The Rancher She Loved

by Ann Roth

  * * *

  UTTERLY DRAINED, CLAY fell against the pillow, keeping Sarah close. His leg hurt, but making love with her was more than worth any pain. He’d known women more skilled at sex, but no one had ever satisfied him like this.

  He felt amazing. Whole.

  Darkness had fallen, and the room was pitch-black. Wanting to see her, he flipped on the bedside table lamp.

  Sarah blinked in the sudden light. She looked soft and thoroughly loved. His. He kissed her gently, then more deeply. Already he wanted her again, and knew that as soon his body recovered, he would make love with her a second time.

  “That was awesome,” he said.

  “I’ll say.”

  She ran her finger along his jaw and smiled into his eyes. She had little silver flecks in her blue irises, and she seemed to see straight into him. Not sure he liked that, he leaned in to kiss her again, stopping when his leg protested. The muscles were beginning to scream, telling him it was past time to pop two aspirin. “Stay put. I’ll be right back with a washcloth,” he said, hiding a wince as he pushed to his feet.

  He downed the tablets, drinking water straight from the bathroom tap. Straightening, he rubbed the knotted muscles above his knee.

  While he waited for the water to warm, he pulled a clean washcloth from the linen closet. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and noted the sappy grin on his face. The same smile he’d seen on some of his buddies’ faces from time to time, usually during the honeymoon part of a relationship.

  Clay figured he finally understood that grin, and why he felt so happy—great sex. Make that fantastic sex, the best, ever. There was nothing like it.

  * * *

  ALONE IN CLAY’S big comfy bed, Sarah stretched and smiled. He was a wonderful lover—tender, thoughtful, caring and passionate all at once, and her whole body purred with satisfaction.

  He was a great guy, period. He seemed to like her, too. She saw it in his eyes and his smile, and felt it in his pleasuring touch.

  The words of the buckle bunny she’d overheard that afternoon three years ago popped into her mind. The best I’ve ever had.

  Maybe he treated all his lovers in the same caring way. Regardless, Sarah knew he cared. Otherwise he wouldn’t have searched the attic for the footlocker, or come with her to meet the Beckers that first time and again tonight.

  He’d never made any promises, but she hadn’t expected any. She was in no way ready to think about the future, and was pretty sure Clay wasn’t, either. He hadn’t even brought up the fact that she was leaving in less than a week, but neither had she.

  For the time being, now was enough.

  He padded in from the bathroom, naked, unselfconscious and gloriously masculine.

  Instead of handing over the washcloth, he joined her in bed, the wicked glint in his eyes exciting and intoxicating.

  “What are you going to do with that washcloth?” she asked.

  “I always clean up after myself.” He shot her a cocky grin and then burrowed under the covers.

  How could a man with a washcloth turn her into a whimpering mess? A few heated moments later, he tossed the washcloth aside and made love to her again.

  Later, glowing from the inside out, she snuggled close and let out a contented sigh. The loudest growl she’d ever heard rumbled from Clay’s belly.

  “That sounds ominous,” she teased.

  His mouth quirked. “I’ve been working hard, and I need sustenance. How about you?”

  It had only been a few hours since dinner, but Sarah hadn’t eaten much. “I could eat,” she said. “What’ve you got?”

  “I’m thinking bacon and eggs. Wanna help me cook?”

  “So that’s why I’m here.”

  “That, and because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  He traced her nipple with his finger. Desire licked through her. “Before you ravish me again, we need to feed you,” she said. “Give me something to wear.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Clay tossed her his shirt. He grabbed a pair of jeans from a dresser drawer and pulled them on commando.

  Some twenty minutes later, wearing panties and his shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Sarah sat down with him in the breakfast nook.

  Without any preliminaries, Clay attacked his eggs. “This sure tastes good.”

  Surprised at how hungry she was, Sarah nodded around a mouthful.

  When Clay finally came up for air, he studied her, his eyes dropping to half-mast. “You look sexy in my shirt.”

  The fabric smelled of him and brushed against her sensitive nipples, making them harden. She eyed his muscular chest. “You look sexy without it.”

  Heat flared in his eyes, and she wanted him all over again.

  She wanted more than that, she realized while he mopped up egg yolk with his toast. A lot more.

  Sometime tonight, she’d fallen in love with him. No, that wasn’t quite true. If she were totally honest, she’d have to say that she’d started falling for him three years ago.

  Admitting the truth to herself terrified her. Unable to take another bite, she set her fork down and pushed her half-eaten food aside.

  Clay eyed the plate. “Are you going to finish that?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  He attacked her plate with gusto, never realizing that he owned her heart—hook, line and sinker.

  There wasn’t a thing she could do about it except enjoy what they shared for the few days she had left in town, then leave and pull herself together.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clay was finishing the last of Sarah’s eggs when his cell buzzed. Who’d call after eleven on a Friday night?

  Back when he was at the top of his rodeo game, he’d fielded phone calls at all times of the night without missing a beat. But now? His life was low-key. No one called much past nine.

  Unless there was an emergency of some kind at the ranch. “I’d better pick that up,” he said. “It could be Mattson.”

  Sarah nodded. Her hair was tousled from their last go-around, and he could see the points of her nipples against his shirt. God help him, he wanted inside her again, as soon as possible.

  He’d handle the call quickly, and then enjoy a steamy shower with her. His gaze on her, he lifted his hip and slid the phone from his back pocket and answered without checking the screen. “Clay here.”

  “Hey, Clay, this is Angela.”

  Unable to recognize the loud, slightly harsh voice, and not sure he knew anyone by that name, he frowned. “Who?”

  “Angela Allen? We met in a bar in Billings some months ago?”

  Now he remembered—the blonde with the big breasts, the one he’d gotten plastered with. The last women he’d had sex with before Sarah.

  He’d never expected or wanted to hear from her, and didn’t welcome the call. Plus his number was unlisted. “How did you get my number?” he asked, none too friendly.

  “It wasn’t that difficult.”

  If that was true, he needed to change it. Wanting to get rid of her and get back to Sarah, he shrugged and rolled his eyes. He’d heard this before, and hoped to hell that, like Jeanne, Angela was lying. “What did you say you wanted?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you, and I really think we should talk about it in person. Can you meet me at the same bar tomorrow night?”

  Having no desire to see her ever again, he frowned. “I don’t live in Billings anymore. Whatever you have to say, say it now.”

  “Over the phone? But it’s important.”

  “Just say it.” He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table top.

  “All right, if that’s the way you want it. I’m pregnant.”

  “Okay. Congratulations, and have a great life.”

&nb
sp; “You don’t understand. It’s yours.”

  Caught off-guard, Clay was momentarily stunned. Not again. He didn’t hide his scoff. “I don’t think so. I may have drunk too much that night, but I remember using protection.”

  “The condom must’ve broken.”

  “If it had, we’d have known.”

  “Then there was a hole in it or something.”

  Bull.

  “Clay!” she said so loudly he winced. “Are you there?”

  “Oh, I’m here. Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”

  “Because I’m eighteen weeks along, which is about the time we slept together.”

  Clay quickly counted back. She was right, and despite his skepticism, doubts crept in. What if she was telling the truth?

  “What are you going to do about it?” he asked warily.

  “If you’re asking whether I’ve considered an abortion, the answer is no. I want this baby.”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “What do you need from me?”

  “As the father, you have certain responsibilities.”

  “You mean money.”

  “That’s right. For medical bills and child support.”

  She was trying to trick him into paying for someone else’s kid. It was either that, or he was going to be a father. Clay swore. “I want a DNA test.”

  “Fine, but I can’t do that until after the baby is born.”

  Jeanne had been tested after her tenth week of pregnancy. “I happen to know that you can have one right now. Ask your doctor.”

  After a slight hesitation, she said, “I will.”

  “Good. I’ll check with mine and get back to you.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Here’s my phone number.”

  * * *

  THE WOMAN ON the phone had a loud voice, and Sarah overheard almost everything she said. Her name was Angela, and she’d met Clay in a bar. She was pregnant and said he was responsible, just like the other woman he’d told her about.

  He hadn’t even recognized her name, a pretty good indicator that the sex had probably been a quick, one-time thing. Which only reinforced the differences between Sarah and him. She had sex only with men she had real feelings for. But Clay took his sex lightly, as something to engage in with any willing woman.

  She’d known this all along, and that was what made her so mad at herself. Getting involved with Clay, letting her feelings grow and deepen, was just plain foolish.

  She watched him jot down Angela’s number and suddenly wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

  Looking somber, Clay hung up. “As Yogi Berra would say, that felt like déjà vu all over again. The woman on the phone claims to be carrying my baby, but I think she’s lying. I always, always use protection.”

  “So you keep telling me, but as Angela said, the condom might have broken or been defective.”

  Clay raised his eyebrows. “You heard that?”

  “Along with everything else she said.”

  “Wonderful,” he muttered. “Look, what happened that night was before I decided to move to Saddlers Prairie and buy a ranch. I wasn’t supposed to ever walk again, and was just out of a wheelchair, proving the doctors wrong.

  “You’d think I’d have been happy about that, but I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. My career had tanked, and people I considered friends bailed on me. That was partly my fault, because after the accident I turned into a total ass. I was one pathetic piece of work—couldn’t even stand my own company.”

  Scowling into the distance, he absently rubbed his knee. “One night, I drove to a tavern outside town, where I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. I wanted to get drunk fast, and I sat down at the bar and started drinking double scotches. At some point, Angela sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. That’s how it happened. I hardly even remember what she looked like.”

  What could Sarah say to that? She simply listened.

  “FYI, I haven’t been with anyone since—until you,” Clay added.

  He gave her a level look, and she knew he was telling the truth. “And now Angela’s pregnant,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “Same thing I did last time—get a paternity test and prove her wrong.”

  “And if you turn out to be wrong?”

  The very suggestion skewed his solemn expression into a frown. “I’ll cross that bridge if and when I have to.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “Look, it’s getting late, and I need time to think.”

  Sarah understood. Under the same circumstances, she’d be shocked, too. She rose and carried her plate to the sink. “I’ll get dressed.”

  Five minutes later, still reeling from Angela’s call, Sarah climbed into Clay’s pickup.

  Neither of them spoke on the way to Mrs. Yancy’s. Clay drove with his jaw set and his hands gripping the wheel, as tense as she’d ever seen him. No wonder that bull had thrown him.

  Sarah wasn’t exactly calm and relaxed, either. “Don’t forget to breathe,” she reminded him, attempting to lighten his mood.

  He inhaled halfheartedly and exhaled, but the tension remained. Moments later, he parked in front of the house. At nearly midnight, only the porch light and a lamp in the living room greeted her. The rest of the house was dark. Mrs. Yancy must be asleep.

  That suited Sarah fine. Before she faced her temporary landlady, she needed to pull herself together.

  “I’m real sorry about this, Sarah.” Leaving the engine running, Clay opened his door.

  “Don’t get out,” she said.

  “I want to walk you to the door.”

  “It’s less than fifty feet away, and I’m a big girl. I can get there just fine by myself.”

  “I’ll walk you, anyway.” His eyes narrowed slightly, and she knew better than to argue with him.

  They moved silently across the grass.

  Between the ranch, the construction on his house and the business with Angela, Sarah doubted they’d see each other again before she left town. Which was probably for the best, but also meant that unless Clay planned to stay in touch, these were their last few moments together.

  Standing under the porch light, she forced herself to meet his somber gaze. There was no glimmer of the warmth that had made her blood sing less than an hour earlier. True, he’d had a huge shock, but she knew he wasn’t in love with her.

  He liked her and enjoyed the sex, but he would never care for her as deeply as she wanted him to. She’d always known that, but had turned a blind eye.

  Her heart felt as if it had cracked. Pressure built behind her eyes, signaling a headache and a big cry later. Somehow, she managed a bland expression. “Good luck with the test, Clay, and take care.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Despite herself, she expected a light kiss, the gentle caress of his fingers on her cheek. Something.

  But Clay only huffed out a heavy breath and kicked the toe of his boot at the porch floor. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Right now he might think so, but Sarah doubted she’d hear from him again. He had a busy life that didn’t include her.

  Heavyhearted, she slipped through the front door.

  Soft light bathed the living room in a welcoming glow that seemed to mock her pain. She waited until she heard the pickup drive off before flipping off the porch light and the lamp. Making her way through the blackness, she tiptoed up the stairs.

  A hot shower washed Clay’s scent from her skin, but did nothing to ease the icy chill inside her.

  She’d lost him without ever having a chance at a relationship. Without ever having him at all.

  Love sucked.

  She stood under the spray and waited for the tears. But it was too soon, and the tears refused to come. />
  Exhausted by all that had happened, Sarah toweled herself off and pulled her nightie over her head. Craving the oblivion of sleep, she crawled into bed—a bed half the size of Clay’s and twice as empty. Yet as dead tired as she was, she lay awake for a long time, replaying the unforgettable evening, ruined by one phone call.

  A sobering wake-up call Sarah could’ve done without. She only wished it had come earlier.

  A woman Clay barely knew might be carrying his baby. Before hooking up with her, he’d been in a wheelchair and not expected to walk again. He’d driven his friends away.

  Until an hour ago, Sarah hadn’t been aware of any of that.

  She really didn’t know him at all.

  * * *

  SARAH SLEPT IN Saturday morning, only waking when her chirping cell phone blasted her awake. It was after nine, late for her. But then, she’d fallen asleep just about the time the birds had started their predawn chatter.

  Groggy and half thinking Clay might be calling, she reached for the phone before she remembered—he wasn’t going to call.

  The screen identified the caller as Pete Charles. Yawning, she pressed the talk button. “Good morning, Pete.”

  “Morning. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Yes, but that’s okay. What’s up?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  The words dissipated any vestiges of sleepiness. Sarah sat up. “Let me guess—you were unable to find Tammy.”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

  Okay, now she was both confused and worried. “What could possibly be worse?”

  “Before I answer that question, I’d like to tell you what I uncovered. About twenty-eight years ago, Tammy settled in a Montana town called Big Timber, which is about two-hundred-and-sixty miles southwest of where you are now. Five years later, she married a man named Art Simmons. Her legal name was Tammy Simmons.”

  “Was? Did she divorce and change her name?”

  “I wish that were the case. This is where I give you the bad news, so brace yourself.”

  Heart pounding, Sarah gripped the phone. “Go ahead.”