The Rancher and the Redhead

by Suzannah Davis

  “Here.” Roni passed him a cup of champagne. “And try to remember it’s not the usual rotgut you drink.”

  “Thank you for the warning.”

  It set his teeth on edge, knowing that she’d lived a champagne kind of life out there in California with the film industry hoi polloi, knowing that he came across as some kind of bad-tempered Texas hayseed by comparison. Feeling mutinous and resentful, he took a gulp, swishing the sparkling wine around his teeth, letting the bubbles fill his sinuses, generally making as obnoxious a process of it as he could. Roni watched him over the edge of her own cup, a small frown pleating her brow, but then something dissolved in her expression and she laughed helplessly.

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded, heat rising in his cheeks.

  “You and me.” She toasted him broadly, then tilted her cup and drained the contents.

  “Hey, watch it.”

  “Why?” She blinked at him, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Afraid I’ll get drunk and say something stupid? I’ve already proven I don’t need Dutch courage for that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m trying to apologize, you lunkheaded cowboy.” Her color was too high, and she buried her face in her hands with a groan. “And there I go again. I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what’s the matter with me lately. I didn’t mean to say those ugly things. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  Sam’s throat constricted, and he reached out to lift her chin so he could see her face. “Me, neither.”

  “I was just so furious,” she added in a rush. “I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel when I called Steve Cutler. I realize I should have discussed it with you, but dammit, Sam, you won’t let me do anything.”

  “Huh? How can you say that?” He frowned, mystified, and his fingertips lingered, stroking the soft underside of her chin, satiny-smooth and faintly damp with perspiration. “You’re just about killing yourself talking care of Jessie and the house and me and your commissions. You’re doing plenty—too damn much, the way I see it.”

  She pulled back, shaking her head in frustration. “I mean you won’t let me get close. You won’t talk to me about your problems unless I push my way in. And you won’t let me help, when I’m ready, willing and able to do so.”

  “There are some things a man has to do by himself.”

  “I’ve had it up to here with your macho bull.” She clenched her fist in his chambray shirt and shook him. “Listen here, buddy, I’m a partner in this thing, same as you. That’s why I called the plumber. And we are getting new pipes in that house, and I will pay for it, so you better get used to the idea.”

  “Jeez, Curly,” he drawled, “why didn’t you just tell me how you really felt?”

  “Aww...men!” She thrust him away, then grabbed Jessie who was chewing a mouthful of grass. “Oh, eat your sandwich.”

  Sam couldn’t prevent a smile. “Curly, you’re a maniac.”

  She bounced Jessie on her leg and gave him a suspicious look. “Does that mean you’re going to forgive me?”

  “Only if it works both ways.” He shifted uncomfortably and began to unwrap a ham sandwich, not meeting her eyes. “I—uh, that is... Look, you’re nothing like Shelly and I was way out of line, so if you can just forget it, let’s call a truce, okay?”

  “Yes.” She gave a sigh of relief. “I’d like that. I get all knotted up inside when we argue.”

  “Me, too.” He caught her wrist, turning it to inspect the scald. “So, how’s the arm?”

  “Not bad. I put some salve on it. Let’s just put it behind us, okay?” She beamed at him. “Have some more champagne. Have some strawberries.”

  Sam was more than willing. Giving her a half smile, he polished off his sandwich and accepted the cup she refilled for him, along with a handful of succulent berries. “Kind of fancy vittles for a cowpuncher’s picnic.”

  “A peacekeeping expedition of this proportion demanded extraordinary measures.”

  A reluctant grin tilted his mouth. “Well, ma’am, I guess it worked at that.”

  Laughing, she bit into a strawberry while helping Jessie drink juice from a two-handled baby cup. Finished, the child gave a sigh and curled up next to Sam’s outstretched leg, murmuring sleepily to herself. “Gosh, she’s tired.”

  “Didn’t she get her nap?”

  Roni shook her head, lowering her voice as she rubbed the baby’s back in a soothing rhythm. Jessie’s eyelids fluttered once, twice; then she settled into sleep. “It’s a bit noisy at the house right now.”

  “I can imagine,” Sam said dryly.

  Roni’s warm brown gaze flickered to his face, then away, as though she were unwilling to risk another confrontation on that issue. Well, the deed was done, Sam thought. No use fighting about a bunch of pipes and faucets any further. But he would find a way to pay Steve Cutler for his services at some point. To keep the peace, it wouldn’t hurt to let think Roni she’d gotten her way. This time.

  Roni poured herself more champagne, sipping and dipping strawberries into the bubbly liquid as her gaze roamed the lush landscape and the sun-dappled surface of the large pond.

  “It’s nice and quiet here,” she said. “We used to come here a lot, didn’t we? I’d forgotten how pretty it is.”

  “Beautiful.”

  But Sam wasn’t looking at the scenery. It was Roni’s mouth, slick and rosily stained with berry juice, that snared his attention. He was amazed that he could run the emotional gamut from crazed fury to gut-clenching lust in just a few short moments. It was pretty clear that ole Sam was losing his ever-lovin’ mind.

  “It’s awfully hot already for May, though,” Roni was saying.

  She plucked open the top button of her blouse, lifting the fabric to encourage any wayward breeze. Sam swallowed hard as a trickle of moisture slipped from the base of her throat and disappeared into the mysterious hollows of her cleavage.

  “Yeah, hot,” Sam said hoarsely. “And it’s going to get worse.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m about to melt right now as it is, and this stuff is making me muzzy-headed.” She drained her cup anyway, then unclipped her hair and lifted it off her neck. Her eyes strayed to the pond, cool and green and inviting. “Sam?”

  The sight of her breasts pressing against the fabric of her shirt robbed him of speech. “Hmm?”

  “Remember how we all used to sneak up here when we were kids? You and Kenny and me? Even Travis sometimes.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Remember what we did?”

  How could he forget? Skinny-dipping with the gang, a forbidden pleasure, all childish innocence and fun. “I remember—what are you doing?”

  Without looking at him, she rapidly tugged off her boots and socks, then stood, swaying rather dizzily as she unsnapped her jeans and began to shuck them off. “What’s it look like?”

  A bolt of sizzling alarm shot from Sam’s skull to the soles of his feet. “Veronica Jean!”

  “Watch Jessie for me while I cool off, okay?”

  Dropping her jeans, she walked toward the water’s edge, unbuttoning her shirt and then dropping that in the grass, too, apparently oblivious to the fact that neither she nor Sam was ten years old anymore.

  It was that damned red silk lingerie again! Sam’s body leapt to life, and he groaned at the sight of full breasts cupped by sheer scarlet net, slender hips caressed by the briefest scrap of vermillion lace. Then she was wading into the water, taking hedonistic pleasure in the sensuality of cool liquid on heated flesh. She eased under, making soft sounds of delight reminiscent of a woman in the heights of passion, then swam a few yards out.

  Sam watched, mesmerized and helpless. When she stood up again, she lifted her face to the sun and pushed back her streaming hair. Water sluiced off her, turning her garments transparent, and Sam thought the top of his head would pop off.

  With a glance to ensure that Jessie was still soundly asleep on the cloth, he eased painfully to his feet and stormed to the wate
r’s edge. Unfulfilled lust lashed at him, made him angry in a way that couldn’t even compare to his earlier rage.

  Did Roni think he was made of iron? That his willpower was inexhaustible? Surely it was the champagne that made her so foolhardy. Whatever the reason, he was at his limit, and the torture had to end.

  “Curly, get your butt out of there right now!”

  She spun to face him, the water lapping at her thighs. She blinked, her annoyance at his preemptory tone clear, and then something indefinable changed. Tilting her head, she pursed her lips and looked at him through her lashes, feline and taunting and provocative. “Make me.”

  He saw red.

  Red silk. Ripe, berry-red lips. A rosy blush of satin skin and female flesh.

  Engulfed in the scarlet flames of passion, he stepped into the water. Her eyes widened as he took another step, filling his boots, saturating his jeans.

  Roni stumbled back, but it was too late. Hooking an arm around her waist, Sam jerked her close. The breath left her with a whoosh as she landed against his rock-hard chest, then felt another part of him equally rigid. He threaded his other hand through her wet hair, tilting her head back at a painful angle, holding her still as he breathed fire across her face.

  “You’re driving me insane. Why?” he demanded, his voice harsh.

  She trembled. “I don’t know.”

  He slid his fingers beneath the elastic band of her bikini panties, pressing into the small of her back so that she made an intimate acquaintance with the bulge in the front of his jeans. “Don’t you know what you’re asking for?”

  “Maybe I do.” She licked her lips and tried to smile, but the soft mounds of her breasts were crushed against his shirt and her breathing was ragged.

  “Don’t fancy it up in your mind,” he said, making his words brutally honest. “It’s release, pure and simple. For both of us.”

  “You’re so sure,” she said, gasping.

  “I’m a man. You’re a woman. We’re in the same house, the same damn bed. Forget that crock about a platonic relationship. It isn’t working, at least for me.”

  “Sam, I—”

  “Just be quiet.” He covered her mouth with a blistering kiss. When he lifted his head, she was limp.

  Breathing gustily, he half dragged, half carried her to the bank, then pressed her down into the soft grass. With one knee insinuated aggressively between her thighs, he held her face between his palms, speaking plainly, with no apologies.

  “I can’t think or work. Half the time, I can’t decide whether to bed you or strangle you. Hell, it’s a wonder we haven’t killed each other.”

  She touched his waist. “I know. I’m sorry—”

  He grimaced. “No, I’m sorry. I tried to give you time, but I’ve reached my limit. Given the situation, it had to happen sooner or later. And by God, it has to be sooner to save my sanity. We are going to consummate this marriage, Veronica Jean.”

  She quivered. “We are?”

  He steeled himself against the vulnerable tremor in her voice. “Yes. You are going to share my bed, and we are going to give each other what we need to take the edge off and get back to a normal life. We talked about how this might happen. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, if you’re not ready, but there it is. So what have you got to say?”

  She sighed and pulled his face to hers. “Finally.”

  Shock froze Sam for a timeless instant as her lips nibbled his; then the heat of realization sparked the roiling inferno inside him into a full-fledged conflagration. He covered her completely with his body, pressing her into the lush, sweet-smelling grasses, cursing the barriers of clothing that separated them. Her mouth was sweet and responsive and willing, eagerly opening for the penetration of his tongue.

  With a groan, he rolled over, pulling her on top of him, rolling his thumbs in the hollows of her hipbones. She gasped, arching away from his mouth, and he raised his head to lick at the pebbled nipple poking against the wet, lacy barrier of her scarlet bra.

  “Sam—oh!” Face flushed, she clutched at his shoulders. “We’ve got to stop.”

  Groaning, he bit lightly at the swell of her breast spilling out of its lacy covering. “Lady, you started this.”

  “We can’t do it here. Not now.” Her voice was rather desperate.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Anyone could come up. And Jessie’s awake.”

  For a second, he almost didn’t care, but then responsibility reaffirmed itself. With another groan of pure defeated frustration, he let go of Roni. She rolled off him, her eyes wide with what he hoped was regret—or was it relief?—and scrambled toward the cloth where Jessie was rousing.

  For a long moment, all Sam could do was lie on his back and stare up at the blue sky while his body throbbed in protest. Finally he came to his feet and squished in his sodden boots to gather Roni’s jeans and shirt. She was kneeling, changing Jessie’s diaper when he squatted down and dropped her clothes beside her.

  “You’d better put these on.”

  “Yes.” Her cheeks were still flushed and she didn’t look at him.

  “I guess parents have to get accustomed to this kind of interruption.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Don’t think this lets you off the hook, though.”

  That snapped her head around. “I—I don’t.”

  Sam touched her hair, brushing the damp, curling mass over her shoulder. “You and me, tonight. After the whippersnapper goes to bed. We have some business to finish.”

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  “We agree it’s for the best.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tonight, then.”

  She nodded. “Tonight.”

  So they made the date. But as they rode home toward the ranch house, Sam had to wonder why the woman who’d agreed to become his lover and wife in fact looked as though she were riding to her own execution.

  Seven

  “She’s asleep?”

  “Uh-huh.” Roni stood in the bedroom doorway, looking back over her shoulder toward Jessie’s room. The pale beam of a night-light was the only illumination in the house, the low thrum of the air conditioner the only sound besides the nervous pounding of her heart. “I’ve never been this far away from her at night. What if I don’t hear her?”

  “You’ll hear her.” Sam’s disembodied voice came from the darkened depths of the bedroom.

  “But—”

  “Curly, I thought we’d agreed.”

  Roni shivered under her simple emerald gown, and her voice was small. “We did.”

  There came a rustle of sheets being pulled back. “Then come here.”

  Roni swallowed, and slowly stepped across the carpet toward a man whose shadowy form she felt more than saw. How could she want this so badly, and yet feel so afraid? She reached the edge of the bed, then jumped when a warm hand closed around her wrist. Gently Sam pulled her down beside him. She lay on her back, tension stretching every cord and tendon, waiting, waiting. She could smell the menthol of his shaving cream and the musk of his skin, but with him propped on his elbow, all she could see of Sam’s face was a shaded outline, and he seemed a stranger to her.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said at last.

  Her breath, which she hadn’t even been aware she was holding, left her in a little rush. “I know that.”

  “Then why...?” He slid a hand to her waist, rubbing his callused fingers soothingly over the cool silk of her garment. “You’re stiff as a firepoker. Do I frighten you that much?”

  She gulped, all her fears crowding her thoughts. It was all so cold-blooded. What if she couldn’t please him? She wasn’t that experienced, really. What did he expect of a lover? Oh, Lord, how was she going to go through with this?

  She forced panic back and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry. It’s a big step, that’s all.”

  Disappointment colored his voice. “Curly, if you’re not ready—”

  “No—I mean, yes, I am.” Heat stained
her cheeks, but she resolutely covered his questing hand with her own and drew it to her breast. “I’m just a little nervous. It’ll be all right.”

  But it seemed he hardly heard her, suddenly fascinated with the heavy weight of her breast in his palm, his thumb exploring the sensitive tip. Dipping his head, he sought her mouth, and Sam, who had always been assured and graceful to her, now moved awkwardly, bumping noses before finding her lips.

  His kiss was too gentle, over too quickly for Roni, and then he was stripping off her gown. Finding her nude beneath it, he pulled her against his body, and she gasped at the rich, dark, hair-dusted warmth of his own nakedness, blatantly masculine and intimidating. His turgid sex pressed against her thigh, branding her with his right of possession.

  “Relax, Curly.” Sam’s voice held the rasp of growing passion. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  She tried. She really did.

  But whether from nerves or inexperience or ineptitude, she couldn’t fully respond to his kisses and caresses. In his consideration for her nervousness, he held her like a china doll when what she needed was his masculine power to overcome her anxiety. His touch, though gentle, was too polite, too well mannered to push her into full arousal, and she fell short of the plateaus that would have led her to forgetfulness time and again. She allowed him every liberty, and tried to touch him, to pleasure him in return, but she was out of pace with Sam’s growing urgency, and she sensed his impatience as well as his determination to make things good for her. But it was impossible, and after a while her only goal was to have him finish things.

  “Now,” she urged, tugging at his hips.

  He slipped a finger between her legs, making her jump.

  “It’s okay.” She touched him intimately, knowing he was drawing close to the end of his willpower. “Please, Sam, now.”

  Bending her knees up, he positioned himself and entered her. She gasped at the sharp pinch of discomfort.