by Lucy Gilmore
“The least you could do is come down and meet him face-to-face,” Dawn said, interrupting him before he had a chance to grow morose. “Rejection is always easier to handle when it’s personalized.”
With a sigh, Adam stabbed his pitchfork into the last of the hay bales and hopped down from the loading bay. There was nothing else he could do. He’d brought this on himself when he agreed to this scheme in the first place. He’d hoped he’d have at least twenty-four hours before Dawn descended on him in full training glory, but she’d come all this way. He might as well make the best of it.
“What would you know about rejection?” he asked.
Dawn didn’t hesitate. “Oh, you’d be surprised. For reasons I haven’t been able to work out yet, some men seem to take one look at me—figuratively speaking, that is—and decide they’d rather spend their nights wrestling alligators.”
“At least when you wrestle an alligator, you know what the risks are.” He matched his tone to hers, all bland friendliness. “Dismemberment, disembowelment, death…”
A laugh caught in her throat. “All of which are preferable to me, I presume.”
He hunched one shoulder in a shrug and drove a hand deep into his pocket. In the normal way of things, he wasn’t a man given to fidgeting, but something about being around Dawn always made him acutely aware of his hands. They twitched and tingled and felt about three times their normal size.
“You’re the one who introduced alligators into the conversation,” he said somewhat gruffly. “I would have suggested bedding down with something safer. A grizzly bear, perhaps.”
“I think I prefer the alligator, thanks. They make such lovely shoes.” Her laughter sounded again. “Adam Dearborn, allow me to introduce you to Uncle. Uncle is a purebred Great Dane, and he comes from parents who have supplied half a dozen other service puppies to us over the years. He’s gray all over—even his eyes, which, in addition to having long eyelashes, are droopy and beautiful.”
“Beautiful, droopy eyes. How helpful on a ranch.”
“He’ll also grow to be the size of a pony and will be able to outrun every man, woman, and cow on this place. So don’t turn your nose up at him yet.”
“I told you—I’m happy with Methuselah.” Despite his words, he crouched down and extended a hand, holding it there until he felt a tentative, wet puppy nose touch his fingers. “Hello, Uncle. I’m sure you’re everything that’s been promised, but I have a dog already.”
Uncle responded by licking his palm. The animal’s tongue was huge. As Adam ran a hand over the top of his head, he realized that Dawn hadn’t been exaggerating about the rest of him, either. Already larger than a newborn calf, this puppy would grow to be an enormous creature.
And probably a helpful one. Now that the idea had been planted in his head, Adam was starting to realize that he could use a companion like this one. Of all the things he did around the ranch, the most difficult was walking around outside. The orientation and mobility classes he’d taken as a kid and his cane made him confident in public places, but the great outdoors was the one thing he couldn’t control. Rabbit holes, rocky paths, even one goddamn stick in the way could make a short walk into a hazard of the worst kind. Having someone the size of Uncle to keep him company would go a long way in making it possible for him to do things like routine perimeter checks on his own.
But “I’m sure that Methuselah will be more than capable of handling the workload as soon as she’s feeling better” is what he said. “She’s doing well, by the way. I left her in the office with Phoebe. She still doesn’t like being alone for any period of time.”
“She and I have that in common,” Dawn said. “A lady likes to have an appreciative audience every now and then. Speaking of, what time is Marcia stopping by today?”
“She’s not,” Adam said, taking much more perverse joy in thwarting Dawn than a grown man should. It would have been so easy to accept a replacement puppy, this olive branch of Dawn’s offering, but he wiped his hands on his jeans and rose instead. “She came by first thing this morning and pronounced herself pleased with the puppy’s progress.”
“Drat,” Dawn said. At Adam’s lifted brow, she hastily added, “About Marcia having come and gone already, I mean. I was hoping to see her again. I liked her.”
The feeling had been mutual, but Adam wasn’t about to tell Dawn that. She already had an ego the size of a small planet.
“I’m afraid we keep early hours in these parts,” he said, his voice taking on a marked drawl. He even hitched his thumb in the loop of his belt for good measure. The only thing he was missing was a piece of hay between his teeth. “None of your fancy city living out here. If you want to get anything done, you have to get up with the sun.”
“Phoebe would sleep in until noon every day if she had the chance,” Dawn retorted, unmoved. “Zeke too. In fact, he was getting up when I peeked in his room. He made me promise to tell you that he’s been organizing the shed since eight.”
Adam didn’t point out the obvious—that Dawn’s discretion left something to be desired. That woman had never been able to keep anything to herself. She said and did whatever the hell she felt like, consequences be damned.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. As far as he could tell, she’d never once told any member of his family—or hers—about the things they’d done under cover of night. And morning. And afternoon. And once, when both Zeke and Phoebe had visited friends on the other side of the state, an entire sordid weekend.
“They’re terrified of you, you know.” Dawn’s voice came from closer than it had a moment ago, although he hadn’t heard her take a step. “The big, bad giant, stomping around his castle. Or ranch, as the case may be.”
“They are not.”
“They don’t dare contradict you or tell you what they’re really thinking.”
She was closer now, not just her voice but her presence growing stronger. Adam wanted to put a hand out toward the Great Dane, to reassure himself that the animal was providing a necessary barrier between them, but he tucked his hands firmly behind his back. Otherwise, there was a good chance he’d reach out and touch Dawn, and that was definitely not what he wanted right now.
And not just because he’d been hefting hay bales for over an hour, smelling of sweat and straw. In one of her more determined moods, she wouldn’t let a pesky thing like that stop her.
“They contradict me all the time,” he protested.
“They warned me that you were in a mood this morning. ‘Don’t do it,’ Phoebe said. ‘You and that puppy are too nice to die like this,’ Zeke said.”
“Please. I would never hurt a puppy.”
Dawn’s laughter sprang up in the air between them, as warm as the sun on his back. Today would turn out to be another scorcher, he was sure. That was part of the reason he was up so early, why he was working so hard before most people had poured their first cup of coffee. Life on a ranch is hard. Life on a ranch isn’t for the reluctant.
Life on a ranch also wasn’t for a sweet, emaciated puppy or for a woman whose idea of physical labor was to walk the two blocks from her house to her favorite latte stand. Clearly, he wasn’t doing so great at boundaries.
“Give Uncle a chance,” Dawn said. “A two-day trial, that’s all I’m asking. If you don’t like him after forty-eight hours, I’ll take him home and you’ll never hear the words ‘Great’ and ‘Dane’ from my lips again.”
Mentioning her lips had to have been some kind of tactic. Just the word—lips—had him remembering their shape and size, the way the bottom one was so much plumper than the top, how good they felt when pressed against his bare skin. She always warned him to scrub hard before he met up with any other women, since she left a trail of lipstick all over his body.
He wasn’t seeing any other women, but there was no way he was telling her that. She already had him under her spell. He didn’t n
eed to be under her power as well.
“Thank you for the offer,” he said tightly. “But I already like—”
“The one you can’t have,” Dawn finished for him. She was definitely closer now, the unmistakable nonscent of her mixing with the hay and dirt to whirl his senses. “That seems to be a sort of thing with you, doesn’t it?”
He ran his hands through his hair, since it seemed suddenly important that he do something with them. It was also important to do something with this situation. If he let her continue like this, unchecked and uninhibited, there was good chance neither one of them was getting any work done today.
“As I recall, I’ve had you plenty of times already,” he said, a challenge in his voice. “In fact, I bet I could have you right here and now.”
Adam didn’t know if he was the one who’d drawn closer to her or if she’d stepped up to him, but there was no longer anything between them. Not a puppy, not air, definitely not common sense. The jut of her breasts pressed softly against his chest, the toes of her shoes touching the tips of his work boots.
His hands suddenly decided they had minds of their own. Moving forward to clasp her around the waist, they touched silky fabric and heat and a patch of skin where her shirt didn’t quite reach her waistband. That alone should have been enough to stop him—what kind of a person wore a tiny, silken shirt to a working ranch?—but of course it didn’t. That touch of skin set off something inexplicable inside him.
It always did. That was the problem. Words could be ignored and the sound of her laughter pressed deep down inside him, but one graze of his fingertips on her body and he was lost.
“I’ve always wanted to have sex on a pile of hay,” Dawn said, calling his bluff. She arched into his touch, allowing his hand to slide up her back. He encountered nothing but soft skin and the gentle curve of her spine, both of which promised more of the same, should he give in and really cop a feel. Which was tempting for a lot of reasons, including the fact that Dawn was stacked in ways that seemed wholly against nature. “Surely there must be one or two of those in the barn we could try?”
“There are.” He brought his lips close to her ear, though he was careful not to press against the gently pounding pulse below it. The moment the kissing started, all other bets were off—including the one that had a Great Dane puppy at their feet and a golden retriever puppy napping under Phoebe’s desk. That was the one thing he knew for sure. Dawn had come out here with the sole intention of luring him into lowering his defenses, using her incredible body and the promise of what it could do to get her own way. She wanted Methuselah, and she’d stop at nothing to get her.
Well, two could play that way. In fact, he was becoming something of an expert at this particular game.
“We could slip in there right now, and no one would know where we are,” he murmured. Dawn arched her neck to give him better access, but he didn’t kiss, didn’t touch. Only teased. “I could throw you into the biggest stack of hay and rip this tiny scrap of a shirt from your body.”
A slight, guttural sound indicated how much she liked the direction this conversation was going. Typical. With Dawn, the anticipation, the clandestine nature of their meetings, was half the fun.
Who was he kidding? Where that woman was concerned, it was probably all the fun.
“No one will think to look for us for hours,” he added, still in that low, crooning voice. “It’ll just be me and you, our bodies slick with sweat.”
Dawn’s hips pressed against his, her arms coiling around his neck so that her entire body could melt against him. This was how she always struck, coiled and soft and yielding.
So he struck back.
“Well, that and the snakes.”
Instead of pulling back, Dawn only laughed and clasped her hands tighter around his neck. “Good thing I happen to like snakes,” she said. Her mouth brushed lightly against his, fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. “Like the alligators, they make such nice shoes. Purses too.”
Even though Adam’s body thrummed with anticipation, burning hot in all the places it touched hers, he kept his tone level. “We also get the occasional badger, even though they’re pretty rare in these parts. Rats are almost a certainty.”
“Why, Adam Dearborn, are you trying to sweet-talk me?”
No, dammit. He was trying to do the exact opposite. Why did this woman refuse to act like a normal human being? She should run at the mention of rats, not press her hips against his until he ached.
“I’m just making sure you know what you’re getting into, that’s all,” he said. His voice sounded strained to his own ears. “Things can get pretty nasty out here in the wilderness.”
“That’s funny,” she purred. “So can I.”
It was almost more than he could take. Getting the better of this woman in a verbal battle was almost impossible, and making her see reason was laughable. At least in a pile of hay, he’d have a chance of coming out on top.
Well, he’d have a chance of coming on top, anyway.
“Of course, the real thing you want to watch out for is the straw itch mites,” he managed before he was lost to all sense of propriety.
“Those aren’t a real thing,” she protested, laughing. She also slackened her hold, which was the most important thing.
“Oh, they’re nasty little buggers—literally.” Finally, finally, he was able to slip his hand out from under her shirt. Finally, finally, the pressure of her hips against his gave way. “Zeke was covered from head to toe in the rash last year. You’d have thought he fell into a well of poison oak from the way his body broke out in those welts.”
“You’re just making this up to scare me. If you didn’t want to sleep with me, you could have said so.”
Ha. Right. That showed how much she knew. He always wanted to sleep with her. He always wanted to be near her—inside her, on top of her, even sitting in the same goddamned room. How pathetic was that? While she was out living the vibrant, fast-paced life of a woman in her prime, he sat at home and pined.
And his only saving grace—the only way he could continue to hold his head high—was to never let her know.
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” he lied. “I don’t want to kiss or hug or even touch you any more than is strictly necessary. In fact, now that we’re on the subject, I don’t want your Great Dane peace offering, either.”
She laughed. Laughed. “I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice low and crooning. “I think you want me as much as I want you. And I think you’re going to throw me into a pile of hay—clean hay—to prove it.”
“You’re wrong,” he replied—and she was. Not about him wanting her, but about how much. What he felt wasn’t a flash of temporary desire. It wasn’t a tepid impulse. It was need, pure and simple.
He’d have done exactly as she demanded, given up his dignity and his dog for a chance at having her in his arms again, except for the pounding of light footsteps in the distance. He jumped away from Dawn, ears cocked as Phoebe’s panting breath immediately followed.
“Thank the good goddess in heaven. There you are.” Phoebe’s words were hitched, her breathing labored. “It’s that stupid animal, Adam. I tried to catch her before she got away, but I opened the gate so I could start cleaning the yard, and it must not have latched. She took off like a horde of wolves were after her.”
“Dawn,” he groaned. And since it seemed important to make the distinction, he added, “The cow, that is.”
“I gathered as much, thank you,” Dawn the human said. “Let me guess—she’s going where she’s not wanted and creating all kinds of problems?”
Adam was about to nod when Phoebe interrupted. “Worse. She’s on Mrs. Benson’s property.”
He swore under his breath. “Like hell she is.”
“I came as fast as I could, but there’s no telling what kind of damage she’s done by now.
I would have gone straight there, only you said—”
Adam nodded his understanding. They needed to tread warily where their erratic neighbor was concerned. There was far too much at stake to send Phoebe in there alone.
“Good call,” he said. “You’d better bring the truck around. Grab ropes, the bottle of molasses, and, Lord help us, a tranquilizer. Where’s Zeke?”
Although he hadn’t directed the question at anyone in particular, Dawn was the one who answered. “Heading out to do laps at the community center, I think. At least that’s where he said he was going when I woke him up. Where can I put Uncle?”
It took Adam a moment to work out her meaning. “Out of the question. You’re not coming with us.”
As usual, Dawn ignored him. “The ropes and tranquilizer I can understand, but what’s the molasses for?”
“Dawn has a sweet tooth,” Phoebe explained. “She’ll do just about anything once she gets a whiff of it. Sometimes, she’ll even come when she’s called, if you’d believe it.”
“Wait—so the cow is really named Dawn? Adam didn’t make that up to annoy me?”
“Oh, we’ve been calling her Dawn forever.” Phoebe giggled. Like Zeke, she had a joie de vivre that made her seem younger than her twenty-eight years. “But it’s not an insult, I promise. She’s always been Adam’s favorite cow.”
“I don’t have favorite cows, and Dawn can only be described as a plague.” He didn’t enlighten the two as to which Dawn he referred to this time. They needed to get moving if he was going to salvage this disaster. Rolling a shoulder in the direction of the house, he said, “You’d better take Uncle inside. He can keep Methuselah company so she doesn’t think she’s been abandoned. She howls if she’s left alone for longer than two minutes. It’s heartbreaking.”
“Good thinking,” Dawn replied.
He wasn’t prepared for so much conciliation from a woman who lived to thwart him, so his voice was a little gruff as he added, “I hope you’re dressed for getting dirty. This isn’t going to be pretty.”