Meeting Her Match. Debra Clopton
Sheri admitted, turning back to look at her neighbor with an entirely new perspective.
Sheri wasn’t one to think that the Lord paid much attention to her needs. In all fairness, she’d stopped trying to get any special attention from Him a long time ago. Lacy was the one with the direct line to Him. For years Sheri had coasted on her coattails when it came to all that. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that it bothered her some. Maybe at one point a lot. But it wasn’t as if she was going to beg anybody for attention and certainly not God.
Anyway, she understood that when it came to trying to please the Lord, Lacy had that wrapped up. Lacy lived to please Him, and Sheri couldn’t really blame the Lord for giving Lacy more attention. Sheri loved Lacy like a sister and knew she could never have the heart that Lacy had. Why pretend? Some people were good enough to have priority in the Lord’s eyes, and some weren’t. No matter what people might say, that was the way it worked.
Still, if she’d said a prayer for the Lord to send her someone to get the posse off her back—well, she figured Pace Gentry might be the answer to that prayer.
But since she hadn’t asked the Lord for His help and Pace had turned up anyway, she knew it was only a coincidence. Still, she was no dummy. She wouldn’t throw away a golden opportunity when it rode right up to her. Look out, Mule Hollow Matchmakers, the game was on.
Chapter Three
Pace looked over each mustang, assessing them as he guided his mare through their ranks. They looked healthy despite the long trip from the Oklahoma Field Station. A bit ragged, but healthy. They were scared and wary though, congregating in a tight knot and moving about the pen as one unit.
Because they’d made such a long trip and now were in unfamiliar territory, he wanted to make certain their transition was as easy as possible. His own transition gave him even more empathy for these poor creatures. He herded the first six into the second pen then waited on the next group to be released from the second compartment of the trailer. Once he was satisfied that they, too, had made the trip without being injured in the crowded trailer, he rode to the gate and nodded at the young cowhand to let him pass.
“Mr. Gentry,” he said as Pace rode his horse through the gate he held open. “I’d like to come out and watch you work if you’d let me. I mean, sir, Clint said he’d let me help you anytime you needed help.”
Pace dismounted and studied the younger man. He recognized the familiar light in his eyes. “You can come out some—we’ll see about helping me. First, you have to call me Pace. My dad was Mr. Gentry. What’s your name?” Pace held out his hand.
“Jake, sir.”
He accepted Pace’s handshake, and Pace noticed with satisfaction that he had an easy but firm grip. That went a long way in handling a scared horse. “You want to break horses?”
“If I can do it your way, sir. I’ve broke a few, gentled some, but frankly, sir, when I saw that documentary you were featured in I knew I didn’t really have a clue how to do it the right way.”
“Do you have patience?”
“Um, yes, sir. I do.”
Pace nodded. “Come out the end of next week. Right now I want some time alone with them. They need time to adjust to the trip and the change of scenery.”
Jake grinned and nodded as though he’d just been given the best present under the Christmas tree. “Yes, sir. I’ll be here. You need anything else, you call me. I’m at Clint’s bunkhouse.”
Pace watched the younger man leave, reminded of himself, recognizing the gleam in his eyes.
“Hello, neighbor. What’s that you said about patience?”
Pace twisted around, recognizing the voice he knew belonged to his nosy, beautiful neighbor. He might have been less than friendly the day before, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed her. He’d noticed plenty.
He’d been watching her ever since she’d climbed out of that atrocious car of Lacy’s.
He studied her, taking his time, thinking if he could keep her offended enough, maybe she’d leave him alone…. She was staring at him with a playful smirk on her lips that matched the easy lilt of her voice. A tone very different from the irritated one of the day before. Today, she had a bright hat on that said Mornings and Hair Don’t Mix, and she was right. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair was more out of her ponytail than in. It reminded him of a horse’s tail that had tangoed with a crop of scrub bushes.
“My name’s Sheri Marsh, by the way. Thought I’d tell you since you had that sudden emergency inside your cabin yesterday and didn’t have time to inquire.”
There was mischief in her eyes as she held her hand out to him. She had long, slender fingers, and he hesitated before reluctantly wrapping his callused fingers around hers. He swallowed hard at her touch, feeling an unexpected connection as her soft hand met his.
“Patience with people—” he started, his gaze meeting hers and suddenly his gut felt the way it did the moment before he settled into the saddle of a bronc “—is on an entirely different level for a loner like me,” he finished, realizing only then that he was still hanging on to her hand. He dropped it like a hot branding iron, then reached to check the saddle cinch on his horse. His movements out of sync, he forced himself to focus on what he was doing instead of the woman standing near him.
Stepping closer, she ran her hand down the flank of his horse. “Believe me, I figured that one out myself,” she said drily.
He shot her a sideways glance from beneath his Stetson. She was standing close enough that he caught the fresh scent of her. Something tangy and tart, like the personality that radiated from her.
“Well, anyway, cowboy. I just thought I’d tell you that I was sorry to interfere with your business yesterday. I was only looking out for Clint and Lacy.”
He nodded and tried to work up the will to say he was sorry for his behavior. But before he could respond, she spun on her bright red city boots and strode away.
He didn’t call her back, but watched her leave instead. She bounced as though she were walking on springs.
He realized suddenly that he wasn’t alone in watching Sheri Marsh sashay away. Almost every cowboy in his line of vision and probably on the lot had stopped what they were doing and were calling goodbyes to his striking neighbor. She knew it, too. She tilted her head to this side, then that, smiling at each one and waving. The woman acted as if she were on the red carpet or something. There was no doubt that she was one hundred percent comfortable standing in the limelight. Again, that did not surprise him.
Pace had always liked Sam’s Diner. It was a diner and pharmacy all rolled into one, like so many drugstores had been way back when. This one was complete with the original marble soda fountain and spinning bar stools. He could still remember the first time he walked into the place as a kid. He’d been ten, and he and his dad had been on the road for eighteen hours straight. Pace had been starving, and the smell of bacon and eggs had started his stomach growling the minute they’d walked through the heavy swinging door. Even as a kid he’d been taller than the bowlegged man who came storming from behind the counter and grabbed his dad’s hand. He’d shaken it so hard it looked like a strong-arm contest.
Pace smiled at the memory of wiry little Sam taking on his six-foot-four-inch dad. To this day he’d never met anyone who could shake hands like Sam.
“How ya doing, son?” Sam greeted him heartily as he grabbed the hand Pace held out. Though Sam had aged, his grip had only grown stronger. Pace was pretty certain it came from years of practice on all the customers who walked through his doors. “Sorry to hear about yer dad,” he said, pumping away. “It was a terrible shame. He was a good man.”
“Thank you, sir. He died doing something he loved. He was luckier than most in that respect. I doubt he had any regrets when it came to the life he lived.”