The Rancher And The Redhead

by Leigh, Allison

  Jaimie cocked an eyebrow. He grinned, unrepentant. “Matt sure did like that chocolate mousse.”

  “Shut up.”

  He tsked. “Feeling a little crabby are you?”

  Rolling her eyes, she ignored him. But he swung out a chair and plunked right down.

  “Old Matt didn’t come in for dinner, and you’re missing him.”

  “Hardly.”

  He laughed, tilting his chair back on two legs. “Sweetie pie, you’d better practice lying through your teeth some more. You don’t have it down pat yet.”

  Jaimie shook her head. “You’re rotten.”

  “To the core.” His gray eyes glinted with devilish humor. “You guys oughta just cut to the chase. Get it over with. Then mebbe Matt’s mood’ll improve, and you’ll fix that chocolate mousse for us again.”

  Jaimie could handle Daniel’s teasing. She could handle most men, in fact. Just...not Matthew. “Cut to the chase? Such a way with words you have, Daniel. That type of sweet talk’ll get you in trouble if you’re not careful.”

  By his expression, the notion didn’t unduly disturb him. She finished off her sandwich and pushed to her feet, casually nudging Daniel’s lone boot, planted on the floor to counterbalance his backtilted chair. He jerked, barely keeping from falling backward.

  Jaimie laughed, and quickstepped out of his reach. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic-wrapped slice of apple pie. A few seconds in the microwave, and she slid it in front of him. “There you go,” she soothed sweetly, leaning her elbows on the table.

  “Wise woman.” He reached out and ruffled her hair as if she was Sandy and had performed a particularly smart trick.

  Jaimie grinned. The mudroom door squeaked, and she automatically looked over her shoulder.

  Matthew towered in the doorway, his dark hat pulled low over his brow.

  Her grin died. Great. “The Look” was back. She straightened. “Want your lunch now?” She couldn’t help it that her tone was abrupt. It was all she could do to force two coherent words together.

  He planted his hat on the hook by the door and shrugged out of his heavy vest.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Jaimie said beneath her breath and turned back to the fridge. The oven-fried chicken hadn’t yet cooled, and she took out a generous helping. She quickly nuked it, along with the potato she’d baked earlier, and after casually looking back to make sure Matthew wasn’t watching, forked fat-free sour cream on top of it. She added some carrot sticks and slid the plate in front of him.

  He sort of grunted. Thank you, she translated. Of course, it could just have easily been go away. He didn’t have any problems speaking to his brother, though, Jaimie noticed.

  “Where’s Squire?” Matt asked.

  “On the phone,” Daniel said around a mouthful of pie. “He bought Gloria a new car while he was in Casper, and she went ballistic. Says nothing was wrong with the one she had.”

  “It was a rattle trap,” Matthew snorted.

  “That’s what Squire told her.”

  Matthew grunted.

  Women. Jaimie easily read that grunt. She poured him a glass of milk, set out the last slice of pie for Matthew and a fresh bowl of water for Sandy, then silently escaped.

  Matthew jabbed at the baked potato, his eyes on the doorway through which Jaimie had vanished.

  “I think it’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “You’re stabbing that thing like it’s the shower scene in Psycho.”

  Matthew looked at his potato. He dropped the fork and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the pain in his forehead. He was beginning to feel pretty psycho himself. If he didn’t get a decent night’s sleep soon, he was going to start tearing down the walls.

  “You eating that pie?”

  Matthew dropped his hand. “Have at it.” Daniel was pulling off the plastic wrap before Matthew even finished speaking.

  “Still haven’t bitten the bullet, have you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His brother took-a hefty bite of pie. “You haven’t taken Jaimie to bed yet.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Probably not. But we all know you’d be a lot happier if you’d just...take the plunge.” He swallowed another bite of pie. “So to speak.”

  His brother’s colorful outlook was nothing new. But Matthew found it irritated him more than usual. “Jaimie’s not that kind of woman.”

  Daniel eyed Matthew for a moment. “Don’t get me wrong,” Dan finally said before scooping up the last bite. He reached back to set the empty plate and fork near the sink. “I think Jaimie’s great.”

  “Then why don’t you take the plunge,” Matthew gritted, “as you so poetically put it. You’re the one messing around with her in the kitchen every time I turn around.”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a knot.” Dan crossed his arms and leaned way back in his chair, his eyes alight. “Only guy she’s got eyes for is you, brother.” He shook his head woefully. “But maybe you’re too old and tired to do anything about it.”

  Matthew’s fingers curled. He slowly stood, uncaring that he’d barely touched the food that his stomach had been so all-fired anxious to consume. He glared at his brother. Daniel smiled mockingly.

  Matthew drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, until the desire to pound his brother lessened. As usual Daniel was being...Daniel. Matthew smiled faintly. And with a nudge of his boot, sent his brother’s chair toppling over.

  Daniel hit the ground with a crash. Sandy barked and ran in circles around the table.

  Jaimie came running. She fairly skidded into the room in her hot pink socks. “What on—Daniel! Are you hurt?” She caught Sandy’s collar, and the dog immediately calmed, leaning against Jaimie’s leg, her tongue lolling.

  Daniel lifted his head, rubbing it, yet laughing silently. He stood up. “I’m fine.”

  Hands on her hips, she shook her head. “Keep the chair legs on the floor next time,” she suggested tartly.

  “Blame Matt,” he said, bending over to right the chair. “He did it.”

  Matthew found himself the focus of those bright green eyes. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked him.

  She could’ve been his mother, standing in the doorway demanding to know why he, Sawyer and Jefferson had gotten into some particular piece of mischief. But she was Jaimie. And she was causing him more misery than a man deserved. With a long step, he planted his hands on her arms and hauled her to him. “I may be tired,” he growled. Something that was most definitely her fault. “But I am not too old.”

  Jaimie barely squeaked out her surprise when Matthew closed his lips over hers. It was not the kiss of a boy. It was the kiss of a man in his prime. A kiss that scrambled every sane thought in her soul. As quickly as he’d grabbed her, he let her go, leaving her blinking and fairly swaying on her feet. “Sandy, come,” he called sharply.

  “Too old for what?” she asked faintly, but he was already gone, the dog at his heels.

  Daniel wisely slid a chair beneath her. He patted her shoulder when she sank down. “Hang in there, slugger.”

  Jaimie stared at the door as he grabbed his coat and followed Matthew’s tracks. After an endless minute her heart decided to start beating once again. She took a couple of cleansing breaths, then scooted the chair back to the table. “Well, that was interesting,” she said to no one in particular.

  She tugged at the suddenly too-warm neck of her sweater and went into the mudroom, grateful for the cooler air as she pushed her feet into her boots. She straightened and pulled open the storm door, standing in the open doorway. A cold breeze washed over her, lifting her hair from her cheeks, and she stood there for a long moment, her eyes closed.

  She could still taste him.

  “I swear, you don’t have the sense God gave a goose. You trying to catch pneumonia?”

  Startled, she looked straight into Matthew’s translucent eyes,
her hand going lax on the door. It slammed shut, knocking Matthew right on the head.

  He jerked, one hand shoving the door open and the other going to his forehead. “For cryin’ out...are you trying to kill me?”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have to chew me out! Let me see.” She tugged at his hand. “Oh, fudgebuckets. You’re bleeding.”

  “No kidding.” He pulled his hand away from hers and brushed past her into the mudroom. He ripped off a paper towel and pressed it to his forehead. It came away bloody. He stifled another curse and blotted. “How deep is it?” He leaned toward her. “Well?”

  She swallowed, her green eyes glancing across the cut, then away. “Um, maybe you, uh...you...ought to sit down.”

  Throbbing from the outside now as well as the inside, Matthew’s head felt about ready to explode. He yanked off another paper towel and went into the kitchen, heading for the bathroom near the stairs. “How deep? Stitches deep?”

  Jaimie hovered behind him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  With his luck? Probably. He snapped on the light and looked into the mirror. It was more of a split than a cut. Directly over his right eyebrow. He dropped the paper towels into the trash can. “Get the first aid kit from my office.” She didn’t move. “Jaimie?”

  He turned just in time to catch her as her eyes rolled and she pitched forward.

  His heart jumped into his throat and he cursed. He squinted down at her, closing his eye against the drop of blood creeping past his eyebrow. She was out cold. Keeping her weight propped against him, he impatiently swiped his forehead, then lifted her into his arms and carried her around the corner to his office.

  He bent over, depositing her on the scuffed leather couch. A drop of blood fell from his forehead to her sweater. He reached for the first aid kit.

  “Come on, Red,” he murmured as he ripped open a gauze pad and slapped it over his cut, followed hastily by a strip of adhesive. “Where’s that famous sass of yours?” He yanked off his coat and tossed it onto the desk, crouching down beside the couch. Her cheeks were pale and cold.

  “Come on, sweetheart.” He picked up her limp hands, chafing them in his. “Don’t do this to me.”

  Cursing under his breath, he dragged the first aid kit down beside him and pawed through the contents. “Smelling salts. Smelling salts. Where the h—there.” He broke the little tube and waved it beneath her nose. “Okay, sweetheart, wake up now.”

  She made a face, turning away.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. Come on now.”

  She grimaced again, a protesting sound on her lips. She pushed away his hand, and a glimmer of green appeared between her lush lashes.

  Matthew nearly collapsed with relief. And he hated that weakness. “Are you crazy?” he demanded.

  She stared blankly.

  “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  She blinked and glanced around. Her legs swung and she sat up like a bullet. And cracked her head soundly into his jaw.

  “Oh, shioot.” Pain exploded in his brain and he sat back down. Hard.

  “Matthew. Oh, Lord, Matthew—” Jaimie scrambled toward him and he held up his palm.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered grimly. “Just don’t move.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Are you doing this on purpose,” he asked wryly, “or do you just have a knack for it?” His head was pounding so viciously he wasn’t sure the little food he’d managed to consume was even going to stay put. “Don’t move,” he ordered, seeing her start for him again. “Get your bearings first.”

  She pressed a hand to her head, clearly still off balance. “You’re bleeding,” she said faintly.

  “You...don’t—” he pushed himself to his knees and reached across for the scattered first aid supplies “—say.” He snagged a couple more paper-wrapped gauze pads and tore them open. Then wearily leaned his head back against the side of his desk. He replaced the bloody gauze and tape with fresh ones. “I guess you’re not up to putting a few stitches in my hard head,” he murmured, deliberately light Dan was more than capable of doing whatever first aid might or might not be necessary.

  He heard her sniffle and looked over only to swallow a heartfelt groan. Huge glistening tears had turned her eyes to glittering emerald. She blinked and a diamond-bright tear slid down her cheek. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. I was kidding. Don’t do that.” Please.

  She sucked in a shuddering breath. And another tear slipped free of her spiky lashes. “I’m...sorry,” she whispered.

  A twenty-person drum line was rehearsing inside his brain. But he absolutely couldn’t stand to see Jaimie’s saucy eyes filled with tears. Somehow he ended up kneeling in front of her, holding her chin still while he kissed away the tears.

  His name was a whisper on her lips when he finally lifted his head. He looked long and hard at those soft lips. It didn’t matter, just then, why he needed to stay away from her. He wanted those lips on him.

  All over him.

  “Matthew.” she whispered again.

  “Hmm?”

  “Matthew...”

  His thumb traced the full curve of her lower lip.

  “Matthew,” she tried again. “You’re bleeding. You need—” He’d like to blame his weakness for her lips on his loss of blood, but knew he hadn’t lost that much. He leaned forward and tasted her kiss, anyway.

  “A doctor.” Her lips moved against his.

  “No.” He slipped his hand along her jaw and arrowed through the silky waves to cup the nape of her neck. Like modeling clay, she tilted her head in accordance with the slightest movement of his fingers. “Open your mouth,” he murmured against her lips. “Let me in.”

  “Matthew—”

  It was all the opening he needed. Her fingers crept up his shoulders. Slid behind his neck. Before he knew it, he was pressing her back against the couch, his cut, his chin and her fainting all forgotten in the drugging pleasure of the thrust of her breasts against his chest. Of her fingers slipping past his shirt collar. The soft sounds coming from her slender throat.

  She shifted, and he moved reflexively. Her leg—her long, long leg—bent at the knee and pressed against his hip. Just then it didn’t matter what they’d said in the barn.

  “Jaimie—” That distracting leg had slipped over him. “Wait.” Clothes. They had way too many clothes on for the things he wanted to share with her. He groaned and lifted himself up on his elbows. Her eyes were slumberous. A blush of color rode her high cheekbones.

  And a dark smear of blood marred her smooth forehead.

  He sprang off her, sucking in a gulping breath of air. All he could taste...could smell...could breathe...was flavored with her scent. What was he doing? Had his brain gone south for the winter? The phone rang once. Sharp and loud. Then it was silent.

  She made a strangled sound and sat up, too. Somehow or other her sweater had become twisted high around her abdomen, and she yanked it back into place. She pushed her heavy hair away from her face.

  He saw her looking down at her hand. A smear of his blood was on her fingertip. Her teeth worried her lower lip.

  Matthew found another seated packet and ripped it open. She started when he knelt in front of her and daubed the smudge from her forehead. Then he picked up her hand to wipe away the smear with the moist paper. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he told her.

  Jaimie couldn’t tear her eyes from the vivid stains he’d wiped from her fingers. The sight of blood had never bothered her before. But seeing Matthew’s blood oozing from his forehead... Maybe he was right about her. That she really was out of her element on the ranch. “What about your forehead?” she asked.

  Matthew moved behind his desk and sat down. He leaned his head back against the chair. “What about it?”

  Jaimie’s hands twisted. This was all her fault. “I’ll see if Dan’s still around. He’s had lots of first aid training, hasn’t he? I, uh, think...yes, he told me that once.” Aware that she was babbling,
she swallowed. “Want me to get you some aspirin or something?”

  Matthew grunted. “There are packets of aspirin scattered all over the floor in here.”

  Another mess she was responsible for. Jaimie hastily knelt and scrambled everything she could reach back into the first aid container. She found two packets and set them on the desk near his propped boot. “I, uh—” she cleared her throat “—I’ll get Daniel.”

  “Fine.”

  She hung in the doorway for a moment, looking back at him. A long strip of adhesive stretched haphazardly across his forehead, holding the blood-spotted gauze in place.

  Her stomach lurched warningly, and she silently escaped. She stuck her head in the barns and nearly cried with relief when she eventually found Daniel in the machine shed. His head was buried in the depths of a tractor. She quickly explained, and he headed back to the house, wiping the grease from his hands with a rag, while she tagged after him.

  They found Matthew once more in the bathroom. He’d pulled off the lopsided adhesive and was wiping the cut clean. The bleeding had finally stopped “I think I can get by with just a butterfly strip or two,” he said, turning to toss the used gauze into the trash.

  Daniel tilted his head in agreement “I’ll adjust the tension on the storm door,” he said, turning to go. “Oh, yeah. Donna called a little while ago. I picked it up in the barn. Said she needed to talk to you pronto.”

  Matthew nodded, eyeing his reflection in the mirror as he placed a butterfly strip to hold the edges of the cut together. He followed it with a square bandage and turned to find Jaimie hovering in the hall, her arms curled over her chest. He expected the aspirin to kick in soon, and he had to curtail the instinct to tug her back against him. Up the stairs and a few steps down the hall, and they would be in his bedroom. “Don’t you have something to do?”

  Jaimie reacted to his curt demand just as he’d known she would. The worry in her eyes slid behind a tart glint. “See if I try to apologize to you anymore.”

  “Accidents happen all the time on a ranch.” He stepped past her toward the kitchen.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means what I said.” He reached for the phone. No doubt Donna had some detail to discuss about the sale.