by Karen Anders
There was something about her answer that put his Ranger instincts on alert. Was it her tone that didn’t ring true or the way her eyes slid away from his, as if she had something to hide? Suspects did that when they were lying.
He shrugged off his suspicions, realizing how silly they must be. He didn’t believe that she wouldn’t expect total pampering. He knew the type very well. Regardless, he didn’t have the staff for that. Well, if she wanted the ranch experience, she could just take everything else that went with it. She’d be begging him to take her to a hotel within a day.
She was a fine little package all buttoned down and swept up. Shortly after he’d lifted her into the cab of the truck, she’d removed the black jacket that matched the narrow skirt she wore. Underneath the jacket, she revealed a tight white shirt that looked as soft as her skin. He’d almost driven off the road when he’d glanced at the blouse and seen the distinct outline of the lacy bra she wore beneath it, as if it offered him a peek at the forbidden.
Her shining coffee-colored hair, shot through with gold, was situated on top of her head in an elaborate, stylish twist. Her stark hairdo showed off the perfect, delicate features of her face. Wide, almond-shaped cinnamon-brown eyes, framed with dark brown lashes, hid treasures a man wanted to mine. Not with picks and shovels, but with hands, mouth and body until all her riches became his.
Sam turned down the dusty road that led to his ranch, and looked for her reaction, but she seemed enthralled with the countryside.
The sleek black truck topped the rise in the driveway. They passed through the wrought-iron arch with elaborate curlicues from which hung a sign that read The Wildcatter—Home of World-Class Cutters. She asked, “Why is your ranch named the Wildcatter?”
“My great-granddad, Silas Winchester, was a wildcatter.” At her confused look, he sighed. “Men who search for oil are called wildcatters. Good ol’ Silas struck it rich, sold his claim, came here and built this ranch.”
When the ranch came into view, Sam pointed out a newly built arena. It was situated below an assortment of outbuildings and a big, elongated structure with corrals near a barn. Paddocks were visible in the distance—some filled with longhorns, others with horses. Beyond the arena was the big house. The foreman’s cottage had been built in a beautiful wooded lot of pine and elm. The fencing showed off fresh paint, as did the barn. Everything gleamed.
Sam pulled up to the cedar-and-glass house and shut off the engine.
“This is a really modern outfit you have here.”
Annoyance flashed through Sam. “Yes, ma’am, we update the buildings every hundred years or so, whether they need it or not.”
She glanced at him, perhaps picking up the undertone of irritation in his voice, but he pretended not to notice and left the truck. He realized, as he walked around the vehicle, that he would also have to lift her out. That ridiculous skirt would force her to do a very unladylike slide off the seat to the ground and he guessed she wasn’t even going to attempt that. Against his will, anticipation grew at the thought of touching her again.
He opened the passenger door and stood there for a moment as if waiting for permission to assist her. She reached behind her and snagged her violin case. “I would appreciate it if you could help me down.”
Her prim and proper voice sent another shot of irritation through him. Honestly, he didn’t have time to squire some city slicker gal around his ranch. But he had to remember this was for a good cause. “Yes, ma’am, we aim to please.”
He slid his hand under her legs and he had to stifle a gasp at the heat of her skin through the nylon of her hose. He moved in closer and encircled her back with his other arm and, as easily as before, lifted her into his arms and started to walk. Her body was tight and hot against his. He wondered how her skin would feel. He wanted to get closer to have more than a tease of that compelling fragrance.
“Is this considered a neighborly gesture?”
“Huh?”
She smiled and he liked the way her dark brown eyes filled with light. “You carried me all the way to the porch. Did you think I might not be able to walk on my own?”
He suddenly realized that he had carried her to the wraparound porch complete with rocking chairs. He’d gotten lost in her eyes, the feel of her body against him. A commotion at one of the corrals close to the house caught her attention and gave him a moment to gather his composure and set her down.
“What are those men doing?” She walked to the very edge of the porch and peered in the direction of the noise, shielding her eyes.
“Breaking a stallion. I raise championship roping horses, but they have to be broken to the saddle. That one in the corral was neglected and is half-wild. I’ve been contracted to train him.”
“How exciting.”
He shrugged. “Not my usual method of handling a stallion with that kind of innate ability. But sometimes, when they reach this age, a man on his back is all he understands.”
“You’re going to ride him into submission?”
“I’m going to have to.”
“And you’re skilled at this?”
“Ask me that when I get thrown and end up eating dirt. I need to join them as soon as I get you and your bags in the house.” The devil gripped him and he thought that maybe this would be all it would take to get her off his ranch and into a hotel. His ex-wife had thought breaking a horse was exciting until she’d had to breathe the dust and sweat of a horse and man. “Why don’t you watch? Part of the working-ranch experience.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m a bit tired.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “I’ll be breaking other broncs while you’re here.”
“It’s not that I’m not interested.”
“I understand. Not all cowboy things are appealing.” It was true. She had said she wanted the full package, but he was also convinced she wouldn’t like half the things she saw.
“Are you saying that because I’m from the city? That I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing a cowboy break a horse or be able to keep up with you?”
“If the glass shoe fits.”
Her features tightened and she looked up at him. “Are you challenging me?”
He tilted his head, hooked his thumbs in his jeans and slid out his hip. “Sure am.”
“Lead the way.”
“Not in those clothes. Do you have something else?”
“I have a pair of black slacks.”
“More serviceable shoes? Could I hope for boots?”
“No. I’m afraid not. Loafers.”
“Didn’t you think to pack more practical clothing?”
“Slacks and loafers are my practical clothing.”
“I guess they would be. They’ll have to do. Tomorrow you can buy some ranch duds in Savannah.”
He showed her into the house.
He entered an octagon-shaped foyer with gleaming hardwood floors and stained clerestory windows on six sides of the circular ceiling. A chandelier, which reflected a glorious rainbow of light throughout the entrance, was breathtaking. A glass-and-crystal table with delicate legs sat on a gilt pedestal. Large creamy-white orchids graced the table in an exquisite array, the scent of the exotic flowers floating on the sun-drenched air.
She looked up into his face. “I thought you said ranching wasn’t glamorous. This looks pretty glamorous to me.”
“Remnants of the influence of my ex-wife, Tiffany.”
“Oh. It’s beautiful.”
“That’s Tiffany. She liked beautiful things.” He took her elbow and the heat of her was like the feel of flame against skin as he guided her into the living room.
A young man came out of a swinging door, revealing a glimpse of a gleaming kitchen and an older rotund woman standing at a counter.
Sam said, “This is Cal. He’s Red and Maria Sparks’s son and she is my housekeeper. Cal does odd jobs for me and also helps his mother with jobs in the house.”
“Hi, Cal. I’m pleased to meet you.” She
shook the boy’s hand.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Cal, could you get Miss Sinclair’s bags? She’ll be staying with us for a little while.”
“Right away.”
The boy disappeared out the front door and soon returned with her bags and briefcase as Sam headed toward an impressive wooden staircase.
He stopped on the second floor in front of a doorway, ushering Jenna inside. The room, decorated in a charming Southwestern style, had a four-poster bed, hand-painted dresser and an adjacent bathroom.
“As soon as you’re dressed, come downstairs and we’ll go out to the corral.”
His hand lingered on her elbow and she turned to look up at him. Her eyes were such a beautiful enticing brown. Her chin raised, as if he expected her to try to get out of joining him.
“I would love to watch,” she said, her tone firm.
He liked the heightened color in her face, her snapping eyes. With a deliberate smile, he tipped his hat and backed out of the room. Cal passed him and deposited the bags on the beautiful lounge near the bed. He handed her the roses.
“Thank you, Cal,” she said in that proper voice.
“Could I get a vase for these flowers?” she asked.
He nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Sam smiled to himself as he returned downstairs. Once she had a whiff of sweaty horse and got her expensive duds all dirty, she’d hightail it into Savannah and out of his way.
He didn’t like his reaction to her on a purely physical level and he was not the kind of man who refused sex or the attentions of a beautiful woman. But Jenna was in a different league and he’d ridden that horse and been thrown. It was a good thing that she was going to be here for only a couple of weeks. The chemistry between them was irresistible. He could envision himself between her creamy thighs, his mouth moving over her body, taking what he wanted. Perhaps sheathing himself into her luscious body would take the edge off his libido.
But his Ranger instincts told him that he’d better slow that horse down.
WHEN SAM WALKED UP to the corral fifteen minutes later, his foreman, Tooter Dobson, stood at the fence and eyed him as he approached. The old man was dusty, his face streaked with dirt. His eyes shifted to Jenna and his brows rose as he took in her attire, his gaze stopped at her sleek upswept hairdo.
“Howdy, boss. Is this the fiddler?”
Sam could almost hear the censure in his simple words. Another city slicker, Sam. Are you plumb crazy? Tooter should know by now that Sam wasn’t crazy enough to take up with Jenna for anything as serious as a real relationship.
“Tooter Dobson, my foreman.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Sam situated Jenna at the fence so she could see. The other hands eyed one another and he knew they were all thinking that their boss shouldn’t ever get involved with a fancy piece again.
When Tooter didn’t move, Sam ducked under the fence and said, “Are we going to stand here all day, or break that stallion to the saddle.” Sam threw black chaps over the split-rail fence.
Tooter turned, barely hiding his grin. “Breaking a horse is not usually your way, Sam.” He pulled the worn, much abused hat off his head and sent his hand through a curly mass of sandy hair. “I know you like to sweet-talk ’em, but I have to tell you, he’s about the orneriest, most stubborn horse I’ve come into contact with.” He paused for a moment, eyeing the horse as he pranced around the arena while three ranch hands tried to corner and catch him. “He don’t like the saddle or the weight of a man on his back.”
Jenna gripped the rough wood of the fence beneath her hands. Despite the fact that she’d wanted to use this moment as an opportunity to search for the diary, Jenna was intrigued. Sam watched as the ranch hands finally succeeded in catching the elusive animal. They led the seemingly complacent horse back over to Tooter. Sam snagged the chaps off the fence. He fit them to his waist and slipped the buckle into place. He tightened the belt on the chaps, which clung to his hips like a second skin. Oh my, could the man get any sexier? Pulling the gloves free from his waistband, he said, “Then let’s try it the hard way.”
“Sam, don’t be too cocky. He’s a tough feller,” Tooter warned.
“I’m not cocky, just more stubborn than he is. Sometimes teaching humility hurts.”
Tooter laughed. “Darn right. What I want to know is who’s doing the teaching and who’s doing the learning?”
“That remains to be seen,” Sam said to Tooter. Sam smiled and turned to Jenna. “Red Sparks and Frank Howard,” Sam said, introducing the other two hands who had been standing at the fence watching their boss. Jenna nodded to each and they both smiled and tipped their hats.
Red crowed with delight. “Ride ’em, boss! Show that bucking bronc who’s in charge.”
The horse tried to bite Sam and Sam pushed his head away. “Stop fighting so hard, buddy. I’m not going to hurt you. Once you realize that, we can get down to roping. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
The horse snorted and tossed his head, sidling nervously away from the familiar voice as if to say, Don’t try it or you’ll be sorry. Something tightened inside of Jenna and her chest started to hurt.
She should be looking for the diary, but when he’d challenged her, she couldn’t help rising to the occasion. She’d bite her tongue before she told him that she hadn’t thought about packing ranch duds because she hadn’t been much interested in the ranch at all. She wasn’t here to find her inner cowgirl. She was here for her grandmother.
One of the ranch hands covered the horse’s eyes with a bandanna and Sam bent down, grabbed the leather strap across the horse’s belly and took up the slack. The horse snorted and stamped, but he allowed Sam to tighten the strap. Sam put his foot in the stirrup and Jenna’s heartbeat soared as she watched the horse quiver.
Jenna couldn’t take her eyes away from Sam as he mounted and tucked his other foot in the empty stirrup. He sat deep in the saddle and lifted one arm. Wrapping his other hand in the reins, he took a firm hold with his legs. His eyes met those of the man responsible for removing the blindfold. Sam nodded to him and he pulled the material away.
The result was immediate, spectacular and terrifying. With a squeal of defiance, the stallion performed a straight-in-the-air hop, but Sam was ready for him and the jarring landing didn’t unseat him. He tightened his legs and his body moved with the bucking motion of the stallion.
“Oh my God.”
“He’s a pistol, our Sam.” Tooter’s eyes gleamed with pride as he watched Sam.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jenna admitted. “Is he this focused in everything he does?”
Tooter looked at her, then said, “Yep. Whether it be calving, roping, riding or branding. Sam’s focused in everything he does.”
“And here I thought he was a charming, pampered cattle baron.”
Tooter snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, little lady. Sam likes his creature comforts right enough, but he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”
Eight seconds passed, ten, twenty and finally, with a powerful kick of the stallion’s hindquarters, Sam was thrown. He hit the ground hard, obviously trying to catch his breath. One man helped him up while the other patted his back.
“Teach him a lesson yet, son?” Tooter called.
Sam grinned right through the grime and sweat.
“Or did he teach you?” Red asked.
Sam laughed. With that full smile on his face, Sam’s eyes riveted to Jenna’s and her breath caught. A blue flame was all she could compare his gaze to, and Jenna hadn’t ever experienced fire like that.
As soon as the stallion was caught, Sam pulled his gaze from hers and was on his back again.
Jenna cringed each time Sam was unseated and ended up in the dirt, her stomach fluttering at the stupid feelings trapped inside—excitement, fear and awe. They all rolled around inside her as the afternoon wore on. Jenna watched as Sam was thrown so many times tha
t she lost count.
But each time he got back on the horse, those big hands wrapped around the reins. Staring at his hands made her remember the way they had slipped under her knees, the easy way he’d picked her up and held her to his strong chest. She couldn’t get it out of her mind.
When Sam was thrown again, Jenna winced.
Her breath caught in her throat. Gone was the easy way about him, gone was the mischievous twinkle, and gone was the teasing. This man, this gutsy, strong man, had replaced that man.
And he was sexy.
Oh, so sexy.
Man and animal sparred. The look on Sam’s face was firm and tough. His hat was jammed on his head, pulled low over his intense eyes like an outlaw. There was tensile strength in him—in the tough curve of his clenched jaw, in the depth of his alert eyes, in the rock-hard line of his body.
A shiver of apprehension sailed through her. If he was this tenacious with the stallion, she could only guess how he’d be in bed. She tried to ignore it—the rhythm of his big body, the valiant efforts of the strong animal beneath him—but she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how he would make love to her.
Suddenly, without any warning, the wildly bucking horse tilted into the fence right near her and she jumped back as hundreds of pounds of enraged horseflesh made the fence vibrate under her grip. She heard Sam grunt in pain and caught a whirl of blue eyes and a grimy face before the horse danced away.
It was in that moment that she realized how much control, tenacity and sheer guts it took for a man to climb up on such a huge beast and attempt to tame him.
The tired animal was beginning to show the strain as he stumbled and caught himself. He slowed, trotted for a few feet, bucked once more, then he evened out. It was over, but it was clear to Jenna, as Sam bent down to rub at the horse’s damp neck, that it had been a battle of wills and no one had really won. It had been a contest to see who could endure. Sam showed his respect by taking the saddle and bridle off the animal himself, and Jenna watched as he slipped the halter over the horse’s head. He took up the lead rope and led the sweat-soaked horse slowly around the ring to cool him down.