by Jeanne Allan
When Elizabeth finally spoke, her voice was strained. “My relationship with Russ is none of your business.”
“It wouldn’t be, Red, if you hadn’t made it my business.”
She heaved a loud, long-suffering sigh. It didn’t come close to what his sisters could do when they wanted him to know how aggravating they thought him. “If you had half a brain in your head,” Elizabeth said, “you’d know I did not come to Aspen to stop Russ from getting married. Why shouldn’t he get married again? My mother is happily remarried. She has been for years. I didn’t try and stop her wedding.”
“Maybe you were too young.”
“And maybe you’re an idiot.”
“I suppose that’s always a possibility.”
“But you doubt it.”
He gave her a slow once-over in the light shining through the living room window. Ordinarily he liked a woman who didn’t back down. But not when that woman was intent on revenge. “I doubt it.”
“It must be nice to be so smug and self-assured. Something you learned at your father’s knee?”
“Nope.” Because he knew it would annoy her, he laid his arm along the back of the swing and gave her a mocking grin.
“Of course not. I’m sure your father was perfect.”
“Beau was a lot of things, but he’d have been the first to admit perfect wasn’t one of them.”
“It’s hard to believe a man related to you could be humble.”
“Humility has nothing to do with it. Beau was honest. He knew his strengths and weaknesses.”
“Which were?”
“He was a rodeo cowboy with a talent for riding bulls and charming ladies.” Worth paused. “And a lousy father and husband. After I was born, Mom stayed here on the ranch and Beau dropped by whenever he needed a place to recuperate after an injury. Once he healed, it was off to the bright lights again, twice leaving Mom pregnant.”
“Don’t you mean three times?” Elizabeth asked,
Worth shook his head. “Beau picked up women like a dog picks up burrs. Greeley’s the result of a fling Beau had with a bartender in Greeley. After the woman gave birth, she drove here straight from the hospital and dumped Greeley off on Mom.”
“Just like that? What did Mary do?”
He heard the horror in her voice and guessed she was thinking of her son. “Mom raised Greeley,” he said. “Loved her. Greeley is one of us. A Lassiter. Lassiters take care of Lassiters.” Worth could almost see Elizabeth processing the information as she looked at him, her eyes wide.
“Now I understand. It’s called transference or something,” she said slowly. “You don’t want your mother to remarry, but you’re filled with guilt about feeling that way, so you’ve assigned your negative feelings to me.” His face must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt, because she continued, “I suppose you’ve considered yourself the man of the family for a long time. You don’t want another man moving into your territory and taking over from you.”
Worth laughed. “If you’re going to try and confuse the issue with psychobabble, you at least ought to come up with something halfway plausible.”
“I was trying to sympathize with you,” she snapped.
He gave a disgusted snort. “Good try, but I’m not so easily fooled. Or sidetracked. Your resentment of Russ sticks out a country mile.”
“I do not resent him,” she said, glaring at him. “And I’m not going to sit here and listen to any more of your paranoid accusations.”
He closed his fingers around the clump of hair at the back of her head before she could stand. “We haven’t finished our little chat.”
“I’ve finished.”
“Then you can listen, but first…I hate your hair skewered to the back of your head like that.”
“I don’t care if…What are you doing? Stop that.”
He imprisoned the hand swatting at his hand. “I’ve been wanting to do this from the minute I saw you. Here.” Opening the hand he held, he dropped the hairpins in her palm. “You don’t have to look as if you have one foot in the grave just because your husband died.”
A stark silence met his words before she said in a shaken voice, “That’s a cruel thing to say.”
“It’s honest.” He locked eyes with hers. “Your husband died, and I’m sorry for what you’re suffering, but you have a child to raise. It’s time for you to think about what’s in his best interests and quit being self-indulgent. How can you take care of your son if you don’t take care of yourself? Skipping meals and not getting enough sleep are stupid. They won’t bring your husband back to life any more than skinning back your hair will. The man gave you his son. Refusing to live yourself is no way to thank him.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know I’m going to kiss you.” He hadn’t known it, but now he’d said it out loud, the idea intrigued him.
Elizabeth froze like a deer caught in the headlights.
Worth spread his fingers over her face, his palms cupping her cheeks. Her skin was warm and smooth, like a baby’s skin. Nothing about her mouth reminded him of a baby. A full bottom lip wobbled the tiniest bit. Worth hesitated. He didn’t force kisses on unwilling women. She didn’t back away. Her mouth opened slightly. Inviting him.
He sensed she was as curious as he was.
His fingers slid into her hair. Silky threads snared his knuckles. Slanting his mouth over hers, he kissed her gently, then added some firmness, and when she didn’t protest or pull away, he deepened the kiss.
She didn’t pull away from him, even if her muted response only hinted at a fiery passion he suspected she’d buried with her husband.
Every muscle in Worth’s body tightened, and he knew he shouldn’t have kissed her. Because he wanted to keep kissing her. Wanted to take her to bed. Wanted to make love to her until she’d completely freed that passion.
Thoughts of her husband brought back sanity, and Worth lifted his head. The light from the living room fell on her face, and he read a confused vulnerability in her eyes before she looked down. Worth tucked the afghan securely around her legs and curved a hand around the back of her neck. “I’m not going to apologize.” Curling a tendril of red hair around his finger, he wondered it didn’t sear his skin. “You wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you.”
“You didn’t want to kiss me,” she said wearily. “You wanted to intimidate me.” Her downcast eyelashes brushed against the dusting of freckles on her cheeks.
He snatched his hand away from her neck. “Are you saying I forced you to kiss me? That you didn’t want to kiss me?”
“I’m saying you have this idiotic notion I’m here to stop Russ from marrying your mother, and you’ll do anything you can to ensure the wedding goes ahead.”
He relaxed. She might shy away from acknowledging she’d returned his kiss, but apparently she was honest enough, at least about that, not to tell outright lies about it. “I didn’t realize you were so susceptible to my kisses.” Worth swallowed a grin as he felt her stiffen. “That leads to all kinds of possibilities. If I kiss you again, will you shovel out the barn? Repair some fence? I have a whole stack of calving data which needs entering in the computer. How many kisses will that cost me?”
“You rate your kisses too high. If I were trying to interfere with the wedding, which I’m not, you could kiss me from now until the cows come home, and you couldn’t stop me.”
“Lucky for me that I’m not relying on my kisses to stop you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it—” She stopped abruptly. Several minutes passed before she asked warily, “What does that mean?”
Elizabeth’s fear of horses was her own business, and under ordinary circumstances, Worth would never have mentioned it. The possible consequences of Elizabeth’s need to punish her father kept this from being an ordinary circumstance.
Drawing a long strand of hair under her chin, he used it to raise her face. “My sisters used to call it blackmail.” In spite of her being nothing but
a troublemaker, the indignation on her face made him want to kiss her again.
“You can’t blackmail me over a silly kiss. I don’t care if you tell the entire world you kissed me.”
“But you would care if I told Russ you’re afraid of horses.”
Her sharp intake of air must have sucked in half the mosquito population of Colorado. After a bit, she said, “Me, terrified of horses? That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He’d never heard a less believable denial. “You are, and you don’t want Russ to know, or you would have told him by now.”
She went very still. “I’m not afraid of horses.”
“That’s good, because Russ is real anxious to put you up on Wall Street. Wally’s a good-looking stallion who’s all muscle and power, and you don’t want to believe the hands if they try and tell you he’s a mean, fractious son of a gun.” Wally had the temperament of a favorite nanny; even so, Worth never put an insecure or unknown rider on over half a ton of finely-tuned horseflesh.
Elizabeth didn’t say anything for the longest time. Then she deliberately pushed aside his hand and stood. “Jamie and I will leave tomorrow.” She didn’t look at Worth. “I’m not staying where we’re not wanted.” Her voice was stiff with pride and wounded dignity.
For a second, Worth felt like a heel for harassing her, then he remembered the trouble she’d managed to stir up in only one day and hardened his heart. Catching the afghan still wrapped around her, he pulled her back down to the swing. “You’re not going anywhere. Russ and Mom want you here for the wedding, so you’re staying. And you’re going to behave yourself and forget about your plans for sabotaging the wedding. If you don’t,” reaching for her hand, he played with her icy fingers, “I’ll tell Russ your dirty little secret about being afraid of horses.” He wouldn’t, no matter the provocation, but she didn’t need to know that.
She yanked her hand away from him. “He won’t believe you.”
“Maybe not. But I’m guessing he’ll start wondering when you keep refusing to ride.”
“I’m not afraid of horses.” She stared straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap. “I have lots of reasons for not riding.”
“I’ll bet you made up a real nice list before you got on the plane.” It didn’t seem to occur to her that if she told Russ the truth, Worth would lose his leverage over her.
“Blackmail and blackmailers are despicable.”
“Dregs of the earth,” he agreed cheerfully. This time Worth made no effort to stop her when she stood.
“I have my son to think about.” She started for the door. “I won’t have him hurt by your fun and games.”
“Elizabeth.” He hadn’t run a large ranch for more than his adult life without learning how to crack his voice like a whip. She stopped dead in her tracks. Standing, Worth reached past her shoulder and held the screen door shut. “I would never put Jimbo in harm’s way. You can trust me on that.”
She turned, leaning against the door, her eyes glittering in the light from the house. “Trust is a word people use too easily. They don’t understand what trust is. I have no idea if I can trust you. I don’t even know if you know what the word means.” Turning back to the door, she removed his hand and went inside.
Worth returned to the swing, contemplating the puzzle Elizabeth presented. Why did she hide her fear of horses from her father? Russ was hardly the type to tell his daughter never to darken his doorstep again, nor was he likely to force her to ride in spite of her fears. A part of the puzzle was missing, which intrigued Worth.
He wondered who’d betrayed her trust.
Russ, because he hadn’t gone to her when her husband was killed? If a woman couldn’t trust her father, rely on him in her darkest moment, who could she trust? Russ had let his daughter down badly, and he knew it. Worth could do nothing about that. He could make sure their problems didn’t hurt his mother.
Elizabeth Randall was a bundle of nerves held together by not much more than sheer grit. A fierceness in her eyes had told him she’d fight desperately for her young son’s well-being. She didn’t need to fight Worth. He had no intention of harming her or her son, but he would not allow her to compromise his mother’s happiness or his freedom.
Her response to his ultimatum had surprised him. She hadn’t cried or whined or begged. Or tried to sweet-talk him. He would have believed, had halfway expected, at least one of those.
She could have tried a little feminine persuasion. Tried to bribe him with a kiss or two. Or an invitation to her bed.
He wouldn’t have accepted. For many reasons, not the least of which, she was a guest in his house.
He certainly wasn’t worried he might enjoy sharing her bed so much that he’d allow her to disrupt his plans. Nothing about Elizabeth Randall worried him. She was nothing more than a skinny, red-haired troublemaker. Worth had handled plenty of trouble in his time. He wasn’t worried.
Even if this time, trouble had come with olive green cat eyes.
Elizabeth watched as a chipmunk darted recklessly across the dirt road and disappeared in a patch of wild roses. Dark blue spikes of larkspur waved in the slight breeze. Worth turned onto another road where water trickled along the roadside ditch and willows displayed their catkins. Overhead, swallows dipped and soared in a blue, cloudless sky.
Some might call the landscape beautiful. Elizabeth knew the darker side of nature lurked below the idyllic surface. If a predator didn’t get the small animal, automobile tires probably would. Roses had thorns, larkspur poisoned cattle, and the swallows were fighting for nesting territory. In Nebraska, the roots of a willow tree in her yard had caused extensive damage to her house’s plumbing.
It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t pretty. It was life.
Elizabeth knew all about life.
She might not know all about smug, arrogant men who thought they could kiss you one minute and blackmail you the next, but she was learning fast.
A prime example of the species currently sat behind the wheel of a beat-up, dark blue, extended-cab pickup, wearing worn jeans and a faded blue work shirt with rolled-up sleeves. If Worth Lassiter expected her to swoon over the muscles in his forearms, he could think again.
She’d had enough of him and his muscles.
Her mistake had been allowing him to kiss her. All right, kissing him back. For a short time, she’d felt desirable, cherished. More proof of what a horrible judge of character she was. Only a weakling and an idiot would think his arms were a refuge. As she’d learned quickly enough when he’d used her weakness against her.
He’d be positively overjoyed if he discovered exactly how weak she was.
For the second night in a row he’d invaded her dreams. Invaded. Dominated. Starred in.
Dreams of a sexual nature. Dreams she didn’t need. Didn’t want. He had no right to ruin her nights.
He should be content with ruining her days.
“I came with you today because Jamie loves riding in a car.” In the backseat, Jamie gurgled happily to himself. “Your silly threats last night had nothing to do with me accepting your invitation.”
No response. As if her claim was so ludicrous, he couldn’t be bothered to refute it.
Which naturally increased her irritation. “And I am not afraid of horses. I’ve been riding horses since I could sit up. I rode my first pony all by myself when I was two.”
“So Russ has repeatedly told us. According to him, you’re a born cowboy.”
“I fell off and broke my arm.” She regretted the words the instant they popped out.
He chuckled heartlessly. “Russ forgot to mention that part.”
“He usually does.”
“Is that why you’re afraid of horses?”
“I’m not, and what difference does it make to you if I am? You’re like all cowboys. Whether I got an A in math or graduated third in my high school class or did well in college doesn’t mean a thing to you. You don’t care if I can run a coffee shop or coordinate a conve
ntion for three hundred out-of-towners or find rooms for a busload of tourists whose travel agent messed up their plans. Cowboys judge a person by her riding skills or roping skills or cow-chasing skills. Nothing else matters.” Belatedly she clamped her mouth shut, having revealed too much.
“Why haven’t you ever told Russ you’re afraid of horses?”
“I’m not afraid of them, but speaking hypothetically, when exactly was I supposed to tell him?” she asked tartly. “Every summer when I was shipped off to visit him and he threw me on some huge, wild monster who’d been running free all winter and saw no reason to wear a saddle? Before or after the concussion, the sprained ankle, the bruised hip, the horse bite?”
“Those injuries don’t sound hypothetical to me.”
“Russ has had his share of injuries. You heard him last night. Gotta be tough to be a cowboy.” In spite of her efforts, bitterness coated her last words.
“Are you tough?”
As if she’d admit she wasn’t. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be a cowboy.”
After a bit Worth said, “Russ can look over a herd of horses or cows and pick up instantly on the least little thing wrong, but I’m guessing he has no clue what makes you tick.”
It didn’t take a genius IQ to figure that out. “My mother says cowboys refuse to understand any creature with less than four legs.”
“I suppose her feelings explain the divorce. I’m surprised she married Russ in the first place.”
A question Elizabeth had considered frequently over the years. “Mother was a city girl who fell in love with the cowboy mystique. Ranch life came as a rude shock to her. When I was about three, she had a miscarriage. She needed comfort from Russ, but he buried himself in ranch work, so she cried a lot and they fought a lot and the marriage disintegrated.”
“And you blame Russ.”
“I don’t blame either of them. Onions and ice cream go together better than my parents did. People should marry people they have something in common with.”