She relaxed as Quint told him, "Why, yes if - if things could be worked out so that Larry could stay with me, I'd appreciate that."
"Absolutely not, no! Sorry, Quint, but Larry will have to stay here. I can't be banging on the bunkhouse door just because it suits you," he drawled while Lace silently panicked, her face going pale.
Uncle was sending her a discreet warning look but she didn't care anymore. Promise or no promise, she wasn't going to be separated from him. And what did Makenna have in mind? What details were involved as an errand boy? Washing his back? Scrubbing his dirty laundry? The job sounded like she was to be his personal slave.
All pretenses melted as she heard Quint mumble, "He's your errand boy, Mak. Whatever you say"
He paused, ignoring her for the moment, then thoughtfully continued, "I suppose that I feel a bit overprotective of Larry. It's a long haul from his home and things are difficult for him now. But if you want him here, then I suppose it's settled."
Makenna nodded, the subject dismissed. Turning to her, he suggested, "Better say goodnight to your uncle, son. I'll be waiting for you in the library, down the hall, third door to the right," he instructed. "You'll want to know what's expected of you. And I can't welcome you enough. We have a lot of work lined up for the next few days and you couldn't have popped in at a better time."
Lace flew forward again as he delivered another generous whack to her back, the hat juggling on her head as he exited the room.
She and Quint watched him vanish from the kitchen, both of them locked in a stupor, Makenna's silver spurs echoing down the hall as he slowly disappeared from sight.
Immediately, she turned on her uncle, but before she could attack he defended, "Don't start it, Lace. Besides, everything worked for the best. You staying here in the big house, that is. Sometimes, the cowhands…well, they ain't so much with manners."
She eyed the mischievous grin, which angered her all the more.
"Larry? You named me Larry?"
"Ssshhh!" he warned, a crooked index finger going to his firm lips. He had broken it years ago roping a bull. "We don't want Mak to hear, do we? Especially since he actually believed you are a Larry."
She would have preferred a name not so manly.
She flinched her mouth at him and he pulled an earlobe, then apologized meekly. "Well, hell, it was the first name that popped into my head, darling. I was antsy at that, thinking that he might catch on. That pull at your crotch was a godsend, though - enough to convince him. I saw his eyes twitch."
She stood bathing in humiliation as he nonchalantly continued, "Now, we'll have to talk later. It's best if you go find him before he grows suspicious. Don't fret; I'll see to you first thing in the morning," he went on to comfort her. "Everything is working out just fine, baby."
The wide forehead was suddenly doubled with worried wrinkles and she noticed the deep, sunken circles beneath his eyes for the first time.
He had loved her father dearly and had taken his death bravely for her benefit. He had been a bulwark during these past two weeks.
She sighed, realizing that it was hard to stay angry with him for any length of time. She loved him and he had given her a home for the time being. And the situation wasn't easy for him she suddenly realized. If his boss found out that he had been tricked, her uncle would probably lose his job.
Quint had worked very hard to get to his present position. In a few short years he could retire and live out his days in comfort. He had crammed everything he made into bonds and his future looked financially secure.
According to Uncle, Mr. Jones took care of his employees, treating them like family. However, she cringed at that thought.
"Yes, everything has worked out quite nicely," she finally told him, going to lay a kiss inside the hollow of his leathered cheek. "It just takes a little getting adjusted to, Uncle Quint. And I didn't mean to sound so ungrateful earlier."
The handsome face relaxed and he eased out a smile, immensely relieved over her comments. After he departed she sought out Makenna in the library.
He was on the phone discussing business so she slid into one of the leather chairs in front of the desk where he was sitting and waited nervously for him to finish.
The call proved to be rather lengthy and she kept readjusting herself due to the bulk beneath her.
The hazel eyes briefly touched her. Hell, the boy's got pinworms, too, he silently thought. Jock itch and pinworms; lovely; just lovely. The things that he did for Quint, but he was above the cut when it came to working the ranch.
When the conversation was finally completed he took several minutes to glance over some paperwork on his desk, rudely leaving her in silence, as if she were insignificant - not even there.
She was so involved in her mounting irate thoughts that she almost screamed when the deep voice unexpectedly addressed her.
"Well, Larry, we'll begin tomorrow first thing, okay?" Right after he discussed the boy's fungal problems with his uncle, that is.
Now what? She had a rather high voice and wasn't certain she could disguise it properly without practicing first, so she nodded carefully, not wanting to dislodge her hat.
Makenna's thoughtful mouth formed a smirk and he mocked, "So, cat got your tongue? Or, perhaps you're a shy one?"
Again, she helplessly nodded.
"How old are you, Larry?" he wanted to know, Lace contemplating holding up all her fingers and toes.
Instead, she shrugged and answered in the deepest tone she could summon for the moment, "Twenty, sir."
Her voice sort of dragged but Makenna didn't seem to notice. His mind seemed to be partially on the papers as he was sifting through them as he talked to her.
"Twenty, eh? I wouldn't have guessed over sixteen at the most," he told her, quite surprised. "Take a suggestion, son; grow a mustache. You won't feel any older, but you'll sure as hell look it."
Now that would really be something she silently paraded through her mind. Why she just adored Sam Elliot's.
He had put down the papers and was studying her thoughtfully, perhaps too thoughtfully. Panic assailed her as she automatically sensed he was expecting some sort of response concerning his mustache suggestion.
"Perhaps I'll consider that, sir," she finally managed, silently cursing her beloved uncle for this idiotic, impossible scheme.
This wasn't going to work! She could feel it - almost see it in the stranger's hazel eyes that suddenly seemed skeptical for some reason.
Summoning up a masculine gesture she snorted and rubbed the back of her hand under her nose. If that didn't look manly, then nothing would she silently mocked, quite proud of herself. Makenna was lodged deep in thought, half of his attention on the recent phone call with Rita, the other on Larry. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to speak with Quint regarding the boy's ailments. He didn't care much for snorters and Larry was definitely a snorter. Also, he seemed terribly shy. Perhaps his housekeeper, Frank, could purchase some remedies and discretely place them in Larry's medicine cabinet.
