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She didn’t want to be edgily aware of him.
Jamie let himself be coaxed into taking a bottle, then fell asleep. Elizabeth combed her son’s soft, downy hair with her fingers and told herself all she smelled was baby powder.
The subtle scent of masculine, woodsy soap could have come from any of the passengers.
She should have stayed in Nebraska.
She hated ranches. She hated horses.
The forty-minute flight took forever.
Her father was not at the airport to meet her.
Worth watched Elizabeth Randall from across the airport terminal at Aspen’s Sardy Field while passengers waited for their luggage. Russ claimed his daughter was completely self-reliant. Never asked for help. Wouldn’t need help. But Mary Lassiter had insisted any woman traveling with a baby could use it.
He should have listened to Russ.
Elizabeth Randall wasn’t self-reliant; she was bad-tempered, bullheaded, and obnoxiously independent.
Any rational woman traveling with a baby would welcome assistance.
However good his intentions, Elizabeth had obviously interpreted his unfortunate words in Denver as criticism and was determined to prove she could manage on her own. When they’d landed in Aspen, she’d been ready to start a tug-of-war over her carry-on luggage. As if a puny little thing like her could stop him from helping her.
Inside the terminal she’d stuck her pretty little nose in the air, making it clear she objected to his presence so he’d wandered off to greet a few acquaintances.
Darned stubborn woman. Nothing but skin and bones. The smallest breeze would blow her away. She’d refused anything to eat or drink on the plane. The kid was a handful, and her shoulders sagged under the combined weight of him and two bags. The only things holding her up were orneriness and a stubborn, excessive pride.
The afternoon sun shining into the terminal set the disordered strands of her red hair aflame. Hair like hers shouldn’t be ruthlessly pinned to the back of her head. It should be free and unrestrained, flying in the wind like the tail of a running horse.
Or spread over a man’s pillow.
Which was a heck of a thought to have about Russ’s daughter. And a widow to boot.
Compassion replaced his irritation. When a woman’s husband had been killed in a car accident the day they’d brought their newborn baby home from the hospital, she was entitled to a little bad temper. Anger was better than the pain and bewilderment he’d caught fleeting glimpses of in the depths of her eyes. Worth sensed that beneath her stubborn independence, Elizabeth Randall was a woman who’d been blindsided by fate and couldn’t understand why something so horrible had happened to her.
From across the terminal she glanced at him and hastily looked away when she saw him watching her. Worth leaned against the wall, folded his arms in front of his chest and waited for her luggage to be unloaded. He was in no hurry. Elizabeth Randall wasn’t going anywhere without him.
Where had he seen eyes that particular shade of olive green before? Worth swallowed a smile when the answer came to him. Emma Jean, his mother’s cat. When something set Emma Jean off, her eyes literally spit anger. A person could tame Emma Jean’s bristling fur. He doubted anything would tame Elizabeth Randall’s bristles.
A man could lose a limb trying.
She had haunted eyes. Set deep in soot-smudged sockets. She didn’t get enough sleep. Didn’t eat enough.
The baby wanted down, fussing and kicking. Every part of her body drooped with weariness, but she smiled at her son, cajoling the little boy into better spirits.
She had a beautiful, glowing smile.
A man could forgive a woman almost anything when she smiled like that.
The luggage appeared, but she made no move toward it. Worth straightened and walked toward her, relieved they weren’t going to fight yet another battle over her bags.
Elizabeth was watching the terminal doors, her face all lumpy as if she were trying not to cry.
Worth immediately berated his stupidity. She expected her father to meet her. Worth should have made the situation clear. Russ wasn’t coming, because Worth was driving her to the ranch.
Elizabeth concentrated on the countryside. She’d never been to Aspen. Hills, green with new grass, climbed from the highway to meet impossibly blue skies.
As blue as Worth Lassiter’s eyes.
He slouched lazily behind the wheel of the sport utility vehicle, but he wasn’t a careless driver.
Her husband had been an impatient driver, speeding between stoplights, weaving in and out of traffic, jamming on his brakes at the last second, swearing and honking at slower drivers. She’d worried his driving would be the death of them all, but it had been another driver’s carelessness which had ended Lawrence’s life.
Beside the road a picture-postcard river rushed around rocks and fishermen, tossing glittery spume into the air. They crossed a bridge where a large blue-and-white crested bird sat motionless on a wire over the river. If she opened her mouth to ask what the bird was, who knew what demons she’d set loose? Her entire body ached with tension. A tension heightened with the intolerable discovery that now, of all the stupid, inconvenient times, she was conscious of being a woman. And all too aware of the man across the car.
“Kingfisher.” Worth Lassiter had seen the direction of her gaze. “He’s been there almost every time I’ve driven by lately.”
Elizabeth knew she ought to respond. Ought to make polite conversation. She groped for something to say.
He spoke first. “Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you. They wanted to be at the ranch when you arrived, but Mom said they should let you recover from your flight before they mobbed you. We didn’t know you could handle them all with one hand and round up the horses with the other.”
Hearing sarcasm in the low, drawling voice, she immediately defended herself. “And I didn’t know you were one of those men who feels threatened by a woman who doesn’t swoon over your muscles.”
After a moment, he asked, “Did I mention I have three sisters?”
“Yes.”
“It’s like living with three stubborn, wrongheaded mules, but they couldn’t provoke me into a fight, and neither can you.”
“Why couldn’t they?”
He gave her a killer smile. “It was a whole lot more fun making them so darned mad because they couldn’t rile me. Cheyenne was the easiest. She’d practically chew the carpet.”
“Sibling rivalry. How charming.”
“No rivalry. Lassiters stick together,” he said in the voice of one stating an obvious, undisputed truth.
Jealousy stabbed at Elizabeth. Maybe if she’d had sisters, a brother, things would have been different.
What would it be like having a brother like Worth Lassiter? She studied him from under lowered lashes. He’d tossed his jacket in the back and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The blue cotton fabric did nothing to disguise the muscled strength of his upper body. Sunlight illuminated light hairs on his tanned lower arms. His big hands were tough and calloused. Like every cowboy she’d ever met, and she’d met a lot of them.
Which made all the more bizarre the disturbing images invading her mind. Not sisterly images, but images she’d never had about other cowboys. Images involving his hands on her body, touching her, loving her while the slow, deep voice drawled endearments in her ear.
Elizabeth squeezed the bag in her lap. Widows didn’t lust after a cowboy, no matter how much his masculinity made her nerve endings quiver. Lust was a purely physical reaction which had nothing to do with love and tenderness.
She must be coming down with something. The flu. She should have eaten more on the plane. Gone to bed earlier last night. Since Lawrence’s death, she’d had trouble sleeping.
There could be a million reasons why she was having this inexplicable reaction to Worth Lassiter.
The answer came to her. Human contact. Male contact. Worth Lassiter was the first man she’d talked to since her husband had died who wasn’t related or trying to sell her something. Jamie had been her excuse for not socializing. The truth was, she couldn’t bear encountering Lawrence’s friends, hearing their expressions of sympathy.
Couldn’t bear wondering which of them knew the unbearable truth.
“Russ worried you wouldn’t come for the wedding. I’m glad you did. A man can’t get married without his only child being there.”
She spoke without thinking. “Russ could.”
“You call your father Russ?”
“I assume you disapprove.”
“We used to call our father Beau. He didn’t like being called Dad.”
“Used to?”
“He died some years back.”
“I’m sorry.” She genuinely was. No one understood better than Elizabeth how devastating the death of another could be. “You must miss him.”
He gave her a quick look of sympathy. “It’s not like with you. Losing a husband…Russ took it hard.”
“I doubt that.” Elizabeth dug her fingernails into her bag at Worth’s bald-faced lie. “Russ intensely disliked Lawrence and tried everything he could to keep me from marrying him.”
Worth’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as memories of a conversation he’d had two days ago with Russ flooded back.
The nervous way Russ had stuttered and stammered had convinced Worth that the older man had changed his mind about marrying Worth’s mother. Worth had been so relieved he hadn’t paid much attention when Russ finally spilled what really bothered him.
His relationship with his daughter Elizabeth.
The scene replayed itself in Worth’s mind with total, crystal-clear recall.
“I was real surprised when Elizabeth agreed to come to the wedding,” Russ had said.
Worth couldn’t imagine why and said so.
Initially, Russ had sidestepped the implied question. “She was such a tiny little thing. If I yelled at her, Elizabeth never cried, but her face would get all funny and her eyes red. I always wanted so much for her. Wished I could give her a perfect world.” He kicked a clod of dirt. “It’s been over a year since her husband Lawrence died, and she’s still mad at me.”
Worth gave the older man a quick look from under his hat brim. “Mad about what?”
Russ wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The funeral. Our best mare was about to foal. We’d almost lost her the time before, but I told Elizabeth I’d come if she needed me. She said she didn’t.”
“You didn’t go to your son-in-law’s funeral?” Worth had to work to keep the disbelief and condemnation out of his voice.
“I knew my ex-wife and her husband would be there. What could I have done they didn’t do? I’d just have been in the way. If Elizabeth wanted me there, she would have said so.” Russ’s defensiveness made plain he didn’t need anyone to point out how wrong he’d been. He already knew.
Worth’s mother once said men had more trouble than women when it came to dealing with death. She said men wanted to fix things, solve problems. Worth guessed the real reason Russ had avoided his son-in-law’s funeral had more to do with Russ hating his inability to make things right for his daughter than putting the needs of a horse before his daughter’s needs. “It’s not too late to tell your daughter you’re sorry you didn’t go.”
Russ rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve tried, but she won’t talk about it. She’s never said it in so many words, but I know she’s convinced I stayed away because I hated Lawrence. I didn’t hate him, but he wasn’t the man for Elizabeth.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Russ went on, “There was something about him. Like he was laughing at something the rest of us didn’t know. I tried to tell Elizabeth and her mother, but they wouldn’t listen.” Russ kicked another clod of dirt. “Lawrence was smart as a whip, and polite, too polite. He reminded me of a rogue horse, the kind you don’t dare turn your back on. Worried me sick when Elizabeth married him.” He uttered a short, bitter curse. “Whatever he was laughing at, he got the last laugh. Because of him, my daughter hates me.”
Worth should have given more weight to Russ’s comments instead of dismissing them as Russ’s guilty conscience talking. Russ was a good man who’d made a mistake. Worth wasn’t exactly perfect himself. Wanting life perfect for your family could lead a man into foolishness at times.
Families understood that and forgave the foolishness and loved the thought behind it.
Worth had assumed that if Russ’s daughter hated Russ, she wouldn’t be coming to the wedding.
Until meeting Elizabeth Randall, it would never have crossed his mind that she might be coming to stop the wedding.
Worth tried to view the situation through her eyes. Her father had disliked her husband, tried to talk her out of marrying him, and had not supported her at her husband’s funeral. He knew anger came with grief. Elizabeth Randall needed to blame someone for her husband’s death. She’d chosen her father.
Russ’s happiness over his upcoming marriage must be unbearable for her, so it must be that she’d come to destroy it. As her happiness had been destroyed.
Worth couldn’t let her do it. For her sake, for Russ’s sake, for his mother’s sake.
For his sake.
After all his years of patiently waiting, no skinny redhead with green cat eyes was going to ruin his plans.
They turned off the highway and crossed the river. Red, clay-like walls rose beside the road before flattening out to rolling ranch land. Colts stood timidly at their mothers’ sides. Darling from a distance, but they’d be huge monsters in a year.
In the backseat the bells on Jamie’s shoes jingled as he kicked his feet and chattered incomprehensibly.
Elizabeth’s hands grew damp. They must be almost there.
Slowing down, Worth Lassiter turned off the road and drove beneath an arched gate made from massive logs. Two wooden circles had been burned into the top cross piece. Elizabeth barely made out the painted words, Hope Valley, on a small sign fastened to the gate. Surprised, she blurted out, “I thought your ranch was called The Double Nickel.”
“It is. Named for Jacob and Anna Nichols, my great-great-grandparents. Anna named the area Hope Valley. She and Jacob were newlyweds who moved out west to build their home and their life here, and she was full of hope.”
Once Elizabeth had been full of hope.
He parked in front of a large, old-fashioned, two-story white frame house. A porch ran the length of the front of the house, one end shaded by an enormous cottonwood tree. Other buildings were scattered about the area, and a corral near a huge barn held a couple of horses. Further afield a half dozen mares grazed, their spindle-legged colts at their sides.
The ranch reminded Elizabeth of every ranch where she’d visited her father. The barn would be dark and gloomy with snarling, half-wild cats. There would be cows and more horses and dust and smells and noise.
She couldn’t stay in the car forever. Worth Lassiter had already gotten out. Elizabeth reached for the door handle.
He beat her to it, opening the door and blocking her way with his body. “Let me give you a little friendly advice, Elizabeth. If you have any issues with Russ, take them up with him, but don’t wreck my mother’s happiness because of them.”
His hat shaded his face, but Elizabeth had no trouble seeing the way his eyes steadily regarded her, almost in warning. A clipped voice had replaced the lazy, dark-honeyed drawl he’d been pouring over her since they’d met in the airport. “What are you talking about?” she asked, confused by the transformation.
He placed his hands on the top of the car, bracing himself as he leaned closer. “You know what I’m talking about, Red. I’m not going to let you hurt my mother. Don’t even think about trying to stop this wedding.”
Too astonished by his assumption to dispute it immediately, she lost her chance as he straightened and walked away. The situation struck her as excruciatingly humorous. She’d been lusting after his body while he’d been imagining some improbable scenario about her trying to keep Russ from marrying his mother.
Russ walked out on the porch with a blond woman. One of the perfect, horse-loving sisters he’d raved about. Elizabeth plastered a smile on her face and stepped from the car.
Her father walked down the porch steps. “I’ll get that luggage, Worth. Hello, Elizabeth, how was your trip?” He stopped a few feet from the car.
