Had the pinging of the milk against the side of the bucket gotten a little faster? Maybe he’d been asked so many questions in the past that he was leery of answering more. But then, she was good at making people feel at ease. It usually didn’t take long for them to open up to her.
“It’s good that you can visit him.” She casually leaned against the fence. “Do you live in Texas?”
“All my life.”
That told her absolutely zip. Again, something still didn’t feel quite right. It was as though he was evading her questions. She wondered again if he knew her real reason for being here.
“I play football,” he said.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Of course he didn’t know she was trying to get a story. She really had to stop being so paranoid. Being out of her element was really doing a number on her, and she was so out of her element here in the country.
“Football?” she asked.
“Professional. Do you watch the games?”
“No, sorry. Do you enjoy tossing a ball around?”
“It’s a living.”
Her ears perked up. “You don’t like it?”
“I still enjoy the thrill of competition, but the hard knocks I can do without.” He stood, bucket in hand. “That and the nosey reporters. They have a way of taking things out of context. They look at one part of my life and blow it out of proportion.”
Yeah, she felt much more confident about prying a story out of him. He needed to look at it from her angle. She was reporting what people needed to know: the dirty politicians, corporations skimming from their shareholders, corruption and fraud in the government.
Except that wasn’t exactly the case this time. Not even close, and guilt didn’t sit well with her.
“But then, I don’t have to worry about reporters out here,” he said, drawing her attention back to him.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she glanced inside the bucket. Her eyes widened. Okay, now he’d impressed her. Frothy white milk came up to the rim of the bucket. “How did you fill it so fast?”
“It just takes practice. I was raised on this ranch and I grew up milking cows.”
This was much safer than talking about reporters and she could get a little background on him. “Your parents owned it?”
“No, they were killed in a car wreck when my brother, Brian, was just a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” And she meant it. She couldn’t imagine growing up without her parents. They were great, even though time with them had been at a premium, but the moments they’d shared together had been quality time.
Even now, they made a point of meeting once every two months on the second Saturday. They always went out to eat at her favorite restaurant and caught up with each other’s lives. It worked out well all around.
“It was a long time ago,” he continued. “Our grandparents more than made up for the fact we were orphaned. They kept the memory of our parents alive while giving us all the love we could ever need. They were very special.”
“They’re gone?”
He nodded. “But what they taught us lives on. They had a strong code of ethics.” He opened the gate, then waited for her to pass. “Like truth, being fair, causing no harm to others, and giving more than you get.”
Nikki had a feeling liars would rate low with him. Well, she wasn’t a reporter because she was trying to win a popularity contest. People wanted the news and she gave them what they asked for.
She chewed on her lower lip. Except she usually didn’t do fluff pieces. She would much rather go after crooked politicians.
They walked out of the barn and up to the house. The air was still cool and crisp as it caressed her skin.
“Did you like growing up here on the ranch?” she asked.
“There was a lot of stuff to do.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Chores: milking, feeding the animals, fixing fence. We hauled a little hay. The usual things that people do on a ranch.”
“It sounds like hard work.”
“Some of it was.” He stopped at the porch and looked around. There was a faraway expression on his face. “But we had good times, too.”
She wondered what he saw that she didn’t. As she looked around, she thought it might have been nice knowing the young Cal as he galloped across the pasture with his brother.
Damn, now she was starting to sound maudlin. Was this what the country air did to a person? She needed a shot of the city to take her back to reality! Maybe she’d call Marge later and see what was happening. Nikki was already starting to feel disconnected.
Once inside the kitchen, Cal set the milk on the wooden counter; no fancy granite here.
“There was a strainer in one of the boxes,” he told her. “Do you remember where you put it?”
She went to one of the drawers she’d cleaned out and got it. She’d wondered why he’d brought it. Made her wonder about some of the other things she’d put away.
He slid a large glass jar closer and put the strainer on top. “Hold it in place and I’ll pour the milk.”
She did as he asked, her nose wrinkling when she caught the scent of warm, fresh milk.
“It doesn’t smell like store-bought. It’s a lot richer, too.” Cal set the empty bucket in the sink and covered the milk with a cloth.
“I noticed. Shouldn’t we put it in the icebox?”
“Not until the cream rises to the top. Then you skim it off so you can make butter.”
“I don’t really need butter.”
“How can you write a story if you can’t describe making butter?”
He was right-dammit. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to make it, only that I won’t need much,” she quickly backtracked. “I can’t wait to get started making butter.”
“Of course.” He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms in front of him. “Exactly what kind of book are you writing, anyway? You never really said. Just that it was about how pioneers lived. Is it a straight history piece or what?”
“I’m covering from the statehood forward. It’ll be like a textbook. I’m up to the nineteen twenties.” That sounded good, believable. She looked him right in the eye, never wavering her gaze even though her body tensed.
“I’d like to read it.”
“Now?” Her pulse sped up.
“When you get it finished.”
Nikki breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I don’t like anyone to see my work until it’s completed. Stifles the creativity and all.”
How many lies could she tell in one day? Apparently, quite a few. But he looked as though he bought every word. And why shouldn’t he. She was damned good at what she did.
Cal watched for a sign that Nikki might feel an ounce of remorse for lying through those pretty white teeth. He didn’t see even one spark of guilt.
It was time to bring out more artillery. No, he wasn’t even close to finished with her yet. “You ready to gather eggs?”
She paled just a little. “Will the rooster be there?” She ran her hands up and down her arms as if there were a sudden chill in the air.
What was it with the rooster? He had a feeling it might have something to do with why the bird was acting funny. “I’m sure he’ll be around somewhere. He usually watches over the hens.”
She drew in a deep breath and nodded as though she were about to face a firing squad and knew she deserved to be shot. Yeah, it was a strange reaction.
And she didn’t look any better once they were standing in front of the chicken coop. He was starting to feel a little sorry for her. Especially when the rooster came lurching around the corner. The bird took one look at her and began to flap its wings and squawk.
