"So she marries someone else to make a point?"
"No, she marries someone else who doesn't have to leave. Somebody who shows her by his actions as well as his words that she matters more to him than some damn horse does."
"It was Deliverance," Shane argued.
"I don't care if it was Pegasus! No woman wants to come in second to one horse after another for her whole life."
"Not her whole life. Just until Tuesday."
Poppy rolled her eyes. "You just don't get it, do you? You're another one, just like Cash."
"I guess I am," Shane said stubbornly. "I've never met a woman yet, I'd stay around for if there was a bull worth ridin' down the road."
"Well, that's frank." Poppy blew out a long, slow breath. "So if Cash feels the same way, which he obviously does, why should Milly want to make a marriage with a man like that?"
"He loves her," Shane said stubbornly.
"He doesn't know what love is! And—" she sniffed "—obviously neither do you."
Shane looked at her, offended. "I'm not the one gettin' married!"
"Who'd have you?"
Oddly, that stung. He gritted his teeth. "You'd be surprised," he said through them.
In fact, though, he wasn't sure how many of the buckle bunnies he'd dated over the years had actually been smitten enough to want to hitch up with him long-term.
It didn't matter, 'cause he'd never asked!
"I would," Poppy agreed coolly. "Be surprised," she added, in case he was too dumb to get the point. "But after tomorrow Cash can ride whatever horse he wants. Milly's going to marry Mike and be happy." She lifted her chin and defied him to dispute it.
He couldn't.
She was right.
Maybe not about the being happy part. Time would tell about that. But tomorrow, wherever Cash was, and whatever horse Cash was riding, or whether Cash liked it or not, Milly was going to marry Mike.
Because Shane had kidnapped the wrong girl.
He headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To get the truck out. To take you back. We're not stayin' here."
"But it's stuck! It's snowing."
"No kidding," Shane said under his breath. But that was no excuse. He'd got them here in the snow. He could damned well get them out again.
"Wait!"
But he didn't wait. He stuffed his arms in his jacket as he went and fumbled with the zipper as he trudged through the snow. He heard Poppy—he could almost bring himself to think of her as Poppy now—bang out the door after him. He turned. "You don't have boots."
"I found an old pair by the chair."
From some previous occupant no doubt. Shane glanced back to see her clumping back after him in boots that were far too big for her. "Go on back and wait. I'll come and get you when I get it out."
But she didn't stop. She came right on. "No. If you're going to be an idiot again—"
"What do you mean again?" he growled.
But she didn't answer, just caught up with him and plunged on. It didn't matter. He knew what she meant.
"You have to promise, though," she panted as they walked, "not to try to kidnap Milly now."
"I think," Shane said through gritted teeth, "that I'm done with kidnapping at the moment."
She flashed a grin his way. "Good."
The truck was buried halfway up the doors in snow-drifts. He had to shove snow away from the back with his hand before he could open the door and get out the shovel. Poppy meanwhile cleared off the windshield and brushed off the hood. It was awkward shoveling with one good hand, and he didn't move very quickly or very efficiently. He was also aware that Poppy had finished brushing and stood watching him work.
"Want me to take a turn?" she asked him.
"No."
* * *
But eventually he had to stop, exhausted. And then she took the shovel and picked up where he left off. He felt useless, standing there, sweating and panting as he watched her struggle to move the heavy snow. In less than a minute he grabbed the shovel again. "I'll do it."
But the wind picked up and the snow swirled down. The more he shoveled, the less progress he made. Finally he said, "Come on. Get in. We can't keep digging in this. We might as well just give it a shot."
They clambered in and he gunned the engine. The wheels caught. The truck lurched. The wheels spun. The truck slid.
Shane cursed. He put the truck in first and rocked it forward, then in reverse and rocked it back, hoping to get some momentum, hoping to dig his way out.
He dug his way in instead. The tires whirred and whined in the snow, then dug into the dirt beneath. The truck settled deeper. He could smell the clutch as it began to burn. The truck stayed right where it was.
Finally he shut the engine off and banged his fist against the steering wheel. "Hell."
"It's all right," Poppy said.
It wasn't, but that didn't change anything. He felt a light touch and looked around to see her fingers on his sleeve.
"It is," Poppy repeated. "Come on. Let's go back to the cabin."
He put the shovel back in the camper. They climbed up the slope and over the hill and down the other side. There Poppy stumbled and he grabbed her, catching her before she could fall. "Careful!"
She turned her head and smiled at him, and he felt the same stab of attraction he'd been fighting since the first time he saw her.
And that's when he realized that she wasn't Cash's girl anymore.
It was like being hit over the head.
He looked at her again. Narrowly, assessingly. Hopefully. And she looked back—and yes, it was in her eyes, too.
Shane started to smile.
He didn't care what Cash said, Poppy was definitely the "good-looking" one.
In fact, good-looking didn't even begin to cover it. Her luxuriant hair was only one part of her attraction. She had flawless skin—even reddened from being out in the wind, she looked not ruddy, but vibrantly alive. He liked her high cheekbones, her straight nose and generous mouth. He liked the spattering of freckles across her nose. They made her seem accessible, touchable.
He wanted to touch her. For now he snugged her arm through his and led the way back to the cabin.
It was blessedly warm when they got there this time. The fire in the fireplace had burned down quite a ways, so he added another log, more for atmosphere than for added heat, then said, "How about some food?"
She shook her head. "I'm not really hungry. I had a big dinner."
"Mind if I do?"
Shane had seen them carrying in big platters of food into the private dining room from where he'd sat nursing his ginger ale at the bar. They'd eaten prime rib and Huggins's special twice-baked potatoes. He'd eaten peanuts and a handful of chips while trying desperately to figure out what to do to save the day for Milly and Cash.
Obviously he should have spent more time eating and less time plotting.
"Not at all," Poppy said. "I'll be glad to help."
Shane grabbed a can of chili out of the cabinet, fished a can opener out of a drawer and stopped. He looked at the can, at the can opener, at his casted hand and gave a rueful shrug. "Guess you'll have to," he said.
Poppy took the can opener and opened the can. Shane watched, admiring her hands. They were slender with long fingers. He imagined them touching his cheek. He imagined nibbling on them one by one.
"Don't just stand there," she said briskly. "Get a pan."
Shane blinked, then flushed. "Right." He got the pan and set it on the stove. Poppy scooped the chili into it for him, then chopped it up with a spoon.
"I'll do this," she said. "Why don't you set the table?"
While he set the table, he asked her about Poppy's Garden.
"How'd you get to be a florist," he said to her.
"I like growing things. I like playing with color. I like saying things without words." As she spoke, her eyes were alight with eagerness. "Arranging flowers lets me do all three. I love it. It's like you're given a
ll this natural beauty and then asked to create more."
"You been doing it long?"
"I've had my shop for three years. I worked there while I was in college, then bought it from the owner when he retired." She dished him up a bowl of chili and handed it to him.
Shane's brows lifted. "Pretty ambitious."
"It's what I wanted to do." There was a sudden firmness in her voice that made him understand some of the determination that was beneath those soft smiles. "And I wasn't wrong about that," she added almost as an afterthought. It made him wonder if there had been something else she had been wrong about, but he didn't ask.
"Looks like you made a success of it," he said warmly as he sat down and began to eat.
"Yes, I have." A smile touched her mouth again and she sat down across from him. Their glances caught once more. This time longer than the last. Deliberately Shane didn't break it. It was Poppy who first looked away.
"Where'd you go to school?" he asked her.
"Montana State. And you?"
"Didn't." A corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Barely managed to stand high school long enough to finish," he said frankly. "It wasn't that I was so stupid," he added. "It was more that I just didn't want to be there. You know how they say, 'Get a life?' Well, I had a life, and school was in the way. I tried to make it interesting, but when I did … well, let's just say they tended to get all hot and bothered."
A smile touched Poppy's lips. "I can imagine."
"I doubt that," he said darkly and dug into his chili again. "Sure you don't want some?" he asked her.
"On second thought, maybe I will." She got up and walked to the stove to dish up a bowl for herself.
Shane sat there and enjoyed simply watching her move. He liked to watch women move. They moved so differently from men. There was a sinuousness about them, a grace that no man could come close to. When they moved they didn't seem to walk so much as flow.
Poppy Hamilton was no exception. She was extremely easy on the eyes. Her long legs reminded him of a colt's. Curvier, though. He could see the curves outlined in the wool of her slacks. He imagined them without the wool, warm and bare and wrapped around his hips.
A shaft of desire surged through him so sharply that he jerked and practically tipped the chair over. He flailed, grabbing for the table, nearly knocking over the chili.
"Are you all right?"
Embarrassed, he thumped all four chairs legs down solidly. "Fine. I'm fine! Just tipped the chair too far."
She gave him a worried look, then shrugged.
Shane cleared his throat. "You grow up around here?"
"Yes."
"How come I never saw you before? I've generally got an eye for a pretty girl." He flashed her a grin and was gratified when she blushed.
"I doubt if you would have noticed me," she said as she carried the bowl back to the table. "You're a lot older."
That wasn't what he expected her to say. Shane's brows drew down. "I am not!"
"I'm only twenty-five," Poppy said demurely.
"I'm thirty-two."
"See?" she said impishly. "A lot older."
Shane bristled, then realized she was laughing at him. He stabbed his fork into the bowl of chili. "You're actin' pretty juvenile, all right," he grumbled.
She grinned unrepentantly. She'd better not do much more of that grinning, he thought, not if she didn't want him picking her up caveman fashion and hauling her off to the bedroom.
"I guess thirty-two isn't real old," she said after a moment.
"Thanks," Shane muttered.
"Did you grow up in Livingston, too?"
"I grew up near Elmer. My brother has a ranch up there. I get back fairly often. Sometimes I go down to Livingston. I was there the other night 'cause I was goin' stir-crazy on the ranch."
"Because of your thumb? It's kept you tied down?"
He nodded. "Almost a month now. I hate it. I want to be doin' something. I guess I reckoned saving Milly for Cash was one thing I could do," he said a little ruefully. "Shows what a fool I am."
"No," Poppy said. Her voice was gentle.
They looked at each other. The temperature in the room seemed to go up a good ten degrees. Shane eased the collar on his shirt away from his neck. He shifted in his chair. He reached out his good hand and touched hers.
Hers were the hands of a woman who worked for a living. Her nails were short and unpolished, but neat. Smaller than his hands. Delicate. Yet capable, too. He could see that. He could imagine them arranging flowers, making slight adjustments. He could imagine them curling inside his fingers, brushing down his cheek.
She got up. "I could use a cup of coffee. How about you? If there is some?"
"Sure." It gave him the opportunity to study her some more. He finished his chili, then eased his chair back and crossed his feet at the ankle. Poppy scavenged through the cupboards looking for coffee and mugs.
"So if you grew up in Livingston and you're twenty-five, you must know Billy Adcock? He's about your age." Billy was a top-notch bronc rider, the younger brother of a friend of Shane's.
"I knew him. But he went to a different school. I didn't go to high school here. I went back east to prep school."
Back east? To prep school? He frowned. Was she the daughter of some Hollywood celeb? There were a few who owned big spreads down in the Paradise Valley. He tried to think if there were any Hamiltons in the movies.
Cripes, yes, he thought. There was. And his name was even George!
He gaped at her. "Your dad's the actor?"
She shook her head and laughed. "Not quite."
"Good." He gave a sigh of relief. He didn't want to think of her being one of "them"—one of the interlopers who came in and drove up land prices and commuted by jet to their day jobs.
The only other Hamilton he remembered, he didn't want to talk about. The judge did not figure in his fondest memories. He had, in fact, been responsible for the most humiliating experience in Shane's life. Fortunately the old coot was far too ancient to have a daughter Poppy's age.
"So, do you know Todd Clifton? Ray Setsma? Setsma and I used to rodeo together."
Poppy grinned. "Before he grew up, you mean?"
"Before he got tied down," Shane corrected gruffly. Though whether he liked it or not, there was an element of truth in what she'd said. Over the last few years Ray seemed years older than he was, although he was, in fact, a year younger. It was just that he'd got married ages ago, and now he and Lisa had three kids, or maybe even four.
"How long have you ridden bulls?" she asked him.
"All my life. Well, it seems like all my life, anyway. Guess I rode my first one when I was about thirteen. Before that I'd ridden sheep, cows, steers. You name it, if it had four legs and a tail, I was always willing to give it a shot. But once I got on a bull, well … that was that." Just thinking about it could get his adrenaline flowing. It was the biggest challenge. The greatest risk.
And when you did it … when you succeeded … God, there was no other feeling like it in the whole wide world!
He looked right at Poppy, a grin lighting his face like the grin he always wore when he made the buzzer. And she grinned back, and the current was almost electric between them.
Outside, the wind roared and the snow fell. Inside, the log settled in the grate and the coffee boiled and boiled. In the morning Milly was going to marry Mike and Cash was going to ride Deliverance.
And Shane didn't care about any of it.
Only about this.
Only about her.
"Oh! The coffee!" Poppy jumped and hurried to grab the pot off the burner and fill two mugs. "It's pretty strong." She made a face.
"It's fine," Shane said and got slowly to his feet. "I'll let mine cool a bit and go make up the bed for you."
He went to the cupboard and took out the sheets and blankets he would need, then headed into the bedroom and as best he could, one-handed, made up the bed.
There was only one. It was a dou
ble, but not a big double. Fine for one person. Cozy for two. A smile touched his mouth.
When he went back into the front room, Poppy was doing up the dishes. She had her back to him, and her head was bent. He could see the nape of her neck peeking out where her hair had parted and fallen forward over her shoulders.
He walked up behind her and settled his hands at her waist. She stiffened, but she didn't shrug away. He could almost feel the tension vibrating in her, though. Exactly the way he could feel it vibrating in himself.
Need. Hunger. Desire.
He edged closer, drawn by the heat of her body. They touched. His hands slid clear around her, holding her lightly in his embrace. He pressed the lightest of kisses against the back of her neck.
She shivered.
"Bed's made," he said, his voice just a little husky.
For an instant she didn't move. For an instant they were still pressed together, man and woman, and he knew she could feel what her body was doing to his.
And then she turned with the very same graceful sinuousness that he had admired not long before, raised his arm and slipped under it, all the while smiling as she said, "You don't want to have to deal with my father."
"Tough guy, is he?"
She nodded. "The toughest."
Shane sighed. "Not as tough as a Hamilton I once knew."
"Who was that?"
"A judge. A century ago he'd have been a hanging judge." He grimaced at the memory. "He was a tough ol' buzzard. Righteous. Stern. Beetle-browed. Face like an ol' boot."
"Sounds charming," she said dryly.
"Not. He shoulda been a Marine drill sergeant. Prob'ly was in another life. He was a purely wicked old man. Made my life miserable."
"What happened?"
"Kid stuff. No big deal, really. At least I didn't think so. Everybody else seemed to, and, well … he was the judge on the case."
"Details?" Poppy urged.
Shane shook his head. "Nope. Suffice to say, I had a little too much school spirit."
Poppy looked intrigued. "And?"
"Hard-Ass Hamilton squashed it for me." And that was nothing but the truth.
Poppy laughed. "Sounds like something he'd do. Though I've never heard him called that before."
Shane was surprised she'd heard him called anything at all. He would have bet a thousand bucks she was far too straitlaced to have ever come up in front of a judge.
The Cowboy Steals a Lady Page 4