Double hell. Another thought struck him and he scowled automatically. His chances of retaining custody of Beth Ann were dicey and he knew it. What would this damned social worker think when she visited his home and saw Angel, to whom he wasn’t married or related, in residence? The woman was too damned gorgeous for him to pass off as a housekeeper. It was going to look improper no matter how he tried to explain.
If only Dulcie hadn’t had to leave. Intuition told him his sister’s marriage wasn’t in the best of conditions. Begging her to stay wouldn’t have accomplished anything except forcing her to choose between her family and that skirt-chasing husband of hers. Nothing would make him happier, Day thought, than to have the chance to explain to Lyle Meadows what fidelity meant.
Preferably with his fists.
But Dulce was a big girl now, and he had too many problems of his own to deliberately mess in her life. What the hell was he going to do about these so-called inspections that Jada had managed to subject him to? Without a wife, his life-style was going to look bad even to the most reasonable judge....
A wife. That was it. He needed a temporary wife.
The idea delighted him no end. He could practically envision a cardboard wife whom he moved into position for the visits.... His good mood faded. If only it could be that easy. Still, it might work. He’d have to give this notion some serious thought.
There was going to be a dance next Saturday night in Deming. He normally hated those things, but he’d make an appearance, scout out the available women. Stranger things had happened. Maybe one of them would agree to be a short-term wife.
* * *
A sound woke Angel in the middle of the night. At least, she thought it must be the middle of the night since her room was pitch-dark. She heard the noise again—a scuffling sound that instantly filled her with fear. She reached for the container of repellent spray she’d kept at her bedside for the past year.
But her groping hand encountered only the spare lines of the Southwestern-style bedside table and something that felt like a... Book. Her book. Memory returned. She wasn’t in L.A. She was in New Mexico. On the Red Arrow Ranch to be exact.
The sound came again and she flipped back her covers and reached for her robe in the same motion. Was it Beth Ann? Hurrying into the hallway, she nearly rammed into Day coming out of his room.
“What’s wrong?” she blurted, trying to get past him. “Is Beth Ann awake?”
He captured her elbows, preventing her from moving into the child’s room. She realized he was fully dressed.
“Shh. She’s sound asleep, far as I know. One of the men just paged me. There’s a mare down in a bad labor and I’ve got to get out to the barn fast.”
She shook her head, trying to assimilate the information. “Okay. What can I do?”
“Go back to bed.” He released her and swung away.
She shook her head and hurried back to her room for something to wear, knowing he could be in for a long night. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”
Six
Angel had been right. It was a long night. While Day stomped into his boots on the back porch and went on out to the barn, she started a pot of coffee. Yawning, she leaned against the counter while she waited for the coffee to perk.
It was funny how easily she’d slipped back into the rhythms of ranch routine. She’d been away from New Mexico for nearly seven years, but already she felt as if she’d never been away.
Well, almost. If it wasn’t for the palpable aura of danger that she could practically feel sometimes, she’d be content. Contentment was a strange word to apply to the backbreaking labor that went into keeping a house going on a working ranch, she thought with a wry smile, but it did indeed apply.
When Angel was a child, her mother had worked in the houses on several ranches where her father had taken work. Then after her mother had died, her father had drifted from ranch to ranch for a while. By the time they’d landed in Deming when she was a teenager, she’d been old enough to help with housework. The housekeeper at the Double Dos, where her father was a hand, had been a crusty soul with a marshmallow interior. She’d taken Angel under her wing and taught her everything she knew, from cooking to cleaning and everything in between. Angel’s adolescence had been a painless affair—she’d been a late bloomer and boys had barely noticed her. She’d barely noticed them, either. Riding and roping when she wasn’t in school and helping with housekeeping the rest of the time left little time for boy-craziness.
The coffee stopped dripping, and she brought a thermos out of the pantry and filled it with quick, deft motions. Then, shrugging into a sheepskin jacket that, judging from the way her wrists protruded from the sleeves, belonged to Dulcie, she pocketed the portable child monitor on the kitchen counter and headed for the barn. If Beth Ann woke, she could be back in the house within a minute.
She pulled open the heavy door and slipped quietly into the barn, blinking in the blackness. It was much darker in here than it had been outside, where a billion stars were visible in the sky. As her eyes adjusted, she could see a faint light coming from a box stall about halfway down.
Day was on the floor of the stall beside a sweating mare. The horse’s eyes rolled occasionally but she was too weak to do more than that, even when another contraction hit. Angel perched on a high crossbar, out of the way of the men who were working with Day. She watched, tears slipping down her face as they brought a limp, lifeless foal into the world.
At the sound of an engine growling into the yard, Day glanced up at her. “That’s the vet. Bring him in here.” As she hurried to obey, she realized she hadn’t even been sure he knew she was there until that moment.
She poured coffee for everyone while the vet examined the mare and administered medication. After a short while, the mare was back on her feet, pitifully nosing everything in sight looking for her stillborn baby. The sight was more than Angel could bear. Gathering up the coffee leftovers, she tossed everything into the basket she’d carried out to the barn earlier and prepared to return to the house. To her surprise, Day fell into step with her.
He was covered in gore from his futile efforts to save the foal and his face was grim with fatigue and frustration. Although he was silent, she thought she knew what he was thinking. As they entered the utility room, she said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was.” He shrugged out of the soiled shirt and hurled it into the sink with a fury born of helplessness. “I should have called the damned vet sooner. That foal might have survived.”
“There was nothing wrong with your judgment. You heard what the vet said.” She kept her voice steady and quiet, aware of the rage he was barely holding in check. “The foal was too early. It probably couldn’t have lived anyway.” As he started to unbuckle his belt, her eyes widened. She realized he was going to strip off all his filthy clothes right here. Funny, she’d done love scenes with actors wearing next to nothing that hadn’t affected her half as much as the mere prospect of seeing Day nude. “I’ll get you something to wear,” she offered in a rush.
By the time she got back with a clean shirt and jeans, he’d tossed every stitch into the laundry and she could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom. She hung the clothing on the bathroom door, and as soon as the water stopped, she started the washer. Then she went out to the kitchen to refill the coffeepot. Dawn would be breaking in less than an hour and it would be time to start breakfast.
She sensed his presence in the kitchen before she turned from the sink. He was standing at the window looking out toward the barn, and she could see from the jumping muscle in his jaw that he was still flaying himself for not calling the vet sooner. Cradling a mug of coffee, she acted on instinct, moving to his side without giving herself time to think about why it wasn’t wise.
Slipping an arm around his waist, she offered him the mug. He draped one arm over her shoulders without comment, accepting the mug and taking a deep swallow before looking down at her, his silver eyes piercing. Hastil
y she tore her gaze from his and lowered her face to rest against his shoulder. He canted his chin against her temple.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
The moment was so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. For just an instant, she allowed herself to wish for the impossible—to imagine that this feeling between them was real, that she could always be there for him when he needed her. She dared to stroke her palm up and down his back in a comforting gesture. “You’re welcome.”
The action pressed her against him by the smallest increment and suddenly the embrace changed. The air crackled with intense energy...sexual energy. Her body recognized it before her mind accepted it, softening against him in an invitation she hadn’t planned but couldn’t regret. Day drew back and scanned her face, tilting up her chin with a gentle, but inflexible hand. She stared back, too caught in her feelings to hide them from him.
His mouth was bracketed by harsh lines of fatigue and his damp hair quirked into short curls all over his head. Beneath her palm was hard, muscular flesh; along her side where she rested against him, spread a glowing heat.
Sexual attraction. She knew it for what it was. And if she was smart, she would go back to her work and forget him.
If only she could.
Slowly he moved to set the mug on the windowsill without ever breaking their eye contact. The arm around her shoulders tightened, the other settled at her hip, then slipped around her back to draw her against him. His eyes gave away his intent as slowly, surely, he lowered his head.
When his lips locked onto hers, her knees went weak. Perfect, was the last coherent thought her mind formulated. She hadn’t permitted herself to think of kissing him after their last fevered encounter in her bedroom, but now every sensation came rushing back. Her arms slipped up around his neck as she willingly gave herself to the magic they made together.
She felt his hands fumbling with her ponytail, then her hair dropped loosely down her back. Immediately he spread the fingers of one hand and combed through the heavy mass, pulling it forward to anchor her against him.
Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her belly rubbed against his hard hips. She sucked in a gasp that was almost a moan.
And then he shoved her away.
She was so shocked she would have fallen if he hadn’t held on to her forearms with an unbreakable grip. She couldn’t speak, could barely think for all the messages that were crowding her brain.
Arousal, surrender, rejection, humiliation... It was that last that quickly grew to overshadow all else, sweeping over her in waves of mortification that sent deep, hot color to her face and brought tears to her eyes.
Oh, damn, she’d done it again. Hadn’t he made it clear the last time that he didn’t want her? His body might be willing, but his mind certainly didn’t want any part of her. And she’d known it. But she wasn’t like his ex-wife. Couldn’t he see that?
Her knees were shaking and she wanted to cry. Badly. Instead, she bit her lip until she could taste blood, searching her mind for the right words, if there were any, that would end this unbearable moment.
His hands were still hard on her arms and she stepped away, shaking back her hair. She gestured helplessly. “Look, I—”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “It wasn’t all your fault. But this...us...isn’t what I want.” He sounded desperate. “I’ve got enough problems right now—”
“And so do I.” She seized on the word, though a part of her registered indignation that he should classify her as such. “Let’s just forget this ever happened. In another week or two, you’ll have a housekeeper and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”
Silence fell. She willed him to leave. Pride refused to allow her to be the one who broke and ran so she lifted her chin and stared him down.
Finally he shrugged and started for the door. Then, almost out, he halted and turned back to her. “Where will you go? What are you going to do?”
“That’s not your problem,” she said, throwing the words back in his face. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”
* * *
At breakfast on Saturday, the ranch hands were a talkative bunch. Seemed there was going to be a dance in Deming in the evening and almost everyone on the ranch was going.
“Why don’t you come along with us, Miss Angel?” Smokey proposed. “Them dances are a real good time. Lots of friendly folks around these parts.”
“I don’t think so—” she began, but when the others seconded the young hand’s invitation, she gave in with a forced laugh. “If Day doesn’t need me to help with Beth Ann, I guess I’ll go.” The last thing she was in the mood for was socializing, but surely there would be some folks there who would remember her father. Besides, it would certainly be better than the alternative, which was sitting in the living room alone while Day worked in his office and avoided her as carefully as she had sidestepped him all week.
And so at six o’clock that evening, she found herself jouncing into Deming in a pickup truck crammed with cowboys. “What time will we be coming home?” she asked. “And where shall I meet you?”
Wes grinned. “Ain’t got no set schedule. Somebody’ll hunt you up when we head home.”
It wasn’t the most satisfactory arrangement, but she guessed it would have to do.
Once inside the big hall where the dance was being held, she had no trouble locating several people whom she’d known during her youth in Luna County. She’d purposely worn her hair pulled back and omitted makeup again, and the small illusion worked its usual magic. She was able to divert the conversation from herself by simply saying she lived and worked in California now.
She chatted for an hour or so, then found herself besieged by the hands, every one of whom seemed to want to dance. The men were attentive, but when she declined, they respected her wishes and eventually their attentions wandered elsewhere. She found a perch on a hay bale in a quiet corner, where she simply sat, chin on knees, enjoying the colorful scene in the hall. Every so often, a cowboy caught her in his sights and came over to try to get her onto the dance floor, but she was firm though pleasant in refusing.
After one such episode, she glanced around the room suddenly feeling that she was being watched. When her gaze collided with Day’s narrow-eyed appraisal, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She hadn’t realized he was coming.
She didn’t know what to expect, but when he turned his back and crossed the room to speak to a slender woman in a denim skirt, hurt creased her heart with an unexpected force. He hadn’t asked her to come with him, hadn’t even mentioned this dance to her. If there was any doubt in her mind about what kind of relationship was between them, it was now crystal clear. None.
He’d responded to the signals that she couldn’t prevent herself from sending, though he’d drawn away of his own free will each time. He might be physically attracted to her, but that was it. He wasn’t interested in anything more.
Her face burned. Any quiet pleasure she’d taken in the evening was gone. And it only went downhill from then on. She didn’t stir from her corner again, not even to get a glass of punch. The ranch hands appeared to have forgotten her, which suited her in some ways, although she would have dearly loved to leave.
The room seemed to shrink in size after Day’s arrival. Everywhere she looked, he seemed to appear. He danced with the woman in the denim skirt, and then several more. For a while, he lingered near the punch bowl, talking to several other men she thought were also ranchers. Wherever he was, she observed that the feminine activity around him practically doubled. Some of those women had to be married! And the rest... Why, that girl in the pink top couldn’t be out of high school yet. She’d sashayed by Day at least four times, and once Angel had seen Day speak to the girl, tugging a lock of her auburn hair in a teasing manner.
Finally, just past eleven o’clock, she decided enough was enough. He couldn’t have made it clearer that she was not his kind of woman. Slipping off the hay bale, she began to make her way around the frin
ge of the crowd. She deliberately kept her gaze aimed at the floor until she got to the far door. Most of the ranch hands had disappeared some time back. Maybe one of them was outside and would take her home if she asked.
She reached for the door, but as she threw her weight into pulling it open, a large hand slapped against the door, easily preventing her from opening it. “Where are you running off to? The night is young.”
Angel gritted her teeth. She’d recognized Day’s scent the moment he’d approached, even before he’d spoken. Slowly she turned around. Determined not to let him see that he’d ruined her evening, she looked at the floor as she said, “I’m going to hunt up one of the boys. I’m ready to go home now.”
He didn’t remove his hand from the door. In fact, he laughed. Laughed! She wanted to hit him.
“I suspect most of the boys are, uh, occupied for a few more hours. I don’t really think you want to try hunting for any of them right now.”
That startled her into lifting her head. “A few more hours? But I don’t want to stay here that long.” Belatedly she realized that he was implying that most of his men were involved in some hot and heavy romancing. “Oh. I see.”
He laughed again, and even though she was furious with him, she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was, with his white teeth flashing against sun-darkened skin and— Stop it, you stupid girl. How much more rejection do you need? “Well,” she said, “in that case, I guess I’ll sit for another spell.”
But as she ducked under his arm and turned away, he said, “I’ll take you home if you’re ready. Beth Ann has a baby-sitter and I wasn’t going to stay much longer anyway.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“No, it’s not, but I offered and I meant it.”
“All right.” Then, realizing she’d been less than gracious, she added, “Thank you.”
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