Читать онлайн книгу «The Texas Rancher′s Vow» автора Cathy Thacker

The Texas Rancher's Vow
Cathy Gillen Thacker
Never Again!Jen Carson made a promise to herself–no more powerful, controlling husbands. So why is she letting herself be tempted by Matt Briscoe, surely the most alpha male in Laramie County? She only agreed to stay at the Triple B to create a series of commemorative bronze plaques for Matt’s father. Not end up sharing taboo kisses with six-feet-four inches of irresistible cowboy. A cowboy who also happens to be her client’s son. Talk about mixing pleasure with business!And now Jen’s suddenly the reluctant keeper of a Briscoe family secret. Which thrusts her into an even more heated conflict with Matt. No matter how strong her feelings for the studly rancher, Jen has so many good reasons to keep him from becoming a permanent part of her life. Too bad her heart won’t listen to her head…


Never Again!
Jen Carson made a promise to herself: no more powerful, controlling husbands. So why is she letting herself be tempted by Matt Briscoe, surely the most alpha male in Laramie County? She only agreed to stay at the Triple B to create a series of commemorative bronze plaques for Matt’s father. Not end up sharing taboo kisses with six feet four inches of irresistible cowboy.
A cowboy who also happens to be her client’s son. Talk about mixing pleasure with business! And now Jen’s suddenly the reluctant keeper of a Briscoe family secret. Which thrusts her into an even more heated conflict with Matt. No matter how strong her feelings for the studly rancher, Jen has so many good reasons to keep him from becoming a permanent part of her life.
Too bad her heart won’t listen to her head….
“What if I want to make a pass at you?”
With both hands free, Jen wreathed Matt’s neck.
To her disappointment, nothing.
“What if I want to kiss you….” She rose on tiptoe, and with lust pouring through her, brushed her lips ever so briefly across the scruff on his jaw. “Just like this…”
Matt remained still as a statue, the only hint he was affected by her outrageous ploy was the heat emanating from his body, the thudding of his heart and, lower still, the unmistakable imprint of desire.
“You really want to find out?” he asked hoarsely.
Did she? Jen tilted her head, her heart—and temper—raging. She studied his battle-weary eyes.
Maybe not…
She stepped back slightly, telling herself that she had made her point.
Then, to her shock, Matt made his. His arms clamped around her, tugging her closer still.
Dear Reader,
Crisis—in the form of illness—eventually strikes every family, and Matt Briscoe and his father, Emmett, are no exception. Matt’s mother’s death profoundly affected him and his dad. Although they sought very different remedies for their broken hearts….
Since then, Matt has tried to control everything he can in life. He goes the extra mile to protect his vulnerable father. Emmett—always something of a risk-taker, and a very loving, if egocentric, man—has tried another approach. Constantly seeking to replace the passion he lost, he has married multiple times, to disastrous result. And now, much to Matt’s consternation, Emmett is at it again.
Enter bronze sculptor Jen Carson. She, too, lost her mom, and dealt with the fallout from her father’s crushed dreams. Now, she takes nothing for granted, and tries to control nothing except her own reaction to things.
There’s only one problem with that. Jen can’t seem to quash her fast-rising reaction to sexy, fabulously wealthy rancher Matt Briscoe. Nor he to her. Neither Jen nor Matt put their trust in the future, or dare hope that passion will last more than the moment they are in. And yet, the kind of love that can last has a way of entering the picture after all. The only question is: dare they risk all for the happiness that has always seemed just out of their reach?
Happy reading! And feel free to visit me at cathygillenthacker.com (http://www.cathygillenthacker.com/), and on Facebook and Twitter.
Cathy Gillen Thacker
The Texas Rancher’s Vow
Cathy Gillen Thacker


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cathy Gillen Thacker is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Harlequin Books author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website at www.cathygillenthacker.com (http://www.cathygillenthacker.com/) for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.
The Texas Rancher’s Vow
Contents
Chapter One (#u634e003e-6fd7-5f1e-af33-61801c33d163)
Chapter Two (#u1a43e74e-bbaf-5a3f-9359-52f7426eed43)
Chapter Three (#u994cc67a-2363-53c2-aaeb-3f92b591fe56)
Chapter Four (#ud8191db3-da99-5201-bc48-53748edcea8a)
Chapter Five (#u6f0a2ea9-f673-5d09-9802-a7f72a2f1285)
Chapter Six (#u58fb1137-2112-5dd5-b371-b4f993525425)
Chapter Seven (#ub28b6683-616d-5f1f-815c-b77e30c62224)
Chapter Eight (#u75396f64-5bf4-5524-af74-b406e8fb7d6c)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“I know what he said, but it’s not your artistic talent that my father is interested in.”
Jen stared the unexpected visitor to her Austin gallery. Matt Briscoe was six foot four inches of incredibly determined, swaggering cowboy. As well as handsome to a fault.
Knowing it would irritate him as much as he had already irritated her, she let her glance drift slowly over his ruggedly chiseled face to his thatch of curly black hair. It was cut short in a way that wouldn’t require much maintenance. His beard was another matter. He had the kind of dark, dangerous-looking scruff that never totally disappeared no matter how closely he shaved. The kind that made her suspect the man just oozed testosterone. In bed. And out. “And you know this because…?” Jen prodded.
Eyes the color of the Texas summer sky zeroed in on hers. Lingered. Just long enough to get her pulse racing in a way she most definitely did not like.
The corner of his sensual mouth lifting slightly, Matt Briscoe continued brusquely, “In the past ten years Emmett’s married—and divorced—a novelist, a violinist and an actress.”
Okay, so that not only wasn’t a good personal track record to have, it didn’t portend well for her future dealings with the wealthy Texas cattleman.
On the other hand, Jen reminded herself, Emmett Briscoe hadn’t been hitting on her—or even flirting with her—when he had made the appointment.
On the phone, Matt’s sixty-year-old father had been all business, and perfectly polite.
Unlike the blunt-to-a-fault younger man standing in front of her.
Jen took a calming breath and forced herself to look around the small but respectable gallery she had leased to display her work.
She was a sculptress—and a darn fine one at that—whether Matt Briscoe chose to acknowledge it or not. So she wasn’t going to let him, or anyone else in his blue-blooded, Texas ranching class disparage her.
“This leads you to believe that your father would now turn to a practitioner of the visual arts—for female company?”
Matt flinched. Her assumption had clearly struck a nerve. “For more reasons than you could possibly understand,” he retorted gruffly. “Yes. It does.”
He really thought her a gold digger?
Jen folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Well, you’ll be happy to know, Matt Briscoe, that I am not looking for a sugar daddy.”
He rested his hands on his hips, pushing back the edges of his lightweight summer sport coat, then rocked forward on the toes of his expensive, hand-tooled leather boots. “It wouldn’t start out that way.”
Unable to take the raw masculine intensity of his gaze, Jen focused her attention on the strong column of his suntanned throat, visible in the open collar of his pale blue dress shirt.
Damn, he smelled good. Outdoorsy and brisk and male. Not that she should be noticing, she thought firmly.
Indignantly, she forced her glance upward and continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “Nor am I looking to get married again. Ever.”
His gaze meshed with hers. Something that might have been empathy appeared all too briefly in his expression. “So you’ve been…?”
“Divorced.” Old bitterness welled inside her, filling her heart, keeping the force field of independence up and running. “Yes.” Jen nodded. She wasn’t ashamed, just regretful. “I have.”
Matt inclined his head, murmured conversationally, “Then you understand how difficult it can be to end something that never should have begun.”
He was so close. Too close. Her heart skipped another beat.
She stepped back a pace. “I do.”
“So do I,” he returned softly, as if that fact somehow bonded them. Put them on the same page. With the same goals and values.
But she and Matt—and his very wealthy father—weren’t joined in anything, Jen reminded herself sternly.
Any more than she and her ex and his family had ever been.
Yes, there had been instances of closeness. Moments when she had hoped—even imagined—that everything would turn out all right. Only to find out that Dex had an agenda of his own that left her in the dust. Not to mention disgraced and completely heartbroken.
Never again, Jen had vowed, would she allow herself to be used as a pawn between a wealthy scion and his family.
That was truer now than ever.
As was her goal of wanting her own financial stability.
Determined to let Matt Briscoe know where he stood with her, she smirked. “Now why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re a veteran of divorce, too?” She stepped away and snapped her fingers. “Oh, I’ve got it. Your outright charm.”
He remained motionless, his expression a blank slate.
Jen noticed he neither claimed nor disavowed what she had just alleged. Which meant what? He was single? Involved? It certainly didn’t look as if he was married, since he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“I’m trying to be forthright with you—in a way my dad likely won’t be, at least not in the beginning,” Matt said gruffly.
His words had the ring of truth, but it made them no less offensive and overbearing. Jen stepped closer once again and dropped her voice a notch. “What you’re trying to do, Matt Briscoe, is intimidate me for your own reasons.” Something else she was oh too familiar with… The alleged “good guy” who was at heart a selfish jerk.
Jaw hardening, he shook his head. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? I’ll double whatever he’s offering for you if you don’t show up.”
Matt really thought he could buy her off? Jen’s temper flared. He wasn’t the first—although she really wished he would be the last—to make that mistake. “Well, that’s an expensive proposition,” she drawled.
He pulled a checkbook from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Incensed that he assumed she was that easy, Jen glared at him. “Save your cash, cowboy.”
“Sure about that?” he taunted, wielding a pen. “It’s a one-time-only offer.”
Jen was finished being polite, too. “And one I don’t intend to take.”
Footsteps sounded behind them.
“Trouble here?” a low voice rumbled.
Cy and Celia were suddenly at her side.
Jen stepped between her coworkers, aware that they were ready to kick butt on her behalf. Of course, it would have been ludicrous if the married couple had tried. Cy was almost a full foot shorter than their interloper. Celia was even more petite and only days away from delivering their first child.
Jen held up a hand, staving off any further intervention on her behalf. “There’s no trouble, Cy,” she said quietly, her eyes still on the ruggedly handsome rancher standing before her. “Mr. Briscoe was just leaving.”
Matt remained where he was.
Cy glowered. “You heard the lady.”
Matt dug in his heels. “I’m not going to let you hurt my father.”
“And I’m not going to let you tell me what I can or cannot do.” Jen opened the gallery door, grasped his elbow and pushed him through. Then she shut the door behind him, locked it and flipped the sign to Closed.
Matt’s lips thinned. He shook his head at her through the glass, then stalked off down the street.
“Wow,” Celia said, moving to the window to stare after him. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Shaking off the dark mood that had descended, Jen ran a trembling hand through her hair and quipped, “Never a dull moment in my life, that’s for sure.”
“You feeling okay?”
Jen surveyed her friend’s petite, pregnant form. Was it her imagination or had the baby dropped another couple inches in the last day? “Fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” She led them upstairs to her studio.
“Celia is right,” Cy said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to meet with the senior Briscoe.”
All three of them congregated around the works in progress. Jen was just finishing up a bust of the mayor, slated for city hall. Cy was making the molds for her work, as well as the dozens of baby shoes that would be bronzed at the foundry. Celia also played an integral role in the business, scheduling all the appointments and keeping the books.
“He said on the phone he wants to commission several bronzes. That’s a lot of money we could all use.” Maybe if they had enough coming in, they could ease out of the baby-paraphernalia-bronzing work that currently underwrote the operating costs of the gallery and the studio, as well as all their salaries.
Cy shook his head. He removed his apron and hung it up next to his own workstation. “We’ll find another way to bump up profits and bring in income, Jen.”
Easier said than done, when my career as an artist is just beginning to take off. Besides… She folded her arms again. “I don’t care how inhospitable Matt Briscoe was. I’m not letting that audacious cowboy scare me off.”
Celia ran a hand over her swollen tummy. “Jen…”
Jen shook her head, refusing the advice. “You two worry about your baby. I’ll worry about me.”
* * *
“ALMOST THERE?” CELIA asked Jen late the next day.
Jen pressed her cell phone closer to her ear. “I can see the entrance to the Triple B Ranch from where I’m standing.” The fifty-thousand-acre ranch was located on the far western edge of Laramie County. Hundreds of black Angus cattle grazed sedately in the rolling green pastures, for as far as the eye could see.
“How is the radiator holding out?”
Jen took the clear plastic jug out of her aging white utility van, pulled on an insulated leather work glove and walked over to lift the hood.
“Okay.” Considering I’ve just driven two hundred miles in a little over four hours. “I’ve been stopping every hour or so to add water.” Carefully, she unscrewed the top. Steam rose, dissipating quickly in the hot, dry summer air.
“I wish you would just get it fixed,” Celia fretted.
Jen frowned at the sight of a horseman breaking away from a group of cowboys. He was headed her way. She turned back to the radiator and dumped another pint into the opening. “I will, as soon as finances allow.” Finished, she set the jug on the ground, replaced the top and then shut the hood. “Listen, I’ve got to go.” She walked back to put the water in the van.
“Call us later. Let us know how it goes.”
“Promise.” Jen ended the call and slipped her cell phone in the pocket of her skirt.
“Trouble?” Dismounting with easy grace, Matt Briscoe inclined his head at the engine.
Jen watched one of the other cowboys come forward and take the reins from him, then he rode back to the herd they’d been tending, with Matt’s horse in tow.
Great. Now she was stuck with him.
“Nope…I’m fine.”
Matt adjusted the brim of his straw hat. “I was hoping you’d take my advice.”
Someone else had said that to her once, and the situation had not ended happily.
The only difference now was that she was a lot better equipped to handle the inevitable criticism doubtlessly coming her way.
Her gut tightening, Jen slammed the cargo door with unnecessary force and gave him a challenging look.
“You’re going to regret this,” he predicted.
For reasons that had little to do with the man she was supposed to meet—and everything to do with the one in front of her—Jen already did.
Determined to get what she wanted out of this arrangement, she bantered back. “I think I can handle whatever comes my way.” Including you.
* * *
MATT WAS USED TO beautiful women. Texas was full of them, and Laramie County had more than their share.
But there was something about this one.
He wasn’t sure whether it was her delicate heart-shaped face, the gold highlights in the wavy chestnut hair, the cornflower-blue of her eyes or the full soft lips beneath her model-perfect nose, but something in Jen Carson had his rapt attention.
It didn’t matter whether she was clad in a short denim skirt and a man’s work shirt, or outfitted in a pretty sundress that bared her silky shoulders and even sexier legs. She was five foot nine inches of curvy woman, one who knew what she wanted and was determined to get it.
Matt respected ambition. Strength of purpose. And iron will.
What he could have done without, besides her showing up here in that pathetic old white van, was her sass.
Jen Carson had a mouth on her that just would not quit.
To the point she was already getting under his skin.
And she had barely entered their lives.
Matt could only imagine what would transpire if Emmett got his way, and Jen was soon ensconced with him.
Matt worked to rein in his disdain. Nothing would be gained by him losing his cool. He needed to stay calm to outmaneuver this pretty little protégée.
He headed around to the passenger side of her van. “I’ll escort you to the ranch house, to meet my father.”
Long lashes fluttered briefly. “Wow, this is my lucky day.”
Matt moved the remains of a take-out lunch from Sonic, set them carefully on the floor and slid into the passenger seat. “Are you this rude to all your potential customers?”
Jen’s jaw set. “You’re not my customer.”
Nor was he ever likely to be.
Still…
He couldn’t say he minded looking at her.
Or inhaling her sweet womanly scent, a mixture of lilac, fragrant grass and summer air.
Jen discreetly tugged the hem of her dress down as she settled in the driver’s seat, cutting off his glimpse of silky thigh. “Don’t feel you have to stay with your father and me while we talk.”
Matt ignored the tightening in his torso, the one that reminded him he hadn’t had sex—or intimacy of any kind—in way too long. “Are you kidding?” he drawled, just to get her goat. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Jen sent him another annoyed glance, then turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Flushing, she turned it again.
Still nothing.
He couldn’t say he minded her humiliation, given the havoc she was about to wreak on his life. Trying not to think how chivalrously his father would react to this situation, Matt reached for his cell phone and punched in the number for the bunkhouse.
She tried again. The third time was the charm.
Crisis averted. For now, anyway.
Resisting the urge to say something about her vehicle, he gestured toward the wrought-iron arch at the head of the drive. “The house is at the end of that.”
Her eyes flashed as she slid him a look. “Good thing you told me,” she quipped. “I never would have found it.”
There she went with that mouth again.
Jen shifted into Drive and hit the accelerator. To Matt’s surprise, the van edged forward smoothly and almost soundlessly. It glided onto the road, and then a hundred feet later, onto the paved lane.
She was silent as she drove down the shady, tree-lined drive toward the cluster of buildings a half mile back from the road. He could see that she liked what she saw. And why not? The white limestone ranch house was stately and expensive-looking. So was the adjacent glass-walled garage, which showcased all ten of his father’s cars and trucks.
Jen’s eyes slid to the Lamborghini.
“A memento from marriage number two,” Matt said. “Dad rarely drives it anymore.”
“What does he drive?”
“These days, mostly his Lincoln Navigator or his Cadillac Escalade. But that could change.” Matt tilted his head toward the collection, not above testing her at every turn. “What’s your favorite ride?”
Jen rested her surprisingly delicate hands on the steering wheel. “Couldn’t say.”
Matt wondered how she kept her hands so soft looking, given the nature of her work. He lifted his gaze back to her face. “Noncommittal, hmm?”
“About some things.” She looked him right in the eye. “Others, not so much.”
Meaning she had already decided she didn’t like him. Fair enough, given the fact that the distrust went both ways.
He swiveled toward her on the uncomfortably worn bench seat, his knee landing just short of her thigh. For some reason he wished he had an excuse to make physical contact, see if she was actually as soft and warm and womanly as she looked. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. And just forget it.”
Jen scoffed and gave him a classic don’t-mess-with-me expression. “After a four-hour drive? I don’t think so, cowboy.”
Matt knew it wasn’t likely he’d change her mind. When big sums of money were involved, people tended to stick around. “All right then.” He climbed out of the passenger seat and said a silent prayer, bracing himself for the inevitable emotional disaster that lay ahead. “Let’s go. My father is waiting for you.”
Chapter Two
Jen had barely stepped through the front door of the sprawling ranch house when she was greeted by a big, handsome bear of a man. Giving Jen a hint of what Matt would act like if he were actually happy to see her, Emmett clasped her hand warmly. “Miss Carson? Emmett Briscoe! Welcome!”
Jen smiled at her host. His eyes were the same sky-blue as his son’s, his suntanned skin had a weathered appearance and his thick salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and combed neatly to one side. She was happy to note that Emmett was as welcoming in person as he had been on the phone. “Thank you.”
When he released her hand and stepped back, Jen drew a breath and tried to get her bearings. Not easy when Matt was hovering close by.
Working at ignoring him, Jen noted the interior of the ranch house was elegant, and as expensively put together as the stately abode itself.
On the left side of the foyer was a sweeping staircase, to the right, a man-size living area. Two large brown sofas and several upholstered easy chairs formed a conversation area in front of a huge white limestone hearth. The dark oak floor was scattered with beautiful Southwestern rugs. Photos of a much younger Emmett, Matt and a woman Jen guessed was Matt’s mother, graced the mantel.
Emmett walked to the bar and stepped behind it. “Please, sit down. Did you have any trouble finding the ranch?” he asked.
Matt followed with implacable calm.
Feeling anything but tranquil, Jen sank into a chair and crossed her legs at the knee. “None at all.” Deliberately, she ignored Emmett’s son, keeping her gaze on the older man’s face. “Your directions were perfect.”
As if aware that their conversation would continue to be awkward with Matt present, Emmett turned to him. “I can take it from here,” he said easily.
Matt looked from Jen to his dad and back, his glance speculative. “Actually,” he drawled politely, “if Miss Carson doesn’t mind, I’d like to stay and hear what she has to say.”
Realizing it was a test, Jen forced herself to be as gracious as the situation required. Matt wanted to pretend he was willing to give her a fair shake? Well, the least she could do was pretend to play along. “I’d be happy to speak with you both,” she agreed, dipping her head.
“Then it’s settled,” Matt said, his eyes fixed on hers in a way that made her stomach tighten.
Emmett regarded his son for a long moment, and Jen sensed a lot more would be said had there not been a lady present. Wordlessly, the older man added ice to three glasses, topped them off with sparkling water, and passed them around.
He gave Matt another long, warning look, then turned and led the way past the sweeping staircase and down a long hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. “We’ll talk in the gallery,” Emmett said as they passed a beautiful outdoor courtyard, which was flanked by an ivy-covered retaining wall and the rest of the U-shaped, two-story house.
When they reached a big open room, at the rear of the home, Jen looked around in awe, trying to take it all in. There was hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of art displayed, all of it set off by perfect lighting.
Momentarily forgetting the family drama, she moved from one piece to another, studying them avidly.
To her annoyance, Matt followed close behind her, as taut and on guard as his father was relaxed.
Emmett sipped his water, watching them both. “You’ll have to forgive my son. He’s become ridiculously overprotective in his middle age.”
Matt swung back around, his irritation apparent. “Only because I’ve needed to be,” he retorted in a low voice.
Jen sucked in a breath, drawing in the sunshine-soap-and-leather scent of him.
Nerves deep inside her quivered.
Oblivious of her reaction, Emmett arched a brow in reproach. “We’ve both made mistakes when it comes to matrimony, Matt.”
Both of them?
Matt had indicated he wasn’t divorced.
And if he wasn’t divorced…what was he?
“It doesn’t mean there have to be any more,” Emmett continued sternly.
Matt pinned Jen with his gaze. “I don’t want there to be.”
Could you make it more obvious that you think I’m a threat? Jen wondered.
“Nor do I.” Emmett stared at his son over the rim of his glass. “So unless you’d like to discuss this further…”
Seeing an opening, Jen stepped between them.
“What I’d really like to discuss is the reason I’m here.” Certain she had both men’s attention, she said sincerely, “This is an amazing collection.” She walked around, inspecting the shelves holding bronze statues and figurines, as well as the paintings on the walls. She turned and smiled at Emmett. “Whoever put it together has a very good eye.”
He beamed with the enthusiasm of a true collector. “It was started by my grandfather. He was an early supporter of Remington, and countless others, and my father and I have continued the tradition.”
“Well, y’all have done a wonderful job.” Jen moved from one to another. Some of the artists were famous, others more obscure, but each work on display was beautiful, detailed and original. “These are all pieces I would have picked.”
She stopped, seeing one of her own first works, and for a second was speechless with surprise. She turned back to Emmett. “I didn’t know you had any of my sculptures.” Never mind this one.
Emmett inched closer, still sipping his water. “It’s my favorite, to date.”
Jen heard that a lot. The bronze sculpture depicted a small girl having her first horseback-riding lesson, while her doting mother stood nearby, holding the reins.
“There’s a wistful, loving quality about it,” he murmured.
Matt paused beside it, too. His guarded expression slipped just a tad.
“Did you know your subjects well?” he asked, eyeing the bronze, then her. “It seems like a very emotional piece.”
It was, but not for reasons either Briscoe would have assumed.
Wishing he hadn’t noticed that, Jen acknowledged the unexpected compliment with a nod. She was way too aware of Matt’s physical presence, and turned away. So what if he had the kind of hot, powerful body no woman could ignore? He didn’t trust her, certainly didn’t respect her. And without that… There was no way she would let him draw her in.
“I conjured this from my imagination,” she murmured in response to his question. Although she wished it had been real.
Matt studied her, as if seeing beyond what she’d said to the yearning for family she felt inside.
And maybe he did know, at least a little bit, she conceded. Emmett had said Matt’s mother had died years ago. Jen had lost hers, too.
Being orphaned was hard at any age.
But although Matt and she shared that experience, it wasn’t a bond she intended to pursue.
Emmett looked from one to the other. He, too, knew there was more going on than what Jen said, but was kind enough to move on to safer territory. “You often work from photographs, don’t you?”
Jen nodded. “Yes, I do. Particularly with commissioned works.”
These days, she stayed far away from memory lane. Focusing only on the present. Never the past, nor the future.
Inching closer, Matt said, “So you don’t need to see a subject in person to be able to do justice to his or her likeness.”
She acknowledged that fact with another brief nod. Why not just show me the door now, Matt? “Although it helps to at least hear about the personality of the person I’m depicting.”
“Well,” Emmett boomed, “no problem there.”
No, indeed. His personality was very distinct, his ego strong.
“Dad,” Matt interjected, clearly still worried his father was going to be taken advantage of, “are you sure you want to do this?”
“I have to, son.” His voice was suddenly hoarse and unsteady. “Whether you understand or not.” Emmett cleared his throat and turned to Jen, all business once more. “So…here’s the deal. I want ten bronzes to start. All commemorating my life. And I’ll pay you triple your normal rate—on the condition you set up shop here, start right away and do only my work, under my supervision, until we’re done.”
* * *
“YOU DON’T HAVE TO GIVE my father an answer by evening’s end,” Matt told Jen after Emmett had gone off to tend to other business. “Dad won’t make the same offer to another artist.”
She stared at him. “Are you sure about that?” she asked.
He let out a measured breath. The truth was, he couldn’t figure out what his father was thinking, never mind why he was doing the things he was right now. One minute he’d be ebullient—full of dreams that had to be fulfilled right away. The next, he’d disappear, sometimes for a few hours, other times, a few days.
When Emmett did return, he usually seemed fatigued. Pale and almost shaky.
If Matt didn’t know better, he’d think his dad was binge drinking. But that didn’t make sense. The man could hold his liquor. He just didn’t choose to drink very often.
Instead, Emmett handled stress by spending. Land, works of art, cattle—it didn’t seem to matter what he bought as long as he enjoyed the wealth he had and purchased something.
The big question was what was causing his dad’s anxiety lately. As much as Matt had nosed around, he still couldn’t figure it out. All he knew for certain was the beautiful thirty-year-old woman in front of him was involved. And given Emmett’s history of chasing younger, completely inappropriate women, that couldn’t be good.
“Earth to Matt. Earth to Matt…”
“I’m still here.”
Jen quirked a brow. “Really? You seemed a million miles away.”
Glad he had been tapped to give her a tour of the property while she made up her mind, he shook off his unease and escorted her through the formal dining room.
He paused near the magnificently carved wooden table, which routinely sat thirty guests, determined to find out as much as he could about the beautiful sculptor. Like it or not, that meant spending time with her. “You’ve probably noticed my dad is a strong-willed guy, with a very healthy ego.”
A hint of cynicism lit Jen’s eyes as she paused by the chair where Emmett generally presided. “Seems to run in the family.”
Trying not to think about how alluring she was, or what reaction the two of them might have had to each other if they weren’t on opposing sides, Matt added, “Dad wants what he wants when he wants it.”
Brushing past him, Jen glided along the length of the table, her hips swaying seductively beneath her sundress. She tossed him a look. “Seems the same could be said of you,” she noted drily.
Matt braced his hands on the ornate scrolling across the top of a mahogany chair, trying not to be fascinated by her. “I know enough to realize when I need to slow down. And reevaluate.” Like right now.
Jen eyed the huge crystal chandelier, then stiffened her spine and compressed her lips. “Your father doesn’t seem likely to do either at the moment.”
Something in the speculative way she was studying him, prompted Matt to be completely forthright, too. “Probably not,” he said, with as much indifference as he could muster. “Which is why you need to think long and hard about just what it is Dad is asking you to do.”
Jen slanted him a pitying look and folded her arms again, which plumped up her breasts. “What is it about Emmett’s offer that you think I can’t handle?”
Lazily, he appraised her pretty dress and sandals. Everything about her was feminine and enticing, from her dainty feet and stunning legs to her slender waist and round, perfect breasts. Nothing about her said ranch-ready. “I think the better question is what part of living out in the wilds of rural Texas could you handle?” he drawled.
She scowled. “Hey. Just because I grew up in the city—”
“And live in Austin now, where the population is a million plus.”
Appearing irritated, she shrugged. “So?”
“Laramie County is thirty-five square miles with one small town and wide-open spaces—”
“Spaces,” Jen interrupted, “peppered with ranches and horses and cattle, and even, from what I saw on my way over here, the occasional donkeys, sheep and alpacas.”
No doubt this area of West Texas had its share of rugged individualists, Matt acknowledged silently. And like it or not, her work as a sculptress put her in that category, too.
The problem, he thought, as he let his gaze roam her once again, was that Jen was incredibly feminine and unconsciously sexy in a way that drove men wild. Every glance, every movement of her hands, every touch of her fingers, was innately artistic, unbearably gentle and sensual.
Matt had noticed this on sight. And that was something they couldn’t have. Not when it made him continually wonder how that overt sensuality would manifest in lovemaking.
Oblivious to the direction of his thoughts, she argued, “Being out here in the Texas countryside is going to help, not hurt, my art.”
He would concede to that. “Even so…the ranch can be a lonely place.” Which made it all too easy to establish intimacy with someone.
His observation earned him nothing but a smile. “Lucky for me, I work best when I’m not interrupted. Although all the bronzes will have to be finished back in Austin, where the foundry and my studio are located.”
Sounded good, to have her back in central Texas where she belonged. Especially since he couldn’t talk his dad out of this.
Helpfully, Matt suggested, “Why not just negotiate that it all be done there—except the initial consultation?”
“Wow,” Jen taunted softly. “You genuinely want me off the Triple B.”
Her voice seemed to ripple over him like velvet. He folded his arms defensively. No need to mince words now. “I think it would be best for everyone,” he stated flatly.
“In your view,” she corrected without hesitation. “Not Emmett’s. Or mine.”
With effort, Matt kept his distance. “You’re really planning to accept my dad’s offer and stay here?”
“I really am.” Jen sashayed out of the dining room and into the corridor that led past the pantry to the kitchen. “So cowboy up, fella.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. “And get used to it.”
* * *
“JEN,” CELIA WAILED, when told of the plan in a conference call one hour later. “This is such a bad idea.”
“I agree,” Cy added vehemently.
“Driving all the way out there in that wreck of a van was bad enough,” Celia fretted, “but to stay for the next however many months…”
Jen was used to holding the hands of very wealthy, incredibly egotistical clients who were seeking to immortalize themselves for posterity. This, she told herself firmly, would be no different. Even if there was a handsome, sexy, difficult son on the premises. She could handle Matt. She’d just avoid him.
She ran her palm over the silk fabric of the comforter on her bed. “Actually, I’m hoping it will just be for one month.”
“The time it will take you to complete the first statue,” Celia affirmed.
Jen got up and walked to the guest-room window, overlooking the courtyard. “I think once Emmett understands my process and sees the quality of my work, he’ll be amenable to granting me whatever I need to finish.” Which was an environment far, far away from his maddeningly handsome, wickedly provoking son.
“And if he doesn’t? If he plays the rich man card and says you have to stay and do everything his way,” Celia countered, her voice rising with concern. “Then what? It’s obvious father and son have issues. The last thing you need is to put yourself in a situation where you try to fix other people’s problems—again.”
Jen wasn’t going to do that. Once had been more than enough. “Look, it’s obvious Matt and his dad don’t see eye to eye on hiring me to commemorate Emmett’s life. But that’s for the two of them to sort out. I’m concerned about the business.” Not to mention the fact that Cy and Celia were about to have a baby, and Jen’s van needed substantial repair. “The profit from this job will allow me to expand into the next storefront, showcase other artists and hire another employee.” Which meant all their schedules would be a lot more flexible.
“Assuming it goes as planned,” Cy groused, reminding Jen that he and Celia had a financial stake in this.
“It will,” she promised. “You’ll see.” And when it did, the rent for the gallery would be paid for an entire year, and they wouldn’t be living paycheck to paycheck any longer.
She looked up to see Matt looming in the guest room’s open doorway, a thick accordion file in hand.
She turned away to finish her conversation. “In the meantime, I’m emailing you a list of things I’ll need overnighted to me….”
After Cy and Celia promised they would get right on it, Jen ended the call and put her phone back in her bag.
“Obviously, you have been invited to stay for dinner, regardless of your decision about the offer my father made.”
Jen wondered what Matt thought could have possibly changed in the last fifteen minutes, since she had already told Emmett her decision and he’d asked Matt to show her to the guest room. “You just won’t give up, will you?”
He came closer, his expression grim. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this.”
His words had an ominous ring. Jen felt her stomach clench. For the first time since she had arrived at the ranch, she felt she was out of her league as she stared into his implacable blue eyes.
Wordlessly, he handed over the file he held. “You have a very interesting past.”
His statement delivered a punch a hundred times more powerful than she had anticipated. “You had me investigated?”
He let out a breath. “I checked into the backgrounds of all the artists my father was interested in.” Moving closer, he looked at her for a long minute. “Curiously enough, you were the only one who had married for cash. I guess my dad really does have a radar for fortune hunters.”
Jen’s temper rose. “I did not marry for money, Matt. I married for love.” Which, unfortunately, had turned out to be one-sided.
His eyes dipped down to her mouth, then back up again. “His family says otherwise. They say you led their son down the garden path, and had they not intervened, you would have gone through his entire trust fund in a matter of years.”
Jen knew how it looked. But how it looked and how it was were two entirely different things.
Sensing Matt Briscoe wouldn’t believe her even if she did tell him everything that had transpired during the two unhappiest years of her life, she focused on the facts that would vindicate her. At least in Emmett Briscoe’s eyes. She tilted her head and murmured, “Then you also must have uncovered the fact that I left the marriage exactly as I entered it. With five hundred dollars in my savings account. The clothes on my back. An armful of possessions. And the same van I’m driving now.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “A smart move, if you were looking for another rich man to bamboozle.”
“But what if I wasn’t?” Jen swallowed hard. “What if, at the end of the day, all I wanted was my freedom? My self-respect intact?”
A devastating silence fell.
Matt didn’t believe her.
He was never going to believe her.
So Jen did the only thing she could do.
She gave up trying to convince him of the truth and took another approach. One that a man like him would buy.
Dropping all pretext of innocence, she threw up her hands and sashayed toward him like a hussy on the hunt. “You’re right.” Reaching behind him, she shut the bedroom door, then swung back around to face him. “Why deny it?” Her heart pounding, she glided even closer and lifted a hand to his hard chest. “I did come out here looking for another rich husband.” She splayed her fingers over his heart. “But it’s not your father I want, Matt,” she confessed, even more softly. “It’s you.”
His eyes smoldered. He caught her wrist and held her away. “Very funny.”
Her instinct was to fight his grip. Instead, she relaxed into it. Pretended she wanted him to touch her. Moved closer still.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Aware what a dangerous game she was playing, she brought her other hand up to trace his lower lip. “You’re a vibrant and sexy guy.” Surely, in another second or two he’d realize how ridiculous this all was.
“Tall. Dark-haired. Handsome.” She continued her litany of his attributes. “What’s not to like?” She let her fingers sift through his dark, curly hair, stroke the shell of his ear, feel the pulse in his throat.
“It’s not going to work.” He stared at her, daring her to get past his tough exterior.
“Sure about that?” Jen prodded, her ego suddenly in play. She extricated her wrist from his hand. “Sure you don’t want to make a pass at me, just a little bit?”
Again he refused to budge.
“What if I want to make a pass at you?” With both hands free, she wreathed her arms around his neck.
To her disappointment, he didn’t respond.
“What if I want to kiss you…” She rose on tiptoe and, with lust pouring through her, brushed her lips ever so briefly across the scruff on his jaw. “Just like this…”
Matt remained still as a statue. The only hint that he might be affected by her outrageous ploy was the heat emanating from his body, the thudding of his heart and lower, the unmistakable imprint of desire.
“You really want to find out?” he asked hoarsely.
Did she? Jen tilted her head and searched his eyes.
Maybe not…
She stepped back slightly, telling herself that she had made her point.
Then, to her shock, Matt made his. His arms clamped around her, tugging her close again. Suddenly, she was anchored against him in a way that thoroughly outlined the challenge he presented to her.
Aware that it was her turn to call his bluff, she narrowed her eyes and declared, “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
Matt lifted an eyebrow, lowered his head and growled, “Yeah? Watch me.”
Chapter Three
Matt had not expected their confrontation to end with a kiss. But as he gave into instinct and flattened one hand against her spine and slid the other through the silk of her hair, he knew that was exactly where it was headed. Trouble was, one kiss wouldn’t begin to satisfy the desire pouring through him. Not when he brushed her mouth lightly with his; not when he responded to the slight opening of her lips and moved in to kiss her hard and deep. And
especially not when he heard her make a soft, sexy sound that was part frustration, part need.
And then, suddenly, she was surprising him again by meeting his demand. Going up on tiptoe. Wreathing her arms about his shoulders once again.
Her breasts pressed against his chest. He felt the hardness of her nipples, the quick beating of her heart, the erratic rasp of her breath. And knew he had invited way more than should be happening….
Jen knew Matt was only trying to prove a point.
She was proving one, too. Not only could she handle a forbidden kiss. Or two. Or in this case, three… She could handle him.
Yes, he was hard and sexy. Yes, he looked really hot, whether dressed up, as he’d been the first time they’d met, or in a simple chambray shirt and worn jeans, as he was now.
Yes, he knew how to fit her against him for maximum contact, angle his head and kiss her breathless.
He tasted good. A combination of cool spearmint, warm summer sun…and man.
And he made her feel wonderful.
All soft and willing and womanly.
Even when she knew she was not going to let this go any further than it already had, for fear her knees would collapse under her and she’d lose what precious little common sense she had left.
Not when this was solely for the purpose of proving a point.
Deliberately, Jen broke off the kiss.
Ignoring the molten look in his eyes, she drew a halting breath and stepped back. Watched him get control of his faculties, too.
She struggled for calm, reminding herself this was very dangerous territory they were in. “Look. I get you trying to control everything, because there have been times when I tried to do that, too. But life doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to control someone else’s actions or prevent their mistakes. Never mind engineer their epiphanies.”
He quirked a brow but allowed her to continue.
Jen aimed a lecturing finger at the center of his chest. “You get to be the master of your destiny. Make your own decisions. Control your own reactions to things. And that, pal, is it.”
Matt’s lips compressed. “Sounds like the credo for Al-Anon,” he said, in a voice dripping with cynicism.
Reeling from the verbal left hook, Jen sucked in an anguished breath. She had expected Matt to fight hard. But this was a low blow. She scowled at him, making no effort to hide her resentment. “Nice, Briscoe, bringing that up.”
Shock had him going completely still.
Jen groaned and bit down on an oath. Darn it all. He didn’t know!
Working to get her pulse under control, she slid him a look. “I thought you had me investigated.”
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and heated. “Briefly. Just in terms of your professional expertise and general background.”
She studied him intently. “Then you know I grew up in the economically disadvantaged part of Austin.”
“And that your mom died when you were three, and your dad raised you,” he stated in a quiet voice.
Her stomach quivered. This was stuff she never discussed. “What else?”
Matt cocked his head, still studying her. “That your father was a self-employed housepainter who worked sporadically, usually eking out just enough to get by.”
The hardships of that time still haunted her. Jen was working on being okay with it, but she hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
Deciding if Matt was going to hear this, he was going to hear it from her, she moved a step closer and asked, “Do you know why?”
Matt continued watching her as if something didn’t quite add up. “The investigator didn’t get that far, but I can go back and see what else can be found out….”
Jen shook her head and lifted a staying palm. “No need for that,” she declared firmly, forcing herself to hold his steady gaze.
Might as well get this over with.
“I’ll just tell you.”
She swallowed as another wave of emotion swept through her. “My father drank.” Her throat closed in a way that made it difficult to get the words out. “A lot. Not all the time, but…whenever something set him off. Instead of dealing with his frustration and anger over the hand that fate had dealt him, he would self-medicate with booze.”
Compassion flashed across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged off the sympathy. She didn’t want his pity. “I wouldn’t have survived my childhood had it not been for Alateen. The people there—the counselors, the sponsors, the other kids—helped me realize that my father’s problem with alcohol was not my fault.” Tears stung her eyes.
Matt clamped his hands on her shoulders, gave her a brief, comforting squeeze. “Of course it wasn’t,” he said softly, looking a little rough around the edges himself. “He was the adult. You were just a kid.”
A kid with a big heart and a sensitive nature…and a hopelessly idealistic outlook on life.
Jen had worked hard to erect a hard shell around her vulnerable inner self, to put all her pent-up emotion into her artistry, where it could do some good.
The trouble was, with just one steamy embrace, and an unexpectedly gentle word or two, Matt tempted her to undo all that.
She had no intention of letting the floodgates open. “Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lessons well enough until I got a lot older.”
Matt locked eyes with her. “And this caused problems.”
“Oh, yes. Tons of them. In big and little ways.” Jen hitched in a restless breath and resisted the urge to pace. “Because for a while there, I still chased after lost causes. Thinking if I could just make someone else’s life better, it would make up for the fact that I never got through to my father. Never managed to get him to a single meeting.”
Matt’s expression softened. The empathy in his eyes gave her the courage to go on.
“So I got involved with someone else, someone with family problems of his own, hoping to help him in a way I hadn’t been able to help myself.”
“Only, that didn’t work, either.”
“No,” Jen said tautly. “It didn’t.”
“Which is why you got divorced.”
Jen nodded.
Pushing the turmoil away, Jen lifted her chin. “But don’t worry. I am not interested in sponsoring you.” Jen threw up her hands, her boundaries firmly in place once again. “Your issues are your own. And so,” Jen emphasized flatly, “are your father’s.”
Jen spun around and made a beeline for the door, which she flung open, gesturing for him to take his leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get ready for dinner.”
* * *
MATT HAD WEATHERED a lot since his mom died. Some of it was caused by his own grief and reaction to loss. The rest was due to his dad. So Matt didn’t feel guilty about trying to prevent more heartache for all of them.
This, he figured, was his duty as Emmett Briscoe’s son.
But he also knew enough to realize he was holding Jen Carson accountable for far more than she deserved. She hadn’t pursued his father, as the other women had.
Emmett had evidently done his research this time and sought Jen out for the clearly defined purpose of commemorating his life.
So maybe, Matt thought, if he let them all concentrate on the business at hand, there would be no more romantic disasters.
He sure didn’t need to be acting on impulse and kissing her. Either to make a point, or to ease a natural desire that had gone unfulfilled for way too long.
What he should do, he decided, was adopt a formal attitude. Be helpful, yet reserved. Become a sort of emotional Switzerland for Jen and his dad to come to if and when they needed him. Clearly, they were both grappling with some deep-seated issues, but he wasn’t exactly sure what was at the root of it all.
All Matt knew for certain was that Jen wanted the money and fame that came with this commission, badly enough to put up with the rest of the flack.
Wanted it enough to come into the formal dining room—even after he’d admitted to having her investigated—and sit down for a meal with him and his dad.
Luckily, from that moment on, Emmett dominated the conversation with talk about the Texas art scene. Jen was only too happy to oblige. When the meal concluded, they rose from the table, and Emmett, looking happier and more content than he had in weeks, led the way to the library.
More than a dozen storage boxes sat in front of the oversize mahogany desk.
“I’d like to have the sculptures commemorate my adult life on this ranch, and I’d like them all to honor my first wife, Margarite, as well. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how to do this, Jen, but the bronzes should include our courtship, marriage, and the birth and upbringing of our only child.”
“Sounds good.”
“I don’t want to look old or infirm in any of the sculptures,” Emmett further stipulated. “And I don’t want Margarite to ever look ill, or be confined to a wheelchair or a hospital bed in any of the bronzes. She would not have wanted to be remembered that way.”
That was true, Matt acknowledged.
“Not a problem,” Jen declared. “I’ll make sure she appears vibrant and healthy in all the sculptures.”
Matt wanted to concentrate on the positive, too.
“Too many of my fellow ranchers and friends are becoming ill or dying,” Emmett continued, still on the same depressing tact. “I am not interested in memorializing that.”
Seeing the conversation about to continue down a path it shouldn’t, Matt interjected firmly, “Dad, you’re fine.”
Matt realized, of course, that Emmett was getting older. That sometimes his dad felt a little sluggish and occasionally suffered from tired, aching muscles. But these things happened to everyone when they reached their sixties. Bodies began to age and wear out. It was just something everyone dealt with at that point in their life. It didn’t mean they were sick.
If his dad were really ailing, he would go see his doctor. And he hadn’t. So…
Emmett harrumphed. “Life can change in an instant, Matt. Not always in ways we want. Your mother proved that.”
There it went, Matt thought in frustration, the maudlin attitude that inevitably led to chaos.
He turned to Jen. “My mother died ten years ago of multiple sclerosis. She’d been ill for a long time.” She’d had a difficult, depressing decline.
Emmett grimaced. “It was hard on Matt. He was just a kid when Margarite became sick.”
But it was his dad who’d gone off the deep end. “It was harder on you,” Matt said.
His father stared at him. “I don’t know how you can say that. Since I’m not the one who eloped to Vegas with a woman who was barely even a friend.” Emmett paused, letting his words sink in. “And then never even bothered to consummate the marriage.”
* * *
WOW, JEN THOUGHT. I have not seen drama like this since my own marriage ended. She held up a hand, more than ready to excuse herself. “I really think you two should continue this discussion in private.”
Jaw set angrily, Matt stepped to block her exit. “No need for that. Dad and I are done.”
“We certainly are,” Emmett agreed, just as tersely.
Matt stomped off.
The older man sighed and returned to the boxes. He opened one and pulled out a big stack of photographs. For the next thirty minutes, they looked through them. Finally, eager to get the conversation back on track, Jen said gently, “Let’s talk more about what you’d like to see in the bronzes.”
Beginning to relax, he sat down next to her.
“I want to go out—at least in the public perception—very much the way I’ve lived. With my boots on. If and when I ever do get sick, I am not going to put Matt through that. It’s enough what he went through with his mother.”
Matt reappeared in the doorway—clearly unable to stay away no matter how much he wished he could, Jen noted curiously.
Looking much calmer after a brief respite, Matt ambled in. He looked at his dad. “With the exception of your slightly elevated cholesterol and blood pressure—both of which are well controlled through the medicines you take—there isn’t a thing wrong with you, Dad.”
Emmett looked at him for a long moment, an undecipherable emotion on his craggy face. “The point is,” he said at last, “you never know.” He pressed a hand on the table and pushed himself to his feet, looking suddenly too weary to go on.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced with an apologetic glance at Jen. “We’ll talk again in the morning?”
Seeing firsthand how the constant bickering with his only son was taking a toll on Emmett, she nodded. Why couldn’t Matt just let his dad be?
“Yes, sir. Thank you again for the opportunity.”
Emmett looked at Matt, his brows lowered. “Don’t you chase her away with your bad behavior.”
Jen jumped to reassure him. “He won’t, I promise. You have nothing to worry about on that score.”
“Good to know.” Emmett exited, leaving them alone.
Jen slid Matt a reproachful look. “You really don’t have to stay. The silver is safe.”
He slid his hands into his pockets, looking totally at ease. “Ha, ha.”
Feeling way too aware of him, Jen began sorting through the photos. “All I want to do is work.” And forget about that kiss we shared earlier…
Matt sat on the library table, hands braced on either side of him. “I know you think I’m being ridiculously on guard.”
Jen hated feeling so vulnerable whenever she was near Matt. And she resented knowing how intensely attracted she was to him.
Hadn’t she done the rich-man’s-son thing once?
Hadn’t she seen how badly that had turned out?
She swallowed and continued laying out the photos in a haphazard collage. “I understand. For whatever reason, your father is suddenly feeling the need to document the most important parts of his life in a unique way only someone with his wealth could afford.” She paused to move some of the pictures around. “That sentiment leaves him vulnerable. You don’t want to see him taken advantage of, monetarily or in any other way.”
Matt’s eyes fell on a photo of himself at two years of age, standing with his mother and father in front of the Alamo. They all looked so happy. Content. Without a care in the world.
Exhaling, he stood. Worry lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “The disastrous second, third and fourth marriages aside…life hasn’t always been easy for him.”
Jen watched Matt pace the room. “Or you?”
He chose his words carefully. “I know my dad thinks this process will bring him comfort.” Matt raked his fingers through his hair. “I worry all it will do is dredge up the unhappiness that sent him into a tailspin to begin with.” He shook his head, still vibrating with pent-up emotion. “Which, in turn, could lead him to feel so lonely he’ll marry badly again.”
“And maybe,” Jen said softly, as another shimmer of tension wafted between them, “you will, too?”
* * *
MATT SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that Jen wouldn’t let information that volatile go unexplored.
Before he could decide how he was going to handle this, she lifted a hand. “Don’t worry, cowboy. You don’t have to tell me about your failed elopement.” She surveyed him with something like reproach.
“I’m sure I could look it up. Or get someone else to tell me.” Still laying out photos, she waggled her eyebrows at him playfully. “Maybe even have you investigated.”
Ouch.
Although, Matt conceded, he may have had that coming.
He exhaled. “You want the story?”
Jen pushed back her chair. “Actually…I do.”
He watched her sashay toward him, all feminine sass and confidence. He tore his eyes from her spectacular legs. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t fit with anything I know about you so far.” She bit her lower lip, then said, “You seem like the last person to impulsively tie the knot.”
He leaned against one of the custom floor-to-ceiling bookcases. “Which maybe was the point,” he drawled.
Jen walked around the table and rested her hands on top of a straight-backed chair.
Aware that he could use some comfort—a fact that made him feel entirely too vulnerable—Matt confessed, “It was six months after my mom died. My dad was already planning to marry the novelist. It was too soon, and everyone knew that, but Dad wouldn’t listen to reason. So I decided to take a page from my future stepmother’s book—and bring a little more carefully scripted drama into our lives.”
Jen’s brow lifted. “By eloping in Vegas with a female friend you barely knew?”
Matt nodded. “I thought if I embarked in a hasty, ill-thought-out marriage before Dad went through with his own wedding, he would see how ludicrous it was.”
Jen’s expression gentled. “He’d learn from your mistake.”
Matt swallowed. “Yes. And I thought that Elanore—the girl I ran off with—understood that.”
Jen walked around the table toward him. “She didn’t?”
He grimaced. Thinking some fresh air might help, he strode toward the French doors that led to the courtyard, and stepped onto the beautifully landscaped stone patio that his mother had once loved.
Darkness had fallen. There was a quarter moon and a sprinkling of stars overhead. “Apparently, she’d had a secret crush on me for a long time.” Matt passed one of the gas lanterns that illuminated the courtyard.
Jen was right behind him. “When did you find out?”
He sank down on one of the cushioned chaises. “When I passed on the opportunity to get drunk on champagne and really ‘show everyone’ by actually consummating our foolhardy marriage.”
Looking stricken, Jen sat down sideways on the chaise next to him. “What happened next?”
Matt folded his hands behind his head, savoring the warm night air. “We got on a plane back to Texas and broke the news to our folks.”
And, oh, what a mess that had been.
Jen clasped her hands around her knee. “What was their reaction?”
“Dad saw it for what it was and refused to be manipulated.”
Intrigued, Jen prodded, “And her parents?”
Matt frowned. “Elanore’s parents knew how she had secretly felt about me all along, and were incensed. They accused me of leading her on, and insisted we not annul the marriage—that we needed to stop and think about what we were going to do next.”
Jen’s eyes widened. “You explained to them what had happened? How it had all come about?”
The unhappy memory still rankled. “They didn’t care. They had a brokenhearted daughter who wanted to stay married to me and give our union a real shot.”
“Even though you didn’t love her and viewed her only as a friend.”
Matt scoffed at the naivete of it all. “They felt that love could grow, given half a chance. What they didn’t want was for their daughter to be any more humiliated. To have her known as a willing accomplice to fraud was not a good thing, either.” He shrugged. “Her parents preferred for everyone to think we’d eloped in the heat of young love. Then if, over time, the marriage didn’t work out—and they desperately hoped it would—they could save face and say that we’d given it our best shot, but that the marriage had been too hasty, after all.”
“How did you resolve it?”
He grimaced. “The same way my father got out of his ill-conceived marriages—with a hunk of cash, and the opportunity to blame the whole debacle on me and my fickle heart.”
Jen blinked. “And that worked?”
He let out a low, regretful laugh. “Every sad story needs a villain. In ours, I was it.”
“You didn’t mind.”
Yes and no. “I was just glad to have my freedom. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck living a lie.” The way his father had eventually. Three times.
“Hmm. Well.” Jen rose from the chaise in one graceful motion. She walked over to admire the roses. “I see why you mistrust women.”
Not all, Matt thought. Just the ones who stood to benefit monetarily from their association with his family. Like it or not, that included Jen.
“My point is—my dad is a lot more vulnerable than he looks. My mom’s death hit him hard. He went into a life crisis when she passed, and he’s never come out of it. I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“I have no intention of hurting him,” Jen insisted.
Famous last words, Matt thought, giving her a skeptical look. Just the process of taking out these old photos and repeatedly walking down memory lane was bound to open up every old wound. And then some.
Jen glided closer, inundating him in a drift of her lilac perfume. “I’m not going to let him take advantage of me, or the situation.”
More famous last words. He just hoped they were true.
Matt sighed. “Just be warned. Dad has a way of getting what he wants from people, whether they want to give it over or not.”
He left her to think about that.
Chapter Four
Later the following afternoon, Jen took stock. The day had been blissfully quiet. Matt had gone off with the cowboys before dawn to move cattle. Emmett had attended a breakfast meeting of the local cattlemen’s club, and had other business scheduled after that. So it had been just Jen and the housekeeper, Luz, in the Triple B ranch house for most of the day.
Which of course had been for the best, Jen mused. No interruptions. No Matt barging in—or out—for hot kisses, or learning things about the lone Briscoe heir that she would rather not know.
Like the fact they’d both lost a parent in their early twenties, then been betrayed by someone they had trusted.
Not, Jen scolded herself firmly, that any of that mattered. She and Matt Briscoe were as different as night and day. And likely to stay that way, since he tried to control everything in his universe, and she tried to control nothing in hers…except her own reaction to things.
“So what do you think?” she asked Emmett, when he stopped in to check on her progress.
He looked at the twenty photos Jen had selected. All were displayed on the big library table. All had the potential to be turned into bronze sculptures.
“This is my favorite,” he said in a choked voice. He pointed to a particularly poignant photo of himself and his late wife, taken soon after they had married. Emmett and Margarite were riding side by side on big beautiful horses. Young, vital and exceptionally attractive, they were clad in casual Western riding attire, and seemed in sync emotionally and physically.
“Mine, too,” Jen murmured.
Mostly because Emmett and his new bride both looked so happy. And so immune to the life challenges to come…
“I’d like you to start with this one,” he continued, tearing up.
Jen turned away and gave him time to compose himself.
When she looked again, he was standing with both hands thrust in the pockets of his khaki trousers. Tears gone. No longer trembling.
“You’ve done a great job whittling it down,” he declared in a firm, authoritative voice.
Happy to hear that, Jen smiled at him. “Thank you.” She was going to enjoy working with Emmett on this commission.
“I like this one, too.” He pointed to a photo of Matt and he flanking his wife’s chair, at what appeared to be Matt’s high school graduation. All were smiling determinedly, but there was a sadness underlying the cheer on those faces, giving the moment special poignancy. Yet Jen had pulled it out anyway, because it was definitely a milestone moment for the family.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted any sculptures of your wife when she was sick.” Although Margarite was not seated in a wheelchair, Jen suspected that she had been using one at the time the photo was taken. Otherwise, she probably would have been standing with her husband and son.
“That was my initial response. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps,” Emmett said, “it’s time I embraced every aspect of my life. And hers.” He turned toward Jen. “Can you do all twenty of these photos? Turn them into sculptures?”
That was double his initial order!
Trying not to get ahead of themselves, Jen warned, “That would take at least a year and a half, if not more….”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars per bronze, as long as I get a royalty on any copies that are sold.”
That ego again!
“Why don’t I do the first one—the one we decided on last evening—and see how happy you are with that before we go any further?” she proposed.
Emmett grinned, looking like his old self again. “Trying to raise the price on me?”
“Not at all.”
“Good thing,” Matt said, sauntering into the room. Ranch dust clung to his sweat-stained clothing. A touch of sunburn highlighted the handsome angles of his face. Jen figured he hadn’t shaved since the previous morning, which made the black scruff on his jaw all the more pronounced. And he smelled to high heaven, yet she was ridiculously glad to see him.
“’Cause I’d have something to say about that,” he continued in his lazy, provoking drawl.
“Good to see you, too,” Jen murmured, rolling her eyes. Not.
Ignoring his presence, she looked at Emmett and continued their conversation in a crisp, businesslike tone. “Everything that was shipped to me arrived by noon, but there are still some things I’m going to need for my stay. So if it’s okay, I’m going to call it quits for today and head into Laramie to do a little shopping and get some dinner.”
“We’d be happy to hold the evening meal for you,” Emmett said.
She lifted a hand. “No need for that.”
It was time to start setting limits with both father and son.
She smiled and gathered up the photos for further study.
Ignoring Matt’s intent appraisal, she headed for the door. “You all enjoy yourself this evening. And I’ll get started setting up a temporary sculpting studio tomorrow.”
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, Emmett said in a worried tone, “Jen should have been back by now.”
Matt looked up from his laptop computer. He’d been doing the ranch books. Or trying. Hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki trousers, Emmett had been pacing the front of the house, looking out the windows, for at least forty-five minutes now.
“Did she give anyone a time to expect her?”
“No. But a storm is brewing. And I don’t like the idea of her driving unfamiliar back roads in the dark and the pouring rain.”
Matt had been thinking the same thing.
Then cursed inwardly for allowing himself to worry. Jen Carson was not his problem.
Except when it came to keeping her from taking advantage of his father.
“I’m sure she has driven in rain before, Dad.”
“In the city. Where she probably knows the roads, and the location of all the low water crossings to avoid.”
He had a point there. “If she takes the farm-to-market road straight to town, she’ll be fine.”
“But she won’t be if she drives the shortest route, which is on the back roads. A lot of which are not well marked.” Emmett grabbed his hat off the coat tree in the front hall and planted it on his head. “I’m going to go out and look for her.”
Matt studied his father’s wan complexion. Although his dad was loath to admit it, these days he tired easily.
Matt supposed it was to be expected, though.
After all, his dad wasn’t getting any younger.
Reluctantly, Matt put his laptop aside and followed him out to the porch.
If Jen hadn’t wanted to handle another stressful family dinner with the two of them, Matt couldn’t wait to hear how she would like being tracked down during her “free time.” Eager to avoid a situation she was likely to consider an intrusion, he asked casually, “Have you tried calling her cell?”
Emmett nodded grimly, squinting at the rural highway barely visible in the distance. Overhead, no stars were discernible. Along the horizon, there were violent flashes of jagged yellow light, and the wind had started whipping up, making the cattle nervous.
“I imagine her phone is either turned off or she’s out of range of a tower.”
She was fine.
It wasn’t like she needed him to rush to her rescue and wrap his arms around her. Even though, Matt admitted to himself, that was a tempting fantasy.
Aware that his dad was still weighing the advisability of going after her, Matt consulted his watch and tried to talk sense into him. “It’s only nine-thirty, Dad.”
It just seemed as if she’d been gone forever.
Emmett rubbed his wrist, as if it were hurting him. “The stores all close at nine.”
“Maybe’s she grabbing a late dinner.”
Or avoiding an early return by taking in a movie or hanging out at the Lone Star Dance Hall in Laramie. Both were pleasant ways to while away a stiflingly hot summer evening. The latter, especially, if Jen was looking for a little action….
Emmett took his car keys out of his pocket with a hand that shook slightly. “I’m going to go out and drive the road to town, anyway,” he announced with typical gallantry.
Matt didn’t want to think about his dad driving in the rain, with the moon all but obscured by the heavy cloud cover. The faint but distinct rumble of thunder was now audible. He shoved his own reluctance aside. “I’ll go. You stay here and man the phones in case Jen is in some kind of trouble.”
“Drive the entire route,” Emmett ordered. “Both of them!”
Matt nodded. He would, if only to keep his dad from getting further entangled.
* * *
I SHOULD HAVE checked the radiator before I left. At the very least refilled all the water bottles, Jen thought.
But she hadn’t.
She had simply hopped in her van and driven thirty minutes into Laramie, in the scorching hundred and ten degree heat. Her carelessness, coupled with the evaporation in a van that had been sitting in the full sun all day, with a growing leak in the radiator, had triggered the Check Engine light.
Halfway back to the Triple B, Jen had been forced to pull over into the nearest safe place—the middle of a field, just off the highway—and lift the hood, lest the van catch fire.
It was as she feared. The radiator had been bone-dry, the engine sizzling hot. Jen had poured the half bottle of water she had with her over both, then tried to call for help.
Only to find she was too far from a cell tower to get a signal.
Because it was already getting dark, and she could see storm clouds gathering in the distance, she had decided to climb back in the van and wait for help.
Only help hadn’t come.
And now, at nearly 10:00 p.m., with the wind blowing fiercely, Jen began to think she was going to have to spend the entire night out here. The notion of being stranded inside this stifling hot van, surrounded by whatever critters lurked in the deserted Texas countryside, didn’t bode well.
Worse, what had at first looked like heat lightning now appeared to be the real thing. She could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, and that made her nervous, too. In the middle of a flat field, she felt like a sitting duck.
She had read that rubber tires would absorb a lightning strike. She’d also seen Austin news reports of lightning going right through the hood of a running vehicle, decimating the motor.
Which made sense. The exterior was metal, after all.
Metal attracted lightning.
But she would be no safer outside the vehicle, because then she would have no protection whatsoever. So, heaven help her, she had to stay inside and try not to be scared witless. Wait…was that a truck going down the road?
Jen hit the horn—hard—but it wasn’t necessary. The pickup had already swerved around, and the headlamps swept the van.
The truck accelerated, coming right for her.
That quickly, the lightning—which had seemed so far away—lit up the dark sky with a bright yellow flash and a simultaneous clap of thunder that was so darn loud it had Jen nearly jumping out of her skin.
Tears sprang into her eyes as it was followed by a second lightning bolt and even louder rumble of thunder. Not that it seemed to bother the driver. The pickup circled around as the sky opened up and the rain poured down in fierce sheets. The vehicle did a U-turn and came back, stopping alongside her van. The passenger door swung open.
Matt Briscoe was clearly illuminated.
Jen had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Or embarrassed. Of all the people to rescue her…
He leaned over. “Get in!”
That would mean hopping across six feet of field, exposed to the storm. “I…” Am scared witless!
Too scared, in fact, to move.
Matt’s glance cut to the lifted hood on her van—the age-old sign of a vehicle in trouble. “Don’t argue!” he commanded, even more fiercely. “Just do it!”
Another bolt of lightning slashed down, striking a distant fence post. Fire flashed, splinters flew. A split second later, the thunder was deafening.
Jen didn’t have to be told twice. She wanted out of there. Now! After shoving her keys and phone into her purse, she jumped out of the van, slammed the driver’s door shut behind her and then dashed through the pouring rain to his vehicle.
Matt reached out and helped pull her inside the truck as yet another bolt of lightning struck the ground, an even shorter distance away.
Jen slammed the door.
“Hold on!” he said, shifting the truck into Drive.
Seconds later, they were bumping across the field toward the rural highway. While Jen scrambled to put on her safety belt, Matt drove through the pouring rain with a sure, steady hand.
Eventually, the worst of the lightning and thunder was behind them. He slowed.
“Might help to breathe,” he said.
He was right, Jen realized belatedly. She had been holding her breath. She let it out, then sucked in a rush of air that did little to dispel the tension coiled inside her.
She blotted the rain from her face with the backs of her hands. Pretty sure her mascara was running, she reached into her handbag for a tissue and dabbed it beneath her eyes. Feeling marginally better, she dropped the soiled tissue back in her purse, then cleared her throat, still trying to calm down. “How did you know where to find me?”
Matt shrugged, his broad shoulders straining against the soft cotton of his shirt. “If you were coming back from town, I figured you’d be on this road.” He paused to send her a brief, probing glance. “The question is, what were you doing parked in that field?” He turned his attention back to the road. “If you were broken down, why didn’t you call for help?”
I wished I could have called you.
Aware that she felt safer than she had in a long while, being here with him, she gestured out the window. “No cell phone reception.”
Matt’s lips compressed. “Yeah, coverage is spotty this far out of town.” His strong, capable hands clasped the wheel. “We have it on the ranch because we put up our own tower. Most don’t.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
He looked her over, taking in her windswept hair and rain-splattered skirt and blouse. “What was wrong with your van?”
There was concern in his eyes. A protectiveness that shouldn’t mean anything to her.
She feigned indifference—to both the situation and his gallantry—while she rubbed at the splatters of mud on her bare calves. “The radiator has a leak.” Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat again. “I didn’t check it before I left because I had just filled it yesterday afternoon, when I got here. But what was in there must have mostly evaporated.”
He scowled. “It’ll do that in this kind of weather, when there’s a leak.”
“Yeah, well, now I know that.” Jen sighed, her emotions roiling.
She squared her shoulders and tugged her skirt down, trying to prove to him that she was one hundred percent in charge of the situation, when of course she wasn’t. She didn’t seem to be in charge of anything when it came to Matt Briscoe.
Swallowing, she continued weakly, “I have no idea whose property I pulled off on….”
He shot her an evocative look. “The Armstrong ranch.”
Jen shivered in the cool air blowing out of the vents. Her blouse was damp, her arms bare. She ran her palms over her skin in an effort to warm herself. “I hope they don’t mind.”
Matt leaned forward to adjust the controls. Then his gaze drifted over her again. “I’m sure they won’t.”
Jen looked away from his handsome profile, the masculine set of his jaw. Aware that her nipples had pebbled—and he had definitely noticed—she crossed her arms in front of her and did her best to discreetly pluck the fabric away from her breasts. “How old is this pickup?”
Matt slowed as they neared the iron gate of the Triple B. “Sixteen years, give or take.”
Jen drew a shuddering breath. “It’s in really nice condition.” The bench seat seemed to have new leather. The dash and doors were equally pristine. Unfortunately, she had tracked mud onto the floor mat.
His large capable hands circling the wheel, he turned effortlessly into the lane. “Thanks.”
They traveled up the driveway in silence. “So it’s yours?” she asked when they finally reached the house, aware that—rational or not—she didn’t want this time with him to end.
“Yep.” Matt parked close to the porch and cut the motor. He eyed the pouring rain with a frown.
In no hurry to emerge from the cab and get soaked again, either, Jen relaxed in her seat and flashed a small smile. “How long have you had it?”
Matt released the buckle on his safety belt. “Since I got my learner’s permit.” With a sentimental gleam in his eyes, he admitted, “I learned to drive in it.”
Made sense, Jen mused. Years ago, this sturdy Ford 250 would have been the perfect vehicle for him. Now, when he could afford whatever he wanted…
Curiously, she asked, “What else do you drive?” She tried to picture him in a small, trendy sports car, and just couldn’t see it.
One hand resting on the steering wheel, Matt turned toward her. His knee nudged hers, sending another thrill pulsing through her still chilled, overstimulated body. “This is it. Unless it’s in the shop, and then I drive one of the other ranch vehicles. Whatever’s available. Doesn’t matter.”
Jen turned toward him, too.
The porch lights bathed the truck in a circle of warm yellow light, but the windows had already begun to steam up again, giving them a measure of warmth and privacy.
“I can’t believe we have that in common.”
He studied her, interest lighting his eyes. “You learned to drive in that van?”
“Yes.” Needing something to hold on to, Jen curled her fingers around the strap of her shoulder bag. “It belonged to my dad.” She struggled against the poignancy of the moment. “He used it for his housepainting business. I inherited it when he died. And now I use it for the gallery.”
Matt didn’t touch her, but something in the way he looked at her was at least that intimate.
“So it’s sentiment rather than finances that prompts you to keep it,” he guessed finally. “Even though it’s clearly on its last however many miles.”
“Three hundred thousand,” Jen informed him ruefully, glad Matt seemed to understand what few others did about her attachment to the vehicle. “But…yes.”
Another silence fell.
She noted his bemused expression and realized it would be so easy to take this to the next level and succumb to a kiss. For their mutual protection, she drew on formality to douse the spark of attraction between them.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She released a shaky breath, and couldn’t help but add honestly, “I wouldn’t have expected it.” Any more than I would have expected this flood of desire rushing through me.
“Don’t go thanking me too much.” His response was polite enough, but she heard the steel undertone. “It wasn’t my idea. It was my dad’s.” Matt grimaced. “I just didn’t want him out on the roads.”
If Matt meant to push her away, after just drawing her close, he had succeeded.
“Well, thanks for clearing that up,” Jen said wryly as she picked up her bag and reached for the door handle. She planned to make her escape—even if it was still pouring rain. Of course, as luck would have it, the door was locked. And the button that would open it not all that easy to find. Especially in the semidarkness.
Not done with her yet, Matt caught her hand and pulled her around to face him again. His mouth quirked.
“At least that’s what I told myself initially,” he said softly, resting his right arm on the seat behind her. “But it wasn’t the truth.” His other hand came up to cup her face. “I was worried about you, too.”
Jen’s heart took a little leap as his words sank in.
Matt threaded his hand through her hair, and this time his gaze met hers without hesitation or resignation. “I’m glad I found you.”
Chapter Five
Matt wasn’t a guy who’d ever really been in touch with his emotional side. Probably had something to do with the toughness required of him as a kid, when he’d been dealing with his mom’s illness. All he knew for certain was that when it came time to feel something, he usually shut down, dealt with the practical aspect, and then moved on.
That attitude had served him well. Kept him from getting entangled. Until now. Jen made him want to stick around. At least long enough to kiss her again, find out if the chemistry was as potent as the first time they’d locked lips. To see if she felt as good pressed up against him.
Because if she did—if it hadn’t been his imagination—then they were both in a whole heck of a lot of trouble. The kind that could make their lives damn complicated….
Jen knew Matt was going to kiss her. Knew that if she had a lick of sense she would put a hand against his chest; shove him away. After all, it was imperative that she stick every barrier she could find between them.
Instead, she splayed her fingers across his hard pecs and sighed as he came even closer. Head tilted, eyes at half-mast, lips parting, she was already giving in.
And then it was too late. His mouth was on hers, and her fingers were curling into the fabric of his shirt as he took her to her own little corner of heaven and kept her there.
With a low murmur of acquiescence, she slid across the bench seat. Arms clasped around her, he tugged her closer, anchoring her hard against him. Together, they deepened the kiss, tongues tangling, thighs bumping, breaths meshing. He slanted his mouth over hers and took everything she had to give, and she demanded everything he had in return. He was more than happy to comply. One hand in her hair, the other brushing the swell of her breast, he kissed her deep and slow. Bringing forth all the emotions she never knew existed, the emotions that told her it wasn’t too late, for her to be wanted, loved, needed. Just like this. She could be so turned on that nothing mattered but this instant in time…. And that was when the cell phone rang.
Jarring them right back to reality.
The fantasy of the moment broken, Matt swore under his breath.
Knowing this was crazy, that they were way too different…and no good would come of it, Jen tensed and pulled away.
Feeling flustered, she shoved her hands through her hair then pressed a palm to her trembling lips. What was she thinking?
They were parked in front of the Triple B ranch house! The home of one of her patrons. They’d been kissing and groping and on the verge of recklessly doing more for heaven only knew how long!
It had felt like too short a time. And yet, judging by the thudding of her heart and the way the truck windows were steamed up, that kiss they had just shared had gone on for way, way too long.
She was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of his incessantly ringing phone.
Grimacing, Matt unhooked the device from his belt, punched a button on the lit screen and lifted it to his ear. “Yeah, Dad. No. Everything is fine. I found her. We were just waiting until the rain died down a minute before coming in.” He winced. “Yeah, I can see that it has. Be right there.”
Matt ended the call.
Jen hadn’t felt this embarrassed since she was a teenager. She summed up their predicament with one word. “Busted.” Then bit down on an oath.
Matt shrugged off her concern. “He’s not going to know.”
“Really.” Jen felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. She slid her gaze from the implacable expression on his face to the front of his jeans.
This time Matt flushed, too.
Suddenly looking as sheepish as she felt, he adjusted his jeans. “Give me a minute.”
The front door opened. Emmett stepped out on the front porch. It was all Jen could do not to groan out loud.
“We don’t have a minute!” Jen muttered.
Emmett Briscoe might be Matt’s dad, but he was her client, so she took the lead.
She grabbed her handbag and the things she’d picked up in town, and vaulted from the truck. Fortunately, the rain had started to let up. “Sorry if you were worried about me.”
Matt rounded the front of the pickup and mounted the steps beside her.
To cover her embarrassment, Jen kept right on babbling. “My radiator quit working. I had to pull off the road…. There was no cell phone reception. Then the storm came, and there was lightning all over the field I was parked in….”
Matt stood beside her, hands braced on his waist. His expression as implacable as ever, he picked up where she left off, in an enviably calm tone. “Luckily, I found her and got her out of there.”
“We drove back here,” Jen continued, modestly holding her damp blouse away from her breasts. “And here we are.” Fighting to cover up what we just felt. Which was all-out passion and lust, and a compelling need to be closer, that had stunned both of them.
Emmett was studying her face. Then Matt’s. Then hers again.
“No need to pretend with me,” he said finally. “I don’t mind if you two feel a few sparks. In fact—” he grinned “—I’d like nothing more than to see my son get involved with a woman I know his mother would approve of.”
Matt cleared his throat and slanted Jen a protective look that was oddly thrilling. “Dad!”
“It’s true, son. Your mother—who I firmly believe is looking down at us from heaven—would love it if you were to marry an artist.”
Jen was so startled by the suggestion that she dropped everything in her hands. The bag from the drugstore split, and the necessary toiletries went all over the porch, along with most of the items in her handbag. “Marry!” she rasped. She knelt down to collect everything.
Matt waved off his father’s aid and hunkered down, too, his denim-clad knee brushing her bare one.
His glance slid to the hem of her skirt, which, thanks to the way she was positioned, hovered at midthigh.
Lazily, he picked up lipstick, perfume, van keys and her cell phone. Jen collected the hand cream and sunscreen.
“Obviously, Dad’s been hitting the whiskey,” Matt drawled.
Still in matchmaking mode, Emmett chuckled. “You only wish.”
“Then you should.” Finished, Matt stood and offered Jen a hand up. “Because you’re talking crazy,” he told his father.
Emmett shrugged off the observation, then turned and walked inside the house, his gait unusually slow. But he looked, Jen thought, absolutely sober.
He tossed a look at them over his shoulder as he headed through the living room to the bar. “Anyone care to join me?”
Jen shivered in the air-conditioning as she entered.
Matt looked at her, saw what she’d been trying to hide earlier. His manner matter-of-fact, he grabbed a soft cashmere throw off the leather sofa and draped it chivalrously over her shoulders.
Only the heat in his gaze told of his continuing awareness.
Jen knew exactly how he felt.
She wanted to kiss him again, too.
Matt headed toward his dad. “Whiskey sounds good,” he told him, then turned back to her. “Jen?”
Maybe a drink would help ease the pounding of her heart. She nodded. “Yes, please.”
Emmett got down three glasses and poured an inch of whiskey in each.
Matt brought Jen’s to her.
Outside, the storm intensified, lightning and thunder coming near once more.
Inside, silence fell, more awkward than ever.
Nervously, Jen jumped in to fill the void. “So your wife was a patron of the arts, I gather?” she asked Emmett.
The silence became poignant. The older man moved to study the photos of his late wife gracing the mantel. “She was an artist herself. Most of her paintings were western landscapes, although she did some of Matt and me, when he was a baby.”
Aware that she hadn’t noticed any paintings when she was touring the house, Jen asked, “Do you have any of her work here?”
Emmett returned to the bar and poured himself another two fingers of whiskey. “All her paintings are here.”
Matt slouched on the sofa. The worry on his face made Jen want to reassure him. “She never showed her work,” he interjected, looking a little heartbroken, too.
Jen understood. Grief was a hard thing to master. It came and went in waves, often at the most unexpected times.
Emmett sipped his drink slowly. “Margarite wasn’t interested in what the critics said.”
“Nor did she want to put a price on her art,” Matt murmured, setting his empty tumbler on his denim-clad thigh.
“I can understand that,” Jen replied, cupping her glass in her hands.
There was something about bringing someone else in to judge what you had done. It could change the way you felt about your art—when it shouldn’t. And Margarite hadn’t needed the money to live, the way Jen did.
Still, she knew that beautiful art was meant to be shared.
It was part of the legacy Margarite had left behind.
Something else her family could treasure.
Jen sent a hopeful glance in Emmett’s direction. “I’d like to see them.”
He assented with a nod. “Tomorrow morning,” he promised. “Now, if the two of you don’t mind, I’m going to call it a night.”
“Did I upset him?” Jen asked Matt, after his dad had ambled off, second glass of whiskey in hand.
Matt studied the bottom of his glass. “Talking about Mom always makes him sad. He misses her.”
The whiskey that warmed her inside also loosened her mountain of inhibitions, making Jen bold enough to sink down next to Matt, still clutching the ivory cashmere throw around her shoulders. “What about you? Do you miss her, too?”
He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “I try not to think about it.”
The burn of the alcohol was nothing compared to the fire in his eyes, when he finally lifted his head.
Jen sighed. “That’s not an answer.”
Annoyance flickered across his face. Cocking his head, he studied her for a long moment. “Do you miss your dad?”
Jen shrugged, aware that the mixture of curiosity and pique between them seemed to go both ways. “I miss the good things,” she admitted finally, aware that her grief was a lot more complicated than his.
She swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat. “I don’t miss the intermittent chaos my dad’s alcoholism created in our lives.” She was glad that was gone.
Matt raised a brow and waited for her gaze to meet his. “That was honest.”
She compressed her lips. “It is what it is.” Once she had started accepting the bad with the good, and lowered her expectations accordingly, life had become a lot easier.
She wanted it to stay easy.
Unfortunately, there was nothing about Matt—except his propensity for kissing her like there was no tomorrow—that was anything near easy.
He was complicated.
Maybe the most complicated man she had ever met.
But, intuition told her, worth knowing. And knowing well.
A small smile curved his sexy mouth. His gaze roved over her mussed, rain-dampened hair. He looked at her as if he knew of her inner battle. “I like your candor.”
“When it’s about me.” Feeling a little empowered, and a lot feistier, Jen turned toward him, her blanket-draped knee brushing his thigh. “Not,” she stated bluntly, “when it’s about you.”
Matt chuckled and set both their glasses aside. Still grinning, he reached inside the throw to capture one of her hands. “That’s because you don’t know as much as you think you do.”
The warmth of his touch sent a thrill rippling through her. “Then tell me something I don’t know.” And need to know to understand you.
He shrugged. “I’ve never been in love.”
Jen couldn’t say she was surprised about that. Love would have left him vulnerable. “Me, either.”
“But you were married.”
He hadn’t shaved yet, and the stubble gave him a dark, sexy look. Memories of the way he had kissed her earlier sent a burning flame throughout her entire body. “I didn’t say I never thought I was in love. Of course, I thought I loved my ex, but as it turned out, what Dex and I felt for each other was merely lust.” Jen sighed, promising herself she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. “And lust, as everyone knows, doesn’t last.”
Something hot and sensual shimmered in his eyes. “It can last.”
For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to make love with Matt. Not once, just to bank some flames and satisfy their curiosity, but many, many times…
“Has it for you?” she challenged, as if she hadn’t been thinking about that possibility at all.
He flashed her a crooked smile. “Well, no.”
“Me, either.” Jen sighed, knowing that when a fantasy about someone dissolved, so did the desire. And she wasn’t in the mood to have her heart and hopes crushed again. “So…”
He slid his eyes to the hollow of her throat, then her lips, then her eyes. “I think our passion is the kind that might not ever go away.”
She told herself the evening definitely would not end with her kissing him again. “Now that’s the whiskey talking.”
He dipped his head in a gallant bow and took her in his arms again. “Or the knowledge of what it is like to kiss you.”
Romantic notions bubbled up inside her, and she shivered.
He threw off the blanket and shifted her onto his lap.
“Matt…” she whispered.
“Hmm?” Eyelids lowered, he kissed his way down the side of her throat.
She splayed her hands across his chest. “This is no good.”
He tunneled one hand through her hair, then pressed his lips to hers. “It’s very good.”
Tingling, Jen averted her head. “For what we’re trying to do here.” Knowing she would be lost if he kissed her again, she buried her face in his shoulder.
Matt nuzzled her neck, finding the nerve endings just beneath her ear. He stroked a hand down her back, his hot callused palm easing beneath the hem of her blouse, above the waistband of her skirt, to caress her skin. “What are we trying to do?”
Jen quivered at his touch and drank in the fragrant, masculine scent of him.
Stay on track. Stay on track….
“We’re trying to make your dad happy,” she reminded him thickly. “Commemorate his life and his love for your mother. Help him feel good about all he has accomplished, and all he still has in front of him.”
The mention of his father had the desired affect. Matt dropped his hands, sat back. “You’re going to do that with your sculptures?”
Jen nodded. She could pretend all she wanted…but Matt was right about one thing. The desire she felt for him wasn’t ever going to go away.
But there was no reason he needed to know she felt that way.
She eased off his lap and turned the talk back to business. “I’m going to try.”
And while I’m at it, I’ll work a whole lot harder at protecting my heart.
* * *
“I HATE TO IMPOSE,” Jen told Emmett, when she encountered him having breakfast in the kitchen the next morning, “but is there someone who could give me a ride over to the Armstrong ranch to pick up my van? They can’t be happy to have it just sitting there in a field.”
“Matt’s already taken care of it.”
Jen did a double take. “What do you mean?”
“He called the auto service and had it towed into town to the repair shop.”
And how much was that going to cost? Could she even afford it?
“Don’t worry,” Emmett said, misinterpreting the reason behind her concern. “They’ll get it fixed up in no time.” His movements almost painfully slow, he gestured for her to sit down with him. “Help yourself to some breakfast. No eggs or bacon this morning—it’s Luz’s day off. But we’ve got pastries, juice and coffee.”
Jen surveyed the rancher. Something was definitely off. “You feeling okay this morning?” He looked a little pale, as if he hadn’t slept well, and his left hand was trembling slightly.
The day before, it had been his right.
He cupped both hands around his coffee mug. “I should have figured you’d notice.” He winked, jovial as ever. “I’m paying for my bad judgment. I know better than to have more than one whiskey in an evening.”
Jen had plenty of experience in that regard, with her dad. This did not look like any hangover she had ever seen. Both hands should have been trembling if Emmett was in his cups, not just one. Was it possible, she wondered, that something might be wrong with the otherwise healthy looking and virile man? Was that fact, rather than just ego, behind the wealthy cattleman’s drive to commemorate his life?
Emmett sat back in his chair. “I see you’re feeling fine this morning, however.”
Jen smiled. She had slept surprisingly well. And had woken up dreaming of kissing Matt….
Flushing, she poured herself some juice from the bottle on the table. “I’m anxious to get to work on the first sculpture.” Work always made her feel better. Maybe because it was a place for her to channel her emotions.
Emmett glanced at his watch. “I’ve got business meetings in San Angelo at ten, but I’ll have time to show you the studio Matt’s mother used to work in.”
Jen munched on a cinnamon roll. “You’re okay having me set up shop there?”
“It’ll be nice to have the space used again. I think you’re going to like the light in there.”
Emmett wasn’t kidding, Jen realized half an hour later, when they went up to the second floor loft in the wing of the house that the older gentleman now occupied.
The light was spectacular, the room large and airy.
It was also empty except for handsome built-in shelving and cabinetry along one wall, and a large wooden worktable located beneath the bank of windows.
Stunned, Jen turned to Emmett.
“She donated all her art supplies and easels to the local community college when she could no longer paint,” he explained. “We had her paintings displayed on the walls in here, but after she died it was just too painful to see them, so Matt and I wrapped everything up and put them in storage.”
“They should be hanging.”
Emmett squinted. “Just what I was thinking.” He rubbed his jaw with the hand that trembled. “Tell you what…I’ll bring some of Margarite’s favorite pieces up, later today.”
It turned out he was as good as his word.
Only it wasn’t Emmett who brought up the paintings some three hours later.
It was his son.
Chapter Six
Matt knew it was going to be tough seeing his mother’s work again, never mind have them in the studio where he’d had his last truly happy memories of his mother before she had been stricken with multiple sclerosis and confined to the lower floor of the ranch house.
It was rougher still walking in with the paintings, all still carefully wrapped, and seeing Jen in what had always been his mom’s arena.
Jen took it over, much as his mother had, her presence lending an air of tranquility to the large, sunny space.
In faded jeans, peacock-blue cowgirl boots and a sexy, formfitting white tank top, her hair swept up in a messy knot, she was so damn pretty she took his breath away.
And she was not glad to see him.
Not. At. All.
Because he’d kissed her and she had kissed him back? Or because their evening together had ended on a businesslike note, and they hadn’t gotten around to making out again?
Matt looked in her eyes. No clue. All he knew for certain was that she blamed him for something. Luckily for both of them, he was in no mood to wrangle.
All he wanted was escape. Escape from the feelings being around Jen conjured up, and the notion that with very little effort, the two of them could have something truly amazing.
“Dad texted me that you wanted the paintings,” he announced, planning to dump them and run before they were actually unwrapped.
When he did eventually look at the canvases again—and he would…at some point—he wanted to be alone.
“So.” Matt propped them carefully against the wall. “There you go.”
To his consternation, no sooner had he set them down than Jen was reaching for the tape holding the protective quilts over the oil canvases.
Reacting quickly, he left her to it and headed back out into the hall.
She followed. “That’s all?” She caught up with him in the long corridor outside the studio.
“Well…” Matt paused, not sure why she was so irked when he’d done as asked, the moment he got back to the ranch house, no less.
Again, their gazes held for a long moment, and as always, when she gave him her undivided attention, something flashed between them and his body tensed with need.
A little unsettled by the way he kept wanting her, Matt cleared his throat. “Obviously, there are more paintings in the climate-controlled storage room where we keep all the valuables. Twenty-five more pieces, to be exact.”
Jen kept staring at him.
He adjusted his posture slightly, to relieve the ache. Lowered his gaze from her face and encountered the soft, sexy swell of her breasts instead. Which to his frustration only made the situation worse. “But that was all I could easily carry at once,” Matt continued, with the poker face he’d perfected at a very early age.
Jen folded her arms in that way that really got his blood pumping. And she still looked ticked off.
“I’m not talking about art.” Her low voice dripped with resentment and she stepped nearer, with a drift of lilac perfume.
Deciding the farther they were from the studio, the better, Matt kept right on moving down the corridor, to the stairs. Sweaty and grimy from a morning spent outdoors in the summer heat, he wanted two things: a shower and release from the tension he’d felt ever since they’d kissed.
Well, the latter wasn’t going to happen. Not if either of them had any sense.
“Then what are you talking about?” he demanded.
“I want to know about my van!”
Matt paused outside his bedroom door. Of course that was what she wanted. “I took it to the best mechanic in town. Naturally, because the van is so old, he had to order the parts…but it’ll be ready in a couple of days.”
Jen’s face turned pink. “You okayed the work without even talking to me?”
Matt shrugged. “It’s not going to run unless you replace the radiator and the transmission.”
She sagged against the wall, hand over her heart. “The transmission!” she croaked.
Matt resisted the urge to prop her up with an arm about her waist. “Yeah.” He stood with his legs braced apart and continued offering moral support—from a distance. “That’s why we couldn’t get it started this morning.”
Jen raked both her hands through her hair, forgetting for a moment that she had it up in a clip. Her fingers got tangled. Frowning, she extricated them, then removed the clip. “Do you have any idea how much that is going to cost?”
Matt tracked the silky chestnut waves flowing about her shoulders. “Eight thousand dollars, give or take.”
“Eight thousand dollars!”
“For the amount of work he’s going to do, and the cost and difficulty tracking down the right parts, that’s a bargain, Jen.”
She moaned and bent over from the waist, as if trying not to be sick. “That’s not the point.” She groaned again.
Matt tried not to notice the way her neckline gaped, revealing lace and curves, and jutting nipples. Stifling a groan himself, he averted his gaze and moved past her into his bedroom. “Really.” He tossed the words over his shoulder. “Because I thought getting your only mode of transportation back in order was exactly the point.”
Jen followed him, closing the distance between them once again. “I don’t have that kind of money right now, Matt.”
Surprised to see her standing in the middle of his bedroom, he shrugged. “Then Dad will give you an advance on your commission.”
Jen lifted her chin, coming closer. “How do you know?”
Matt exhaled. “Because I know him, and if he didn’t…then I would.”
Those cornflower-blue eyes glittered angrily. “I don’t want your money, Matt.”
Now, that rankled. “You didn’t seem to have a problem taking my father’s.”
Jen threw up her hands. “For work as it is completed!” she sputtered. “Not for…”
“What?”
She regarded him with silent derision. “That’s what I’m wondering.”
It took him a second to follow. “Surely you don’t think I’m trying to buy my way into your bed?”
She shrugged and kept her gaze locked with his. “You said it. Maybe you think that’s a way to speed up what you’d clearly like to happen between us.”
Matt hadn’t been the only one who enjoyed their make-out session. He studied her brooding expression. “This isn’t about the money,” he asserted, stepping closer. He angled a thumb at his chest. “It’s because I did what had to be done, without calling you every step of the way and asking your opinion.”
Something in his words must have clicked, because he saw a flicker of acknowledgment in Jen’s eyes. “Calling me would have been nice.”
Matt had never been one to shift the blame for his mistakes, but in this instance, he knew he wasn’t at fault. Stupidly naive, maybe, to think his gallantry would be received in the spirit it was given. He pushed on. “It would have been a waste of time. Yours and mine. Because the end result would have been the same. You would have ordered the repairs and had them done here, by the person we told you was the best.” Matt sauntered closer and saw her eyes widen in sensual awareness. “And you know why?” he murmured.
Her lower lip thrust out petulantly. “Because I had no choice?”
He shook his head, his heart going out to her, because he knew what it felt like to want things to go one way, and have them constantly go another. “Because you love that van as much as I love my pickup.”
“I didn’t tell you that so you could use it against me,” she retorted, looking distraught.
Matt put his hands on her shoulders and held her there when she would have run away from what was happening between them. “Say that again?”
Turbulent emotion tautened her pretty features. “I don’t want you taking charge of my life.”
He watched her, unsure how to help. “That isn’t what I was doing.”
Her mouth curved resentfully as she accused in a low, trembling tone, “That is exactly what you were doing, Matt.” She tapped an emphatic rhythm against the center of his chest. “And. I. Don’t. Like. It.”
He caught her hand and held it over his heart, aware they were finally beginning to get somewhere.
Wanting her to open up even more, he asked, “What’s really going on here? Are we talking about me now?” Certain he had her full attention, he waited another beat. “Or someone else?”
Matt’s assumption was so on target, Jen couldn’t help it, she swore in frustration and anger and confusion.
He grinned, pleased his needling was affecting her. He cupped her chin in his hand and urged, “Use your words. The ones not affiliated with your opinion of me.”
Jen felt as if the situation had knocked the wind out of her. For the sake of her pride, she pretended that she wasn’t glad to see Matt. Wasn’t glad to have him trying to help her, even if everything he was doing and saying was wrong.
Her hands flattened against the front of his shirt. “What I am trying to tell you,” she said, “is that I have been down this road before.”
“With another take-charge guy. Your ex-husband, maybe?”
“Yes.” Feeling as if her knees could no longer support her, she moved toward the only available seating—his bed—and sank down on the edge of it. “When it started out, I thought he was just being thoughtful and considerate. I didn’t have any money. Dex did. He wanted life to be nice for me.”
Matt sat down facing her. “What’s wrong with that?”
Everything, as it happened.
Jen looked deep in his eyes and tried not to think about how he would look at her once he knew the whole truth. “By the time Dex and I divorced, I wasn’t making any decisions for myself,” she admitted miserably. “Everything was decided for me.”
Matt furrowed his brow. “He wanted you to conform to what he thought was appropriate? For the woman who was his wife?”
Jen wished it had been that simple. Or that she had been strong enough to stand up for herself and fight for what she wanted.
But she hadn’t been able to do it then. She’d been stuck in people-pleasing mode.
Embarrassed, she had to force herself to go on. “Dex wanted me to do whatever he thought was going to tick his parents off the most.” Restless, she stood again and began to pace. “See, they were really controlling. They put all kinds of pressure on him, and he rebelled by marrying me. An artist who was more concerned about the quality of clay I was buying than the other details of my life.”
Matt’s expression gentled as he began to understand.
“They liked a woman’s hair to be salon perfect at all times, so Dex insisted that I not do anything to it that wasn’t completely natural.” Jen paused next to the window and looked out at the rolling acreage of the ranch.
Bracing a shoulder against the frame, she turned back to Matt. “They ate haute cuisine, so he had us bring in food from the most lowbrow restaurants around for our dinner.”
Matt came to stand next to her. “You lived with them?”
Remembering, she felt her heart constrict. “Oh, yes. That was part of the plan. He kept saying he wanted to build a place for us.”
“And they were all for that?”
“No.” Jen massaged the tense muscles in her neck. “His folks liked having him under their thumb. They just wanted to get rid of me, and have him marry someone more suitable. Someone of their social standing and all that.”
Matt searched her face. “So what finally happened?”
Memories came as fast and devastating as the actual event. “They gave Dex what he wanted. Early access to his half-million-dollar trust fund. On one condition.”
“He divorce you.”
Jen nodded, stunned to this day by the cruelty of the event. “Yep.”
“And you were hurt.”
She raked a hand through her hair. “Relieved.” She looked into Matt’s eyes, swallowed, and forged on, “I knew by then that the marriage was going to end. I knew it had to end.” She shook her head in regret, wishing she had been stronger. Less needy. “But I didn’t want it to.”
“Because you loved him. Or thought you did.”
“Because I wanted it to be the opposite of my childhood,” she said emotionally. How naive she’d been! “I wanted it all to work out in the end. And in the meantime, I had a roof over my head, food to eat and a place to work on my sculpting. So I just kept going, kept trying, kept thinking that if only I was the perfect wife and the perfect daughter-in-law and the perfect rising artist, everything would work out. That his parents would come to accept me one day.” Jen drew a breath. “And in the meantime, I had Dex, who told me he loved me and that we would be happy when we were both able to make all our dreams come true. Mine was to make a living selling my art. And his was to start his own venture capital business.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. He’s very good at it. And he’s now very rich. His parents are very proud of him. I’m successful now, too. So everyone lived happily ever after.”
“Not quite.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Because you haven’t moved on—emotionally—from the mistake, any more than I’ve moved on from my elopement.”
A laugh bubbled up inside her. “And what would you have us do, Matt?”
“Jump back in.”
Jen shivered, and not from air-conditioning vent above her head. “That’s the best line I’ve ever heard.”
And also the most seductive.
He grinned. “It’s not a line.”
Pulse thudding, she absorbed the sight of him, jaw unshaved, hair tousled, body hard and sweaty beneath the half-open shirt. Her fingers itched to discover the texture of all that sleek, tanned, hair-roughened skin.
And he wanted her, too.
She could see it. Feel it. Completely identify with it.
“Matt…” Jen whispered. Why was he doing this? Making her realize how badly she still needed to belong.
And the way he looked at her whenever they were alone made her think she belonged with him.
He knew it, too….
His eyes were two dark pools. “Take a shower with me.”
Desire washed over her with an intensity she had never felt before.
He brushed a soft kiss to her temple before trailing more kisses across her cheek, her jaw. “Take a risk.” He settled a hand on her hip, dragged his fingers up her spine. “See where this can go.”
Goose bumps erupted on her skin. There was tenderness in his eyes and a smile that promised all sorts of wicked and wonderful things, if only she said the word.
Jen wanted passion in her life. She wanted—needed—to be loved.
What she didn’t want was to be disappointed and have her heart broken again.
And Matt Briscoe had the power to do that.
More than he knew.
She shook her head but couldn’t seem to make herself move away. So instead, she flattened her palms on his chest and closed her eyes. And felt the soft press of his lips on her forehead.
“We’re so different, you and I.” She gazed into his eyes. “I stopped trying to control everything a very long time ago.”
Matt met her gaze in challenge. “And now you try to control nothing.”
“Life is what it is.” She had work, friends, a home. It was enough. More than enough. “I accept that.”
“Then…” tugging her close, Matt held her against him and bent his head to hers “…accept this.”
Chapter Seven
Jen meant to resist, she really did. But she was his for the taking the moment Matt tilted her head and covered her lips with his.
It didn’t matter that she shouldn’t be here, in his bedroom. Inhaling his scent. Feeling his heat. It didn’t matter that she was a sensible woman whose heart was locked up, out of reach. He made a sound of pleasure that went straight through her, and their kiss deepened into an intense, satisfying tangle of lips and tongues. And Jen felt alive in a way she hadn’t in years. She felt on the edge of a kind of contentment she’d never had. And she knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The kind that likely would not come again.
Matt thrust a thigh between hers. His hand slid down to the small of her back, riveting her in place, and turning the kiss into a full-body experience of raw, sexual power. And darned if she didn’t want to give as good as she was getting.
She let Matt dance her backward toward the bathroom in his suite, kissing her all the while. And once there, she used the heel of her boot to shut the door with a thud.
Matt laughed and drew back to look at her.
“We’re really going to do this.”
“We’re really going to do this,” she whispered, already toeing off her boots.
He pulled his shirt over his head, his smile slow and sure, and so hot it singed every nerve ending in her body.
Her jeans went next.
Then his.
The mutual striptease gave her a thrill that turned her blood to liquid fire. Lower still, a quiver racked her.
He helped her remove her tank top, then her bra and panties. Her nipples tightened. “Beautiful,” he murmured, touching and caressing her, then looking at her with a heavy-lidded gaze that had her wanting to fall into bed with him and never emerge.
She quivered once more, and then was kissing him again. And when kissing wasn’t enough, she worked her fingers beneath the elastic of his sexy black briefs and helped dispense with them. Her eyes followed her hands. Lord, he was big and hard, Jen thought. Every inch of him was buff and hard and male. His eyes were burning with desire.
Lust consumed her, too.
He kissed her throat, her shoulder, moving lower to her breast. She had never felt as beautiful, as wanted as she did at that moment.
A liquid warmth filled her as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. Writhing against him, she sifted her fingers through his hair, kissed the top of his head. Gasping, she arched her back, surrendering to him.
When he rose again, smiling, the kiss turned maddeningly slow and sensual. She let her fingers play, too, until he groaned, turned the dial and guided her inside the glass-walled shower. Then he drew them both beneath the generous spray, cupped her head in his hand and kissed her again, the delicious heat of him countering the slowly warming water sluicing over them. Again and again he kissed her, until she gave herself over to his demand, and their bodies were plastered together.
When she could stand it no longer, he caressed her tenderly and groaned. “You’ve got me so off task.”
It felt very on task to her.
He leaned over and kissed her again. “I intended to get cleaned up for you first.”
His eyes met hers. Another thrill slid through her. Another whisper of arousal…
Matt reached for the soap, grabbed a washcloth from the hook. Aware this was her every fantasy come true, she watched as he rubbed the bar into a nice thick lather, then set it back on the shelf and began running the cloth over his body with the same steady expertise he did everything else.
Shoulders. Chest. Thighs…
Feeling left out of what looked like an awful lot of fun, Jen caught his hand, extricated the cloth. “Allow me.”
He chuckled, his eyes darkening. Acquiescing, he leaned against the shower wall.
“I’m an artist,” she whispered, grabbing the sprayer, too. “I learn best through touch.” And what she wanted to learn most, Jen discovered breathlessly, was him.
Every dip and nook and cranny, every hard plane and rigid muscle, was washed and rinsed, touched and loved.
Turning her on.
Turning him on.
Suddenly the soapy cloth dropped and the kissing commenced. The next thing Jen knew, he’d grasped her wrist, shut off the water, and was heading for bed.
His bed.
Which was, she soon discovered, infinitely comfortable. Especially with Matt stretched out beside her.
Pausing only long enough to roll on a condom, he steadied her, hands on her hips. “Still time to turn back,” he said, his voice rough with desire.
Her own passion ready to explode, Jen shook her head. She would die if he didn’t fill her soon. “No way.”
“Then let’s get you good to go.” He slid down to the apex of her thighs, held her open, kissing and ravishing, until she was shuddering and gasping for air.
Jen clutched at him. “Now, Matt. Now…”
She felt his smile against her thigh. He moved upward. “My pleasure.”
Being filled by him was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Jen opened herself up to him as he began to move in exactly the right rhythm to send her soaring. Emboldened by her pleasure, he thrust hard again, finding his own shattering release.
He kissed her through the climax, through the aftermath, and even after that. Jen had never had anyone want her once the passion had faded. It was a delicious sensation, sweet and satisfying, the tenderness between them a palpable thing. Which was why, she knew, she had to get out of there.
Fast.
* * *
MATT KNEW IT WAS TOO MUCH, too soon. He’d hooked up with Jen, anyway. And not for the strictly physical reasons she might suspect. He hadn’t led her down here to seduce her into bed. He had come back down here to get away from her, from the closeness that threatened every time they were alone together.
And even when they weren’t.
She had a way of looking at him, of understanding what was going on with him even when he didn’t say a word.
He wasn’t used to feeling understood—by anyone.
Up until now, it hadn’t bothered him. Life was just easier that way. When he could keep everyone at arm’s length.
The last place he wanted Jen was at arm’s length.
Yet there she was, just minutes after they had both climaxed—out of his arms, out of his bed. Sheet draped modestly around her, she was gathering up her clothes, one by one. As if he hadn’t already committed every inch of her sweet, luscious body to memory. And, he was willing to bet, she was equally familiar with his. Not that there wasn’t room for improvement. They still had much to explore in the lovemaking department. In fact, he was already getting hard. “You really don’t have to rush out. No one else is here, nor likely to be.”
Jen managed to wiggle into her rose-colored bikini panties without dropping the sheet.
Unable to do the same with her bra, she dropped the sheet, turned her back to him and sat down on the bench at the foot of his bed. Head bent, she fastened the clasp of her bra in front of her, then twisted the lacy white fabric around and pulled it up over the globes of her breasts. Over her slender shoulders.
The straps fell into place with a snap.
Jen’s chest rose and fell as she drew in a bolstering breath. “That’s not really the point, Matt.”
She turned to face him yet again, her nipples poking through the lace, belying the casual disregard of her words, whether she wanted them to or not.
Aware that his nipples were still erect, too, Matt folded his arms behind his head and lay back against the pillows, watching her. Wanting her.
Wondering if she had any idea how completely desirable he found her. Or how much he wanted to repeat their mind-blowing sex.
“Then what is the point?” he asked softly, irritated that she felt it necessary to lie to him about what she was really feeling.
Color flooding her cheeks, she pulled her tank top over her head.
She looked even sexier clad in just panties, bra and tank, her long silky legs and dainty feet planted defiantly apart.
Jen snatched her jeans off the floor and tugged them up over her knees.
The stone-colored fabric, worn and soft, pulled taut across her flat tummy. The waistband rested just above the line of her panties, revealing her sexy belly button. And cupping her sleek thighs and delectably round butt in a way that drove him crazy.
He sighed in disappointment as she tugged the hem of her tank down over her hips, cutting off his view of bare, silky skin.
A mixture of exasperation and defiance gleamed in her eyes. “You want honesty?”
Matt lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing but.” He was certain, one wrong word from him and he’d never have the chance to lure her into his bed again.
Jen came close enough to perch on the foot of the mattress. Still safely out of reach, she gave him a level look. “I meant what I said to you earlier. I accept that I’m done with roller-coaster romance and dreams of happily ever after. I know it’s never going to happen to me. I don’t expect it…and I don’t want it.”
“Then what do you want?”
She bent over to tug on her socks and boots. “To just take life as it comes. One day at a time. I don’t want this…hookup…to have any repercussions.”
“It won’t.”
Jen shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t want to think about it or talk about it or expect that it will happen again. Because…” she leaned against the wall, arms folded decisively in front of her “…it’s not going to, Matt.”
He couldn’t say he was surprised she was backing off, since she was no more inclined to let someone in than he was.
That didn’t mean they couldn’t react differently now. Especially when the chemistry was this good. “Why not?” He rose from the bed and began to dress, too. She caught his eye and went still.
He tracked the lift of her breasts as she held her breath. “It was good. “
“Very good,” she confirmed, jerking her gaze away. “And that’s where I want to leave it.”
* * *
“DID YOU GET EVERYTHING you needed?” Celia asked, via phone, later in the day.
Jen looked around the studio with satisfaction. Flexible wire, sculpting tools and measuring tape were laid out next to containers of clay. She had scanned into her laptop the pictures she was going to use as her models. Special software had converted those images into three dimensional models, complete with precise measurements, that she could translate to whatever scale she wanted. Jen still wanted to blow up those same photos to poster size so she could have them set up all around her, for further inspiration while she worked. But that, she figured, could wait until the following day.
Right now, she wanted to keep working on the sketches of the first proposed sculpture.
“Yes. I unpacked and set up this afternoon.” Jen sighed. After my colossal mistake.
“How are things with Matt Briscoe?”
Jen kept her tone noncommittal. “About as you’d expect.” Sexy. Difficult. Too fun. And way too confusing!
Celia chuckled. “Hmm. I thought I glimpsed a little attraction there, beneath all the guff.”
Good thing you can’t see us now, then, Jen thought, her body still thrilling at the reckless way they’d made love that afternoon.
What had gotten into her, anyway?
Why was Matt Briscoe able to get past her defenses so easily?
And when had she lost all common sense? Hadn’t she learned the last time not to fall for a rich guy?
If she wanted to know how far apart she and Matt were on that score, all she had to do was think about his casual attitude regarding the cost of her van repairs.
A sum that was ridiculously expensive to her meant nothing to him.
Lovemaking that—if she was honest—meant everything to her probably meant very little to him, as well.
And though Jen had acted as if she could have sex for the pure physical pleasure of it, she knew deep down that just wasn’t true. With her, feelings were always involved.
Her heart had already been crushed once, by someone out of her league financially. She didn’t need to have it trampled again.
So it was best to do what she had told Matt this afternoon, and just leave things as they were. Over. Done. Kaput.
“Jen?” Celia asked. “Are you still there?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She shook off all romantic notions and once again focused on her friend from childhood. “How are things with you and Cy?”
Celia groaned. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I saw my OB today. I’m three centimeters dilated. The doc said the baby can come any time now. She wants me to keep my bag packed.”
Jen smiled and tried not to feel a little pang of envy, since she’d likely never have a baby of her own. “That’s great, Celia. Cy must be so excited.”
“Oh, he is!”
They talked a little more about the upcoming birth and delivery, before getting down to gallery business, and then promised to talk again the next day.
Happy about the two sales that had transpired in her absence—and what that meant for the gallery books—Jen hung up.
Hearing the heavy thud of footsteps, she turned toward the door.
Emmett Briscoe appeared there. “Am I interrupting?”
Jen put her cell phone aside and rose to greet him, immediately concerned by how he looked. “Come in,” she urged gently.
Emmett shuffled toward her, clearly favoring one leg. He appeared tired and wan. Perspiration dotted his forehead.
“Are you all right? Did you fall?”
He shook his head and drew a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his face. “I think I got a little overheated when I was coming inside just now.”
It looked like a heck of a lot more than that. Jen slipped a hand beneath his elbow and guided him to a chair. “Forgive me for saying so,” she said carefully, “but you look ill. We should get you to a doctor.”
Grimly, Emmett shook his head again.
“At least call Matt.”
“Absolutely not,” he thundered, mopping his forehead once again. “Matt is the last person you should tell.”
Well, something wasn’t right. Emmett’s left leg was trembling, while his right seemed perfectly fine. As were his hands. Which, Jen recalled, was the opposite of what had been going on this morning. Then, one of his hands had been trembling, and his legs had been fine.
She pulled up a chair and sat facing him, clasping his hands. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” She waited for him to look her in the eye. “And don’t give me the hangover business again, because I know one when I see one and this is not it.”
His shoulders slumped in defeat. “You’re right. It isn’t.”
The raw emotion in his voice frightened her. Jen gripped his hands more tightly. “Then what is it?” she asked, trying not to sound upset.
Emmett swallowed. Moisture glistened in his faded blue eyes. “Parkinson’s, most likely.”
What did he mean, most likely? “Have you seen a doctor?” Jen asked quietly.
“No.” He mopped his forehead again, then he stared at her with steely determination. “And I’m not going to, either. Matt and I spent years watching his mother deteriorate, bit by bit. I’m not about to make the rest of my son’s life about being my nursemaid. And that’s what it would turn into. We both know that.”
Jen couldn’t argue. Matt was very protective of his dad.
But what if it wasn’t Parkinson’s disease? What if it was something else? What if early treatment might make all the difference in the prognosis?
“Matt’s going to notice your symptoms,” Jen warned.
“No. He’s not. And you know why? Because he doesn’t want to see them.” The rancher sighed. “I understand that. I didn’t see Margarite’s infirmities, either, when she first got sick, because I couldn’t bear the thought of anything really being wrong with her. So I convinced myself that she was just tired, or coming down with a cold, or getting over a virus. Anything and everything but what was really happening.”
Jen knew what he meant. “I did the same thing when my dad was in the last stages of liver failure.” Her voice cracked. “I—I couldn’t admit to myself that he was…”
“Dying?”
She nodded, then fell silent. Memories overwhelmed her and tears pricked her eyes.
Emmett reached out and patted her arm. For a moment the two of them sat in silence, comforting each other.
“Besides,” he said eventually, “I take great pains to avoid Matt on those days that are really bad.”
She bit her lip. “You don’t think he’ll get suspicious?”
Emmett shrugged, still confiding in her as naturally as if she were family. “For a while, he thought I was seeing a woman.”
Matt had thought it might be Jen. At least that first day when he’d come to see her in her Austin studio…
“I’ve shared this with you in the strictest confidence,” Emmett continued sincerely. “You are not to tell Matt any of it. And I need you to swear on all you hold dear that you will keep quiet.”
Jen knew what an important first step this was. The big, brash, larger-than-life Texas rancher had admitted to her he was ill. He was trusting her to help him. And she would.
“Yes. I promise,” she said quietly, meaning it with all her heart.
Emmett’s leg trembled harder. Jen put her hand on his knee to stop the involuntary shaking. “I won’t tell anyone,” she reiterated, applying gentle pressure. “Not until you—”
She was about to say “change your mind and give me the okay,” when Emmett’s head jerked up.
The rancher looked past her, flushed guiltily and pushed her hand off his leg.
The hair on the back of her neck prickling, Jen turned in the direction of his gaze and encountered the person she least wanted to see.
Standing in the doorway, looking angry as hell, was the man she had made wild, passionate love with just a few hours before.
Matt Briscoe stomped in.
“Won’t tell anyone what?” he demanded.
Chapter Eight
Matt knew when two people had been caught red-handed. His dad and Jen were definitely up to something. What, Matt didn’t know. Despite the fact that she’d had her hand on his father’s knee, whatever was going on didn’t seem romantic or sexual. And yet there was an undeniable air of intimacy in the room.
Flushing, Jen stood up and, with more grace than Matt would have expected, under the circumstances, moved toward the drafting table. “Your father was a little overcome by the sketches I just showed him.”
She walked over to Matt, drawings in hand.
Matt noted that his father wasn’t looking at him. Rather, he was sitting with his palm planted firmly on the knee Jen had just been touching. Emmett also seemed curiously transfixed on Jen. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure what was going on, either.
Which was strange, Matt thought. If Jen was telling the truth.
He’d bet his bottom dollar she wasn’t.
“Your dad doesn’t want me talking about the actual possibilities for the sculpture until a decision is made. Which is fine with me. I actually prefer to keep any work in progress completely under wraps to all but the subjects, or patron commissioning the work.”
Wordlessly, she handed Matt a few rough sketches. The other three she passed to Emmett.
His resentment building, Matt glanced down.
The proposed sculptures were beautiful.
And incredible, in how they captured the essence of his parents, and the deep, abiding love they’d had for each other.
Feeling a little choked up himself, Matt handed the sketches to his dad.
Emmett, who never cried, had tears in his eyes as he scanned the drawings once again.
Dabbing at his cheek with a handkerchief, he rose abruptly. “Excuse me.” He left the studio without a backward glance, and somewhat awkwardly, from the sound of it, made his way down the hall.
Matt realized his dad must have been overcome with emotion.
The ache in his own throat grew.
Jen’s eyes glistened, as she moved away. Without looking at him, she said, “Posthumous works can be tough to do. Especially in the beginning.”
No kidding.
Matt felt as if he was about to start bawling, and he never cried.
At least he hadn’t since his mom had died.
He walked over to the drafting table, where Jen stood. Her glance still averted, she made a big production of tidying up her pencils.
He thrust the sketches at her.
She spread them out carefully on the table.
“But when the work is finished, the bronze is usually very comforting because so much has gone into it. It’s such a special memorial.”
Jen paused to look down with a critical eye at the photographs she’d used as a reference, and the sketches she’d made. “If you’d like to weigh in—tell me what you think about what I’ve done so far, what needs work, or what I might be missing…”
Matt shook his head, no more equipped to do that than his dad had been.
How was it possible that his mother could have been gone for ten years now, and the grief was still so raw?
He thought he’d gotten past this. Accepted fate. Moved on.
The truth was he was still as rocked by it as his father was. No wonder Jen had been reaching out, trying to comfort Emmett. She probably felt sorry for him and wanted to protect his macho image.
Matt didn’t need her doing that for him, too.
“I don’t think so,” he said gruffly, ready to run from the scene like an emotional coward, just as his dad had.
He turned away from Jen and headed toward the door.
First, he’d had to dig his mom’s paintings out of storage and carry some up; he had no idea which ones, since they still weren’t unwrapped.
And now this… His dad all weepy over sketches and photos of his deceased wife, and Matt feeling the same.
Still, he had a duty to at least be civil to Jen. She probably knew what she was stirring up, but had to do it anyway, as part of her work here.
Swallowing, he paused in the doorway and glanced back, meeting her gaze. Somehow making his voice sound almost normal, he announced, “I came up to tell you that Scully has food over in the bunkhouse if you want to join him and the hands for dinner. That’s what Dad and I usually do when Luz is off. But if not,” Matt continued, with the requisite politeness shown to guests on the Triple B, “you’re welcome to either have some chow sent over, or cook here. Naturally, you can help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen.”
Jen held his eyes, looking as if she wanted to say something important, but didn’t dare.
She swallowed, too, then nodded with the same careful politeness he’d shown her. “Thanks for the information and the invitation, but I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll grab something later.”
Matt couldn’t say he was surprised. Sometimes solitude was the best medicine. And right now, he needed even more time on the range.
“Suit yourself.” He tipped his head at her, then walked off.
* * *
JEN ENDED UP WORKING until almost ten. By the time she hit the kitchen, the rest of the house was silent. An indication that Emmett had either gone out or gone to bed. The same with Matt.
Trying not to feel disappointed about the lack of company, she opened the stainless-steel fridge. It was filled with all sorts of goodies, and she was still trying to decide what to eat when footsteps sounded behind her.
Matt walked in, a disgruntled look on his face. He was wearing a clean pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. His hair was damp and he smelled of soap and shampoo. Which reminded her of their lovemaking that afternoon.
Had it only been eight hours or so since they’d been together? she wondered wistfully.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
More than a lifetime.
She studied Matt’s surly, withdrawn expression, and couldn’t help but wonder if Emmett was still feeling poorly. Or whether Matt had noticed. Even if he wouldn’t yet admit to himself that his dad was ailing.
A feeling of unease sifted through her. She had to tread carefully here so as not to let anyone down. “Everything okay?”
Matt shoved a hand through his curly black hair. “Depends on what you mean by okay.”
She drew a conciliatory breath and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Okay…”
Her pun did not elicit the smile she had hoped to see.
Which likely meant he was still wrangling with his residual grief.
All too aware that this was his domain, not hers, and she was simply a guest here—and at the moment, an inconvenient one—Jen shut the fridge.
Ignoring the hunger pangs in her tummy, she leveled an honest glance at Matt. “If you want me to clear out while you do whatever it is you came in here to do, I’ll return later.”
It was the least she could do, after thrusting Emmett and Matt back into the throes of grief, at least temporarily.
He rocked back on his heels. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet?”
Her stomach growled. Hoping he hadn’t heard that, she waved away his concern. “I got caught up in what I was doing.” I was also hoping to avoid running into you until I felt better able to honor Emmett’s request to keep his health issues secret.
Jen peered at Matt, noting he had shaved.
And though the clean-cut look wouldn’t last on him more than a few hours, it was nice at the moment. Made it easy to see how ruggedly handsome he was, even without the masculine stubble. Worse, it reminded her how much she still wanted to throw caution to the wind and make love with him again.
But adding to the emotional confusion simmering between them would be foolish. Jen had stopped being foolish years ago, because she knew no good ever came of it.
Aware that Matt was still studying her, an implacable expression in his intent, sky-blue eyes, she swallowed. “Surely you ate.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded in front of him. “The storm the other night knocked down some fence. A hundred or so cattle wandered out, so they had to be rounded up and moved to another pasture until the fence could be repaired.”
So he hadn’t just been avoiding her.
“Sounds…challenging,” Jen remarked.
His expression didn’t change. “All in a day’s work.”
Was making love with her all in a day’s work, too? she wondered, then pushed the thought away. She had to stop thinking about Matt in romantic terms. Otherwise, she’d never get over their “fling.”
Never be able to finish her work here.
Keep Emmett’s secret.
Advance her career.
Keep her heart intact.
Matt might be able to handle a casual affair, but she couldn’t.
Not without losing a part of herself along the way.
Some of the tension eased. Matt moved past her, brought out a casserole of leftover chicken enchiladas, and containers of rice and refried beans. Set it all on the counter. He gestured at the fridge, which was loaded with other choices—all prepared by Luz, for weekend consumption. “Help yourself.”
“You sure?” Jen eyed what Matt had chosen. It looked awfully good, even cold. There was plenty.
“I think we can share a meal, even if we don’t ‘share’ anything else,” he said wryly.
Such as another kiss?
Or climaxes that were sweet, sensual and satisfying enough to rock her entire world.
Jen successfully fought back a flush. She’d been wondering how long before he brought that up. “Matt…”
“It’s okay,” he said softly, looking at her as if he needed comfort only she could give. “I understand.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, let his gaze rove seductively over her face. “Just so you know, you can change your mind anytime. All you have to do is—”
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
Matt dropped his hand, stepped back, but Jen’s heart continued to pound.
Emmett walked into the kitchen, clad in a robe, pajamas and sheepskin-lined slippers. He smiled when he saw her. With relief, she noted he seemed to have recovered fully from what had ailed him earlier.
“I’m glad you’re still up, Jen,” he said with a smile. “I want to talk to you about the West Texas Ranchers Association annual summer gala in Fort Worth. It’s a week from Friday. I’d like you to go with Matt and me.”
Jen noted that Matt looked as surprised by the invitation as she felt. “The three of us?” she asked.
“Sure.” Emmett shrugged in bemusement. “Why not?”
Matt lifted a brow, his expression inscrutable once again. Nervously, Jen turned back to his dad. “Won’t that look a little odd?” She knew it would feel so, given all she was suddenly hiding. Her secret tryst with Matt, for starters. Then there was Emmett’s supposed illness, which he insisted she keep from Matt. She hated being put in the middle, and worried that the emotional fallout could cause a permanent rift between father and son.
Not to mention what it would mean for her and Matt…
Heavens, how had this turned into such a mess?
Oblivious to the unsettling nature of her thoughts, he shrugged again. “We’re all friends. Unless you’d rather take a date, which would be fine, too.” He flashed a generous smile. “Whatever you decide on that score, I still think you should go. A lot of very influential people will be there. Potential patrons. I want to introduce you around. Let everybody know what you’re doing for us.”
Dex’s parents had often said the same thing to her, only their purpose had been garnering sympathy from their friends, and wanting everyone to know what they were doing for poor little underprivileged Jen. Who never should have had the greed to marry their son.
And that painful past experience, Jen thought miserably, was exactly why she shouldn’t go.
Showing art in her gallery was one thing. She was in her comfort zone. Social gatherings like the ball would only remind her of her failed marriage, and the humiliation she had suffered at her in-laws’ hands.
“Of course, you’re going to need formal attire.” Emmett continued as if Jen had already accepted his invitation. “So I called Jenna Lockhart Remington this evening and filled her in.”
The world-renowned haute couture designer who designed all the Oscar dresses? Jen’s flush of embarrassment deepened. “I appreciate it, Emmett, but the Lockhart salon is way out of my league, pricewise.” Even if the company’s flagship boutique was located in Laramie, Texas—home to all the Lockhart sisters and their wildly successful offspring.
Emmett took some juice from the fridge and poured a glass. “You don’t need to worry about that, honey. I’m paying for it.”
Matt looked at Jen again, with that same steady patience in his eyes.
Forcing herself to breathe, she shook her head. “Thank you so much, Emmett. I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t let you do that. That really would not look right.” People would talk. Matt would…
Well, who cared what Matt would think?
She would, that’s who!
Emmett smiled, waving off her protest. “It wouldn’t look right for you not to show up in an expensive gown, since all the dresses the ladies are wearing this year are going to be donated to an auction that will benefit Children’s Hospital.”
“Oh,” she said, ignoring Matt’s glance.
“Anyway…” Emmett drank his juice and left the glass in the sink “…any time you want to show up tomorrow, they’ll let you pick out a gown, and do a fitting.”
Appreciating the chance to help Children’s Hospital, in a way she couldn’t afford to otherwise, Jen smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he boomed. “Well, I’m headed on to bed. Night, y’all.”
“Good night,” Jen and Matt echoed in unison.
Emmett strode off, seeming, to Jen’s relief, to be in fine form once again. Had she been wrong to worry? All she knew for certain was that she wouldn’t feel good about the situation until he had seen a doctor and been thoroughly checked out.
But that was going to take some persuading…
An awkward silence fell.
Matt continued to study her another long minute, then went back to plating his dinner.
“Well, aren’t you going to say it?” Jen said. She knew what he was thinking.
He covered his food with a sheet of waxed paper, slid it into the microwave and hit the reheat button. “Say what?”
Jen served herself some food, as well. “That your father has a way of getting people to do what he wants them to.”
Matt reached into the refrigerator and got out two Bohemia beers. He uncapped both, handed her one. “It’s not like you could refuse.”
Jen found a lime, quartered it and squeezed a section into her bottle. “You, either.” She paused to savor the combination of fresh lime and Mexican beer. “Are you going to take a date?”
Still waiting on his dinner, Matt eyed her above the rim of his bottle. “Depends.” He let his gaze drift over her. “Will you come as my date?”
Tingling everywhere he’d looked—and especially where he hadn’t—Jen shrugged. It wasn’t that cool in the kitchen, but her nipples were contracting beneath her tank top. “I can’t do that.”
His gaze drifted there, arousing another flood of sensations, before returning to her eyes. “Why not?” He turned to get his plate, set hers in the microwave and pushed the button again. “I don’t care who knows I’m interested in you.”
Jen busied herself getting out the silverware and napkins. “Well, I care,” she told him stiffly. “Besides, we agreed—”
Matt caught her around the waist and shifted her against him. He felt warm and solid. And safe.
“We didn’t agree to anything,” he murmured, kissing her temple, then her cheek. “You said it couldn’t happen again.”
Yes, she had. Jen closed her eyes. Why, oh why, had she been such a fool? Passion this strong was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
She could enjoy it without getting her heart broken, couldn’t she? If she was smart.
Jen kept her eyes closed as he kissed his way down her neck. She jerked in a breath. “You didn’t argue.”
Matt cupped her chin in his hand.
Jen opened her eyes.
Looked into his.
His gaze was tender. And filled with a yearning as strong and sensual as her own. He ran a strand of her hair through his fingers, admitting softly, “Only because I didn’t figure pushing you would get me where I wanted to go.”
Actually, Jen thought, it kind of was. He was just kissing her lightly and she was already fantasizing about taking him into the shower again and soaping him down, then moving right back to his bed.
Matt continued, in all seriousness, “I promised myself this afternoon—and now I’m promising you—that I’ll slow down.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Give us time to get to know each other.”
That was quite a promise. And one she hadn’t expected. Jen inhaled a shaky breath, aware that she was closer than ever to falling for him. Completely.
Unfortunately, love and reason did not often go hand in hand.
Feeling she owed it to him to be honest about this much, she predicted, “It’s not going to change anything in the long run.” Although it was already changing something now, because if he kept this up, she wasn’t going to be able to resist him for long.
Matt smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. He took her hand and led her to the table, then returned to the dinging microwave to get her dinner. “You keep telling yourself that. I’m going to tell myself something else entirely.”
* * *
JEN WAS STILL THINKING about what Matt had said the night before, when she accepted Emmett’s offer to lend her a car, and drove to town early the next afternoon.
She knew Matt was a decent guy. He loved his dad, still grieved the loss of his mother—although he tried to hide that—and meant well in general. The problem was, he assumed Jen and he could keep it casual, keep it private, and continue sleeping together without their emotions getting in the way.
And while that might be true for him, it wasn’t for her.
She already had developed a huge fascination for him, which prompted her to do foolish things she had never considered before. Such as allow herself to be distracted from work. Mix business with pleasure. And make herself vulnerable to a man who was so far socially and financially out of her league it wasn’t funny.
She had learned the hard way that men with Matt’s background did not trust the intentions of someone from a background like hers.
They might say they did, in the beginning, but money always got in the way in the end.
Jen didn’t want to see that happen to her and Matt.
She wanted at the very least for them to get to know each other and form a solid friendship.
And she knew Matt wanted that, too.
Whether they would be lasting friends remained to be seen.
Aside from each losing a parent, they might find out they had little in common save sexual chemistry. And if that was the case, well, their fascination with each other would probably fade.
In the meantime, what she needed to do was spend as much time working and as little time alone with Matt as possible.
The first order of business was the photo printing shop in town.
She’d already scanned the pictures on to her computer, so it was a simple matter to get them printed the way she wanted. From there, she went to the Lockhart Boutique on Main Street.
The dress salon was busy. A young actress was getting fitted for an awards show scheduled for later in the summer. A bride and her attendants were trying to select bridesmaid dresses—not easy, when there were so many gorgeous gowns and styles to choose from. Another young woman was trying to pick out a gown for the West Texas Ranchers Association summer gala.
Learning Jen was there for the same reason, the striking brunette introduced herself. “So you’re the artist Matt has been talking about.”
Jen made a face. “Good or bad?”
She laughed, as if that was a silly question. “All good, of course.” She extended her hand. “I’m Emily McCabe-Reeves, owner of the Daybreak Café across the street.”
Jen had heard of her, too. She turned around, checking out in the three-way mirror the turquoise gown she was trying on. “Luz told me that’s the one place in town I’ve got to be sure to visit.”
Emily stepped up to have a look at the grass-green gown she had on. “You should visit us, too. My husband, Dylan, and I have a ranch not too far from the Triple B. The Last Chance Ranch for troubled horses.”

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