Welcome to Paradise

by Carol Grace

  She wanted to see him, touch him, and feel him go rigid at her touch. She twisted around to face him, reached for the soap, and started a lazy journey down his body. Her hands traveled from his broad shoulders to his chest to his navel, reveling in the rise and fall of his chest in the heavy thudding of his heart. In the sounds he made, all male, all macho groans of pleasure and of protest.

  “Chloe, hell, what are you...oh, yes, yes...,” he said as her soapy hands stroked his rigid masculinity.

  Stunned by the strength of his response, she felt excitement fluttering in her very core. Excitement and need and wonder at the size of him. Her breath was coming in short gasps now as she realized how hot and how wet and ready she was. How ready he was. How close they were to the point of no return. Not that she wanted to return. She wanted to move ahead. To close the gap between them. Once and forever.

  With a deep hoarse sound, he gripped her shoulders and thrust upward, filling her as she'd never been filled before. Her body was hot and wet and slick as his strong, demanding thrusts drove her higher and higher onto another level of consciousness. Until the painful pleasure peaked, and in one dizzying moment she went over the edge. She called his name. He shouted hers.

  His eyes were closed, his lips pressed together in a sublime smile. He was drifting...no, he was sinking.

  “Zeb,” she said, alarmed, pulling his head up out of the water. “You're drowning.”

  “I don't care,” he said and he meant it. He could die right now a happy man. On the other hand, if he stayed alive, he might live to do this all over again.

  “Come here,” he said. He sat up and, with his hands on her temples brought her mouth to meet his. He brushed his lips across hers, tangling his hands in her wet curls possessively. He wondered for the nth time how any man could have ever let her go. She was everything a man could want— generous, warm, loving, lovable. It took all his self-control to remind himself not to get involved with another woman. Especially one who didn't fit in here. No matter how lovable she was.

  In fact, the more lovable, warm and generous she was, the more likely she was to be desired by someone else. And the more likely to go off with someone else when his back was turned. He'd never forget the pain and humiliation he'd felt when Joanne left. How his friends had looked at him, with a mixture of pity and astonishment at his stupidity.

  This was a different matter. This was a one-night stand, or maybe two or three. As long as she was willing. As long as she never knew he wanted her land more than he wanted her. Needed her land for his own survival. If he played his cards right, she'd never find out. But if she did... He shuddered to think what she'd think.

  If he'd met her sooner, it might have been a different story. Before he was disillusioned about women. Before she was disillusioned about men. Before he'd decided that women couldn't be relied on. Before she'd decided that men couldn't be trusted.

  As if she'd read his mind, and suddenly saw how conniving and devious he was, she drew back and studied his face for a long moment He didn't know what she saw there, but whatever it was, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a large towel around her, knotting it above her breasts.

  “So now what?” she asked briskly, as if they'd just finished a hand of poker.

  He followed her out of the tub, dripping water across the floor and braced one arm against the wall. “I was thinking about spending the night in your hammock, with you,” he said. He'd been thinking about it since the day she'd bought it. Thinking about sleeping next to her in it her body folded tight against his, one hand stroking those beautiful breasts, the other sliding between her legs to find that secret spot to bring her to another climax and another and another. Then he remembered he'd already suggested a night in her hammock the last time he'd been there and she'd turned him down flat. Something about not wanting to fulfill her romantic fantasy. Not with him, anyway.

  Whatever the reason, she had the same look on her face as last time, the look that said, I don't think so. He couldn't take being turned down again, not after what had just happened. Not after that earthshaking experience in the tub. It had left him feeling like an overcharged battery, or as if his head were floating above his body, looking down at him. That could be due to his extended immersion in hot water. Or it could be something else.

  Damn. His blood pumped just remembering how she floated on top of him, the water lapping against her rosebud nipples. A fever raged somewhere inside him. He grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist and hide his throbbing erection. No, he couldn't chance a rejection. The best thing was to pretend his suggestion had been a joke.

  “I was thinking about the hammock,” he continued. “But on second thought it's probably not big enough for two and you've probably got other plans for the night, like sleeping.” There, that ought to let her off the hook. He forced a smile, grabbed his clothes and went out in the night air, hoping it would cool more than his head.

  When she came out, still wrapped in the towel, looking puzzled and dazed, a shaft of guilt struck him between his ribs. Obviously, he shouldn't have said what he'd said, or she wouldn't have that look on her face. Ladies' man that he was, or was alleged to be, he still didn't know what you were supposed to say on an occasion like this. “Thanks for a wonderful evening” didn't seem to cut it. “We'll have to do it again sometime” seemed presumptuous. So he didn't say anything except “Good night” She didn't say anything at all. So he raised his hand in a casual gesture and took off, feeling like a total jerk. A guilty jerk.

  Chloe stood barefoot wrapped only in her towel, staring off in the direction of the Bar Z Ranch long after the sound of Zeb's footsteps had faded in the darkness. She stood there until a chill came over her, so intense that she started to shake uncontrollably. Yes, she knew he'd leave. No, she didn't want him to stay. Yes, she knew what he wanted from her. Her land. And her body. In that order.

  He'd been honest about that. He'd been honest about everything. No sweet talk. No flattery. Except to say he admired her for her hard work. Since he couldn't have her land, and she thought she'd made that perfectly clear, then he wanted a night of fun with her.

  She knew what she wanted from him, too. And she'd gotten it. One evening of ecstasy unlike any she'd ever known before or would likely ever know again. She threw on a pair of sweat pants and a sweat shirt, wrapped herself in a thick blanket and lay down in her hammock. Still cold and still alone. “Blues, leave me alone,” she muttered.

  After all, what had she expected? That he'd spend the night with her? Holding her? Protecting her from wild animals and her fears of failure and loss and of being deserted? No, he couldn't get out of there fast enough. Probably afraid she'd burst into tears or demand a dozen roses and a thank-you note. Men like him didn't spend the night. Men like him didn't make promises they couldn't keep or send flowers the next day. So what?

  He'd said he had no idea how he felt about her. But she knew exactly how she felt about him. He alternately amused her, surprised her and irritated her. And he always always attracted her. Like a bee to honey. Like iron to a magnet. Despite her best intentions, she couldn't stay away from him. In the water or out of it. Damn him. She'd come here with the firm intention of avoiding another disastrous romantic entanglement with a man, any man. But especially one with a roving eye. One who had no intention of settling down with one woman.

  And what had happened? She'd been here a little over a week and already she was in hot water. Literally. Which didn't mean she had to stay in hot water. Not with him, anyway. She could get along without Zeb Bowie. She could make this place a success on her own. On Monday morning she was going to take steps in that direction.

  Restless, she got out of the hammock, went to the cabin she'd cleaned and modestly furnished with an inflatable mattress, and lit the gas lantern. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she made a shopping list:

  1. electric power lines

  2. telephone lines

  3. a road

  4. a kitchen and dining room<
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  She didn't know how much power lines cost, but it couldn't be cheap to bring them in all this way, especially without a road. Ditto telephone lines. She opened her bankbook and stared at the numbers. How naive she'd been to think her divorce settlement, as generous as it was, would begin to cover the cost of converting this old resort into a spa. It was going to take money. Lots of money. But the end result was going to be nothing less than spectacular. Rustic, but luxurious. Natural, yet comfortable. Thinking about the spa helped her forget Zeb Bowie and shake the lingering feeling that tonight had been a terrible mistake.

  She forced herself to think about a dining room with a view of the mountains, featuring delicious, low-calorie food. She made herself imagine the women riding horses or hiking or just swinging in hammocks, sipping mineral water after a massage and a facial. After her divorce, her mother had treated her to a spa visit and she remembered how the tension had oozed out of her body, and left her feeling refreshed and revived. If she could do that for other women, she'd feel she'd accomplished something. Of course she accomplished something every day as a nurse, but when she was promoted, she'd found herself doing more and more administrative work, while the hard but satisfying patient care was left to aides.

  She tore a new sheet of paper from the pad and began sketching buildings, inside and out, making a rough map of her property based on her tour on horseback. By the time she'd finished she had a whole sheaf of papers. Papers that would, should impress the local banker enough to get a loan.

  Chapter Seven

  Zeb shaded his eyes against the dazzling morning sunshine as he walked in the direction of the back pasture. Another sleepless night. He used to sleep like a rock. But that was B.C. Before Chloe. Before she came along and threw his life into chaos. Took away his hot tub, threatened his dream of buying her property, and worst of all, made him want what he couldn't have. Her.

  Last night as he lay in his bed, the sheets twisted around his legs, hot, restless and frustrated, he'd replayed the scene in the hot tub over and over. Wondering why he hadn't spent the night, woken up in her hammock with her in the morning, the scent of her hair filling his senses, her soft, warm curves filling his arms. Wondering what he'd done wrong. What he'd said wrong.

  He found his brother leaning against the fence watching the cows graze. The peaceful scene usually calmed Zeb's nerves. Today the sight of all those fertile cows and no bull made him edgy and depressed. Silently he joined his brother to gaze moodily at the green pasture.

  “Didn't hear you come in last night,” Sam said, chewing on a stalk of grass. “Was it late?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Because she...because I...” He ran his hand through his hair. “Hell, I don't know.”

  “Did you make any progress?”

  Zeb gave his brother a long, hard look.

  “Toward getting the land,” Sam explained.

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that. Isn't that why you followed her home, to talk her out of the land?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, sure.” Sam was right. He was losing sight of his objective. “No, the answer is no. Not only did I not make any progress, I think I lost some ground. The harder I try to convince her she doesn't belong here, the more determined she is to stay.”

  “She has a stubborn streak,” Sam said. “I could see it in her chin. Maybe we ought to try some reverse psychology. Tell her to stay. Help her out a little.”

  “Help her out a little? I've done nothing but help her out since the day she arrived. Took her on a tour of the property by horseback, gave her a ride to town, carried her supplies in for her. What more does she want?” Zeb demanded.

  “She wants to build a spa on her property,” Sam said.

  “Well I'm not going to help her build her spa. That's the worst idea I ever heard. Old Horatio must be twirling in his grave. Let's forget Chloe for a moment, can we?”

  “I can,” Sam said, “but can you? You're the one who's been talking about her nonstop since she got here.”

  “All right. Fine. Not another word about her. I'm sick of waiting for her to come around. We need money now. Money for the bull. I'm going in to see Archie at the bank for another loan.”

  “I thought he said he wouldn't lend us any more.”

  “I've got to try. How much do we need?”

  Sam filled him in on the various bulls he had seen for sale and their prices and before he could lose his nerve, Zeb left to see the bank president, loan officer and owner, an old man who'd been there as long as the bank itself. Archibald Crane was as shrewd and tightfisted as they came. Zeb would rather have wrestled a bull to the ground than ask him for any more money, but he had no choice. Not that he was giving up on getting Paradise Springs. It was just going to take a little longer than he'd first thought. A little longer until she came to the inevitable conclusion that she didn't belong there.

  Since their bull had died in the anthrax epidemic last year, he and Sam hadn't been able to do any breeding. And without breeding, they might as well close up shop and give up the land that had been in their family for all these years. He stared straight ahead as he drove into town, unable to look at the neatly fenced green fields on either side of the road, without feeling jealousy of his neighbors' financial security. Not that he'd trade the Bar Z for any other ranch. He just wanted to be out of debt They were so close to that goal...so close, as close as their property line...and yet so far away. And it was all her fault

  “Archie in?” Zeb asked Mavis behind the teller's window.

  “Think so. Go knock on his door,” she suggested.

  Crane was behind his desk, in his starched high-collar shirt, the same style he'd been wearing for the past fifty years, his head resting against the back of his leather chair, regarding Zeb with narrowed eyes.

  “What now?” he asked.

  Not a good beginning, but not unexpected either. “Good to see you, Archie. You're looking well.” Zeb said.

  “More than I can say for you. You look like you slept in your clothes. All wrinkled. Honest to God, I don't know what it is with you young people. If you can't dress proper when you come to town, you ought to stay home.”

  “I'd like to stay home, but as you know we've had a run of bad luck,” Zeb said.

  “Bad luck? People make their own luck,” Archie said, gripping the lapels of his suit jacket with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Arch, we had the anthrax epidemic and then the floods last spring. Not much we could have done about either.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. In any case, once they get the dam built, won't have to worry any more about flooding.”

  “Oh, yes, the dam,” Zeb said as casually as he could. “Any word on that?”

  “It's going through, from what I've heard. Lucky for you it won't touch your property. But Paradise Springs will be no more. Wouldn't Horatio have been surprised to hear that his property would be worth something, after all? At least his great-granddaughter will get something out of it. Guess that's why she came out. Wants to see the place before it goes under.”

  “Oh, you heard about her?” Zeb asked, a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if Archie ran into Chloe...no, not likely. At his age, Archie never went anywhere, except to the bank and home again. And considering the long walk down the trail, it would probably be a while before Chloe set foot in town again.

  “Heard she's right pretty, that true?”

  “I didn't notice.”

  “What's wrong with you, boy? How old are you, thirty-two, thirty-three? And still not married? How you going to carry on the Bowie line if you don't notice pretty women?”

  Zeb ground his teeth in frustration. A week ago no one had heard of Horatio's great-granddaughter. Now he couldn't go anywhere, including his own pasture, without having to discuss her—her looks, her assets and her plans.

  “You're right,” Zeb said. “But first I need a bull.”

  The wrinkles in the old ma
n's face deepened. “What?”

  “If I'm going to propose to somebody, I've got to have something to offer her.”

  “Why?” Archie asked. “In my day it was the woman who brought her dowry to the table. Why don't you marry somebody with a bull?”

  “That's a great idea. I just might do that. When I find someone. But for the moment...” He took a breath. “We need a loan to buy one of our own.” There, it was out.

  But Archie had started shaking his head before Zeb even got the words out of his mouth. He should have known. He did know. But he had to ask anyway. “Why not, Archie?” Zeb asked, standing before the man who could turn his fortunes around. “You won't miss the money and it will turn things around for us.”

  “You're up to your ears in debt now, boy,” he said. “It would be irresponsible of me to lend you any more money. How would I explain it to the board of trustees?”

  Zeb could hardly keep from pounding the desk in frustration. Everyone knew old Archie controlled the board of trustees with an iron fist. Anything he wanted from them, he got.

  “And now,” Archie said, taking out his gold pocket watch to check the time. “If you'll excuse me, it's lunchtime.” As he spoke he reached under his desk for a wicker picnic hamper, took out a large checkered napkin, laid it on his desk, followed by a thermos of coffee, a half of a cold roast chicken and a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese. Zeb salivated, remembering that he'd skipped breakfast that morning.

  Zeb was about to protest, but after a glance at Archie with his mouth full of chicken, he turned and went to the door. When he opened it, Chloe was standing there, her hand in the air, poised to knock. As he gripped the doorknob, his heart ricocheted in his chest

  “Chloe,” he said. “Uh...somebody else to see you, Archie,” Zeb said, holding the door open so Chloe could hear the answer, loud and clear.