by Starla Kaye
She smiled up at Alan, a weak smile. "I'll try to win him over with my sweet personality, my charm."
He chuckled and she elbowed him, but felt better.
"It could happen."
Then the supposed object upon whom she'd use her charm stood a dozen feet in front of her. Cade looked terribly out of place and uncomfortable, standing beside a man who also looked equally misplaced in his fitted dark suit. He held a bouquet of roses and thrust them at her as she walked closer.
"Are you lowering the sales price?" she asked instead of taking the roses. So much for charm.
He blinked, confused, and shook his head. "I'm not here to talk about the ranch."
Stupid is as stupid does. Being Queen Stupid, she gave him a cold look and walked by him. Alan tried to slow her down, but she drug him along with her.
"Didn't I tell you she was an impossible woman?" Shawna heard Cade tell the other man.
Shawna took a second to glance in his direction. "Pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Impossible Calloway." Then she huffed off, wishing she hadn't found him quite so handsome in that obviously expensive suit, with his hair a little too long, with that too-damn-sexy stubble on his face.
Moonlight danced off the silver cover over the pool outside Cade's bedroom suite. Through the uncovered wall of windows--clearly a mistake, now that he'd experienced this--the light fell over him, no matter how he positioned himself in the over-sized bed. Yet another irritation added to his life of late.
He glared at the clock only a few feet from his face. His tired eyes took in 4:34 a.m. and he groaned. Normally when he hit the bed, he immediately dropped off to sleep. He worked hard, played hard, and slept hard. Until tonight. Okay, until lately.
Tossing a feather pillow over the glowing blue digital numbers on the clock, he rolled away from the window. Again. The light reflected off the big mirror on his dresser, right back into his face. He tried squeezing his eyes shut, but he almost felt the heat from the reflection. And his mind was too restless to shut down. Too many thoughts of the most impossible woman in the world tumbling through his brain. He hadn't been able to get her off his mind almost from the second they'd met exactly five weeks ago, Thanksgiving Day.
The pint-sized, contrary strawberry-blond had ruined his peaceful life. He wasn't worth a dime to any of the businesses he owned at the moment, a fact which his executive staffs had been so not-so-subtly pointing out. He couldn't concentrate, but, fortunately, his executives were top-notch and were covering his ass for now. The situation couldn't go on, though.
Not only had she disrupted his business life, but she'd upset his personal life as well. Suddenly he'd grown bored with hopping in his private jet and flying off to seek another business to purchase, or to accept a party invitation somewhere, or even to sweep one of his many women friends off for a hot, romantic weekend. Shawna had even put a damper on that weekend with the stewardess in Kansas City.
He rolled over again. Stop thinking about her! Impossible. She was right there behind his eyelids, almost as if her image had been imprinted on his eyelids. A barely over five feet, too-shapely-for-any-man's sanity, busty--oh so very nice--woman with more strength of will than sense. He'd never met another woman with half her boldness or with a quarter of her sass. Both facets of a woman's personality that normally held absolutely no appeal to him. Normally. But her grass green eyes filled with spirit and that long hair he wished he'd seen flying free around her instead of confined in that braid were too much for him to resist. Evidently S. C. Donley was his Achilles' heel. His downfall from the world of globe-trotting, much sought after wealthy bachelors he'd been happily a part of for years. That life now felt shallow, empty.
He heaved a disgruntled sigh. This upset to his life was all his best buddy's fault. If Pete hadn't convinced him to invest in the Rolling Hills Ranch in the Kansas Flint Hills, Cade would still be satisfied with his existence. He didn't know anything about ranching, and hadn't really cared to know anything. He'd merely planned to buy the ranch, make a few improvements that Pete had mentioned it needed to increase its value, and then sell it off to some ranching corporation. His mistake had been deciding on a whim, as he was driving from Denver to Kansas City the day before Thanksgiving to meet up with a stewardess he'd really wanted to connect with, to stop at the ranch. If he hadn't discovered that the ranch manager, S. C. Donley, was a woman instead of a man as he'd foolishly assumed... If he hadn't been practically struck dumb at the sight of her... If...
The if's could go on and on. Apparently so could this latest sleepless night.
He punched his pillow one more time in an attempt to find a more comfortable fit for his throbbing head. All this tossing and turning, and way too much thinking, had given him a headache. He supposed the day spent playing high-stakes poker and tossing back one whiskey after another in the Wynn with several of his long-time gambling buddies who'd stopped in Las Vegas to spend a few days with him had initially brought the headache on. But he preferred to blame it on little Miss Sass.
Giving up, he flopped onto his back and stared up at the paddle fan slowly turning above him. Fact was Shawna Donley intrigued him. She hadn't been the least bit impressed with him when he'd stopped in out of the blue. His being one of the wealthiest men in the country meant little if anything to her, other than he signed her paycheck--or one of his accounting staff did, as she'd boldly told him. His being considered quite the catch in most circles--even having been named Most Desirable Bachelor last year--meant even less to her. She'd taken a quick look at him and then went back to being all business. No flirtations for her. Uh-uh. And she hadn't been impressed with his extremely limited knowledge of anything to do with ranching.
All in all, she'd seriously wounded his ego.
He curled his hands into fists and called himself a thousand kinds of idiot. Because the absolute worst part about all of it was that he'd fallen in love with her in those few hours they'd been together. They'd butted heads over the ranch. He'd gotten so irritated with her that he'd leaped off the deep end of sanity and burned her butt, when she probably did have the right to be upset with him for turning her world on end, so to speak. Right now, he figured they were even: She'd turned his world on end.
She'd barely said a word when he'd called to apologize for spanking her. And he'd avoided her calls since then because he didn't know what to do about the ranch, or about her. For a man who normally made decisions lightning quick, he was definitely struggling.
Then he'd seen her on the last day of the National Finals Rodeo a little over three weeks ago, something he'd been dragged to by another friend of his. Who'd have known that bitty spitfire was a barrel racer. One who was nationally ranked and finished second, only due to her horse developing a problem right at the last turn. She'd been amazing to watch. He'd wanted to congratulate her, give her flowers. She'd only wanted to talk about that damn ranch.
He still couldn't believe she'd sassed him and walked away. Walked away on the arm of one of the handsome cowboys who worked the ranch with her. But he was not jealous of the man! Like hell! He'd done some checking and knew all of the men there were more like brothers, but that man's possessive hold on her arm and the look in his eye seemed a lot more than brotherly to Cade. Maybe he'd check them all out again.
This was a new year and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he'd set a personal goal for the year. Shawna Donley. He wanted her, any way that he could have her. The goal seemed impossibly unattainable, considering how contrary she could be. But it was a done deal as far as he was concerned. In fact, now that he thought about it, he should make a deadline for meeting that goal, not just the whole year. Because if that was the case, she'd probably find a way to make him lust after her and make him miserable for the entire year. Not happening. Valentine's Day. She would be his by Valentine's Day.
Chapter Two
Snow had fallen heavily since last night. As Shawna looked out the large window in the great room of the foreman's house, she gru
mbled under her breath. She coughed, and then coughed again. Snow or not, cattle in the far range needed to be checked on. Horses in the stable needed to be tended to. Chores of all sorts needed doing. A day in the life of a rancher was not an easy one any time of the year.
She spotted Scott striding head-down through the swirling snow storm from the bunkhouse toward the first stable. He held his hat down against the wind as he walked with determination. The big, top-ranking steer wrestler held faster to the old postal code of "through rain and sleet, hail and the wind's fury"--or something like that--than actual postal workers did. He had a job to do, and, by damn, he would get 'er done. She didn't know what she would do without him. Or Alan, the crazy-ass-cocky bull rider. He strutted through the storm right after Scott, not bothering to hold onto his hat. He had confidence that his hat would stay on his head, just as he had confidence he could ride even the meanest bull on the circuits. What an ego! The ranch was manned by rough, tough, men with more confidence in their rodeo abilities sometimes than good sense. Testosterone Central, that's what the Rolling Hills Ranch really should be named.
The thought made her smile, something she hadn't done since her run-in a month ago at the National Finals Rodeo with Cade Calloway. Talk about a man with an ego! Wealthy beyond even thinking about. Women practically throwing themselves at him everywhere he went. He spent his days flitting all over the world, buying up companies and re-selling them for profit. He didn't care who got hurt in the process, especially the poor guy--or woman--barely eking by a living working for one of those companies. She hadn't actually read anything about him that said he felt that way, but she suspected it was the truth. "Hopefully, whoever purchases the ranch for the long run will keep you and the men." Yeah right! That never happened the in the real world where big, heartless corporations were concerned. She had heard about the large ranching corporations and knew there was trouble ahead for them all.
She coughed again and felt her chest wall hurting. Stupid, stupid colds! She should be out there helping her ranch hands. She would be, too, if she had the energy even to get dressed. The best she could manage today was dragging her sorry bones downstairs from the loft bedroom still wearing her baggy, pink flannel PJs. Well, she'd also managed to slide her feet into the big fuzzy slippers Alan had given her for Christmas. Now she couldn't even muster the strength to crawl back upstairs and drop into bed again. Lord a'mighty, she was a P-I-T-I-F-U-L mess.
The portable phone rang across the room and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She could ignore it, but not really. She was the ranch manager, after all. It could be important.
Resigned to playing some kind of nice even if she didn't feel like it, she went to pick up the receiver.
"Rolling Hills Ranch," she said with a raw throat, and then coughed.
"You sound terrible," Cade said in surprise.
Considering that she'd had this dang cold for almost a week, her throat was scratchy, her chest felt like a horse had sat on it, and every cell in her body ached, "terrible" probably covered it. Still, his comment annoyed her. Actually, everything about him annoyed her. Almost as much as her ridiculous attraction to him did.
"Shawna, are you still there?" Now he sounded impatient.
She reached for a tissue from the nearly empty box on the end table and coughed mucus into it. Disgusting? Yes. Unladylike? Yes. Did she care? No. Then she cleared her throat and answered him. "Still here, alive but not kicking. Oh, and thanks for the 'sounding terrible' thing. I needed a perk-up."
He chuckled and she wanted to reach through the invisible phone line and strangle him. "You're calling to ruin my day because..." she prompted.
"You're even more of a wise ass when you're sick, I see."
Suddenly she didn't feel like picking at him. Didn't feel like anything more than sinking to the floor and being flat-out miserable. Then she surprised them both by saying, "Sorry. I've had better days. Better weeks, really."
His tone gentled with concern. "Have you been to a doctor?"
She rubbed at her throbbing forehead, and then tried rolling her neck in a circle to ease the ache in her shoulders. All that happened was she got dizzy. Hell. "I'll live. Maybe."
He was quiet a second and she slumped down onto the over-stuffed leather sofa. "Ahhh."
"It sounds like you belong in bed."
Her fever-dumb mind immediately envisioned lying naked on her king-sized bed, face down. An equally naked Cade straddled her legs and gently massaged her back. Then his hands started creeping lower...and lower... "Stay the hell out of my bed!"
"What?"
"Oh, gawd," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes closed in horror. "I didn't just say out loud what I thought I said? Please tell me I didn't."
The impossible man taunted her instead. "So, you're thinking about me in your bed." His added huskily, "I've been thinking about that a lot, too. Thinking about you in my bed."
She curled her free hand into a fist and was disgusted when her body went all girly on her. Her woman's place tingled. Her clit was seriously interested. Annoyed, she huffed. "You know, it isn't nice to pick on a sick person! I'm on death's door here and you're playing mind games with me. That's sooo wrong."
"A cold is hardly 'death's door.' But you're right; I shouldn't be teasing you when you don't feel good." He blew out a sigh that she heard over the line. "Actually, I was calling to say I'm coming to the ranch in a couple of days. Once that storm passes through the area."
Shawna stiffened, sucked in a sharp breath and regretted that. Then she began that another round of coughing. And she shivered, teeth-chattering chills sweeping through her. Oh, perfect! It just gets better and better.
When she managed to stop coughing, she asked bristly, "Why?"
She didn't want him anywhere near the ranch, or her. Especially not near her. He made her think foolish thoughts, made her experience feelings for him that she shouldn't. All she needed to do with him was figure out how to convince him to give her more time to buy the ranch.
"Hmm, let me think. Because I own the place, which gives me a right to come there whenever I so please."
She started to snap back at him but the front door burst open and Scott strode inside. He gave her a quick glance over and said hurriedly, "That crazy horse of yours just busted out of her stall, again. Tore off into the storm. Just wanted you to know. A couple of us will go round her up."
"Bessy got out?" Shawna questioned in distress. Her $50,000 prized barrel racing horse hated storms and made a habit of getting out and running away. She should have expected this to happen. Beyond how valuable the mare was, she loved Bessy with her whole heart. She stood and said anxiously, "I'll get dressed and come with you."
"Let me talk to Terrell," Cade demanded loud enough that both she and Scott heard him.
"There's no time for chit-chat," she protested only to have Scott stride over and take the phone from her.
"You wanted to talk to me," Scott said curiously, giving her a disapproving frown.
Shawna stood next to him and tapped one pink fuzzy slipper in irritation. "We don't have time for this."
He rolled his eyes and had the nerve to look amused. Then he ignored her and talked to Cade. "Yes... No, she doesn't... Even I'm not that gutsy and I wrestle steers." He chortled. "Give it my best shot...Yeah, see you in a couple of days."
Scott punched end and set the phone back in the cradle. He faced her and said calmly, "To summarize, the boss man said--and I agree-- you have no business going out in the storm to find your horse."
She straightened to her full 5'3" height and glowered up a good foot at him. "I'll go if I decide to go. And what was that about you not being gutsy and wrestling steers?" She ruined her tirade by shivering again, something new that had started a short while ago, and then by launching into another coughing jag.
A deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows. "Calloway told me to haul your keister up to bed and put you in it." When her eyes widened in outrage, he added, "'Keister' was my choice
of wording. Still, I'm not sure I'm man enough to try it. You can be a tad...well, uncooperative when you're pissed."
Shawna thrust out her chin. "Darn straight." Nobody was carrying her anywhere! Nobody was going to make her stay in bed when Bessy was running around out in this storm.
She started toward the hallway with the intention of going up to change clothes, but each step was costing her. She'd be lucky if she got upstairs at all, let alone back down again. Darn it all. Her body was working against her.
Scott strode in front of her, stopping her. "I can be as stubborn as you, Shawna Donley. You are not going out in this storm. Not when you're pretty damn sick. You need to see a doctor, at least call one. Just like I've been saying for the last three days."
His hard expression warned her he meant business and that he was worried about her. But she didn't back down easily. "I need to..."
He finally lost his patience with her and snarled, "Get in your bed and stay there! I mean it."
Tears misted her aching eyes. There was nothing she hated more than crying in front of anyone, especially her friends. But she was sick; her whole body throbbed from the pain of hacking nearly 24/7 for two days now. Her emotions were completely out of whack.
Scott noticed her tears before she could look away. The fight went right out of him. His broad shoulders slumped beneath his heavy coat. "Please. I'm begging you, darlin'. Crawl into bed and stay there. We'll find that nutty horse of yours and bring her back."
When she bobbed her head in resignation, he sighed in relief. Then he turned and strode out of the house.