Loving Necessity: The Complete Necessity, Texas Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  Leta laughed aloud at the contrast between his overly precise manners and the place setting, but she was perfectly happy to eat the food.

  As he sat in a recliner next to the couch, his ankle crossed over his knee and his plate balanced on his leg, Tor began to relax. Leta's apparently complete willingness to let him communicate—in his own way and in his own time—lifted a weight from him that he hadn't even realized he was carrying.

  He should have recognized it, he supposed, given the way he'd isolated himself out here on the ranch, unwilling to go to town, even, unless it was absolutely necessary.

  And with enough money, it's easy enough to have everything delivered.

  It was never necessary for him to go into downtown Necessity—but he still forced himself to make the trip every few weeks.

  That needed to change, he decided, swallowing the last bite of his own sandwich and downing the rest of the iced tea. The people in his hometown cared about him, and deserved more than grudging acknowledgment from him.

  "Going to work?" Leta asked.

  Yeah, but not the way you think.

  He nodded anyway, and she pulled an e-reader out of her purse. "Sounds good. I have plenty to keep me occupied."

  As Tor cleared away the lunch debris, Leta settled in to read.

  The final view he had of her as he shut the door softly behind him was of her dark hair, falling forward to frame her face as she concentrated on whatever book she was reading.

  Like her smile earlier, the sight of her doing something as mundane as reading sent a shaft of pain through his chest.

  This time, it was less surprising.

  She's beautiful, and gentle, and kind.

  And this is only temporary.

  Because no matter how attractive he found her—and the more time Tor spent with Leta Delaney, the more he liked her—he would never be able to bring himself to be more than friends with her unless he overcame the speech difficulty that he was beginning to believe really might be as much a psychological issue as a physical one.

  No. I need to keep her around as long as I can to see if I can overcome this damn handicap.

  Nothing would ever happen between them unless she initiated it.

  If she falls for anyone, it'll have to be Tor Edwards, ranch hand.

  Not Andrew T. Edwards, Dallas billionaire.

  With a decisive nod, he turned his truck toward the big house. He did have work to do today, but not ranch work.

  But when he glanced in the rearview mirror, he couldn't help but wonder what he would do when he finally admitted that he was falling for her—and that he knew even less about her than she did about him.

  Chapter 5

  Two days later, Leta learned how to ride a horse. She stood in a barn on the ranch, not far from the main house. Tor had come into the kitchen after his workday to find her sipping tea as she stared out the window, watching two of the ranch's horses grazing in the nearest pasture.

  "They're so graceful." She'd spoken to him without looking around.

  "You ride?" he asked.

  "No. I'm a city girl," she said ruefully.

  "Ankle?" he asked.

  She shrugged, finally turning her head to make eye contact.

  "Better, I think," she said. "Maybe?"

  "C'mon." With a tilt of his head, Tor lead her outside to his truck.

  When they'd pulled up to the barn, she had glanced around nervously. "Are you certain your boss really won't mind me riding his horses?"

  An odd grin had crossed Tor's face, but he'd answered her in a complete, if short, sentence. "I'm sure."

  "Maybe you should introduce me, anyway?"

  His gaze had settled on her face and stayed there, oddly intense, for a breathless minute. Then he shook off whatever had caused the strange response, and said, "Not yet."

  Now, he leaned down and tapped the shin of her unhurt right leg, then the closest stirrup. "Here."

  Leta eyed the distance from the ground to the saddle skeptically. "I don't think I can make it up there using only one leg."

  The dimple on Tor's cheek flashed at her, and then he was behind her, lifting her into the saddle easily. She gasped in surprise, but by the time he grasped her unhurt ankle to secure her foot in the stirrup, her heart had almost stopped racing. She gripped the saddle horn tightly, determined not to fall off. It looked like a long way down to the ground—longer than she had anticipated.

  On the other side of her, Tor was gently sliding the stirrup over her other, hurt foot and adjusting the strap to allow her to put very little weight on it.

  No more than I had on it earlier when I was trying to walk, anyway.

  "Good?" he asked.

  His words were coming easier, Leta noticed. She wasn't sure he had realized it, but the more time they spent together, the less he stuttered.

  When he reached up to position her hands on the reins, the brush of his lightly callused fingers against her palm sent a shiver through her, and her breath caught in her throat.

  Tor froze for a long instant, his eyes wide, the gray darkening as heat flashed between them.

  But then he dragged his gaze away from hers, and continued settling the reins in her grip, making sure she held them correctly. When she held them correctly, he nodded and moved up beside the horse's head. Whispering what sounded like a string of nonsense syllables, Tor took gentle hold of the her bridle and made a couple of clicking noises to get her moving.

  He dropped back to walk beside Leta, giving one-word explanations combined with gestures to show her what to do. "Turn," he said, pantomiming pulling on one side of the reins at a time. "Stop." He tilted his hips forward as if sitting down hard, and Leta practiced it, trying to compensate for her hurt ankle. Lucky for her, the horse was particularly gentle and well trained, and stopped at the first hint of a command. Tor spoke softly to the mare, praising her.

  On the other hand, he wouldn't even look at Leta.

  After Tor had put the horse—and Leta—through a round in the paddock, he walked over to Alpine to swing up into his own saddle.

  "Ready?" he asked, his gaze sliding across her without ever stopping on her face.

  Dammit. For a minute there, she had been certain that there had been something there between them.

  I was right. There was. I didn't imagine it.

  But the last thing she needed was to get involved with someone else—even someone as uncomplicated and easygoing as Tor.

  I don't even know his last name. Hell, he didn't even tell me the horse's first name. She shook her head and leaned forward, attempting to replicate the sound Tor had made to the animal earlier. The nameless horse stepped forward and followed the larger Alpine out through the gate.

  As she rode behind him, Leta considered Tor's broad shoulders and muscular arms, contrasted them against the gentle way he handled both her ankle and the horses.

  Yeah, she finally conceded, if only to herself. There might be more to Tor than is immediately obvious.

  Even if she wasn't quite ready to admit to herself that she might want to explore what those depths might contain.

  AS TOR POINTED ALPINE toward the ranch's lower forty, he forced himself not to look over his shoulder to check on Leta.

  She can call out if she needs me.

  Hell, that's more than I can do.

  Anyway, he needed to spend some time right now considering the situation.

  What the hell had that been back there? All he had done was reach up to adjust her hands on the reins, but when his fingertips touched her skin, it was like a lightning bolt of pure lust had shot through him—and it almost knocked him backwards when his gaze met hers and he'd seen that desire echoed in her eyes.

  That wasn't the normal order of things. Usually, the women he met looked at him with something more like avarice than lust. Even those who did give him a hot stare had cooled off by the time they spent as much time with Tor as Leta had.

  So what did it mean that she responded to him after three d
ays, during which they had spent every meal and every evening together?

  And if she really was interested in him—just Tor, not Andrew T. Edwards, billionaire—what then?

  Tor had no idea, but part of him wanted to explore the possibilities.

  His own response to her was no secret—to himself, anyway. The more he was around her, the more he wanted to learn about her.

  The night before, she had suggested a movie on Netflix, and he had chosen one about a woman on the run from criminals, mostly to watch her reaction.

  Nothing.

  Either whatever had caused her to run to Chet Tyler's place wasn't connected to any criminal behavior, or she was an amazing actress.

  He wasn't sure which option would be better, at this point.

  Anyway, now wasn't the time to obsess over the mysterious woman sleeping in his bunkhouse. Not when she was right here, and he could easily talk to her.

  Well, not talk. And not easily, either.

  But communicate, anyway.

  Tor urged Alpine up the path to the top of the ridge overlooking his land. When the path widened at the crest, he dropped back to ride beside Leta and began pointing out various features of the ranch.

  "Is that your boss's house?" she asked, gesturing toward the sprawling ranch house.

  "Main house." Maybe there was some benefit in being unable to say more than a couple of words at a time.

  A light wind blew Leta's hair around her face, and she gathered it into a ponytail, pulling an elastic band out of her jeans pocket to hold it. "Do you think you should introduce me to him?"

  "Him?" Tor had a difficult time tearing his gaze from the graceful motion of her hands.

  "Your boss."

  Oh. That him.

  This was the perfect time to come clean with her. It would be easy. Just three words: I'm the boss.

  "I'm ..."

  He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence—for the first time since he met her, Leta's full attention was on something else.

  "Is that a rooster?" She leaned forward, absently patting her horse's neck as she peered between the mare's ears.

  Ah. So that's where he'd gotten to. The bird had disappeared two days ago, and Tor had been sure a coyote had nabbed the runaway fowl.

  I'm going to have to figure out how to get him back to the coop, too. Chickens were supposed to imprint on their coops and find their own way home at night, not go roaming the countryside and get lost.

  Stupid rooster.

  Especially aggressive, too, if this was the one Tor thought it might be.

  Dammit.

  Oh, well.

  Best get it over with.

  With a barely suppressed sigh, Tor swung off his horse and removed his jacket. Holding it out in front of him, he slowly stepped toward the rooster. Without looking at him, the rooster pranced away—at almost precisely the same speed that Tor moved toward him.

  Tor stopped.

  The rooster stopped.

  Tor took one step.

  So did the rooster.

  Leta's muffled snort behind him confirmed how ridiculous he must look chasing the bird across the ground.

  The damned thing had always attacked him when it was in the yard.

  "Fine," he muttered. "You come to me." The words came out with hardly any pauses at all. He didn't know if he could get through actually calling the bird, so he merely began making clicking noises with his tongue.

  He didn't realize Leta had dismounted until she was standing next to him, also clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  The rooster stood up straight, puffing its chest out and turning its head from side to side to peer at them.

  "Your ankle?" Tor nodded at Leta's foot.

  "It's okay, I think."

  He nodded and gestured for her to go one way while he went the other. The rooster made a wild dash down the middle, Leta feinted toward it, and Tor tackle-grabbed the runaway with his jacket.

  By the time he stood up, Leta was holding her sides and laughing so hard she had tears running down her face. "I thought you cowboys were supposed to be good at rounding up animals," she gasped out.

  "Cows." Tor emphasized the word.

  Leta laughed even harder, and the sound of it—unrestrained and completely genuine—smashed straight into his chest with a wallop that seemed to break loose two years' worth of pain.

  The kind of pain that might clog up a man's voice.

  The thought staggered him, and for an instant, his grip on the rooster loosened. Sensing the possibility of escape, the bird went wild, scrabbling and clawing to get away as Tor fought to keep his hold on it.

  Tor swore as one of the rooster's spurs raked down the front of his shirt, popping buttons as it went. Weren't those things supposed to be trimmed off the back of the bird's legs?

  Guess that's what happens when roosters go feral.

  The thought made him grin.

  At the first squawk, Leta had jumped toward Tor to help. Now, though, she stood in front of him, riveted by the sight of him clutching a rooster wrapped in a jacket, his shirt hanging open. Glancing down, he checked himself over. No scratches. The shirt wasn't even ripped, surprisingly enough—new buttons would be enough to mend it.

  So what was she staring at?

  Reaching out with one hand, she almost touched his bared chest. The wind that had felt mild earlier suddenly sent a chill across his skin. Against that, he felt the heat of her fingertips.

  She dragged her gaze up from his chest to meet his eyes, and though she never actually touched him, the sheer craving in that look left a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

  It lasted only a moment, and then she rotated suddenly, as if wrenching herself away from him.

  "Can you help me back up on my horse while you're holding the rooster?" Her voice was almost too casual, as if she'd had far too much practice hiding her true emotions.

  Using the arms of his jacket, he tied a few knots and created a kind of papoose for the rooster to ride in. Leta watched with interest, but didn't say anything.

  When he was done, he attached his new rooster-pouch to his belt long enough to lift Leta back onto her mare.

  "Thanks," she said, but she didn't look at him.

  They rode home in silence, barring the occasional irritated squawk from the rooster. Tor couldn't quit thinking about the moment she'd almost touched him.

  She needs to tell me her story.

  Soon.

  He just needed to come up with a plan to get her to talk.

  Chapter 6

  I can't touch him.

  God, I want to.

  Leta couldn't stop thinking about the way Tor had looked, his shirt hanging open, that cleft in his chin and the hint of a dimple in his cheek outlined by the light from the setting sun.

  He was beautiful—even more so, she suspected, under his clothes.

  But she had known that from the moment she met him. She hadn't tried to touch him before.

  So what the hell was that back there?

  And more importantly, what could she do to keep it from happening again? Falling into the arms of yet another man she barely knew? That was about the stupidest move she could make.

  He's a nice guy. We could be friends.

  Friends. Yes. That was the way to go. Treat him like a buddy. A roommate. Nothing more.

  I can do that.

  She managed it, too, all the way through returning the rooster to the coop, and taking the horses to their stables to get them settled for the night. When Tor stood behind her to show her how to hold the curry comb, she pretended not to notice the heat from his chest against her back.

  Instead, she kept up a light, cheerful stream of talk directed to the horse.

  That worked until they got into his pickup to drive back to the bunkhouse. Inside the cab, Leta could almost feel all the unspoken words piling up around her, between them.

  Was that how Tor felt all the time? Like the words he couldn't say hung in the air long
after their moment had passed? Like he walked through an entire world of things unsaid?

  You're getting delirious, Leta.

  But she couldn't shake the image, even as she stared out the window into the country darkness, unrelieved by any lights other than their own headlights.

  "Ankle?" Tor asked as they pulled into the bunkhouse drive, the first thing either of them had said since leaving the stables.

  "It kind of hurts," Leta admitted. "I think maybe I'd better take it easy tomorrow."

  There. Cut off any suggestions for more outings together.

  She fled to her room as soon as they made it inside.

  Part of her couldn't help but think she was being a coward.

  Anyway, her ankle really did need a break.

  BY THE NEXT NIGHT, though, Leta'd had all the rest she could take.

  She much preferred going for horseback rides and chasing down errant roosters to sitting on the couch—even if she had finished two novels she'd downloaded to her e-reader.

  I'm not made to sit around doing nothing.

  It's probably a good thing I didn't end up staying in Chet Tyler's cabin, after all. Even if it had been livable, I would have been bored out of my skull within two days.

  No. It was definitely much better to have met a handsome, entertaining, almost entirely non-verbal cowboy. One who had come in from working all day and headed straight to the bathroom for a shower—and who could be drafted to entertain her right now.

  "I'm getting bored with sitting on this couch so much," she called out to Tor as he passed her on his way down the hall. She drew her words out as she shouted down the hall after him. "Bo-o-o-ored!"

  He paused and peeked back around the corner. "Shower. Then dinner."

  "Are you cooking?" This "just friends" business was getting easier, she decided. Keep it light and entertaining, and everything will work out okay.

  Then Tor offered to take her out to dinner.

  "The Chargrill," he said. "In town."

  Then he disappeared into his bathroom.

  Friends go to dinner all the time. It doesn't mean anything.

  Still, it wouldn't hurt to get a little dressed up.