by Marin Thomas
Brushing the dust from her jeans, Lauren grinned. “How many seconds?”
“Six.” His daughter might make it to eight before she returned to California at the end of the summer.
“Wait until I tell the girls when they show up to practice tomorrow.” Lauren climbed out of the corral. “Shannon’s gonna be surprised.”
“You’ll have to phone Shannon instead, because you won’t be here,” Rachel said.
“I won’t?” Lauren glanced between Clint and Rachel.
“It’s the July Fourth weekend. We’re staying on the houseboat at the Wahweap Marina on Lake Powell.”
Clint had hoped P.T. would forget about the houseboat. If the old man knew how badly Clint yearned for Rachel, he’d have never suggested the trip. The last thing Clint wanted to do was fight his attraction to Rachel in the close confines of a boat with no avenue of escape, save for drowning.
“Can I stay here?” Lauren asked. “I want to watch Shannon and the others practice.”
“If you don’t go, you’ll disappoint P.T.” And Clint didn’t trust Lauren not to ride bulls while he was gone.
“What about the press?” Lauren asked.
“I’ve got everything under control,” Rachel said. “I spoke with Mayor Ross and he confirmed that the billboard Clint suggested advertising women’s bull riding went up outside the town limits of Boot Hill late last week.”
“Cool.” Lauren grinned. “Whose picture’s on it?”
“A newspaper reporter sent in a photo of Shannon riding in the Canyon City Rodeo.”
This was the first Clint had heard of a billboard. “How much did all this cost?”
“Mayor Ross paid for the advertisement,” Rachel said. “He claims he’ll be reimbursed in votes when his reelection campaign kicks off next year.”
“Please, let me stay,” Lauren begged.
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone at the ranch,” Clint said.
“Lauren can have the keys to my car in case she needs to drive into town for anything,” Rachel offered.
Clint wished Mel would have kept the Prius another week, but the mechanic had delivered the car yesterday, apologizing to Rachel for the delay in pounding out the dents in the hood. Rachel had accepted Mel’s apology but only after he’d agreed to remove the nuisance charge from the final bill.
“What if Shannon and the others stay at the ranch this weekend with me?” Lauren glanced at Rachel. “Is it okay if they use the guest bedrooms?”
“Sure.”
Feeling ganged up on by the two females, Clint gave in. “You can stay, Lauren, but you’re only allowed to practice on Curly. No other bulls.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I want a text message from you right before you ride and as soon as you get thrown.”
Lauren crinkled her nose. “What if I make it to eight?”
“Then I want a phone call, not a text.”
“Deal,” Lauren said.
“How long will it take to drive to Lake Powell?” Rachel asked.
“About seven hours,” Clint said.
“We should plan to leave before daybreak. Guess I’d better pack.” Rachel strolled away and Clint groaned.
“What’s the matter, Dad? Don’t you want to go with Rachel?”
Yes. No. He wanted to be with Rachel but every minute in her presence chipped away at his self-control.
“You like Rachel and I know she likes you,” Lauren said.
If Clint hadn’t succeeded in hiding his confusing feelings for Rachel from his daughter then he wondered if P.T. had guessed something was going on between him and Rachel. Nah. If the old man had, he wouldn’t have suggested the houseboat. “My personal life isn’t any of your—”
“Business? C’mon, Dad. I’m eighteen. I know all about sex.”
Clint hadn’t asked his daughter if she was sexually active—he didn’t want to know. As far as he was concerned, that was an issue better dealt with between mother and daughter.
“You never married Mom but that doesn’t mean you’ve lived like a monk.”
Clint wasn’t used to sharing his feelings with his daughter, but if he wished for a more meaningful, deeper relationship with Lauren then he had to open up. “I haven’t had many relationships through the years.”
“I know. You never brought a woman with you when you came to visit. Never mentioned another woman when we talked on the phone. Never—”
“Okay, you get the idea that your old man is no Casanova.” He chuckled, then sobered. “I like Rachel but she’s got a life out east and my life is here. Besides, she’s P.T.’s daughter.”
“What does being P.T.’s daughter have to do with liking Rachel?”
Everything. “P.T. wants the best for Rachel.” Like I want the best for you.
“So?”
“I’m not best. Rachel’s college educated. She can do better than a ranch hand. Besides, just like you, she’d go crazy living in the desert year-round.”
“You could move to Rhode Island.”
“There aren’t many uses for cowboys or bullfighters in Rhode Island.”
“Maybe you could do construction work,” Lauren persisted.
He figured he could pound nails for a living, but working cattle was his preference. He liked being a cowboy and whether or not P.T. would admit it, his boss needed him, especially if his health continued to fail. “Quit worrying about your old man and give Curly another try.”
Clint decided he’d use the trip to Lake Powell to prove to himself that Rachel was all wrong for him and he was all wrong for her. When they returned to the ranch, they’d both accept that the attraction between them was good-old-fashioned lust and nothing deeper.
Then what?
Hell if he knew.
“I COULD GET USED TO this life.” Rachel lay on her stomach in the lounge chair on the sundeck of the Red Devil. The houseboat had been named after the rocky cliffs surrounding Lake Powell.
“Your back is burning.” Clint reached for the sunscreen.
“Thanks.” Rachel sighed when the first glop of cool lotion hit her heated skin. As soon as they’d arrived at the marina, she’d purchased a hot-pink bikini in the hotel gift shop while Clint sat through a basic course on houseboat management. Afterward, they’d motored across the lake, following a map the marina guide had provided, and dropped anchor in a secluded canyon. After eating sandwiches, they’d retreated to the upper deck to lie in the late-afternoon sun.
“That feels good,” Rachel moaned as Clint’s callused palms massaged the coconut-scented lotion into her skin. She peeked at his rugged face. He’d avoided direct eye contact with her all day. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”
His hands pressed deeper into her muscle. “P.T. wanted you to see—”
“You came with me because it’s what P.T. wanted.”
Clint snapped the cap closed on the sunscreen then retreated to the deck rail where he stared at the shadows creeping across the canyon walls.
Rachel ogled his muscular physique. She loved the way his backside filled out a pair of Wranglers but he looked just as yummy in a pair of Hawaiian swim trunks. Dark hair covered his powerful pale legs and when he stretched his arms in the air, the muscles across his shoulders rippled and bulged.
Mesmerized by his half-naked body, Rachel sat up, forgetting she’d untied the strings on her bikini top. The material fell to her waist. Her gasp drew Clint’s gaze to her exposed breasts.
Rachel’s hands froze in the act of covering herself and less than a few seconds passed before she fumbled with the top. A stare down ensued, the air cracking with electricity. A tingling began in the pit of her stomach and spread through her limbs. The power Clint held over her body excited her.
Neither made a move until Clint flung his sunglasses onto the lounge chair and said, “I’m going for a swim.” He walked to the rear of the boat and dove into the water.
Clutching her top, Rachel scrambled across the deck and p
eered over the edge. Clint’s head popped above the water surface. “C’mon in! The water feels great!”
Rachel stepped back from view, retied the strings of her swimsuit, then descended the ladder on the side of the boat and eased her body into the cool water. Clint snuck up behind her and grasped her waist. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He whispered the words against her neck.
Rachel closed her eyes and sighed. She could get used to being in Clint’s arms.
“How about a race?”
The question startled Rachel out of her reverie. “Race where?” They were in the middle of a massive lake.
Clint pointed into the distance. “See that rock?”
The small island was over a hundred yards out. She could handle it. “Last one there cooks supper.” She splashed his face before swimming off. Clint followed, keeping pace with her. For a desert-dwelling cowboy he was a good swimmer. Ten yards from their goal, Clint surged ahead, then suddenly fell behind right before Rachel’s fingertips touched the rock. He’d let her win.
Exhausted, she climbed from the water and stretched out on the warm stone. “I didn’t know cowboys could swim.”
Flashing a teasing grin, Clint asked, “How many cowboys do you know?”
“You’re the first.” Rachel shivered as Clint’s gaze traveled over her body. That he wanted her was evident—the man gave off more signals than a third-base coach. So what held him back?
“If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?” she said.
“Depends on the question.”
“Why were you perturbed when you learned P.T. asked for my help with the rodeos?”
“I was worried you’d hurt P.T.”
Shocked, Rachel protested, “Hurt him how?”
“I don’t know. I blamed you for the rift between you and P.T.”
“My father said he sent me away because he feared for my safety after my mother died.” She still didn’t understand why P.T. hadn’t trusted himself with a small child.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Clint said.
“Did P.T. talk about my mother’s death?”
“No, why?”
“I think maybe he blames himself for the horse accident she suffered.” Once Rachel gathered her courage she’d ask her father for details about that day.
“P.T. was the first person in my life who cared about me,” Clint said. “I was afraid that one morning he’d wake, change his mind and not want me.” Clint’s head rolled to the side and their mouths were inches apart. “Whatever happens between you and P.T., don’t hurt him.”
“Opening an old wound is bound to cause pain.” She sighed. “I’ll try to be understanding.” If it hadn’t been for that blasted kiss in the alley, Rachel wouldn’t care about Clint’s feelings and his relationship with her father.
“Another reason I didn’t like the idea of you staying at the ranch was because you reminded me that despite my good intentions, I’d failed Lauren as a father.”
“How have you failed Lauren?” Clint hadn’t shared much about his relationship with his daughter and his comment piqued Rachel’s curiosity.
“I’ve kept my daughter at a distance. I made a few token visits to California through the years and managed a twice-a-month phone call that lasted anywhere from thirty seconds to three minutes.”
“Did Lauren and her mother cooperate with your attempts to visit?”
“Not really. Liz never forced Lauren to be with me.”
“Tell me about Liz. Where did you two meet?”
“At a rodeo. Liz was there with a group of friends. We dated and a few months later Liz phoned with the news that she was pregnant.”
“Has Lauren always lived with her mother in California?”
“Yep.”
“Ah…you two aren’t used to spending so much time together.”
“’Fraid so.” He chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, I was looking forward to getting to know my daughter better this summer, but I was nervous.”
“About what?”
“That Lauren would see through me and realize I wasn’t good enough to be her father.”
“Why would you believe you aren’t good enough?” Rachel struggled to reconcile the strong, stubborn bullfighter with the man lying next to her on the warm rocks.
Ignoring Rachel’s question, Clint said, “Funny how life turns out. Who knows where I would have lived and what I’d be doing if I’d been adopted instead of placed in foster care.”
“When were you given up for adoption?”
“At birth.”
“Usually babies are easy to adopt out.”
“They are, but I was born with an atrial septal defect.”
“What’s that?”
“A small hole between the upper chambers of my heart. The doctors closed the hole but no one wanted to risk raising a child who might suffer long-term health problems related to a heart defect.”
“That’s sad. Have you considered searching for your birth parents?”
“No. P.T. and Lauren are all the family I need.”
Rachel stared at the clear blue sky, her heart aching. Clint’s comment reminded her that she was the outsider. What would she have to do to earn the right to be included in P.T.’s small family circle?
“MMM, THAT SMELLS HEAVENLY.” Rachel stepped into the galley kitchen, wearing a sundress that hugged her small bosom and flared at the hips before ending midthigh.
Forcing his eyes from her sexy outfit he said, “I hope you don’t mind steak again, that’s about all I know how to grill.”
Rachel opened the fridge and removed a bag of lettuce and a fresh tomato. “I’ll make a salad.” She stood next to him, slicing the tomato, each movement of her arm sending a puff of shampoo-scented air drifting past his nose.
God, he wanted her. After searing both sides of the meat he turned the flame to the lowest setting. “I’m taking a quick—” cold “—shower.” Ten minutes later he returned to the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts.
“A toast.” Rachel held out a glass of red wine.
“To what?”
She clinked the rim of her glass against his. “To us and Five Star Rodeos.”
“A lot can go wrong between now and the end of August.”
“I’m confident the Boot Hill Rodeo next weekend will be another success.”
He guzzled the wine, hoping the alcohol would shoot through his bloodstream and unravel the tight knot in his gut. “I forgot you don’t eat much red meat. If you don’t want a steak—”
“Steak is fine as long as it’s well-done.”
Clint moved his cut away from the flames while Rachel’s steak finished cooking. He refilled his wineglass and forced his thoughts from Rachel—an impossible task when his mind wouldn’t stop thinking about persuading her to join him in the bedroom after dinner.
He didn’t want to hurt Rachel by misleading her into believing their time on the boat together would change their relationship. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt P.T.’s daughter.
Maybe she only wants a brief fling.
You’re a grown man. Rachel’s a grown woman. What happens on the houseboat stays on the houseboat. He smiled.
“What’s so amusing?” Rachel asked.
Unaware she’d been studying him, Clint muttered, “Nothing.” He changed the subject. “I haven’t gotten a text from Lauren all day. Have you?”
“Not a word. Want me to check in with her?”
“Sure. Ask her what she’s doing tonight.” He pretended interest in the steaks while Rachel texted with his daughter.
After a few minutes, Rachel set her phone aside. “Lauren’s going to the movies with Shannon, then Shannon’s staying overnight at the ranch and the other girls are returning in the morning to practice.” Rachel’s gaze connected with his and the heat in her blue eyes set his body on fire.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.
“Very.” Her gaze fastened
to his mouth.
“Your steak is almost done.”
She set her wineglass on the counter then nuzzled his mouth. “The steaks can wait.”
Inching the hem of her sundress higher on her thigh, Clint’s fingertips caressed her skin. He drew in a sharp breath. “You’re not wearing panties.”
“No, I’m not.”
Clint was no match for a pantiless woman. “Are you sure, Rachel?” At her silent nod, he turned off the grill, clasped her hand and led her down the hallway to the bedroom he’d picked when they’d boarded the houseboat.
“Wait.” Rachel put the brakes on. “The sundeck.”
“I’ll meet you there.” He hurried into the bedroom and grabbed protection from his toiletry kit then joined Rachel on the deck.
There were no other boats anchored in their private cove. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. Rachel stood by the two-person chaise lounge and lowered the spaghetti straps of her sundress. Clint helped her with the zipper and the dress pooled at her feet.
Wow. Rachel, naked, was an amazing sight. When he touched her breasts, her head fell back and she moaned, the sexy sound spurring Clint on. He replaced his hands with his mouth and she melted in his arms. She helped him shed his clothes, then they collapsed upon the chaise and he took her on a journey he prayed neither of them would regret.
FLOWERS. SOFTNESS. WARMTH.
Clint’s senses slowly awakened, his fingers tightening against the firm thigh wedged between his legs, his body absorbing the heat of skin-to-skin contact.
Rachel.
He opened his eyes to a night sky sparkling with stars. A sigh escaped his chest and automatically he tightened his hold, as if keeping Rachel close warded off the guilt.
Making love had been a mistake. A big mistake. As much as he yearned to wake her with his kisses and caresses, he didn’t dare. He hated the feeling of helplessness that had a choke hold on his emotions. He’d betrayed P.T.’s trust—having sex with Rachel was not how he had wanted Clint to look out for his daughter.