by Anna Durand
He looked so adorably flummoxed I couldn't help smiling. Another crack in his serene mask.
"Yep," I said. "Texans are weird, in an endearing way."
Rubbing his neck, he grabbed the glass and swigged the rest of his water. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, stretched again, and swept his gaze over me. The interest in his eyes, heated and yet gentle, made a warmth blossom in my belly.
"I'm driving you into town," I said, and whirled around to snatch my keys off the hook beside the sink. I flapped a hand toward the door. "Let's go. You can catch a bus to the airport."
Disappointment flashed on his face, but he ambled out the door and through the living room. I hurried after him, and within minutes we were heading down the driveway in my Ford F-150, dust pluming in our wake, visible in the red glow of the taillights. The sun had set, plunging the world into a darkness speckled with the glittering diamonds of stars, things that had died out eons ago but their ghosts lingered.
No, that wasn't a metaphor for me and Iain. Not at all.
I focused on the road ahead revealed by the spray of the headlights and asked a question that had occurred to me. "Why did you walk up my driveway? How did you get here if not by car?"
"A taxi brought me to your mailbox, but the driver refused to come down this way. He claimed your driveway is a 'potholey mess' that would destroy his car." The dashboard lights cast a strange green glow on him. "I haven't noticed any potholes, though."
"I have the driveway graded every spring." I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Did you by chance call Long Star Taxi Service?"
"Aye," Iain said, sounding surprised. "It was the only service that would come out this far. I caught one taxi from the Austin airport to Llano, then took another one to Ricksville, and a third to get here."
"Yeah, I live in the boonies. But I've got great Internet."
"At least you have the essentials, then." He gazed out the windshield, seeming lost in thought. "Shouldn't it be Lone Star Taxi, not Long Star? Thought that was the state's nickname."
"Yeah, it is." My hands tightened around the wheel. "The guy who runs the taxi service thought he was being clever by naming it Long Star. It just confuses people, though, because it looks like a typo. And what's a long star, anyway?"
"I'm getting the idea you have history with the taxi driver."
The Unflappable Iain MacTaggart could also be the Impossibly Perceptive Iain MacTaggart. Way back when, I'd loved that about him. I'd loved everything about him. Tonight, I wished to hell he'd stop poking his perceptive nose into my business.
Maybe if I shared one tidbit about my life with him, he'd lose interest.
Not likely, my rational brain warned. But my rationality had said adios the second Iain kissed me.
"I sort of dated him," I told Iain. "Grayson Parker. He worked for me as a ranch hand for a while, part-time. We got involved briefly. When I suggested he should have dinner with me and my daughter, to get to know her, he skedaddled. Said he wasn't interested in taking over someone else's family. He wanted his own kid, not some deadbeat dad's castoff."
"The scunner said that? Castoff?"
"Not sure what a scunner is, but yeah, he said that. I don't think he meant it. He got defensive because he was embarrassed about not having the nerve to get into a real relationship."
Iain grunted. "Better off without that ersehole."
"At least he said goodbye before he took off." I glanced at Iain sideways. "Unlike some people."
He flinched so minutely I almost missed it.
"Go on," he said in that infuriatingly even tone, "insult me all ye like. I deserve it. But I am not skedaddling ever again."
How odd to hear the word skedaddle spoken in a Scottish brogue. A deep, sexy brogue. The kind that molded a rather goofy word into something decadent. Made me want to skedaddle with him anytime, anywhere.
I bit my upper lip so hard I winced. Nope, I hadn't learned a frigging thing in the past thirteen years. One hot guy could make me act like a twenty-two-year-old drunk on hormones. Grayson had been good-looking, but nowhere near as sizzling as Iain. No man I'd ever known compared with Iain MacTaggart.
"Tell me," Iain said, "is this Grayson really out of your life? He refused to come down your driveway."
"He lives in town. I see him sometimes at the feed store or the grocery store, but he pretends not to notice me." I sighed, my shoulders sagging. "In a small town, you can't get away from your past completely. Grayson is as out of my life as possible."
We lapsed into silence, the only sounds the rumble of the truck's engine and the ticking of gravel on the undercarriage. At the end of the drive, I braked to check for traffic — not that there ever was traffic way out here in the boonies. I was just letting up on the brake when I made the mistake of glancing at Iain.
He was watching me. Eyes soft and gentle. Mouth curved into the barest smile.
The wistful expression shivered a tingle over my skin and made my heart do an idiotic thump-thump. I was too damn old to get nostalgic about a college crush. Oh, but if he'd been a simple crush and nothing more, why had I cried for days after he left? Why did I name our daughter after him? And why, goddammit, had I enjoyed our brief time in my kitchen more than I'd enjoyed anything in years?
His words from earlier replayed in my mind. Deceive yourself if you like, gràidh, but we had a relationship. It was good. It was real.
I shoved the gear shift lever into neutral and twisted sideways to face him with the folded-down middle seat between us. "Here's the deal. I have a guest bedroom. You can stay there for a few days, but my daughter comes home next Sunday, so you have to be gone before then."
He nodded, his expression brightening but keeping that subdued aura, unflappable as ever. "That gives me ten days. Thank you, Rae."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't heard the rest of the deal."
"Go on."
I twisted around further, bending one knee. "This is a working sheep ranch. I don't have time to entertain you. My life is not glamorous or sexy. I work my butt off all day and then, at night, I sit through Disney movies and Justin Bieber concerts on TV to spend time with my daughter."
He slanted toward me across the barrier created by the folded seat and laid his arm over the back of my seat. "Your child isn't here. You could watch something more … adult. With me."
"Not watching porn with you, Iain."
The blasted man chuckled. "I didn't mean pornography. Interesting that you thought of it, though."
"Iain —"
"Relax, ahmno seducing ye in this truck." He eased a little closer, his fingers grazing my shoulder. "I'm happy to help out around the ranch. Anything you need done, I can do it."
"You're a college professor, not a ranch hand."
The smile faltered for a split second. "I haven't been a professor for thirteen years. These days, I work construction and odd jobs."
Hmm. Well, that did explain the muscles and the suntan and the calluses.
"Fine," I said, "you can help out. But there will be no fooling around, MacTaggart, absolutely none. Work. Talk. That's all."
"Yes, ma'am," he said in the best fake Texas twang I'd ever heard. "Your cowhand is rearing to go."
"Please drop the accent. And they're sheep, not cows. Fuzzy-wuzzy wittle sheep."
He chuckled again. "Fuzzy-wuzzy? I think you're in desperate need of adult conversation."
"Yeah, probably." I turned the truck around and headed back toward the house, with Iain's arm still draped across my seat back. "Remember, Iain. Work. Talk. And that's —"
"That's all. Yes, I understood the first time." He tickled my shoulder until I glanced at him and then he winked. "We'll see how that goes, gràidh."
Fluttering tummy. Fluttering chest. Tingling skin.
I may have made the worst decision of my life.
Chapter Four
Iain
I would've offered to cook for R
ae, but I'd never developed a talent for it. My mother tried to teach me, but as a lad, I'd been more interested in girls than braising beef. Since I couldn't help with the cooking, I acted as Rae's assistant, gathering ingredients for her and getting out the various pots and implements she needed. Despite her repeated attempts to convince me she had nothing to offer beyond a week or so of hard work and conversation, I grew more and more determined to prove my worth to her.
Was I being stubborn? She rejected me, so I resolved to change her mind. She'd made it clear she thought that was the reason behind my commitment to winning her over. I knew what I felt, though. From the moment three months ago when I'd resolved to find her, I'd felt more alive than ever before. This quest felt right. Now that I'd found her and spent time with her, I realized I could never give up. I still loved her, whether she believed it or not.
After an amiable meal during which we discussed nothing in particular, I settled onto the sofa in the living room while Rae dropped into the armchair positioned nearby at an angle to the sofa.
I patted the sofa cushion beside me. "Plenty of room over here."
She puckered her lips briefly. "I prefer the chair."
"Afraid of me, are you? Maybe you're worried you'll be overcome with desire and tear my clothes off." I smirked and winked. "I wouldn't mind that."
Rae propped her feet on the coffee table. "Thought you wanted to convince me I can trust you."
"Sex can be a very enjoyable way to engender trust."
"Not in my experience."
She grabbed the TV remote and hit the power button. A cartoon came on, one even I, an old bachelor, recognized — Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. It was in the midst of a musical number with birds flitting around a fairy-tale princess.
I set an elbow on the sofa's arm, propping my chin on my raised hand, one finger tapping my chin. "Where is your husband?"
"Don't have one."
"You're divorced?"
"Nope. Never married." Though she aimed her face toward the TV, her eyes kept flicking to me as if she couldn't quite let herself meet my gaze head-on.
"Where is the father of your child?" I asked. She didn't want to answer, but that only made me hunger for the truth more. I craved every bit of knowledge about her I could get. Besides, I despised men who fucked women without a care for whether they might get them pregnant, then bolted when they learned they'd done just that.
Rae gnawed on her lip, still facing the TV. "She's never known her father."
"Do you at least get child support from him?"
She punched the power button, and the TV went dark. Chucking the remote onto the table, where it hit with a thwack, she turned toward me. "Why are you being so nosy? I take care of my daughter fine without anybody helping me."
"Easy," I said. "Didnae mean to offend you. But I cannae fathom how a man could abandon his child."
She crossed her arms over her chest, a sign I now recognized as defensiveness. "I'm sure you would never, ever do that."
The sarcastic tone of her voice contradicted the fear I saw in her eyes. Something was going on here, something I didn't understand. Suddenly, I needed to know.
I dropped my hand to tap my fingers on the sofa's arm. "What are you implying? I don't have children, but if I did, I would never run out on them or their mother."
Her bottom lip quivered so slightly I wasn't sure I hadn't imagined it. She blinked rapidly, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand, before crossing her arms again.
Signs of distress.
I sat forward, longing to touch her but knowing she wouldn't want it.
Before I could speak, she raised one hand in a staying gesture. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"All right." I'd let it go, for the moment. If I ever met the bastard who'd left Rae and her daughter alone, I'd skite a sledgehammer on his face. "What can we talk about?"
She tucked her hand under her arm. "You still haven't told me how you were forced out of the country. Tell me —"
A huge yawn interrupted her statement. She covered her mouth with one hand. As soon as she began to lower that hand, another yawn overtook her, and she shielded her mouth again.
The lass was exhausted. Did she honestly work this ranch alone all day? One helper, she'd mentioned. One man, I presumed. A stab of jealousy speared my chest, but I had no right to feel jealous of any man in her life. Not her ranch hand, and certainly not the taxi driver who'd tossed her away because she had a child. If I ever met Grayson Parker again, I'd batter him for certain.
Rae yawned a third time.
I sprang off the sofa to bend over her chair, one hand on the arm. "You're for bed, liebling."
She angled her head up to squint at me. "First, I'm a gràidh. Now, I'm a liebling. No clue what any of it means."
Both were endearments, one in Gaelic, the other in German. I doubted she would appreciate the sentiments, though, so I told her, "Never mind that. You're exhausted, and I'm taking you to bed."
"Excuse me?" She pulled her head back, her eyes narrowing even more. "I am not having sex with you."
"No, I meant I'm taking you to your bed so you can sleep."
Her eyes flared wide, a hint of panic on her face. "No. You can't. Not my room."
Christ, she wouldn't let me near her bedroom. I had a long, bumpy road ahead of me to earn back her trust.
She cleared her throat, seeming to regain some composure. "I'll show you to the guest bedroom."
"All right." I swept her up in my arms before she had a chance to complain with anything more eloquent than a squeak. "Where am I, then?"
"In Texas."
"Cheeky lass. I meant where am I to sleep?"
"The guest bedroom, upstairs." She leaned forward in my arms to point toward the hallway. "The stairs are that way."
She turned her head to look at me, and her lips nearly brushed mine. Those stunning eyes, the color of sapphires, gazed into mine with surprise. I heard the little hiccup as her breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted, and I burned to kiss them, burned like I never had for any other woman. The years had done nothing to lessen my passion for her, but seducing this woman required subtlety and patience — and tenderness.
I'd hurt her, more than I'd realized until tonight. Other men had clearly compounded the damage, but I was the root of it. I had to make this right.
Patience. Subtlety. Tenderness.
Brushing a stray hair from her face, I marched down the hallway to the stairs.
*****
Rae
I locked my arms around Iain's neck while he took the stairs two at a time. His biceps flexed against me, but his hold on me never wavered. Wow, he had impressive strength and agility. I wondered again what he did for a living these days. Something physical, I'd guess. Something that made him strong and dexterous and scorching hot. I longed to run my fingers through his hair, to touch those few strands of gray and caress his scalp, but I'd probably fall out of his embrace if I did and tumble us both down the stairs.
No, Iain would stay standing. He might even catch me.
A flash of heat rushed through me. Maybe I could enjoy having him around for a week or so. Maybe I could enjoy having him, period.
Sex with Iain. Yes, I could handle that.
No, no, no. Responsible adult, remember? Mother and role model to a twelve-year-old girl, that was me. Business owner too. Neither of those titles meshed with the idea of giving in to my carnal desires for the man carting me up the stairs.
But maybe …
We reached the upstairs hallway, and Iain turned right to head down it. The hallway dead-ended at the stairs, so he hadn't needed ESP to guess which way to go. Partway down the hall, he stopped to glance at the three closed doors before us. On the right lay the door to my office and the one for the storage room. On the left, a solitary door led into the guest room.
His brows crinkled in the cutest way. "Which door?"
I r
esisted the urge to trace my fingers over his brows and instead told him, "You can put me down."
"Which door?" he repeated with a touch more emphasis.
Stubborn as ever, of course. Some things about him seemed different, but a lot seemed unchanged.
I pointed to the door on the left. "There."
He carried me to the door and tried to grasp the knob, but his hold on me slipped and he gave up the knob in favor of clasping me tighter. The warmth of him around me, the firmness of his body, the scent of dried sweat and manly spice … Damn, it was intoxicating. Sure, I'd blame him for my total loss of maturity and common sense. All Iain's fault. He had no right to be so delicious.
"A little help?" he said, nodding toward the doorknob.
"Why don't you put me down now?"
One corner of his mouth kicked up. "Open the door and I might."
I stretched my arm down to twist the knob and push the door inward. "Okay, you can put me —"
He strode into the guest bedroom and set me down, letting his hands drift down to my hips.
"The only bathroom is downstairs," I said. "It's the first door on the left when you come down the stairs."
"Good to know." He removed one hand, but the other lingered on my hip. "The bed is rather large."
"So are you."
"Do you entertain many large guests?"
I shook my head, trying not to smile but failing. He sounded almost jealous. "My stepbrother is six foot seven. I got this bed for him, for when he visits. He plays for the UCLA basketball team."
"Are your parents divorced?"
"Yeah, but I'm too tired to talk about family drama."
I tromped over to the closet and got out two pillows, then tossed them to Iain. "The ones on the bed are decorative, not comfy."
He tossed the pillows onto the bed. "Thank you for worrying about my comfort."
"Do the same for all my guests." Like I had many of those. My stepbrother and stepsister, my stepfather, my mom. That was it. "Your bag is still downstairs, isn't? I'll go get it."
I moved toward the door, but Iain laid a hand on my arm. "Donnae bother. I can get it in the morning."