by Carol Grace
“She's easily frightened? What about me?”
“That's what I mean. You have a lot in common.” He put one hand on the horse's flank, the other he kept clamped on Chloe's shoulder.
“I guess that's a compliment.”
“Damn right. This time, swing your leg high above her. Grab the front of the saddle and hang on.” Before she could protest, he put his hands on her hips and lifted her up. Cupping her round firm bottom with his palms, he paused to consider how fit and trim she was. Probably got that way at her health club. She sure didn't stay in shape by climbing mountains or riding horses.
She landed with a resounding smack into the saddle. Zeb mounted and swung into the saddle right behind her.
He ran his hands down her arms, feeling her muscles tense under his hands. “Relax,” he told her. “Back erect.” With one finger he drew a straight line down the middle of her back. His hand lingered along the warmth of her backside. She gave a little shiver and sat up straight.
“Very good,” he said. She leaned back against him, her seductive rear nestled against his crotch, causing an arousal of unexpected strength. Damn. She noticed, he thought as she scooted forward and looked down at the ground. And gulped.
“What's wrong now?” he asked.
“I'm afraid of heights.”
He snorted. “What in the hell did you come to the mountains for if you're afraid of heights?”
“Because they're here. Because this is mine. Because... because...” Her voice quavered.
“Never mind.” Zeb put his arms around Chloe to grasp the reins, not as an excuse to touch her smooth skin, or graze the swell of her breasts with his hands. Those were fringe benefits. His horse moved briskly forward. “Look straight ahead,” he told Chloe. “If you keep your heels down and head up, you won't fall off.”
“Is that a promise?”
“I swear on my mother's grave.”
“Is...I'm sorry...about your mother.”
“Don't be. She's alive and well in Tucson. But she's gonna be buried here.”
Chloe shook her head and her red-gold curls brushed his cheek and enveloped him in her fragrance. What was it, lavender, lilac? While he fought the urge to lift the hair from her nape and nibble the soft skin behind her ears, Jenny turned up the hill to the old orchard. Not a bad place to start. A grove of gnarled old fruit trees that hadn't produced for years.
“This is your inheritance,” he said, waving his hand at the trees. “There are the hot springs and the cold springs. There's this orchard. And a meadow. And that's it. It's not livable. Especially not for someone like you.”
Once she realized that, she'd give in. She had to.
“Ooh,” Chloe exclaimed as a flock of orioles and waxwings sailed out of the bare branches. “It's a bird sanctuary.” As the horse meandered through the apple trees, she sniffed the few fragrant blossoms still lying beneath the trees. “Are these really mine?”
“They're yours, but they don't bear much fruit,” he warned. “Haven't been pruned for years.”
“But if they were pruned...” she mused as the birds chirped and sang overhead.
He shouldn't have let her see the orchard. Hear the birds. Feel the sun on her face. How was he to know she'd find beauty in a group of stunted trees and a flock of noisy birds? He tightened his legs around Jenny's sides and pulled on the reins with his right hand. It was time to stop being so damned nice. Time to show her the real Paradise Springs.
The sun turned hot as they plowed through knee-high brush. Low-hanging branches from spruce trees tore at their clothes. She ducked and drew a ragged breath. This was more like it. Sheep Mountain loomed in the distance. Snow-capped, forbidding, at twelve-thousand feet.
“Most of your property is like this,” he explained.
“Where are the cold springs and the meadow?”
“I thought you wanted to see the gold mines and the Indian relics.”
Holding onto the saddle with both hands, she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “There isn't any gold, is there?”
“Doubtful. But there are a few arrowheads. If you're willing to dig for them. We'll stop along the creek and you can try the water from the spring. Old Horatio claimed it kept him young and...vigorous.”
“Did he ever have it tested?” she asked.
“Not officially. But it worked on him. When he went to town women flocked all over him.”
“Oh, that kind of vigorous.” A flush spread up the back of her neck.
“What other kind is there?” he asked grinning to himself. Embarrassing Chloe Hudson was almost as much fun as kissing her. Almost, but not quite.
Next to a slate-gray rocky outcropping he reined Jenny in and jumped down. He held out his arms and Chloe, her cheeks still flushed, lifted her leg over the horse and slid into his arms.
She ignored his question, but she couldn't ignore the man, holding her so close she could feel the heat from his body transfer to hers. As if she hadn't been aware of his body for the last hour. She'd thought getting off the horse would provide a respite, a break from his teasing and innuendoes, from his lusty nature. But now his eyes blazed with desire so hot she couldn't look away.
He lowered his head. His lips were just a breath away from hers. She needed him to kiss her. To prove the first time was a fluke. To show her he was nothing but an oversexed cowboy, a flirt who wanted to buy her property for some secret reason. The breeze rushed through the trees. The sound of a spring bubbled in the distance. She held her breath. She knew what was going to happen. She waited for it, wanted it. Now.
He told himself not to touch her. But after an hour of sitting behind her, her bottom pressed into his rigid masculinity, tendrils of silky hair teasing his face, his resistance was close to zero. He was hot, he was frustrated and he was annoyed that she wouldn't give up and go home.
The longer he waited, the more the tension grew, like fence wire stretched between two posts. He pressed one hand against her arched back and urged her tightly against him, amazed once again at how well she fit.
And then he claimed her with a kiss. One hot, breathless, soul-searching kiss that left Chloe shaking to the tips of her suede boots. And then another kiss, deeper, longer, stronger. His lips were rough against hers. He tasted like coffee and he smelled like leather. This man she scarcely knew had kissed her again like she'd never been kissed before. Twice. No, three times. And she'd kissed him back. Hungry for the taste of him. Unable to get enough of him. Desire flowed through her veins, thick and hot and heavy. She sifted her fingers through his sun-bleached hair.
His tongue stroked her lips, then plunged in, and she welcomed him. But somewhere she knew it was wrong. Last night could be excused as an experiment, a test. But today...today was something else. She knew he couldn't be trusted, but right now she didn't care. Her hunger, her vertigo, her aching muscles were all forgotten in the ecstasy of a stranger's kiss. From deep in her throat a moan escaped. He answered with one of his own. And brought her closer to him. So close she could feel the heat from his body scorch right through her clothes, and the strength of his arousal press against her belly.
Suddenly dry leaves crackled loudly in the clear air, and the sound of hooves thumped against the ground like hammer blows, sending Chloe flying out of Zeb's arms.
“What was that?” she demanded, her eyes wide with fright.
He shrugged, apparently unaffected by the kisses she found earth-shattering. “Just an elk,” he said. “And you scared him away. Don't tell me you'd begrudge him a drink of spring water? Your average male elk has a harem of a dozen females. He needs all the vigor he can get to keep them satisfied.”
She folded her arms across her waist and studied him. This outstanding specimen of a cowboy with his broad shoulders, narrow hips and ragged face probably had at least a dozen women to satisfy himself, if his raging libido and hot, steamy kisses were any indication. She had no intention of becoming number thirteen, no matter how deliciously desirable he made her feel.
“Is it my imagination or are you slightly obsessed with sex?” she asked.
“You call it sex, I call it nature,” he explained.
“Oh, really? Well, I'd love to hear more about elk and their mating habits, but I feel a little funny,” she said pressing her fingers against her temples. Funny was putting it mildly. She was feeling positively giddy. But was it the altitude, or hunger—or was it him? She didn't want to know. She had to get away from him. Think things over. “I think I'll go home,” she said.
Relief rushed through his veins. He repressed an ear-to-ear smile. “Sure?”
“Yes, I'm hungry. I'm going to try to build another fire. And heat up some of my freeze-dried food for lunch.”
“And then you're going...” He waited, holding his breath.
“Then I'm going to town to get some supplies.”
“I thought you were going home.”
“Yes, home. To the resort, the cabins, the bathhouse. I can't go home, not yet, I just got here.”
He ground his teeth. He could have sworn she said she was going home. She couldn't go to town. She might hear something. He couldn't afford to have idle gossip spoil the whole plan. “I'm going to town. I'll get whatever you need.”
“I want to see it.”
“There's nothing to see,” he said.
“There must be something.”
“A store. A bar. A bank. Houses. People don't see many tourists, so you'd likely be treated with suspicion.”
“I'll explain I'm not a tourist.”
“That's just the kind of thing that makes them suspicious.”
“But...”
“All right, I'll take you.” The idea of her walking around telling people who she was and why she was there made his skin crawl. If he went with her, he'd follow her around, stifle any conversation, filter any news, censor any talk.
“I have my car,” she insisted. Damn, she was stubborn.
“That's a three-mile walk to your car. A hundred-yard walk to my place, where I've got my truck parked.”
“I don't want to trouble you. You've already done so much for me.”
Whatever he'd done, it wasn't the right thing. If he had, she'd be packing up right now instead of talking about laying in supplies.
“I'll make a fire for you. Then I'll drive you to town,” he said.
“If you insist.”
He insisted. His whole future was on the line. The future of the Bar Z Ranch. And it all hung on her. This woman who was a disastrous combination of stubborn determination, a gorgeous body and a complete inability to take care of herself out here. It was just a matter of time before she said she was going home and meant it. All he had to do was wait her out—and keep his hands off of her. It should be no problem. But when he lifted her back on the horse, this time behind him, he realized the change in position had only made things worse.
Her breasts cushioned his back, sending tremors of lust rocketing through his body. Her breath was warm on the back of his neck, her hands laced across his chest, causing him to picture those slender fingers caressing his bare skin. He had to get rid of her. Now. Today. But how?
Chapter Three
“You didn't quit your job or anything to come out here, did you?” Zeb asked casually that afternoon as they bounced along the rutted road toward the highway in his truck.
“No. Why?”
“The obvious reasons. You might not like it here. It's lacking in creature comforts. There's no way to earn a living. If that's a concern.”
“Yes, it's a concern. I'm not independently wealthy. Although...”
He turned his head to look at her. “Although what?”
She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out that she had a settlement from the divorce. It was none of his business. “Nothing.”
They rode in silence until they hit the highway, then turned south toward the small town of Powderkeg.
“There must be some way to make a living out here,” she said watching the rugged landscape pass by.
“I'm starting to wonder,” he muttered.
“But you do...make a living.”
“Yeah, sure. But it ain't easy.”
“I'm not looking for something easy.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Something different.”
“From what?”
“From what I was doing.”
He lifted his hands off the steering wheel in an impatient gesture. “Which was?”
“I'm a nurse.”
He gave her a long, searching look she tried to ignore. But the heat from his gaze made her quiver with awareness. The lunch break had not done the trick. One look from those brilliant blue eyes and she was as light-headed as before. Her skin burned and she shivered deep inside. His eyes scorched a trail from her French-braided hair to her leather sandals, lingering on her breasts under her clean, wrinkled T-shirt. She could imagine his broad callused hands touching her there and there and...there.
She shifted to face the side window as her nipples stiffened under his appraisal. What was the matter with her anyway, allowing a stranger to affect her this way? Just because the shrewd eyes that undressed her were the color of the Colorado sky and his face a reflection of every cowboy she'd ever seen in every movie, starting with Clint Eastwood and moving right up to Brad Pitt.
“You don't look like a nurse,” he remarked at last.
“Did you expect a white uniform and a starched hat? I'm off duty.”
“For how long?”
“Until fall.”
He exhaled loudly. “You're staying till fall?”
“That was the plan. Unless...”
“Unless you get bored. There's not much to do around here.”
“There's plenty to do at the Springs. It needs a lot of work.”
“Unless you sell it to me.”
“Why do you want it?” she asked.
“Call me land-hungry. I just want it”
“So do I.”
“Why?”
“I can't tell you. You'll laugh.”
“No I won't. I swear.”
“Is this it?” she said as they came to a roadside sign reading Welcome to Powderkeg.
“Don't blink or you'll miss it” he warned. A row of restored two-story buildings lined the main street. Beyond them, lush green fields stretched out in every direction toward the mountains. It was as peaceful a scene as she'd seen in any Western movie. She opened her window and drew a deep appreciative breath.
“I thought you said it was nothing,” she said. “I'll bet it hasn't changed since the stagecoach came through on its way to Paradise Springs. The women will love it”
“The women?” he asked, startled.
“Or the men. Men are welcome.”
“I'm glad to hear it. Otherwise I'd have to slap you with an antidiscrimination suit.”
“Against your next-door neighbor?”
“I don't need another neighbor,” he muttered, as he parked in front of the dry-goods store. “I need the land.”
Chloe shot him a swift look. His eyes were as hard as flint. His mouth set in a grim determined line. Had he said what she thought he'd said? She shook her head to clear it as she opened the door and jumped down from the front seat of the truck. He didn't want her there. But he wanted her land. What would he do to get the land? What wouldn't he do?
Zeb sat in his truck and watched her walk away, forgetting his vow to stick by and stand as a buffer between her and the town and the gossip. He had a sinking feeling that the land was slipping away from him. The land and the deal and the money and finally his own land. It was all her fault. Whatever plans she had for that property, they were completely unrealistic and ill-conceived. Why couldn't she see that?
He got out of the truck and in a few brisk strides caught up with her inside the store. She was looking at sleeping bags. While he leaned against the counter, surveying her through narrowed, disapproving eyes, she bought one sleeping bag. Th
en a gas lantern and a hammock. A camping stove. The higher the bill she racked up, the lower his spirits sank. She looked at him across racks of anoraks and khaki shorts.
“What else?” she asked him.
The saleswoman turned around. “Zeb! I didn't see you. I should have known,” she said with a wink. “New girl in town, Zeb Bowie's not far behind.”
“Actually she's not new, Wilma. She arrived yesterday.”
“Where you staying?” Wilma asked Chloe.
“At Paradise Springs,”
Wilma dropped the calculator she was using to total Chloe's purchases. “But the place is a shambles. Horatio let it go downhill, the old devil.”
“I'm thinking of restoring it,” Chloe said.
“But haven't you heard...”
“She's heard all about old Horatio,” Zeb interrupted. “She's his great-granddaughter.”
“No kidding?” Wilma tilted her head to one side. “Now that you mention it, I see the family resemblance. Don't you, Zeb?”
Zeb let his gaze travel up and down her body once again. His pulse accelerated as he remembered how she'd looked in the bathtub, her skin wet and warm and satin-smooth. Her face flushed under his scrutiny. Maybe she remembered the moment, too, when he stumbled in to see if she'd succumbed to the therapeutic waters.
“Now I see it,” Zeb acknowledged, snapping out of his reverie. “It's the grizzled grin. And the bowed legs.”
Wilma cast a quick glance in the direction of Chloe's shapely legs. “Don't pay any attention to him...Miz....”
“Hudson,” she said. “Chloe Hudson.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Why don't you throw in an inflatable air mattress,” Zeb suggested. Then he bit his tongue. What was wrong with him, making helpful suggestions? He wanted her to be so stiff and sore from sleeping on the ground, she'd be gone by tomorrow.