A Bachelor For The Bride (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #2)

by Mindy Neff

  Which was a good thing. Jordan didn’t think she had the strength to sever the contact on her own.

  TANNER LEFT THE ROOM before he was tempted to push. Jordan’s words were at odds with the message in her eyes. It was the circumstances, he told himself. He’d saved her from a kidnapping attempt. She’d naturally be grateful.

  In his line of work, he’d seen how easily gratitude got confused with intimacy during a crisis, and he’d taken great care not to encourage it, to distance himself.

  The problem was, with Jordan, he didn’t care. He was willing to take any crumb she might offer.

  And that bothered the hell out of him.

  Snatching his cell phone from his duffel by the bedside, he punched in the security code and paged Sonny.

  Then he sat on the side of the mattress. With elbows propped on his knees, he rested his head in his hands, his hair falling forward across his forearms.

  He ought to tie the damn mass back. Keeping his hair long was an act of rebellion. He hadn’t really thought about that in a while. He’d told himself it was eccentricity. Like Mr. B., people with gobs of money could do or act or dress any way they pleased.

  The hair thing was more than eccentricity, though. It was his way of jutting out his chin, daring somebody to take a swing, daring somebody to judge.

  Take me just like I am.

  God, that cry hadn’t echoed so loud in a long time.

  It was because of Jordan, he realized. He wanted her acceptance, her admiration. Not because he was filthy rich. He didn’t want her to see him in a different light because of his money.

  He wanted her to see only him. The man.

  The cell phone gave a low ring and Tanner jumped. Hell, where had his prided steadiness gone?

  Right out the window with Jordan Grazer’s powerful, coveted kiss.

  Irritated with himself, his thoughts, his lack of control, he punched the Send button.

  “Caldwell.”

  “Sonny, here. You paged?”

  “Yeah. Did you get in?”

  “Piece of cake. Nice spread. Gorgeous horseflesh. Grazer’s a jackass, but he’s worried about his little girl.”

  That girl wasn’t so little. And if Maynard knew the thoughts Tanner had about his daughter, he’d be even more worried.

  “What cover did you use?” Tanner asked.

  “Told him I’d suffered a personal tragedy, didn’t want wages, just board for a few weeks, a place to heal. Gave him a glowing reference from Mr. B. The horses took to me right away. Grazer was more impressed with that than with the reference.”

  “Good,” Tanner said approvingly. Actually, the excuse wasn’t too far from the truth. Sonny had suffered. His wife and baby had died in a fiery car accident two months ago. As for healing, it would take more than a few weeks. Sonny was hiding his pain behind work. It surprised him a little that Sonny would actually use the excuse. “You doing okay?”

  “Fine.” The single word was terse. Tanner knew when to back off.

  “Any news?”

  “I just got here.”

  Tanner chuckled. “I know you, buddy. What have you heard?”

  “That this is a nutty town. The school principal who’s also the temporary sheriff is still missing. Seems there was a town meeting last week. Moose Harmon—Kate Bingham’s intended—wanted to call in the FBI. Local banker, Randall Latrobe, was adamantly against it.”

  Just hearing the name of Jordan’s fiancé made Tanner’s gut tighten. “Did he give a reason?”

  “Bad publicity. Didn’t want big-city media sniffing around. He’s worried about the bottom line—real estate taking a dive and drying up the bank’s chances for fat loans.”

  “Any stellar first impressions on Latrobe?”

  “I’m good, Caldwell, but I’m not Superman. I stopped at the greasy spoon in town—another weird bunch in there. I met Moose Harmon and an interesting little dish he had with him—Betsy Muller. Works in his cosmetics department at the store he owns. Looks at him with moon eyes. He was looking back, which makes a man wonder, seeing as he’s still engaged to the missing school lady. They were doing the talking, I was doing the listening. Being a stranger, if I’d started asking questions... Well, you know how it’s done.”

  “Yeah.”

  “After that, I came straight to Grazer’s. Guy’s full of bluster and didn’t think twice about telling a total stranger his daughter was missing. He’s pretty torn up. Seems genuine, but I’ll reserve judgment. I think I can talk him into confiding in me.”

  “It’s that mug of yours. Deceiving. Invites people to spill their guts.”

  Sonny didn’t comment. People were always telling him he was a pretty boy. Behind those blond good looks, though, was a man of steel, even lethal. Sonny was an ex-cop who’d gotten sick of the system. In much the same manner Tanner had, Sonny had hooked up with Samuel Bartholomew—by chance. Mr. B. had a knack for taking in misfits.

  “Since I’m not on the payroll,” Sonny said, “I’ll have the freedom to come and go. I’ll see to the horses, then nose around town.”

  “Speaking of the horses, there’s a stallion who’s special.”

  “Yeah. Honor Bleu. I’ve met him. He took a liking to me. Like I said, cinched my cover. I’m told he can be a mean cuss. High-hipped, black as night. Sired by Devil out of Angel. A real prizewinner.”

  “You be careful with that Thoroughbred,” Tanner warned. “He’ll need to be exercised, but leave it at that.”

  “Grazer mentioned something about a trauma to the leg.”

  “Yeah. My understanding is that it’s pretty much healed. But running’s in his blood. He’ll give all he’s got, if asked. Don’t ask.”

  “Got it. I’ll check in when I know more.”

  Tanner ended the call. Knowing he was stalling, he punched in a new code and checked in with his offices, both in Fresno and Modesto. It was a fairly useless call—he’d handpicked and trained his staff and they were as efficient as the Secret Service.

  Both offices knew his whereabouts if needed, and Tanner was a man who knew how to delegate. Obviously, he’d done his job well. There were no glitches in the smooth-running corporations; no grievances, petty or otherwise. Outside sales had picked up three new accounts last week—standard installations, his manager assured.

  Normally, Tanner would have felt pride at the efficiency, been glad for the break where he wasn’t needed for consultations or tricky designs.

  Instead, he felt uneasy—obsolete, almost. He’d built this company with sleepless nights, the sweat of twenty-hour days, and his own two hands. If he wasn’t careful, he’d delegate himself into a life of leisure.

  And that wouldn’t do. It would give him too much time on his hands. Too much time to relive a certain erotic kiss, to torture himself with the knowledge that Jordan Grazer was out of his reach.

  That she intended to marry another man.

  Chapter Seven

  Jordan wasn’t used to inactivity or to being cooped up in the house. She yearned for the serenity of the outdoors, the familiar scents of her stables. Barring those, the stray heifer and her calf who kept moving in closer would have to do.

  Sunlight sifted gently through the oaks, glancing off a sparkling creek. Clear water shimmered as it meandered over smooth rocks, spilling on down into the lake.

  She eased onto a granite boulder and dipped her feet in the creek water, staring at the shell-pink polish on her toenails, her mind awash in chaos.

  Why in the world had she let him kiss her? Invited it, even?

  Oh, she’d wanted it, had ached for the touch of his hands, for that exclusive look from his ginger-colored eyes, the look that told a woman she was special, desirable, that she had his sole attention.

  And what a kiss it had been! Far beyond any and all of her expectations, her fantasies. But it was wrong—wrong to yearn, to allow the intimacy that would shift their relationship, that would make living under the same roof with any sort of ease next to impossible. Th
e shift only opened up a plethora of problems, of questions and wants and old dreams that could never be satisfied.

  She’d made a vow to marry another man. Why was it so hard to remember that? Her mind immediately supplied the answer. It was because of a sexy rebel with long hair and killer dimples, a man who could exasperate her, scare her...thrill her.

  A man who could kiss her like there was no tomorrow.

  She felt the skin on her neck prickle, as though she were being watched. Turning, she saw Tanner.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs, but she told herself to be cool, to act as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t engaged in a kiss that had rocked her tidy little world.

  He was the quintessential bad boy, looking both tough and aloof. A slight frown marred his brow. Strong arms were folded across a chest that begged a woman to explore it. Jeans, worn white in places she should not be looking, hugged his coiled body like a supple, sinful dream. With his hair hanging loose around his shoulders, adding rather than detracting from all that masculinity, he reminded her of a warrior of old.

  Agatha Flintstone would be in her glory if she caught sight of Tanner Caldwell. The seventy-something, offbeat city clerk was a fixture in Grazer’s Corners. She’d yet to find a man who could live up to her high standards, who wasn’t intimidated by her no-nonsense outlook on life. Actually, it was more kooky than no-nonsense, Jordan thought. Still, Agatha made no secret of her firm belief that one day her Norman conqueror would ride into town on his snorting, spirited steed to sweep her up and make her heart go pit-a-pat.

  Nobody had the nerve to tell Agatha that she was dreaming, that the only place she’d find a man like that was among the shelves of her beloved Book Nook.

  Had Tanner been thirty years older, or Agatha thirty years younger, her fantasy might not have seemed so far-fetched.

  He fit the bill. And he certainly made Jordan’s heart go pit-a-pat.

  She dragged her gaze back to the stream before she got any more carried away.

  “You shouldn’t be wandering around out here.” His voice was low, and held an edge that made her tremble—with renewed desire, not fear.

  These reactions had to stop. Think of Randall, she lectured herself.

  “You told me we were isolated. What’s the harm?”

  “The harm is, we’re playing by my rules. I want you where I can see you.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to any rules. And you can see me now.” Although that wasn’t such a good thing. Especially with that kiss hanging between them. “Did you get all your calls made?”

  He eased down beside her on the rock, the tips of his boots mere inches from the damp edge of the creek. She tried to scoot over and nearly fell off the sloped edge.

  “Eavesdropping, Blackie?”

  She rolled her eyes, figuring it wouldn’t be wise to tell him she’d hoped to borrow that little cell phone when he’d left the room. But he’d taken it with him.

  “I’ve told you before, it’s not bad manners to listen if the call involves me. However, I object to skulking in hallways, so I’ll just have to trust that you’ll keep me abreast of what’s going on.” She frowned at the cows who were wandering ever closer. “Although I don’t understand why you can have marathon conversations and I’m limited to two measly minutes.” Not nearly enough time to put her father’s mind at ease. She hated not knowing what was going on, didn’t like feeling so out of control.

  “It’s my phone.”

  Though reasonable, his tone held a hint of challenge. She rarely backed down from a dare.

  “You have to sleep sometimes,” she taunted.

  He picked up on her train of thought, and grinned. “Nobody knows the unlock code but me. You could dial away to your heart’s content, duchess, and never get past the tone of push buttons.”

  “Smugness in a man is an unbecoming trait.” A school of minnows swam with the creek’s current, scattering when they came upon her pink-tipped toes. Better the kidnapper you know... Never had she thought she would be such a willing prisoner.

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “It’s early yet. Sonny’s just gotten there and settled in at the bunkhouse.”

  “My bunkhouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That surprises me.” Her knee bumped his and she swiftly drew it back. “Daddy let him?”

  “I told you, Sonny’s good.”

  “But my horses—”

  “Are fine. Honor Bleu’s behaving like a gentleman.”

  “That’ll be the day. He has an ornery streak a mile wide. And he’s not overly fond of men.”

  “Likes to be the only stud on the ranch, huh?”

  She thought about the magnificent stallion, his pride, his spirit, his animalistic maleness. “He’s very good at what he does.”

  “Servicing all the ladies? Lucky him.”

  She was a breeder, for heaven’s sake. There was no call for her face to heat, for her heart to race, for her to feel edgy and embarrassed and... Lord, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Turned-on? Images of Bleu covering a spirited mare blurred, drifted out of focus, became something entirely different.

  Became the image of Tanner...naked, covering her—skin to skin, face-to-face.

  He traced a finger down her cheek, making her jump.

  “You’ve gone skittish on me. Seems strange that a woman with her heart set on being a top breeder goes all shy over discussing animal gender and mating habits.”

  “I didn’t go all shy.”

  “Liar. You were thinking about two-legged animals. Maybe even thinking about me.”

  Was she so transparent? Determined to throw him off track—for her own sanity’s sake—she said, “Stuff the ego, Caldwell. I was supposed to be married yesterday, remember?”

  He plucked a flower that flourished in the moist earth by the creek’s bank, touched the velvety spikes of the happy blossom to the tip of her nose, ran it along the curve of her bottom lip. “Guess I did forget. Understandable mistake. Especially with the taste of you still fresh on my lips.”

  She drew back from the feathery stroke of the flower. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “The kiss? You’re not going to tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

  No, she wasn’t going to tell him that, but neither was she going to spill the truth. So she simply ignored him, hoped he’d drop the subject.

  She felt him lift her hand, and jerked.

  “Easy.”

  He closed her fingers around the stem of the buttery yellow flower that resembled a starburst. Memory, like a first rose pressed between the pages of a high-school yearbook, washed over her.

  Once—at a time he probably didn’t remember, a time that probably held no significance for him—he’d given her a daisy. She’d seen him walking off campus, alone...it seemed he’d always been so alone. So she’d approached him, her young girl’s heart pumping with both giddiness and terror. Tanner had always thrilled her—and scared her. She hadn’t known what she intended to say, she’d only known that he seemed to need someone, company, a friend. And she’d wanted to be that friend.

  But he’d sneered at her. “Better run, Blackie. Bad guys like me eat little rich girls like you for breakfast... unless that’s what you’re after. In that case, I might be able to spare a few minutes.”

  She’d been so stunned, so tongue-tied, so crushed. Always strong, able to take most anything on the chin, she’d been horrified to feel the tears well.

  And even more horrified that he’d seen it.

  The change in him had been lightning swift. Gentleness had resculpted his handsome features; regret had shown in his eyes, and in his soft touch. “I’m a first-class ass, Jordan. You didn’t deserve that.” He’d sealed the apology by plucking a daisy, handing it to her.

  She’d cherished that bedraggled, wilted flower as though it were gold, preserving it—not in a yearbook, but in her locked diary, a journal that held her deepest secrets, her most b
ittersweet yearnings.

  That special flower was still in her room, at home, hoarded like a prize.

  Reining in her thoughts from the past, Jordan turned her head, catching a whiff of shampoo that clung to his hair. If a person cared to delve past the mask he wore so easily, they’d see that he still had that look of a loner, of loneliness.

  “Thank you for asking about the horses. If I’d known you were going to talk to your friend, I’d have given you some details to pass along. There’s a colt I’m stabling who has special needs, and of course there’s Bleu’s contrariness.”

  “Sonny grew up on a ranch. His mother’s a vet and his father’s a trainer. He’ll do fine by your horses.”

  “What did you say his last name was?”

  “I didn’t.” He pitched a leaf into the creek. “It’s Womack.”

  Her eyes widened. “Of the Kentucky Womacks?”

  “That’s them.”

  “My God. Their stables are legendary. They’ve trained more Triple Crown winners than anyone around.”

  “So I’ve heard.” A dimple winked in his cheek. “Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

  “It’s nothing personal, Tanner. I don’t trust anybody but me with the animals. I’m about to rethink that, though. What’s Sonny doing in California when he could be living in that dreamy bluegrass country—on a renowned Thoroughbred ranch?”

  “He’s never said. Doesn’t talk much about his private life.”

  “But as well as seeing to my horses, you believe he’s qualified to look into the kidnapping attempt?”

  “Yeah. He’s an ex-cop.”

  “A bodyguard by my side and an ex-cop snooping around. Looks like I’m in good hands.” Before the words were even out, her gaze fell on Tanner’s hands. Strong, tanned, capable. There was a scar across one knuckle, another by the tip of his thumb. She imagined he’d spent some time making his way in life with his fists.

  He never seemed totally relaxed. Although he appeared to give her his sole attention, she knew he was aware of every bird, butterfly or shift in the breeze.

  The rustle of dry grass drew her attention to the mother cow and her calf who were moving ever closer. It was the darndest thing. One minute the heifer would stare, still as a doe caught in a set of high beams, and the next her big, wide face would swing to a point behind them. The action reminded her of a well-trained dog, signaling to its master that something was amiss.