The Ranchers: Destiny Bay Romances Boxed Set vol. 1 (Destiny Bay Romances - The Ranchers)

by Helen Conrad

  Jessie felt as if a band had tightened across her chest. They were so close that when he spoke she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. An awareness of him filled her suddenly, stirring something deep inside that had been dormant for a long, long time. His wide shoulders, the sensuousness of his mouth, the deep rumble of his voice, his strength—all combined to render her speechless. There was something so irresistibly male about him. And when she looked into his silver-blue eyes, even in the shadows of the night she could see a promise there that frightened her.

  “Keep your hands off me,” she managed to blurt out.

  His smile was rueful, but he backed off. Still, he didn’t stop looking at her. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. I just want to make sure I get a decent night’s sleep without you calling the authorities. And to guarantee that, I’m going to have to keep you with me.”

  “You’re just a real desperado, aren’t you?” she accused him scathingly.

  “’Desperado.’” He rolled the word around on his tongue, seemed pleased with it. “Why not?” he said, and he started the car again.

  Jessie stared into nothing. If things had gone right, she would have been planning what to do with that reward money right now. It was just her luck. She sighed. Every time she dealt with men, somehow she always came out the loser. “Where are we going to spend the night?” she asked, feeling more sulky than frightened now.

  He shrugged. “Out here somewhere in the desert.”

  She looked at him. “You mean we’re going to camp? You’re going to sleep in your sleeping bag?”

  “No.” He cast her a sideways glance. “You’re going to sleep in the sleeping bag. I’m going to sleep sitting up right here in this car.”

  “Oh.” She turned away again. It was almost funny really. Only she didn’t feel like laughing.

  The light from the Tiffany lamp cast a golden glow over the well-aged cognac Sky Matthews held in his hand. Sunk deep in his leather chair, he turned the glass slowly, watching the golden liquid dance. It was the ingratitude that angered him most, he decided at last.

  Loyalty was what counted. What was wrong with people these days? Didn’t they understand you had to stick with your own to survive?

  He glanced over at the framed pictures that hung on one of the walls in the den, pictures of his flight squadron during the seventies, of his buddies. Those were the days. The men he’d flown with had known all about loyalty. They’d faced a common enemy on some of the secret missions they’d flown and they’d come through alive. What people today didn’t realize was that although they couldn’t see the enemy, he was still out there. You had to fight for survival today, as well. Only the strong survived.

  He took a long sip of his drink, wincing at the rich burn on his throat but enjoying the cognac nevertheless, and tossed his thoughts to Michael. Dammit all. He’d played that wrong. He should have brought him in slowly, as he’d done his father. Winslow Drayton hadn’t been easy to convince, either, but he’d come around over the years. Now things were going to be more difficult.

  Still, he had no doubt he’d succeed. He always achieved everything he set out to. And he’d chosen Michael to take over the business long ago. Michael was perfect. He was smart, savvy, sure of himself. And he had the aristocratic background Sky wanted to enrich his company with. And his own family. Michael and Vanessa’s engagement had been the icing on the cake.

  Yes, it was just a matter of time. He’d have Michael back here and he’d reason with him. It was as simple as that.

  “Daddy.”

  Vanessa breezed into the room, switching on an overhead light as she did so. The room was flooded with brightness and his first reaction was annoyance, but one look at her beautiful face and his frown melted.

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  She perched on the ottoman in front of him, resting one hand on his knee. Her raven hair with its elfin cut was a contrast to his silver mane, but she looked like him. He could see it in the strength of her jaw, the glint of her green eyes. And every time he saw the resemblance, he felt pride flow in his veins. This was his. All his.

  “Have you heard anything about Michael?” she asked now, her face anxious. “Do you know where he is?”

  His large hand covered hers. “Not yet, sugar. But don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

  “Are... are the police still looking for him?”

  Sky nodded. “We’ve still got a warrant out for his arrest and I’ve put a reward on him, so the stool pigeons should be crawling out of the woodwork by now. We ought to hear anytime.”

  Vanessa sighed. “You won’t make him stay in jail, will you? He’d hate that.”

  Sky’s face hardened. “A few days in the lockup will be good for him,” he said, his voice evidencing the steel beneath the velvet tone reserved for his daughter. “He’s hurt me, honey. He’s hurt you. He’s got to pay for that.” His tone softened and he stroked her arm. “Besides, it’ll do him good to be reminded of what it’s like to be behind bars. Soften him up a little. And then, when I go in and offer him an escape, he’ll jump at it.”

  “Will he?” Vanessa wasn’t so sure. She was afraid she knew Michael a little better than her father did. “He was so angry when he left.”

  Sky took a swig of his drink. “He wasn’t the only one who was angry,” he said with quiet menace.

  Vanessa studied her father’s face, her heart fluttering. She loved him, but his hardness frightened her at times. He’d never been anything but gentle with her, but she knew from experience he could be otherwise with those around him.

  “You... you won’t hurt him,” she whispered.

  Sky’s face registered outrage. “Hurt him? Why would I do anything like that? You know me better, sweetheart.”

  Her smile wavered. She knew her father all too well. Memories flashed through her mind like a newsreel, memories she usually suppressed. Ex-employees who’d disappeared. Old boyfriends who’d suddenly become afraid to see her any longer. And Marty, the tennis instructor she’d fallen in love with when she was seventeen.

  “We’re getting married, Daddy,” she’d insisted in a rush of teenage rebellion.

  “Over my dead body!” he roared.

  When Marty hadn’t shown up for their date that night, she’d gone looking for him at his apartment. He’d come to the door, but he hadn’t let her in. His face was a mess, his nose broken, his lip swollen to three times its normal size. “Stay away from me, Vanessa,” he’d managed to grate out painfully. “Don’t ever come near me again.”

  Yes, she knew her father all right. “Of course, Daddy,” she said hurriedly. “But... I love Michael. I want him back.”

  Sky cupped her cheek with his hand. “You’ll get him back, sweetheart. I promise.”

  She searched his eyes, wondering if he really meant it. But of course he must. He always got her what she wanted—as long as he wanted it, too. Smiling, she rose and leaned down to kiss the top of his silver head. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

  Her scent stayed in the air long after she left the room. Sky took another swallow of the cognac and pondered life. Memories haunted him, too, memories of holidays at the beach with the Drayton family when Vanessa was about five and Michael already a strong, handsome teenager. He’d decided then that the two of them should marry someday. It was the perfect solution.

  The Draytons were old money. Class. A secure position in society. The Matthews were upstarts, rough edged, but with energy and know-how. He and Winslow Drayton would never have been friends if it hadn’t been for that flight squadron training years ago. When they’d both moved back to the San Francisco area, Winslow had been a big help in getting Sky the financing he’d needed to start Matthews Aviation.

  And then there’d been Winslow’s beautiful wife, Pamela. Ah, Pamela. Sky sighed.

  The two families had been close for years. But for all their success, the Matthews had never attained the position the Draytons held
by virtue of their birth. That still smarted. Having Michael in the family would go a long way toward healing that wound.

  “Yes, Vanessa,” Sky muttered to himself, “we’ll get Michael back. Don’t you worry.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Man In Need Of A Keeper

  Morning came in the form of purple tentacles against the blackened eastern sky. Michael’s eyes felt full of sand and his neck was stiff from sleeping with his head propped against the car door. Watching the sky lighten, he attempted to stretch his arms and legs in the cramped space.

  Mustangs were not meant to be slept in, but in the dead of night, anything had seemed preferable to the treacherous desert floor.

  “Go ahead,” she’d said. “Sleep in the car. Let me have the sleeping bag. I’ll be fine out here.”

  He was the one who had to sleep, he’d told himself defensively. She could sleep while he drove. He couldn’t very well sleep while she drove, could he? She’d drive him straight to the police to collect that reward she was so hot to win for herself.

  He shifted slightly, grimacing at the chill of the morning, and glanced at the black speaker cover. The diamonds almost seemed to glow from inside. He fantasized for just a moment about holding his hand a few inches away and feeling their fire. Fire and ice. It sure as hell was cold out here at night.

  He thought he felt something move against his ankle and he jerked his leg, then felt foolish. It was nothing. His imagination. But at least it proved he could still move those lower extremities. That was something.

  He ought to get up and see if she was still there. He’d purposely driven miles out into the desert on a very lonely road before stopping to camp. Even if she tried to walk back to civilization, it would take her enough hours that he’d have time to rest.

  What a mess. The last thing he needed was a woman complicating things. At least she was a down-to-earth sort, a type he could deal with. Most of the women he’d known over the years hadn’t been like that at all. From his experience, most women were sly manipulators, people with secret agendas and ulterior motives that never really came out in the open. He always felt a vague sense of pity for friends who announced wedding plans.

  “That’s because you’ve never really been in love,” someone had told him recently.

  And he supposed that was true. At this late date, he probably never would fall in love. And he entertained that notion with a certain smug satisfaction.

  Something moved again. For real this time. Something long and feathery scuttled across his skin, just under his pants leg.

  Revulsion shot through him. “Dammit!” he cried, jerking open the car door and flinging himself out, then shivering and wincing as something black and hairy flew out and disappeared into the sand. An uncontrollable shudder shook his shoulders.

  But at least he was up. He glanced over to where Jessie still lay in the sleeping bag. So she hadn’t skipped out on him in the night. Mixed feelings warred within him. He stepped closer.

  The blue nylon bag was zipped up tight. All he could see was a mass of rust-colored hair. He stared down at it, then got down on one knee close to where she slept. Her breathing was light, rhythmic. He sensed a warmth that seemed to glow in the crisp morning air. Some strange emotion he didn’t want to analyze welled up in his chest. Her tangled hair caught the first rays of sunlight and shone like spun gold. He found himself reaching out to touch it. Some yearning, some tenderness deep inside, made him need to touch it, to sink his fingers into the warmth of it, to feel the silkiness of it against his skin, as though that would slake some illogical thirst he had burning inside him.

  His fingers were almost there when she turned, and suddenly, instead of a tempting gold, he was faced with the fierce dark brown of her eyes. He pulled his hand away quickly.

  “You ready for breakfast?” he asked gruffly, embarrassed at having been caught giving in to an impulse. He didn’t often let that happen.

  She glared at him, not answering, and he shrugged, rose and began putting rocks together for a fire pit. She watched him, blinking away sleep, surprised that she’d slept as well as she had. The night was over. What was she going to do now?

  “If it will make you feel any better,” he’d told her the previous evening, “I’m not really guilty.”

  How was that supposed to make her feel better? She wanted him guilty. She wanted him arrested so she could collect the reward. Otherwise, what on earth was she doing there?

  But she knew he was trying to allay her fears that he might harm her in some way, and grudgingly she appreciated the gesture. He wasn’t going to hurt her unless she did something really stupid. She could see it in his face. He was hard, cold and prepared to do things illegal, possibly immoral. But he wasn’t mean.

  Once he had a small fire going, he pulled a brand-new saucepan out of the car, along with a bottle of water, a plastic coffee mug and a small jar of instant coffee. Snug in the sleeping bag, she watched him work, trying to balance the pan against a rock and not get himself burned. His hands were long, his movements graceful for a man. There was a sleek, white-collar-job look to him, but she recognized an underlying strength and toughness that surprised her a little. He was, after all, a man, she reminded herself. He was quick and agile and smart. She was going to have to plan her escape carefully.

  Reaching down into the depths of the bag, she began to pull on the jeans she’s struggled out of the night before. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him watching, but she pretended not to care. Let him imagine all he wanted. That was as close as he’d ever get.

  “Coffee?” He held the cup out to her as she emerged from her blue nylon cocoon.

  Her hair was a tangled mess, but she left it that way defiantly. She would have loved to turn down his offer with scorn, but the aroma of the dark beverage was irresistible. Without saying a word, she took the cup from him, scalding her lips with a long sip before she handed it back.

  “Well, good morning, Miss Carrington,” he said sardonically. “Did you sleep well? I certainly hope so. I’d hate to think neither one of us got a decent night’s sleep in this godforsaken place.”

  She glanced at him, surprised and not sure how to respond. He looked even more rumpled than yesterday. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his face, making him appear more rugged than before.

  “I slept great,” she said, reaching for her boots and shaking out first one, then the other, before pulling them on.

  He watched her, his mouth twisted. “No bug bites to disturb you?” he murmured. “My moans of anguish didn’t wake you at all?”

  She forced herself not to look at him. “Nope,” she said shortly.

  He moved, chuckling softly. “Well, I’m so pleased,” he said. “It’s rewarding when a guest has a—“

  She whirled, outrage radiating from her body. “I’m no guest, mister,” she snapped. “I’m your prisoner, and you and I both know it. So cut out the cute stuff. I hate you and you hate me and this here’s no tea party.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Your candor is refreshing,” he said without irony. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a woman lay it on the line like that. You should give lessons to others of your sex.”

  He confused her. She looked down at the cup in his hand. “Is that all there is to breakfast?” she asked. “You don’t have anything to eat?”

  “Sorry. I ate my last Snickers for dinner last night.”

  Her stomach rumbled at the mere mention of food, but she shrugged, pretending not to care. Shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, she glanced up at the mountains. “So...what’s next?” she asked. “Where do we go from here?”

  He poured himself more coffee and put the saucepan on the ground. “You tell me. You hired on as an Arizona tour guide, and even though I haven’t had time to check your references, I think you’re going to do a marvelous job.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Forget the jokes. What are you planning to do with me?”

  He took a long sip of c
offee, watching her over the rim of the mug. Scrappy little thing that she was, he couldn’t help but admire her a bit. The way she’d come after him in the hills. The way she’d ridden along, called the police, then helped him escape. She had guts. He had to give her that.

  “That’s a very good question. What do you think I should do?”

  She tossed her head, pushing back the stray wisps of tangled hair that kept flying in her face. “Take me to the nearest town and give me bus fare home.” She watched him to see his reaction, then flushed when he sputtered on his coffee and laughed aloud.

  “Bus fare home!” He shook his head, grinning. “I said I wouldn’t treat you badly, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to set you up for life. You must think I’m a real sap.”

  “I don’t think you’re a sap,” she said sharply. “I think you’re a liar and a thief. And I think that you ought to let me go before they add kidnapping to all the other things they’re after you for.”

  The humor evaporated from his eyes and he watched her speculatively. Taking her along did mean there would be another charge—something he could ill afford. Scenes of the prison yard flashed through his mind. No, he wouldn’t go back. No matter what, he would never go back to prison.

  He’d gone charging into Bisbee yesterday, sure that he’d find Kerry right away and that the two of them could clear this mess up. Bisbee—what a crazy place that had turned out to be. He’d driven into a ravine called Mule Pass Gulch to find houses spread up and down the steep sides of the valley, all centered around something called the Copper Queen Lode. It had been almost like stepping into another century. He stopped at a local café and it was just like sauntering into a saloon in a Western—everyone knew everyone, and someone directed him to Kerry’s house right away.

  A sallow young woman with long, stringy blond hair had answered his knock. “Kerry Carter?” She’d stared at him blankly. “Yeah, he lived here. But he’s gone now.”

  Michael had glanced inside to where two children were seated at the table, eating sandwiches. There was something squalid about the place. He could hardly imagine the dapper Kerry living with this woman. He’d been one for cuff links and white dinner jackets. For just a moment he wondered if they were both talking about the same man.