Ambushed

by JoAnn Ross

  WHEN CLINT RETURNED, twenty minutes early, Sunny was nowhere to be found. He looked upstairs, but the bedroom was empty. As was the bathroom. Finally, just when he began to wonder if she’d gotten discouraged and had taken off, he found her in the den, sitting in front of his computer screen.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Sunny jumped at the rough, challenging voice coming from behind her. For a large man, he was certainly light on his feet.

  “You scared me to death.” She quickly tapped the exit key, then placed a hand against her wildly beating heart. “Do you realize that you have a very unnerving habit of sneaking up on people?”

  “Only people I find breaking into my computer.”

  “Breaking in?” She arched a blond brow and attempted her most innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s quite simple.” He crossed the room to the desk. “I leave you alone, expecting you to be busy with some domestic task—some housekeeping duty—but instead, I find you spelunking around in my computer files.”

  “I wasn’t doing any such thing.”

  “Oh no?”

  “Actually, I was just going to use it to write a letter.”

  “To whom? Your family?”

  If he was trying to trip her up, he was going to have to do better than that. “I don’t have a family. Remember, I told you that.”

  “I remember. But I can’t quite recall whether that was

  before or after that bull about you being my fairy godmother.”

  The acid sarcasm stung. “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t give you any right to be so nasty.”

  “And just because I’m stupid enough to let you stay here, doesn’t give you any right to pry around in my business. You know, one of the first lessons my dad taught me was to learn where my business ended and someone else’s started.”

  “I wasn’t prying.” When he didn’t say anything, but just kept glaring down at her, looking hard and deep, she knew she’d met her match. “All right,” she admitted. “Perhaps I was prying. But just a little. And with the very best of intentions.”

  “And those would be?”

  “Well, you mentioned that you didn’t make a great deal of money—”

  “Actually, after last year, I’ll be lucky to make a profit, so if you’re thinking about doing a little computer magic to clean out my bank accounts—”

  “I told you, I can’t do magic.”

  “That’s right. You lost your powers. I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.”

  Sunny sighed. “I really do wish you’d make up your mind.”

  “About what?”

  “Whether you want to yell at me, or make love to me.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want to do both. Yell at you.” Feeling that unbidden pull, he leaned down and cupped her cheek in his palm. “And then I want to make love to you.”

  His touch stimulated those strange, edgy, wonderful feelings all over again. While he’d been out repairing the fence, Sunny had tried to convince herself that she’d imagined the way Clint had made her feel with those kisses. She’d hoped the feelings were merely fantasies of her newly mortal mind.

  Unfortunately, the feel of his hand against her skin, warming and exciting at the same time, assured her that those feelings were all too real. How, she wondered, did mortals manage to get anything done when they were forced to spend their lives in such unnerving states of excitement?

  “Don’t you believe in a middle ground?”

  “The middle ground’s for people who don’t know what they want.”

  “And you do?”

  “You bet.” When his thumb traced that now familiar sparkling warmth around her mouth, her lips parted instinctively to the provocative touch. “I want you.”

  And, heaven help her, she wanted him! Which was, of course, impossible. She hadn’t been sent to earth to satisfy this man’s sexual hunger, but to locate one very special woman—a soul mate who could soothe his pain and fill his life with the joy he’d been so cruelly cheated out of.

  “What if I don’t want you?” she managed to ask in a shaky whisper.

  He smiled. “What if I don’t believe you?”

  “It’s true.” That was, she thought miserably, the biggest, most outrageous lie she’d ever told.

  His smile didn’t fade. If anything, it got wider. It was filled with a wicked sensuality that sent shivers through her. He leaned forward, and she found it hard to breathe.

  “Why don’t you kiss me again, then tell me that?”

  He’d put his hands on either side of the desk; once again his mouth was unbearably close to hers. All either one of them would have to do would be to lean forward, just the slightest bit…

  “I can’t.”

  “I knew it.” Masculine satisfaction practically oozed from every male pore. He leaned closer yet. The rich aromas of hay, leather and sweat surrounded her like a cloud, drugging her mind as she struggled to remind herself that what she was thinking was undoubtedly against every tenet of the fairy godmother’s code of conduct.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Sure I do.”

  He’d given the matter a great deal of thought while fixing that barbed wire. It was obvious that Sunny was like no other woman he’d ever met. As a rule, after his short marriage to Laura, Clint preferred his women experienced. In bed and out. They were women who knew the way the game was played, who took with the same enthusiasm they gave and didn’t expect any rash declarations of love or marriage proposals the next morning. They were women who, for various reasons, had no more interest in happily ever after than he did.

  Ranching was nothing like the romantic existence portrayed for decades by Hollywood. All right, he admitted, perhaps it was romantic, in its own way. Lord knows, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else with his life.

  But it was also hard, grueling work; long days, and nights often spent out on the hard cold ground while rounding up strays. The payoff was often not much more than the chance to work outdoors, surrounded by some of the most glorious scenery in the world and a feeling of satisfaction for a job well done.

  Not many women were capable of understanding that, let alone appreciating it. Which is why he tended to stick to women who’d grown up on a ranch. Women like Laura.

  “We haven’t known each other all that long.” He trailed his hand down her throat, enjoying the way her blood began to pound at his touch. “Your mama probably told you that nice girls don’t go to bed with strangers.”

  His fingers slipped beneath the cowl neckline of her sweater. “And you’ve always tried to be a nice girl.” There was no way he was going to believe she didn’t want him. Not while her flesh was heating like warm satin beneath his fingertips. “But your mama’s not here right now, sweetheart.”

  The warm seductive smile, which he hadn’t had any occasion to use in months, had always been one of the most devastating weapons in his arsenal. “It’s just you.” He lowered his head slowly, giving her time to back away, but was not surprised when she didn’t. “And me.”

  When his curved lips brushed hers, she exhaled a soft sigh of pleasure, and, he thought, invitation. “Whatever happens, I sure as hell won’t tell.” His tongue traced a wet hot circle around her mouth. “And I promise to respect you in the morning.”

  It was so tempting. And so wrong.

  “I can’t.” Her words came out on a choked sound close to a sob. She shook her head and felt the mutinous moisture stinging at the back of her lids.

  Clint was not inexperienced. He’d taken his first tumble in a hayloft when he was fifteen, with eighteen-yearold Becky Lee Miller, a long-legged barrel racer from Payson. He’d found riding soft, sweet-smelling Becky a helluva lot more fun than the broncs he’d been breaking on the rodeo circuit. And since he’d been a good-looking kid who won more than his share of buckles, he’d never lacked for female comp
anionship. Which was why there was no way he could mistake the signs of Sunny’s arousal.

  Her pulse was beating like a rabbit’s, her skin was fevered, her lips parted, just begging to be ravished, and her eyes were clouded with unmistakable desire not unlike Becky Lee’s that long-ago sizzling hot Fourth of July afternoon. But Clint could not mistake the sheen of unshed tears in those dazzling gold eyes as well.

  “If you’re worried that I’d hurt you—”

  “No.” She clasped the rough, callused hand that was trailing up her cheek, turned her head and pressed her lips against his palm. The faint kiss sent a lightning bolt shooting from his palm to his groin, and Clint had to bite back a groan. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. But this isn’t right. I’m not the right woman—”

  “Now there you go again.” Gathering up a fistful of her hair, he tilted her head back and flashed the woman-killer grin very few women were able to resist. “Talking foolishness again.”

  “Why can’t we just be friends?” she pleaded. “The way you are with Noel, and Tara, and—”

  “They’re fine women,” he agreed. “Nice women, and I’m proud to call them my friends. “But you’ve got to understand, Sunny, being just friends with a woman you want to love is a lot like having her invite you out behind the barn to look at stars, then just looking at the stars.”

  That said, and trying to ignore the little fact that he needed to taste those luscious lips again, Clint lowered his head.

  8

  THIS TIMES SUNNY was quicker. And prepared. She pulled away, ignoring the pain at her scalp as the swift movement tugged her hair free. “We’re not talking about love here, though, are we?”

  There were lots of different kinds of love, most of which had little to do with what either of them were feeling. Clint knew he could lie, but he didn’t.

  “No,” he said, meeting her regretful gaze with a steady one of his own. It was lust, pure and simple. But experience had taught him that lust was like a wildflower: it might not last long, but it sure was nice in the meantime.

  Sunny waited for the relief she should have felt and was puzzled when it didn’t come. “Well then, I’d say that settles that.” She gave him the most remote smile he’d witnessed thus far, then walked out of the room.

  When he heard her footfalls on the stairs going up to the bedroom, Clint cursed. Then he sat down to try to figure out what records the lady had been trying to access.

  If she’d come here to steal from his bank account, she was flat out of luck. But why else, he wondered, clicking open the-various files that contained almost his entire life, would she have been hacking away?

  Frustrated, he stared at the screen and waited for the answer that was not forthcoming.

  SUNNY WAS SITTING on the edge of the bed in the guest room, feeling strangely unsettled and more than a little discouraged when Andromeda suddenly appeared beside her.

  “Things aren’t going very well,” the older woman said.

  “Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?” Sunny flopped back onto the mattress and stared bleakly at the ceiling. “It would be nice if the man would be the slightest bit cooperative.”

  Personally, Andromeda thought Clint Garvey was being wonderfully cooperative. It was obvious that he was intensely physically attracted to Sunny. Andromeda had been in the fairy godmother business long enough to know that for men, that was usually the starting place for a love match.

  “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” she reminded Sunny.

  “I know. But if I don’t get him to that rodeo, I’m sunk.”

  “I think that may be an overstatement.”

  “He wants a woman,” Sunny muttered. “And since I’m the only one handy right now, he thinks he wants me. I need to get him out where he can meet people. Mingle. And fall in love.”

  She rolled over onto her stomach and began distractedly smoothing the pillow case. “It would also be nice if he won the lottery. His financial situation is so precarious, I’m afraid he might not want to get seriously involved with another woman when he’s so badly in debt.”

  “It’s my understanding that being in debt is not unusual for the ranching business,” Andromeda said. “He’s an intelligent man. And a cautious businessman. He’ll turn things around.”

  “Well, of course he will.” Of that, Sunny had not a single doubt. “But there’s no opportunity for him to make any money until spring.” She sat up and hugged the pillow to her chest. “So, there’s only one thing to do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m going to have to get him to that rodeo.”

  “And then?” Andromeda asked a bit anxiously.

  “I’m going to fix him up with a rich woman.”

  “He doesn’t appear to be a man who’d marry for money.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” Sunny said. “So she’s going to have to be sexy, as well.” She pulled the flier out of her pocket. “Like this one.” Looking at the amazing breasts packed into the sequined western blouse, Andromeda was amazed the rodeo queen could even sit on a horse without tipping horse and rider forward.

  “I suppose that’s what humans refer to as big hair,” Andromeda murmured as she studied the froth of sable hair poofed out from beneath the straw Stetson.

  “She has big everything,” Sunny said. “Including a big bank account. Her family has owned land outside Whiskey River for generations. Lots and lots of land. And lots of cattle. They also hold several mining claims, and timber rights, and—”

  “You’ve investigated her?”

  “Of course. It was necessary, to ensure I found the right woman this time.”

  Andromeda rubbed her forehead. “I see. Then I take it you used one of your wishes to discover all this?”

  “Oh, no. I used Clint’s computer. I managed to access her banking records and her driver’s license information, her birth certificate and school records, along with a record of childhood immunizations, her hair coloring formula and—”

  “Gracious. That’s a great deal of information.”

  “I seem to have a natural talent for hacking.” Sunny’s quick grin was filled with a very mortal pride. “If I’d only had a bit more time, I could have found out her shoe size.”

  “Imagine that.” Obviously Harmony had been right about Sunny’s skill for surviving in the mortal world.

  “She’s supposed to be a cinch to win the barrel racing event. And, since she and Clint had an affair a few years ago, it shouldn’t take much to rekindle the spark. So, now all I have to do is figure out a way to get Clint to Tombstone.”

  Looking down at the photograph again, Andromeda felt a little twinge of concern. Harmony might be correct about Sunny being the perfect woman for Clint Garvey. Still, Andromeda wondered how many mortal men could resist such seductive packaging.

  “I’m sure you’ll figure out something, dear,” she said absently as she wondered if Harmony had known about this complication.

  “Of course I will,” Sunny concurred firmly. Her chin was set, her eyes flashed with determination.

  It should be a snap. She would figure out a way to get Clint to the rodeo, then stand back and let nature take its course.

  Charmayne Hunter was the kind of woman men fantasized about. Clint wouldn’t be able to resist. She wouldn’t let him. She had to save one wish to get back home, but that left two she could use, if necessary, to ensure Clint married the right woman.

  Once she’d succeeded, the board of administrators would have to acknowledge a job well done—perhaps they’d even name her fairy godmother of the month, which would propel her to senior status in the romance section—and restore her powers to her.

  “It’ll work,” she said softly, not even noticing that Andromeda had left. “It has to.”

  SUNNY ALLOWED HERSELF a feeling of accomplishment as she watched Clint enjoy his dinner. He’d even opened the bottle of wine he’d purchased along with the groceries. Sunny had never tasted wine. There weren’t any pr
ohibitions against spirits, so far as she knew, but Andromeda had warned her that alcohol could cause a loss of control, and since Sunny’s spells were a bit haphazard át the best of times, she’d never wanted to take the risk. However, since she no longer possessed the magic to cast any spells that could go wrong, Sunny decided to make an exception, just this once.

  The wine tasted like a combination of silk and velvet on her tongue and warmed her going down. It also created a soft haze around her head that soothed her nerves which were usually tangled by close proximity to Clint.

  “Do you know,” she murmured, looking out the dining room window, “this is truly lovely country. I can see why you love it.”

  “Since it’s pitch black out there and the moon’s covered with clouds, I’m amazed you can see anything.”

  Accustomed to his sarcasm, Sunny was able to ignore it. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes.” His sardonic expression mellowed. “I do. There’s something about the land,” he murmured. “Something special. Something that gets deep in a man’s bones and just doesn’t let go.”

  When his quietly spoken words reminded her of his precarious financial straits, Sunny knew she was doing the right thing fixing him up with Charmayne Hunter. The cost of paying off Clint’s debts was less than the price of the diamonds that had been sparkling like ice on the cowgirl’s earlobes in that publicity photo.

  “I guess most ranchers, and cowboys, feel that way,” she murmured as he refilled their glasses.

  “I suppose so.”

  As he poured the wine up to the rim, Clint remembered the old line he’d learned in high school about candy being dandy, but liquor being quicker. Getting her drunk might be some guys’ solution to the perpetual hard-on he’d been suffering, but it wasn’t his.

  When he did make love to Sunny—and he had every intention of doing exactly that, in more ways than she could possibly imagine—he wanted to make damn sure she knew what she was doing. And with whom.

  “I’d love to meet some.”

  “What?” He looked across at her, realizing that his mind had wandered as he’d pictured Sunny lying in a hayloft, her nude body warmed by a buttery yellow summer sun. Not that she was still going to be here come summer. But the fantasy was a pleasant one.