He smoothed a hand along the arm of the chair, finding comfort in the worn wood. His father had made the chairs, years ago, as a gift to his mother. She'd loved sitting out on the porch at night, shelling peas or just dreaming. His father would sit with her, talking, planning out the next day's work. Always work, Nash thought with a sigh. That's what was always paramount in his daddy's mind.
He pushed a foot against the porch floor and set the rocker in motion again, his thoughts drifting lazily as he studied the porch posts and the trailing wisteria that climbed it. How long had that plant been growing there? he wondered. Had his mother planted it, or his grandmother? He wasn't sure, but as far back as his memory could carry him, the wisteria had been there. He could remember summers when they'd suffered droughts and the fields would be drying up and turning brown. His mother would fill a five-pound coffee can with precious water and carry it out to pour on the plant's roots.
She'd loved the wisteria; the smell of it, the soothing shade it provided for the porch on a hot afternoon. And she'd shared that love with Nash. What would she think if she knew her wisteria was soon to be plowed under, along with the house she had scrubbed and cleaned and taken such pride in?
Frowning at his thoughts, Nash took a slow look around. The porch his grandfather had crafted with his own hands. The pastures in the distance where Nash had worked alongside both his grandfather and his father, raking and baling hay. He could almost see the cattle grazing. The herd of prized Herefords that they'd bred and nurtured over the years. He'd sold off the herd when his daddy had died and thought nothing of it. He wondered now what his daddy would have thought of his decision.
Nash swallowed back the lump of emotion that rose in his throat. He supposed it was his conversation with Colby earlier that had spawned these thoughts.
He shook off the guilt before it could settle for good on his shoulders. I'm not a rancher, he reminded himself. I'm a developer. The only use I have for land is to subdivide it and build on it.
Colby snuffled in her sleep, burrowing closer to his chest, as if to remind him of her presence and her opinion on the matter. He looked down at her, his heart twisting in his chest when his gaze came to rest on the tearstained cheeks, the puffy eyes.
She was young, resilient. She would adjust, he told himself. She always had before, with each of their moves.
But then she'd always had Rivers Ranch to come home to.
I'm just trying to make you see Colby's side of this. She lost her mother and she's been uprooted three times already. She's made friends, then lost them with each of the moves. She needs some stability in her life. Roots. Surely you can understand that?
Sam's words came back to haunt him. A base. Roots. A stable place in an unstable world. Isn't that what he'd always tried to provide for Colby? She was his all, his reason for living. Why would he want anything but the best he could give her?
Colby needs a mother. I won't be around forever, you know. Nina added her own chant to the voices echoing in his mind. It's time you got on with your life. You need a wife. Stacy would want that for you.
Stacy. The familiar anger squeezed at his chest. If she had lived, he wouldn't be suffering through all this right now … at least not alone. But she hadn't given a thought to his needs, his desires. She'd wanted a baby and had gambled her life on the chance of having one. He dipped his head, his gaze going to his daughter.
She looked like Stacy. She had her mother's eyes, her stubborn chin, the same color of hair. She had her heart, too. Warm and giving. He'd almost forgotten that trait in Stacy. As he stared at his daughter, she shifted in her sleep, throwing an arm around his neck … and Nash's heart did a slow flip in his chest as realization slowly dawned.
How could he be angry with Stacy? he asked himself. She had given him a gift, the most precious one she could give. She had given him a daughter, Colby, a part of herself that would be with him always. Stacy had known she wouldn't live out a full life, just as Nash had known it when he'd married her. But she'd snipped her life a little shorter in order to leave Nash with this precious gift. Why hadn't he realized this before now?
Tears burned his eyes and he turned his gaze up at the heavens. A star, brighter than the rest, stood out against the black-velvet sky. "Thank you, Stacy," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. The star seemed to wink at Nash, acknowledging his thanks. Through blurry eyes, he watched it streak across the sky in a blaze of light, then disappear.
Nash awakened, groaning. He sat up straighter in the rocker, shifting Colby to a more comfortable position, trying to stretch out the kinks that sleeping in the stiff chair had placed there. He hadn't meant to spend the night out on the porch, but at some point he must have fallen asleep.
In the distance he heard the sound of a truck and glanced in that direction. Men were already climbing down and striding toward the earth-moving equipment parked near the entrance.
He tightened his arms around Colby. This is it, he told himself. There's no turning back now.
He watched the first bulldozer begin to move, the driver dropping the massive bucket into position for the first cut. He could hear the scrape of metal against the hard-packed earth, the grinding of rock … and felt it as if it was scraping against his skin, grinding at his heart.
He couldn't do this! He couldn't sacrifice the land his father and his grandfather had worked so hard for, the land that they had sacrificed for and bled for. Sam was right. He had roots here, tenuous though they were. And he wanted Sam with him to nurture those roots, to sink them a little deeper, to provide the sense of family that both he and Colby needed so desperately. And maybe even to add to that family.
Bounding from the rocker, he twisted around to drop Colby back down on it. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes. "Daddy? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, sweetheart." He stooped and cupped her jaw in his hand. "In fact, things couldn't be better. You stay right here, and I'll be back in a minute. Then we've got us some planning to do."
He took off at a run, charging down the porch steps, racing down the road, waving his hands at the driver. The bulldozer slowly came to a stop, having covered less than thirty feet.
"It's over."
Camille glanced up from her notes. "Oh? What happened?"
Sam swallowed back the tears that crowded her throat. "Margo Barrister threatened to pull her money out of Nash's project if he didn't end his relationship with me."
Camille's eyebrows shot up. "And he did?"
Sam felt the tears coming and pressed her fists hard against her eyes. "No. I ended it. That project means everything to Nash. I didn't want to jeopardize its success."
"So you sacrificed yourself for a greater cause?"
Camille rarely used sarcasm and her doing so now shocked Sam. "Well, no. I just didn't want him to have to choose between me and his business."
"Do you think he would have chosen his business over you, as your father did?"
The tears came stinging back to Sam's eyes. "That isn't fair."
Camille sank back in her chair on a long sigh. "Sam, we've worked together for almost a year, trying to resolve your issues with that night. You've told me about your relationship with Nash, so I know that you have succeeded in overcoming your fear of intimacy with a man. But there is more to deal with than just the near rape. There is your father, as well."
Sam closed her hands around the arms of the chair, her lips trembling uncontrollably. She didn't want to think about that. She couldn't. "No. You're wrong."
Camille arched a brow. "Am I? Then why are you here?"
"Because I…" Unable to come up with answer, Sam let her words trail off.
"You're here because you need someone to talk to. Someone who isn't personally involved with your family or Nash. Someone who can separate the emotions from the facts. Isn't that right, Sam?"
Sam frantically wagged her head. "No. No, that isn't why I'm here."
Camille pressed on. "You want to cry, Sam, don't you?"
"
No," she said, stubbornly lifting her chin. "Crying is a sign of weakness."
"Who told you that, Sam?"
"Daddy. He never allowed us to cry. McClouds are stronger than that."
Camille rose and rounded her desk, pulling up a chair next to Sam's. "But you still want to cry, don't you? You want to grieve for your father because you've never had the freedom to do that before. Your guilt wouldn't allow you that release." Before Sam could deny the claim, Camille laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. "Let it go, Sam. Cry if you want."
It was like pulling the plug on a dam. Tears filled Sam's eyes and spilled over her lashes, streaking down her cheeks. "It's my fault he's dead," she sobbed, rocking back and forth and hugging her arms around her body. "If I had let Reed have his way with me that night, Daddy would be alive. He wouldn't have gotten upset and had a heart attack."
Camille drew closer, taking one of Sam's hands into hers. "It's noble of you to be willing to sacrifice your virginity, your innocence, to spare your father's life, but foolish. Lucas would have had a heart attack anyway. If not that night, then another. Don't make that mistake with Nash. Instead of running away from your fears, face them. Isn't it time for Sam McCloud to fight for what she wants? What she needs?"
Sam paced the length of her truck and back, trying to work up the courage to climb inside and make the drive to Rivers Ranch. After a week of stewing over the questions Camille had posed to her, she'd finally come to a decision.
Not that the questions had been that difficult to answer. Sam knew what she wanted. She wanted, needed Nash … and Colby. The tough part was in going after what she wanted.
Firming her lips, she reached for the door handle, then quickly yanked back her hand before she could make contact. What if she was too late? she asked herself, panicking. What if he'd decided he didn't love her, after all? Groaning, she stomped to the rear of the truck, then paused to rub a hand over the ache in her chest.
She didn't know why everybody was so hot on this emotion stuff. Feeling things and expressing them. For years she hadn't allowed herself to do either one. Doing so had been her way of dealing with the guilt associated with her father's death, and a means of blanking out the memory of Reed Wester's bruising hands. As a result, she'd become a pro at suppressing her feelings, her desires, until they were all but nonexistent.
But that was before Nash.
Dang him! she thought angrily. He'd taught her to feel again, and now here she was drowning in emotion … the strongest of which was fear.
Going to Rivers Ranch was probably a waste of time, anyway, she told herself. She figured she'd already pretty much ruined her chances with Nash. Heck! Hadn't she done her darndest to convince him that they were wrong for each other? Oil and water, she remembered saying. And she'd been right. They didn't mix. Their lifestyles were miles apart.
But she loved him and he'd said that he loved her. And the thought of living without him was much worse than thinking about living with him in that claustrophobic condo, wasn't it? Besides, there was always the possibility of a compromise. The bad memories associated with Rivers Ranch were what made him want to get rid it. He might be willing to buy a small tract of land somewhere else, say ten acres or so. Colby could have her horse, and Sam would have room to breathe.
And if he lost all his investors because of his relationship with her—well, she'd give him the money to complete his subdivision. She still had most of her inheritance left.
She needed Nash. And by golly she would fight for him.
But how? Her shoulders sagged and she dropped down to sit on the tailgate of her truck.
Go to him. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel.
The voice came out of nowhere but sounded a whole lot like Camille's. Camille had always encouraged Sam not to hold her emotions inside, but to let them out, whether good or bad.
Sam rose, squaring her shoulders. That's what she'd do, she told herself. She'd talk to him, she'd tell him how much she loved him, needed him in her life. She pressed her hand to her stomach as butterflies took wing there. And prayed she wasn't too late.
Before she could change her mind, she raced for the cab of her truck.
Sam swung her truck through the entrance, bouncing under the sign for Rivers Ranch. She slowed as what she had just seen registered. The faded and rusted sign that had hung above the entrance was gone, and had been replaced with a newer one. It was for the subdivision, she told herself, and pressed down on the accelerator again. Colby and Nash had always referred to the subdivision as Rivers Ranch. It stood to reason that a new sign would be needed to prepare for its grand opening.
But then she noticed the pasture on her right, and the tractor parked among freshly turned furrows. Behind it stood another tractor, hooked up to a seeder. Her eyes widened. Why was he having the fields plowed and seeded if he was going to cut up the ranch and sell it off in pieces?
She shook off the distracting thought and focused on the road ahead. Nash, she reminded herself. She had to talk to Nash.
She saw his car parked by the barn and she braked to a stop beside it. She hopped out, pausing to listen. A rhythmic pounding came from the interior of the barn. Knowing that Nash must be inside, she raced for the door, but saw no sign of him.
"Nash?" she called hesitantly.
There was a thunk and a muttered "damn" from inside Whiskey's stall.
A white-blond head appeared over the top of the gate. "Hi, Sam! We're in here," Colby yelled, then disappeared from sight.
Her heart slamming against her ribs, Sam crossed to the stall. She flicked open the latch and stepped inside. Nash and Colby knelt beside the far wall where a new board swung, nailed half on, half off. Nash was holding one hand curled tight against his chest. His jeans were filthy and his shirt was damp with sweat.
Sam stared, not at all sure she trusted her eyes. "What are you doing?"
Colby jumped to her feet and ran to Sam, grabbing her hand and tugging her to where Nash knelt. "We're fixing Whiskey's stall, but Daddy just hammered his thumb. Do you think it's broken?" she asked fearfully. "Maybe you better look at it."
Sam knelt at Nash's side, taking his hand into hers as she lifted her gaze to his. She looked for some sign that he was glad to see her, that he still loved her, but his eyes remained expressionless. Maybe she was too late, after all. She dropped her gaze, flattening her palm over his, smoothing her fingers along the swell of his thumb and along its length. "No bones are broken. You might want to soak it for a while. Alternate between hot and cold water."
Nash pulled his hand from hers to tip her face up to his. "Why are you here, Sam?"
She wanted to look away from the piercing gray eyes that seemed to cut right into her soul, but forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. She'd come to fight for him, she told herself. She'd come this far, she wouldn't chicken out now. "I came to talk to you."
Nash stood, drawing Sam to her feet, his gaze fixed on hers. "Colby, run to the house and tell Nina to make iced tea. We have a guest."
"Ahh, Daddy, do I have to? I want to be here when you ask Sam—"
"Colby."
The warning in his voice was enough. "Yes, sir," she mumbled. She ducked her head and scuffed out of the stall. "I always miss out on all the fun," she muttered miserably.
Nash waited until he was sure Colby was out of hearing distance. "Talk to me about what?" he prodded.
"I—I—" Sam swallowed hard, pushing back the emotions that clogged her throat. "I wanted to tell you that I was wrong when I said we were like oil and water. Not that we aren't different. We are. But that could be a positive thing, couldn't it? I mean, other people seem to find happiness in spite of their differences." Sam knew that she must sound like Colby, talking a mile a minute, but she couldn't seem to shut up. "I really don't want to live in that condo, but I would," she hastened to add, "just so that we could be together. But maybe we could compromise. You know, buy some land somewhere else. It wouldn't have to be a big place, ten acres or so should be
enough. Colby could have her horse and I could—"
"I'm not selling the ranch."
"—build a small room to store my—" Sam's knees went weak as Nash's words registered. "What did you say?"
"I'm not selling the ranch. You were right. I do have roots here and I want Colby to set her roots here, too." He stepped closer, close enough that Sam could feel the heat of his body pulse against hers, could smell the musky scent of the sweat dampening his shirt. "And I'd like for you to set your roots here, too."
Sam fell back a step, her eyes widening. "What?"
Nash shook his head. "I'm doing a poor job of it, aren't I?" He stepped nearer, closing the distance she had placed between them. He lifted a hand to cup the back of her neck. "I love you, Sam. I think I have since that first day I saw you." He watched tears spurt to her eyes and had to blink back his own.
He heaved a shuddery sigh. "Now I don't want you to think that I'm going to turn into a cowboy or something, because I'm not. I have no intention of managing this place on my own. In fact—" He broke off, frowning, as a noise came from the alleyway. Sure that it was Colby, sneaking back in to listen, he shouted, "Colby! I told you to go to the house!"
"It's not Colby," a male voice called. "It's me. Gabe."
Sam's eyes widened and she turned to find Gabe strolling toward them. "Gabe? What are you doing here?"
His leathery cheeks turned a guilty pink as he shifted his gaze from hers to Nash's, his look questioning.
Nash raised a hand to Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "Sam, I'd like you to meet my new ranch foreman, Gabe Peters."
Sam gasped, drawing a hand to her heart. "But, Gabe. What about the Double-Cross? You've worked there forever. You're like family."
"Yes'm, I have, and I want you to know that you girls are like family to me, too." He dragged off his hat and clutched it at his waist. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this under your hat for a while, as I haven't broke the news to Mandy and Jesse, yet." He dipped his chin a moment, his jaw working convulsively. "But the Double-Cross don't need me no more. What with Jesse there now, and Jaime growing up so fast, I'm jist in their way."
THE RESTLESS VIRGIN Page 16