by Lisa Jackson
“Enjoying what?”
He grinned as he climbed behind the wheel and shoved the key in the ignition. “Harassing me at every chance.”
“Me?” she asked innocently. “Never.” But she couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled in her throat.
“Sure.”
“You ask for it,” she said as the car bounced down the lane. She relayed the message from Van Stern, then felt her lighthearted mood dissipate as they neared the foreman’s house. Denver turned off the engine and she stared at the dark little cabin. “Dad won’t like this,” she thought aloud.
“Does that bother you?”
“A little.”
“Enough to change your mind?”
She stared at him then, studied the crease furrowing his brow, the narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “No,” she whispered, touching his hand before climbing out of the car. When he reached for the door handle, she shook her head. “Let me handle this.”
Brittle yellow grass brushed her ankles as she crossed the yard, rounded the corner and rapped on the back door. “Mitch?” she called through the panels. “Mitch?”
“What the hell?” her brother mumbled, stumbling to the door and poking his head through the crack. His hair stuck up at odd angles from his face and he had to blink a couple of times. He was bare-chested and wore nothing but jockey shorts and a wrist watch. “Tess? What’re you doing here?”
“Saying goodbye.”
“What?” He rubbed a tired hand across his face and focused. “Good Lord, where’re you going?” he asked, before glancing at his watch. “It’s barely five-thirty.”
“I know. But I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“A plane?” he asked, cobwebs of sleep still fogging his mind as he stretched, yawned and leaned against the doorframe for support. “What’re you talking about?”
“I’m going to California. With Denver.”
A half a beat passed. The sleep faded from Mitch’s eyes. “To California,” he repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Wrong.”
For the first time he seemed to notice her clothes and hair. He rammed stiff fingers through his hair, only adding to the spikes already sticking straight up. “Why?”
“For a vacation.”
“A what? Oh, no, Tess. This is wrong. All wrong.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because you’re trying to buy the place from McLean. Because you just sold your horses to Nate Edwards. Because Dad’ll never be able to run the ranch without you—”
“You can help him.”
“I know, but—” His shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed to age ten years. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Positive.”
Mitch frowned, his green eyes sad. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you, Tess?” he whispered. “You never really got over him, did you?”
“It’s not a question of—”
“Just be careful. Don’t let him hurt you again.”
“He won’t,” Tessa said, wondering at the conviction in her words.
Mitchell’s entire body flexed. “He’d better not,” he growled, his lips thinning. “Because if he does, he’ll have to answer to me!”
Tessa nearly laughed. “I’ll tell him,” she said, smothering a smile.
“Do that. I’d love to have a crack at McLean.”
She couldn’t help laughing then, eyeing his shorts and wristwatch. “I’ll warn him. You just take care of Dad.”
“I’ll try,” Mitchell said, crossing his arms over his bare chest as Tessa dashed back to the car.
“So how did he take the news?” Denver asked, once Tessa was in her seat and he’d rammed the car into gear.
“As well as can be expected.”
“That well?” Denver asked dryly.
“Actually, he implied that he’d do you bodily harm if you hurt me.”
“Did he?” Denver’s crooked smile stretched across his face. “Protective bastard, isn’t he?”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to pick up the pieces again,” she said softly.
“He won’t have to,” Denver swore. He turned the car onto the main road and slipped a pair of aviator sunglasses onto his nose. “I won’t hurt you, Tessa. Never again.”
A lump swelled in her throat when he linked his fingers with hers. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, blinking back hot tears. “I won’t let you.”
* * *
The California sun blazed hot in a hazy blue sky. The fronds of tall palms moved in a whisper-soft breeze as Tessa and Denver pushed open a courtyard gate and walked together along a flagstone path to the front door of his Spanish-style condominium. Vines, laden with fragrant purple flowers, climbed across the overhang protecting the door.
“It’s beautiful here,” Tessa commented, wishing she could hate the place.
“It’s home.” Shoving open the door, he carried her bag inside.
The interior was bright and airy. A staircase curled upward on one side of the entry, while two steps led to an expansive living room. The western side of the building was walled in two-story high panes of glass that offered a panoramic view of the sun-washed Pacific Ocean. “This isn’t anything like I’d imagined,” Tessa remarked, walking across the gleaming hardwood floor to French doors. A redwood deck stretched across the back of the condominium with steps leading down to the beach.
Tessa kicked off her shoes and grinned as she felt sand between her toes. “How did you find this place?” she asked, when Denver joined her. The tide lapped around her toes, frothy water swirling around her ankles. Salt spray misted in the air, carried inland on a warm Pacific breeze.
“I bought it from a friend of mine—a guy I went to school with. He and his wife divorced and he wanted to sell it fast. I’d been living in an apartment and this place seemed more permanent.”
“And that was important?”
Unconsciously he rubbed the back of his scarred hand with the fingers of the other. “It seemed to be at the time,” he whispered. “I’d been out of the hospital about six months and was working for a big firm not far from here. I decided it was time to grow some roots.”
“So you’d never have to go back,” she guessed, her heart constricting.
“There wasn’t a reason to go back. Mom and Dad were dead, Colton was God only knew where, and you—” He sighed loudly, then gazed deep into her eyes. His own were shadowed with an intense pain that sliced to the bone. “I couldn’t deal with you,” he added.
“Why not?”
“Everything was too fresh, I guess.” Frowning, he stared at the ocean, watching as sailboats, dark against the horizon, skimmed along the smooth surface of the sea. “Colton had convinced me that you were part of your father’s scam.”
“My father’s what!”
“His embezzling.”
“My father never took one dime from the ranch that didn’t belong to him!” she hissed, instantly infuriated. She couldn’t believe that after everything she and Denver had shared, he would still believe the lies—the horrid, hateful lies! “He’s not an embezzler, or a thief, or an arsonist! As for the fire, you don’t know that Colton wasn’t behind it,” she said, her mind spinning. “He was supposed to be in town with John during the blaze, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“Yes, but nothing. He wasn’t with John. He didn’t have an alibi. Said he’d been riding, but he showed up in a pickup. For all anyone knows he could’ve been in the stables, started the blaze and managed to escape!”
Denver’s eyes narrowed. “Why, Tessa?”
“I don’t know. Maybe for the same reasons he uses to blame Dad. Maybe he was skimming money off the top—”
“No way!”
“Maybe he didn’t mean to start the fire,” she went on, her thoughts ahead of her tongue. “It was probably an accident—he didn’t intend to hurt anyone.”
Denver’s hands tightened over her bare forear
ms. “Do you honestly think he would accuse you, accuse your father, blame you for something he’d done!”
“Maybe,” she accused. “He didn’t stick around too long afterward, did he?”
“But he had no reason—”
“Neither did Dad! But you seem to think it’s all right to accuse him! Think about it, Denver. Think about it long and hard. Why was Colton so adamant, so damned insistent that my family was involved!”
Turning, she tried to escape from the manacle of his hands, but he wouldn’t let her go. “You’re forgetting something, Tessa,” he said, his eyes as dark as midnight.
“What?”
“Your father was found drunk at the fire. He really couldn’t remember what had happened. Colton, on the other hand, had been riding the back fields—”
“He claims.”
“His horse was still saddled.”
“But he drove up in the truck. Isn’t that odd? Just because his horse wasn’t in the barn isn’t any proof he wasn’t involved.”
“And it doesn’t get your father off the hook!”
Gasping, Tessa arched her hand upward intending to slap him, but she didn’t. She stopped just before her palm connected with his cheek. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” she said, fighting the urge to break down completely.
A gamut of emotions contorted his features—hate, anger, sadness, love?
To her surprise, he folded her into his arms. “Shh. Of course you should have,” he said, his face becoming gentle. “Let’s not argue about it. Not now.”
“But you don’t trust us.”
“I trust you.”
“And Dad?”
“I’m not sure about him, Tessa. Face it. Your father has a problem—a serious problem. We have to do something about it.”
“We?” she whispered, disbelieving. Denver wanted to help Curtis Kramer? She couldn’t believe it—wouldn’t.
“There are places he could go—hospitals and clinics. But first he’s got to admit he has an alcohol problem.”
Tessa swallowed back the urge to argue. “I—I’ll talk to him when we get back,” she said. She’d come to the same conclusion herself, but hated discussing her father’s private life with Denver. “Mitchell seems to think he drinks to block out the fire.”
Denver’s lips twisted. “It doesn’t work,” he said. “I should know. I tried to pour myself into a bottle the week after I got out of the hospital.”
“Why?”
He let out a long breath. “To forget you, Tessa,” he said. “To forget you, the fire, everything.” He glanced down at the scars on his hand and his mouth tightened. “Unfortunately I couldn’t, and alcohol didn’t make a damned bit of difference. So I gave myself a swift kick, picked up the pieces as best I could and threw myself into my work.” He kissed her crown as the ocean breeze snatched at her skirt. “And I did my best to forget you.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with the fire,” she said slowly. “I would never, never have done anything to hurt you.”
His arms slid upward and he took her face between his palms. “I know that now,” he whispered, his eyes shining as he slanted his mouth over hers.
His arms tightened and she fell against him, tilting her face upward, her lips eager for his. He pulled her against him, the length of his body protection against the stiff ocean breeze. “Make love to me, Tessa,” he whispered against her hair.
“Here?” She quivered inside. The beach was deserted, but houses and condominiums curved along the shoreline.
He grinned wickedly. “Inside.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the few steps to the deck. She had to cling to him to keep from slipping as he shouldered open the door and climbed the stairs to a loft that shared a view of the ocean with the living room below.
“Here,” he said, tossing her onto a huge bed with a patterned spread of forest green and pearl gray. Twining his fingers through her hair, he leaned over her, his weight causing the mattress to sag. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve dreamed of you,” he said. “Wished that you were here in my bed.” His voice was low and throaty, his breath hot against her ear. Lying beside her, he guided her hand to the buttons of his shirt. “Make love to me, Tessa.”
She slid the first two buttons through the holes, then pressed the flat of her hand to the hard muscles of his chest. She could feel his heart pounding wildly, knew its erratic cadence matched her own.
He moaned softly and his lips crashed down on hers, stealing the breath from her lungs and forcing liquid fire through her veins. She tingled expectantly and felt his hands slide beneath the elastic waistband of her skirt, slowly sliding the soft cotton down her legs and calves.
The bed creaked as he finished undressing her and rolled onto his back, guiding her to rest atop him. He watched the gentle sway of her breasts, nipples dark, above him. “Now,” he said, letting his tongue rim her lips.
She moaned, wanting more. Heat coiled deep within.
Denver slid lower, capturing the tip of one breast with his lips then circling the firm bud with his tongue. “Make love to me, Tessa,” he whispered. His breath was hot against her wet, taut nipple. “Make love to me all night long.”
She had no choice.
* * *
The next morning Tessa was up before Denver and had dashed down to a local market for groceries. She’d already poured beaten eggs into a pan and grated cheese for an omelet before she heard his familiar tread on the stairs.
“What’s going on?” he asked, poking his head into the kitchen. Sleep still clouded his eyes, his chin was dark with beard and his jeans hung low on his hips. His chest was bare and muscled and she had trouble dragging her gaze from him.
“When in California . . .” she said, motioning to the table, where fresh slices of oranges, melons and berries filled fruit cups and warm muffins were piled high on a small plate.
She was working at the stove. Slowly he sauntered over to her, slid his arms around her waist and clasped his hands over her abdomen, pressing her buttocks into his hips. She felt the bulge in his pants and her throat went dry.
“You should wear shorts more often,” he growled into her ear, his hands reaching upward to cup a breast through her T-shirt. The scent of recent lovemaking still clung to him and she felt like a bride on her honeymoon.
“Not very practical on the ranch.”
“Maybe you should stop being so practical,” he rasped.
“Maybe I already have.”
Twisting her in his arms, he slid his hands down her ribs, feeling each small indentation and watching as her T-shirt stretched across her breasts, displaying beneath the cotton fabric the hard buttons of her nipples.
“Hey, wait,” she breathed, her mind swimming under his magical touch.
“Breakfast—”
“Can wait.” He turned off the burners and hoisted her upward, balancing her back against the wall, forcing her legs to wrap around his hips. Her arms circled his head as he pressed his mouth over her T-shirt and suckled, wetting the fabric and drawing on the sweet nubbin hidden deep in the cloth.
“Denver, please—ooh—” she gasped as his hands cupped her bottom and she felt her shorts being dragged over her hips. Together they tumbled to the floor and she forgot about breakfast as he stripped them both of their clothes and made love to her with a passion that tore through her soul and left her trembling in its wake.
* * *
For two days, Tessa learned the secrets of Denver’s life in Los Angeles; she saw the wonder of Western sunsets blazing magenta and violet as the sun settled into the ocean. She smelled the salt of the sea and felt the ocean’s spray against her face. They walked hand in hand through the streets of Venice, exploring the shops and boutiques, sipping drinks in shaded patios or walking barefoot near the ocean, playing tag with the waves.
“You love it here,” she finally said as they trudged through the warm sand and up the steps to his deck.
“It’s peaceful.” One black
eyebrow cocked. “Though some people have the impression that I live in a pressure cooker—that my life in Southern California has to be hectic.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing and holding up her palms. “I’m guilty.”
His arms circled her waist and he kissed her eyelids. “Guilty and beautiful,” he whispered. His lips promised so much more.
The phone rang. “Go ’way,” Denver growled.
The ring seemed more shrill the second time.
“You’d better answer it,” Tessa said, pushing him away. “It might be Colton.” Or Mitch—or Dad.
Grumbling, Denver threw open the French doors, crossed the room and picked up the living room extension by the fourth ring.
Tessa strolled to the far end of the deck and placed her palms against the railing as she stared for one last moment at the sea. Salt air pushed her hair from her face and she breathed deeply of the tangy air.
Her flight back to Montana left in three hours.
“Second thoughts?” Denver asked as he reached her. From behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and balanced his chin on her crown.
“Second and third and fourth and so on,” she admitted.
“California’s not so bad, is it?”
“It’s wonderful.” As long as I’m with you.
“You could stay longer.”
Torn, she shook her head. “I have to go back. Everything I’ve ever worked for is there.” She smiled wistfully. “But you could come with me.”
He sighed, his breath stirring her hair. “Not for a while. That was my partner on the phone. He needs help on a project that’s hit some snags. And then there’s Colton.”
“You really think he’ll call you here?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s been so long,” she pointed out before she wondered if waiting for Colton was just an excuse for him to stay. “If he really wanted to find you, he could. My guess is that he doesn’t.”
“Probably,” Denver whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the sea. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her, forced her to look in his eyes. “I’ll fly back to Montana next week—then we can settle everything.”
Her lungs constricted. “Such as?”