“Hmm, pork chops, corn and fried potatoes—it all looks delicious.” He sat down across from her.
“I didn’t have a lot to work with. Your freezer speaks of a man who rarely eats at home.”
He nodded. “The Cattle Call isn’t the only restaurant around here where people know my name. It just seems like a pain to cook for one.”
“If you want me to cook dinner each evening while I’m here, you should probably make a trip to the grocery store tomorrow and buy what you like to eat,” she replied.
He picked up his fork but kept his gaze focused on her. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “Taking advantage of me would have been you asking me or expecting me to cook. Instead I offered. Now, eat while it’s hot.”
She picked up her fork and cut into her pork chop. He did the same. He took a bite of the savory meat and smiled. “Delicious.” He felt the stress of the day slowly melting away.
For the next few minutes they ate in silence. He was glad that she wasn’t the kind of woman who felt obliged to fill every silence with chatter. This was the comfortable silence of two people taking the time to savor their meal.
It was only when they were halfway through that she asked him about his day. “Actually, I had a busy day, lots of meetings and little fires that required my attention. That’s unusual. Most days I just sit in my office while everything hums smoothly around me. What about you? How did things go with Sugar?”
“Pretty much as I expected. She’s intelligent and doesn’t seem to be aggressive, which is a good thing.”
“I would imagine that working with aggressive horses can be pretty dangerous.”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “Even great trainers sometimes get hurt or killed by not respecting the animal they’re working with.” Her eyes sparkled and it was obvious she loved what she did. “The secret is to use specific training methods for specific cases. No two wild or traumatized horses are the same and you can’t use a one-size-fits-all kind of training.” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m sure that’s more information than you wanted.”
“Please, don’t apologize. You’re passionate about what you do and I find that very attractive in a woman.”
“Attractive or not, it’s who I am,” she replied. “What about you? Are you passionate about your work?”
“Definitely. I feel an almost obsessive responsibility to Stanton Oil. The company was started by my great-grandfather and has grown and prospered with each generation.”
He frowned thoughtfully. “My father made it clear from the time I was young that I was the heir and Mark was the spare to the Stanton Oil throne. I think the family dynamics helped make Mark into the irresponsible, entitled man he has become.”
“How so?” she asked in open curiosity.
“The more my father doted on me, the more my mother did on Mark. She overcompensated by giving him everything he wanted. He never had to earn anything—it was all just given to him. My father made me work hard for his respect. Looking back, I think it was a little unhealthy for both of us.”
“I don’t care what his childhood was like. If he gave that photo of us to the newspaper, then he has a mean, vindictive streak in him. I haven’t called anyone in my family to see if they saw the paper. I don’t know how to begin to explain it to them.”
“Tell them the truth, that you’re working for me and we had a moment between us...a moment we’re attempting to build on. They know you didn’t jilt Mark. I’m sure they also know what kind of woman you are and you’re nothing like what the article implied.”
She smiled in obvious gratitude. “Thanks. I didn’t realize I needed to hear that.”
“Today’s news will be forgotten by tomorrow. The social pages have painted me as an arrogant, womanizing bastard over the years.” He frowned. “The Oklahoma Star social-page editor is known for exploitive, sensationalized stories. She should be working for a tabloid instead of a legitimate newspaper.”
They finished the meal talking about more pleasant topics, the unseasonably warm weather, their favorite foods and what he intended to pick up at the grocery store before coming home from work the next day.
They cleaned up the dishes together, and each time their shoulders bumped or they brushed against one another, a slight sizzle shot through Tyler’s veins. It was ridiculous how easily she could stir up a healthy dose of lust in his veins.
“Wine in the living room?” he asked once the kitchen was clean.
“Actually, there’s still enough daylight that I’m heading back out to the corral for a while,” she replied. She smiled at him ruefully. “Besides, that wine-in-the-living-room thing has been dangerous for the last two nights.”
He grinned at her. “I told you the ball was now in your court. If you want to kick it into my bedroom, I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Of course you don’t,” she replied drily.
Minutes later when she headed out the back door, Tyler followed her and tried not to notice how her jeans cupped her perfect bottom and fit down her long legs.
She went directly to the corral, opened the gate and stepped in. Sugar stood in the center of the area and didn’t move. This was already a change from the horse’s normal behavior. Whenever Tyler or Raymond even opened the gate, Sugar always darted directly to the back of the corral, as far away from them as possible.
Greta walked around the edge of the corral, her strides long and confident. Sugar remained in the center, moving only to keep eyes on the stranger in her domain.
Tyler leaned his arms on the top of the corral, content just to watch Greta move. With her long legs and slender figure, she moved with the grace of a dancer. She’d stop occasionally and looked at Sugar for long moments, talked to her and then continued her walk around the perimeter of the corral.
The evening air smelled of rich earth and held the crispness of autumn. He dreaded the coming of winter. It had been on a wintry night when his parents had been killed on an icy highway in a ten-car pileup. Winter always brought with it a bittersweet cache of memories and a renewal of loss despite the years that had passed.
He shoved these maudlin thoughts away and focused back on Greta. It had been nice to come home not only to the scent of dinner filling the air but also to the presence of another person in the house.
Lately he’d become acutely aware of the silence when he was home, resulting in his working later and later hours in an effort to avoid the utter quiet of his private life.
He’d tired of the fund-raisers and charity events he was invited to attend, even though he knew he could find a willing female to share a couple of hours of meaningless conversation.
Twilight had fallen and the air had grown nippy by the time Greta finally left the corral. “The first thing I need to teach Sugar is that I won’t hurt her with my presence,” Greta explained when they walked back to the house. “She also has to know that she’s a guest in my territory instead of the other way around.”
“Makes sense to me,” he replied. “Coffee?” he asked when they reentered the kitchen.
“No, thanks, I’m good.”
“Want to head to the living room and sit for a bit before bedtime?” he asked.
She looked down at her dusty jeans. “Actually, before I sit anywhere, I need to head to the shower.” She bent down and pulled off first one and then the other of the dusty cowboy boots she wore. Something clattered to the floor.
“Is that what I think it is?” he asked as she picked up the pearly-white item.
“If you think it’s a knife, then it’s exactly what you think it is.” She tucked it into her back pocket.
“All this time I’ve spent with you and I didn’t know I was hanging out with somebody who was armed and dangerous.”
“Keep that in mind for future purposes,” she replied with a teasing light in her eyes. “Now, I’m going to head to the shower.”
“I’ll wait for you. I�
��d like to ask you some questions about your work.”
She appeared surprised. “Oh, okay. I won’t be too long.”
She disappeared from the kitchen and took some of the life, some of the energy, in the air with her. He thought about making coffee for himself, then nixed the idea and instead headed into the living room.
He sank down into the lush leather of the sofa. When would he hear from Mark? There was no question in his mind that it had been his brother who had taken the picture and then given it to the paper. It definitely had Mark’s stink on it.
There was also no doubt in Tyler’s mind that it had been an attempt at humiliating not only Greta but Tyler, as well. It had not only reflected Greta in a bad light but also painted Tyler as a man with no familial loyalties and no respect for his brother.
Tyler leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He supposed it was true. He had little respect for Mark, who at thirty years old had yet to accept any adult responsibilities and make his own way in the world.
But someplace deep inside his heart he loved his brother and he had hoped that Mark had made a true heart connection with Greta and was ready to grow up.
Tyler would have found another trainer to work with Sugar and remained cool and distant to the woman he’d secretly lusted after. He would have respected their relationship for as long as they were together.
He refused to feel guilty about pursuing Greta now. He was sorry only that this would probably widen the rift that had always existed between the two brothers.
His brain shifted gears. The knife that had clattered to the floor from her boot had surprised him. It shouldn’t have. She went to a variety of ranches where she worked with mostly men. He was glad that she carried some form of self-protection, although he had trouble imagining her using the knife on anyone.
She’d certainly have no need to use it here. Neither of his ranch hands would dare try to attack her in any way, and in any case, they were both good men with a set of upstanding morals. Tyler wouldn’t hire any other kind of man.
He smelled her before she entered the room, that evocative scent of citrus and vanilla. He opened his eyes and straightened as she entered the room.
She’d changed into a pair of soft black fleece sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt that was black with gold lettering advertising a Tulsa feed store.
“Thank goodness you didn’t change into a diaphanous silk gown for lounging around,” he said.
She laughed. “Diaphanous silk just isn’t my style.” She curled up in the corner of the sofa opposite him. “You don’t really want to know more about my work, do you?”
“Absolutely. I find what you do fascinating.”
“Mark always found it a bore.”
“I’m not my brother.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“When did you know that you wanted to be a horse trainer?” he asked.
“I’m not sure it’s something I consciously decided on. When I was about twelve, my father noticed that I had a special affinity with horses. Whenever he bought one that was difficult, he’d have me work with it and he told me I should be a horse trainer. He told me I had something rare in that I seemed to be able to get into the mind of a horse, to understand their needs and turn them into friendly animals that enjoyed human contact.”
She told him that when she got older, she’d studied horse training and worked with several trainers in the area to learn different techniques and philosophies.
While Tyler was fascinated with the conversation, equally as captivating was the way her hazel eyes sparkled and her voice took on the lilt of enthusiasm and joy. She absolutely captivated him.
“Dad eventually set me up on the ranch with my own corral to work in and a nearby small barn to hold what I needed for the horses I trained.”
She was both charming and refreshing as she talked about her work, and he was disappointed when she looked at the clock on one of the bookshelves and realized it was almost eleven.
“It’s time for me to call it a night,” she said. “I want to get an early start in the morning.” She rose from the sofa. “Good night, Tyler, and thank you for allowing me to ramble on as long as I did.”
He stood, as well. “I enjoyed every minute of it. Sweet dreams, Greta.”
He watched her head down the hallway to her room. He didn’t expect her to appear in his room tonight. As much as he’d like her to, she’d set the new rules and seemed determined, and he would just have to abide by them.
He checked the doors to make sure they were all locked and then headed to his own room. Her bedroom door was closed, but he could easily imagine her snuggling into her bed beneath the light blue sheets and the navy comforter.
Cotton. She definitely was a cotton kind of woman. She wouldn’t wear a spaghetti-strap low-cut silk nightgown to sleep in. She probably had a cotton nightshirt. Still, even imagining her in that simple garment evoked a sexy image in his brain.
Within minutes he was in bed and staring up at the ceiling as he waited for sleep to overtake him. Tyler had experienced only one serious relationship in his life.
Three years ago he had met Michelle Willoughby at a charity event. He’d found the petite blonde to be not only charming and beautiful but intelligent, as well.
He’d pursued her with a single-mindedness that had resulted in an engagement after three months. He’d been ready to marry and start a family and he’d decided Michelle would make a good wife. His decision to marry her wasn’t so much a heart decision as a head decision. But ultimately, the relationship hadn’t lasted.
Had he already made the same mistake with Greta? Moving too fast, pursuing too hard? Time would tell. She’d already drawn a line in the sand, telling him that things had moved too fast. Now he had to be patient and just let things happen naturally between them without his pushing.
If she had the time to really get to know him, would that result in some kind of a love connection or would she just be a horse trainer he’d made love to for a brief period of time?
Chapter 6
Greta fell asleep almost the minute her head touched the pillow. She dreamed of riding Sugar. Tyler was by her side on his own horse, his smile challenging her as they raced across a vast pasture.
Cool autumn air exhilarated her as her hair flew wildly around her head and a sense of freedom winged through her with the powerful animal beneath her.
She threw back her head and laughed when she pulled just ahead of Tyler. His laughter rode the breeze with hers, mingling with it to make beautiful music.
She drew in deep breaths, tasting the scent of the approach of winter and the wood smoke that drifted from a nearby farmhouse.
The smoke grew thicker, darker and she started to choke. She tried to cough but couldn’t. The smoke was stuck in the back of her throat.
Panic washed over her. Her throat completely closed off and she couldn’t take a breath. Her eyes snapped open and she realized she wasn’t dreaming.
Somebody was on top of her. That same somebody’s hands were wrapped tightly around her throat. This isn’t a dream, her brain screamed. This is real! This is happening right now.
In the moonlight that drifted in the window, Greta saw her attacker’s face. It was the same face she saw in her own mirror each morning, except this one was twisted with the rage of the crazed.
Greta kicked and bucked, attempting to dislodge the woman from on top of her. She clawed at the hands that wrapped so tight around her throat that she couldn’t get air.
Even as she grew dizzy from a lack of oxygen, instead of having the automatic instinct to attempt to tear the hands from her throat, she reached her hands up and tried to jab at the woman’s eyes.
Once.
Twice.
Greta finally managed to make contact and her twin jerked back and her hands momentarily slipped from their grip on Greta’s throat. Greta screamed, an ear-piercing alarm loud enough to wake the dead.
The woman...her twin...froze
and then sprang off the bed and to the open window. With a quick glance backward, a glance filled with hatred, she then disappeared into the night as Greta’s door crashed open and the overhead light clicked on.
Tyler stood in the doorway clad in a pair of black boxers. His gaze first shot to her and then to the open window. “Are you okay?” he asked with urgency.
Greta nodded and reached a hand up to her throat, where she could still feel the pressure and the sickening heat of the hands that had attempted to strangle her. “It was her... It was my twin,” she finally managed to gasp and then began to cry.
Tyler quickly moved to the window and peered out. “There’s nobody there now.” He closed the window and locked it and then moved to the bed and pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here now and she’s gone.”
As full comprehension of what had just happened slammed into her, Greta cried harder, unable to stanch the fear that still coursed through her.
She clung to Tyler, unable to believe what had just happened. What if she hadn’t been able to scream? What if Tyler hadn’t heard her? She’d already been dizzy due to a lack of oxygen. Within seconds she might have been completely unconscious and then she’d have been dead.
This thought only made her cling to Tyler more tightly as she continued to cry. Her sobs eventually subsided to embarrassing hiccups. Tyler loosened his grip on her and she unwound her arms from around his neck.
“Sorry. I’m not usually a big crybaby.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind a crybaby now and then,” he replied gently.
“I didn’t hear anything,” she said when the hiccups finally stopped. “I was dreaming and in my dream I started to choke and then I woke up and she was on top of me and trying to strangle me.”
Tyler took her chin and nudged it upward to eye her throat. His eyes were a darker blue than she’d ever seen as he gently swiped his fingers across her skin. His action instantly dispelled the fire of rage and malevolence that had lingered there.
“How did she even know...?” Her words drifted off as the answer to her question revealed itself. “The picture in the paper... That’s how she knew where I was. She knew I was here with you because of that photo.”
The Colton Bodyguard Page 7