by Rita Herron
“My grandfather used to say that a man’s job was to protect a woman,” he offered. “Guess your father was just doing his job.”
Suzanne laughed, a light throaty sound that brushed his nerve endings with desire. “You were born in the wrong time period, Mr. McAllister.”
“Why’s that?” Irritation sliced through him as he pulled himself up straight. “Because I believe in tradition.”
“Because you hold on to the past.”
He crossed his arms and glared down at her. “Maybe you let it go too easily.”
She righted herself, her height still slight compared to his imposing frame. It didn’t seem to faze her. “I look toward the future.”
He lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “You fill your life with material things that don’t really matter.”
“I see the value in change,” she whispered in return, “new technology, improved medical techniques.”
“You think traffic, smog and kids who are so bored they resort to drugs to entertain themselves are good things?” He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “That’s selling out your soul for a buck, Suzanne.”
“The advantages override the flaws, Rafe.” A spark of anger brightened the inky depths of her eyes, and the sun’s golden rays left amber flecks in her hair as she scowled at him. Her spunk sent an undercurrent of awareness zinging through him.
He had thought there was nothing more beautiful than horses running free over the mountainside, nothing more dangerous than a wild one, fighting to run free. He suddenly realized he was wrong.
Suzanne Hartwell was both heartstoppingly beautiful and wild. And far more dangerous.
Doing the only smart thing he could, he turned and walked away from her. “Come on, let me give you your first riding lesson. Once you feel the mare beneath you and experience the heavenly places he can take you, you may change your mind.”
SUZANNE ALMOST BARKED a laugh. Rafe was undeniably the most infuriating man she’d ever laid eyes on or attempted to conduct business with.
Although she suspected his comment had nothing to do with business or the future of the town but everything to do with the surge of chemistry crackling between them. What had he meant by feeling the mare beneath her and seeing the heavenly places he could take her? Had she imagined the subtle innuendo beneath his husky promise?
It didn’t matter. She would not let this rancher get to her.
She could hold her own with any man, had been doing so for years. And she hadn’t made herself a success by bowing down to every macho man who thought women should still be barefoot and pregnant.
Or by letting a man have his way with her.
Perspiration beaded between her breasts. Good Lord, where had that ridiculous thought come from?
Rafe grabbed a rope and wound one end around his hand to form a lasso, then walked slowly toward the stallion. Sensing his game, the horse responded, trotting around the pasture, playing at being caught, Rafe’s movements moving in unison with the massive horse’s bulk. Was he going to put her on this huge beast? The one he said he usually rode?
Talking in low, hushed tones, he soothed and cajoled, his voice a whispery thread as he coaxed the stallion to him. The horse finally brayed one last time, then settled next to Rafe, allowing him to stroke his back. He slowly slipped the rope around the horse’s neck, murmuring soft words of reassurance as he led Thunder across the grass. Suzanne watched, fascinated by the connection between man and beast, at the juxtaposition of the animal’s powerful moves and Rafe’s confident ones, at their sizes side by side.
“Follow me to the barn. We’ll saddle him up and then I’ll take you for a ride.”
A flutter of nerves attacked Suzanne. “I-I’m not sure I’m experienced enough for him.”
The tips of Rafe’s long black hair brushed his collar as he angled his face toward her. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
Chapter Five
“If you’re going to ride, you need to learn how to care for the horse,” Rafe said, as he looped the rope around the wooden post near the barn. “Before we saddle him, we always brush and clean him. He’ll get sore from the saddle if it’s not done properly.”
Suzanne shaded her eyes with her hand. “Makes sense.”
Rafe retrieved the bucket of brushes, combs and powders from the shed and showed her how to use them, trying to concentrate on the task and not the gentle way Suzanne Hartwell stroked Thunder’s crest or the scent of her perfume overriding the smell of fly powder. “Don’t ever stand behind the horse or he might kick you.”
“Typical male,” Suzanne said with a sassy smile.
He pinned her with a dark look. “A man has to defend himself.”
Suzanne laughed out loud, a soft musical sound that reminded him of his mother playing the piano. He shook his head as she petted Thunder, crooning nonsensical baby talk to him while she dragged the brush through his mane, telling him what a pretty baby he was. His twenty-hand stallion whinnied and nudged his nose into her hand, falling under her hypnotic spell.
The big traitor.
“All right, now we saddle him up.” Rafe spread the saddle blanket over Thunder’s back, then reached for the black saddle, explaining his movements as he demonstrated how to fit the bit into the horse’s mouth and secure the bridle and saddle straps. “Make sure it’s tight enough that it won’t slip when you get on.”
“Looks easy enough.” She reached for the stirrup, but he brushed her aside.
“You need to learn how to do it yourself.” He spotted Bud standing in the barn doorway. “Bring Blondie out here for Miss Suzanne.”
His sixty-five-year-old hand grinned toothily. “Sure enough.”
Rafe almost laughed as surprise registered on Suzanne’s face. She was so confident he’d do all the dirty work.
He was supposed to be charming her into his way of thinking, showing her the beauty of the land, not putting her through some willpower test. He’d just have to suck it up, be charming to her and forget this crazy attraction.
Surely he could control himself. After all, he didn’t like Suzanne Hartwell. She’d come to his ranch looking like some designer cowgirl ready to pose for a Western-wear catalog. Her jeans were so tight, he was surprised she could breathe, her perfume was so sweet it was damn near nauseating, and she would probably kill herself trying to ride in those stupid high-heeled boots.
She was not the kind of woman who belonged on a ranch.
SUZANNE GRITTED HER TEETH at the sight of the sway-backed mare. Her coat was a dusty beige, her slow gait a sure sign that she had settled into senior-hood. Gracious, the poor thing looked as if she should be resting in the shady barn chewing on an apple instead of saddled up and ridden. Not that this horse would give Suzanne a wild ride. It probably couldn’t even work up to a canter.
“Have fun, missy.” Bud, the sweet-looking old ranch hand, winked at her as he loped back to the barn.
Suzanne eyed the horse skeptically. “Are you sure she’s up to being ridden?”
“You admitted yourself you’re not experienced. She’s the tamest horse on the Lazy M.” His crooked grin plucked at her nerves. “After all, I promised to show you my property. I don’t want to get sued in case you fall off.”
“Oh, of course.” The poor guy was broke. He was worried about being sued.
“Go ahead, let’s see what you remember.” Rafe gestured toward the bucket of brushes, a brown saddle and striped Mexican blanket in the corner of the shed.
Recognizing the challenge in his eyes, she offered him a perky smile, grabbed the comb and began to clean the pathetic horse. Blondie relaxed under her ministrations, her mellow attitude vastly different from the energy that had emanated from Thunder. Suzanne hummed to herself, trying to ignore the odor of horse dung lingering in the area.
Rafe’s manly presence dared her to forget her real business with the studly rancher. But the intensity of his gaze unnerved her, as if part of him wanted
to lap her up and the other part wanted to watch her fall flat on her face on the dusty ground and admit that she had been wrong to even suggest progress come to Sugar Hill.
When she was finally satisfied she’d combed enough tangles from the mare’s coat, Suzanne spread the blanket over Blondie’s middle, grateful the animal didn’t balk. Then she tried to lift the saddle and nearly collapsed with its weight.
Rafe had the nerve to grin. “Big horse needs a big saddle.”
Suzanne rolled her eyes. “You mean an over-weight horse needs a heavy saddle. This thing weighs more than I do,” Suzanne said, forgetting she was not supposed to give Rafe a reason to think she was a wimpy city girl. He obviously disagreed with her ideals and life style, and would hate her if he knew she worked for Horton Developers.
She tried the saddle again, wobbling on the heels of her boots and nearly breaking her back, but she finally maneuvered both hands beneath it and lifted it from the floor. Wood boards squeaked beneath her feet, her shoulder muscles strained, and she staggered toward Blondie, nearly diving headfirst into her drooping belly as the weight pulled at her arms. She definitely needed to work out more at the gym and build up her upper body strength.
Steadying herself, she tried to raise her arms and throw the saddle on top of the horse, but one of the straps smacked her in the eye and she wobbled backward, her butt brushing Rafe’s thighs.
He caught her, his broad hands encasing her arms, the whisper of his breath against her neck sending a tingle through her. A hiss escaped him as he disengaged her from the front of his body.
“Here, just let me do it.” Exasperation laced his voice.
Suzanne shook her head, her stubborn streak rearing its head. “No, I can manage.” Pushing his hands away with her elbow, she sucked in a huge breath, stood on tiptoe and heaved the saddle over Blondie’s back. Several grunt-filled minutes later, she’d tightened the straps and secured the bit and bridle, pleased with the way Blondie tipped her head for affection.
“All right, are you ready to go?” Rafe asked.
Suzanne nodded, although she was already exhausted from the ordeal. Rafe slung one foot into the stirrup, then mounted Thunder like a professional rodeo star while she struggled to climb in the saddle.
The ring James had given her dug into her finger as she clenched the reins.
Rafe might have won this round, but he would not win in the end. Suzanne would make sure James got this land, and she’d get the promotion she wanted. It was only a matter of time before Rafe had to admit that she was right, that the best thing he could do for himself and his ailing mother was sell.
She forced her eyes away from his muscular backside so as not to get distracted.
RAFE GLANCED at the fine snakeskin of Suzanne’s boots, wondering where she’d found such hideous things and why she thought wearing them to walk through pastures was appropriate. They had to be about the most uncomfortable-looking pair of boots he’d ever laid eyes on. She was a stubborn thing, too. He was sure she would have balked at the idea of riding Blondie. “Keep your heels down, toes up. If you don’t and the horse throws you, you’ll get caught in the stirrups.”
“You mean Blondie throws people?”
He bit back a laugh at the note of panic in her voice. Definitely a city girl, this one.
“No. It’s just good riding practice.” He tightened Thunder’s reins, urging him to fall into a gait the old mare could keep up with as they rode.
“Anything else I should know about?” Suzanne asked.
“Hold the reins in one hand. Squeeze the horse with your thighs and calves,” he said. “You ride with your legs, not your whole body like most people think.”
He dragged his gaze forward as he saw her visibly clench her thighs. Lord, this woman conjured up wicked fantasies.
“This is the south pasture,” he said, pointing to the cattle grazing nearby. “I rotate them periodically to give the grass time to replenish itself.”
Blondie waddled behind him, Suzanne’s long dark hair dancing in the wind as they quickened their pace. She didn’t talk much as they crossed the tumbling hills and dipped into the valley, the horse’s easy gait allowing her to experience the scope of the breathtaking vista. Despite her inexperience, she took naturally to the saddle, her lithe long body graceful as she bounced in rhythm with the horse.
He explained his operation as he guided her down a trail to the east side of his property. Mossy banks flanked the stream that gurgled along the mountainside, eventually flowing into the pond where his cattle drank and found shade from the summer heat.
“Look at those mountains,” he said. “The peaks are the first things I see in the morning when I look out my bedroom window. I rode out here and played in the woods all the time when I was a kid.”
“They are lovely,” Suzanne agreed.
“The dogwoods should be blooming pretty soon,” Rafe added. “When they’re blooming at once, it looks like a sea of snowflakes.”
“We used to have a dogwood in the yard where I lived when I was little,” Suzanne said in a voice that suddenly sounded small, as if she was remembering a time that had been lost to her until the sight of the mountainside had resurrected it. “I’d almost forgotten about it.”
“Where was that? Atlanta?”
“One of the suburbs. But Dad sold the house for a condo after Mom died.”
Rafe hesitated, once again detecting a note of sadness in her voice. “Sounds like you miss it.”
“Actually, I haven’t thought about it in years. The condo was nice. We had a pool and there was always stuff to do. Dad entertained a lot, too.”
“Backyard barbecues for your friends?”
She glanced at him, a small pinched look forming between her eyes. “Not really. Mostly his business clients.”
“Sounds like loads of fun.”
She frowned. “It was all right.”
“No trees at the condo, though?”
“One or two.”
“Wedged in the cement for looks, huh?”
Her silence verified the answer.
“I bet you didn’t have pets, either.”
“They weren’t allowed.” She shrugged. “Besides, Rebecca got so upset when the neighbor’s goldfish died, Dad didn’t want her getting attached to anything else.”
“What about you?” He arched a brow, guiding Thunder around a bend by the creek until they’d found one of his favorite spots, a clearing nestled in a cluster of trees. The grass sprouted wildflowers that dotted the ground with purple and yellow. A huge oak offered a sanctuary from the sun, its drooping branches shrouded with Spanish moss.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you ever want a dog or a cat? Something to romp and play with in the yard.”
Suzanne shrugged. “I guess I never gave it much thought. Dad was so busy with work and…and we had activities.” She sighed and patted Blondie’s mane. “Besides, we moved around a lot.”
No place to call home. He let the silence lapse between them. He couldn’t imagine not having peace and quiet, the animals, the woods and trees and open spaces to run free. Had she been happy moving all over the place?
He had not brought her here to get to know her or wonder if she was happy, he reminded himself; he wanted her to understand the significance of his ranch to him.
The importance of preserving family memories and landscapes. Except he wanted to forget a few things…like his father’s betrayal.
Bitterness filled him at the thought of having to clean up the mess his father had left behind. And worse, having to lie to his mother.
It was a damn good thing that developer didn’t know about his money problems. He might try to use that weak spot against him.
A TWINGE OF UNEASE needled Suzanne at the questions Rafe had asked her, but she didn’t understand why. She’d never questioned the fact that she might have missed something growing up. She’d simply adapted, used her time with her father to help him out, playing hostess to
his parties. She’d learned to do all the girl things girls did, like shopping and makeup and, of course, boys. Sports had taken up time, as well.
She hadn’t cared if she’d had a yard or a tree to climb or a dog. Then again, a faint memory surfaced. When she was little, shortly after her mother died, she’d hugged her stuffed kitty and wished he was real. Because she’d missed her mother.
“You let things go too easily,” Rafe had said.
Had she let her mother go too easily?
No, she’d simply grown tough to survive.
Rafe steered the horses to a shady place to graze, then dismounted, and she did the same, pushing the troubling thoughts away. They let the horses drink from the creek while Rafe regaled her with stories of ranch life. The cattle rides when he’d been young, the overnight camping trips where he slept beneath the stars and moon, the old-fashioned picnics and parades in the town. “The people in Sugar Hill care about each other. They may not be rich, but they still believe in helping out their neighbor.” He removed his Stetson, and ran his long, tanned fingers through his dark locks. “I bet you can’t say that where you live.”
Actually, she’d never even met her neighbors. “You’ve never wanted to travel, to see different parts of the world?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Maybe one day I will.” His gaze slid across the lush countryside. “But my heart would always be here.”
“What about your mother? Wouldn’t you like to find a nice new house for her, someplace that would offer assistance for her as she ages?”
“I would never put my mother in a home,” he said in a thunderous voice. “The McAllisters take care of their own.” He stood and brushed grass from his jeans. “Besides, my mother loves this place as much as I do. A rancher’s land is his pride. If he loses that, what’s left?”
Suzanne studied the intense look in his eyes, the rigid set to his mouth and broad shoulders, and saw a man filled with conviction. Admiration mushroomed inside her, although she had to remind herself he was the enemy.