The Texan Tries Again

by Stella Bagwell

  The man’s lips curved into a semblance of a polite smile and Emily-Ann found her gaze transfixed on his mouth. The lower lip was full and plush, while the top was thin and tilted upward just enough to show a glimpse of white teeth.

  Extending his hand to her, he said, “Hello, Ms. Broadmoor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  A strange roaring in her ears very nearly drowned out the sound of his voice and, in spite of feeling as though she’d suddenly fallen into some sort of trance, she managed to place her hand in his.

  “Thank you,” she told him, while her swirling senses recognized the hard-calloused skin of his palm and the warmth of his fingers curling around hers. “Nice meeting you, too, Mr. O’Brien.”

  With an impatient roll of her eyes, Camille interjected, “Oh, this just won’t do at all. Surely you two can use your first names. We’re all family around here.”

  “I’m fine with it,” Taggart said. “If Ms. Broadmoor doesn’t mind.”

  “First of all, Emily-Ann is a Miss, not a Ms.,” Camille corrected him, then turned a clever smile on Emily-Ann. “And she doesn’t mind. Do you?”

  For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why Camille was making such a big to-do out of this introduction. It wasn’t like she’d be seeing the man after tonight. And from the stoic look on his face, he was totally bored by this whole meeting anyway.

  Well, that was okay with her, Emily-Ann decided. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about exchanging hellos with this hard-looking cowboy, either. With that thought in mind, she pulled her shoulders back and tried to forget she’d always been the poor little girl who lived on the shabby side of town.

  “I don’t mind,” she answered, then forced her gaze back to Taggart O’Brien. “Everyone calls me Emily-Ann.”

  The faint smile on his lips twisted to a wider slant. “Well, everyone calls me Tag, or a few other things I shouldn’t repeat.”

  He released her hand and Emily-Ann resisted the urge to wipe her sizzling palm against the side of her skirt.

  “Tag is from West Texas,” Matthew informed her. “This is his first trip to Arizona and definitely his last. The Hollisters will see to that. He’s going to be a permanent fixture around here.”

  “Welcome to Arizona, Tag,” Emily-Ann said with genuine sincerity. “I hope you like it here—in spite of the heat.”

  His brown eyes were roaming her face as though she had two noses or something equally strange. The sensation was definitely unsettling, she thought, almost as much as the unadorned ring finger on his left hand. Surely this sexy-looking rancher was married. From the looks of him he had to be somewhere in his thirties. Plenty old enough to have a wife and kids stashed away somewhere.

  He said, “I’m used to hot weather. And from everything I’ve seen since I arrived, I think I’m going to like it here just fine. The Hollisters are great and the area is beautiful.”

  “Yes, the Hollisters are the best,” Emily-Ann murmured, then purposely turned her gaze on Camille. “Uh—don’t you think it’s time we go get that drink?”

  “Sure! I can’t have anything alcoholic, but Jazelle will mix up something tasty for me.” She looped her arm through Emily-Ann’s, then cast a pointed look at her husband. “Would you men care to join us? It shouldn’t be long before they start bringing out the food.”

  Smiling just for her, Matthew wrapped his hand around his wife’s free arm. “I don’t know about Tag, but I’d love to.”

  * * *

  Taggart hated parties, even when they were being held partly in his honor, such as this one. He’d never been good at mixing and mingling with people and being single made everything more awkward when he was introduced to the unwed women in the group. He didn’t have a wife to help him escape unwanted company, or to give him a reason to excuse himself.

  Yet in this case, he wasn’t looking around for an escape route. Emily-Ann Broadmoor didn’t appear to be one of those boring cookie-cutter young women who spent hours trying to improve their appearance and five minutes or less educating themselves on things that actually mattered.

  She wasn’t batting her long lashes at him or slanting him a coy look. She wasn’t grabbing his arm and hanging on as though she’d suddenly lost the strength to stand on her own two feet. No, this woman was refreshingly different, he thought. She might even be one he’d like to get to know as a friend. There couldn’t be any harm in that, he assured himself.

  “I’m more than ready for a drink and dinner.” Purposely stepping up to the pretty redhead’s side, he offered her his arm. “What about you, Emily-Ann?”

  For a moment he thought she was going to ignore him or simply walk away, but then she smiled and wrapped an arm through his.

  “Thank you, Tag.”

  The four of them moved slowly through the crowd toward the bar area where the four Hollister brothers were sipping cocktails and chatting with a few of the ranch hands. It was a sight that Taggart would’ve never seen on the Flying W back in Texas. Once the Armstrong family had taken over, the hands were never invited to mix with the employers, unless it was to take orders.

  Hoping to shake away the unpleasant thoughts, he glanced down at Emily-Ann. She wasn’t exactly a beautiful woman, but she was very pretty in a unique sort of way. Her square face had a wide plush mouth, high cheekbones and a sprinkling of pale freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. Long brown lashes shaded eyes that were emerald green. Or, at least, that had been his first impression of their color. Until she’d turned her head and the light had hit them from a different angle. Then her eyes had taken on the color of a spring leaf that hadn’t yet ripened in the sun.

  “Do you come out here to the ranch often?” he asked her as they followed Matthew and Camille through a group of milling guests.

  “When Camille lived here I visited the ranch quite often. Now I don’t have much reason to drive out here. Most of the family stops by the coffee shop where I work, so I see them regularly.”

  Ahead of them, Matthew and Camille paused to acknowledge a small group of old acquaintances. While Taggart and Emily-Ann stood waiting, he turned his gaze back to the redhead. And suddenly he wished the gentleman in him had never offered his arm to this woman. The casual touch of her hand was causing hot sparks to shoot all the way up to his shoulder, making it difficult to concentrate.

  Doing his damnedest to ignore the unexpected reaction, he tried to focus on her last remarks. “You work as a waitress?” he asked.

  “I guess you could call me a waitress,” she told him. “The coffee shop is small and I run it by myself. The owner does the pastry baking, then leaves everything else up to me.”

  “I’d never be able to do your job,” he told her. “I’d end up eating all the profits.”

  The smile on her face drew him like a warm fire on a frigid night and he silently cursed himself for being so responsive to her. He was in no position to be feeling such things toward any woman.

  A week had hardly passed since he’d arrived here on the ranch. Boxes of his belongings were still stacked in the modest house where Matthew had lived during his tenure as the ranch’s foreman. What with getting to know the Hollister family and learning his way around the ranch, he’d hardly had a chance to draw a good breath, much less unpack. He didn’t have time for a woman. And even if he did, he wasn’t in the market for marriage or even a serious affair. Furthermore, he never would be.

  Her rich voice suddenly broke into his dire thoughts. “Once you have one of Conchita’s pastries you’re hooked. I try not to eat them, but it’s a fight. Now Holt’s wife, Isabelle, is a different matter. She comes in and eats a pile of brownies or whatever she wants and never gains an ounce. It isn’t fair. Little Carter hasn’t turned a month old yet and Isabelle already looks great. Must be all that horseback riding she does.”

  Taggart could’ve told Emily-Ann, she had no cause to worry about her figu
re. It was nice. Hell, it was more than nice, he thought. She was curvy in all the right places and he had no doubt she’d feel soft in his arms. Just the way a woman ought to feel.

  The unsettling thought forced him to clear his throat. “Do you ride horses?” he asked.

  She nodded. “When Camille and I were much younger we rode all over the ranch,” she answered, then went on in a pensive voice, “Because she was my friend I got the chance to do things that I couldn’t have done otherwise. But now, working and taking classes doesn’t leave me much leisure time. And with Camille living at Red Bluff things have changed. But then you already know that. I mean, you’re here because Matthew runs Red Bluff ranch now.”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m here. To try to fill his boots,” he said wryly. “It’s not going to be an easy job.”

  She smiled at him. “If Blake and Maureen believe you can do the job, then I’m positive you can.”

  He was thinking how the confidence in her voice made him feel just a bit taller when Matthew and Camille turned back to them.

  “Sorry about that,” Matthew said. “Everyone wants to talk. You’d think I’d been gone for five years instead of five months.”

  Camille slanted a loving glance at her husband. “Shows how well you’re thought of around here.”

  The first time Taggart had met Matthew and Camille, he’d not missed the affection that naturally flowed back and forth between the newlyweds. It was obvious they were deeply in love and though he was happy for them, seeing them together was a constant reminder of all that he’d lost. All that he’d never have.

  “My wife is trying her best to give me the big head,” Matthew said with a chuckle, then gently nudged Camille onward.

  The four of them moseyed on through the crowd until they reached the long bar constructed of native rock and topped with rough cedar boards. Behind the rustic counter, Jazelle, a young blond-haired woman was pouring a hefty amount of tequila into a tall pitcher of margarita mix.

  “Oh, I’ll take one of those, Jazelle,” Emily-Ann spoke up.

  “Same for me,” Taggart added his request.

  Jazelle poured the concoction over two iced glasses and handed them over, while Camille continued to study the large assortment of refreshments lined up on the counter.

  “I can’t make up my mind,” she said after a moment.

  After giving his wife an indulgent smile, Matthew said to Jazelle, “I know what I want. Just give me plain ole coffee.”

  Camille groaned. “That’s too hot. I want something sweet and cold.”

  “We know Camille can’t have alcohol so just give her tomato juice,” Emily-Ann joked. “Or water.”

  Pulling a face at Emily-Ann, Camille said, “Don’t listen to her, Jazelle. She doesn’t know about cravings. She’s never been pregnant.”

  “No. I haven’t been pregnant,” Emily-Ann replied. “And I’m beginning to think I’ll never be.”

  “Oh, come on, Emily-Ann,” Jazelle teased, “I wouldn’t be saying anything like that. You caught Camille’s wedding bouquet. You know what that means.”

  Somewhat puzzled by the whole exchange between the women, Taggart watched a dark blush steal across Emily-Ann’s cheeks. The added color made her face even prettier, he decided.

  “All right, that does it!” Emily-Ann muttered. “As soon as I down this margarita, I’m going home and tearing that damned bouquet into shreds and throwing it in the trash can.”

  Instead of getting angry at her friend’s ominous threat, Camille burst out laughing. “Sorry, Emily-Ann, but you’re not going anywhere—except to the dinner with your friends. Tag, just grab her arm if she tries to leave.”

  Taggart had no way of knowing what exactly the women were arguing about, other than it had something to do with a wedding bouquet. The word had seemed to set off a mild explosion in Emily-Ann. And why had she said that about never being pregnant? Was there a reason she couldn’t have, or didn’t want, children? Maybe she was one of those women who decided motherhood is not for her. But Taggart seriously doubted that. Her body moved with a sensuality that said she was made to make love to a man.

  “I’m not sure I should try that,” Taggart said. “She’s a redhead. She might slap me.”

  Camille laughed again, while Emily-Ann gazed over the rim of her frosted glass at him.

  “I’m sorry, Tag,” she said, then smiled impishly. “I’m not really bad-tempered. Until I get around my old friend.”

  He was about to tell her that he wasn’t thinking she was bad-tempered when Blake suddenly appeared at his side and clamped a friendly hand on his shoulder.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Tag, but there’s a group of men from the cattlemen’s association who are anxious to meet you.”

  “Sure,” he said, but as he walked away with the ranch manager, he wondered if he’d get a chance to talk with Emily-Ann again before the night was over. And wondered, too, why he’d want to.

  Chapter Two

  Damn it all, Taggart O’Brien had already ruined her evening, Emily-Ann silently cursed. She’d been looking forward to seeing the Hollisters and spending time with Camille. Now she couldn’t focus on anything, except the tall Texan with warm brown eyes and slow, melting smile.

  Absently pushing a pile of brisket and potato salad around her plate, she lowered her lashes and glanced at the object of her thoughts. He was sitting across the portable table and three chairs down from hers. Since everyone had sat down to eat, Matthew and the Hollister brothers had consumed Taggart’s attention, but that hadn’t lessened the impact of his presence.

  Before the party had started this evening, Camille had told Emily-Ann how the whole family had nothing but praise for the man. At the time, Emily-Ann hadn’t taken much note of her friend’s chatter about the newly hired foreman. After all, she’d never be crossing paths with the man. But now that she’d stood close to him, looked into his brown eyes and felt the hard warmth of his arm beneath her hand, her thoughts were spinning with questions about him.

  Her reaction to him was worse than foolhardy, Emily-Ann thought ruefully. All she had to do was glance at him to know he could have his pick of women. And for all she knew, he might have a special one tucked away somewhere. Most likely back in Texas where he’d migrated from. Yet those assumptions did little to stop the race of her pulse when she looked in his direction. Nor did they stop her from wondering if she might have the opportunity to speak with him again before the party ended and she headed home to Wickenburg.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  Camille’s question had Emily-Ann turning a look of surprise on her friend. “Why, no,” she said. “Why would you think that?”

  “You’ve not said more than ten words since we sat down. And instead of eating, you’ve been using your food to build a dam across your plate.”

  Shaking her head, Emily-Ann said, “There’s nothing wrong. I guess the margarita ruined my appetite.”

  Camille hardly looked convinced. “Look, I’m sorry I teased you so about the bouquet. As far as I’m concerned, you can toss it in the garbage. I won’t say another word about it.”

  Feeling more than a little ashamed of herself, Emily-Ann smiled at her. “Don’t be silly. I’m not angry at you. And I’m not about to throw the bouquet away. Why should I? It’s probably the closest thing I’ll ever have to bridal flowers.”

  “Well, if I hurt your feelings—”

  Emily-Ann let out a good-natured groan. “You’re being ridiculous now. You could never hurt my feelings. So tease all you want.”

  “So if it’s not me, then what is it?” Camille persisted. “In all our years as friends I’ve never seen you this quiet.”

  Emily-Ann shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I’ve been thinking a lot tonight. Seeing your family and how much things have changed in the past few years. In some ways it makes me a little melancholy.”

>   Camille reached over and squeezed Emily-Ann’s hand. “But we’re all so happy now,” she said. “Even Mother is really smiling again.”

  Yes, Emily-Ann had noticed how cheerful Maureen seemed tonight. She’d also observed how Gil Hollister, brother to Maureen’s late husband, Joel, was never very far from the woman’s side. Emily-Ann had met the man a long time ago, during one of his brief visits to the ranch, but over the past years, she’d not seen or heard much about him. Other than the fact that he worked as a detective on the Phoenix police force. Then a few months ago, at Camille’s wedding, word began to spread that after thirty years of service, the man had retired and was moving back to Yavapai County.

  “I am glad about that,” Emily-Ann said. “There for a while it was like the real Maureen had gone into hiding.”

  Camille nodded and Emily-Ann watched her friend’s eyes travel down the table to where Maureen and Gil were sitting side by side. In many ways, the man in his sixties reminded Emily-Ann of Joel, Camille’s late father. Although Gil’s hair was graying somewhat, the dark sections that remained were the same color that Joel’s had been and he also possessed the same strong, stocky build as his brother.

  “I think Uncle Gil is making a big difference in her life,” Camille said thoughtfully.

  Emily-Ann searched her friend’s face. “Are you and your brothers okay with that? I mean, I know how much you all adored your father. Maybe you’re thinking your uncle is trying to move in and take his place.”

  Camille released a heartfelt sigh. “Daddy was ten feet tall to all of us. No one could ever replace him. But as far as I’m concerned I don’t want Mother pining her life away for someone who can never come back. I can’t say for sure how each of my brothers feel, but I do know they want Mother’s life to be full and happy.”

  Several years ago, Joel’s body had been discovered out on the range not far from the ranch yard. His boot was still hung in the stirrup and he’d obviously been dragged for miles before the horse he’d been riding had finally come to a halt. The family and anyone who’d ever known Joel Hollister had been devastated by his untimely death.