by Rita Herron
He shoved a twenty on the counter and indicated for Johnny to freshen her drink, as well. Suzanne tried to drag her eyes away and focus on the patrons. Locals were heading to the dance floor, two-stepping and line dancing to the popular melody, laughing and flirting. Rafe’s knee jerked up and down in time with the music as if he enjoyed the country tunes. Suzanne had always thought country music too twangy. Songs about cheating wives and sick dogs howling in the back of pickups with sawed-off shotguns lodged over the cab were just not her cup of tea. Give her Elton John or Dave Matthews any day.
Forget the music. Make chitchat, Suzanne. You’re here to get him to talk about himself. He has no idea you already know half of his life story. “So, Rafe, you have a big spread around here?”
He nodded, tilting the beer mug up for a sip, once again drawing her attention to the strong muscles in his jaw. “A few hundred acres. I raise some cattle. Got a few cutting horses, too.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride.”
“Really?” A chuckle rumbled from his chest, mischief dancing in his eyes as he angled his head and swept a look over her. “Well, sugar, come on out to the Lazy M. I’ll be glad to saddle a mare and teach you.”
She met his challenge with a teasing look of her own. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Do you want to dance?” Suzanne clenched her glass in midair, hardly able to believe she’d just blurted out that invitation. But dancing with the man might ease her tension and help her refocus. She’d come to Sugar Hill on a mission; she couldn’t let this sexy bad boy sidetrack her. He probably collected women like a little boy collected toy cars, then threw them away the minute the paint faded.
Hunger flared in Rafe’s eyes. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling flashes of desire. The realization sent need soaring through her like an aphrodisiac.
The music mellowed from a fast tune to a slow, sultry melody, and several more couples joined those on the dance floor, their bodies tucked tightly together. Still, he hesitated. His gaze caught her ring. “That depends. I don’t encroach on another man’s territory.”
Suzanne bit her tongue. “No one owns me, Rafe.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “All right, then.” He offered a massive hand and she slipped hers inside, then allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. His hard boots clicked on the wood planks as he pulled her into his arms and began to lull her into the rhythm of the song. She thought she’d detected a slight limp for a minute, but it disappeared so quickly she decided she’d imagined it.
Suzanne had gone clubbing with her girlfriends and James at the trendiest spots in the city, but she had never been as hypnotized by a song as she was in Rafe’s arms. They circled the dance floor, his big body moving seductively against hers, denim-clad legs brushing denim, the warmth of his breath whispering against her neck as he held her close. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and at five-seven for the first time in her life she felt small next to a man.
This was not going as planned.
She was supposed to be talking to him, learning his weak spot, and moving in to find out how to trap him into selling his land. Not falling under some kind of hypnotic spell.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispered roughly.
He felt like heaven, too. Suzanne closed her eyes and forgot about the land deal and the fact that yesterday another man had proposed to her.
Because for just a moment she wanted to savor being in this man’s arms and not think about work.
RAFE THREADED his fingers through the long strands of Suzanne’s silky hair, his breath locking in his chest.
A fierce need to possess her overcame him, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
She was soft and sensuous and had the voice of a vamp. And God help him, he could get lost in those exotic brown eyes. They were like a sea of hot chocolate, rich and dark and mesmerizing.
But holding her was all wrong.
She was a Hartwell, the niece of a well-known town member, the daughter of a prominent Atlanta doctor. A rich, well-bred girl with more money and more education than him. For goodness’ sake, the damn sapphire ring on her hand alone could pay for all sorts of farm equipment, not to mention that her hands were delicate, uncallused, and she was used to men with hands that weren’t hardened or dirt-stained from the land. And damn it, she didn’t seem like the footloose and fancy-free type that slept around, either.
And right now he had nothing to offer any woman except a one-night stand.
Suzanne Hartwell would undoubtedly want more. He knew her type. Driven by career, not family. She wanted the nice things in life. Things he had no way to give a woman.
Plus, her daddy would probably kill him if he found her dancing with a run-down cowboy in a dive called the Dusty Pub.
As if to cement his reservations, the door to the bar opened and in walked Slim Wallace, the man who’d told Rafe in no uncertain terms today that he was going to lose everything. Slim’s words scraped over his consciousness like a razor over raw skin—You might as well declare bankruptcy. Let me take over the ranch and move on, Rafe. It’s too late.
Damn it. It wasn’t too late. The Lazy M was his ranch. His legacy. The land had belonged to his father and his daddy before him and his daddy before him. Somehow they had all managed to hold on to the place because the McAllisters believed that if a man had land, he had a place to build a life. Without it, a man couldn’t survive.
And he would not be the one to let it all go.
He suddenly realized the music had stopped. Suzanne had stilled in his arms and was looking up at him with big doe eyes, her expensive perfume so intoxicating he’d pulled her to him in a viselike grip. He glanced down in horror, immediately releasing her. He could not drown his sorrows in her soft, tempting body.
“I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice.
He shook his head. His problems were his own. A woman like Suzanne Hartwell would never understand.
They had shared one dance. That was all they would ever have.
SUZANNE STOOD on the dance floor alone in stunned disbelief as Rafe slipped out the barroom door. After that soul-hugging dance, he had mumbled a hasty apology and a goodbye, claiming he had forgotten something he needed to do, then run for the door as if she had suddenly pulled out handcuffs and tried to arrest him.
Had something really come up? Something to do with his ranch? His sick mother?
She tried not to think about the ailing Mrs. McAllister.
The thought resurrected memories of her own mother, those last few days of her illness stirring the hot pot of emotions that always simmered close to the surface at the thought of her.
Refusing to allow the pot to boil over, she wove through the crowd and found her table, then slumped down on the bar stool, wishing she’d had more time with Rafe.
To pump him for information, she told herself. Not to dance or hold him or dream about finding heaven in his arms.
Steepling her hands tent-style and leaning her head into them, she closed her eyes and shut out the images that swirled through her mind, steeling herself back in control. She hated feeling vulnerable. James had taught her to attack, to go in for the kill, to eliminate the human element of a business situation, evaluate all the data, make a decision and move on it. Her father used the same approach.
The technique had always worked for her before.
She wanted to earn her promotion. She would use the tried-and-true methods to do so now, and forget emotion, and the way Rafe’s lips might taste.
Just as soon as the memory of his hands on her waist and his breath on her neck subsided.
“You want another drink?” Johnny asked.
Suzanne shook her head. “No, I think I’ll call it a night.”
“Stick around and we can hang out after I shut down.”
Suzanne’s gaze shot to his.
“I promise not to run out on you like Rafe. Poor
guy’s got a lot on his mind today.”
Okay, he had offered the bait and she was fishing. “Why, did something happen?”
“Heard Wallace turned down his loan. It’s just a matter of time before he loses the Lazy M.”
And Horton Developers would be there to save him, Suzanne thought. It would be the best thing for both of them.
“Has he spoken to anyone about selling the property?” Suzanne asked.
Johnny shrugged. “Some big developer from Atlanta, but he turned him down flat. Can’t stand the thought of a big mall going in where his cattle have grazed all his life. Supposed to be a town meeting to discuss the proposed development in the morning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, some of the town’s all for it, but others think it’ll bring sin and crime to Sugar Hill.”
Oh, heavens, didn’t they see the good the development would bring to their little town? That change was not always negative, but progress meant positive things for the people and community?
“Where is this town meeting going to be held?”
“City hall. Noon.”
Suzanne smiled and patted his hand, then stood and said goodbye. “Thanks, Johnny. The drinks were great.”
She’d stay over in Sugar Hill tonight and be at that town meeting tomorrow. She wanted to hear what everyone had to say.
Especially the sexy cowboy with the whiskey-colored bedroom eyes.
Chapter Three
As usual, Rafe rose early the next morning, knowing he had to finish his chores and clean up before lunch to make it to the town meeting by noon. He and his two hands, Bud and Red, had finished moving the cattle to the east grazing pasture, then Bud and Red stopped to repair the fencing that had been torn down by the last ice storm along the northern border of his property. Rafe rode Thunder, his prized stallion, across the rolling hills toward the ranch house, the fresh scent of hay and dirt soothing to his weary state.
He had not slept well the night before.
Dreams of dancing with Suzanne Hartwell had haunted his sleep. He could still smell the sultry essence of her expensive perfume and feel the satiny softness of her hair tickling his chin. And those subtle curves. Oh, at first she’d looked like a bony model, but beneath those stiff designer clothes, he’d sensed a softness that had melted into the hard planes of his own body. A softness and passion that had turned him inside out. Unbridled hunger, sass, spunk—Suzanne Hartwell was no shy, wimpy female. Pampered and spoiled, yes. But defenseless and naive—no way. Making love to her would be like taming a wild horse, he imagined. Or dancing with the wolves.
The reason she was off-limits.
Rich, city women could never understand the kind of life he led, the love of the land, the adrenaline that kept him alive as he worked with his hands. The pleasure that pumped through him as he listened to the night sounds of the farm, the cows, the crickets, the blissful quiet of a hot summer’s night. The primitive raw power he thrived on by living off the land, by mastering a wild stallion.
Yep, Suzanne Hartwell was the wrong kind of woman to play footsie with. She was not a nature-loving, horse kind of girl, but a mall-loving, diamond-studded piece of eye candy. He should never have indulged his wanderlust by flirting with her, should never have held her in his arms.
Hell, he didn’t have time to indulge himself with any woman right now, especially one like her. His ranch needed major work. And now with his mother’s health failing, the inside of the house was deteriorating, too. Maria, the Hispanic woman he’d recently hired to help out, was nice enough, but she’d dyed all his undershorts pink. Apparently she didn’t have a good grasp of laundry skills.
Pink undershorts were the least of his worries.
Hopefully, some of the townsfolk would rally to his side against the idea of the new development. At least stalling the project would help get that developer off his back for a while. Maybe then Slim Wallace would cut him some slack. Knowing Rafe had a buyer made it way too easy for Slim to play hard-ball and lower the ax on Rafe. Sell, Slim had told him. Sell it and get out of debt.
Then where would Rafe be?
He would have nothing. His hands tightened on the horse’s reins as he let Thunder guide him over the ridge. His land stretched for miles, the lush green North Georgia mountains rising in front of him, the thick pines and hardwoods and apple houses in the distance a reminder of his heritage. He had grown up here, ridden this same stretch with his grandfather and listened to his stories of the old pioneer days of his forefathers. He wanted to pass that heritage along to his son one day.
Today he would fight for himself and the preservation of Sugar Hill. Let Suzanne Hartwell have the city. Hopefully, she’d already gone back to Atlanta, with its fancy shops and smog and traffic, where she belonged.
“YES, JAMES, I’m almost there.” Cell phone in hand, Suzanne squinted through the high noon sun as she drove toward city hall. “I’m right on time for that town meeting.”
“Good. I want a full report so we know what we’re up against, especially if those small-towners protest the development,” James said. “Have you met Rafe McAllister yet?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s bending any?”
“It’s too early to tell.”
“Well, I know you, honey. You can charm the pants off any man.”
If he didn’t charm her pants off first. Annoyance hit her as James’ comment sank in. “James, you aren’t suggesting…?”
“No, of course not, that was just a figure of speech.”
“Good. Because I have no intention of seducing some man just to steal his property from him.” Of course, seducing him for pleasure had crossed her mind the night before.
Quickly, Suzanne tried to change the subject. “How about Forrest Anderson? Did he agree to sell?”
“Yes, but his neighbor Will Samuels refused. And we need both properties to have enough land to complete the proposed site.” James sighed. “Even if they agreed, neither piece of land is as nice as McAllister’s or as convenient to the interstate. I can already envision the houses we could build on that side of the mountain.”
“The property is pretty spectacular,” Suzanne admitted, although she still couldn’t imagine moving out to the country. She liked the bustle of midtown, the art shows and theaters and nightclubs. Although, the traffic definitely got on her nerves. Where would James want to live if she accepted his proposal and they married? His home in Buckhead was nice but cold, and far from homey.
The sapphire ring sparkled from her right hand where she’d decided to wear it until she made a decision. So far James hadn’t pressured her for an answer to his proposal. And she didn’t expect him to, not until this deal was settled.
Business always came first with James.
Not that she could blame him. He had a fortune riding on this project. She hung up with him and studied the fading chipped paint of some of the downtown area. Alison’s bridal shop, Weddings to Remember, had been freshly painted, and the Hotspot, Mimi and Rebecca’s bookstore/café had new awnings, but some of the other buildings desperately needed facelifts. The new development would definitely boost the economy and enable the locals to update their own businesses. She mentally added the argument to her list as she parked in front of city hall. Already cars, SUVs and minivans overflowed the parking lot. Slim Wallace, the head of the bank, raced in, yanking at his baggy trousers.
As soon as she entered the meeting room, she felt the tension in the air. Her uncle Wiley stood at the front of the room, clad in his signature lime-green jacket and checkered pants. Cousins Hannah, Mimi, Alison and their husbands occupied front row seats. Her sister Rebecca and Thomas sat behind them, and locals filled the other rows of chairs. A few she recognized from her short visits into Sugar Hill, but most were strangers.
The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and she glanced to her left. Standing against the far back wall, looking tall and imposing in his dusty jeans, with his black Stetson tipped
low on his head, stood Rafe McAllister. And from the dark stare he slanted her way, he didn’t look pleased to see her.
WHAT THE HELL was Suzanne Hartwell doing at a Sugar Hill town meeting?
Rafe glared at her, irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. She had no reason to be here, no right to get involved in the town’s business.
No right to stir his libido and make him want things he couldn’t have.
The mayor, Orville Lewis, a portly man with a bald spot as big as Rafe’s fist, called the meeting to order. “We’re here to discuss the future of Sugar Hill,” Mayor Lewis said.
“You mean the demise,” Carter Anderson, the owner of the local dry cleaners, yelled.
His comment started everyone talking and shouting and arguing at once.
“We have to put a stop to this land developer coming in and taking over our town!” an elderly man shouted.
“I moved here to get away from the city. There’s too much noise and traffic in Atlanta,” a middle-aged man in a gray suit said. “And now folks want to build a big mall that will draw crowds out here.”
“Cars’ll be clogging our roads, blowing exhaust into the air and bringing all kinds of derelicts around,” a frail woman in a pink knit dress exclaimed.
“But it would be nice not to have to drive two or three hours to buy school clothes for the kids,” Mrs. Ludwig, mother of five, argued.
Myrtle Lowercrust, the children’s church choir director stood up. “The kids won’t have the country air to breathe and the space to run and play.”
“Be a bunch of cookie-cutter houses and apartments everywhere,” her sister, Ethel, added.
“But we’ll have movie theaters and restaurants to choose from, and maybe even a nice dance studio that will offer some culture to this backward town,” another woman protested.
“Our town is not backward.” Hannah Hartwell Tippins placed a hand over her rounded belly. “We have good hometown values. And safe streets for the children.”