Texas Rebels: Paxton. Linda Warren
coming onto my property?” She fired the words at him like bullets.
Guess his mother didn’t call her.
He tipped his hat, refusing to be intimidated by the fire in her eyes. And the shotgun. “I’m Paxton Rebel. My mother sent me over to haul your calves to the auction.”
“My, my.” She placed the butt of the gun on the ground and leaned on the barrel, peering at him a little closer through thick glasses. “You’re one of the younger ones, the bull rider who spends most of his life on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now aren’t you a handsome devil?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Sure.” She slapped a hand on her jean-clad thigh. “It’s kind of hard to think with girls trailing behind you.” She glanced toward the corral and her demeanor changed instantly. “We don’t have time for small talk. Time to get these calves loaded.” She inspected the trailer backed up to the loading chute. “You did that perfectly. Can tell you’re a cowboy.”
Paxton noticed the platform from the corral to the trailer was missing and there was no way for the calves to get into the trailer, except if they knew how to fly. “Ma’am, the ramp is missing from the corral.”
She grunted. “It fell apart years ago. There’s always a way. Haven’t you learned that by now?” She opened the gate and walked into the pen, hollering and shouting until the calves scurried into the chute. They stopped at the trailer.
The dog barked.
“Shut up, Memphis,” she scolded.
Memphis.
Paxton jumped over the fence. It was wobbly. The whole corral looked as if it was going to fall down at any minute. “This is what I was telling you. If—”
She raised the shotgun and fired into the air. Stunned for a second, he was speechless, and then he grabbed it from her hand before she could fire it again.
Yanking the gun from his hand, she said, “Don’t ever take my gun.”
He swallowed hard at the rough words, but he didn’t falter.
“See.” She pointed to the calves that were jumping into the trailer, scared for their lives. “That’s how you get ’em inside. Pull your truck up and I’ll close the gate.”
“Crazy old woman,” Paxton muttered to himself as he jumped over the fence and then pulled his truck forward. Before he could reach the back of the trailer, Miss Bertie had it already closed. But he double-checked it.
“I’ll be on my way,” he said more to himself than to her.
“Now wait just a minute.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt pocket. “There’s four black with white faces, five red with white faces and two scrubby-looking things. That’s eleven.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Did she think he would try to cheat her?
“Gotta watch those people at the auction barn. They’ll cheat you if they can. Keep your eyes open.”
Holy crap. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pulled some money out of her pocket and handed it to him. It was a five-dollar bill. “Take this for gas.”
Was she freaking kidding? Five dollars for a diesel truck wouldn’t get them out of the driveway. But he knew better than not to take it.
“I’ll be on my way.”
She glanced toward the house and then back at him. “Just a minute. I need a favor. A big favor.”
Oh, no. But what did he say?
“I don’t have much time, Miss Bertie. I have to get back to the ranch to work.”
“Ah, don’t give me that.” She grunted again. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Well...” He felt like a fish on a hook and he knew he wasn’t getting out of here without doing what she wanted. He just had a feeling it was going to be something he didn’t want to do.
“When you bring my sales receipt back, I’ll invite you into the house and I want you to meet my granddaughter.”
Oh, crap. She was playing matchmaker. The one thing he hated most in the world.
“She’s been feeling a little down lately and a nice-looking man like you could cheer her up real fast.”
“Miss Bertie...”
But the old woman wasn’t listening. “I’ll introduce you and you can say something like what a beautiful granddaughter I have. That’s it. Just a compliment to cheer her up. You can do that, can’t you, Handsome?”
“I’d rather not.” He figured honesty was the best place to start.
The butt of the shotgun rested on the ground. She lifted it into her hand. “I’d rather that you did. Do you know what I mean?”
No, he didn’t.
“Miss Bertie, I know you’re trying to help your granddaughter, but complimenting her is going to sound fake. It’s not done like that these days.”
“How’s it done, then?”
“With a look. It’s the way a guy looks at a girl or the way a girl looks at a guy to let them know they’re interested. That’s how it’s done. You can compliment someone, but they’ll probably laugh in your face.”
She shrugged. “Who knows how you young folks live these days. You just come into my kitchen and give her the look, and you better do it because if you don’t, I’ll come looking for you. Get my drift?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He climbed into his truck. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
He sincerely hoped this would be their last meeting because he had no intention of returning to compliment her granddaughter. His mother could bring the sales receipt and he’d stay as far away as possible.
One hour and thirty minutes later Paxton zoomed toward Horseshoe, Texas, and Rebel Ranch. He wasn’t being manipulated by Miss Bertie. But then the seeds of guilt began to play with his mind. His dad had always said once you start a job, you make sure you finish it. He could remember when he was a kid, he and his dad were fixing a fence and it began to drizzle and then it started to sleet. But his dad worked on, saying a man always finishes the job he starts.
If he gave the sales slip to his mother, so Miss Bertie could pick up her check, that meant he hadn’t finished the job. Disappointment would be in his mother’s eyes and in that moment he knew he couldn’t just run away like a little boy. What would it hurt to compliment Miss Bertie’s plain-Jane granddaughter? He’d flirted with more girls than he could remember. One more was a piece of cake.
He turned off the highway onto County Road 461 and drove across the cattle guard, the trailer clanging. The dog raced along the chain-link fence, barking his head off. Paxton stopped the truck at the back of the house and slammed the gearshift into Park. He picked up Miss Bertie’s sales receipt, which had a tag number and a description of each calf, from the console and headed for the back door.
Memphis jumped up and down, barking and wagging his tail, eager to see a person. He had a heck of a time keeping the dog from darting out the gate. A long porch adorned the back of the house with a couple of old rocking chairs. He went up the steps and knocked on the built-in-screen glass door.
“Come on in!” Miss Bertie shouted.
He opened the door and stepped into 1960, or the late 1950s. The floor was yellow-and-white linoleum and the chairs and table were an old Formica set. It reminded him of his grandmother’s