby.