No, Taggart thought, a man could be a genius and still not be able to understand a woman. The tears he’d seen in Emily-Ann’s eyes when they’d begun to make love had puzzled him. He’d kept wondering what she could’ve been thinking to put them there.
She hadn’t been thinking, Taggart. She’d been feeling. Those tears had come straight from her heart. But you don’t want to face that kind of truth. You don’t want to think that Emily-Ann could feel that much for you. That would make everything more complicated and painful when it ended. Right?
Shoving at the nagging voice, Taggart glanced over at Matthew and the bough of sage he’d laid across the front of the saddle seat.
The foreman of Red Bluff was more like him than Taggart could’ve guessed. He’d not been born into wealth and from what he’d just said, his growing-up years had been far from easy. And along the way, he’d lost loved ones. Yet he’d found the courage to give his heart to a woman, to marry her and plan a future.
Could he be that brave? Taggart asked himself. Or was he going to keep on hiding his heart and hoping that Emily-Ann couldn’t find it?
Chapter Ten
Emily-Ann leaned back from the computer monitor and rubbed her weary eyes. Ever since she’d gotten home from her outing with Camille at the Broken Spur, she’d been sitting at the tiny desk set up in her bedroom. That had been three hours ago. Now her eyes were burning and her shoulders felt like they were permanently locked in one painful position.
She was shutting down the computer and switching off a table lamp when her cell phone dinged with an incoming message.
Seeing it was from Taggart, she quickly grabbed up the phone and scanned the brief note.
Don’t eat. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
Her heart tapping a rapid thud against her chest, she lowered the phone and stared unseeingly at the wall in front of her.
Taggart was coming to see her tonight? Only two days had passed since she’d gone to his place for supper. She’d not expected him to want to see her again this soon. What did it mean? That he was actually beginning to care about her? Or he was simply wanting another round of sex?
It was pointless to ask herself those questions. No matter the answers, she couldn’t resist the man.
Focusing on the phone in her hand, she tapped a one-word reply.
Okay.
* * *
Thirty minutes later after pulling on a pair of faded blue jeans and a red peasant blouse, she dabbed on a small amount of makeup and added a pair of silver hoops to her ears before she hurried to the living room to pick up the clutter.
She’d barely had time to carry a couple of dirty cups and a stack of junk mail to the kitchen when she heard Taggart’s footsteps on the porch.
When she opened the door, he was standing on the threshold grinning back at her. Dressed in jeans and a blue denim shirt worn through in several places, he was holding a sack in each arm. The scent of fried food wafted toward her.
“Is that chicken I smell?” she asked, as she motioned him into the house.
The grin still on his face, he moved into the living room. “Since we ate beef the other night at my place, I thought you might like a change,” he told her.
After dealing with the door, she crossed to where he was standing. “You didn’t need to bring food. I would’ve made something for you,” she said, then chuckled. “Uh—but you were probably afraid I’d give you cold cuts again.”
“I love cold cuts,” he insisted. “I just wanted to treat you.”
Seeing him again was causing bubbles of joy to dance around inside of her and she didn’t think twice about rising on the tips of her toes and pressing a kiss on his cheek.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Tag. And thank you for the treat—whatever it is,” she said, then gestured toward the kitchen. “Let’s take it to the table.”
He started toward the kitchen and Emily-Ann followed along at his side.
“Sorry about the short notice that I was coming,” he said. “I hope you didn’t have other plans.”
“You mean like stare at the walls?” she teased, then shook her head. “No plans. In fact, I just finished studying for the night. I’m all set for my chemistry test.”
“I’m glad it’s you and not me. I was fairly good with math, but chemistry usually got me confused. Now Doc can rattle off all those different elements and medicines used to treat animals like he’s talking about what he likes for breakfast.”
“Chandler is a brain, plain and simple,” Emily-Ann said.
They entered the kitchen and he placed the large paper sacks on the table. “I stopped by the clinic before I headed over here and Doc removed the stitches from my arm. He also gave me a warning to go with the service,” he said.
“Oh, what was the warning?” she asked curiously, while thinking Chandler had probably warned Taggart to stay away from her. Not that the veterinarian was a snob. He was far from it. And he truly was Emily-Ann’s friend. But that didn’t mean he thought she’d be the right woman for their new foreman.
“That I quit playing with Holt’s yearlings,” Taggart answered.
Emily-Ann laughed. “Good advice.”
His expression suddenly changed from playful to coy as he reached inside one of the sacks and pulled out a bunch of white tulips mixed with some sort of vivid pink flowers she’d never seen before. The bouquet was beautiful and obviously expensive.
“For you,” he said gently. “I hope you like tulips.”
Clasping the bouquet with both hands, she stared down at the blooms in stunned fascination. “I love tulips. I—”
Her words broke off as the tears clogging her throat made it impossible to speak.
Embarrassed by the overemotional reaction, she turned and hurried over to the sink. With her back turned to Taggart, she placed the flowers on the cabinet counter and attempted to wipe the tears that were suddenly rolling down her cheeks.
When she felt his hand come down on her shoulder, she sniffed and desperately tried to compose herself.
“Sorry, Tag. The way I’m acting you’re probably thinking I never received flowers from a man before. And you’d be right. I haven’t.”
He didn’t reply and, when his silence continued, Emily-Ann figured he was feeling worse than awkward. He was probably kicking himself for becoming involved with a woman who’d never so much as merited a bouquet of flowers.
Clearing her throat, she stepped away from the hold he had on her shoulder and walked to the opposite end of the cabinet to look for something to hold the bouquet. After a moment of digging around in a bottom shelf, she pulled out a pitcher made of blue knobby milk glass.
“I’ll put the flowers in some water,” she told him. “And then I’ll set the table so we can eat. We don’t want the food to get cold after you went to the trouble and expense of buying it.”
She was chattering, but that was the only way she could handle his silence and keep her tears at bay at the same time.
Her attention focused solely on taking care of the bouquet, she filled the pitcher with water and dropped in the flowers. However, that was as far as she got before Taggart’s hands were on her upper arms, pulling her around to face him.
“Forget the damned food,” he muttered. “Forget about everything, but this.”
He didn’t give her time to utter any kind of question. Instead, he tugged her into his arms and fastened his mouth roughly over hers.
The contact of their lips was all it took to wipe everything from Emily-Ann’s mind. All she could think about was making love to this man, who was quickly becoming everything to her.
Just as her taut nerves began to relax and her body sagged against his, he lifted his head and sucked in a ragged breath. “You don’t have a clue as to how much I want you, Emily-Ann.”
Her hands gripped the front of his denim shirt as
she tilted her head back to look up at him. “But I thought—”
“You’re always thinking too much,” he interrupted.
Lowering her lashes, she looked up at him with a properly chastised expression. “And talking too much,” she said, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from bending upward. “Aren’t you going to tack that on, too?”
“No.” His smile a little wicked, his hands slipped to the rounded curve of her bottom and pulled her hips forward until they were snug against his. “I have other ways to keep you from talking.”
Her arms slipped up around his neck. “I’d like for you to show me those—other ways.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, sweet Emily-Ann.”
Taking him by the hand, she led him through the small house until they reached her bedroom.
“I don’t think we need a light this time,” she said as she urged him toward the double bed covered in a white chenille bedspread. “The streetlight shines through the slats of the blinds.”
“I wouldn’t care if we were in the blaring sunlight or the deepest blackest night, I’d want you just as much,” he said.
“I’ll be honest, Tag, I didn’t expect to see you again this soon.” Even as she said the words, her hands were reaching for the front of his shirt, pulling the snaps apart. “You’ve made me happy.”
He pushed her hair aside and pressed a track of kisses up the side of her neck and onto her ear. “Mmm. I’ll try my best to make you even happier.”
Seconds ticked by as he showered kisses upon her face and lips, then down the creamy column of her throat. When his mouth finally reached the cleavage between her breasts, he lifted his head and went to work removing her clothes.
By the time he got down to her bra and panties, her breaths had gone short and rapid, while her heart was pounding, drumming out a rhythm that he and he alone controlled.
“Tag, I don’t think you—you’re not supposed to be making me feel this good,” she whispered hoarsely. “It’s decadent. And scary. And addictive.”
He groaned. “It’s not me that’s making this magic. It’s us. Together.”
With her lingerie off and out of the way, he eased her onto the bed, then quickly shed his own clothing and joined her in the middle of the mattress.
She reached to wrap her arms around him and as his mouth found hers, his hands began a slow foray of her body, pausing at certain parts to tug and tease, until the fire inside her began to burn hotter than an Arizona wildfire. She did her best to reciprocate the pleasure by soothing her fingers over his broad shoulders, down his rib cage and onto his back.
Between them she could feel his hard erection pressing against her belly and the evidence of his desire emboldened her to give everything to him and take exactly what she wanted.
He continued to kiss her over and over and each time the connection grew deeper until she was certain their breaths had braided into one life-giving function. Thinking became nonexistent as her senses scattered like a covey of birds flying in every direction. All she knew was that Taggart wanted her and she wanted him with every cell of her being.
And when he finally rolled her onto her back and coupled his body with hers, Emily-Ann felt, for the first time in her life, that she was totally and truly complete.
* * *
Much later, after Taggart had gathered enough energy to open his eyes, he noticed the cover at the foot of the double bed was striped with artificial light streaming through the blinds. Alongside him, Emily-Ann was lying on her back, her breasts rising and falling as she slowly regained her breath.
Across the small room, on the wall directly in front of the bed, a partially raised window allowed the cool night air to drift over them. The breeze carried no scent of sage or juniper. And though he caught the sound of barking dogs and distant traffic, there was no bawling cows, nickering horses or wailing coyotes.
Next to him, Emily-Ann stirred and slipped an arm across his waist.
In a drowsy voice, she asked, “What are you thinking?”
“How different it feels to be in town.” Which was true enough, he thought. But he couldn’t tell her all the other things that were swirling around in his mind. Like how the simple touch of her hand turned him inside out and how being with her had become a very important part of his life.
“Hmm. Well, you’re not a town guy,” she remarked, then rose up on one elbow and looked down at his face. “I’ve been wondering something about you.”
A wry grin slanted his lips. “What’s that? If I’ve ever spent time in jail?”
She chuckled. “The possibility never crossed my mind. But I’ll bet you’d look good in orange.”
He couldn’t help but laugh and when his gaze found her sweet face in the semidarkness, he felt everything inside him go soft and gooey.
“What have you been wondering?”
With her free hand, she trailed fingers up and down the length of his arm. “Where you learned about ranching? How you came to be a cowboy?”
He drew in a long breath, then blew it out in a rough sigh. “From my maternal grandfather and my father. When I was a little kid, my sister and I and our parents all lived with Grandad Walt on his ranch near Hereford. So I grew up learning all about being a cowboy and caring for livestock.”
Her brows pulled together. “Oh. Didn’t you tell me before that your father was a carpenter?”
“That was several years later,” he explained. “See, Grandad Walt died suddenly and willed the ranch to his sister. So we all had to move out. When that happened Dad went to work on the Flying W.”
She stared at him in wonder. “Your grandfather didn’t consider leaving the ranch to his daughter—your mother? Seems like that would’ve been the logical thing. Especially with your whole family already living there.”
Taggart snorted cynically. “Are you kidding? Grandad couldn’t stand Dad. He only tolerated his son-in-law because of his daughter. And to be fair, he knew what my father would do with the place if it went to Mom. Dad would’ve wrung every dollar he could from it, then let it go to ruin. No, Grandad made the right choice.”
Frowning, she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your father went to work on the Flying W? Isn’t that—”
“Yeah. The ranch where I worked before I moved to Three Rivers. Doesn’t sound right, but it’s true. Several years after they fired Dad, I wanted to get away from the monotony of the feedlot job and asked the family with the Flying W to hire me. I was fortunate. The Williamsons didn’t hold it against me because of Dad’s shiftless attitude. You see, he didn’t like taking orders. Nor did he want to do anything that required him to get off his horse—like mending fences, repairing broken windmills, or whatever needed to be done on the ground.”
“What a terrible waste—on your father’s part, I mean,” she said. “Sounds like he had plenty of good opportunities and blew them.”
Talking about his father’s shortcomings had never been easy for Taggart, but he learned with Emily-Ann he didn’t need to sugarcoat the facts. He could be honest and not have to worry about her being judgmental.
He said, “Well, selfish people tend to squander anything that’s worthwhile.”
“Hmm. Sad, but true.” She eased her head onto his shoulder. “I witnessed plenty of squandering in my family, Tag, and I don’t want to be guilty of doing it. Especially with you.”
Sliding his hand against her back, he threaded his fingers in her long hair. It was still damp from the exertion of their lovemaking and when he lifted the strands to his lips, the scent was a reminder of all the soft and tender things he’d missed these past years.
No. He didn’t want to squander this precious time with Emily-Ann, he thought. He wanted to hold on to it—to her—as long as this thing between them continued to hold together.
“You know, we have food waiting for us in the kitchen,” he murmured.
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“Mmm. And my beautiful flowers, too.” She tilted her head just enough to allow her gaze to settle on his face. “Tag, the flowers—I didn’t mean to cry. The tears came before I could stop them—because I was so touched that you thought of me in that way. And I was thinking, too, that all through my mother’s life, she never received a single flower from a man. She was a good woman. She deserved better—but I could only think that I didn’t deserve better than her. Does that make sense to you?”
He tightened his arm across her back and drew her closer to his side.
“Sorry, but it doesn’t make sense,” he said gently. “You’re a good woman, too. And you’re not your mother. Just like I’m not like any of those guys who’ve disappointed you in the past.”
She studied his face for long moments and then she asked, “Do you think we could forget about the food for a little while? Right now I need to kiss your lips. I want to make sure they really did say I was a good woman.”
Cupping his hand at the back of her head, he drew her face upward until the tip of his nose was brushing hers. “Right now my lips are going to say the food can be reheated.”
With a lusty chuckle, she curled her arm around his neck. “I can be, too.”
* * *
The morning sun was just beginning to peep over the eastern hills as Taggart watched the cowboys form groups of two and three as they headed in different directions across the ranch yard. The work orders he’d just given the men for the day had all been received with smiles and good-natured jokes.
Since he’d taken over the job of foreman, not one had grumbled or griped about the task he’d assigned them. Taggart liked to think the men were cooperative because they approved of him being their new foreman. Yet he realized they’d all been handpicked by the Hollisters and most of them had been here on Three Rivers Ranch for years. Some even before Taggart had been born. They weren’t the type of men to slough off or complain.
The thought caused his mind to drift back to the night he’d taken Emily-Ann the flowers and he’d talked to her about his father and the problems the man had caused his family. Something had happened to him that night. He’d felt a connection to Emily-Ann that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It had filled him with warm contentment and a sense of homecoming. Now, more than two weeks later, he was still trying to figure out exactly what those feelings meant and how he was going to hold on to them—and her.
The Texan Tries Again (Men 0f The West Book 44) Page 15