Reckless Heart

by Barbara McMahon

  “Don’t you have work to do?” Josh asked, transferring his gaze to Lance.

  “Just report in the findings from the tally. I can do it orally if you like.”

  “No, write it up. And when the others come in, write up their tallies, too. And while you’re waiting, you can unsaddle my horse.”

  Josh nodded toward the standing horse before stepping closer to Molly. Taking her arm in his hand, he tugged her toward the large double doors.

  Lance hesitated a moment, then shrugged and smiled. “Sure thing, boss.”

  Josh marched Molly out into the yard. In the distance he saw two more men riding in. He kept hold of her arm and moved away from the barn toward the house.

  “Don’t you have dinner to fix?” he asked.

  “We’re having stew and it’s simmering now.” She tried to release her arm from his grasp, but he ignored her. She didn’t like feeling like a recalcitrant child who had to be marched into the house.

  “I told you to stay away from the men,” Josh said in a low growl.

  “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, merely asking some questions.”

  “For your book?”

  “Maybe some of the questions could provide me some background information. But the rest were because I’m curious.”

  “Why?” He stopped well before the back stoop.

  “Why not? I have never lived on a ranch before. I want to find out more about it.”

  “Then ask me, as I told you.”

  “You didn’t tell me I couldn’t ask questions about the ranch. You just said stay away from your cowboys if I wanted to do research for my book. I wasn't flirting or anything.”

  He turned and started walking around the house until they reached the front porch. Before them the green grass waved gently in the afternoon breeze, the trees that shaded portions of the house rustled softly. The air was clean and fresh and only the faintest trace of hay and horse could be discerned.

  Josh released her arm and sank down in one of the rockers that lined the wooden porch. Gingerly, Molly sat in the one next to his.

  “Questions?” he said.

  “Jack answered a lot I had,” she replied.

  “He’s all right. Stay away from Lance.”

  “Why?”

  “He watches you. He’s interested in you. I don’t want my foreman’s mind on anything but his job.”

  “How feudal. He’s entitled to a life aside from being your foreman.”

  “Not with some temporary woman more interested in writing about romance than—”

  “Than?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she suspected the ending of his thought.

  “Than in doing chores around here.”

  “That isn’t what you started to say, is it?”

  He took his hat off and dropped it on the wooden floor beside his chair. Raking his fingers through his hair, he leaned against the high back of the rocker and watched her from lowered lids.

  “That’s what I said. Never mind what I started to say.”

  “I have a good imagination.”

  “I’m beginning to believe it.”

  Molly remained silent.

  “Is it all made up? Your book, I mean?” he asked.

  “Mostly.” She glanced away, studied the cottonwoods that rustled in the breeze. The sound should be soothing; why couldn’t she relax?

  “Not from first-hand experience?”

  “I don’t have much experience,” she said, her eyes now fixed on the distant horizon. Did she have to spell it out for him? Surely he noticed from her kisses.

  “You were engaged.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me about the engagement.”

  She settled back in her rocker and pushed it to and fro. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with my job here.”

  “It doesn’t. Tell me about your engagement.”

  She flicked a glance and met his heated gaze. “There’s not much to tell. My father introduced me to Marc. We dated. I thought him very romantic at first. He took me to fancy restaurants, ordered for me, we went dancing. He bought me nice gifts. It was all quite elegant. When he asked me to marry him, I thought it would be perfect, so I said yes.”

  “Of course, a woman likes presents, likes to be wined and dined. Did you ever give a thought to the years you two would live together? To building a life together?”

  “I thought I did. I thought I was in love, now I think I was just infatuated with the first man who paid me attention. Disenchantment didn’t take long. But it was discovering the deal my father had made with him that caused the actual break.”

  “What deal?”

  She looked at him. “He had everything a woman could want. He’s rich, well-established in his career, has a beautiful home, decorated by a professional. He likes to go out to dinner, dancing, parties. And the opportunity to become partner in my father's firm if he married me.”

  “Would that have been bad?”

  She shrugged. “People want to be wanted for themselves, not for career advancement.”

  Josh looked out over the grass. Her experiences mirrored his own in a way. Jeannie had been about fun times, parties, clubs and spending money. She'd seen him as a continual source of those funds.

  “So how do you write romance novels if you have no first-hand experience?” he asked.

  “I told you, I have a good imagination.”

  Josh reached over and caught her hand in his, threading his fingers between hers. Molly looked at their linked hands. The heat from his hard palm swept through her like a range fire. The shimmering awareness flooded her. Her own sense of femininity grew and her body began to clamor for more attention. She drew in a shaky breath and slowly tightened her hold on his hand, her gaze slowly, reluctantly, drawn to his.

  “Sometimes there’s no substitution for experience,” Josh murmured.

  “Are you offering to be the man to give me some?” she asked narrowing her eyes.

  Her heart pounded at the thought. If the simple holding of hands almost had her climbing into his lap, what would a full attack on her senses do? She could imagine only so much. She never imagined a simple clasping of hands could so disrupt her equilibrium. So how could she imagine the myriad pleasures making love would bring?

  “I can give you some. But strictly as research.”

  She smiled at his nonsense. “What else but research?”

  “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea. I have no intention of marrying you.”

  “Marriage? Why bring that up?”

  “You were checking out the financial strength of the ranch with Lance. Trying to determine if it was worth your while?”

  She pulled her hand. She no longer wanted to hold hands. Josh tightened his grip, refusing to release her.

  “I wasn’t trying to find out how rich you are. For heaven’s sake, if I wanted a rich husband, I could have married Marc. I don’t want any husband. I’m tired of men telling me what to do. I want a chance to do things on my own. See if I can make a life for myself. The last thing I want is to tie myself down with some bossy man who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  “So there’s no problem, then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll provide you with the experience you need for your book, and we will both walk away at the end of your stay with no expectations on either side.”

  She stared at him, her heart caught in her throat. For a long moment she considered his suggestion. Could she do it? Could she allow kisses and caresses and write down the feelings to add authenticity to her writing? And then walk away when the book sold?

  She didn't miss Marc at all. But Josh might prove different. It was like playing with fire. Could she do it and not get burned?

  Josh watched the expressions chase across her face and almost smiled. She considered every aspect, he could tell. But he had no idea of the outcome. Would she want to explore the sizzling sensuality betwe
en them? Or opt to remain safe and chaste?

  His palm burned where they touched. He longed to draw her into his lap and kiss her until neither could remember their names. His body wanted hers. His control wore thin around her and he didn’t like it. Maybe a few kisses would purge his system of the need that grew stronger each day.

  Tugging experimentally, Molly wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he released her hand this time. She swallowed hard and faced him. Taking in the golden hair in disarray since his fingers had plowed through it, the sun-bronzed skin taut across high cheekbones, the firm lips that had already kissed her senseless, and the strong jaw that reminded her of his strength, she met his gray eyes.

  “Could I think about it?”

  “Sure.” He reached for his hat and rose. Leaning over her, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “The offer stays open as long as you want to take to decide. But the offer is with me. Stay away from my men.”

  “I know.” Her breath caught. He was so close he had only to lean over a few more inches and his mouth would touch hers, his lips could bring her the same heady delight she’d felt in the laundry room.

  Parting her lips slightly to let the breath escape, Molly leaned forward just a little bit, to bring Josh even closer—

  He straightened and rammed his hat on his head. “See you at dinner.” Sauntering off, around the side of the house, he left her stunned and alone.

  Molly sank back in the rocker in embarrassment. She'd practically offered herself to him and he’d walked away. Was it because she hadn’t yet said yes to his proposition? Had he seen how much she wanted his kiss? She hoped not. Even if she did take him up on his offer, she wanted to stand up on her own feet not grow to depend on another man.

  She rose and tried the front door. It was unlocked, so she entered the house and headed for her room. Changing from her boots to more comfortable tennis shoes, she headed for the kitchen. Time to make the cornbread and set the table. It was getting close to dinnertime. She’d think about his offer after dinner.

  Molly had prepared the cornbread batter and begun to pour it into the pans when the phone rang. She jumped. It rang so infrequently, it startled her. She waited a moment to see if it was answered from the barn or something. When it rang again, she reached for the extension.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is Josh around?” a cheery feminine voice asked.

  “Hold on.” Molly’s curiosity rose. What woman called him?

  She opened the back door preparing to run to the barn to see if he was there when she saw him leaning against the corral fence watching one of the men working a horse in the corral.

  “Josh, phone,” she called.

  He acknowledged her call with a wave and headed for the house.

  Molly resumed her work as he picked up the receiver.

  “Hello? Hi, Gillian, what’s up?”

  Molly carefully placed the pans in the hot oven, conscious of listening to his side of the call. He couldn’t expect privacy if he were in the kitchen with her. If he had wanted to be alone he could have taken it in the office.

  Why hadn't the caller used his cell phone? She knew they had cell service here from her own phone

  “Damn! No, no, it’s fine. I’m running late. I just got in. It’ll take me a half hour or so to shower and dress. I’ll be there before eight.”

  Molly carefully checked the stew pot, stirring gently, every cell in her body focused on Josh’s conversation.

  Who was Gillian, and where was he going to be by eight?

  Josh replaced the phone and turned to Molly. He knew she’d heard every word. “I won’t be here for dinner.”

  “I won’t set a place,” she replied, her eyes on the stew she stirred. Where are you going? And with whom? she screamed inside. She hoped her expression didn’t give away her raging curiosity.

  Or the unexplained hurt.

  He was obviously going out with Gillian, whoever she was.

  Her active imagination immediately envisioned a young sexy woman with long red hair, bright green eyes and a figure to die for. She would be scintillating and provocative. And enchant Josh all evening.

  Hadn’t he just propositioned her? All but asked her to have an affair with him? Now he was going out with some other woman?

  She looked up to tell him she’d decided to decline his offer but he was already gone. Sure, he had to hurry and shower to leave in time to pick Gillian up by eight. He had no time to stand around waiting for her answer.

  When the men came in for dinner, Billy asked right away where the boss was. He’d noticed there’d been no place set for Josh.

  “Going out,” Molly said, proud her voice sounded almost normal, that she hadn’t growled out the words with all the frustration simmering inside. She sat at her usual place, extremely aware of the vacant chair beside her.

  Josh came into the kitchen, dressed in casual slacks, a cream-colored shirt and sports jacket. He looked wonderful. After one quick glance, Molly looked away and refused to look at him again. The dull ache in her breast was not because he was dating another woman. She wouldn’t let it be.

  “Wowee, boss, you sure are duded up. Hot date?” Billy asked, teasing.

  Josh’s face darkened. “A friend of mine asked me to escort her to a party,” Josh said shortly.

  “Have a good time, Josh,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, I’m going to town after dinner myself. It’s Friday night and I’ve worked hard all week,” Billy said.

  “You go in when you haven’t worked hard,” Lance murmured.

  Billy beamed a smile around the table. “Right. It’s party night, right, boss?”

  Molly felt Josh’s gaze on her, but she kept her eyes on her plate. The stew had turned out to be delicious and she tried to be pleased about it.

  But she was disappointed Josh wasn’t eating it. He only saw her less than successful attempts. She wished he'd have eaten dinner here when she had such a success.

  “I won’t be late,” Josh said.

  “Does that mean tonight or tomorrow morning?” Billy asked irrepressibly, his spirits high.

  “Billy.” Lance’s voice held a warning the younger man couldn’t ignore. He shut up.

  “Take it easy, Josh. And don’t worry,” Lance said, his eyes on Molly. “I’ll take care of things here.”

  She looked up and met his gaze. Hearing the screen door slam shut, Molly knew Josh had gone. Lance smiled easily. And Molly felt marginally better.

  “Want to go into town with me for a few drinks and dancing at a country-western bar?” Lance asked.

  She nodded. She sure as shooting didn’t want to stay home alone and let her imagination run riot thinking about Josh and the beautiful Gillian. Ignoring Josh’s warnings to stay away from his men, and especially Lance, she smiled gratefully. “I’d like that. But I’m not sure how good I’ll be at the dancing.”

  “Good enough, I’m sure.” He winked and resumed eating.

  The conversation around the table turned to the plans of the others. Almost all the cowboys were going into town. Jack and Trevor had plans for a television show about honeybees.

  Jack offered to do the dishes, which Molly gratefully accepted.

  Before long Lance and Molly were heading for town. Determined to enjoy herself, and make the evening pleasant for Lance, she hid the hurt Josh’s date had inflicted, and set out to entertain. Lance laughed at the spots in her stories she wanted him to and asked enough questions to have her expound on everything. The ride to town flew by and before Molly realized it, they were walking into The Last Roundup.

  Obviously popular by the friendly greetings called out, Lance waved and called greetings in return. He spotted some friends at a large table and in no time had Molly seated and introduced. Relieved to see the other women dressed in jeans and shirts as she was, she relaxed and soon was in the middle of the conversation.

  It was a wonderful evening. The men took turns dancing with the women,
not letting them sit out any sets. The women were friendly and Molly felt she could develop a strong friendship with one or two. If she were staying, that is.

  When asked what she did, she mentioned she was trying to write a romance novel. Heads turned and the questions and suggestions came fast and furiously. Everyone had a story of their most romantic moment. Some wanted to know what her story was about, others had ideas they wanted to write about one day.

  At one point Molly laughed and waved her hands. “You have to slow down. I can’t hear everyone at once. I wish I had paper and pencil to write down some of these ideas, they’re great.”

  “We’ll each write them down and send them to you. Where do you live?”

  “The Rafter C. I’m the housekeeper there.”

  “Of course, she came with Lance.”

  “I didn’t know housekeepers came so pretty. The one my dad had was old and crotchety,” one cowboy called out, winking at Molly.

  She smiled and basked in the warm friendliness of the group. They were supportive of her dreams and ambitions, not derogatory. They were friendly and helpful and fun to be with. It was so different from what she was used to, she wanted to stay forever.

  The evening ended all too soon when the band played the last song. With promises to meet again ringing in her ears, Molly reluctantly climbed back into Lance’s truck and settled down for the long drive home. She was smiling, humming the last song. The evening had been fun.

  He played country music softly on the radio and conversation between them was desultory. When he turned onto the blacktop drive that led to the house, Molly turned to him.

  “I had a wonderful evening, Lance. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “I’m glad you came. Think you can use any of the suggestions from tonight?”

  She smiled, remembering. “Maybe one or two. I couldn’t believe some of the comments, they were so outrageous. And yet others were so basic—like a simple bouquet of flowers or a home-cooked meal. It was interesting to see what different people found romantic.”

  “What do you find romantic, Molly?”

  She shook her head. “Different things. Flowers are nice.”

  When he pulled into the yard a light shone in the kitchen but the bunkhouse sat in darkness. The night sky blazed with millions of stars, the moon a mere crescent low on the horizon. He killed the engine and sat back.