Abby swept her hands through her hair. “I didn’t want to wake you. Or catch you in the shower.”
“Perhaps you could have joined me.”
Her eyes opened wide. A tinge of pink darkened her cheeks. “Still too soon,” she muttered. But her body language was not as negative as her words. She had plenty of room to step away, to put distance between them. Yet she was so close he could feel the brush of her breath against his ear.
He had to get a grip. Clearing his throat, he focused his gaze just past her shoulder, telling himself he was imagining the strength of his arousal. It was deprivation. That’s all. He needed a woman. Any woman. Abby Carmichael was nothing special.
“Did you get the early morning shots you wanted?” The words came out husky and slow as if he were seducing her, not asking a mundane question.
Abby nodded. “Most of them. With your permission, I’d like to come back at sunset to shoot some more.”
“You could stay all day,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “You know, shadow me. See how things work.”
Her smile was rueful. “You’re a man used to getting what he wants.”
“Not always. But yes, frequently.”
“I suppose it doesn’t help my case if I admit that I want what you want.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Not fair, Abby. Not when you’re asking to take things slowly.”
She toyed with a button on his shirt, one right near his heart. “I didn’t expect a complication like you when I came to Royal. You’re perfect for my documentary. Beyond that, I’m not so sure.”
He lifted her chin with his fingertip and brushed a light kiss over her soft lips. “Why don’t we let things unfold and see what happens?”
At last, she backed away. Big brown eyes stared at him. “I suppose I could do that.”
“Do you ride? Horses,” he clarified, since she seemed dazed.
“No.”
“I could put you up on Foxtrot with me. Show you the ranch. You won’t have to do a thing but hold on.”
“Foxtrot?” Abby raised an eyebrow.
“He’s been known to do some fancy footwork when he doesn’t want to be ridden.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“I won’t let you fall,” he reassured her.
“What about my car?”
“Leave it here. No one will bother it.”
“Do you think I could film on horseback?” she wondered aloud.
“I have no idea, but you’re welcome to try.” He watched as she glanced from him to his horse and back again.
“Okay,” she said. “It might be fun.”
He ignored the jolt of jubilation that fizzed in his veins. Abby was wearing a thin, orangey-red cotton shirt over a white camisole and a pair of pale denim skinny jeans with artful holes at the knees. Her sneakers were white Keds, already stained by the Texas soil. It wasn’t exactly riding attire, but he supposed it would have to do...
He held out a hand. “Shall we?”
* * *
Abby was no dummy. She knew what kind of trouble she was courting. But she couldn’t stop herself. Ignoring Carter’s outstretched arm, she sidled around him and headed for her car. Fortunately, the enormous horse was tethered in the opposite direction.
In the end, she decided it would be too awkward to hold her video camera and cling to Carter at the same time. For the record, she knew there would be plenty of clinging. By the time she put her camera away, locked the car and pocketed her keys, Carter had already mounted the beautiful glossy black stallion.
As she walked back to meet him, he stared at her. The intensity of his gaze was as intimate as a caress. Beneath her top, her nipples beaded. The day was heating up, but she couldn’t blame her rapid heartbeat on the rising temperatures.
When she was six feet away, Carter leaned down and held out his hand, smiling as if this was no big deal. “Put your left foot on the heel of my boot to steady yourself,” he said. “I’ll pull you up, and you swing your right leg over.”
“You make it sound so easy.” She hesitated, trying to remember every movie she had ever seen where the heroine joined the hero on horseback. There weren’t that many. Especially not ones filmed in the twenty-first century. “I don’t want to be responsible for pulling your arm out of its socket or tearing your rotator cuff.”
“You’re stalling, Abby. Don’t overthink it.”
“Couldn’t I climb on top of the fence and do it from there?”
“Where’s the romance in that?” His broad grin taunted her.
Still, she paused. In the course of her dating life, she had been acquainted with a few very wealthy men. But they were generally ensconced behind corporate desks and wore suits. She had also known surfers and ballplayers and gym rats who prided themselves on their hard bodies and athletic prowess.
Carter was a disturbing mix of both wealthy confidence and masculine strength. He didn’t posture or preen. He was who he was. The whole package.
Stifling her doubts, she reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm and sure. As soon as he saw that she had situated her foot as he had instructed, he tugged her up behind him. The entire maneuver took mere seconds. She landed in the saddle with a startled exhalation.
And then she looked at the ground. Her arms clenched around his waist as her knees quivered. She hadn’t realized how high off terra firma she would be.
With her cheek pressed against Carter’s back and her fingers in a death grip on the front of his belt, she tried to calm down.
“You okay back there?” he asked.
She wanted to hate the amused chuckle in his voice, but she was too busy relying on him to keep her from a painful death. “Just peachy,” she bit out, rounding up all the sarcasm she could find and stuffing it into those two words.
Carter set the horse in motion and laughed harder. “Is it a fear of heights that’s getting you, or the horse?”
The breeze whipped her hair in her face. “The horse is fine. And it’s not a fear of heights. It’s a fear of hitting the ground in a bloody, broken mess.”
Carter laid his free hand over both of hers, stroking her knuckles in a move that shouldn’t have been particularly erotic, but did in fact send arousal pulsing from her scalp to her toes.
“You’re safe, Abby. I swear. Now, how do you feel about speed?”
Six
Carter was enjoying himself immensely. Abby was plastered against his back as if he could protect her from every source of harm. He didn’t want her to be scared, but he liked having her close.
He gave Foxtrot free rein as Carter took Abby from one end of the ranch to the other, looking at it through her eyes, pointing out every spot that had meaning for him. From the small corral where he learned to ride as a five-year-old to the copse of cottonwood trees where he had his first kiss a decade later, this ranch was home.
Occasionally, they stopped, and he lifted Abby down, taking advantage of the situation to flirt with her while he showed her a new barn or an old steer—the saddle shop or the historic bunkhouse. Abby was enthusiastic, but always in the context of her documentary. Never once did he get the impression that she saw things through his eyes.
A Texas ranch was a novelty to her, perhaps even beautiful in a certain context. But Abby was a city girl. It was a truth he’d do well to remember.
Eventually, they both gave in to hunger—for food. He dropped her off at her car, and then rode ahead to show her the way to his house.
When they went inside, Abby’s genuine praise soothed some of his disgruntlement.
“This is gorgeous, Carter! I love it.”
As she wandered from room to room, he followed her, remembering the choices he had made with a designer. Comfort had always been his first priority. And natural light. Lots of windows. Furniture made for sitting.
“When my parents moved, and I took over, they gave me their blessing to remodel extensively. At the same time, we all went in together to design a large guesthouse about a half mile from here. We’re a close-knit family, but they didn’t want to cramp my style when they came to visit.”
She sobered. “Lila told me about your fiancée...or ex-fiancée, I should say. I’m sorry. I wasn’t prying.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re saying she volunteered the information? And why would she do that?”
Abby chewed her bottom lip, visibly uncomfortable. “She warned me that you were not in the market for a relationship. That you’d been burned.”
He slammed his fist against one of the chiseled wooden support beams. “This whole damn town needs to mind its own business.”
“But they won’t. Not according to you.”
He exhaled, not really sure why he was so pissed. “No,” he said curtly. “They won’t.” He turned toward the kitchen. “How do you feel about turkey and mayo sandwiches with bacon? My housekeeper comes in three time a week and keeps my fridge stocked.”
“Lucky you.” Abby seemed as glad as he was to move on to other topics. “And yeah, a sandwich sounds good,” she said.
They ate their lunch in the small breakfast nook, enjoying the view from the large bay window. Carter was extremely aware of the woman at his side. Her scent. The sound of her voice. The enthusiastic way she devoured her meal.
She seemed to be a woman unafraid of indulging her appetites.
He shifted on his seat, realizing that he needed to focus his attention on something other than Abby’s slender, toned arm, her hand almost touching his. “So, have you nailed down a theme for your documentary, an angle? You were hoping yesterday’s meeting of the advisory board would help.”
Abby stood and carried her plate to the sink. Then she refilled her lemonade and returned. “It was just business, unfortunately. I did get to meet the Edmond family and see them in action.”
“And?” he prodded.
“They were nice. I like them. Tell me what you know about this Billy Holmes guy. I can’t figure out how he fits into all of this.”
“I’ve only met him a handful of times,” Carter told her. “He moved to Royal a few years ago. Has plenty of money. People seem to like him.”
“And he lives on the Edmond estate?”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” he replied.
“I wonder why?”
Carter shrugged. “No idea. You’d have to ask him.”
“I will. He and I have an interview set up for tomorrow.”
Carter tensed. He had nothing concrete against Holmes, but the other man struck Carter as a womanizer. “Are you going alone?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“No. But women are vulnerable. Sometimes when you don’t know a person, it’s better to meet on neutral ground.”
“I’m having lunch at your house at this very moment,” Abby pointed out with a mischievous grin.
“Touché.”
“It will be fine. I’ve taken self-defense classes since I was sixteen. I can handle myself.”
Carter didn’t argue, but he remained mildly concerned. Maybe he could wrangle an invitation to go along as Abby’s sidekick. Even as the thought formed in his head, he dismissed it. Abby would never admit she needed a bodyguard.
He let the subject drop. “So, what now? My sister always leaves a few swimsuits here. She’s close to your size. Do you fancy a dip in the pool?”
“It sounds lovely, but I really want to start interviewing you on camera.”
“That again?” He groaned. “I was hoping you’d moved on from that idea. Ranchers are a dime a dozen around here. The job is nothing special.”
“Maybe so. But you don’t see the big picture, pardon the pun. What you do here at Sunset Acres echoes the frontier cowboys of the olden days. There’s poetry in it. And tradition. This probably won’t be the central focus of my film, but it could serve as a powerful backdrop. Please, Carter. It won’t be so bad. I promise.”
He had boxed himself into a corner. By inviting her to stay the entire day, he’d all but guaranteed that she would not give up. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s get it over with, so we can move on to something that’s actually fun. Where do we do this?”
“The great room, I think.”
Instead of having a traditional living room or den, Carter had designed a large, open space that could be configured in a number of ways. Despite the ample square footage, he liked to think the cozy furniture and the artwork and large windows worked together to create a welcoming atmosphere.
Abby went out to her car and returned five minutes later with the camera, a tripod and a large tote bag. “It won’t take me long to set up,” she assured him, practically bouncing on her feet with enthusiasm.
“I could have helped carry something,” he said. “I didn’t know you had so much gear.”
“Well,” she replied, dumping everything on the sofa, “often it’s just me and the video camera, but when I’m doing serious work, I want to have all my options available.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. “I think that big leather chair will be good. Can we build a fire in the fireplace?”
His brows shot to his hairline, his reaction incredulous. “It’s June. In Texas.”
Abby faced him, smiling sweetly. “Please, Carter. It will make the scene perfect. We can run up the AC...all right?”
His muttered response was not entirely polite. “Sure. No problem.”
As he pulled together a pile of kindling, small logs and fire starter, he was conscious of Abby flitting around the room. Once she had the camera attached to the tripod, she began unfolding filters and screens to get the light exactly as she wanted it.
It was obvious she was a pro at what she did. There was no fumbling, no second-guessing. She worked with purpose, her slender hands moving at lightning speed as she manipulated settings and angles and equipment.
At last, she was satisfied. “Will you take a seat in the chair, so I can take a look?”
He sat down, feeling stiff and ridiculous. “I don’t want to be turned into some romanticized stereotype. That’s insulting.”
“Quit being grumpy. I would never do that to you.”
She touched his leg, rearranged his arm, smoothed the collar of his blue button-down shirt. With every moment that passed, he grew more and more uneasy. And more horny.
At last, Abby was satisfied.
Almost.
She peered through the camera and wrinkled her nose. “Would you mind grabbing your Stetson? We can place it artfully on the arm of the chair or on the back near your shoulder.”
He glowered, ready to end this before it started. “I don’t wear a hat inside the house.”
“I’m not asking you to wear it. I just want it for the ambience.”
“No,” he said firmly. “This—” he waved a hand at the ridiculous fire “—is plenty.”
“Fine.” Abby sulked, but it was a cute sulk.
His fingers dug into the supple leather of the chair arm. “Can we please get started? This fire is making me sweat...”
* * *
Abby could tell she was losing her reluctant subject. Carter was visibly fidgety. Was it weird that his irritability made him more attractive to her? She must be seriously messed up. Or maybe she was tired of slick guys who thought they could fast-talk a woman out of her clothes. Carter was rougher around the edges. More real.
She took a s
ip from her water bottle and ignored her jumpy pulse. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Talk as long as you want on each topic. None of this will be included word for word, but during the editing process, I’ll pull out bits that complement the documentary as a whole. Does that make sense?”
“Sure.”
She checked the camera once again to make sure Carter was still framed nicely, and then hit the record button. “Tell me more about how you came to run the ranch,” she began, giving him an encouraging smile. She had learned that many people were not comfortable on camera, but if she got them talking, they loosened up. “You’re a wealthy man. Couldn’t you simply hire a manager?”
Carter grinned. “I’m pretty hands-on.”
“And why is that?”
“I suppose it’s what I learned growing up. My sister and I ran wild. Very few rules except for being home in time for dinner. My father worked long hours. He and my mother had a very traditional marriage. He’d come home tired and dirty at six, sometimes later.”
“And why didn’t he hire a manager?”
“It goes back a couple of generations. My dad’s grandfather died in a riding accident when Dad was only seven years old. So my grandfather groomed my father from a very early age. Dad was used to working sunup to sundown. Those were the years when the ranch really boomed. The money was pouring in, and my father loved what he did. When my grandfather passed on, he left the entire ranch to my dad.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility,” she remarked.
“Definitely. But my dad never questioned his role. Unfortunately, my grandfather wasn’t a fan of organized education. Dad never had the opportunity to go to college. But Sunset Acres was his consolation prize.”
“Some prize.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “My mom is from Royal, too. They were schoolmates. She fit right in with the ranching lifestyle, because she’d had a similar upbringing. After they got married, they spent the next two decades and more building the ranch into an even bigger operation.”
Texas Tough Page 6