Not That Kind of Girl

by Susan Donovan

  “But I can’t get out of bed!” Josie yelled.

  So, once everyone calmed down and Lucio and Rick had fetched a couple bottles of the good stuff—along with a bottle of mineral water for those who didn’t imbibe—they gathered around the bed for a toast in Bea’s honor.

  “To happiness,” Ginger proposed.

  “To love,” Josie said.

  “To freedom,” Teeny added.

  They drank to all those things, then Rick insisted that Bea bring Rachel to the ranch as soon possible. “We’ll have a party,” he said. “This group of friends has a whole laundry list of things to celebrate.”

  Bea knew Rick was right. She put one hand behind her back and crossed her fingers, silently adding Eli and Roxanne to that list. Oh, how she hoped fate was unfolding as it should, somewhere in Utah.

  * * *

  He’d never had to force himself on a woman in his life. It wasn’t his style. Nor was there ever a need for that kind of thing. Women found him, then they found him irresistible. Women offered themselves to him by one of two paths: they came already mad with desire, or as a willing participant in the game of seduction. But no woman ever refused him.

  Raymond’s latest conquest was a feisty little specimen. The way she’d been panting and growling against his neck was turning him on something fierce. He loved the way she feigned a struggle, pushing the flat of her palms against his chest, as if she didn’t like what was happening, as if she didn’t like the damp friction of his fingers inside her panties.

  “Stop. Please. God, no.”

  He chuckled, nipping the skin over her collarbone. “So you like a fight, do you?” he asked, increasing the pace of his pumping hand. “You like to play rough, baby?”

  She pushed harder.

  He lowered his mouth, searching for the excited nipple he knew he’d find poking up through the silk of her blouse. He rooted around, perplexed when his lips failed to find it.

  “Get the fuck off me!”

  Raymond felt a slam to his gut, then tumbled off the office couch. He thudded to the floor, landing flat on his back, his head slamming against the carpet. A strange tingling pain began to shoot through his left shoulder and arm.

  Stunned, he observed the scuffed bottom of a woman’s high heel headed right for his face. It stopped millimeters from his nose, then moved away, hovering over the bandage on his throat. Under normal circumstances, he would enjoy the view this position afforded him—a direct shot right up the tight skirt to the parted inner thighs and beyond. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

  The shoe’s pointed toe began to tease his windpipe.

  “You gross, sick-fuck, asshole grandpa. You perverted old bastard dickface.”

  Raymond took a moment to assess the tone of voice of his assistant. This went beyond the realm of sex play. She sounded positively furious.

  “I should crush your fucking throat,” the voice said. “I should finish off what that dog started, you twisted fuck! I’m reporting you to every single place I can think of! The bar association, the Humane Society, the AARP, the SPCA!”

  “Now just a—”

  The assistant’s pointy-toed shoe hadn’t even touched him, yet he was barely able to lift his head off the carpet without searing pain. There appeared to be something wrong with him.

  The girl’s shoe pulled away, but her face bent down close to his. He was struck by how young and beautiful she looked this close up, how tight the skin remained to the bone as she hung over him. No sagging whatsoever.

  “This is quite unnecessary,” he said, using his famous suave baritone, a tone of voice known for sucking the fight right out of the most stubborn of jurors. “There seems to be a misunderstanding, Ricky.”

  “My name is Dusty, you dirty old narcissistic senior-citizen fuckhead!”

  “Remember, your future is in my hands ”

  She leaned even closer. Her shiny hair swept over his cheek. “Guess what? I don’t even want to go to law school anymore! You’ve cured me of that particular affliction! All I want now is the satisfaction of seeing you hung by your shriveled old gonads!”

  Raymond winced.

  “Roxanne Bloom is my new hero!” the girl added, a gleam in her eye. “Ha! That’s right. You heard me. The way I see it, that chick is a prophet—a fucking saint!” She leaned in so close that her nose bumped his. “I wish that dog had ripped your guts out, you disgusting old loser.”

  Suddenly, she stood up. From her position high above him she looked down, smirked, and said, “By the way. I told my brother about you. He’s gonna kick your sorry ass.”

  Then she was gone. The door to his office suite slammed with a sense of purpose. He tried to sit up, but he quickly reached that same limit to his range of movement. The sizzling pain in his shoulder and arm had now moved to his fingers. He gauged his position on the floor—he was in front of the couch but several feet from his desk, certainly not within reach of his intercom.

  Raymond fished around in his trouser pocket for his BlackBerry. He must have left it on his desk. Fuck.

  “Oh, Yvonne?” he called out casually, hoping his voice was loud enough for his secretary to hear but not loud enough for any of his associates to notice. He couldn’t allow anyone important to see him like this.

  “Yvonne?” he called out a little louder. “YVONNE!”

  Raymond rolled his head around to get a look at the ancient cherry grandfather clock across the room. Wait—did that little bitch just call me a “grandpa”? The clock read ten minutes past noon—Yvonne was probably at lunch. That meant that unless he could get his ass up off that floor, he’d be lying there like roadkill for another fifty minutes.

  Fuck.

  He pressed his palms flat to the floor. He used every bit of strength he had to push, push, push … but it hurt so bad he gave up.

  Raymond didn’t know which was worse—the discovery that he was now paralyzed for life or that Roxie Bloom and his new assistant had obviously been in cahoots. Had the Bloom bitch somehow set him up? Why else would Ricky refer to Roxie as a saint? A prophet? Damn! He’d been framed!

  “Somebody?” he squeaked, hoping that nasty young woman was bluffing about her brother. “Help me!”

  Chapter 12

  Eli was glad he knew every curve and dip in this part of Highway 89, because it had become increasingly difficult to keep his eye on the road. As soul-stirring as the scenery was—and as glad as he was to be on his home turf—he couldn’t stop looking at the sleeping Roxie Bloom. His travel companion had taken on the beauty of a dark-haired angel in her repose, and a softness had settled over her. There wasn’t a single frown line to be seen on her pretty face. He wanted desperately to stroke that rosy cheek and tweak that cute little chin.

  But not as much as he wanted to kiss her.

  As startling as it seemed, it had only been five days since he’d approached Roxie at the baby shower, hoping to grab a few minutes of her time, just to clear the air. Instead, he’d ended up grabbing her and kissing the hell out of her—which didn’t clear up a damn thing. He’d gotten his very first taste of Roxie’s penned-up fervor that day, and it had only made him want more. It had made him want everything she had to give him.

  Looking down at Roxie now, Eli had a better handle on why things had unfolded the way they had with her. It was no fluke that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Roxie for all those months. It wasn’t an accident that once he got his hands and his lips on her, he couldn’t let go. And it was no coincidence that when he’d tried to run away from Roxie Bloom, the universe had pulled him back to finish what he started.

  He smiled to himself, remembering how surprised he’d been when his cell phone rang at the Salt Lake airport and Roxie was on the other end. Sometimes, Eli knew, you couldn’t avoid destiny, no matter how hard you might try.

  “Rrrr … umph,” Lilith said, watching him carefully, the white whiskers over her eyebrows twitching in concern.

  Eli laughed. It seemed Lilith had be
en keeping an eye on him, and the sound she’d just made wasn’t a growl, really, but more of an inquiry. In the language of dogs, Eli figured Lilith had asked where they were going and what his intentions were with her owner.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” he told her. After a quick check of the road, Eli reached over Roxie’s sleeping form to rub the dog’s ear. “You’re a good girl,” he assured Lilith. “Such a very good dog.”

  Roxie stirred. She mumbled something in her sleep. Carefully, Eli put his right arm around her and pulled her tight against his side as he drove. She let her head fall onto his chest. As much as he was enjoying the warm pressure of her body against his, he knew he’d have to wake her up in a few minutes. He wanted to give her enough time to be prepared when they arrived at the ranch. Eli knew his mother and sister would spy the truck coming from a mile off, and they’d likely be waiting in front of the house like sentinels.

  That wasn’t the kind of thing you should spring on someone still half asleep.

  He stroked Roxie’s long, silky hair and consciously focused on his breathing. Eli would face a lot of questions from his mom and Sondra. That was a given. And they’d ask who Roxie was, why he’d brought her to the ranch, and what made him change his mind about finding a girlfriend in San Francisco.

  He had no idea how he’d answer.

  The truth was, this was a first for him. He was kicking logic to the curb and trusting his instincts in a way he never had before. Of course it wasn’t smart to get involved with a woman who lived nine hundred miles away, let alone a woman who excited him so intensely. But something about Roxanne was making him take a leap of faith. Maybe, just maybe, this woman who hated men for a living was the one who could truly love him. All of him.

  It was funny, really. Eli was about to take the ultimate risk. He was about to start something with a woman while simply being himself. For the first time in his life. And who did he pick to bare his soul to? Roxanne Bloom, the man-eater.

  He’d learned early on that his gift was more of a curse when it came to matters of the human heart. The precisely tuned antenna at the core of him—his basic nature—made him highly sensitive to the energy of other living things. It was what had led him to become a dog whisperer. And it was what turned his relationships with women into complicated messes, or worse.

  He’d never been able to fall in love. Not all the way. If what he sensed about a woman didn’t feel exactly right, he couldn’t move forward. That was the problem with Tamara, like every woman he’d ever been involved with, though he tried for three years to turn it into something it wasn’t.

  Tamara was sure and steady, deeply spiritual. They had a lot in common professionally—she was an equine vet who specialized in traumatized horses. But Eli had never felt they created anything unique when they were together. He had never felt their union had a life of its own, its own force. He had never felt like they fit together.

  He glanced down at Roxie again, shaking his head in wonder. Roxie was another story. She seemed all wrong for him on the outside—pissed off and suspicious and full of anxiety. But they clicked somewhere deep down, where it mattered. When he was with her, he felt a profound sense of joy. He knew she felt it, too. Their attraction was so powerful that every time they’d met in the last year they’d ended up doing the same dance. They’d circle around one another cautiously, sniffing, ears pricked to catch the faintest sound, eyes trained on each other’s slightest movement. But that was as far as it ever went—until now.

  He let a handful of her hair slide through his fingers, watching it reflect the evening sun like a mirror, thinking that the only real explanation he could give his mom and Sondra—or himself—was that he’d brought Roxanne here because he had to. He had to see what would happen once they spent time alone. With no distractions. He had to allow this fascination to unfold. Thank God the ranch had plenty of open space for the explosion to occur. His as well as hers.

  “Roxie, you better wake up.” Eli pulled her tighter to him, then rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm. She grumbled again in her sleep but didn’t move. Eli bent down and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the soft scent of her hair and skin. “Roxie?”

  “What!” She popped up so fast that the top of her head cracked into the underside of Eli’s jaw.

  He let her go and began feeling his face for anything broken or dislodged.

  “Oh my God, I am so sorry!” Roxie placed her hand on top of his. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  “No problem,” he muttered, moving his jaw back and forth until a loud pop filled the cab of the truck.

  Roxie collapsed, leaning her head back against the front seat. “You’re going to look like you’ve gone six rounds with Mike Tyson by the time we get there.”

  Eli laughed. “And to think, it was just a couple of days with the Bloom girls.”

  Lilith began licking Roxie’s face, happy to see her owner awake. Roxie stroked her until she sat quietly at her side. “So where are we?” she asked, looking out the windows.

  “We’re here.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re home,” he said, pulling off onto the county access road that would lead to Dog-Eared Ranch. Roxie sat up again, her eyes big with trepidation. He stopped the truck.

  “Come here, Ms. Bloom,” Eli said, gathering her against him once more. “How are you feeling?” he whispered, leaning close to her. “You doing okay?”

  “Sure. I’m just a little …”

  “Terrified?”

  Roxie laughed, her lovely dark eyes looking right into his. Interestingly enough, his raven-haired angel was awake, but the usual lines of tension hadn’t returned. She smiled at him cautiously. “I think I might need a kiss for encouragement,” she said. “Can you still kiss with a broken face?”

  Eli chuckled. “Never tried before.” Gently—so gently—he cupped Roxie’s face and brought it to him, then lowered his mouth to hers. Eli closed his eyes as the wave of bliss moved through his being.

  This was what he’d searched in vain for with Tamara. This was the unidentifiable thing he had wanted to experience in her company, but never could. With Roxie, it was always there, even in the sweetest, simplest of kisses.

  “Let me get the gate,” Eli whispered against her lips.

  * * *

  Sure, Roxie thought. You go ahead and do that. I’ll be in here picking my bottom lip up off the floor.

  This was Eli’s ranch? It looked more like a national park, or something from a PBS special on frontier living. The sun was beginning to set over the desert mountains to her left, layering red-gold stripes of color on top of blue sky. The rolling hills seemed to be covered with some kind of short grass, with stubby little bushes and scraggly trees dotting the ground. Tall, thick stands of evergreens popped up here and there.

  Eli returned to the truck and drove forward a few feet, then went out again to lock the gate behind them.

  “It’s beautiful,” Roxie said when he hopped behind the wheel again.

  “Thank you.”

  “How much of it is yours?”

  “Pretty much everything you see to the mountains over there and the ridge over there,” Eli said, pointing to either side of them. “Beyond that is mostly BLM land.”

  Roxie shook her head, not understanding.

  “Bureau of Land Management—federal property.”

  “Ah.”

  “So, are you ready?”

  She nodded, then swallowed hard, trying not to allow the sea of doubts take her under. It didn’t matter that coming all the way out here with Eli was a giant gamble. It didn’t matter that it went against everything she’d been telling herself about men and the world for the last year and a half. They were bumping along the road toward his ranch. It was happening. She’d put herself—and her dog—in Eli’s hands, and there was no turning back.

  When the truck began to climb a rise in the dirt lane and took a gentle curve, a house appeared from behind the trees. It was half-glass
and half-wood construction, not quite two full stories high, with huge solar panels on the roof, a big front porch, and pretty spring wildflowers popping up along the walk. The backdrop for the house was a dramatic red mountain ridge and an endless stretch of sky.

  “Holy shit,” Roxie muttered.

  Eli stopped the truck. Two women came out onto the porch, huge smiles on their faces. They waved. Roxie waved back. Her heart pounded in her chest. Lilith began barking furiously when a long line of dogs ran toward the truck.

  “Give me just a second to get the dogs settled, and then we’ll let Lilith out. Can you hold onto her okay?”

  Roxie nodded.

  Eli smiled at her. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said in that deep-river voice.

  He snatched his cowboy hat from behind the seat, opened his door, and stepped onto the dirt. He moved toward his mother and sister with open arms, hugging the women together. The group of dogs was barking in excitement, but keeping their distance. What happened next was obviously the standard routine around here. Sondra and Carole backed away from Eli and he walked off a few feet to a thin patch of grass, where he plopped down. Eli let loose with a brief and shrill whistle, and it was like the starting gates were opened. The dogs—Roxie counted nine altogether—were all over him.

  She watched as Eli rolled around with his pack, allowing them to lick him, sniff him, and snuggle up to him. She was amazed at the sight. Eli looked like he was in heaven. So did his dogs.

  Lilith, in the meantime, had reverted to her old psycho self. She was frothing at the mouth, growling, snarling, and barking machine-gun style.

  After a few moments, Eli stood, then began walking toward an outbuilding a couple hundred feet to the side of the house. Roxie figured it was a kennel compound because of the chain-link fenced–in areas around it. She watched how Eli managed to separate the pack with a few spare hand gestures. He put four dogs in one kennel, two in another, and three were told to sit and wait outside on the grass.

  In a few moments, Eli sauntered back to the truck, three dogs at his side. He nodded at Roxie, giving her the go-ahead to open the truck door.