One-Click Buy: March 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Alison Kent

  “No,” he said, then softened his voice. “I don’t need to sell a painting to feel good. Let’s get out of here before this cheese takes on the taste of linseed oil.”

  “But you should get recognition. Hell, make some money.”

  “I don’t need that or want it. Maybe one day.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  He looked at her, fighting an angry response, she could tell. When he spoke, he spoke in a deliberately quiet voice. “Manhattan might be the center of the universe to you, but it isn’t to me. When I want a show, there’s a co-op gallery in Tucson I’d approach. But, as I said, I don’t want that now.”

  He was warning her to let it go, but she couldn’t stand seeing his talent wasted. “Aren’t you even curious? I could take digitals of a few pieces and e-mail them to my client.”

  He looked at her for a long silent moment.

  “Don’t say no, say maybe?” she tried.

  “Let’s go.” That was as close to giving in as Deck would get.

  11

  THE NEXT TWO MONTHS flew for Callie. Except for a few hitches due to the inexperienced crew and Garrett’s family problems, construction continued steadily.

  Caroline Bestway had come through with the new furniture and fabrics. Already the casitas, lobby and dining room had been updated. The spa—an extension off the expanded recreation room—turned out great, the tennis court had been poured and work on the pool would begin in a week.

  The hot springs upgrade even met Deck’s approval. She’d put in a handrail, but left the rest alone. The massage ramada and meditation garden turned out well. Deck grudgingly admitted they added something to the spot. She would wait to scoop out another soaking pool until she saw how high the demand became. She’d kept the far pool private for family use.

  Managing the construction, planning for the launch, arranging marketing and advertising and hiring additional employees kept her so busy her head spun.

  She’d kept all the hands and housekeeping staff, offering them good raises, and hired a new assistant manager, Jessica Swift, whom she hoped might become the manager when Callie returned to New York. The woman was calm, efficient and smart and had five years’ experience as an assistant manager at a Vegas resort.

  The big push now was for the launch party. A dozen travel writers had signed up for the postconference stay that weekend. She wanted the renovation as close to complete as possible and the system smoothed to an effortless glide by then.

  With the deadline ticking relentlessly closer, Callie had to-do lists for her to-do lists, but she felt good about what she’d accomplished. If it all went as planned, Rancho de Descanso would be making a profit within a year.

  She was under budget on Phase One of the makeover, thanks to economies here and there and cost-cutting construction moves. She hoped Garrett wasn’t sacrificing quality, but the savings pleased her. She’d reported her success to Valhalla, but hadn’t heard a response. She expected high praise when Finn brought two partners to the launch weekend.

  When she wasn’t busy with the ranch, Callie was on the phone with Stefan. She’d casually asked him how he felt about buying her out and he’d seemed relieved by the idea. Her e-mails with the managing partners of Ogden, Rush & Tillman had been positive, meaning she was poised to make her next career move when she returned.

  She looked forward to that, anxious to be done with this exhausting project, ready to move on. Well, except for her father. And Deck. Deck was always on her mind.

  Her father still worried her. After a week at Dahlia’s, he’d returned, claiming to be a new man, but whenever she talked to him, she felt him gear up to sound energetic. Was he hiding pain or new symptoms? She wished he’d be honest with her.

  She sensed a tug-of-war between her father and Dahlia over where to stay. Dahlia did not like the ranch, a fact that became clearer every time Callie encountered her on the property.

  On the other hand, she seemed to have taken good care of Callie’s father and she’d filled the spa products order in record time exactly as Callie had requested.

  One annoyance was Taylor, who spun out every few days in his patrol car to check on the project. He was solicitous and he’d pushed through the permits for her on a fast track, so she shouldn’t complain. The longing looks she caught on his face made her uncomfortable.

  Nights with Deck were heaven. The sex was amazing—intense, healing, intimate—and that made her nervous. They were tangling their lives as well as their limbs, and the separation would be painful.

  Deck seemed to have launched a campaign to show her how action-packed and cosmopolitan life could be out here in the desert. They stayed clear of Abrazo, wordlessly agreeing to avoid tongues wagging about their relationship, but spent many evenings in Tucson. They went to an art show at the co-op gallery he’d mentioned, saw a photography exhibition, attended a lecture at the University of Arizona, went to a poetry slam at a coffeehouse off campus, ate at all the hot restaurants, went to movies and even a Broadway production that was passing through.

  His efforts touched her, but she worried that he thought she might stay. They had an agreement. Surely Deck would stick to it. She couldn’t make herself bring up the topic. Things were going so well, she didn’t want to risk it.

  She was having too much fun. The sex, the nights out, working together, getting his thoughts on whatever came up. With him around, the ranch was a pleasant and interesting place.

  She was a little troubled by how out of touch she felt with her old life. That became vividly clear the night three friends called from a girls’ night out at a noisy bar. They were drunk and missed her, so they filled her in on the latest gossip, talking so fast, tossing out in-jokes she didn’t get. They seemed as far away as the Triple C had seemed when she’d visited in the past. She missed them, but she felt distant from the talk of who was sleeping with whom, what agency had fired what account rep, what parties were hot and why.

  It made sense, really. She was so immersed in the resort work and so much depended on her success, that ordinary life had to seem frivolous by comparison. She’d be back in the swing as soon as she returned. It might have been smart to book a few days in New York to hit some parties, schmooze the VPs at the agency she wanted to join, raise her visibility a bit.

  She was just too busy at the ranch.

  And strangely content.

  Early Friday evening, a month before the Rancho de Descanso grand opening, she and Deck sat at the kitchen while Cooky unveiled his latest epicurean creation: a delicately spiced rabbit stew that exploded like fireworks of flavor on your tongue. Callie had taken Deck’s advice and asked Cooky to step up his game. Cowboy gourmet turned out to be Cooky’s niche. He’d added a down-home flair to countless upscale menu items, cooking his tough old heart out.

  Deck leaned forward and dabbed at her cheek with a napkin. “We’d better get going if we’re going to get decent seats,” he said. The Red Elvises, a funky Russian group that did old rock-and-roll tunes, were appearing, one show only, at a Tucson club.

  “Could we skip it?” she asked, hoping not to disappoint him. “I’m kind of beat.”

  “You want to stay home?” He looked delighted, but tried to hide it. “These guys don’t tour much. Could be your last chance to hear ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ with Russian accents.”

  “I’ll have to chance it.”

  “I got a DVD from Netflix we could watch at my place.”

  “Sounds great.” She preferred Deck’s place when Dahlia and her father were down the hall at the ranch house.

  Deck grinned like she’d offered him the key to the city.

  They didn’t make it through half the movie before they were making love on Deck’s sofa. Falling onto him afterward, she bumped a book off an overhanging shelf. She reached to the floor and picked it up. It was a sketchpad with a curling, charcoal-stained cover. “Can I look?” she asked. Deck shrugged, so she flipped it open.

  There was a nude woman stretched out on
a bed. “Is this…?”

  “You? Yeah. I didn’t quite catch this curve….” He ran his finger down the side of her body, while studying the drawing with a critic’s eye.

  “Or here, where your hair curls at your neck.” He touched the place with a feather-soft stroke. “And this spot at the base of your throat.” He brushed, then kissed the spot with a tenderness that melted her.

  “I get so lost with you,” she said. She felt torn—Callie at the ranch and Callie in New York were different enough to be two separate people.

  “You’re right here, Callie. I’ve got you.” He kissed her, then noticed her face. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I miss New York. I’ve been away so long.” Or maybe she didn’t miss it enough. “I feel out of it.”

  “You’ll get it back.” Distance came into his eyes. “If that’s what you really want.” He paused. “Is it?” The question hung in the air, impossible to ignore.

  “My life’s in New York, Deck.”

  “Things change,” he said, looking away, trying to hide the emotion she heard plainly in his voice.

  “This from a man who hasn’t changed in eleven years.”

  “That’s just my hat, Callie.” She was relieved he’d joked in return. They’d tiptoed out onto the ledge, scared themselves and dropped back to the safety of their lovely limbo.

  To change the subject, she flipped through the sketch pad. “You are so talented, Deck. I mean it.”

  “Hang on a sec,” he said. He flipped back to the drawing, took a piece of charcoal from the box on the bottom shelf of his table and began working on the parchment, glancing at her body, then sketching, rubbing, then drawing more.

  His focus was unnerving. His gaze was intimate, but dispassionate at the same time. She felt more naked than naked.

  When he was finished, he turned it for her to see.

  “You made me look sexy and…sensual, I guess. Relaxed.”

  “You are sensual and sexy. Relaxed, not so much, but I’ll get you there one of these days.”

  “I’m just fine,” she said, grabbing a charcoal to dash a moustache on his upper lip, then a goatee on his chin.

  He raised up to see his reflection in the small window above them. “I look like I should be holding a goblet of saucy Cabernet and nibbling rumaki at some gallery opening.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, sliding his body against hers, slow and easy, getting into it again.

  But she wasn’t ready to sink into physical oblivion just yet. His talent fascinated her. “What goes on in your head when you’re drawing or painting?”

  “It’s hard to explain. When it’s going well, a place in my brain fires up and my hand shapes what my mind sees. More and more, what I have in my head actually appears in what I paint. Some days it’s hard to put down the brush.”

  “Your paintings are so haunting. I noticed your pieces are either very close up or very far away—a solitary figure at sunset, a single cactus on a hill, a muscle on a horse’s neck, light on a cactus spine.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but that sounds right. Either way, it’s like I’m unraveling the string of the thing, peeling back the light and color to get at the core of it, the essence….”

  She loved the low intimacy of his voice, the fire in his eyes. Tingles and chills raced up and down her arms and spine as he talked on about how he worked. She felt he was letting her see his soul and she was in awe of him.

  She loved when he described the world through his eyes. She wanted to see it that way. To hold still. To watch, to listen, to absorb. Which was not like her at all.

  She wanted to share his work with the world, too. Which gave her a sudden idea. “What if I hang your paintings in the ranch house? Treat it like a gallery? In the great room and down the long hall? For the opening for sure. We’ll post prices.”

  “You know what I think about that.” He shook his head.

  “You’d be helping me. I’ll have artwork without breaking my budget. Come on. Help me out here.”

  “You’re working me, aren’t you?”

  “Not yet, no,” she said, running her finger down his chest, then wrapping her hand around his penis, which responded instantly. “Now I’m working you.”

  “Mmm,” he said, kissing her hair.

  “So, do we have a deal?” she said in her sexiest voice, playing with him, but serious, too.

  “How can I say no when you have me in your grip.” He moved her back onto the bed and rolled over her, masterful and sexy, and soon they were streaked in charcoal and slithery with sweat, their own private art project in rhythmic motion.

  Afterward, lying in Deck’s arms she realized how much she would miss this. For the first time in her life, she saw that moving on would hurt more than staying.

  DECK LED CALLIE to the picnic bench outside his trailer and sat her down, hoping she’d like what he was about to do. The resort open house was next week, and Callie had worked nonstop. In the rush, she hadn’t realized what today was, which made this a perfect surprise. He hoped to hell he’d judged right.

  The night air smelled of spring, and a light breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders. She’d been letting it hang loose, naturally curled, not tamed and sophisticated as it had been when she first came. She wore only light makeup these days. He thought that was a good sign. She’d grown calmer. Her eyes were clearer, her skin a healthy tan, her shoulders more relaxed.

  “What are you up to?” she asked him.

  “Close your eyes,” he said, “and I’ll go get it.”

  “What is it?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “Stop arguing and just close your eyes, would you?”

  “Okay, okay. They’re closed.”

  He started toward his trailer, then turned back. “No peeking.”

  She laughed, a sound he loved.

  A minute later he carried out the birthday cake Cooky had made, so full of frosting flowers, doves, ribbons and lace that Deck had had a hell of a time finding room for twenty-nine candles.

  He placed the cake, along with his newspaper-wrapped gift, on the table in front of Callie and sat beside her. The candles sent up a soft circle of warmth that made Callie’s face glow.

  “Now open your eyes,” he said.

  She did, giving him a quick smile before looking down at the table. She gasped.

  “It’s your day, Callie. I hope you’re okay with a small celebration. I thank the stars you were born.”

  “Deck…” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to say.” She studied the cake and seemed to be gathering her thoughts. “I just…” She made a sound that was half laugh and half cry, then widened her eyes. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s my birthday and it feels good.” She threw her arms around his neck.

  “Good,” he said, when she’d released him. “You mom would want you to enjoy your day. She was big on celebrations.”

  “She was,” she said, nodding.

  “I considered inviting Cal and Dahlia, but since there was a chance you’d throw the damn cake at me, I kept it just us.”

  “Very wise,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, studying him, her eyes shiny and wet, her smile so big he wanted to laugh. “You’re a wise man, Declan O’Neill.”

  “Open your gift,” he said, embarrassed by his own emotions. “Sorry it’s newspaper wrapping. Couldn’t find a ribbon.”

  She tore the paper away. He’d framed his charcoal sketch of her in a simple red-enamel frame. “It’s lovely.”

  “Not as lovely as the original, but good enough to frame.” He was damn glad he’d made her happy. He leaned close to kiss her, then nodded at the flickering flames. “Make a wish.”

  She did and so did he. Watching her, he let the thought fly. Stay with me.

  She blew out the candles and they carried the cake inside, though neither seemed interested in a piece. Callie clung to him as they stood in the tiny kitchen of his trailer. Her m
uscles, usually tensed as if to take off, seemed more relaxed, more settled. Maybe now, with him, she’d stay awhile.

  This moment had weight, here in his place, gold with lamplight. Callie’s eyes stayed with his instead of skipping away as usual. She seemed to be memorizing him. That was how he studied an object he intended to paint.

  After a long moment she seemed to come to herself. “What are we doing standing here? We need the bed.” She was definitely changing the subject, but he didn’t mind. This was a big step for a woman as skittish as Callie.

  He carried her down the narrow hall and they tumbled to his bed, Callie’s laugh husky and deep. They undressed each other and he found his way inside her. He focused closely on Callie, the way she moved, her eyes, the hitch in her breathing, the small sounds of pleasure she made, happy that she no longer tried to wrestle her climax to the ground.

  She knew he’d get her there just fine.

  When it was over, he watched her sleep. She was so beautiful. And funny and smart and driven. She amazed him.

  The work she’d done on the ranch hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed it with grace and energy. She made employees feel like part of a team, crucial to the success of the new ranch. Everyone had geared up for the grand opening. The ranch hands were polishing up the tack and saddles like they expected the president. Cooky had tried out so many new dishes Deck had thrown on five pounds in the last month.

  Deck had done what he could to help between his regular chores. He’d located the additional trail horses she needed, scoped out the livestock sales for when the time came, and checked on the construction, where his Spanish came in handy when Templeton went AWOL.

  He thought he’d been good for Callie, too. She sure as hell had been good for him. Now that he had her in his arms every night, something had clicked into place. Like his life was right at last.

  He hadn’t known what was missing. Of course, he’d been busy. He had work, people counting on him. He’d done what needed to be done. He’d been content. More or less.