by Jill Shalvis
"I'll tell you whatever I please when it's my business."
"This is just because I refused to take you on as our partner."
"Believe me, it has nothing to do with that—"
"You flirt with Shirley."
He laughed then, some of the tension leaving him as she stood him down. "I do not."
"I saw you."
"What you saw, Zoe, was me turning her down. I don't mix business and pleasure. Usually," he added, taking the last step between them.
The breath backed up in her throat at the look on his face. The shadows covered some of his expression, making it difficult to tell if all that heat was anger or arousal. She preferred the former.
"Did you hear me, Zoe? Stay away from my ranch hands."
"You're a … a bully!"
He laughed again. "Is that the best you can do?" Before she could come up with better, he'd taken her shoulders and pressed her back against the stall. Zoe was sandwiched between the hard, cold wood and Ty's equally hard but warm body, and her mind went blank. He surrounded her, and it wasn't a threatening sort of feeling at all, though it should have been. His broad shoulders blocked the light, blocked out everything but him.
"You were…" She struggled to keep her train of thought, difficult when all the blood rushed out of her head at the rough, unexpected embrace. "Rude to Cliff."
"I know." His forehead lowered to hers at the startling admission. "What is it about you that drives me so crazy?"
It was a rhetorical question, but with his lips hovering only a scant inch from hers, Zoe felt the compulsive need to keep talking because if she stopped, he might kiss her and then she would be lost.
"Don't worry," she said quickly. "I drive everyone crazy, it's not just you. Ask Delia—"
"Delia's not here." His large hands captured her head with surprising gentleness. Slowly he tilted it up, better aligning their mouths so that if he so much as breathed, they'd be connected.
It couldn't happen, she thought, unreasonable panic welling. This was crazy, they had no business doing this, none at all. Forget her wild fantasy involving his wicked mouth covering hers, of his tough, powerful body doing things to her own, of his deep, husky voice detailing each one of those things… Goodness. Forget it, this was not what she wanted.
But he was going to kiss her if she didn't do something, anything. "Ty … I don't think."
"That's right," he murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded. "Don't think. Feel."
"But—" He was watching her mouth with a hot, intent purpose that had her knees knocking together. "Ty…"
"Hmm-mmm…"
He wasn't going to listen to her. Well, she knew what to do, she was from Los Angeles, and well prepared. "Ty…"
"Shh." His hips slid over hers, the hard ridge between his thighs unmistakable. He did it again, finding the soft notch between hers, and she was putty in his hands. "Ty … I don't—"
"Zoe." Just that, just her name on a groaning sigh.
Nope, listening was beyond him, it was nearly beyond her. So she did the only thing she could think of to stop him.
She punched him.
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
One week later, as spring gave way to summer, Zoe began to regret her rash decision in turning down Ty for a partnership.
And also for punching him in the belly.
Ty had pretty much ignored her, brooding and silent whenever they were together. However, with her sisters he'd been Mr. Charm.
Zoe told herself she could live with that.
What she couldn't live with was the ranch in its current condition. The only income they generated was the land Ty currently leased for his own operation. Which meant one fourth of the land looked good and cared for. He had fenced in pastures for his horses, and not only were they beautiful and impressive, it was an unbelievable thrill to stand outdoors, on land that belonged to her and her sisters, and watch nature take its course.
With the warm season came a patchwork of colors so brilliant it hurt the eye. Wheat, peas, alfalfa and wildflowers all grew naturally, blowing gently in the breeze, framed in by the river and the mountains. It was gorgeous beyond anything she'd ever known, and her love for the place grew.
She didn't want to give up on it, but they had to be able to survive.
Enchanted by the magnificent land, despite the isolation and clear-cut problems, Zoe and her sisters had agreed—they'd stick it out until the end. For better or worse.
Only for Zoe, it'd gotten worse. She'd had no clue how hard it would be to see Ty Jackson on a daily basis. Hell, on an hourly basis.
He was everywhere.
Long, powerful legs strained his snug, faded jeans. Tough, rugged shoulders managed to take on amazing amounts of work and responsibility. And his silent, crooked, knowing smile that taunted her.
"What's the matter, Slim?" he called out from his spot twenty-five yards away.
"Did I complain?" she snapped, turning her back to him.
Being manager could have meant any of a thousand things, but thankfully he seemed to respect them enough to let them make their own decisions for the ranch. Unfortunately they had no idea what those decisions should be.
Ty had a full staff of trainers and ranch hands at his own place, and since Triple M didn't, and couldn't afford one, he'd committed to riding fences on their land today, a chore desperately needed. To Maddie and Delia's combined delight, and Zoe's suspicion, Ty had taken Zoe as his helper.
This amused her sisters because they both sensed exactly how explosive she and Ty were together, and since the closest video store was an hour's drive away, it served as their entertainment.
Maddie had days ago suggested, in her sweet, calm way, that Zoe try harder to get along with Ty, that maybe Zoe was mad because Ty did what no one else did—made Zoe feel.
Maddie didn't know what she was talking about, grumbled Zoe as the sun beat down on her. She saw no reason to try to get along with the man who was only being nice to her to get her land, no matter how good his arms had felt around her.
He drove her crazy on purpose, she thought daddy, wiping her damp forehead with her arm. He thrived on it, as if he was as strangely frustrated as she at their strange, unaccountable attraction.
Ever since that night she'd slugged him, he'd stopped teasing her at every turn, but he still, when she least expected it, shot her one of his … looks.
The scorching, hungry, "maybe I'm going to kiss you in spite of you hitting me" look that made her bones melt. Made her yearn and ache and … yes, dammit, feel, in a world where she'd learned that feeling only hurt. She'd been with Delia and Maddie for years, and still she'd managed to keep a good part of Zoe to herself.
So what made it so hard with Ty?
He hadn't attempted to kiss her again, yet he'd kissed her sisters regularly. Sweet little pecks with closed lips. He kissed other women like Shirley—which for reasons Zoe didn't want to think about, made her want to strangle him, especially since those kisses were not so sweet and not so little at all.
Zoe knew this because she'd had the misfortune to catch him kissing the woman in the barn. Well, to be honest, as Ty had told her, Shirley had kissed him. But it'd been a long, deep, messy-looking kiss.
She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut against the strange pooling of heat between her thighs.
What made that memory even worse was the way Ty had looked when he'd finally managed to pull back. Dark, intense … aroused in spite of himself.
And some pathetic little part of Zoe wanted to feel that way, too. Wanted Ty to make her feel that way.
Was she that awful? She hadn't hit him that hard, had she? And it was only because she'd been frightened, not of him, but of what he made her feel.
God. What was she thinking? Zoe didn't care why he didn't kiss her! She was thankful, yes, she was.
She didn't want to be that desperate for anyone. If she just stuck mostly to herself, she'd be just fine. Yes, she had Delia and
Maddie, but she knew deep down, one day they'd get married and have children and drift away from her. They'd find others in their lives to love and she would be fine with that.
She'd be alone again, and she'd be fine. Just fine.
Ty patiently held the wire. The sun gleamed off his reflective sunglasses so that she couldn't see his eyes, but she imagined they were lit with amusement—at her expense. "Don't tell me you broke a nail," he called out.
"Shut up," she called back in what she meant to be an amiable tone, but she sounded weary even to her own ears. Straightening, she stretched her aching body, knowing she'd lie down and die before she admitted she was tired. Die, too, before admitting she'd been thinking of him.
Shoving her long, out-of-control hair back, she wished for a hair band with all her might. She lifted her hands to raise it off her hot neck, but her hands were disgustingly dirty. Shrugging her shoulders at this minor inconvenience, just one more in a long line of many, she snipped off an extra piece of wire and twisted it in her hair, far more concerned with comfort than looks.
It'd be hell later, untangling the wire from the snarls in her curls, but that was a worry to be saved for nightfall.
"Hey there."
He'd come right up behind her. She jumped a little because his voice was so rough yet silky, and it did something funny to her nerves. "Stop sneaking up on me."
Solemnly, he held out a pair of gloves. "Keep these on," he demanded. "You'll ruin your skin."
"You must be confusing me with Delia." It was only fair to share her rotten mood with him since he'd caused it. "I could care less about my nails."
"Hmm." His work-roughened hands brushed hers, and at the contact, her stomach tightened all funny. She jerked her hands away, annoyed at both of them.
"Touchy," he noted.
"Just keep your paws to yourself." No one's touch had ever made her feel all tingly inside. Why his? Why now? And if she smacked him again, would he understand that it was just her irrational fear and nothing personal?
"Touchy and full of insults." He grinned. "You're a real joy to work with."
"So are you," she said evenly. "Just ask Cliff."
He didn't even look ashamed. "I apologized to him."
"Not to me."
"You slugged me!" He slid a hand over his perfectly flat stomach as if remembering the punch vividly.
Why, she wondered for the hundredth time, was he so gentle with the quiet, withdrawn Maddie, so funny with intense Delia and so absolutely ungentle and unfunny with her?
Instead he was bold and wicked and fierce, and she refused to feel bad, or at least admit that she did. "You could have chosen Maddie or Delia to help you today, so don't complain that you're stuck with me."
"Who's complaining?"
Well, he had her there. Feeling awkward with him so close and so big, she looked around desperately for a distraction. She didn't have to look too far. The dry, parching heat was getting to her. "I wish I had a rubber band!"
"Here." He reached into the truck and opened the glove box. His wallet fell out, opened, to the floorboard. Ignoring that, Ty found a rubber band and handed it to her.
"Thank you." But the words were hard to say because she was looking into the truck, down at his open wallet. And at the two—two!—condoms in it. A little squeak of shocked embarrassment escaped her.
Without any sign of self-consciousness, he replaced the wallet and straightened.
"Better?" he asked, gesturing to her now-contained hair. She could only stare at him. He carried two condoms on him, was all she could think. "Two?"
He let out a slow, sexy grin at that and she nearly swallowed her tongue, realizing she'd spoken out loud. "I mean—"
"I know what you mean," he said. A long finger stroked her cheek, while his eyes flared with a surprising amount of heat. "I'm not promiscuous, I just like to be prepared. And sometimes one just isn't enough." His smile spread. "It wouldn't be with you, Slim."
"I— You— Oh." Hopelessly flustered, she studied their feet, blushing all the more when he laughed softly. And she decided if he was enjoying this, she might as well ask. "Just how not promiscuous are you?"
"Well … those two would probably fall apart if I needed them, they're so old," he admitted ruefully.
That cheered her up considerably. Until he tipped up her chin and said, "I'm thinking of replacing them." His thumb glided along her lip, making it tingle, and the look in his eyes made her heart take off like a shot.
He did it on purpose, she decided, just to see her all ruffled, and she renewed her efforts at resenting him with all her locked-up heart. Before she could stalk off, he easily captured her hands again, studying them carefully. "I want you to wear the gloves so you don't get cut and scratched." His thumb slid lightly over a reddened knuckle.
Just a simple touch. One little touch. And because of it, she had to open her mouth to breathe. Then he bent and blew lightly on her wound, just a slight puff of air, and she nearly moaned out loud.
She snatched back her hand. "Knock it off." She was proud of her even, haughty voice. He didn't have to know that her bones had just melted away, leaving her drowning in a pool of longing.
He just looked at her, all one hundred eighty pounds of uninhibited, rowdy, knowing male. "What's the matter?"
She lifted her chin and glared back. "You're wasting precious daylight hours. I'm going to have to dock your pay."
"I'm not getting paid."
Which was another puzzle she'd been meaning to solve. "You cared for Constance that much that you'd do this for one year without compensation?"
He met her gaze evenly. "Yes."
That sort of generosity was unheard of where she'd come from. There was a reason for it, she reminded herself. Just as there was a reason he was trying to butter them up.
"We are going to pay you, you know," she grumbled, looking away. "Soon as we can."
He smiled then and leaned against a post, all sinewy grace. "The gig is up."
"What gig?"
"Why don't you save us both a bunch of trouble and admit how you feel about me?"
She managed a laugh. "It's not flattering."
That infuriatingly sexy smile stayed put. "You're crazy about me."
"Crazy, definitely." She flipped her precarious ponytail back, using annoyance to cover her fear. Had she given herself away? He couldn't have guessed her deepest, darkest, most secret fantasy, could he?
Her secret little hope that someday he would be the crazy one. Crazy for her. Not for the land, but her.
Just thinking it in the light of day had color rushing to her cheeks. She put her hands on them, feeling the dirt streak on her skin.
She could only imagine how she looked. And how was it that she felt as though grime clung to her every pore, while he looked cool and clean? He even smelled good, she thought resentfully. Lingering soap and one hundred percent male. No man should be allowed to smell that good. Standing there thinking about it, she wavered in the heat.
No wonder women fell over him. It was disgusting, yet she leaned just a tad closer to catch another whiff.
She must be more tired than she thought.
His eyes narrowed on her, reminding her she didn't like that he noticed every little thing about her, especially the things she didn't want him to notice. "You're slacking off, Jackson," she muttered, turning away. "Get back to work."
"Let's take a break."
"I don't need one."
He hauled her back around, his hands firm on her hips. "I need one," he insisted, searching her face for who knew what. "I'm tired, Zoe. Very tired."
"Oh. Well then, I don't want to show you up or anything and make you feel bad." She sank gratefully to the tailpipe of the truck—actually, rambling heap better described the ancient, beat-up thing that had been left on the deserted ranch.
When Ty offered her iced tea from a cooler he kept in the back, she nearly whimpered in pathetic thanks.
On the gentle slope below them she could
hear the rush of the river, and it sounded cool and inviting. A single falcon flew overhead, its wingspan wide and sure. Zoe watched, fascinated, reminded that she was indeed in another world from her accustomed city. "It's so … hushed," she whispered.
"Peace and quiet are the catch of the day," he agreed, tossing his hat into the truck.
"I know. The view is so close I feel it reaching out to touch me." She flushed, feeling stupid for voicing her thoughts.
Ty was staring at her, appreciation and frank approval in his gaze. "You do feel it, the magic in the air here. I wasn't sure."
"Yes," she admitted. "I feel it."
The awareness between them was thick as ever. He didn't seem any more inclined than she to deal with it. Ty tipped back his head and drank. A drop of the clear, cool drink ran slowly down his neck, leaving Zoe with the most shocking urge to lean close and lick it off.
"Oh Lord, I've lost it," she muttered weakly, closing her eyes to both the man and the sun. "Completely lost it. It's too hot or something."
Odd as it was, Ty let the opportunity to rile her pass, remaining unnaturally silent.
Startled by that, Zoe opened her eyes and stared at him. He leaned against the side of the truck bed, one foot bent and braced against a tire, his elbows supporting his weight as they rested on the top of the truck. His shirt stretched intriguingly over his wide chest. His jeans, streaked with dust, emphasized his long, powerful legs. Tipping up his face, he caught the warmth beaming down.
A man seemingly at rest.
And yet his every muscle vibrated with tension.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
Another man might have leaped in with denials, or at least shrugged her off.
Ty did neither, didn't budge. That terrible stillness held him, further alarming her. What if he were having a heart attack? Sunstroke? She was helplessly ignorant about such things. "Are you … sick?"
His lips quirked then, though he still didn't move. "Don't worry, Slim. First aid isn't required."
The urge to tease him out of this unnerving mood was strong, but something stopped her. Whether it was the utter flatness to his expression, or the alarming stillness in a man who never stopping moving, she didn't know.