The Rancher's Seduction

by Catherine Mann

  She hadn’t been kidding. She’d put down a stack of pancakes along with reindeer sausage. She’d been social and charming, but there was a definite distance between them. Maybe she regretted sharing about the baby she’d given up for adoption. He wasn’t sure, and he could sense this wasn’t the time to push her about being together. She reminded him of a skittish horse: one wrong move and she would bolt.

  Right now, she was all business, her phone out as she typed in her to-do list for the fund-raiser, focusing on the menu. She’d been quizzing him on family food preferences and allergies—as if he knew that.

  She tapped on the screen, the glow reflecting up to highlight hints of gold in her auburn hair. “I’ll be making a spreadsheet of all the items needed for the menu—”

  “We have caterers,” he reminded her.

  “For some things, sure. Like for the gala. But for Christmas... I’m here for a reason. I want to make sure there are no wasted ingredients.”

  “You could donate unused items.”

  “Hmm...” She tapped her phone to her chin, drawing his attention to her lovely face. “Once something’s opened, then all of it should be used.”

  He leveled a glance at her. “I’m not sure what they’re paying you, but I suspect it’s not nearly enough.”

  Her smile went wider, her face illuminated by the dash lights. “I do believe there’s a compliment in there. Thank you.”

  He wanted to compliment her on more than her professionalism, but she’d only just started to relax again. So he offered a more general explanation. “I don’t want you to overwork yourself. I’ll ask my family what things they might want to make over the holidays. Traditional stuff.”

  The whole blended Christmas thing would be a challenge. Merging traditions never seemed to be without hiccups.

  “Hmm.” She wagged a finger at him. “Very slick of you to figure out a way for me not to stuff your turkey with sprouts.”

  God, he liked the way she made him laugh. Holidays were usually hell for him, and somehow, she was making this one more than bearable. Fun even.

  “All right, now,” she said, directing her attention back to her phone, red hair pooling in front of her, making her seem mysterious, like a siren from a classic film. “Moving along to the drink menu. What kind of beer and wine do you prefer?”

  Her words iced the warmth between them. He turned his focus back to the road. “You choose. The party scene isn’t for me.”

  “This is just a fund-raiser thrown by your family’s business—at Christmastime, no less.” She held her hands in front of the blasting heater. “I hardly think that qualifies as barhopping.”

  “I keep a tight rein on my life.” He had to. It could spiral out of control with just one slip.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice was laced with deep, genuine concern.

  He weighed his words. “I know myself and what I want for my future.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Peace.”

  “I think there are many people who feel that way.” She toyed with her cell phone. “I guess it’s none of my business, really. I’m sorry to be nosy.”

  For a reason he couldn’t decipher, he found himself admitting, “I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

  The words settled between them. For a moment, a half a heartbeat that felt a helluva lot longer, he wondered if such an admission had been wise. But Marshall heard her draw in a sympathetic breath.

  She set aside her cell phone carefully, directing her full attention to him. “I didn’t know.”

  “No one does, other than my support group.” He turned at a corner, the new Christmas flags on streetlamps flapping in the snowy wind.

  “Why are you telling me, then?”

  He searched for an explanation that made some kind of sense. “I had a particularly intense meeting with my sponsor. Keeping this locked in—faking everyone out by drinking nonalcoholic beer and water in drink glasses—isn’t a healthy way to live.” He glanced at her to gauge her reaction. “I guess I’m trying out the openness on you first since you were so open with me about your past.”

  She looked away, fidgeting with her phone. “How long have you been sober?”

  “Just over four years.” Four years. Two months. Seventeen days.

  “You said you had an intense meeting with your sponsor recently?”

  “Every day is a battle.” He didn’t see the need to go into detail about how wanting her, envisioning her in his life, was adding to the tension every day. “Holidays are tough. And parties are the worst with all the alcohol flowing. It causes talk if I don’t drink, so there are times I hold a drink or bottle and fake it just to keep the questions from driving me crazy.”

  She stroked her thumb across the screen to her phone, where she’d been making her list. “I can see why opening up from the get-go might make things easier.”

  “Maybe.” His sponsor had said the same, but even testing that out with Tally was tougher than he expected. He pushed himself ahead, eyes fixed on the growing strength of the northern lights. He found them anchoring. “You’re probably wondering what my story is.”

  “Of course I’m wondering, but it’s up to you if you want to tell me.” Her voice was soft, caressing the air between them with understanding.

  “You’re good at the passive-aggressive technique.” He steered the SUV through the main gate leading to his property, onto the winding road to his home. Thick trees reached toward the sky, providing him with a sense of security. There were worse settings for a heart-to-heart than on his land, his space.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a compliment.”

  “I started on the rodeo circuit young and partied hard, too hard. Before I knew it, I needed the drinks to function.” Now that he’d started speaking, the words flowed from him like bourbon from a bottle, smooth and biting all at once. “Then I found out what a beast booze can be. It seduces you, then turns on you and you’re so far underperforming you’re ready to crash and burn.” The vehicle jostled along the icy road, the ranch looming ahead. Home.

  “That’s what happened to you? A crash?”

  He stopped at the side entrance, shifting the SUV into Park, idling. He killed the headlights so that the only light in the vehicle came from the motion sensors outside the garage. After a minute, they’d flick off, too.

  “I took a fall so bad in the ring it landed me in the hospital.” He rubbed his cast lightly, leaning back in his seat. “After that, I checked myself into rehab and pulled back from the circuit. I only do charity functions now.”

  “I imagine the broken arm brought back some painful memories,” she said insightfully.

  God, she was easy to talk to. “This didn’t even happen in the ring. It was a simple accident afterward. I was thinking too much about the past and got distracted.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She stroked along his cast. “But I’m also glad it wasn’t worse.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  She tipped her head, catching his eyes. “What would you have said to someone in your group who shared what you just did? I assume you’re in Alcoholics Anonymous since you said you have a sponsor.”

  A solid question. He thought through to the obvious answer he should have come to on his own. “I would remind them to attend meetings—which I do. You’re a good person with good instincts.”

  “It’s more than instinct.” Her face pinched with pain. She pushed back her wavy hair with a shaky hand. “It’s experience. My father struggled with inner demons of his own. Sometimes he drank too much to quiet those demons.”

  “I’m sorry.” He understood well from confidences at meetings how much grief alcoholism could bring to relatives, part of why he’d tried so hard to keep his problems from his family.

  A part of why he’d stayed alone on the ranch?

  He s
huffled aside the distracting thought and focused on Tally.

  “My mother and I begged him to get help, but he was resistant.” She looked at him quickly, then averted her eyes. “He wasn’t physically abusive, so he insisted he didn’t have a problem. He just couldn’t accept the other ways it affected his life.”

  He could hear the lack of peace in her soft tone, the burden of it still hanging over her. “And now your parents are gone. I’m so very sorry.”

  “It’s tough to know there’s no do-over to make things right,” she said, her voice cracking.

  He shifted in his seat, reaching out his good arm and stroking her fragile shoulder. Her hair glided across his wrist in a silken wave. “You’re living your life to the fullest. I’m sure they would be proud.”

  “I hope so.”

  Such sadness radiated from her he ached to pull her into his arms, to take on all that hurt for her. But he couldn’t forget his promise to leave any move up to her. So he simply caressed her shoulder, his fingers sketching lightly along her back.

  Even with his determination to keep his distance unless she made a move, his senses went on high alert, fine-tuning into the moment—the hum of the idling engine, the whisper of the heater. Northern lights streaked through the sky, casting a multicolored hue through the vehicle’s cab, giving her a luminescent glow.

  Heat pumped through him until he went hard with want. The spark of awareness in her eyes intensified, echoing in him.

  She swayed closer. Closer again. All the encouragement he needed. He angled nearer, sealing his mouth to hers. The connection was instantaneous and combustible. Her palms slid over his chest, gripping his jacket with urgency. Her lips parted, welcoming him.

  An invitation he couldn’t resist.

  He swept his tongue over hers, exploring, the taste of syrup and her an enticing blend that called to him to take more. As much as she would give.

  Her hands slid around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. Desire pumped through him, urging him on for more. Grateful his arm was free of the sling, he pressed her back against the seat, her chest to his, the softness of her breasts searing him even through their jackets. He burned to get rid of their clothes, to sample every inch of her creamy skin.

  Her kittenish sighs encouraged him, the chemistry deepened by the day they’d shared, the ways they’d bared their secrets to each other. He wanted more. All of her, craving her so much that he couldn’t trust himself.

  As he eased back to suggest they take things inside, he saw the wariness in her eyes; the full weight of their conversation hit him. Her father had been an alcoholic. That had left a painful mark on her she wouldn’t want to repeat in her personal life.

  Which left him firmly on the outside.

  Eight

  Felicity tugged on her ponytail, shouldering open the snowflake-plastered door leading into the cafeteria. Bright fluorescents shone down unforgiving white light on the circular blue tables. Her flats slipped slightly, the tread on the sole of her shoes worn from constant movement.

  Stabilizing herself, she moved toward the table in the far corner where Conrad, handsome as always, sat in a sharp gray business suit, a buff Stetson on the chair beside him.

  For the fourth time this week giving up part of his workday to drive across town for her.

  A fact she wasn’t mad about at all. Actually, butterflies stirred in her stomach over how quickly this was starting to feel like a normal routine. As if they’d been meeting on her lunch breaks for years.

  Felicity had worried over the first meeting. Assumed the silver fox would attempt to win her through pressure. She’d been pleasantly surprised at his laid-back demeanor.

  She wasn’t sure how much longer he would continue this before making his big move, but she had to admit she was curious. He could woo her with expensive outings and gifts, but he gave his time instead. And to her, that was a much more precious commodity. Although she might never know how long he would keep this up, as her client here at the hospital was due to be discharged within a week. She would return to regular case duty.

  She should be rejoicing for her little client’s health, but she would miss these lunches. She liked him, but knew this couldn’t go anywhere. She had her career on track, had even applied for a social worker’s job at the hospital. Her dream position. Her divorce had left her so gutted, her career had gone off the rails.

  She wouldn’t lose all she’d regained.

  Felicity wove past a table full of staff, toward the handsome man who’d not only reserved a table for her but also had bought their meal—he’d texted her earlier for her order. Conrad’s smile was as bright as the string of white Christmas lights that framed the kitchen door behind him.

  “Hello.” She slung her leather bag on the spare seat as he pulled out her chair for her. “I’m not sure how this has become a habit so quickly.”

  “In business, I’m known as a persuasive, persistent man. How was your day?” He handed her a steaming cup of soy vanilla chai latte. Her favorite midday pick-me-up from the coffee-and teahouse just up the street. Accepting it from his outstretched hand, her fingers brushed his ever so slightly.

  Felicity did her best to bury the tug of a smile, inhaling the spice of clove and vanilla from the steam. Christmas in a cup.

  Her client was doing well, but Tally’s little charge was in critical condition. It could be so heartbreaking in the NICU. “Busy. But I don’t want to talk about that.” Felicity wanted to learn more about what made this man tick. What made him willing to eat crummy cafeteria food day after day? Was he just about the chase? “Tell me about your family’s plans for the fund-raiser.”

  Those piercing eyes turned thoughtful. There was something earnest in his chiseled jaw. “Tally has been a godsend in getting things organized out at the ranch. Marshall was resistant, but she’s really helped bring him around.” He stuck a straw in his tea. “We’ve all been worried about him since he broke his arm. He works himself into the ground managing the ranch, but he lives for it. Being out of commission has been difficult for an active guy like him.”

  A family shuffled by with a man in a green hospital gown. She couldn’t miss the fatigue in his eyes as he wheezed, trying his best to sing “Jingle Bells” with two little girls about six years old. Small attempts at the Christmas spirit even in this blinding room touched her heart. As they took their seats at the table by the Christmas tree, she saw something like resilience in the way the man sat in his chair, smiling at the pretty blonde next to him.

  She couldn’t help but be moved, wondering if her own outlook on life was too pessimistic, ironic given that she counseled others.

  “I’m glad things are working out. She’s happy to have this job opportunity.” Tally had been pleased at how accommodating her boss was about her volunteer schedule. The interest in her eyes was impossible to miss, as was the wariness. Felicity didn’t know the reason for it, but she worried for her friend.

  “Jack and Jeannie are pleased with the progress. It’ll make quite a splash for the start of their charitable foundation to honor their spouses who died.” Conrad shoveled three fries into his mouth.

  “They’re lucky to have found love twice in a lifetime. Most don’t find that kind of connection even once.” She dug into her burger.

  “While I have my reservations about all this blending of families with our former business rival, I’m grateful Jack has Jeannie for support right now.” He swiped his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but this merger hasn’t been as smooth as we like to make out. There are leaks.”

  “There always are.” She let out a deep sigh, aware of how difficult things could be from the ugly power of privileged information made public.

  “True enough. And people out to extort or hurt the family.” His face went tight. “Like the nutjob who wrangled her way into the company, then c
laimed my niece didn’t die in the crash. It’s insane and impossible, but still hurt my brother like hell.”

  “And you, too,” she said softly.

  He nodded once, then set his burger aside. “The woman—she calls herself Milla Jones—cut and ran into Canada. But we’ll find her and get to the bottom of her agenda.”

  The phrasing caught Felicity off guard, and she choked on a bite of burger. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she coughed before finding the words on her tongue. “‘Calls herself’?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his face taking on an all-business, all-facts air, but she could sense the tension underlying it. “We have investigators looking for her. They’ve managed to locate a DNA sample off a brush she used at the office. With luck, there will be a hit in the system that gives us more information.”

  “This has to be so hard on your family.” She could see the toll it was taking on him, and her heart tugged. “Your brother’s lucky to have your support.” She’d done her own research and knew Conrad pinch-hit for his brother personally and professionally, even though Conrad had a full life of his own running his investments corporation. She also saw from her search that he didn’t have any children of his own. “You’re close to your nieces and nephews.”

  “They’re like surrogate kids, I guess.” He swiped a fat fry through ketchup. “I haven’t had much luck building that family of my own. Got divorced before making it to our first anniversary. Then another engagement fell apart just shy of the altar.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment, Conrad seemed distant. As if he replayed the broken relationships before his eyes on some phantom screen. But only for a beat. Shoulders shrugging, he looked at her. “It’s in the past.”

  “Divorce is hell.” She knew that all too well. Her ex had cheated, blown through her small inheritance, then dragged the divorce out in court for heaven only knew what reason other than to torture and potentially bankrupt them both.