by Carol Grace
“It's just a matter of time before she finds out” Sam said. “Maybe she ought to find out from us before she hears it from someone else.”
“Oh, sure, and then what? We give up, sell the land, rent a space from the fairground and live in our horse trailer? I had a better idea. At least she thought it was all right when I suggested it as an alternative to jumping into the spa business without sufficient capital. I told her she ought to start a small business bottling her spring water and selling it”
“Good idea. But how's it going to help us?” Sam asked.
“You oaf. She'll never be able to bottle and sell her water. Not by herself.”
“Then we'll help her,” Sam suggested. “We've got the truck, access to the springs, and we know the territory.”
Zeb stared at his brother in openmouthed surprise. “Sometimes I wonder about you. Let's reiterate our objectives. We need money. Right? We can't get it from the bank. That leaves Paradise Springs. What stands in our way? Chloe. We have to get rid of Chloe, right?” If that was right then why did the words stick in his throat? Why did the idea of her leaving Paradise Springs make him feel like he'd been kicked in the groin?
Sam nodded, propping one foot on a bale of hay. “We have a way of getting rid of her. By letting her see how impractical her plans are. She'll get discouraged when she sees how hard it is to bottle water and sell it. It won't take a rocket scientist to figure out it's even harder to build a spa on that property. We could hammer away at her, but we've already tried that. She's tougher than we thought”
“Right,” Zeb admitted reluctantly. Tougher, yes. But tender, oh so tender and so achingly lovely. And so vulnerable. He couldn't. No, he couldn't hammer away, not anymore. Because everything was different now. Since this afternoon everything had changed.
“Let me get this straight,” Sam said. “You told her to start a small business, knowing she couldn't possibly do it on her own.”
“There's a remote possibility. She's very resourceful, and she's got a settlement from her divorce. And,” he paused and took a deep breath,“she's got us. I suggested that we'd help her.”
“Huh?” Sam faced his brother with his hands on his hips. “I'm so confused. Do you want to help this lady or not? I don't know whether you want her to go or to stay. I've seen the way you look at her. Like she's a hot biscuit just out of the oven, slathered with butter and honey.”
Zeb swallowed hard, remembering how sweet her lips were, with or without the honey. “Funny you should mention that.”
“And I've seen the way she looks at you. ”
“I don't want to hear this,” Zeb said. But he knew the way she looked at him, with those meltingly soft brown eyes, like he was some kind of superhero who knew everything. That was not the issue. If it was, he would have followed her home, followed her anywhere just to bask in the light of those eyes. “We've got some hard decisions to make here,” he reminded himself as well as his brother.
“Sounds like you've already made them. We help her. We discourage her. We tell her to go home because we want her land. But we want her to stay, because...because...?” Sam stood there along with the horses in their stalls, their heads turned in his direction, all of them staring at Zeb, waiting for an answer.
“We don't want her to stay. It would be a terrible mistake for her to stay,” Zeb said firmly. “She doesn't belong here. Even you can see that She's a city girl. She's been married once. To a doctor. She'll get married again. A woman like that, she's got everything. She's a great cook, she's great in...in every way. Except for an excess of stubbornness, but that could be overcome, with the right man.”
“You wouldn't be the right man, would you?” Sam asked, not bothering to conceal his knowing grin.
“For Chloe Hudson?” Zeb asked incredulously. “Are you crazy? I'm not right for her and she's not right for me. Nobody's right for me except for a good time now and then. I think you know that I'm not marriage material.”
“Who said that?”
“Joanne said that”
“Forget that. She didn't know what she was talking about,” Sam said.
Zeb couldn't forget it Couldn't forget how he felt when he found out she'd left. So stupid, so naive, so duped. He vowed then no woman would ever make him feel that way again. And they hadn't.
“Talking about this makes me hungry,” Sam said. “George left a pot of chili on the stove. Think we should invite Chloe?”
“No,” Zeb burst out.
“But we owe her,” Sam protested. “After all she did for us last night”
“I bought her lunch today,” Zeb explained.
“That was nice of you,” Sam said turning toward the door.
“Yeah, but I can't do that every day.” But oh, how he'd like to. How he'd like to make love to her every long, lazy afternoon. “It takes too much time, too much...besides, it's not fair, not fair to her.”
Sam gave him a puzzled look. “But tomorrow we're going over there to help her bottle her water,” he said. “Aren't we?”
“That's what I said, didn't I? We're going to help her get ready to bottle her water and then we're going to butt out and let her fail. Is that clear?” he demanded. What was wrong with his little brother that he couldn't understand this elementary concept? That he wanted her to go, but he wanted her to stay. That he didn't want to help her, because the more he helped her the more he wanted to help her and that was just no good.
Sam shrugged, but Zeb had the feeling he understood much more than Zeb wanted him to.
Chloe didn't know much about bottling spring water, but she did know she ought to collect samples. So before it got dark, she went around putting water in old gin bottles that were stashed in one of the cabins. All the while, she pictured the bottles on the shelf of the grocery store. Not the old gin bottles, but clean bottles filled with sparkling water and labeled Paradise Springs. Picturing the sales figures, the advertisements, the booming business.
And all of it thanks to Zeb Bowie. As she heated a can of soup over an open fire that evening, she remembered her first impression of him. A randy, flirtatious cowboy, interested in nothing but a hot soak and a hot roll in the hay. But he was so much more. An enterprising businessman. A tender and considerate lover.
Considerate? Yes, he was that and so much more. Inspired. Imaginative. Intense. Divine. She could go on all night. And she probably would. Go on thinking about what had happened that afternoon. Remembering the last kiss at the side of the road, when he let her out of his truck, a kiss that rocked her to the tips of her toes. A kiss that promised more to come.
She'd stood there in the road watching his truck weave its way to his ranch, wondering if he too had felt the earth move when they kissed. If his life had been turned upside down the way hers had been in one magical, wondrous summer afternoon. Who was it that said that “summer afternoon” were the two most beautiful words in the English language? Whoever it was must have spent a summer afternoon in the garden of the gods, surrounded by red rocks and fragrant pines, making love to Zeb Bowie.
She didn't know where it was all leading. At the moment she didn't care. She only knew she was a different person from the woman who'd staggered up that trail with her suitcase and her portable coffeemaker. She no longer staggered. She was more physically fit than she'd ever been, and was on her way to becoming emotionally fit, too. Thanks to Zeb, she felt lovable again. Maybe he didn't love her, he didn't say he did, but he made her feel that way. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and hope in her heart. The fervent hope that she could make a go of her new business and even more outrageous hope that Zeb would fall in love with her.
The next day Zeb and Sam appeared at the springs early, ready to help her out. Her hopes surged. Her heart filled with gratitude. But she didn't speak a word. She didn't know what to say. Whether to mention yesterday, or talk about the weather. She didn't have to. Between the Bowie brothers, they kept up a steady patter, half kidding, half arguing. Chloe was grateful for the nois
e, because her vocal chords weren't working. Zeb didn't appear to notice.
She noticed Zeb though. Especially when he stripped down to his low-slung jeans and worked half naked under the hot sun to clear a space on his road so delivery trucks would have access to her property. He convinced her she'd need room for the trucks that would pick up the bottles of her delicious spring water and deliver it to the markets. As he worked, his muscles rippled and the sweat poured off his sun-bronzed shoulders. He sawed trees, she dragged branches. He hacked at roots, she watched when he wasn't looking.
Her fingers itched to touch him, to press her palms against his chest, to feel his heartbeat, to slide her hands down under his tight jeans. Oh Lord, she was losing her composure, her self-control. Now she wondered if he'd say anything about yesterday. She tore her eyes away from his beautiful body and threw herself into the hard work. Perspiration dripped off her forehead. Her shirt stuck to her back.
Finally, after a long morning's work, she limped back to her site to throw together some kind of lunch. Her back hurt, her legs were sore. But she owed them lunch. She owed them a lot more than that But she had the feeling they wouldn't take money. The Bowie brothers were strong, they were willing and they were the hardest workers she'd ever seen. Thank God for the work. Without it she might have blurted out something stupid. She might have asked for some kind of reassurance that he hadn't forgotten about yesterday, that it had meant something to him.
She made a huge cheese-and-wild-onion omelet and hash brown potatoes for the three of them. They sat on the ground, drank spring water and ate ravenously after their hard physical labor.
“You're right, Zeb,” Sam said between bites. “She is a good cook.”
Zeb nodded and Chloe smiled modesty.
“Hear he took you to lunch yesterday,” Sam said.
“We had a picnic,” Chloe said, finding her voice at last
“A picnic? No kidding? With ants and bees and grass and all that?” Sam asked with a sideways glance at his brother.
“I...didn't notice any ants,” Chloe said, her eyes on her tin plate.
“What did you notice?” Zeb asked with a pointed look in her direction.
Chloe took a long drink of cold water to try to cool the heat that flooded her face. And decided to ignore the question. “Of course every day's a picnic since I got here,” she said.
“If you like it now, you should see it in the winter,” Sam said. “It's beautiful.”
“If you like ice and snow,” Zeb interjected.
“I don't know. I've never seen it,” she said.
“Never seen snow?” Sam asked. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Thirty-two and she's never seen snow. Did you hear that, Zeb?”
“I heard it,” Zeb said. She felt his eyes on her, watching her, assessing her. Did he think she couldn't take a winter here? Maybe she couldn't.
“I guess my mineral-water business will only be open in the summers. Same for my spa.”
“What will you do in the winter?” Sam asked.
“Go back to my job. I'm a nurse.”
“She's a nurse. Did you hear that, Zeb?”
“Of course I heard it. I'm not deaf. I hear everything she says,” Zeb said, throwing a handful of pebbles at his brother.
Sam responded by tossing a cup of water in his brother's face.
Chloe ducked and moved out of the line of fire.
“You're making Chloe glad she's an only child,” Zeb warned.
“Is she?”
“Are you?”
“No, I have an older sister. But we never fight like this. It's disgraceful to see grown men assault each other physically. Especially blood brothers. My sister has never thrown a stone at me and I've never thrown water in her face. It wouldn't be dignified,” she said primly.
“Disgraceful,” Zeb muttered. “Wouldn't be dignified.” Then with a wicked grin he threw a cup of water in Chloe's face, drenching her hair and her shirt as well as her face.
It was icy cold. She sat there, stunned. Then her mouth flew open and she sputtered. “How dare you, how dare you.” She picked up her cup and flung her water at Zeb.
He laughed and grabbed her around the waist. Her cup slipped from her fingers and bounced on the hard ground.
“Think I'll go home now. See ya tomorrow, Chloe,” Sam said with a wink at his brother over his shoulder as he walked down the trail toward the ranch.
As Sam's footsteps faded away, it was suddenly quiet. Except for a flock of quail who scattered as Sam passed. Zeb's laughter died in his throat as his gaze held hers for a long moment.
His arms tightened around her, and she panicked. This could get to be a habit, this love in the afternoon. Zeb could get to be a habit, a habit she would have one awful time breaking. She wanted him now, she'd wanted him all night. But he wanted a summer romance. She didn't. The next time she gave her heart away it would be forever. Not that she was ever going to get married again, but if she did...
“I...I really should get back to work,” she said, her lips only an inch from his. If she leaned forward just an inch she could close the gap between them. For one long moment they stood there, waiting for the other to make the first move. On the outside she was shaking from the cold water that clung to her hair and her shirt. But inside she was burning like a hot furnace.
After an eternity of waiting, he made his move. His hands were in her wet hair as he crushed her to him, bringing her mouth to his over and over for deep, soulful kisses. Letting his tongue slide into her mouth and merge with hers.
When he came up for air he said, “Me, too, gotta get back to work. My boss is a slave driver.” He kissed her again, long, and lingering. “You taste...so good.... Boss.”
His chest was bare.
Her shirt was damp. She wanted to take it off. She wanted him to take it off. To feel the hair on his chest brush against her sensitive nipples. Just thinking about it made them bead and quiver. No. She couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't.
“This could get to be a habit,” she murmured, her hands on his bare shoulders.
“Sounds good to me,” he said with that sexy grin he did so well.
“Yes, but I don't want a summer romance.”
“What do you want? Winter, spring, fall? I can arrange that.” He traced one callused finger around her cheek and then brushed her lower hp with his thumb, with such tenderness she felt tears welling. Here she was, in danger of spending another afternoon making wild passionate love with a man she should definitely not fall in love with. Not if she valued her hard-won independence.
She took his hand away and took a deep breath. “What do I want? I want to be self-sufficient I don't want to depend on anyone and I don't want anyone to depend on me. I don't want anyone to have the power to walk out on me or tell me lies. I don't want to fall in love again. I'm not going to fall in love again. Do you understand that?”
He nodded, his arms at his sides. “Sweetheart, nobody understands better than me. But that has nothing to do with us. We've both been burned. We're not going to take any more chances. We're perfect for each other.”
Perfect for him, yes. Perfect for her, no. He'd take and she'd give. And at the end of the summer she'd leave. He'd have no regrets, just memories. Maybe. And she'd be in the same fix she was when Brandon left her. No, worse.
“No thanks,” she said.
“What?”
“I can't do this, this short-term stuff. I can't do long-term either. So that pretty much lets me out of the game,” she said with a small smile.
He shrugged and reached for his shirt, which he'd hung on a branch. Then he stuck out his hand. “Still friends?”
She smiled and shook his hand. “Friends.”
She watched him go as he whistled his way back down the trail, envying his carefree insouciance. His motto—Take Her or Leave Her. It was all the same to him. Thank God she'd put a stop to it. Otherwise, right now, they might be swinging in her hammock together
, her wet shirt hanging next to his on that branch. Her lace bra draped over a wild rosebush, drying in the warm summer breeze, while she... while they... She wrapped her arms around her waist and stifled more than a trace of regret.
The next day they were back again, as if nothing had happened, as if they were her hired help, concentrating on clearing sites for the collection, purification and bottling of her spring water.
“How come you're doing this?” she asked, offering them each a cup of herb tea before they went back to their ranch that afternoon.
“You're our neighbor. We want to help you,” Sam said.
“Don't you have work to do at your own place?”
“Yep. But we owe it to you. You know, old Horatio, he helped us plenty of times, plowed our road for us one winter when we'd been snowbound for seven days. Won't ever forget that,” Sam said.
“What do you do in the winter?” she asked.
“Repair equipment. Take care of the livestock,” Sam said.
“What do you do in the winter?” Zeb asked.
“When I'm not on duty, I hang out at my neighborhood coffeehouse, drink lattes and watch the rain.” It sounded so urbane, so effete. She wondered for a moment if she could go back to her old life. What was wrong with her? Of course she could.
“She misses her coffee,” Zeb explained to Sam. “Wouldn't touch mine.”
“Someday, when I have my spa and electric power, I'll have espressos and lattes and... What about my water business? Will I need electricity?”
Zeb shook his head and took a notebook out of his pocket and made a note. “Gas-driven pump should work.”
“Pump? I thought I'd fill the bottles straight from the stream. Then drive them into town. Keep it simple, at least at first”