I Cross My Heart
Vicki Lewis Thompson
When a symbolic fire gets out of hand, self-help guru Bethany Grace is rescued by her dangerously sexy neighbour Nash Bledsoe.Bethany and Nash have a past…but when they strike a deal – Nash can buy her dead father’s ranch if he helps her fix it up – there’s a whole lot of chemistry in the fine print. Nash is about to discover that where there’s smoke, there’s fire!
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’s love affair with cowboys started with the Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website, www.vickilewisthompson.com.
I Cross My Heart
Vicki Lewis Thompson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Edward Knabusch and Edwin Shoemaker,
who invented the first wooden recliner in 1928
and made an upholstered version dubbed the
La-Z-Boy in 1929. This story wouldn’t be the same
without that invention, so thanks, guys!
Prologue
June 18, 1982, Last Chance Ranch
From the Diary of Eleanor Chance
A BABY APPEARED ON OUR doorstep today. Not literally, but as good as. Nicholas Jonathan O’Leary, five months old, arrived in a taxi with his own personal lawyer as a temporary nanny.
Apparently fourteen months ago, my son, Jonathan, conceived this child with that flighty Nicole O’Leary, one of the women he attached himself to during what I call his yee-haw phase. She was only in town for a couple of months, and after she left, Jonathan didn’t hear from her. Until this baby showed up.
According to the lawyer, Nicole had wanted Nicholas’s existence to be kept secret while she was alive, but she’d arranged for him to be brought here in the event of her death. Good thing she made those provisions, considering she’d taken up skydiving! Who does that kind of thing when they have an infant to care for? I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but, honestly! She had Shinola for brains, if you ask me.
Jonathan, of course, is shocked by her death and the baby he’d had no clue about. He also feels guilty for having unprotected sex with her. But Archie and I don’t really blame him. He wasn’t himself after his no-good wife, Diana, left him and their toddler, Jack, two years ago. Archie and I made sure that Jack was cared for during those months when Jonathan battled a sense of failure by painting the town.
Then, thank the good Lord, he met Sarah, and they had the loveliest Christmas wedding this past December. Sarah is everything Jonathan’s ex-wife was not. She’s a nurturing and loving presence in our lives and little Jack finally has a mother.
We’ve all been anticipating the birth of Jack’s baby brother, Gabriel, due in four months, and now…well, Sarah says Jack will have two little brothers, Nick and Gabe. That tells you what my new daughter-in-law is made of. The angels smiled on us when she agreed to marry our son.
So, before you know it, Archie and I will have three grandchildren! Archie is over the moon about that. Jonathan will inherit the Last Chance Ranch when we’re gone, and the odds are good that one of those boys will take over from Jonathan someday. Maybe they’ll even share ownership. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Archie feels very sentimental about keeping the ranch in the family. Today, in the midst of the hullabaloo about Nicholas arriving, Archie coined a name for Jonathan’s boys, each with a different mother. He calls them the Sons of Chance. I think that’s sweet.
1
Present Day
WHEN IT CAME TO MENTAL health, Nash Bledsoe vastly preferred shoveling shit to lying on a therapist’s couch. His newly minted ex-wife, Lindsay, felt differently and had told him numerous times he needed a shrink. But his final divorce papers had arrived from Sacramento late yesterday afternoon, and Lindsay no longer had any say-so about how he dealt with his emotions.
Now that they were officially divorced, he’d never again have to hear Lindsay quote her favorite self-help guru, Bethany Grace: Happiness Is a Choice. He shuddered. God, how he’d come to hate that phrase.
Well, damn it, today he chose to be mad as hell. And mucking out stalls was both productive and therapeutic. He wouldn’t deny that he had plenty of issues, but fortunately the Last Chance barn had plenty of stalls.
“Better slow down before you hurt yourself, son.”
Nash glanced up in midshovel. Emmett Sterling, the Last Chance’s foreman, leaned in the doorway of the stall and chewed absently on a piece of straw. The guy looked more like a veteran cowboy than anyone Nash knew. Although he was past sixty, he had the lean body of a man much younger. His graying mustache gave him an Old West look that suited him.
“The exercise feels good,” Nash said.
“I expect it does. Heard about the divorce papers arriving.”
“Yep. I’m officially a free man.” He didn’t pretend to be surprised that Emmett knew. His mail was delivered to the bunkhouse, and his buddy Luke Griffin had been there when he’d opened the thick envelope.
Luke had worked at the Sacramento riding stables owned by Nash and Lindsay, but he’d lost his taste for the job when Nash had left. So Nash had put in a good word for him here at the Last Chance and Luke had hired on a couple months after Nash had. Last night Luke had joined him in polishing off a bottle of Wild Turkey, and several of the other hands had produced some twelve-packs and turned it into a party.
The divorce papers hadn’t been a surprise. Lindsay had filed almost a year ago, and Nash had spent some time and money trying to get a fair shake. Turned out to have been a waste, and seeing the settlement spelled out in black and white had brought back all his suppressed rage. He tossed the shovelful of manure into the wheelbarrow and went back for more.
“I remember being as angry as you are right now. It’ll pass,” Emmett said.
Nash dumped more manure into the wheelbarrow. “Especially if I keep shoveling.” He’d forgotten that Emmett’s wife had divorced him twenty-some years ago. Now Emmett was seeing Pam Mulholland, who owned a bed-and-breakfast on the main road into town.
Pam was part of the Chance family through her late sister, Nicole O’Leary, mother of Nick Chance. A wealthy divorcée with no children, Pam had moved to the Jackson Hole area to be near her nephew. And she’d soon fallen head over heels for Emmett Sterling.
But Emmett was dragging his feet about marrying her because she was loaded and Emmett was not. Nash could relate. Lindsay’s money had been a ticking time bomb—one he’d foolishly deemed unimportant when he’d asked her to share his life.
“I hate to interfere with your plan to work until you drop,” Emmett said, “but one of the hands spotted a column of smoke over at the Triple G. I need someone to check it out, and I’m afraid you’re nominated.”
“Glad to.” Nash was grateful to have a job and was committed to doing anything the foreman asked of him. He laid the shovel across the load in the wheelbarrow. “Just leave me some stalls to muck out, okay?”
“That can be arranged.”
Emmett and Nash walked out of the barn, their booted feet making hollow sounds on the wooden floor. “It’s bad enough that Hank Grace had to drink himself to death,” Emmett said. “I hate to think of someone trespassing and starting a fire because nobody’s around to stop them.”
“Nobody’s there?”
“Far as I know. Hank sold off the animals months ago. From what I heard, he abandoned the place and checked himself into a hospital in Jackson. Died there a week ago. Don’t know what’s supposed to happen with the property.”
Nash had been gone long enough that his memory was cloudy when it came to some of the residents of this area. “Wasn’t there a daughter?” He vaguely remembered that she’d been several years behind him in school.
“Yeah, but she turned into a city girl and wasn’t around much. I doubt she’s the one lighting a fire over there. Doesn’t fit. Could be kids having a campout, but it’s still trespassing, and I never like seeing unexplained smoke. Untended fires can spread.” Emmett handed Nash a set of keys. “Take the Ford F-150. There’s a fire extinguisher behind the seat. I’d rather not bring the sheriff into it if we don’t have to, but you have your cell phone, right?”
“Yes.”
“Call the law or the fire department if you can’t handle it, but I’m hoping it’s nothing too drastic.”
“Probably isn’t. School’s out. Stuff happens.”
“That’s my thought. Thanks, Nash.”
“You’re welcome. See you soon.” Nash tugged his hat a little lower over his eyes to block the glare of the bright June sunshine. He could see the smoke rising about five miles away.
Maybe this break would help rid his mind of depressing thoughts. He’d failed to create a happy marriage, and he wasn’t used to failure. But at least his family and friends hadn’t witnessed the debacle firsthand. He’d grown up in Jackson Hole, but he’d spent the past ten years in Sacramento, nine of them married to Lindsay.
He should have known when she’d asked him to sign a prenup nine years ago that no matter how hard he worked, he would never have been considered an equal partner in that riding stable. Her parents had constantly reminded him that they’d bankrolled the business and bought Nash and Lindsay a home, to boot.
Lindsay had never called them on that, either, and his relationship with her had started unraveling after the first year. Good thing his old friend Jack Chance had given him a job last fall. Nash had literally come out of the marriage with nothing but his truck, which needed a valve job.
He’d put that off because he seldom drove anywhere on personal business and he had use of the ranch vehicles when Emmett needed something done, like now. Food and lodging were part of the job. That allowed Nash to invest most of his salary, and thanks to a good financial adviser in Jackson, his savings were growing nicely. Eventually he’d have enough for a down payment on his own place.
The tan ranch truck was parked near the two-story main house. As he walked the short distance, he rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that had settled the moment he’d opened the envelope from Sacramento. He hated to think his life was spiraling downward, but sometimes it felt that way, especially when he compared his situation to Jack Chance’s.
Jack was technically his boss, although he would never pull rank. They’d been friends since high school, where they’d been in the same graduating class and had played on the same football team. But now their situations were totally different.
Jack’s dad had died several years ago in a rollover, leaving his three sons and his wife as joint owners of this valuable operation. The Last Chance bred paints and trained them as cutting horses. As the oldest son, Jack ran the daily operation in partnership with his mother, Sarah. Middle brother Nick was a vet with his own practice, but he made sure all the animals on the ranch stayed healthy. Gabe was the competitor who rode the Last Chance horses and showcased the ones offered for sale.
Sarah and her fiancé, Pete Beckett, lived in the main house, but each of the sons had staked out a parcel of ranch land and had built homes for themselves and their wives. No doubt about it—the Chance brothers had been blessed with good fortune. Nash didn’t begrudge them any of it, but he longed for that kind of financial and emotional stability.
He was working to build up a nest egg now, but finding the right person to love would have to come later. He wasn’t about to hook up with a woman until he had resources. He’d learned his lesson on that score. He’d already made one big mistake, and he wasn’t planning to make another.
Climbing into the dusty ranch truck, he started the engine and backed the vehicle around. The long and tortuous dirt road that connected the ranch to a paved two-lane highway was always a challenge, but at least today it was dry. Jack’s dad had deliberately left the road unpaved to discourage trespassers, and his sons had decided to honor that tradition.
A little bit of grading wouldn’t hurt, though, Nash thought as the truck bounced over the hardened ruts. The ranch had a tractor and a blade, but apparently using it on the road would be considered sacrilegious. Nash wondered how often Jack had to replace the shocks in his trucks because of these ruts.
After a bone-jolting drive, Nash reached the two upright poles and massive crossbeam that marked the entrance to the Last Chance. To the left, about ten miles away, was the little town of Shoshone. It supplied many of the basics, like food, gas and a great bar, the Spirits and Spurs, owned by Jack’s wife, Josie. But for anything fancy, people had to drive nearly an hour into the city of Jackson.
Nash took a right toward the Triple G, a much smaller spread than the Last Chance. As Nash recalled, the Graces had kept to themselves—not a common thing around here, but it happened. Not all country folk were social.
Grace. He’d likely always cringe when he heard that last name now. His marriage had probably been doomed from the first day, since Lindsay’s wealthy parents had never approved of him. But when Lindsay had started reading those motivational books by Bethany Grace, the game had changed dramatically. She’d used Bethany Grace’s mantra, Happiness Is a Choice, as a response to every fight they’d had.
When Lindsay had insisted he read the then-current bestseller, Living with Grace, he’d done his best. He’d made it through twenty pages. The woman obviously lived in a bubble and knew nothing about actual relationships. But Lindsay thought Bethany Grace was a genius and that Happiness Is a Choice solved every issue.
Meanwhile Lindsay had consistently ignored his input regarding the business and had reminded him in many subtle ways that because she had the money, he was little more than a stable boy. It had been death by a thousand cuts. And the more angry and miserable he’d become, the more often she’d chirped that mantra: Happiness Is a Choice.
He was so lost in thought that he nearly missed the turnoff to the Triple G. The weathered sign was small and low to the ground. At the last minute he noticed it and took the turn too fast. He sent up a rooster tail of dust and avoided taking out the pathetic little sign by inches. A good thing, too. His mission involved protecting property, not destroying it.
If he’d thought the Last Chance road was poorly maintained, it was a superhighway compared to this collection of potholes. He slowed down in an effort to save the truck’s alignment. Any teenage trespassers who’d braved this road might be sorry when the deep ruts did a number on their precious first car, or worse yet, screwed up the family SUV.
Because he had to concentrate on the miserable road in front of him, he couldn’t take stock of what was causing the smoke. The stench reached him long before he arrived on the scene. Finally he pulled into the weed-infested clearing surrounded by a collection of dilapidated buildings that made up the Triple G Ranch. Then he put on the brakes and stared.
In the bare dirt area that constituted the ranch’s front yard, a leather recliner was on fire. Even more curious, a dark-haired woman dressed in heels, a short beige skirt and a matching jacket stood watching it, butane lighter in hand. She seemed to be the only person around, and was most likely the citified daughter.
A red SUV was parked beside the house, a fairly safe distance from the blazing chair unless a spark caught the weeds on fire. If Nash were to guess, he’d say she’d arrived in that vehicle, but he couldn’t imagine her motivation for setting the chair on fire.
That had to be deliberate. And difficult. Those chairs were usually treated with flame retardants, which explained the god-awful smell. Gasoline had probably been involved. Sure enough, he spotted a can lying about twenty feet away from her.
She gave him a cursory glance before returning her attention to the chair. The flames had died down, leaving a blackened, smoldering mess. She seemed to have it in for the chair, but if she intended to destroy it completely, she’d have to douse it with more gasoline and relight the fire or run over it with that shiny red SUV. Both options made Nash wince.
He decided to intervene before she proceeded to do either of those things. Emmett had asked him to check things out, so he’d do that. In the process he hoped to satisfy his curiosity, because this recliner-torching was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen and he wanted to know the reason behind it.
Climbing out of the truck, he tried not to breathe too deeply. No telling what toxic crap was in that smoke. She should smother the fire for environmental reasons, if nothing else.
At the metallic sound of the truck door closing, she looked at him again. This time she held his gaze as he walked toward her. She’d seemed pulled-together and neat at first, but the closer he came, the more that impression shifted.
She’d torn the left shoulder seam of her tailored beige jacket, and the front of her white blouse and short beige skirt were smudged with dirt. Her nylons were a mass of runs and her beige heels were scuffed beyond repair.
Apparently, despite being dressed for a day at the office, she’d dragged that chair outside before going for the gasoline and the butane lighter. Judging from her streaked makeup and the way her short dark hair was plastered to her forehead and neck, the job had made her sweat. Her mascara was smeared and she looked as if she’d been crying—either from anger or because of the foul smoke. Maybe both. His eyes stung, and he’d only been here a few minutes.
He paused when he was an arm’s length away from her. Her gray eyes might be pretty if they weren’t so red. When faced with a situation like this, where someone was obviously upset, Nash usually tried to lighten the mood a little. “On a redecorating kick?”
She stared at him as if he’d said something terminally stupid, which of course he had, but that was the idea. She didn’t seem inclined to joke around, though. Too bad.
Swiping at her eyes with the back of her free hand, she looked him up and down. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“The name’s Nash Bledsoe. I work at the Last Chance, and the foreman saw smoke and asked me to investigate. He thought trespassers might be causing a problem.”
“Oh.” She gazed up at the smoke spiraling into the blue sky as if only now realizing that it might be noticed by others. “Sorry about that. Everything’s fine. I’m not a trespasser. I own the place. Lucky me.”
She probably was the daughter, then. He could have left it at that and headed back to the Last Chance, but he decided not to. The smoke was a pollutant, and he still didn’t know why she’d set fire to the chair. “Look, it’s obvious that you want to get rid of this piece of furniture, but your method is spewing bad stuff into the air.”
“I didn’t think of that.” She glanced at the smoke and the blackened, shriveled leather. “I’ll bet there’s not a working fire extinguisher around this place, either.”
“I happen to have one in my truck. I’ll get it.”
She hesitated, as if reluctant to accept his help.
He gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s really the way to go. Once I’ve sprayed it with foam, we can figure out how to get it out of here and into the landfill where it belongs.”
“Maybe I’ll just dig a hole and bury it.”
“Would take a big hole.”
“That’s okay. Digging it would feel good.”
He looked into her bloodshot eyes and recognized the same kind of rage, grief and frustration he’d been trying to work off by mucking out stalls. He didn’t have to ask her any more questions, after all. She was mad at somebody, probably the person who’d spent time in this chair. Odds were that would have been her late father.
The combination of anger and sorrow could make people do strange things, and he certainly understood that. She seemed to recognize that she’d found a kindred spirit, because some of the defiance left her expression. As her gaze mellowed, she looked really nice, even with her mascara running and her hair all sweaty.
“I’ll get the extinguisher,” he said. “We can go from there.”
“Okay.” Her voice had grown softer, too. “Thanks.”
He felt a smile coming on as he hurried back to the truck. He hadn’t been any woman’s hero in a very long time, and he’d missed that.
After he slimed the chair, he’d see if she had a tarp. He didn’t want to load that gross thing into the back of the ranch truck without one, but if he could put it on something, he could drive straight to the landfill. She didn’t need to dig a hole and bury the chair. Surely there were other menial chores around this wreck of a place where she could work out her emotions.
He returned with the extinguisher. “You might want to stand back while I do this.”
She backed up several steps. Considering the uneven dirt in the front yard, she navigated well on those über-high heels. She must be used to them.
“I guess you think I’m a lunatic for trying to burn this recliner,” she said.
“No, actually, I don’t. I know something about being so furious that you have to find a good target for your anger.”
“That about sums up my little stunt, but now it seems pretty juvenile.”
“Not at all. I think it had flair.” He pointed the extinguisher at the recliner. Slowly circling it, he layered on the foam. At last he was satisfied. “That should do it.” He glanced over and noticed her tiny smile. She had a full, prettily shaped mouth. She’d probably clean up real good. “Feeling any better?”
“I am, actually.”
“Excellent.” He cleared his throat. “So you’re the daughter?”
She nodded.
“I thought so. But I’ve gone and forgotten your first name. I was a few years ahead of you in school.”
“You wouldn’t have remembered me, anyway. I was an awkward nerd back then. A certified late bloomer.” Her smile widened a little. “I remember you, though, Nash Bledsoe. You were quite the heartthrob.”
To his dismay, he felt heat rising from his collar. “I don’t know about that. Anyway, is your last name still Grace, or something else, now?” If she was married, he didn’t think much of a husband who’d send her off to deal with this situation by herself.
“My last name is still Grace.” She gazed at him thoughtfully. “I take it you haven’t heard anything about my career, then?”
“Sorry, I haven’t. Emmett just said you’d become a city girl.”
“Well, that’s humbling. But then, I lost touch with everyone back here, and my folks weren’t much for socializing, or bragging, for that matter.”
“About what?”
“I’m a bestselling author. My latest book hit number one on all the lists.”
His stomach clenched. But no, it couldn’t be. Coin-cidences like this didn’t happen in real life. “What do you write?”
“Motivational books. Self-help, is how most people refer to them.”
His throat went dry and his heart began to pound. “You’re Bethany Grace?” The name came out as a hoarse croak.
“So you have heard of me!” She looked pleased.
“Oh, yeah.” He felt light-headed. “I’ve heard of you. Your books made my life a living hell.”
2
BETHANY GASPED. SHE’D had many reactions to her books in the three years since she’d first hit the bestseller charts, but no one had ever said anything that awful. Nash wasn’t kidding, either. His blue eyes had iced over and his expression had turned to granite.
She’d just been thinking what a good-looking guy he’d turned into, and a kind one, at that. She’d found herself admiring the strong line of his jaw and the sensual curve of his lower lip. Because she’d outgrown her nerdy phase, she’d felt capable of flirting a little with the likes of Nash Bledsoe, if he wasn’t attached.
But instead she’d discovered that her cheerful and positive message had created such fury in him that he’d barely been able to speak her name. To know that her books had done that made her physically ill. She hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, which was probably good, because she had nothing in her rolling stomach that could come back up.
His bitter words had sucked most of the air from her lungs, too, but she finally managed to draw in enough to ask a question. “How did my books do that?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’d rather not get into it.”
“Please, don’t hit me with something like that and refuse to tell me why! No one’s ever…I’ve never had anyone tell me…” She took a shaky breath. “You look as if you hate me.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and gazed up at the sky. “Bethany Grace.” He chuckled, but the sound had no humor in it. Then he looked at her again. “My ex-wife loves your books.”
From the way he said it, Bethany knew that wasn’t a good thing. “Okay.”
He studied her for long enough that she became very aware of how sweaty and dirty she was. And how foolish this stunt of hers must look to him, now that he knew she was the author of bestsellers such as Living with Grace and her current chart-topper, Grace Personified. She’d always been proud of her success, but given this situation, she should have kept her mouth shut. Today was the wrong time for her to be in the glare of a spotlight that would reveal her flaws.
Too late. “I suppose you’re wondering if I’m a hypocrite.”
“It crossed my mind. I can’t figure out why a woman who tells everyone that happiness is a choice would set fire to her daddy’s recliner. That doesn’t seem like a particularly cheerful move, to me.” He was obviously enjoying pointing that out.
She flushed. “It wasn’t. I’m not proud of my reaction. It was unworthy of me to do that.”
His expression underwent a subtle change, as if that admission had soaked up some of his anger. “But oh, so very human.”
“You don’t have to sound so smug when you say that.”
This time his chuckle was a little less caustic. “Yeah, I do. Whether you know it or not, you owe me a bit of smugness.”
“What happened?”
He hesitated.
“Please. Your statement will eat at me if you don’t explain where it came from.”
He blew out a breath. “Okay. Short version. My inlaws were convinced that I’d only married Lindsay for her money. I think they finally convinced Lindsay, too, because she developed an attitude. She made it plain that a poor boy like me was lucky to be there.”
“Ouch.”
“I realize now her parents started the sabotage early and gradually turned up the heat, the way you cook a frog without the frog even noticing. I became more and more irritable. Then Lindsay found your books and felt free to remind me that Happiness Is a Choice.”
She was appalled. “That’s not how my books are supposed to be read. You can’t undermine someone’s confidence and then berate them for not being happy enough.”
“Tell that to Lindsay and her folks.”
“I will if you’d like me to. I resent that they—”
“I didn’t mean that literally. Don’t waste your time on them. But I have to admit, seeing you in the middle of a meltdown helps. Even the sainted Bethany Grace has a bad day once in a while.”
“Sainted? I never claimed to be perfect!”
“Lindsay thinks you are. As opposed to me, a person riddled with problems.”
“That’s ridiculous. We all have problems. I’ve admitted that in everything I’ve written.” Then she had a thought. “Did you ever read one of my books?”
“One chapter.”
She tried to remember if she’d admitted any problems in Chapter One of Living with Grace or the earlier books. Maybe not. “Then you stopped reading?”
“Then I threw the book against the wall.”
She winced.
“Sorry, but you have to remember this was a book recommended by the woman who, with the help of her folks, was mentally torturing me. I could only take so much of the rainbows and lollipops you were handing out.”
“All things considered, you probably won’t ever make it through an entire book of mine, and I don’t blame you. But somewhere in Living with Grace, maybe toward the middle, I admit to having a temper, and you’ve just seen me demonstrate that.”
Nash glanced at the now-soggy recliner. “Pretty impressive, too. Those old recliners are heavy suckers. How long did it take you to drag it out here?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track of time. I drove into the yard, walked up the rickety porch steps, went inside, saw the state of things in there and…lost it.”
“You didn’t know it was this bad?”
She sighed, remembering all the should-haves she’d ignored in the past year and a half. “I suspected. My parents were never savvy about the ranching business and the Triple G operated in the red quite a bit. When I started making decent money, I sent checks home.” And she should have come herself. “Obviously the money wasn’t used to maintain the ranch.”
“Why didn’t your dad get some advice from his neighbors? I’m sure anyone at the Last Chance would have been glad to—”
“Not my dad’s style. He didn’t like to admit he was deficient in any area. That’s why he and my mom didn’t mingle. He didn’t feel equal to the other ranchers, so he kept to himself. Rejected any offer of help. I saw him do it several times. Eventually people stopped trying.”
“That’s sad.”
“Incredibly sad.” She glanced around her. “You see the result. After my mom died a year and a half ago, my dad started drinking a lot, apparently. Whenever I’d suggest coming home for a visit, he’d discourage me. To be honest, I wasn’t eager to be here without my mom. She was always the more positive influence. And my career was heating up, so…I used that as an excuse.”
“Understandable.”
She appreciated that one-word comment more than he’d ever know. Nash Bledsoe was a kind person, just as she’d decided when he hadn’t lectured her about burning the recliner. She probably didn’t have to worry about him blabbing about her circumstances, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.
She cleared her throat. “I’m not famous enough to have paparazzi following me around, but this would make a juicy story for somebody—Motivational Guru Let Father Die in Squalor. That kind of thing.”
“Are you worried that I’ll tell on you?”
“Not really, but after all, you have a personal grudge against me. I guess I couldn’t blame you for thinking about exposing my frailties to the general public.”
His blue gaze sharpened. “I’m not vindictive, Bethany.”
“I didn’t think so, but—”
“I’ll report to Emmett that I found you here burning trash, and after we talked, you decided to take your garbage to the landfill from now on. He doesn’t seem to know who you are. I’d be surprised if anyone in this area realizes that you’re nationally known in the motivational field. Cowboys don’t read those books all that much.”
“No need. They live a blessed life.” She smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, Nash.”
“So what are you going to do? I mean, besides destroying this recliner?”
“I have to sell the place. My life’s in Atlanta now. Keeping property in Jackson Hole makes no sense, except…”
“Except?”
“I worry about selling it as is. If the media somehow finds out my dad lived like this…But hiring somebody to fix it up is risky, too. Word could still get out.”
“So hire me.”
“You? You have a job.”
“True, but it’s only sunup to sundown. My nights are my own. My dad was a general contractor and I worked with him every summer during high school and college. And I could use the money.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “You can’t work on repairs in the dark.”
“Inside stuff I can, and for outside stuff, I can set up spotlights. It’s completely doable.”
“Will the folks at the Last Chance object to having you moonlight, literally?”
He shrugged. “Not if I tell them that we’re old schoolmates and you’re helping me financially by hiring me during my off-hours. They all know I’m saving up for my own place, and this will make perfect sense to them.”
She considered his offer. Although she didn’t really know him, all her instincts told her he was trustworthy. Besides, he worked for the Chances, who were known for their integrity. That was a recommendation in itself, and he’d certainly be a better bet than taking potluck with some stranger.
“There’s a lot to be done here.” She looked around. “It’s been neglected for several years. Are you sure you can manage by yourself?”
He nodded. “One thing I’m good at is working hard and fast. That didn’t mean much to Lindsay and her parents, but it’s my strength.”
“I’d want you to start with the outbuildings to give me a chance to clear out any personal things from the house.”
“That’s fine. How long are you here for?”
“A week. That should be enough time for me to sort through the stuff in the house. And I’ll be available if you have questions as you get started.”
“So it’s a deal?”
“It’s a deal. I’ll pay you well for this, Nash.”
He smiled. “I’m counting on it. So let’s see. Are your dad’s tools still here?”
“Oh, I’m sure they are. I can’t guarantee the condition of anything, but you’ll need to pick up some building materials, so you can replace any broken tools then.” Discussing the restoration of this place gave her a boost of energy.
“Okay, good. I figure tonight I’ll come over and mostly assess the situation and come up with an estimate. Maybe I’ll start on whatever doesn’t require new lumber and nails. I’ll give you a list you can call in to the Shoshone Feed Store. They carry building supplies, too. I’ll pick everything up.”
“Or I could.” She pointed to the SUV. “That can haul stuff.”
“Nah, don’t get that shiny rental all dirty. A truck’s better, anyway.” He glanced at the chair. “And please leave this right here. I’ll deal with it tonight.”
“You’re sure?”
“Part of the job. But if you want to buy some pots of flowers for the porch, that might be a nice touch.”
She felt a tug of nostalgia. “My mother always had flower pots there.”
“Think curb appeal.”
“I will.” But instead she was thinking about her mother, and the good times they’d had planting bright annuals every spring—mostly pansies and petunias. She’d forgotten that. And after the flowers had started blooming, she and her mom would sit on the porch with glasses of lemonade and admire their efforts.
She swallowed a lump of sorrow and sniffed away her tears. She grieved her dad, though she’d emotionally distanced herself from him years ago. Her mom’s death still tugged at her heartstrings. But she’d rather not let that show and appear even more vulnerable. A girl had to preserve her pride.
“So if you’ll get the spotlights today, I’ll be here after dinner,” Nash said.
“It’s a deal.” For the first time since she’d received the news of her father’s death last week, she felt hopeful that she would be able to handle this painful inheritance.
“And don’t touch that recliner.”
Looking at it, she reached deep and found the humor buried in the situation. She grinned at Nash. “I promise not to touch it. I think I’ve created enough recliner chaos. But hey, it brought you over here.”
“And against all odds, that turns out to be a good thing.”
“Yes.” She met his gaze. “Yes, it does.” To her great surprise, she felt a sexual tug as she looked into his blue eyes. Whoops. Better not go there. Earlier she’d considered flirting with him to prove to herself that she’d outgrown her gawky phase, but that would have been ill-advised, too.
Coming back here and facing her dad’s death, and actually, her mom’s as well, had stirred up some deep feelings. What seemed like sexual desire might be simply a need to be held by a big, strong cowboy. She’d had that fantasy as a teenager but thought she’d outgrown it after leaving Jackson Hole.
Judging from her reaction to Nash, she still harbored that fantasy. If he was going to be around every night for the next week, she might want to dial back that flare of desire she was feeling. She didn’t need to complicate her life.
“See you tonight, Bethany.” He touched the brim of his hat in a typical cowboy gesture and walked back to his truck, carrying the fire extinguisher.
God help her, she watched him leave. He had the denim-encased buns and the loose-hipped stride that turned the simple act of walking into an art form. He’d been a good-looking kid in high school who’d grown into a gorgeous man.
Her reaction might also have to do with her recent period of unintended celibacy. When Living with Grace hit the number one spot on several charts, she’d been swept up in a whirlwind of publicity. The media attention, plus her deadline for the next book, had caused her to abandon everything not related to her blossoming career. She hadn’t been seriously involved with a man at the time, so her sex life had been easy to set aside, too.
She hadn’t missed it at all, or so she’d thought until she watched Nash Bledsoe return to his truck. Apparently all the man had to do to get her thinking about bedroom games was give her a view of his jeans-clad backside. Inappropriate scenarios flashed before her eyes in living color.
“Nash?” His name was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
He turned. “Yeah?”
“I, uh, bought some groceries before driving over here. If you’d like to have a quick dinner before you start working, I could provide that.”
“Sure.” His teeth were very white against his tanned skin. “That would be great. What time?”
“Around six?”
“I’ll be here.”
“See you then.” She forced herself to turn and start back to the house instead of standing there like an idiot while he drove away. As she walked over the uneven ground, she admitted to herself that inviting him to dinner sent the exact wrong message. Their arrangement was about business, not social interaction.
She might be longing for some combination of emotional comfort and sexual excitement, but finding those things in Nash Bledsoe’s arms would be a huge mistake. She didn’t believe in temporary affairs, and she had the career move of a lifetime waiting for her in Atlanta on Opal!, the most popular talk show on television, starring fan favorite Opal Knightly.
Bethany had been an occasional guest, and a friendship had formed. Now she was about to become a permanent feature on the program. Opal had mentored others by giving them a regular segment, and if ratings were good enough, Bethany might eventually launch her own show.
By the time she’d reminded herself of the stakes involved, she’d made it to the porch and Nash’s truck could be heard slowly navigating the washboard road back to the highway. She decided to record her long-term goal—to have her own television show—in the day planner on her smartphone to remind herself of it daily. But first she needed a change of clothes at the least, and maybe a shower.
She chose her old bathroom instead of the master because hers was far cleaner. It obviously hadn’t been used since she’d been here for her mom’s funeral eighteen months ago. But when she saw her reflection in the medicine-cabinet mirror, she was appalled.
The woman in the mirror, who looked like she belonged in a low-budget horror flick, was none other than Bethany Grace, Ph.D. This was the face Nash Bledsoe had seen when he arrived. Wearing this face, with its mascara-ringed, bloodshot eyes, shiny nose and dirtsmudged cheeks, she’d considered flirting with him because now she was past her gawky stage. Not.
She’d looked like this, with her torn jacket and filthy blouse, when she’d struck a deal for his handyman services and then casually, or not so casually, invited him to dine with her. And the crazy man had said yes. He must really need the money.
As she imagined what he’d been thinking all through their exchange, she started to laugh. The more she thought about it, the harder she laughed, until she had to lean against the vanity for support. If her adoring public could only see her now. Fortunately, they couldn’t, and Nash wouldn’t tell on her.
In a way, it was a relief that he’d seen her at her worst. Probably a relief for him, too, after the image he’d grown to hate during the months when his ex had battered him with Bethany’s perky little message, Happiness Is a Choice.
Funny thing, though. Bethany believed that message. Her father had been an insecure man who didn’t know how to be happy and her mother had tried her best to keep a pleasant home while married to someone who lacked the confidence to live life to the fullest. Bethany had studied psychology until she’d finally understood all that and was able to create a different pattern.
The cornerstone of that new pattern was that circumstances couldn’t always be changed, but attitudes could. Her father had chosen to be unhappy. Her mother, for the most part, had chosen to be happy. Had she been a stronger person, she might have also chosen to leave. Part of Bethany’s grief over her mom’s death was regret that her mother hadn’t enjoyed a better marriage.
Bethany had written her books as much for herself as for others. They’d struck a chord with the public, and while she’d received a few slightly negative reviews, most of the feedback had been positive. Nash had handed her the most devastating critique yet.
He’d demonstrated how her words could be twisted and used against someone in crisis. At least that would make her a better writer, and now that she was about to launch her new venture, a better talk show personality.
Being linked with Opal meant Bethany had to be careful not to embarrass her fairy godmother. Opal knew all about the situation in Jackson Hole, and she’d cautioned Bethany to keep it under wraps. Bethany intended to do exactly that.
At some point she might tell Nash about her new opportunity so he could better understand the stakes involved. Ah, Nash. Inevitably her thoughts returned to the bodacious Mr. Bledsoe.
He’d had a Reputation with a capital R back in high school. Nash had hung around with Jack Chance back then, and another buddy, Langford “Hutch” Hutchinson. The three of them had cut quite a swath through the senior-class girls.
If Nash had been good at making love when he was eighteen, and he’d had years to practice his technique since then…it didn’t have anything to do with her, right?
With a sigh of longing that would go unsatisfied, she glanced at the small battery-operated clock on the counter. It was pink, like everything in this bathroom, a holdover from when she’d chosen the color scheme at fourteen. Amazingly, the batteries had lasted since she’d replaced them a year and a half ago. The clock told her that she had many hours before Nash would show up for dinner.
She had time to drive into Shoshone and get those spotlights he needed. But first she’d shower, change clothes, choose a menu for tonight and figure out how to make the dining room a more welcoming place. She might never erase his first impression of her as a chair-burning maniac with smeared makeup and ruined clothes, but she could mute that impression.
After all, she was the author of Living with Grace, and she knew how to create a lovely dining experience. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited Nash to dinner, but now that she had, she’d damned well do it right.
3
NASH WAS GLAD FOR AN excuse to leave the Last Chance when five-thirty rolled around. All eight boys in the Last Chance Youth Program had arrived. they ranged in age from twelve to fourteen, and they were all hyper. Emmett had assured Nash they’d settle down once they were put to work, but that wouldn’t happen until tomorrow. Tonight they were like Mexican jumping beans. Very loud Mexican jumping beans.
Pete, Sarah’s fiancé and the philanthropist who’d dreamed up the concept, had divided the boys into teams for a relay race in the yard before dinner. He’d roped Nash’s buddy Luke Griffin into helping. Luke had the kind of easygoing attitude that made him perfect for the job.
Nash didn’t know much about kids, so he left with a wave and a smile. He admired Pete’s humanitarianism and was thrilled that Sarah had found someone worthy of her. Jonathan Chance would have been a tough act to follow, but Pete seemed to be up to the challenge.
Nash took his own truck for the drive to the Triple G. He couldn’t justify wearing out the shocks on a Last Chance truck for a side job. Besides that, he intended to haul away what was left of the recliner when he left tonight, and if he used his pickup, he wouldn’t have to worry about the mess.
Deciding what to wear for this first night of work had been a chore. He expected to get dirty when he tackled the repairs, but she’d invited him to dinner, so he didn’t want to show up in ratty clothes for that. In reality, he wanted to look good no matter whether he was eating at her table or working on her outbuildings.
That was stupid of him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She remembered him as a high school stud, and he didn’t want to destroy that memory by dressing like a hobo. So he’d compromised on middle-of-the-road jeans, shirt, hat and boots. They were nicer than he’d wear to muck out stalls, but not new enough for a Saturday night trip to the Spirits and Spurs.
All of it would wash except the boots and hat. He could take the hat off because the sun would be going down, and the boots usually cleaned up pretty well with some saddle soap. He’d also showered and shaved before changing into those clothes, which he’d caught some guff from Luke about. He’d wanted to know why Nash was getting spit-shined before going off to do carpentry.
Nash had told Sarah and Jack that he would be working for the Graces’ daughter, but he hadn’t gone into detail about her. He had to be especially careful when mentioning the job to Luke, who might recognize Beth-any Grace’s name. Everyone at the stable in Sacramento had heard about her books from Lindsay.
But Luke was more interested in the possibility that Nash might finally be coming out of retirement. His shower and shave had given Luke the idea that romance was brewing. No matter how many times Nash had denied it, Luke had continued to tease him about being her handyman.
The teasing had hit home, whether Luke knew it or not. Right before he’d left Bethany’s this morning, they’d had a moment. A silent exchange had taken place, one that any man or woman with a pulse understood.
He didn’t plan to act on it, and he doubted that she wanted him to. She was focused on the next stage in her career. Besides, she was paying him to do an honest night’s work, and adding mattress bingo into the deal skated a little too close to sex for hire.
Plus, if he needed more reasons to curb any lust he felt toward her, he’d remind himself that she lost her dad a week ago. And besides, she had money and he did not. He knew how that sort of situation played out, and only a fool jumped into the same kettle of hot water twice. She needed him to help her make the Triple G attractive to buyers. End of story.
This time he didn’t miss the turnoff to her ranch, but a day of baking in the June sun hadn’t improved the road any. It was while he slowly maneuvered around the potholes and deep ruts that inspiration struck. Once the idea came to him, he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. The solution to her problem and his was obvious. He would buy the ranch from her.
Sure, it would take some creative financing and wipe out the savings he’d carefully accumulated so far. But there were programs for first-time buyers, something he’d researched not long ago. Lindsay’s parents had given them a house as a wedding present, and so that meant he was, in fact, a first timer.
What a brainstorm! The ranch abutted the Last Chance, so he could keep in close touch with his friends. It was small, but that made it more likely he could swing the deal. He might not even want more land than this. And the view of the Tetons was almost as spectacular as the Last Chance had.
If she went for this solution and still wanted him to do repairs, he’d consider it sweat equity instead of taking money for it. She wouldn’t be ready to turn the property over to him until she’d finished her sorting inside the house, but she could forget the hassle of listing the place and considering offers, so he’d actually save her time in the long run.
He also had a hunch she wasn’t selling the ranch for the money. Maybe selling to someone she knew, someone who loved this area and would make the ranch into a showplace, would compensate for his lack of a sizable chunk of cash. He was so eager to broach the plan that he sped up and hit a rut that nearly jolted the eyeballs out of his skull.
Forcing himself back to a crawl, he allowed himself to dream of actually owning this ranch. Because he wouldn’t have income from it right away, he’d keep his job at the Last Chance. He’d sink every penny into improvements, and eventually buy a couple of horses. And he’d get a dog.
Maybe he’d turn it into a boarding stable. He understood how to run one of those, thanks to Lindsay. She’d had the business degree and he’d had the animal science degree. On paper it had seemed like the perfect match. Luke had reported that horse-care standards at the stable had fallen quickly after Nash had left.
The drive to the Triple G, which he’d already started thinking of as his, took freaking forever. He had time to decide what color he’d paint the barn—deep red—and whether he needed shutters on the ranch house windows. Probably not. He hoped that at least one of the corrals was solid, because he desperately wanted a couple of horses. Without horses, what kind of ranch was it, anyway?
When he finally pulled into the clearing, he saw that the recliner remained in the middle of the yard like an abstract chunk of modern art. At least it didn’t smell quite so bad now. Next he noticed four colored pots—red, yellow, blue and green—lined up on the front porch. Each was filled with an array of petunias, daisies and pansies.
He’d keep those pots and refill them every spring. It was amazing how flowers in pots classed up a place. Even the weathered gray boards on the porch looked better because of those flowers, almost as if the weathering had been left that way on purpose, for artistic effect.
After parking his truck next to her rented SUV, he started toward the front porch steps. She must have heard the engine, because she opened the screen door and came out. He almost didn’t recognize her.
This morning he’d thought she might clean up pretty good and be reasonably attractive. Time to reevaluate. She’d shot way past attractive and traveled straight on to beautiful.
Her glossy cap of dark hair curled around her ears and made him want to slide his fingers into that black silk to see if it felt as good as it looked. She probably had on makeup, but she was skilled enough for it to be invisible. That left her with a wholesome and very kissable face, big gray eyes and a sweetly rounded chin that begged to be cupped in one hand while he combed through her hair with the other. He could almost taste her lips.
She’d traded in the damaged suit for a ruffled white sleeveless blouse and gray capris. She wore sandals that showed off lavender toenails. He could eat her up with a spoon. But he’d thought of a great idea while he was driving here, and he should tell her what it was…just as soon as he remembered. Seeing her looking so sexy and approachable had made him forget everything else.
“You’re right on time.” She smiled, which warmed him in a way he hadn’t been warmed in a very long while.
“I was eager to leave.” Although his brain wasn’t working very well, his gift of gab seemed functional. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about the Last Chance Youth Program. It just started, and the place is overrun with wild adolescent boys.”
She shook her head. “I hadn’t heard, but what a cool idea. You don’t like kids?”
“Sure, in small numbers. Eight of them running around the ranch is…a lot.”
“They’ll be living there?”
“Until the middle of August. The idea is to take boys from troubled situations and give them a couple months of ranch life. With luck they’ll leave with a work ethic and maybe even some self-esteem.”
“I love it. If I were staying, I’d want to see if I could help.”
Nash grimaced. “Which makes me the guy with the bad attitude who’s griping about the mayhem involved.”
“Not at all. Not everybody’s in love with kids that age. You have a right not to be.”
He thought about that. “No, I don’t. I’m at the Last Chance because the folks there believe in giving both people and animals one more shot at success. That’s what this program is about, too, and I’m going to adjust my thinking.”
Taking a deep breath, he smiled at her. He’d love to compliment her on how nice she looked, but that might not be appropriate for the hired hand. “The flower pots sure spruce up the porch.”
“Thanks!” She seemed genuinely pleased. “I thought so, too. Hungry?”
Now there was a loaded question. “Sure am. Some-thing smells really good.” He actually meant her, because she gave off a delicate scent that reminded him of plants that flowered only in moonlight. He’d learned about those while he’d lived in California.
But she’d think he was referring to the smell of food coming from the kitchen, and that was fine. They should keep their interaction platonic, or as close to platonic as they could manage given that they were both healthy and human. Looking at her in the soft light of early evening, he was feeling very human, indeed.
“It’s chicken,” she said. “Not very exciting, I’m afraid. Come on in.”
He followed close enough that he could hold the screen door for her and breathe in her night-blooming flower scent. “I don’t cook, so anything more than peanut butter and jelly is exciting to me.” He might be wise to stop talking about what excited him, since Bethany had chicken beat by a country mile.
“Don’t look at the living room,” she said as she walked quickly through it. “I haven’t had time to do much in here.”
“I bunk with a bunch of cowhands. You can’t shock me.” But he tried to honor her request and not notice that the room was shabby and unkempt. No liquor bottles were lying around, but the faint smell of whiskey lingered. Once you spilled liquor on carpet, the stink was hard to get out. Maybe she hadn’t needed much gasoline to light that recliner on fire, after all. He understood her fierce desire to haul it out of here.
The living room was separated from the dining room by French doors, and when she opened them, he walked from a miserable space into a joyous one. “Wow. You’ve been working hard.”
“You have no idea how I loved making at least one room in this house look the way it’s supposed to.”
He surveyed the flickering candles on the table and the sideboard, the flowered centerpiece, the white linen tablecloth and what had to be her mother’s best china, silverware and stemmed glasses. A modest crystal chandelier above the table sparkled and as the sun drifted lower in the sky, its rays shone through clean windows. He’d bet she’d washed the curtains, too.
“I can tell.” He gazed at her, touched by all the effort she’d made. “I’m honored to be your guest.”
She flushed. “I did it as much for me as for you. I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…to create a romantic setting for some reason.”
“No, no, I’m sure you weren’t.” Damn. He hadn’t thought of that, but it would have been kind of nice if she had.
“I mean, for all I know you have a girlfriend, and I—”
“No girlfriend, but you’re headed off to Atlanta, where you may have a boyfriend.”
“No boyfriend, but I am headed off to Atlanta.” She gestured toward the festive table. “This was just a whim, to make the house seem a little bit happy again.”
“Right. I completely get that.” No boyfriend, but she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with him. Okay. He should be relieved, because they had no business getting involved, but from the minute she’d stepped out on that porch, he’d found himself wishing that somehow they could…what?
He’d already had this talk with himself. It went against his moral code to get cozy with the woman who was paying him to make some quick repairs so she could sell the place. And that was when he finally remembered the idea he’d had driving in here.
Once he remembered, he had trouble not blurting it out, but that wouldn’t be the best way to approach such an important discussion. He should lead up to the topic. She had wineglasses on the table. Although he was opposed to drinking on the job, maybe tonight he should make an exception, because this idea might go better if it was presented over a glass of wine.
If she accepted his offer to buy the house, would that change the dynamic between them? Then he’d be a buyer, not an employee. His moral code might allow him to get cozy with the seller of the property he was purchasing. After all, why not? Because she might think that was a really bad plan, that was why not.
“Nash? Are you okay?”
He blinked and wondered how long he’d been standing there staring into space as if he had buckshot for brains. “I’m fine. Sorry. Got lost in thought for a minute.”
“I noticed. You looked a bit startled, and I hope this setting didn’t trigger a bad memory.”
“It’s not that at all.”
“Are you sure? Because I can blow out the candles and we can eat out on the front porch. It takes time to get over a divorce. Sometimes a situation will blindside you with memories, good or bad.”
“You’ve been divorced?”
“No, but I talked to plenty of divorced people back when I was working full-time as a counselor. I can tell it was a painful event. So if all this reminds you of something to do with your ex, then let’s—”
“Not at all. This is great.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you like it. I put out the wineglasses automatically, but we don’t have to drink wine. You may not want to, considering that you’ll be working later.”
“Let’s have a glass of wine,” Nash said. “I’m a big guy, so one glass won’t put me under the table. And we should toast getting one room looking really good.” There, he’d finally managed to get them on a safe track.
She smiled. “That would be lovely. Stay right there. I’ll be back in a flash with the wine and the food.”
“I’ll help.” He started to follow her into the kitchen.
“No.” She turned so abruptly that he bumped into her.
Although she backed away immediately, his body still felt the imprint of hers—soft, yielding, delicious. He closed his hands into fists so he wouldn’t do something really stupid and reach for her.
She’d been affected by the accidental contact, too. Her pupils widened with awareness. She might be heading off to Atlanta, but that didn’t stop her from being attracted to him. That was gratifying.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t want you to come into the kitchen. I scrubbed it down, but it still isn’t very pretty. The dining room is, and I want to maintain the illusion.”
“Having you wait on me doesn’t seem right.”
“Humor me, okay?”
He relented, partly because she looked so incredibly beautiful standing there with the light from the chandelier sparkling in her eyes. He also realized that she’d encountered mostly ugliness when she’d walked into the house earlier today. If limiting his view to this dining room helped her cope, then he’d go along.
“All right,” he said. “But I refuse to sit down like some lord of the manor. I’ll stay standing until I can help you into your chair.”
She nodded. “It’s a good compromise.” With that she turned and walked over to the pocket door leading into the kitchen. “No peeking. Enjoy the sunset.”
Because he wanted to make her happy, he walked over to the set of two double-hung windows that faced southwest and watched an orange sun slide behind a bank of clouds. From here he could see a little bit of the Grand Tetons to his right. The house wasn’t angled to capitalize on a view of the majestic range. The best spot might be at the back, and he wondered if there was a porch out there.
If not, he’d add one. Ah, listen to him, talking in his head as if she’d already agreed to sell him the Triple G. But he couldn’t think why she wouldn’t.
Then a very logical reason came to him. Obviously making this dining room pretty again had been a labor of love. The crystal chandelier told him that at one time, someone, probably her mother, had tried to bring cheer into this house.
Now Bethany was attempting to do the same thing by rescuing the house, room by room. As she gradually removed the ugliness her father had created and replaced it with beauty, she might begin to love her old family home again. In the meantime Nash would improve the look of the outbuildings so they wouldn’t be depressing anymore, either.
Sure, Atlanta was a long way from Wyoming, but her decision to sell might be a knee-jerk reaction to her father’s neglect of the place followed by his undignified death. Once the house and outbuildings looked decent, though, she might decide to keep the ranch.
He still planned to ask if she’d sell it to him, but his conscience would require him to add that she could change her mind later. That was the right thing to do. But as he contemplated how this could turn out, his cherished dream began to crumble.
4
BETHANY HAD WONDERED if she and Nash would have anything to say to each other over dinner. Just because he was built like a Greek god didn’t mean that he could carry on a conversation. Turned out he was excellent at it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much during a meal.
They sat kitty-corner from each other at the large oval table. She’d arranged the place settings that way because it had seemed friendlier, and from the easy way they’d talked to each other during the meal, anyone might think they were old friends.
They reminisced about Jackson High School and teachers they’d had. They shared a lot of the same opinions about who had been great and who should have been fired. She discovered that Nash had a degree in animal science and they had a lively debate on the differences between animal psychology and people psychology.
“If animals could talk, we could settle this once and for all,” Bethany said. She took a sip of her wine and wondered why there was still so much left in her glass.
“Thank God they can’t!” Nash leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass, which was as full as hers. His plate was empty, though. “I lost my virginity in a barn. I’m sure the stallions would have razzed me about my technique if they’d been able to comment during the event. Plus I’d snuck out there with the school superintendent’s daughter, and naturally I didn’t want that information spread around. I could have been expelled.”
Picturing Nash having sex, even virginal sex, was having a predictable effect on her. She hoped he’d attribute her flush to the wine. She glanced at the bottle and discovered that it was empty. It dawned on her that Nash must have refilled their glasses at some point and she’d been having too much fun to notice.
“I hadn’t thought of animals being tattletales,” she said. “I guess it’s a good thing they can’t talk. I lost my virginity to my then-boyfriend when his parents weren’t home, and as I remember, there was a cat lying on his desk. She probably saw the whole thing.”
“Kinky.” He grinned at her. “Are you one of those women who likes having an audience?”
“No, I most certainly do not! It was a cat, not a person. And frankly, it sort of freaked me out when I noticed her staring at us.” She took another swallow of wine and realized she was feeling extremely mellow. And all this talk of sex was turning her on. “Do you like an audience?” If he did, that would help cool her off. She wasn’t into that.
Of course, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling hot in the first place. And she’d never bothered to record her long-term goal in her day planner, either. The double whammy of wine and sexy conversation made her wonder why boinking Nash would interfere with having her own television show someday. The extremely boinkable Nash Bledsoe was looking yummier by the minute.
“I prefer privacy when I’m making love to a woman.” His voice had lowered to a sexy drawl and his blue gaze held hers. “I don’t like the idea of being interrupted.”
Oh, Lordy. She could hardly breathe from wanting him. “Me, either.”
He put down his glass and leaned toward her. “I have a confession to make.”
“Me, too.”
“Okay, you first, then.”
She took another hefty swallow of wine, for courage. “You know when I claimed that this nice dinner wasn’t supposed to be romantic?”
“Yeah.”
“I lied.”
“Oh, really?” His blue eyes darkened to navy. “Care to elaborate?”
“See, you were this out-of-reach senior back in high school, and I was a nerdy freshman, so when you showed up today, I thought about flirting with you because now I actually have the confidence to do that. But then you offered to help repair the place, so I couldn’t flirt with you. But I still thought you were really hot. We shouldn’t have sex, though. At least, I didn’t think so this morning, but then I fixed up the dining room, and I admit you were on my mind while I did that. So I think secretly I wanted it to be romantic. But I—”
“Do you always talk this much after two glasses of wine?” He’d moved even closer, bare inches away.
She could smell his shaving lotion. Then she realized what that meant. He’d shaved before coming over here. That was significant. “I didn’t have two full glasses.”
“I think you did.”
She glanced at her wineglass, which was now empty. Apparently she’d been babbling and drinking at the same time. “You poured me a second glass.” When he started to respond, she stopped him. “But that’s okay, because if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be admitting to you that I want you so much that I almost can’t stand it, and you wouldn’t be looking at me as if you actually might be considering the idea of…”
“Of what?” He was within kissing distance.
“This.” She grabbed his face in both hands and planted one on that smiling mouth of his. And oh, it was glorious. Nash Bledsoe had the best mouth of any man she’d ever kissed. Once she’d made the initial contact, he took over, and before she quite realized it, he’d pulled her out of her chair and was drawing her away from the table.
“Bedroom,” he murmured between kisses. “Where is it?”
She thought fast, or as fast as the wine would allow. “Follow me.” She eased out of his arms and took his hand. “And don’t look at anything.”
“You’re all that I see.”
Ah, he was good, this guy. He knew his lines, and she had a feeling he’d know the right moves, too. Shoving open the pocket door, she led him through the kitchen. Fortunately she’d turned out the light so it was dim in there.
Her bedroom and bath were off the kitchen. She only had a twin bed, and the room’s color scheme was as pink as the bathroom and included ruffles. She didn’t think he’d care, though, especially if she didn’t turn on the light and he wasn’t faced with all the girlie frills from the get-go. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I have condoms.”
“You do?” He sounded amused. “Since when?”
“Since I went shopping today. And I told myself I wasn’t going to have sex with you, but then I thought, What if he seduces me but forgot the condoms?”
“Good thought.”
“I like covering my options.” Once they were inside her bedroom, she turned and moved into his arms. “Were you going to seduce me?”
“No. Or I would have brought condoms.” He cupped her chin and turned her face up to his. “But I’m perfectly willing to be seduced.”
“Oh, good.” With a sigh, she nestled against him. “Except I’m not so good at seduction. Not a lot of practice.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll take it from here.”
“Sure. That would be great.” Once he started kissing her again, she knew she’d made the right decision. This cowboy knew his way around a seduction. She was in the hands of a master.
And what hands they were, too—large and strong, hands that could gentle a horse or excite a woman with equal skill. Because she’d bolted straight to city life after high school, she’d never been loved by a man who worked with his hands. Serious omission on her part.
With the kind of dexterity that could repair a broken bridle or braid a rope, he unfastened the buttons down the front of her sleeveless blouse. And he did it while kissing the living daylights out of her. His tongue did things to her mouth that, if employed elsewhere on her body, would be illegal in some states. She hoped he was into breaking a law or two.
The man also knew how to get a woman out of her bra, and once he did, he demonstrated how much he understood the sensitivity of breasts in general and nipples in particular. Oh, dear God. She trembled on the edge of an orgasm, and he’d only stroked her breasts.
He lifted his mouth from hers. “You feel incredible.”
“You, too.”
Laughter rippled through his response. “You haven’t touched me yet.”
Oh. She’d meant that his hands on her breasts felt incredible, but in her dazed state of pure pleasure, she’d abandoned her side of the deal. “Sorry.”
His breath was warm as he nuzzled the spot behind her ear. “You don’t have a thing to be sorry about. You invited me into your bedroom and you have condoms. But I’d appreciate it if you’d unzip my jeans.”
“Glad to.” She eased back and slid her hand down to reach for his zipper, where she discovered that the denim covering his crotch was stretched to the breaking point. Tugging down his zipper wouldn’t be easy, but once she did, She was in for a treat.
She found the zipper tab, but the physics of the situation worked against her. She made no progress whatsoever.
“Unfasten my belt buckle and the top snap, first.”
She was amazed that he could even talk, considering the fact that he’d already unbuttoned and unzipped her capris and was presently working them down over her hips. That was enough to make her speechless, but not him, apparently. She turned her attention to his belt buckle.
When she got it undone and managed to unhook the metal button, too, his breath caught. She drew the metal zipper down and he quivered. Until that point, she’d thought the power was all on his side, but not so. She shoved his briefs down along with his jeans, and he gasped.
Or maybe she’d sucked in a breath. Didn’t matter. She had a grip on him now, and once she’d wrapped her hands around the amazing length and breadth of what had been constrained inside those briefs, she was awed…and grateful. If not for a burning recliner and a bottle of wine later on, she might never have held such a treasure, or anticipated the joy that treasure might bring.
She started to sink to her knees.
“No, wait.” He grasped her by her elbows and drew her back up. “Let’s get rid of the rest of our clothes. Once you start doing that, I won’t want to stop for anything, and I can’t maneuver when we’re still dressed.”
“You bet.” While he pulled off his boots, she nudged off her sandals and stepped out of her panties and capris. The soft light of the sunset filtered through her pink sheer curtains and gave the room a rosy glow. She’d never brought a man, or even a teenage boy, here before. She was glad the place held no memories of other guys. That made tonight unique.
“There.” Tossing the last of his things to the floor, he stood before her in all his aroused glory. The evening shadows made him seem slightly mysterious, a phantom man come to claim her. “Where were we?”
In the semidarkness, she grew bold. “I think we left off here.” She flattened her palms against his sculpted chest. Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth against his breastbone. His skin was hot, and his heart throbbed against her hand.
He tasted like heaven and sin all wrapped up in the musky aroma of pure male. Slowly she made her way down his torso, hands stroking, mouth nibbling, until she reached her goal and dropped to her knees. As she curled her fingers around his generous endowment, he groaned.
“I thought you weren’t any good at this.” He sounded hoarse and not nearly as in control as he had been moments ago.
“I’m not.” She placed a soft kiss on the head of his penis.
He sucked in a breath. “I beg to differ.”
“Maybe you inspire me.” He might never realize how much. Obviously she’d never abandoned the fantasy of a cowboy lover—strong and daring, yet tender and kind—but she’d never indulged that fantasy. Tonight she would.
His voice was strained. “Bethany…”
“I’m here.” With that, she took him into her mouth and felt the power of making a man her slave.
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