by Diana Palmer
But he’d been tender with her. Protective of her. She remembered helplessly that hard, beautiful mouth pressed so hungrily to her lips. She tingled all over at just the memory. She’d had so little joy in her life, outside her career. Was it too much to ask to spend an innocent evening with a man to whom she was violently attracted?
Bart was concerned. So were her part-time foreman and her newest hire. It made her feel good that they cared so much for her well-being. But in the end, it was up to her to make decisions that affected her life. And she’d rather have died than refused to go out with Cort.
The one burning issue she had at the moment was what to wear. She had a few nice dresses, a pretty pantsuit, some dress slacks and mix-and-match blouses that were trendy. What did a woman wear to a casino, an evening gown?
Then she remembered the one concert she’d gone to in New York with one of her editors. People had dressed in everything from velvet to denim. It seemed to be a matter of personal taste. So she picked out a long denim skirt that swirled around her ankles and paired it with a pretty blue-and-white cotton button-up blouse with pointed collars. She left her hair long, brushing it until it shone. She put in turquoise stud earrings and wore a turquoise bracelet that her grandmother had given her, so long ago. She looked in the mirror and smiled. Well, she was no great beauty, but she didn’t look too bad, she thought.
While she was studying herself, there was a hard rap at the front door.
Her heart went wild as she almost ran to open it. And there he was, wearing denim jeans that outlined his long powerful legs, and a blue shirt that was almost the twin of her own. She caught her breath.
So did he. Then he laughed. “Well, people can’t say that we don’t match,” he teased.
“No, they can’t.”
“Got everything you need?” he asked.
She patted her fanny pack. “Right here.” She made a face. “I know they’re out of style. I don’t care. I got this one in Mexico years ago. It’s soft leather and I love it. I hate purses,” she added. “They just get in the way and you stuff things you don’t even need in them.”
He grinned. “That’s why blue jeans have pockets,” he remarked, jingling his car keys and change.
She laughed.
“We’ll have to go in Bart’s best truck,” he warned her. He’d thought about renting a limousine with a driver, but he didn’t really want to give himself away so soon. He was enjoying being seen as just another cowboy. It was refreshing.
“I don’t mind trucks,” she said. “I ride around with Bill in his a lot. It’s got springs sticking out of the seats and a dash that was broken in two when he wrecked it and a crack in the windshield. It still runs,” she added, laughing.
What an attitude. Nothing seemed to faze her. He was more enchanted by the minute. She didn’t know who he was, or what he had, and she was as honest a person as he’d ever met. She didn’t mind beat-up trucks. What a change from women who complained that the gifts he gave them weren’t enough, when he gave diamonds and furs and gold. If he was jaded, he had good reasons for being that way.
He drove well, she noticed. Not too fast, or too slow, and he kept his eyes on the road. Not that there was much traffic. There was still a little snow on the roads, and he was cautious. But it was daylight, and the only patches of it were in areas shaded by trees overhanging the road.
“You and Bart sold all your young bulls,” he remarked with a smile. “Quite a feat.”
“I know! We’re both still reeling from it.”
“You got good prices for them as well.”
“It’s sad, why,” she murmured, her eyes on his strong, lean hands on the steering wheel.
“Sad?”
“Well, all the flooding in nearby states where cattle died by the thousands,” she remarked. “Some of the people who bought our bulls came from there. A lot of places are still flooded.”
“I know. They say that only thirty percent of the corn crop is being planted this year.” He glanced at her. “Food prices will go through the roof.”
“Yes. And a lot of that corn was destined for fuel,” she added. “How will they decide between cattle feed and gas?”
“It’s going to be a long year for a lot of livestock producers and farmers,” he predicted.
“I know. The weather is crazy.”
“You said you’d never been in a casino. Didn’t McGuire take you to one?”
She laughed. “No. We just went to restaurants. He really does know how to find the best food in the world.”
“And you look like you never eat,” he remarked, glancing at her trim figure.
She sighed. “I do eat, but I have to eat carefully. I tend to gain weight around Easter.”
He frowned. “Why?”
She turned her head toward him. “Easter eggs? Chocolate Easter eggs? Chocolate bunnies?”
“Oh!” He burst out laughing. “I get it.”
“Don’t you like chocolate?”
He shook his head. “It’s one of my triggers.”
“Excuse me?”
“I get migraine headaches,” he said. “Doctors say there’s always more than one thing that sets them off, but chocolate and nuts and red wine will do it to me in a heartbeat. I avoid all three. And I love damned red wine,” he added on a sigh.
“I get headaches, but not those.” She winced. “My grandmother used to get them. She went to an herbalist who gave her valerian root for it.”
“I tried the herbal methods. They didn’t work.”
“There are preventatives now, aren’t there?”
He smiled sadly. “Yes, but I’m allergic to the oldest type, and I want to see some more tests on the new ones before I’ll take them.”
“You’re very cautious.”
“My grandmother died of a stroke,” he said. “I’m cautious because migraines predispose you to strokes.” He glanced at her obvious concern. “Not at my age,” he said, and smiled at her blush. “But thanks for the concern.”
“They can do all sorts of DNA tests now, to see what sort of ailments run in your genetic makeup. I’ve thought of doing one,” she added. “I don’t know anything about my father’s health or about his family at all.”
“Your cousin said you should talk to him when he was in Billings, didn’t he?” he asked, because Rogan had told Bart, who told Cort.
She didn’t wonder how he knew that. He was right, and the memory still bothered her. She turned her eyes to the passing landscape. “My father tossed me headfirst into hell and ran like a scalded dog. I don’t want to talk to him.”
Impulsively, his hand reached for hers and linked into it, comforting and strong. “Let the past die,” he said in a mock Star Wars tone.
She burst out laughing, although she curled her fingers into his trustingly and felt her whole body glow. “Okay,” she said. “But if you pull out a lightsaber, I’m jumping out the window.”
“No chance of that,” he said. He might have made a vulgar joke about the lightsaber with an experienced woman. But not with this one, who was like a daisy in a meadow, pretty and sweet and removed from the glitz and glitter of his world. He smiled at her and felt her small hand jump in his big one. He was going in headfirst, and he didn’t care. It was addictive. He wasn’t going to think past today.
Mina, beside him, was thinking the same thing. She’d worry about whether or not she’d made a good decision later. Despite the concern of her friends, she was happier than she’d been in her life right now, riding down the highway in a pickup truck with a man so handsome that her whole body felt as if it were glowing from the inside. He’d wanted to take her out, when he could attract women as beautiful as Ida Merridan. She still couldn’t quite believe it.
“You said you’ve never been to a casino before,” he said.
She laughed. “I haven’t. Actuall
y, I don’t drive very much. And especially not in snow. I tend to land in ditches.”
He chuckled. “I may have the same issue,” he murmured. “I can drive on muddy roads, though, so maybe it’s not so different.”
“That’s what they say.”
“I didn’t realize it would take so long to get here,” he said when thirty minutes had passed and they were still a half hour away from the reservation. “We’ll be late getting home.”
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she teased.
“Oh yeah? But ‘the night is dark and full of terrors,’” he intoned.
She made a face at him. “Only another month until the last season of that wonderful show.” She sighed. “I guess it will be like a Shakespeare play. Everybody will die at the end.”
“Maybe so. But it’s been a great series to watch.”
“Yes, it has.” Her fingers curled closer into his.
His heart jumped. He smiled. No date he’d ever been on had been this much fun, and they were barely starting.
CHAPTER TEN
THE WIND RIVER RESERVATION was huge. There were plenty of tourists here, even in mid-March with snow still lingering on the sides of the roads. The hotel and casino drew people from all over this part of Wyoming, including tourists coming out of Yellowstone National Park.
Mina was fascinated with the crafts she saw. She started to buy a sterling necklace with a wolf’s head, only to have Cort lift it gently from her fingers and pay for it himself.
She tried to protest but he took the necklace from its packaging, unhooked the catch and draped it around her neck. The pretty wolf’s head, small but perfect, fit in the hollow of her throat. His hands lingered on her shoulders as he studied her, without smiling.
“You like wolves,” he said quietly.
“Yes. There’s a reason.”
“Because of that television series we both watch, and you like the family from the north?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
She looked around uncomfortably.
He chuckled and caught her fingers in his. “I’ll find a more private place.”
He led her back to the casino and lifted her onto a high bar stool. He gave the bar man the order.
“Piña coladas?” she asked. “But listen, I’ve never had hard liquor...”
“I’m here to protect you,” he said gently. “And one drink isn’t going to affect you. Trust me.”
“Didn’t that snake in the Jungle Book movie say that?” she asked suspiciously, but with a smile.
He leaned toward her. “I’m much more dangerous than any snake,” he whispered. He grinned. “But just for tonight, I’ll make an exception and behave myself.”
She grinned back. “Okay!” She fingered the cold silver of the necklace. “Thank you. For this. You shouldn’t have.”
He shrugged it off. “I like having something I gave you lying against your skin,” he said, his voice deep and soft as velvet.
She flushed. No man had ever talked to her that way.
Their drinks came. She was surprised at the size of them. She looked at Cort worriedly.
“It’s mostly pineapple juice and coconut milk. A little rum,” he added with a smile. “Nothing to be concerned about. They don’t put a lot of rum in them.”
“Well...okay.”
She sipped it and made a face. The tang of the liquor was uncomfortable, and she wondered if it was just that she wasn’t used to liquor. It seemed very strong. But she took another sip, and another, and soon it didn’t bother her at all.
Cort moved them to a table and they ordered shrimp cocktail and steaks and salad. While they waited for the order, Cort made slow circles around the back of one of her hands while he stared into her eyes.
“Why wolves?” he asked abruptly.
“My grandfather had Shoshone blood,” she said. “He taught me about totem animals. He said that mine was a wolf. That I’d always be protected by them if I ever chanced upon one.”
“And you did?”
She nodded. “It was just before my mother and her boyfriend went driving and died in the wreck. Henry had made another really serious pass at me and I’d run into the woods to hide from him. I always seemed to be hiding,” she added wearily, aware of the anger in his taut face. “I didn’t mean to go so deep. There are rattlesnakes and bears and other predators, but I was heartsick and so afraid.” She swallowed. “I walked into a clearing and there was this huge, and I mean huge, silver wolf. He was bigger than a Saint Bernard. I know he was well over a hundred pounds, maybe a hundred and fifty. I’d never seen such a large wolf. He didn’t make a move toward me. He just stood there, looking at me.”
“What did you do?” he prodded.
“I was afraid to run. If you show fear to most predators, they tend to attack. And a wolf can sprint to about thirty-five miles an hour. There was no way I could have outrun him. So I stood my ground, waiting to die.”
She paused to take a sip of the drink. “He came right up to me, very slowly, as if he knew how frightened I was. Goodness, he was huge! His eyes were almost on a level with mine. He looked right into my eyes, as if he could see into my very soul. I waited with my heart beating me to death, to see if he was going to eat me. And then...” She swallowed hard, and looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear her. She leaned toward him. “Then he vanished. Like fog. Like smoke. He was there, and as real as you are. And then he was just...gone.” She drew in a breath. “It shook me up. I had no idea what I’d seen, if I’d been hallucinating, if it was real. Or if I was losing my mind,” she added on a faint laugh.
“Your totem animal,” he mused quietly, but he wasn’t making fun of her.
“I remembered, afterward, what my grandfather had told me. He said that a totem animal was a protection and a warning. The next day, Henry ran his car into a tree and killed himself and my mother.”
He whistled softly. “That’s heavy.”
She nodded.
“Have you ever seen him again?”
“No.” She made a face. “When we found the calves that had been attacked, the live one and the dead one, I was afraid that it was a wolf and that it would have to be hunted. I knew Bart would trap it. But we have other neighbors who aren’t that charitable. And sure enough, somebody shot the old wolf.”
He nodded. “You understand how it is with ranchers, though,” he said softly. “Times are hard. Ranchers and farmers are going bust all over the country. You can stand a calf now and then, but it gets expensive.”
“And you can’t let wolves feed on your livestock. I know.”
“Besides that, the old wolf would have died anyway, from that long, jagged wound that ran the length of his belly. It was infected.”
“I guess the rifle shot was a mercy,” she conceded.
“We don’t have wolves,” he mused. “But we have something worse. Rustlers.”
“We’ve had some of those around Catelow, too,” she said. She laughed. “Most recently, a security guy who works for Ren Colter nabbed a couple of them with a transfer truck. They said the rustlers were babbling their heads off to law enforcement the minute they arrived and even asked to be rushed to jail. Apparently J. C. Calhoun is as mean as gossip says he is. Not so mean now, of course. He has a wife and a daughter and a brand-new son.”
He chuckled. “Good for him.” The smile faded. “I hate rustlers.”
“Yes, Bart told me about a run-in you had with some,” she replied, and her eyes twinkled. “I think you and J.C. would get along.”
He chuckled. “Do you, now?” he teased.
The waitress arrived with their food, and they ate in a pleasant silence.
“This is good beef,” she remarked.
“Not bad,” he agreed.
She finished her piña colada w
ith something like surprise. She hadn’t expected the glass to be empty so soon. It was a huge glass.
“Want another?” he asked.
“I’d better not,” she replied. She was feeling pretty good already. Unusually good. She sighed and smiled at him.
He raised an eyebrow. He remembered that she didn’t drink at all. One piña colada shouldn’t disinhibit her much, though. She was probably just relaxed.
But he ordered another. It had been a long week. He’d been helping Bart’s cowboys with new fencing and it was harder work than he was used to. His muscles were aching.
“I never drink to excess,” he said gently when he noticed her reticence. He knew how she must feel about alcoholics, having been victimized by one for so long. “If you eat while you’re drinking, it lessens the impact. Besides,” he added, stretching and wincing, “I’m beginning to think of it as pain relief. I’ve been helping the guys dig postholes.”
“Say no more. I’ve helped with that on my place. I had liniment,” she added, “but nobody to put it on for me. So it was aspirin and a heating pad.”
“I hate the smell of liniment,” he returned, making a face. His drink arrived. He lifted it in a toast. “This smells much better,” he added on a chuckle.
She grinned at him. She felt lighter than air, as if she could fly. She had strange hungers as well. She looked at Cort and wondered what he looked like under his shirt. She felt like taking off her own shirt and smoothing her body against his. Heavens, she was losing her mind!
She flushed and almost overturned her glass.
“Oh, you’re empty. Want another one?” the waitress asked, and took her silence for assent. “Be right back.”
“I really shouldn’t,” she told Cort.
“Food lessens the impact,” he repeated, grinning. “Live dangerously.”
“I’ve been doing that a lot,” she mused.
He laughed. How, he was wondering, by choosing a new knitting pattern or doing a new recipe in the kitchen? But he didn’t say it. He was enjoying her company too much.