A Touch of Passion (boxed set romance bundle)

by Uvi Poznansky

  No one had to tell him. This time he knew. No doubt about it. He should be shot!

  Chapter Eleven

  Rose was overjoyed to see Max again, which helped relax Anne after the unnerving drive from the city. The older woman’s extravagant welcome made up for the one lacking at the airport, and it seemed to settle Max into his normal friendly behavior. He even allowed Rose to lift him on her knees while she regaled him with stories of the many ranch animals he couldn’t wait to befriend.

  Anne, seeing the stray, Dawg, that she’d adopted years before, had a tough time holding back the tears. The exuberant greeting for both her and Max helped ease the pain of Clint’s unexpectedly frosty manner.

  Rose had warned her in Paris. Guess she hadn’t believed that such a carefree devil could have changed so drastically. His eyes no longer gleamed with teasing playfulness. They were cold and held a warning no one could miss. Don’t come any closer!

  Mon Dieu! Where had her dashing young cowboy gone? She saw no trace of him in the older, bigger, hardened man who’d held her tightly for those few seconds in greeting. This stranger had accepted her demonstrative salutation strictly out of good manners, and not because he felt the same overwhelming glee at seeing her again.

  But, surprising his mother, he’d later joined them for the evening meal, and Anne had witnessed Rose’s shocked pleasure. She’d also seen his discomfort. Maybe he isn’t such a lost cause! Not saying an awful lot, he’d passed around the filled dishes and agreed with most of Rose’s pronouncements.

  “We’ll have mounts for you and Max ready whenever you want to go riding. Only thing is, we don’t have Misty Blue anymore.”

  “You sold her?” Somehow this hurt Anne more than she would have expected. For him to sell her favorite horse seemed a sign that he hadn’t cared about her at all.

  “Of course not!” His voice hardened. “She’s been stolen, along with a few other horses we had roaming free in the back pasture. There’ve been quite a few ranchers who’ve had livestock go missing around these parts and we’re beginning to suspect kill buyers are to blame.”

  “Clint!” Rose’s voice brooked no interference. “Not the time or the place.”

  “You’re right, Ma. I’m sorry about Misty-Blue, Annie. We’ll fix you up with a replacement. Have you kept up your riding skills in France?”

  Max answered before she could. “Both Maman and I go riding whenever she has the time. Only she never lets me ride anything but a little pony.” The disgust in his voice actually brought a smile to Clint’s face.

  “How old are you?”

  “I turned eight at the end of March.”

  “You’re almost the same as Debbie. She turned eight in April.”

  Anne watched Clint’s reaction to the date and saw nothing that led her to believe that he remembered their illicit night together in the backseat of his SUV. Not being sure how that made her feel, she cut in.

  “Max… You must have proper riding lessons before moving to a larger animal. We were going to arrange those this summer, remember?”

  The boy’s disgruntled look faded, replaced by acceptance and then hope. “Can’t I have lessons here?”

  Clint answered, shocking everyone. “I’ll give you a few sessions myself, Max. We’ll find you the perfect ride.”

  Silence reigned and then Max stuttered. “Th-that’s okay. I’ll wait to take lessons when I get home.”

  ❋

  At the end of the meal, Anne and Clint cleared away the dishes, leaving Rose to have Max to herself for a while. Anne filled the dishwasher, taking the time to look around the remodeled kitchen. The room had been wonderfully organized to make it a whole lot more functional.

  Obviously, Clint had done the work since she knew Jake would never have spent money on the house. Not just the kitchen area; all the rooms had been updated in the years she’d been gone. Painting and new carpeting were only a few of the modernizing repairs that had taken place, both indoors and out.

  Clint carried in the last load, placed them in the large sink and leaned against the counter. “I don’t think your Max likes me very much. It’s my fault for being so prickly at the airport. I’m sorry about that.”

  Your Max! If you only knew. Anne looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity of his words. “He’ll get over it. Might take a little while, but he’s a friendly sort and likes most people. Give him some time.”

  “I’m not around kids that much. Guess I’m not quite sure how to treat them.”

  She gave her head a shake; puzzlement clearly visible. “You have a daughter. How can you not know how to treat children?”

  The blush he strove hard to fight off wouldn’t be suppressed. “Yeah, well, about that…” His hand scrubbed hard at the back of his neck. The movement defined the muscular shape of his arm and the lack of any excess fat on his abs made her inspect the floor rather than let him see her interest. “We don’t…ahh have a lot to do with one another. I mean, Rose takes care of her for me.”

  His remark brought Anne’s eyes back to his face, her shock obvious. “Rose isn’t her daddy.”

  This statement seemed to hit him hard. He gripped the counter behind him with both hands. One knee bent, he almost looked relaxed if she hadn’t seen the whitened knuckles. “I’ve been meaning to fix that. Soon as she comes home, I’ll apply myself.”

  “Fix that! Apply yourself? She isn’t a course you need to pass. She’s a little girl who needs your love and affection.”

  “Oh, I love her. I just have no idea how to talk to her.” Once he’d ground out those words, he’d pushed himself away from the counter and stalked to the door. “Welcome home, Annie-girl.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Clint caught his foreman lazing around by the barns, which wasn’t usual for Jeff. The man always put in a good day’s work, and they’d become friends over the years.

  “Hey, boss? That’s a good-lookin’ filly over yonder.” Clint turned to see what had Jeff’s attention, and his blood began to boil. What overcame him wasn’t so much anger; it was a possessiveness he hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time. Fact was, the last time he remembered having the same sensation was at a dance at the tavern in Walsh Creek, the week before Annie left. Funny thing about that night—it unsettled him, always had. First time in his life he’d ever blanked out, but by no means the last. Especially after Cathy’s debut as “the whore of Walsh Creek”.

  When Jeff whistled low, Clint gored him with a look that had the cowboy sauntering off to do his chores. He couldn’t blame the man. Annie sure did fill out a pair of denim shorts. His eyes glued themselves to her well-shaped legs, her rounded butt and the country-styled blouse she wore with too many of the dang buttons undone. He’d have to have a little talk with her about her clothes. Last thing he needed was a bunch of riled-up cowboys.

  She approached. “Hi, Clint. Have you seen Max?”

  “Earlier, he was over yonder at the yearling’s paddock. He knows better than to get too close, right? Some of those thoroughbreds could be a mite energetic for a young boy.”

  Worry clouded her face, and he could have kicked himself for his careless words. “Let’s go check on him.” He gave up the plans he had on his chore’s lists and headed with her around the far side of the barns to where they had an enclosure that made him proud every time it came in view. After Jake had passed on, he’d organized new fencing to be constructed. He’d had the men paint it white to accent against the trees in the background, which had given the place a real lift. The large area was a green carpet of pure pleasure for the horses, and that gave him a lift.

  At first he didn’t see Max. All he heard was Annie’s indrawn breath as she came to a sudden halt. Seeing her boy leaning against the side of the muscled black equine body that rose high above him would throw any mother. Why the hell the kid had gone inside the enclosure, Clint didn’t know, but he’d not be doing such a stupid thing again. Those horses didn’t recognize him and they were highly unpredic
table.

  He approached the fence, and, with one hand on the top rail, he leapt over. The hushed sounds of the boy talking to the black yearling stopped him in his tracks. The kid had the beast mesmerized—only word for it. He literally had him eating out of his hand. The carrot pieces were being delicately taken from Max’s open palm. When hand-fed, Blackie was proving he could be a real gentleman. Only other person Clint knew who had this knack with a horse was himself. Other ranchers called him to calm the wild ones they couldn’t tame. He’d saved many a colt from the glue factory because of his talent.

  “You’re a good boy, Blackie. We’re going to be friends, right. You ‘n me. I’ll ride you one day. Soon as I can get my maman and that mean ol’ Clint to take me seriously about wanting to ride a real horse.”

  Clint grinned when the horse answered. What wiped the smile off his face was seeing the disgruntled grey racing at the pair, pure devilry in the colt’s purpose.

  Clint made it in time to cut off the grey’s route but the other horse had spooked Blackie. The yearling shied away, leaving Max unharmed but in the open. Clint lifted him over his shoulder and walked quickly to where Annie waited at the gate. His heart gave his chest a vicious workout. And since he didn’t do fear well, he reacted before he could put a clamp on his mouth.

  “Kid, you stay out of that paddock and away from those horses when they’re running free. You got it?” His finger, waving in the boy’s face, should have had Max cowering. Instead, the boy took a step forward and said, “Blackie’s my friend. He wouldn’t have hurt me.”

  “But the grey would have. Not because he’s mean, but because you were in his space where you shouldn’t have been.” Clint hated seeing the sheen of tears Max blinked away. “Dammit all to hell!” Spinning on his heel, he started to head for the barn and stopped. He hesitated, and then figured he might as well take his prick-ness all the way. “Annie-girl, there’s a lot more men working the place than the old days. Dress appropriately or there’ll be gawkers getting fired, and it’ll be your fault.”

  He watched her mouth fall open. Shock darkened her narrowed blue eyes and anger sparked off of her like lightening off a live wire. Shit! Now he was in for it. Not normally affected by anyone else’s discomfort, the steel nuggets in his shoulders created an ache he didn’t like at all. Time to git while he still could. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I hate my father. I’m glad you never married him. C'est un sale con!”

  “Max! Do you know what they do to little boys who swear in Texas? They wash their mouths out with soap!”

  “I don’t care. C'est vraiment un sale con! ”

  “He’s not an asshole. Well, maybe a little, but you frightened him—and me. Why did you do something so crazy? You know better.”

  Max hung his head and leaned against her side. “I couldn’t help myself, Maman. Blackie called to me. I heard him inviting me to come and visit. Really I did.”

  Anne hunched down to Max’s height and stared at him. All she saw was the truth. Somehow the horse had called to her son. They’d recognized his ability with the beasts last year, when he’d settled a fractious pony who’d bucked off a little girl and bolted to the far end of the pasture at their Bordeaux riding school. Max had charged after it, and by the time the others had gotten to them, the distressed animal had been calmed by Max’s voice and his soothing hands.

  Her son had no fear of horses at all. Quite the opposite. He carried on conversations with them as if they spoke to him. On the one hand, it was quite exhilarating. On the other— it could be disturbing. Maybe Max trusted the unpredictable creatures, but she did not. Not unless they were broken to bridle, trained and well-behaved. Even then, she had a healthy respect for their differences. Like people, every horse had its own personality and couldn’t be taken for granted.

  When Max pulled on her hands, she crouched down in front of him. Max, his eyes confused and worried, sifted his fingers through the short hair over her ears. This was his way of telling her that he had something on his mind.

  “What is it, Max?”

  “I don’t suppose you’re ready to go back to Grandpère yet? How long will we have to stay here?”

  Oh no! Her heart took quite a beating when she heard those words. Physically, she felt sick to her stomach. No mother wanted her child to be unhappy, and she could see Max struggling with his misery. The father he only just learned about didn’t seem to like him. For a child of eight; it must be heartbreaking.

  “Let me tell him you’re his son, Max. It’ll be different then.”

  With the lower lip protruding somewhat, her little man squared his shoulders and shook his head; no hesitation whatsoever.

  “Maman, you promised. I don’t want to be his boy if he doesn’t like me.”

  “Max, you’re so wrong. Just because he got angry doesn’t mean anything. I yell at you sometimes and you know I love you. It’s when you scare the dickens out of me that I raise my voice, right? It’s purely a reaction of fear. That’s what happened with Clint.”

  Max’s expression brightened. “You think he was worried about me?”

  “Sure, I know it. Look, son. Debbie, Clint’s daughter, will be home from camp in a little while, and you’ll have someone to play with who knows the rules. She can show you around and answer all the questions you have. It’ll be a lot more fun.”

  “Maman, is Debbie my sister?”

  Shock ran through Anne when she heard the question. Somehow it had never dawned on her that Max would think Debbie and he were related by blood. “Well, kind of. More like a half brother and sister. But remember, she won’t know that unless you tell her so.”

  “I know. Have you told Rose yet? She was really nice to me last night, so I wondered if she knew.”

  “Not yet. If I tell her, she’ll want us to share the news with Clint, and I’ve promised to give you time. Let’s leave it a couple more days and see what happens.”

  Before Max could answer, they spotted a minivan driving through the tall gates, approaching along the quarter-mile driveway and stopping at the back entrance. They beat Rose to the car but not by much.

  The driver’s door opened revealing a lovely woman a few years older than Anne, who appeared to be a typical rancher’s wife and a boy heavier than Max, who bounced from the passenger seat to join her. Anne noticed a small face peering out of the back window, and she waited for the door to open.

  It didn’t. Not until Rose bypassed the other two with a friendly hello and pulled open the door herself. Then a little girl, frail looking and obviously shy, lurched from the car and wrapped her arms around Rose’s stomach as if she’d never let go again. “Grams! I’m finally home.”

  The stranger approached Anne with a smile and an extended hand. “Howdy. I’m Mary Gault. We live over yonder, about quarter-mile further up the road in the foreman’s house. My husband, Jeff, works for the Walshes. Donny and I took Debbie with us to the kids’ camp for the last two weeks. Gotta say, as much as I loved playing counselor to those rambunctious horrors, I’m plum tuckered out.”

  Anne loved the twang of the woman’s voice and her Texas slang. Smiling, she said, “Hello. I’m Anne Pichette, and this is my son Max. We arrived from Paris yesterday for a holiday with Rose and Clint.”

  Rose, still carrying the clinging child, passed the rest and spoke over her shoulder. “Y’all come in out of the heat. I’ve made lemonade, cookies and biscuits for anyone who wants some.”

  Everyone traipsed into the kitchen. Once there, Anne led Rose, with Debbie still in her arms, to her rocker. “Sit down, Rose!” She did so with the girl in her arms. “You must be Debbie,” Anne said. Gently, she stroked the child’s flyaway curls from where they stuck to her forehead.

  Max hovered near the chair, obviously waiting to be introduced to his new almost-sister. Anne gladly satisfied him. “Debbie, honey, I’m Anne, and this is my son Max. We’re staying with you and your daddy and Grams for a while, so we’ll ge
t to spend a lot of time together.”

  Debbie’s low voice and strained hello satisfied Anne for now. She quickly joined Mary Gault, who had taken it upon herself to organize the tray that Rose had gotten ready. From the corner of her eye, she saw Max coax a smile from the little girl, and her heart lightened considerably. Maybe he wouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave if he had a friend to play with.

  Donny, who looked to be at least a year older than Max, a stocky boy with a blond crew-cut and baggy shorts, took the plate his mother passed him. When she motioned towards the rocker, he went over and offered it to Rose and Max. Debbie refused to even look his way; instead she hid her face in her grandmother’s neck and stayed that way until the visitors left.

  Humm…! Something wasn’t right there. Not at all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  That night after supper, Anne decided they needed to break the ice with Debbie. She’d finally been coaxed from her gram’s arms to sit in her own place at the table. The child had picked at her food and barely ate a thing. When her father arrived, she seemed delighted and beamed when he ruffled her hair and winked at her in a special way some fathers had. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, princess. Did you have a good time at camp with the other kids?”

  “Y-yes. Well, kinda. I didn’t like playing all the games they set up for us. So sometimes I stayed behind with Mr. David, the gardener. He was nice to me.”

  “What kind of games didn’t you like?” Clint’s voice had risen, but he’d caught himself after the quick, “be careful,” look that Anne used to send him a message. “Weren’t they fun?” His tone eased, and Debbie’s eyes rose to see if he looked angry. Satisfied that he wasn’t, she answered. “It’s the water sports. I don’t like being in the water.”