With a start, she realized that she had been staring too long and moved to open another dusty cardboard box.
He was far too distracting for her own good.
…
LeeAnn had been watching him for several minutes, and it took everything he had not to move over and sweep her up into his arms right then. But that would be a terrible idea. Unprofessional, at best—and at worst? He paused in his work, considering that. What could be the worst possible outcome? She hadn’t said as much, but she was still dealing with the fallout from her broken relationship with that idiot at the diner. What’s his name—the man slut. If he tried to seduce her now, he would be the rebound guy. He wasn’t interested in something that temporary.
But he could wait. And sticking around to look through her pack rat grandmother’s buildings gave him the perfect excuse.
It had taken more than a little persuading to get Nathan to agree to pay him for his time for this. But they both knew this deal could end up being big. Getting it would land Jonah his promotion and give Nathan a boost up into senior management.
It wasn’t like his entire career was riding on this one drilling-rights deal—but it wasn’t all that far off from it, either.
It also gave him an excellent reason to stick around.
That business about her refusal to lie gave him a twinge, though. Would using this search as a reason to spend time with her set off that lie detector of hers?
It didn’t matter. No way in hell was he going to pass up this chance to spend as much time with her as possible.
The thought made him pause. What was he up to, here?
Sure, he wanted to find the drilling rights, and if they belonged to LeeAnn, try to convince her to lease them out to Natural Shale.
And he definitely wanted the promotion.
But he had never gone to these lengths before to try to get access to a property, even back when he was starting out and hungry to make a name in the business.
There was something about LeeAnn that drew him. Some part of him wanted to find an excuse to be here, to allow her to get to know him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw LeeAnn shake herself and begin sorting through another box.
With a grin, he began reading a postcard sent to her grandmother in the 1950s.
Fine. He could admit it to himself, even if he never said it aloud to anyone else.
I am in no hurry to finish.
…
The only thing that made spending the morning digging through stacks of crap worth the aggravation was watching Jonah come to the realization that there was no organizational method at all. Items had been simply grabbed at random, shoved into a box, and added to the stacks. When an outbuilding was full, Gran had closed it off and padlocked it, and rarely opened it again. No one ever believed LeeAnn when she tried to explain the extent of Gran’s hoarding—but she suspected Jonah might have a better understanding of it now.
On the plus side, she had found a couple of small treasures today—a gold-colored brooch covered with tiny seed pearls that Sami would love, and a postcard of the Fort Worth Stockyards from the 1940s that, once framed, would make a great addition to the decor in Cowbelles. She could give it to Kylie for her birthday.
But no sign of anything about mineral rights.
Finding nothing meant that Jonah would be around even longer, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. His wry commentary as they made their way from one cluttered building to the next had made her laugh out loud in a way that no one had since before she found out about Darrell’s secret fiancée.
That was a problem.
She needed to be able to see Jonah as the enemy.
He was there to find a way to drill on her land, with or without her permission.
That land was the last connection she had to her gran, the woman who had been her refuge when her parents died, who had taught her how to ride a horse, to mend a fence, to care for the land she would eventually inherit.
Her gran would not have approved of anyone drilling. She was certain of it.
Even more than that, though, the ranch was LeeAnn’s stability, her safety. Even when the rest of her world was falling apart around her, she could pull on her boots, saddle Blackie, and take off across the pasture toward the low, rolling hills, and everything bad dropped away. Keeping the land safe was like keeping her heart safe.
So she would protect it.
Straightening her shoulders, she poured tea over ice and carried the glasses out to the living room, where Jonah stood examining the family photos she had framed on the wall.
“I didn’t want to get the furniture dirty,” he said, waving his hand over his dust-covered jeans.
“Let’s go on the porch, then.” She led the way, choosing the cushioned wicker porch swing. Jonah lowered himself onto the seat next to her, pushing against the porch with the heel of his boot enough to set the swing into motion.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said, leaning back onto the cushioned seat.
“Mmm?” She sipped her drink, the cold tea washing away the dust that had gathered in her throat while they worked.
“If you’re so opposed to lying that you’re willing to risk learning that you don’t actually own the mineral rights—to risk having someone come in and drill on your property, in order to avoid telling a lie?” He paused.
“Yes?”
“Then what was that kiss in the Wagon Wheel?” His Clark Kent dimples flashed as he grinned at her, waiting expectantly.
With her surprised laugh, she inhaled a mouthful of tea, choking on it for a brief moment as she flailed for an answer.
“That was a lie, right?” he asked.
Was it? Her response had certainly been real enough. But he was right—she had kissed him to send a message to Darrell. And that message was a lie.
It didn’t have to be.
“Yeah. I guess it was a lie,” she said.
“So why is that different from searching for mineral rights records?” Stretching one arm along the back of the swing behind her, he tilted his head. His navy blue eyes regarded her intently. From anyone else, that kind of scrutiny would have made her nervous.
But she found that for the first time ever, she wanted to tell someone about the reason for her aversion to lies.
Even if I’ve known him for only a few days.
The thought startled her. Somehow, it already seemed longer.
But maybe if he knew what drove her, he would…what? Decide her feelings were more important than doing his job?
Unlikely.
Still, she found herself wanting to make him really understand.
Even if he’s the enemy.
Maybe because he was the enemy.
Her response came slowly, long pauses punctuating her words. “I lived with my gran when I was a teenager, after my parents died.”
He nodded. “I read about the accident. Their car was hit by a train, right?”
“Yeah. Stalled out on the tracks—the conductor wasn’t able to stop in time. No way it could have been avoided.” She stared down the driveway, noting the yellow and white wildflowers blooming alongside the caliche road. “That’s what they told me at the time, anyway.”
“But that wasn’t the truth?” His voice was gentle.
“No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know for years, but apparently my uncle George found a letter—a suicide note.” A harsh laugh escaped her. “I guess you’d call it a suicide-murder note? Anyway. It wasn’t an accident. Dad planned it.”
“Oh, LeeAnn. I am so sorry.” His arm descended around her shoulders, drawing her close. She leaned into him.
“It’s okay—as okay as it can ever be, anyway. Gran was devastated, too, of course. But I never really forgave Uncle George for not telling us sooner.” The warmth of his hand seeped through the sleeve of her T-shirt and into her upper arm.
He made a low noise—of encouragement or understanding, or maybe both.
; “I discovered yoga not long after I learned the truth. It was good for me, gave me an outlet for the anger and pain I was feeling, a way to process all those negative emotions. Between that and helping Gran on the ranch, I finally…I guess I found peace again.”
“Understandable.”
“That’s also when I realized that the principles of yoga could help me figure out my own values—and that they were remarkably similar to the things Gran taught me on the ranch. Respect the earth, don’t cause harm when I can avoid it—”
He tilted his head to glance down at her. “Don’t lie?”
“Yes, though that comes in under not causing harm.”
“Hmm.” He paused, almost as if he wasn’t going to speak at all, then continued anyway. “So that’s when you started doing yoga anytime you’re nervous or upset?”
She felt her face flame. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”
“I don’t know how you could think anyone might miss it.” The smile in his voice took some of the sting out of his words.
Not that it matters what he thinks.
She shook her head to try to dismiss the thought and tried to make her tone light. “Anyway. That’s why I don’t lie.”
Usually.
“And the kiss doesn’t count?” His breath ruffled her hair and she could hear the smile in his voice.
“It probably should. But I wasn’t thinking of it that way.” She spoke quietly.
“How were you thinking of it?” he asked, his tone matching hers.
“I wasn’t really thinking at all. I was enjoying it.” She held her breath, waiting for his response.
Instead of speaking, he turned to face her in the seat, staring into her eyes. Gently, he reached out and brushed his knuckle down her cheek. “Me, too,” he whispered. “Me, too.”
Chapter Twelve
Back in the attic, LeeAnn tried to concentrate on the box of papers in front of her. She held a wad of papers in her hand, her head bent down over them, but she wasn’t really seeing them at all.
What had that been on the porch? A caress? A simple acknowledgment?
The buzz of her phone interrupted LeeAnn’s circling thoughts, and she picked it up perhaps more thankfully than she might have at another time, checking the caller’s ID before she clicked over to talk.
“Hey, Sami,” she said. “What’s up?”
The staticky, garbled reply made her stand up. “I’m in the attic—reception here is terrible. Hang on a sec, okay?” Jonah nodded when she tilted her head to let him know she was headed downstairs, and it wasn’t until she was on the second-floor landing that she realized she still had that stack of papers in her hand. Moving into her bedroom, she set them down on the antique oak bedside table.
“You still there?” she asked, eyeing the quilt that covered her four-poster bed. Better not sit there—she’d be sure to leave it covered in dust.
“Yeah. I wanted to know if I could have a get-together at your house tonight.” Sami’s voice was half eager, half anxious.
“Tonight? A little short notice.”
“I know, I know. But it’s for a good cause—I promise.” Sami’s voice turned wheedling.
I know that tone.
“What have you done this time, Sami?” she asked.
Her cousin’s sigh sounded almost defeated—unusual for Sami. “I’ll tell you all about it at the party. After your yoga class, maybe? We could use the fire pit in the backyard, maybe do some grilling.”
LeeAnn’s mouth twisted. “Grilling meat?”
“We’ll bring our own wire rack. I swear, it won’t touch any of your vegetables.”
She snorted. “Okay, fine. But only if you promise to call Kylie, too. She and Cole just got home.”
Sami’s squeal made her pull the phone from her ear. “I love Cole,” her cousin said gleefully.
“Yeah, yeah. Make sure your friends know that he’s off duty. No fangirling.”
“Got it. Okay. No problem. I’ll be there at five to set up. Ciao.” Sami clicked off.
LeeAnn shook her head and glanced around her room. At least she wouldn’t have to clean house before her unexpected guests showed up. She had scrubbed practically every inch of the old farmhouse before Jonah arrived on the first day they’d spent searching through Gran’s things.
Anyway, she didn’t expect any of them to venture farther indoors than the half bath off the living room.
But she would have to clean herself up, covered as she was in dust and cobwebs.
Resisting the urge to run her fingers through her ponytail, she headed back upstairs to invite Jonah to join Sami’s mostly impromptu party.
After all, it was the polite thing to do. It’s what Gran would have done.
It would also let her keep an eye on the enemy.
That’s what she told herself, anyway—even if deep down, she knew that really, she wanted him to stick around a little longer.
…
When LeeAnn told him she needed to gather wood for the party and he offered to help, Jonah had envisioned traipsing out to a woodpile, maybe beside the barn, and gathering up armloads of logs to take to the backyard. “Bring your gloves,” she had said.
He hadn’t anticipated walking right past that building, stopping only long enough for LeeAnn to grab an ax hanging up on the wall right inside the barn door. “You carry that,” she said, pointing at a large gray plastic trash can. When he glanced inside, it was empty, so with a shrug, he hooked it with one hand and carried it behind him, over one shoulder. They continued down to a small copse of gnarled mesquite trees at the back of the old pasture that took up the southwestern corner of the ranch.
The scrubby trees had grown up and around the fencing that separated the pasture from the rest of the land, thorny branches pushing at the wire until they pulled the fence posts over at an angle.
As he watched, LeeAnn lifted the ax, ready to take a swing at one of the smaller trees. “You want me to do that?” he asked.
“Nope,” she said. “I want you to see if you can break off some of the smaller branches closer to the fence—that part actually takes more upper-body strength.” She followed through with her swing, her ponytail flipping back and forth with the motion.
Surprised by how much he enjoyed watching her—the combined athleticism, grace, and economy of her movements tugging again at a place that seemed to draw on both his chest and his stomach—Jonah moved to follow her directions, carefully disentangling the branches from the fence before twisting and breaking them off.
Sometimes he called her over to use the hand ax on some of the larger branches, but for the most part, they worked in companionable silence.
Finally, though, he asked, “Do we need to pick up some kindling, too?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.” Toeing the dried, fallen branches with her boot, she said, “The green’s better for smoking and adding flavor, of course, but we’ll need some that will burn a little quicker.” She swung at a half-felled tree, bracing her boot against the trunk to pull out the ax. A loud pop as she kicked at it again announced the final crack of the small tree trunk. As the tree fell over, the branch he had grabbed to twist off ripped out of his hands, the sharp thorns slicing at his wrists before he could jerk away, biting deeply into the right one and ripping the skin.
“Oh, no.” LeeAnn dropped the ax to the ground and reached out to grab his injured arm.
“It’s okay,” he said, but one sight of the blood welling up along the deep scratch that snaked up from the top of his glove to the bottom of his rolled-up shirt sleeve had LeeAnn pulling off the bandanna she kept tied around her hat.
Her touch was light, but she tied the pink cloth tightly around the wound as she said, “We at least need to clean it.” She glanced around the ground at the tree they had felled. “Let’s take what we can and head back to the house. Sami can get the rest if she wants it.”
Less than ten minutes of loading branches and twigs into the trash can, and it was full. Their loa
d included much of the main trunk of the short tree, even—once it was down, LeeAnn had managed to chop off most of the remaining branches fairly quickly.
His offer to help chop had again been declined—this time due to his injury. “But if you promise to use only your left hand, you can pull the can home,” LeeAnn said, nodding toward the now-unwieldy gray container, full of twisted branches sticking up into the air. “It’s got wheels, but they’re not always that great over this terrain.” She grinned and stepped out to lead the way.
Jonah was happy to follow behind her. Even the pain in his arm, now faded from a sharp slice to a relatively dull ache, couldn’t distract him from the way her hips moved as she walked in front of him.
Being outside, working on her ranch, suited her. Even her walk seemed happy.
An echoing joy swirled inside him.
How could he possibly take that away from her?
I’m not. I’m helping her find a way to keep her land.
He glanced back at the small stand of mesquite.
Right in the middle of the plat that Natural Shale had pegged to drill.
If they found the evidence he hoped for, she wouldn’t keep those trees. Even if she kept the land.
There are other stands of mesquite.
He was almost sure he’d seen some in the northeast corner of the ranch, out by the horse’s pasture. It’s not like they were an endangered species. The damn trees were ubiquitous in Texas.
They’re practically an invasive species.
But no matter how he twisted it around in his mind, he couldn’t dissolve the lump that had formed in the pit of his stomach.
He couldn’t help but notice that since they’d started working together on the ranch, she hadn’t once fallen into doing yoga—not even when they were combing through her grandmother’s stored belongings.
This is where she’s comfortable.
Where she can be herself.
With his uninjured arm, he pulled the wheeled garbage can full of mesquite across the slightly rocky land toward the house. Turning backward to guide it more precisely through a particularly rough section, he found himself working to move the wheels around a patch of wildflowers, rather than allowing the delicate blue and white petals to be crushed.
Opposing the Cowboy Page 8