Taylor crossed the room in two long strides and settled down beside his daughter.
“How are you, sweetheart?” he asked. “You look nice. You’ve grown up real pretty.”
Phaedra smiled down into her lap, and Charlie realized she wasn’t snubbing the guy. She was struck dumb by shyness.
“Are you doing okay here so far?” Taylor asked.
The girl tossed her hair in the time-honored gesture of ultra-cool teenagers. “It’s okay,” she said. “Charlie’s been nice to me.”
Taylor smiled and gave Charlie a nod. “Thanks,” he said.
While Charlie tried to think of a suitably snippy response, Sam stepped up beside her holding the bowl of chips. “Would you like some chips and salsa, Mr. Newt—I mean Mr. Barnes?” She was smiling bashfully, holding out the bowl of chips as if she was offering frankincense and myrrh. The kid was obviously a Chance Newton fan.
“Well, thanks.” Taylor took a chip and bit into it appreciatively. Charlie was relieved he didn’t call Sam a “little lady” or anything. Evidently he saved the corny cowboy shtick for the movies.
“You’re welcome,” Sam said, her voice hushed with awe. “This is amazing,” she breathed. “It’s really you.”
Taylor grinned and took off his Stetson, setting it on Sam’s head. She giggled as it fell down over her ears, then tilted it back with one pink-tipped hand and gave Taylor a luminous smile.
“There,” he said. “You look like one of the good guys now.”
Charlie marveled at the perfect placement of every hair on Taylor’s head. The man evidently had access to an anti-hat-hair vaccination available only to movie stars. Either that, or he’d been born without the hat-hair gene.
Nate stepped into the room to check out the new arrival, and Charlie smiled to see a cowlick spring up at his crown as he pulled off his hat. He raked his hand through his hair in a reflexive gesture, but the cowlick stayed stubbornly sprung.
Now that was a real cowboy.
“Holy shit,” he said when he spotted Taylor.
Oh, yeah. He was real, all right.
Taylor stood and stepped forward, one hand extended. “Taylor Barnes,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Shawcross. I’ve heard great things.”
Nate blushed to a shade of crimson that almost matched Charlie’s old boots. “Excuse me,” he said. “I just—I wasn’t expecting…”
“We had no idea you were coming, Mr. Barnes,” Doris said. “So excuse us for being a little, er, flummoxed.”
Barnes shrugged one shoulder in a gesture that was simultaneously eloquent and casual. Still watching his every move, Sam flexed a shoulder in imitation, her wide eyes never leaving the actor’s face.
“Sorry,” Barnes said. “Sometimes I think I should sign everything Chance Newton. People don’t always recognize my real name.”
“It’s not that,” Charlie said. “It’s…”
“It’s nothing. We’re glad you’re here,” Nate said, cutting her off. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been about to confess to Taylor Barnes that the clinic was a hoax perpetrated by an ex-lover—hardly a situation that showed Nate in the best light.
And this was the time for Nate to shine, if ever there was one, Charlie thought. If he could make a good impression on a star like Barnes, his stock would rise into the stratosphere. With a recommendation from the world’s most wildly popular cowboy actor, he could land endorsement deals. Consultations on movie sets. The opportunities were limitless.
Maybe the lonesome cowpoke’s luck was about to turn.
Chapter 24
Nate’s mind was racing, searching out solutions to all the problems Taylor Barnes’s arrival had created. The man obviously couldn’t sleep in the bunkhouse, although judging from the way he was looking at Charlie, he’d be more than willing to volunteer. Nate felt a hot snake of jealousy slither up his craw, but he swallowed it down. He had no real claim on Charlie. None at all.
She’d made that clear this morning.
But Barnes would have to sleep in the house. Nate winced, remembering the hot-cha bordello atmosphere of his bedroom. Well, he couldn’t change it now. Besides, maybe that was what Barnes was used to. He was from Hollywood, after all.
“I need to settle a few details in the house,” Nate said as smoothly as he could. “I’m sure the girls will keep you entertained for a while,”
Taylor grinned. “No rush,” he said. “Phaedra and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “A lot.”
Nate was surprised by her tone. She evidently wasn’t a fan.
Good.
Spinning his hat in his hands, he turned and strode toward the house, making a mental to-do list. He’d have to tidy up the bedroom, maybe put some of those candles away. And he’d need to change the sheets. He’d also have to read Butt the riot act; a Hollywood star would be used to far more attractive bedmates than an overweight, smelly blue heeler who snored like a fat man with the flu.
He pulled a set of sheets out of the linen closet, then opened the door to the bedroom and groaned aloud. The place really did look like a bordello. A messy one.
He scooped a week’s worth of spare change and pocket lint off the dresser, along with a hoof-pick and his Leatherman. Opening the closet, he started stowing candles, one by one, on a shelf in the back.
“What are you doing?”
Nate jumped at Charlie’s voice as if he had a guilty conscience. “Thought I’d, uh, clean up.”
“The candles are nice, though,” Charlie said. “Leave them.”
“They’re just, um, kind of embarrassing.”
Charlie grinned. “Well, they don’t leave much doubt that you use the bedroom for something more interesting than sleeping.”
“You thought that was… interesting?”
She couldn’t help smiling, but her eyes were darting around the room, looking at everything but him. “Well, yeah. Kinda.”
Now there was a rave review. If it wasn’t for the heat he could feel simmering between them, he’d figure she hadn’t had a good time. Her eyes finally lit on his face, and they stared at each other half a beat too long before turning back to the task at hand.
“Taylor’s a cowboy, anyway,” Charlie said, rearranging the candles. “He probably won’t even notice what the room looks like.”
“He’s not a real cowboy,” Nate pointed out. “Just a movie one.” He shrugged. “He’s probably gay.”
“Well, if he is, he’ll love this bedroom.” Charlie laughed as Nate’s face colored. “Never mind. Just change the sheets and run a feather duster over stuff and it’ll be fine.” She looked down at the carpet, where Butt had tracked in a trail of mud and God-knows-what. “Maybe run a vacuum,” she said. “You want help with the sheets?”
She leaned over the bed and grabbed the blankets, yanking them back in one swift graceful movement. Nate went around to the other side and helped. He knew the drill. He’d helped Sandi make this bed a hundred times. Sandi hadn’t been much of a housekeeper, but she’d tear the bed apart the morning after they did the deed, every time. He’d always felt like she was erasing what they’d done. Like she was ashamed or something.
They peeled the sheets back, and a picture of himself and Charlie climbing into bed the night before flashed across his mind. He imagined her peeling off her clothes and tossing them aside like she was tossing the sheets now, remembered how her skin felt under his fingers, the sweet scent of her, the way she’d writhed and moaned with pleasure. He could still feel her hands on him, the sparks that leapt from her touch, the way she’d…
He looked up and their eyes met. He could have sworn he felt a faint crackle like static as their thoughts met and meshed. He glanced away. Much as he wanted to pull Charlie down on the bed and have his way with her, Nate knew he needed to attend to business. He looked away, trying to ignore the glimpse of cleavage as she leaned over the bed, and concentrated on shaking the pillows out of their cases and tugging the
fitted sheet off.
It was too quiet, he thought. There were two people in this room, and the silence felt awkward. They should be having a conversation—about something light. The weather. The horses. Sex.
No, wait, not sex. He scrambled around for an appropriate topic and felt the familiar ache paralyze his throat. If he tried to say anything, he’d croak like a frog.
That might be a good thing. Maybe she’d kiss him on the off chance he’d turn into a prince.
Charlie grabbed a pile of sheets from the corner of the dresser. “These?”
Nate nodded, swallowing.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, picking up the fitted sheet and snapping it in the air, shaking it out so it ballooned over the bed. “Taylor can’t be a real cowboy. He can actually talk.”
Nate couldn’t let that pass. “Only when somebody tells him what to say,” he said. “You give me a script, I’ll charm your pants off too.”
Oh, man. What a thing to say. No wonder he didn’t talk. Every time he opened his mouth, he embarrassed himself.
“I’m not taking my pants off for anybody,” Charlie said. A mischievous smile tweaked her lips. “Not tonight, anyway. And certainly not for Mr. Barnes.”
“I should hope not,” Nate said. “The guy’s practically a senior citizen.”
“He’s not that old,” Charlie said. “Forty-eight.”
“How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Read it somewhere, I guess.”
“You a fan?”
She shrugged again. He pictured her with a bunch of other women, lining the red carpet, pressing against the velvet rope and begging for autographs.
No. Charlie wasn’t like that.
Besides, judging from the way Barnes had looked at her, she wouldn’t have to beg for anything. Nate was pretty sure he’d gladly give her something much more significant than an autograph.
That conjured up another picture Nate didn’t want to see.
Charlie shook out the top sheet, letting it settle gracefully onto the bed. Looking down at the overhang, she said, “I’ve got about a foot. How much do you have?”
“’Bout that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” She laughed and he floundered around for a snappy, sexy response. Damn. If he could just keep the conversation moving that way… But he couldn’t. Couldn’t think of a thing to say. He was good at the looks and the touches. The talking? Not so much.
Together, they hoisted the bottom of the mattress and tucked the sheet underneath. Charlie folded a neat miter into the corner, then came around to his side and matched it.
Nate cleared his throat. “Wow. Military corners.”
“Hospital corners.” Charlie quirked a faint smile. “I was a candy striper.”
Nate pictured her in the uniform—the red and white striped dress, the little white shoes, the cap—and a new fantasy was born.
“I bet you were good at it,” he said. “Really good.”
He smoothed the sheet, bending over the bed just as she did the same. His hand slid over hers and he instinctively gripped her wrist and pulled her toward him. The two of them stopped, staring at each other, still as the deer that had paused to watch the truck the night before. He half expected Charlie to leap away like the deer had, but she leaned in and touched her lips to his for one brief, warm kiss.
“Sorry.” She pulled away, flustered. “I mean—sorry. I know we shouldn’t—should we?”
He couldn’t answer. He had no idea what to say. But he knew what to do.
“Just once,” he said. “Just one more time.”
Charlie climbed up onto the mattress and knelt there, looking up at him, but there was no challenge in her eyes this time. She looked worried, reluctant. He sat down beside her.
“Nate, we can’t,” she said. “I—I’m going back to Jersey.”
“I know,” he said. He reached up and swept her hair back from her forehead. “But you’re here now. I know it’s not forever, Charlie. I can handle it. But it’s—it’s so good.” He gave her a smile. It was meant to be reassuring, but he was pretty sure it came across more wolfish, since he had no doubt she could read his thoughts in his eyes. Thoughts of touching her, kissing her, stripping off that shirt and jeans… “There’s no reason not to enjoy it while we can.”
She looked past him out the window, her expression troubled.
“It’s just for now, Charlie. No strings.”
He tugged at her waistband, revealing a slice of bright blue cotton decorated with white stars, and the smile broadened.
“Wonder Woman,” he said. “Perfect.” He cupped her head and pulled her close, kissing her gently on her cheekbone, the curve of her jaw, her neck, the blade of her collarbone. She breathed in a shaky breath and tensed, then relaxed into him and exhaled, her breath soft against his ear.
“Okay,” she said. “No strings.”
He kissed her lips again, cupping her tush with both hands while she pressed her breasts into his chest and kissed him back. For a moment there was nothing but the two of them, alone in the universe with nothing between them but the sensation of his hands on her skin, her lips on his.
But just for a moment. Just as he started to ease one hand up under her shirt, just as his fingertips sensed the soft, untouched skin of her breast, the door opened.
“Daddy! What are you doing?”
Charlie jumped as if she’d been electrocuted, stumbling off the bed while Nate fell onto it, abruptly conscious of his flushed face and mussed hair.
“Sam,” he said, smoothing his hair. He stood and tried to look innocent. Damn. Wasn’t that supposed to be the kid’s job?
Sam looked from Nate to Charlie and back again. “You’re not supposed to do that, you know. Mommy said.”
Nate felt all the air leave his lungs in a whoosh. Mommy was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. What had she said? What had she told Sam? Did the kid think she had to be a watchdog, making sure her dad didn’t fall for some strange woman?
Was the kid right?
Charlie was tugging her shirt down as if she could stretch the fabric to her knees. “Sorry, honey.” She brushed an invisible fleck of lint from her shirt. “Sorry.”
Sam waggled a cautionary finger as Nate struggled to stay composed. What had she seen? How could he have done this—risked his daughter catching him with a woman other than her mother so soon? Was she scarred for life?
Probably.
He knelt on the floor. “I’m sorry, honey. Sometimes grown-ups do—bad things. They get carried away.” He glanced over at Charlie. Her back was turned toward him, so he couldn’t see her reaction to his calling their kiss a “bad thing.” But what was he supposed to say?
“That’s okay, Dad,” Sam said. “But no more, okay?” Her tone mimicked Sandi so closely it was uncanny. Nate swallowed hard and the little girl nodded sharply—just like her mother.
“Jumping on the bed just ruins the mattress,” she said. Mission accomplished, she spun around in an energetic pirouette and trotted out of the room.
Charlie turned to him as Sam left, her smile tight as she suppressed a laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Not funny at all. He’d almost let Sam see him kiss another woman. No way was she ready for that.
He turned away, pretending absorption in their task, smoothing the rumpled top sheet.
***
Charlie watched Nate run his hands over the sheet, flattening every wrinkle as if he could erase what had just happened between them—as if he could erase it from his own mind, and Sam’s too.
She was nothing but relieved when he turned away and followed Sam out of the room. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. Actually, it would have been nice if he’d said something reassuring—something that would convince her that he wasn’t once again “sorry” that he’d given in to the undeniable attraction between them. Something that would indicate their kiss wasn’t really a “bad thing.”
She pulled the burgu
ndy comforter back onto the bed and fluffed the pillows, arranging them in an inviting mound, then set her hands on her hips and looked around the room. It would do. It probably wasn’t quite as plush as Taylor Barnes’s usual accommodations, but it was acceptable.
She glanced over at the mirror and tugged her shirt down self-consciously. She hadn’t noticed this morning how it rode up, exposing her jeweled belly button and the top of her flaming horse tattoo. Scowling, she assessed her spiky hair and bold makeup. No wonder Nate was embarrassed for his daughter to see them together. She fit into this room just fine, with its fur and feathers, its candles and fluffy pillows. But on the rest of the ranch? She was as out of place as a dance-hall girl in a sod hut.
No matter how much she loved the place—and the animals, and hell, even the people—she really didn’t belong in Nate’s world.
Chapter 25
For a guy who hadn’t planned on teaching a clinic, Nate had plenty of material to cover the next day. Charlie felt like her head was bursting with information on horse conformation—uphill and downhill builds, shoulder and croup slopes, high and low pasterns, throatlatch flexion. She’d absorbed a whole new vocabulary—gaskins, cannons, and hocks; collection, impulsion, and balance. Then there were the problems to look out for—bandy legs, buck knees, calf knees, splay feet, sway backs, mutton withers, cow hocks, and sickle hocks. Nate used his own horses, photographs from books, Sam’s plastic ponies—everything he could find to teach them how to judge an animal’s strengths and weaknesses. It got to the point where Charlie found herself analyzing the finer points of the sofa versus the kitchen table. She might not know how to ride a horse, but she could sure as heck pick one out.
And she was about to get her chance. Saturday morning, Nate and Sam headed for the pickup, along with Taylor and Phaedra. Charlie was riding with Doris in the Ford. She couldn’t help wondering if Nate was trying to keep her away from Sam.
“Where’s the sale, anyway?” Taylor asked.
“Green River,” Nate said. “At the prison.”
“The prison? Hey, I think I broke the seat belt law once, but…”
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