by Anne Marsh
The cowboy nodded, as if good manners had him pretending to believe her, but he backed off. “You have a good day, then.”
She shot him a quick smile and got her feet moving. Her destiny was waiting for her inside the lawyer’s office, and Rose had her fingers crossed.
God, she needed this to be a good day.
Twenty minutes he’d been waiting in this office. Rose Jordan was late.
Again.
Cabe Dawson hated late.
Swinging the straight-back chair around, Cabe straddled the seat. Pinning the squirming lawyer with his eyes, he crossed his arms over the back. He had calving cows back on the ranch and a chore list longer than his arm. Blackhawk Ranch was fifty thousand acres. He ran cattle and had a half dozen orchards. The size and reach of his holdings made him a powerful man in Northern California, but, even though he owned this particular part of California, it also owned him. His father, who’d married into the ranch, might not have led by example, but he’d sure as hell shown Cabe what happened when a man didn’t take responsibility for his land.
The lawyer looked as if he would have given just about anything to be anywhere but on the receiving end of that stare. Cabe got that a lot. Most times, his hard-eyed gaze was an asset. Right now, though, it wasn’t working. Mitch tugged on his bow tie—who the hell still wore a clip-on bow tie?—and cleared his throat.
“We’re just waiting for Miss Jordan,” he said, and Cabe wanted to no-shit the man. Rose had never managed to be on time even once in her life.
Auntie Dee hadn’t had any biological family, not as far back as he could remember. Just Rose Jordan, who’d come up from Los Angeles that one memorable summer as a skinny ten-year-old with all this fine blond hair that stuck out in a cloud around her head. Rose had stayed in Lonesome until she’d finally headed off for college, leaving Auntie Dee alone again.
Hell, that was why Cabe had made his neighbor the offer he had—he would reverse-mortgage her place, give her the money she needed to live, and she’d give him the property when she passed on. She wouldn’t take his money any other way, and Cabe figured he could always use more land. Kept it quiet, though, because it was nobody’s business but his and Auntie Dee’s. Auntie Dee had her pride. When he’d struck water on that land, he’d been even more sure the mortgage was the right angle to take. She needed something. He needed something. They were square enough. He’d given Auntie Dee more than a fair market price for the place, but there was no denying that the water made the property more valuable.
When the whirlwind that was Rose Jordan exploded into the room—late, as always—her very fine ass bumping open the door, he was more than ready to finish up the arrangement. The arousal that flared inside him wasn’t part of the plan, however. He’d told himself that last night was an aberration. He couldn’t possibly still be attracted to Rose Jordan. She wasn’t his type. All flustery blond, not cool brunette. Not to mention, there was no reason to believe she’d have him.
No reason at all.
“Am I late? I am, aren’t I? Did you start without me?” She jimmied the door open another foot and jerked hard on an impossibly large black rolling suitcase that had to weigh as much as she did.
He couldn’t stop the sensual appreciation that had woken right up inside him when she’d opened the door. He should have been putting some much-needed space between them, but instead his feet and his upbringing had him standing to help her. Before he could stop himself, he had one hand wrapped around her waist to steady her, and he was tugging the bag from her fingers as she spluttered some nonsense about I have it and That’s mine. Since she clearly didn’t have it, he stashed the bag in the empty space behind Lawyer Mitch’s two guest chairs.
Rose needed to learn how to accept a little help.
And she was late. They both knew it. Of course, for Rose, twenty minutes late was probably on time. Which was why he’d told her the meeting started thirty minutes earlier than it did. He was learning—finally.
He didn’t know where she’d spent the night, but, looking at her now, he had a sneaking suspicion she’d once again failed to plan ahead. He should have asked her last night if she had a place to stay, but she’d had him off balance from the moment she’d surfaced in his swimming hole.
The lawyer did his thing, reading the will really quickly. Rose got the house and whatever was in it. Cabe had known that. He cut the lawyer off, though, when the man would have launched into the list of outstanding debts the estate needed to settle before Rose could claim free title to the place. Maybe Rose would be reasonable. Maybe, after last night’s swim, she’d thought things over and come to the logical conclusion.
Hell, a man could hope.
Before she could get her questions off, he leaned in and made his offer. Money would make this easier, and he didn’t mind paying. “You don’t want the place, Rose. It’d just be a giant headache for you. We both know that. Tell me what you want for it, and I’ll write you a check.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, Cabe Dawson. You have no business even being here today.”
“On the contrary, darlin’.” His slow smile was a warning. “I’m just as necessary here as you are. If you’d read any of those letters I sent you, you’d know why.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts, which she wouldn’t have done if she’d known what it did to the top of that sundress. Her breasts were pretty little mounds peeking over the band of ribbon, and part of him wanted to cross the room and trace that naughty line, first with his fingers and then with his mouth.
“I’m waiting for an explanation.” She was glaring at him now, just as impatient as always.
“Well, the way I see it, you owe me. For last night, at the very least.” He nodded meaningfully, and the lawyer’s eyes just about bugged out of the man’s head as he misinterpreted Cabe’s words. The way Cabe saw it, Rose had started the battle, pulling him into the swimming hole the night before.
“I’m the executor, darlin’, and it’s up to me to settle Auntie Dee’s estate,” he said.
“So you’re in charge. As always.” Her expression was mutinous as she faced off with him.
Yeah, his Rose was going to be trouble.
Just like always.
Cabe Dawson might think he was in charge, but there was no way he was going to run this show. She thought she’d demonstrated that last night. She wasn’t about to let him take away her home.
Sure, she didn’t have the money for renovations or property taxes or even the damn electric hookup, but by being back in Lonesome, she was one step closer to realizing her dream. A home of her own. A place where she belonged.
She wasn’t selling out to Cabe Dawson.
Words were easy—the bigger-than-life problem was sprawled in a chair two feet away, his jeans-clad knee almost brushing hers. He hadn’t said another word after she’d rejected his latest offer, just settled back in his chair. That was Cabe Dawson for you. Slow. Thorough. Immovable.
Would he be that intense in bed?
Cabe had simply held out one big hand, and the lawyer had forked over the will without so much as a peep. Ten minutes later, they were still waiting while Cabe silently reviewed its contents. Rose wanted to get going, wanted to see the inside of the place again.
Her place.
“Look,” she tried again. “I just want to go over to the house. Take a look around.” No way Cabe hadn’t read the will before, so there was just no telling why he wanted to read through the whole thing again. Right now. Unless he was simply enjoying making her wait—which was a distinct possibility.
The lawyer looked alarmed. Cabe just looked at the will in his hands. Maybe he was holding a grudge about last night, although he’d always been more of a swift-and equal-retaliation type.
“All you have to do is give me the key to the house,” she pressed. “And I’ll be on my way. ”
The lawyer looked at Cabe, and she sucked in a breath, reminding herself she wasn’t ten any more. “The key?” she prompted.<
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Cabe finally looked up. “She wants her key, Mitch. Give it to her.” He shot her another of those inscrutable glances she remembered so well. “You should have asked last night. You lose yours?”
“Something like that.” She’d been too busy pulling him into the water to remember the key.
Pulling open a drawer, the lawyer rummaged around as if he was glad to be busy. When he finally slid a little manila envelope across the desk to her, she tore the sealed flap open impatiently, dumping the familiar key chain into her palm. The key was attached to the little pink rabbit’s foot she’d bought Auntie Dee one year. The fur had worn away on one side, where Auntie Dee would rub it before she got onto the bus that took her on senior trips to the local Indian casino. The fur tip was permanently matted from a run-in with a diet soda, and there were other injuries as well. The little pink token had become a road map of precious moments of Auntie Dee’s life.
Wrapping her fingers around the rabbit’s foot, she fought back tears. She might be late, but she was home for good now.
All she had left of Auntie Dee was this worn-out rabbit’s foot, too many regrets, and a house. She’d lost her one true family, she realized in a rush. She hadn’t fully acknowledged just how strong the connection was between her and Auntie Dee until it was too late. Now Auntie Dee was gone, too.
The lawyer slid a little plastic-wrapped package of tissues across the desk to her as if that could fix this enormous, insurmountable problem.
“I miss her,” she said out loud.
Cabe got to his feet, placing the stack of papers back on the desk. “We all do. Auntie Dee was a good woman.”
Bending over the desk, he signed his name next to hers on the last page of the will and then slid the stack of legal documents back to the lawyer. “She was proud of you,” he said quietly. “Real proud. She talked all the time about how you were learning to be an architect. She didn’t get the chance to go to school herself, so it meant the world to her that you went.”
She looked down at her hands. She’d gone, all right. Almost clear to the other end of the state. As far away from this man as she could get because he was just the last in a long line of little failures on her part. Lost in the memories, she almost missed his next words.
“We’ll get an appraisal,” he suggested. “Find out what the house is worth, and I’ll write you that check.”
Like hell he would. “I’m not going anywhere, Cabe Dawson, but out to my house.”
“We’ll talk about it,” he said, his tone warning her that there was no negotiating room on this one.
She let him grab her suitcase and steer her outside and toward his truck. Just like that, he was taking over her life. Deciding what was best for her. She was hyperaware of his large, warm body beside her. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Cabe was just doing the right thing, looking out for her. Being protective. When he looked at her, he didn’t see Rose Jordan. No, he saw a problem needing fixing—and she was done being just another item on his to-do list.
“We’ll get the place appraised right away, and I’ll write you a check,” he repeated, and a slow burn got going in the pit of her stomach. There he went, taking care of her. Making decisions. She’d lived on her own long enough to appreciate the sentiment, but she wanted to stand on her own two feet. She looked down at her new cowboy boots. Even if her feet were killing her.
“No.” She tossed the word out, and, sure enough, Cabe Dawson hadn’t changed.
He pushed his Stetson back on his head and looked her over. “You sure about that answer? Because I’m willing and able to write a check, Rose.”
She didn’t want a check—she wanted a house. A home, her heart whispered, and another chance to get things right.
“I want to see my house, Cabe.”
“Fine,” he said, shaking his head, as if her agreeing to his terms was just a matter of time. “You want to see the place, I’ll take you there.”
“I have a car,” she pointed out, but he just shook his head again and opened the passenger door of his pickup. Since this was a battle she clearly wasn’t going to win, she got in. Carefully closing the door behind her, he went around the pickup and slid into the driver’s seat. It was going to be a really silent ride out to Auntie Dee’s. Cabe never had been one for chitchat, but now he appeared to have given up on talking altogether. His hands on the wheel shouted “capable, in control.” He knew where he was going and why, just like he always had.
“We could have taken my car,” she said, just to needle him. Cabe didn’t like others to drive him. Sure enough, he shot her one of those looks and jammed his Stetson down on his head. She’d forgotten how very large and immovable he was.
It didn’t matter.
He wasn’t going to get his way this time.
The house was waiting for her, heat-soaked and dusty. Rose could almost pretend she’d never left, that the last few years hadn’t slipped by. Even with the miles she’d put between herself and Auntie Dee’s place, she’d thought about the older woman every day. She’d needed to stretch her wings and figure out who she really was, and Auntie Dee had understood.
Now she needed to come back home.
She got the truck’s door open and hopped down from the pickup before Cabe could even kill the motor. He’d been a big, silent presence next to her on the ten-minute drive out here. Whatever doubts he had—and she was sure he had plenty—he was keeping them to himself for the moment. Knowing Cabe, of course, he was probably just waiting for her to figure out the truth for herself.
The house redefined fixer-upper.
As she crossed the yard, she waved to the contractor she’d asked earlier to come by to check out what work would need to be done immediately. Cabe had taken so long reading the will that the other man was almost finished with his external inspection.
The sun’s heat was a sensual weight beating down on her bare shoulders. It was almost shocking to step onto the porch and into the cooler shadows. Cabe, of course, followed her inside the house as if he owned the place, the floorboards squeaking noisily with each step he took, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Had he always been this sexy? Cabe looked both familiar and unfamiliar. Somehow, he seemed even bigger, even harder, than she remembered. And last night, he’d seen her naked.
The wave of mildew and must that hit her when he finally shouldered open the kitchen door—it stuck, of course—wasn’t a good sign. Cabe flipped light switches. Nothing. Of course. No electricity. When she ran the tap, however, there was water.
“You’ve got a good well here.”
Mentally, she arranged the house, placing the furniture she’d left in storage in repainted, cleaned-up rooms. So what if Cabe was more concerned with support beams and wiring and whether or not the place was up to code? This was the one place she’d felt at home in her life. Hell, this was the only place she’d had a home.
Still, as the inspector took her point by point through a damning litany of critical repairs, Cabe was a silent, solid presence. He didn’t say anything. Hell, he didn’t have to say anything. He was right, just like he’d always been. The house wasn’t really livable and might not even be salvageable. How long had it been this way growing up and she just hadn’t seen?
She squared her jaw. She’d overcome worse odds. If she wanted her home back, she’d do whatever it took. Sweat equity had to be worth something. Even if it seemed likely that she’d still be hammering and sawing when she was ninety.
Finally, the contractor shut the lid of his laptop. “I’ll e-mail you the final report,” he said, pocketing the check she handed him. He shook her hand and then took the hand Cabe extended. “You be careful in here,” he said, clearing his throat. “This house needs work.”
“I can handle it,” she said, projecting a confidence she didn’t quite feel. Yet, she told herself. She knew how to design houses. Surely, she could learn how to make home repairs.
“Lots of work.” Cabe’s voice was deliberately dry, but it still had t
hat little growl that always started her thinking about sex.
“You listen to your boyfriend here.” The contractor nodded toward Cabe. “He’s right.”
Watching the man go, she’d have bet those words had horrified Cabe. She wasn’t the kind of woman he admired. Cool, put-together brunettes were more his style. As soon as he’d done what needed doing here and the estate was wrapped up, he’d get back to work, and they would only see each other from a distance. Things would go back to the way they’d been before.
Cabe would go back to the way he’d been before.
God, she knew she shouldn’t wish things were different. Cabe Dawson was the kind of hard, disciplined, determined man who knew precisely where he was going in life and how he was getting there. He was all wrong for her. None of which explained the heat blossoming inside her as she watched him move around her kitchen, testing the cabinet doors.
Wanting Cabe Dawson was crazy.
Sunset had color streaking the horizon and roused raucous commentary from the nesting birds in the cottonwoods. She’d always loved this pretty time, when the sky softened up and things got ready to hunker down for the night. The morning glories twining up the chimney had already closed up in anticipation of the darkness. For a moment, sitting on what was left of the house’s wraparound porch, she could pretend she’d gone back in time. It was harder to see at dusk that, while the porch might have been white once upon a time, now most of the paint had peeled off in long, curling strips.
The last couple of years, she’d drawn architectural plans for other people. These plans had been for her and Auntie Dee, and the two of them had talked them over for hours on the phone. She’d taken too long, though—waited too long. Somehow, someday, she’d have to come to terms with that. She slid the long roll of drawings out of the tube and spread them out on the porch. There was the big open kitchen for Auntie Dee, who loved to cook and who had always had folks stopping by to chat. After their last call, she’d added windows upstairs for Auntie Dee to look out at the ranch land where she’d grown up, and even more downstairs because Rose had had a sneaking suspicion that the stairs were finally becoming too much for Auntie Dee.