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Nick remained silent, something he’d been from the moment they’d called their truce.
“It’s beautiful,” she added.
“Yup.”
Yup. Obviously the man wasn’t fond of conversation.
There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about his dislike of her. He’d realize she wasn’t the enemy in a few days. And if he didn’t, oh, well. She’d enjoy herself on vacation. Darn it, it’d been too many years since she’d had a good time.
She studied the home at the end of the long, gravel drive, which was horseshoe-shaped with a patch of golf-course-green lawn in the middle of the U.
A mansion.
That was the only way to describe it.
Ali knew from the dude ranch’s Web site that Nick’s great-great-something-or-other had sold everything he’d owned to come out West. Building his wife a mansion had been part of the deal. And so the Diamond W Ranch looked more like it belonged in the South. Four stories tall, the main house had three white columns and a wide, ante-bellum-type porch. Green shutters framed the window like peek-a-boo hands and there was a double door with etched glass sparkling in the afternoon light. Acres and acres of oak trees and some sort of scrub sprouting tiny white flowers surrounded the place.
“Does Colonel Sanders live here?”
When he didn’t crack a smile, she sighed.
What was it about men that she always rubbed them the wrong way? Was she too aggressive? Was that it?
They pulled up in front, Ali oddly at peace as she studied the home.
“My mom’s probably getting dinner ready for the guests,” Nick said. “You might as well go on around to the back where the kitchens are.”
“What if she mistakes me for a servant?”
He looked at her blankly.
“You know. Like in the movies.”
The man had a way of making her feel as if she had antennae sprouting from her head.
“What movies do you watch?”
“The romantic type.”
“Uh-huh.”
And the way he said it…uh-huh. What? Didn’t the man ever go on dates?
He opened his truck door.
Apparently not.
Her hopes of hiring him faded with each passing second. And it wasn’t so much that she didn’t think he’d take the job, it was more that she was beginning to wonder if he was the right person for the job. He has a nice smile. Well, yeah…if he ever used it.
The California sun had started to set, but it was still high enough in the sky that she felt it beat down on her head when she got out of the truck. Bits of white pollen floated on currents of air, and Ali wondered if they came from the scrub trees. And the smell. She tipped her head back and simply inhaled. It smelled like an Old West movie. Okay, like she imagined an Old West movie would smell. Like hay and dust and just the faintest hint of livestock.
“Leave your cat here,” he said when she started to reach behind the seat to grab Mr. Clean. “You can get him after checking in with my mom.”
“Got it.”
He crammed his hat on his head as he came around her side of the big truck, and Ali had an out-of-body experience. One that had her blushing in mortification at the image of him scooping her up in his arms, mounting his horse and riding off into the sunset.
Time to get a life. She watched as he turned away, led her up the front steps, his spurs ching-ching-chinging on the well-worn steps, then turned left and followed the porch around. The man had shoulders so wide he looked like a walking suit of armor. Muscular legs supported the cutest butt she’d ever seen—
Ali!
Well, she could look, right? She was on vacation. Va-ca-tion, and since Dr. Doom and Gloom looked to be a dead end, she may as well get into the swing of things. And, no, she didn’t go in for flings, but she enjoyed a very active fantasy life. She had a feeling she’d be dreaming of cowboys tonight.
They passed a set of French doors, and then another set, the porch nearly as wide as a car. And then she caught a whiff of something, something that smelled like mouth-watering food. Butter, chives and…fried chicken.
“Oh, man.”
“What?” Nick asked as he stopped in front of an old-fashioned half door, the top portion swung open.
“That smells so good.”
He pulled open the bottom half of the door and said, “Mom, the woman you want me to marry is here.”
IF NICK HAD BEEN in a better mood he would have laughed at the expression on Alison Forester’s face.
“Nick,” his mother said, either ignoring him or not having heard him. “What are you doing here?”
“Mom, you wanted me to meet her, didn’t you? I know for sure there’s a waiting list to stay here. Ms. Forester seems to have magically risen to the top.”
It was funny, really, because everyone in the kitchen pointedly avoided looking their way, and there were a lot of people in the kitchen. But they were probably used to this conversation, or various forms of it. If she wasn’t harping on him about going back to a “real job,” his mom was trying to get him married off. Nick wished she’d make up her mind which she wanted most…not that he was going along with either of her plans. Not now. Not ever.
“Why, Nicholas Sheppard,” his mom said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And to make matters worse, she shot Alison a glance meant to convince her of her innocence. “I’m Martha Sheppard,” she said, holding out her hand.
About as innocent as a barn cat stalking a mouse. Oh, yeah, Nick could see the way her eyes looked Alison over, as the two shook hands. She clearly approved of what she saw.
Wide hips. Check.
Ample breasts. Check.
Nice teeth. Check.
Nick decided to nip this right in the bud.
“She’s already seeing someone.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Allison said. “And I’m sorry your son doesn’t want to marry me.” She shot him a teasing look. “But it’s actually a relief. I’ve never married a man I’ve never kissed before.”
“I guess this means we’ll have to cancel the wedding,” his mom said, wiping her hands on her apron, which read, Old Women Make Better Lovers. A present from her best friend, Flora.
“I guess so,” Alison said. “Though I was really looking forward to tasting your pâté. Say, could I have a bite of whatever’s cooking in the oven instead?”
His mom laughed, and Nick went still. He loved his mom’s laughter, had missed the sound since…
The chasm left by his father’s death once again overwhelmed him. They were all still suffering.
Alison extended her arm toward his mother.
And that was when he saw it. The telltale redness just beneath Alison Forester’s cuffs. Burn marks.
What?
“Good to meet you, Alison, though I’m sorry to have to cancel your wedding.”
“That’s okay,” Alison said, returning his mom’s clasp. “I look like hell in white.”
That made his mom laugh again. But Nick had eyes only for Alison’s left arm. Burn marks. He scanned the rest of her. There was another patch just at the nape of her neck, one that disappeared beneath her shirt.
“Nick,” his mom said, drawing his eyes back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Ms. Forester was coming. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Someone canceled and when I called the other people on the list, none of them could come. Ms. Forester’s timing was perfect. Not that I don’t think she’d make a lovely bride.”
And with that, she turned back to Alison. “Come here, sweetie. I’ll give you a taste of my famous honey-pecan-fried chicken.”
Nick watched her follow his mother. The knowledge that at some point she’d been a burn victim, a bad burn by the looks of it, completely skewed his perception of her.
“Good?” his mother asked after handing her a forkful of chicken. He watched as she took a bite, her eyes closing as she chewed and swallowed. “Mmm,” she said, and God help him, he couldn’t take his gaze away from the sugary sheen on her lips.
Obviously he’d spent too much time out in the sun.
“Do you have any other sons I might be able to marry?” Alison asked. “I hate the thought of never tasting this again.”
“As a matter of fact, I do—”
“Mom,” Nick interrupted. His eyes darted to Alison’s cuff again. She must have seen him because she self-consciously touched her wrist, confirming that she’d figured out what he’d been looking at.
“Don’t encourage her,” he said with a smile, suddenly feeling bad.
“I’ll try not to,” she answered in her Southern drawl.
“I’ll go get your stuff.” Crap. He really wished she wasn’t sticking around. She reminded him of…things he’d rather forget.
Such as his job.
“I’ll come with you,” Alison said.
“You staying for dinner?” his mom asked Nick.
“I’m having dinner with the Berringers tonight.”
“I thought you looked mighty dressed up for rodeo practice.”
“I changed at the arena.”
“Yeah, right out in the open,” Alison said.
She had a nice smile.
His mom waved a hand dismissively. “They all do that,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “If you ever want a show, go behind the chutes during a rodeo. I swear those boys have no sense of decency.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” Alison said.
“And since you’re here, why don’t you have dinner with us? The Berringers will understand,” his mom added.
“Mom, you know I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“Scott wants to talk to me about purchasing some of our cattle.”
“You can do that over the phone.”
“Mom,” Nick said sternly, “it’s too late to cancel.”
“Nonsense. Tell them you got hung up bringing a guest to the ranch. It’s true, and if you stay, you’ll even up my numbers.”
“Mom—”
“Nick Sheppard, I don’t get to see you often enough as it is what with you off to rodeos all the time. I’ll call and explain the situation.”
“No, don’t do that,” Nick said, beginning to realize he fought a losing battle.
“Good, then you call.”
“What’s the matter?” Alison asked in an aside. “Worried I’ll bite?”
Was that a flirtatious look in her eyes? Or was he just imagining that?
Imagining it, he decided when she couldn’t look him in the eyes.
And why did he feel warm?
He squared his shoulders as he asked, “Where’s she sleeping?”
“In one of the bunkhouses.”
He knew he wouldn’t like the answer to his next question, but he had to ask. “Which one?”
“Number two.”
Yup. Exactly as he’d thought.
