Cowboys Don't Marry Their Best Friend Page 2

  He grinned. Slow and easy, the grin she loved. The one he didn’t use on anyone but her. “You think?”

  She ran her eyes over his face, down his broad shoulders and deep chest, down to his waist where his jeans sat low on his hips. Her eyes flew back to his.

  Why was she suddenly breathless?

  “No, I don’t. I guess we’ve never talked about that, though.” They never talked about relationships. She’d not really had any. One didn’t become an Olympic-caliber athlete by hanging out at bars, trying to pick up a date. Not that she’d even want to date a guy who didn’t have anything else better to do with his time.

  She decided to call his bluff. “So you have a boyfriend?” Her words didn’t come out quite as confident and flippant as she wanted them to.

  He did the slow grin on her again, and her heart flipped twice. When had Palmer gotten so handsome? And muscular?

  “Nope.”

  “How long’s it been since I’ve been home? Have we started a new tradition in Sweet Water where people just up and get married?”

  “It’s been eighteen months since you were here,” he said. Answering her first question, but leaving her second one unanswered.

  It had been winter. Palmer would have had a beard, and she probably wouldn’t have seen him in anything less than a flannel shirt and lined vest. Insulated jeans and boots.

  And before that, she’d come back for a few quick visits, so it had been years since they’d spent any large amounts of time together. At least five years or more since they’d spent the summer together. And now he goes and ruins it by announcing he was going to get married.

  “You’re only twenty-eight.”

  He shrugged.

  “How are you getting married when you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  He shrugged again, the movements of his muscles under his t-shirt so fascinating she almost missed his answer.

  “Figured you’d help me, Squeegee.”

  Chapter 2

  WHAT WAS A BEST FRIEND for if not to find a fiancée for him?

  Palmer grinned at Ames’s shocked expression.

  Over the years, she’d been gone more than she’d been around. That didn’t keep him from thinking about her. But he knew himself. He was as deeply rooted in the North Dakota soil as the prairie grass that grew to the west. His Norwegian ancestors had loved this land, worked it, and carved a living from it. He was destined to do the same.

  At one time, he’d hoped Ames would be too. Thought maybe she’d settle down after the Olympics. But she hadn’t. She’d even worked a job in New Jersey for a while. When she quit that, he’d thought she was coming home for good. But she’d just landed for a while, nursed her bruised feathers, and took off again.

  “Of course I’ll help you.” She gave her hair a toss. “I have at least four friends who will die when they see you. And I can get my college roommate to ask her sister—”

  He held a hand up. “Whoa.”

  Her eyes danced, but she clamped her mouth shut.

  “I have some standards, you know.”

  “Like I would set my best friend up with just anyone.”

  He raised a brow. He really wasn’t sure. Of course, she liked him as a friend, but she’d never cared about his relationships or lack of them. How could he have a relationship when no other woman measured up to his best friend?

  He grunted and straightened. “Come on. I have a couple cows in the corral I need to throw hay down to. I’ll tell you about it then.” She wasn’t going to believe what he had to tell her anyway.

  She didn’t say anything but started her machine.

  That was one of the many nice things about Ames. She was competitive, exceptionally competitive. But she wasn’t constantly trying to beat him. They’d race. Hard and fast. But when they weren’t racing, she didn’t make all of life into a competition. He’d worked with guys like that, and they were annoying.

  You only got to live once, might as well enjoy it.

  They pulled behind the barn, parking in front of the big double doors. Sure, it’d been years since Ames had helped out in the summer, but in high school and even into college, before she went to Germany or wherever, she’d been on the farm a lot of weekends and every summer. As often as she could get out of watching the C Store for her parents.

  She didn’t hesitate but walked with him to the door and waited while he slid it open. “So what are your stipulations?”

  “They’re not mine.”

  She laughed. “You’re getting married according to someone else’s stipulations?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Okay, so now I’m really curious.” She set her hands on her slim hips. He figured she’d gained a little weight back from the peak physical condition she’d been in for the last Olympics. Definitely she wasn’t as skinny as she’d been when she’d been runner-up in the Miss North Dakota contest. She had a few more curves.

  He didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him what she looked like. Although he did love her dimples. One in each cheek and they flashed every time she smiled.

  “I got a letter.”

  “From an old flame?”

  “Yeah.” Like he had any of those.

  Her eyes got big.

  “Not really.” He grabbed the pitchfork. “From a lawyer.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Kinda what I thought when I saw the return address.” He stuck the pitchfork in the hay. “But I opened it anyway.”

  He’d been coming into the house after a long day of drilling wheat. His sister, Louise, had been there with her daughter, and they’d been taking care of his grandparents. The mail was lying on the counter, and he’d grabbed it, flipping through to see if there was anything urgent that needed his attention.

  “And?” she prompted, grabbing the other pitchfork that leaned against the far wall. “What’d it say, and how does this have anything to do with you getting married? Did someone claim to be your wife?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” He picked up a big forkful of hay and walked over to the open doorway that overlooked the corral, tossing it out.

  She tossed hers and grabbed his arm as he went to move by her. It burned, and he shifted away on the pretense of setting his pitchfork down.

  “Stop. Just tell me.”

  “If you can’t work and talk, just work.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Man. Your grandmother used to say that all summer long.”

  “Yeah. While we were in the pea patch picking peas.”

  She exchanged a commiserating look with him. “The most boring job in the world.”

  “For you, maybe. I liked it.” Because she was with him.

  “You couldn’t have. There is no one on this earth who actually likes picking peas.”

  He shrugged. “I do.”

  She shook her head. “Just tell me about the letter and what this has to do with you getting married.”

  The dim interior of the barn didn’t allow him to see her face like he wanted to, but there was a tone in her voice that stirred a flutter of hope in his chest.

  “You remember Mr. Edwards from Sweet Water Ranch?”

  “Of course. The local billionaire. Sold his ranch in the eastern part of the state to the oil industry and made billions from investments.” Ames stared at him. “You know nothing that you’ve said so far has made any sense?”

  “I’m going to make less sense from here on out, so if your delicate sensibilities aren’t up to the challenge...” His voice trailed off.

  “Oh, I’m always up for the challenge.”

  “Actually, Squeegee, I’m not sure even you are up to this challenge.”

  “Would you just spit it out?”

  He laughed and started back to the hay. “Why would I do that when it’s so much fun to frustrate you?”

  “Ugh!” She came stomping behind him.

  “One of us has patience, and one of us...doesn’t.”

  “I don’t poke fun at your weaknesses,” she huffed.

  “Really? Hmm.” He pretended to think before sticking his fork in the hay. “I thought I heard someone who sounded a lot like you saying, ‘take that, Cowboy.’” He imitated her voice pretty well, if he did say so himself, drawing out the “cowboy.”

  He picked up his forkful of hay, but she stood in his way, hand on hips. “Spit it.”

  “Mr. Edwards died. His lawyer sent me the letter. It said he left me a billion dollars in his will.”

  Ames blinked. Not the kind of blink where the eyes go shut then open again, but the kind of blink where the eyelids go shut and kind of flutter there like the person blinking was too shocked to blink and process information at the same time. “Did you say ‘billion?’”

  “With a ‘b.’”

  “Billion?”

  “Yes.”

  “One billion dollars?”

  “No. One billion rupees.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, that makes a difference. I don’t think they’re worth as much with the exchange rate—”

  “One billion dollars, Ames. One billion. Dollars.” He put the tongs of the fork on the floor, emphasizing his words. “One billion. But—” He held his hand up. “There are conditions.”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded, leaning against the fork handle. There was silence in the barn.

  “Well, what are they?” Ames finally burst out.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Oookaaay.” She stepped back, and he swiped the hay back up on his fork. “How do you find out?”

  “I have to drive to Fargo to meet with him.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t made an appointment yet.” He’d known Ames was coming home. For some reason, when the letter menti
oned marriage with “other requirements,” he’d not wanted to move forward without Ames.

  “Who all knows?”

  “I got the letter last week. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

  “There’s one billion dollars sitting in an account for you somewhere, and you haven’t done anything about it? You’re just sitting here, waiting for...for what?”

  His lips turned up slowly.

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “No. Don’t even look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever that look is when you curl your lips up like a walrus about to sneeze.”

  He threw his head back and laughed.

  “Seriously, Palmer. Go get your money! What are you waiting on?”

  “The letter didn’t say much, but it did say I had to be married. No point in rushing off to the lawyer’s office when I know I don’t qualify.”

  “Well, there’s like three eligible women in Sweet Water, and one of them is your sister. So, I’ll invite a few of my friends up, and you can have your pick of them.”

  “Have my pick? You make it sound like I’m buying a tractor.”

  “Well, in some ways, it’s very similar.”

  “It’s not, and you know it. I’m not really into the lovey-dovey romantic stuff, but I’ve been around women,” he gave her a wicked smile, “you, long enough that I know it’s not going to be as easy as ‘picking’ her out.”

  “When they hear the word ‘billion,’ they will line up and let you pick.”

  He rested his wrist on the top of the handle. “I don’t see you lining up.”

  She tossed her head. “Marriage would ruin our great friendship. Money ruins everything anyway.”

  He thought of his grandparents and how they wanted to stay on the farm. But it was running his sister, Louise, ragged trying to take care of them and her eight-year-old daughter as well as work the second shift at the diner. He helped out—taking care of everything at night and in the evenings. But both Louise and he were going to wear out at some point as their care got more involved. That billion dollars would pay off the second mortgage on the farm and pay for a caretaker for his grandparents, too. Without it, his ranching days were numbered. They’d have to sell in order to pay for a nursing home. And his grandparents would hate it.

  “Not everything,” he said.

  Ames didn’t look like she believed him, but she shrugged anyway.

  He shoved his fork into the hay and picked up the pile of hay. “This should do it. Come in for a bit. My grandparents would love to see you. Although you’ve been gone so long, Gram might whip out a guest book for you to sign.”

  Ames grinned at his jab at North Dakotans’ odd habit of having a guest book everywhere. Outsiders always teased that they had the highest guest book to resident ratio of any state in the Union. Palmer didn’t recall ever signing a guest book until he moved to North Dakota.

  Ames wrinkled her nose. “Your parents are still in Florida?”

  Her tone was concerned, but she didn’t need to be. His grandparents had helped fill the hole his parents left. He made his tone casual. “Nope. Arizona now. Talking about trying out New Mexico.”

  “You hated that.”

  He had. His dad was in the army and never stayed in one place very long, which his mother had loved, but his older brother, Sawyer, and Louise and he had hated it. Three years in a row, they’d gone to two different schools. Each year. They’d never spent more than two years in one place.

  It had been a real blessing when his parents spent the winter in North Dakota. That was his ninth-grade year. When they’d gotten ready to move to Montana, Sawyer, Louise, and he had begged to stay with their grandparents, where they loved the farm life and also the close feeling of family and community. His parents had been absentminded and very close to being neglectful. With Gram and Pap, they had adults in their life who were actually interested in them. After that, his parents visited once every few years, almost like their own kids were more like distant relatives.

  He couldn’t even say if his dad was still in the army.

  It had worked out for the best. “We landed here. No better place in the States. And I ought to know.”

  “I’ve been around too.”

  She had. He prompted, “And?”

  “That’s true. North Dakota is Heaven in a freezer.”

  Chapter 3

  AMES FOLLOWED PALMER up the old farmhouse porch steps. He left his square-toed cowboy boots on, so she did too, although she’d lived in enough places to feel like she should take them off. It’s what the rest of the world did. Not on the farm.

  “Hey, Pap,” Palmer said as he opened the screen door. He stepped back, holding it for her. “Look what I found hitchhiking along the driveway.”

  She snorted. “The driveway? Seriously?” she said under her breath as she passed him.

  He shrugged. “I’m the brains in this relationship.” He smacked her on the head. “You stick with me, kid.”

  She thought it was a line from some film, probably from the black-and-white era, definitely pre-1980, which was all Palmer and his siblings had been allowed to watch at their grandparents’ home. When they were allowed to watch tv. Which wasn’t often when they were in school. No cable. They probably still used their VCR.

  “Who’s that?” Pap asked gruffly. “Is that Bernice?” He peered closer at Ames through extra-thick glasses.

  Ames laughed. At least Pap’s stroke hadn’t messed with his sense of humor.

  He put his arms around Pap, giving him a hug before saying, “It’s a vagabond that wants to mooch off us.”

  “Where’s that bucket of pig slop? Think your gram usually keeps it under the sink.” Pap motioned her over with the hand that didn’t hang limply at his side. “Come give an old guy a hug.”

  Ames went over and hugged his bony shoulders. He still smelled like old bay and outdoors.

  She loved her parents, but they’d been older when they had her, and she felt...stifled at home. Which didn’t mean that she didn’t do her duty. She’d helped them in the store since she’d been old enough to make change, and whenever she came home, she always took the early morning shifts. Her parents loved her. She knew they did. But she always felt like they were vaguely disapproving and slightly disinterested in her.

  Versus being here on the farm where there was always a smile and something to do. Maybe if she lived on a ranch, with every day providing a new challenge and constant business, she wouldn’t have felt such a desire to roam.

  She didn’t have time to think about that anymore, because Louise flew into the kitchen. “Oh, great, Palmer. You’re in.” Then she saw Ames. She beamed. “Ames! It’s been so long!” She threw her arms up and enveloped Ames in a lilac-scented hug. Louise didn’t look like she’d aged a day since she was sixteen, including still wearing a t-shirt and jeans and boots. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was free of any makeup. The only difference was that in high school, Louise was quiet and shy and would never have walked across the kitchen and hugged someone she hadn’t seen in over a year.

  Having a child had matured her in that area at least.

  Louise threw an arm around Palmer and gave him a side hug before squeezing Pap. “I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be late. But Sawyer is coming to town, and he’s going to take Tella back to his place for the weekend.”

  Ames remembered that Sawyer had bought a huge spread to the west. Huge in land, but if she recalled correctly, none of the buildings had been habitable. At least not in her opinion. And her standards for habitability were not nearly as high as any of her friends’.

  “Where is Tella?” Ames asked, looking around.

  “She and Gram were out in the garden.” Louise opened the oven and checked the hot dish inside. “This should be ready in another thirty minutes.”

  “I can cook, Louise.” Exasperation laced Palmer’s voice.

  “And you do. Today I did,” she answered without looking at him.

  “We’ll get Tella.” Palmer motioned to Ames before he walked through the kitchen and out through the pantry and mudroom.

  “Sorry about that,” he said when the pantry door had shut behind them. “I warned you about Pap’s stroke.”

  They’d facetimed enough that she knew. Palmer didn’t talk about it a lot, though. “It’s fine. They were so good to me when we were in high school.”