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Jumping, she almost dropped the bowls she held as she spun around to face Donaldson. Her heart racing, she took a deep breath. “I think you just took ten years off my life.”
“Sorry,” he said, hanging his hat on a peg by the door before pouring himself a mug of coffee. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me.” His deep chuckle sent a wave of goose bumps shimmering over her skin. “It’s kind of hard not to make noise in a pair of boots on a hardwood floor.”
Her heart skipped a beat as her gaze traveled the length of him, down to his scuffed cowboy boots. No man had a right to look that good so early in the morning.
Last night at the party, she had thought he was extremely handsome in his dark blue jeans, white oxford-cloth shirt and expensive caiman-leather boots. But that was nothing compared to the way he looked now. Wearing well-worn jeans and a chambray work shirt, he was downright devastating. With his dark eyes, black hair and a fashionable day’s growth of beard stubble, Donaldson had that bad boy appeal about him that was sure to send shivers up the spine of any woman with a pulse.
Disgusted with herself and her wayward thoughts, Taylor set the metal mixing bowls on the counter and reached for a carton of eggs. “Where’s my grandfather’s housekeeper?”
“Marie retired right after the first of the year and I just haven’t gotten around to hiring another one,” he answered.
She wasn’t surprised. The woman her grandfather had hired after her grandmother died had to be getting close to seventy. But on the other hand, she wouldn’t have put it past Donaldson to have fired the woman, either.
“I’ll have breakfast ready in a few minutes,” she said, cracking eggs into one of the bowls with one hand while she reached for a whisk with the other. “Why don’t you have a seat at the table?”
“What are you making?” he asked as he sat down at the head of the oak trestle table that had been in her grandmother’s family for over three generations.
“Blueberry and ricotta–stuffed French toast with blueberry syrup, link sausage and blueberries and cantaloupe covered with vanilla sauce,” she said, dipping extra thick slices of bread in the cinnamon-spiced egg mixture before placing them on the heated stovetop griddle.
“Sounds good, but isn’t that a little fancy for a typical ranch breakfast?” he commented. “You must really like to cook.”
She shrugged. “Since I graduated from the California School of Culinary Arts, then went to Paris for a year to study pastry, you might say I’m rather fond of it.”
“Do you have your own restaurant?”
Arranging the food on two plates, she shook her head. “No, I’m a personal chef. I’m mainly hired for dinner parties and other special in-home occasions, like graduation and anniversary celebrations.”
“That sounds like an interesting job,” he said conversationally. “Do you have many clients?”
Nodding, she poured vanilla sauce over the fruit. “When I first started, I registered with the personal chef association and they referred clients to me. Now the majority of the calls I get are referrals from clients or from people who have attended the dinner parties I’ve prepared.”
“You must be good at what you do,” he said, sounding thoughtful.
Taylor carried the plates over to the table and sat down. “I’ll let you be the judge.” She watched him eye the food in front of him as if he wasn’t sure it was safe to eat. Barely resisting the urge to laugh, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
“You made your opinion of me quite clear last night, so I’m sure you can understand my hesitation,” he said, giving her a deliberate smile.
“It’s true that I don’t completely trust you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t trust me.” She switched his plate with hers. “Now you have no reason not to try it.”
Picking up his knife and fork, he cut into the French toast. “What do you say we start over?” he suggested. “The least we can do is be civil to each other until you go back to Los Angeles.”
“I agree that being polite to each other would make negotiations for my buying your share of the ranch a lot easier,” she agreed, taking a bite of fruit.
“I told you last night I’m not selling. But you could always sell your half to me,” he said, taking a bite of toast.
“Absolutely not. I love the Lucky Ace. It represents the best part of my childhood.” Irritated by his offer to buy her share, Taylor put her fork down to glare at him. “My grandfather knew how much this place meant to me and he intended for me to have it. I’m not selling it to you or anyone else.”
Donaldson calmly took a sip of his coffee. “Then before you go back to Los Angeles, we’ll have to work out an agreement on how I run the day-to-day operations and how often you want to receive dividend checks.”
“I’m not going back to L.A.,” she said, taking great satisfaction in the annoyed expression that came over his handsome face.
A forkful of toast halfway to his mouth, he slowly lowered it back to his plate. “What do you mean you aren’t going back?”
Her appetite deserting her, she rose from the table to scrape the contents of her plate in the garbage disposal. “I have every intention of making the Lucky Ace my permanent home.”
“What about your clients back in Los Angeles?” he asked, looking more irritated with each passing second. “And that backpack wasn’t big enough to hold more than a handful of clothes.”
“I informed my clients of the move over a week ago and arranged for another chef to cover the dinner parties I had scheduled,” she said, watching the frown lines on his forehead deepen further. “I sublet my apartment, stored my furniture, and the clothes I was unable to bring with me in the car, I shipped here. Those cartons should arrive sometime next week. I told you last night when you went out to get my backpack that I was here to run the ranch and would get the rest of my things from the car today.”
He suddenly got up from the table, walked over to scrape his plate, then reached for the hat hanging beside the back door.
“Will you be back for lunch?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then I’ll have plenty of time to clean my room this morning before I bring my things in from the car and put them away this afternoon,” she said thoughtfully.
“I’ll go over to the bunkhouse and see if I can get one of the men to help you with that,” he answered without turning around.
Before she could thank him for his thoughtfulness, he opened the door to walk out onto the porch then forcefully pulled it shut behind him.
“He took that better than what I thought he would,” she murmured as she started rinsing their dishes to put into the dishwasher. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but Donaldson’s passive acceptance of her moving into the ranch house hadn’t been it.
Of course, she wasn’t foolish enough to think that he had given up trying to get her to sell her part of the ranch to him. But maybe now that he knew she was serious about living at the ranch, he was giving a little more thought to selling her his.
* * *
Lane rode his blue roan gelding across the pasture toward the barn at a slow walk. He had to find some way to get Taylor to sell him her share of the ranch. Or if that wasn’t something she was willing to do, at least get her to go back to Los Angeles and leave him the hell alone.
He could appreciate her sentimentality about the place her grandfather owned. But he had become attached to the property as well. For the first time in over twenty years he had a place he could truly call his own. It felt good and he wasn’t willing to give that up.
As he stared off across the land, he thought about the plans he had for the future. He’d made a fortune playing poker and having invested wisely, he never had to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to. But he didn’t consider playing poker or ranching actual jobs. Poker was a pastime. He enjoyed the challenge of competing with other equally skilled players and if he ever lost interest in it, he’d quit with no regrets. But ranching was a lifestyle, and up until six months ago, he hadn’t even realized how much he had missed it. That’s why he intended to improve the Lucky Ace by introducing a herd of free-range cattle, as well as start raising and training roping horses for rodeo.
But all that could change if Taylor insisted on living on the ranch and taking an active role in running it. That’s why he spent the entire day riding fence, repairing windmills and tightening gates, whether they needed it or not. Keeping busy helped him think. Unfortunately, he didn’t arrive at any conclusions other than that Taylor was just as stubborn about selling her share of the ranch as he was.
When he’d won half of the Lucky Ace last fall, he had fully intended to sell it back to Ben. But the old man had asked that Lane move in and oversee the day-to-day running of the ranch while he spent the winter with his family in California. Ben had told him they would talk again in the spring and Lane could let him know if he still wanted to sell the property back to him. It had seemed like a reasonable request and Lane had agreed. But the past six months had reminded him of his time at the Last Chance Ranch and he’d decided that he might have been a little too hasty about offering to sell his interest back to Cunningham.
Lane stared off into the distance. As it turned out, being sent to the Last Chance Ranch as a teen and placed in the care of his foster father, Hank Calvert, had been the best thing that had ever happened to Lane and he had nothing but fond memories of the time he’d spent there.
Hank had been the wisest man Lane had ever had the privilege to know. He’d not only taught the boys in his care to work through their anger and self-destructive behavior by using ranch chores and rodeo, he had taught them a code of conduct that they all adhered to even as adults. Lane and the men he still called his brothers had all become honest, productive members of society because of their time with Hank. Along the way, they had bonded into a family that remained as strong, if not stronger, than any traditional family tied together by blood.
He drew in a deep breath. Even though he had overcome his past, gained a family he loved and, with Hank’s help, managed to save enough money from his junior rodeo earnings to make restitution to the people he had conned or stolen from, Lane didn’t particularly like being reminded of his youthful problems.
Of course, he hadn’t had much of choice in what he’d done. But stealing was stealing and whether he’d had a good reason or not, being a con artist and a thief was still wrong.
That’s why he’d had such a strong reaction when Taylor accused him of swindling her grandfather. She had unwittingly reminded him of what he had been and what he might have continued to be if he hadn’t straightened up his act.
Riding into the ranch yard, he dismounted Blue and led the gelding into the barn. As he removed the horse’s saddle and began brushing the animal’s bluish-gray coat, Lane reviewed his options.
He supposed he could sell Taylor his half of the ranch, then look around for another property. But he rejected that idea immediately. Texas might be a huge state, but there weren’t that many ranches the size of the Lucky Ace up for sale. Nor were any of them located close enough that he would be able to see his brothers regularly or be there for them if they needed him. Besides, he had won his half of the ranch fair and square and no one was going to guilt him into selling it—not even a hot-as-hell redhead with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen and a figure that made him want to spend endless hours exploring it.
When his body stirred from just thinking about her, he stopped grooming the roan and cursed his neglected libido as he led the horse into its stall. That did it. When Lane started to find a woman who frustrated him to the brink of insanity attractive enough to incite a case of lust, it was time to do something about it. As soon as he took a quick shower and got ready, he was going to make a trip over to that little honky-tonk in Beaver Dam and see if he couldn’t find a warm, willing female to help him scratch this itch. Maybe then he would be able to forget how desirable Taylor Scott was and start thinking of her as he would think of any other business partner.
With a firm plan in place, he walked purposefully across the ranch yard and climbed the porch steps. “Taylor, I won’t be here for supper,” he said as he entered the kitchen. “I’m going over to—” He stopped short when she vigorously shook her head. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking over to where she stood at the counter mixing something in a bowl.
She nodded toward the hall. “I can’t get rid of the cowboy you assigned to help me carry my things in from the car,” she whispered.
“I didn’t assign him to do anything,” Lane said, careful to keep his voice low. “When I mentioned you needed help, he volunteered.”
“Whatever. I can’t get him to leave,” she insisted. “We finished unloading the car over an hour ago, but he keeps coming up with excuses to stick around. I even gave up putting my clothes away because I wasn’t comfortable with him lurking in the doorway watching me.”
Standing so close to her, breathing in the light scent of her herbal shampoo and noticing the perfection of her coral lips, caused every nerve in Lane’s body to come to full alert. He took a step back, then another.
To distract himself from the temptation she posed, he asked, “Where’s he now and what is he doing?”
“He’s in the living room building a fire in the fireplace,” she answered.
“It’s May and the air conditioning is on. The last thing we need is to heat up the house with a fire,” Lane said, frowning. “Whose bright idea was that?”
“Mine.” She set the bowl aside and reached for some small white ceramic ramekins. “I had to think of something to keep him busy until you got back from wherever it was you went this morning.”
“I was out riding fence and repairing some of the windmills,” he answered defensively. He didn’t owe her an explanation of his whereabouts, so why did he feel compelled to give her one?
“It’s Sunday and after they tend to the livestock, even the hired men have the day off,” she said, her tone disapproving. “Couldn’t those chores have waited until tomorrow?”
It suddenly occurred to Lane that the impatience in Taylor’s voice stemmed from her uneasiness about being around the man in the other room, not because she was annoyed by his daylong absence from the house.
“I’ll get rid of him,” he said, turning toward the hall. When he walked into the living room he found Roy Lee Wilks kneeling beside the fireplace, failing miserably at building a fire in the stone firebox. “Don’t worry about the fire, Roy Lee. I don’t think we’ll be needing it. It’s well over eighty degrees outside.”
“Hey there, boss,” the young man said, sitting back on his heels. “I wondered why Ms. Scott wanted me to build a fire.” He removed his sweat-stained ball cap to run a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “I wasn’t having much luck at getting it started anyway.”
Lane checked his watch. “Marty should just about have supper ready over at the bunkhouse. It would probably be a good idea to get over there before Cletus eats his share and yours, too.”
Putting his cap back on, Roy Lee rose to his feet and nodded. “I’ll do that as soon as I check with Ms. Scott to see if she needs me to do anything else.”
Lane shook his head. “Thanks, but you’ve spent most of your day off helping her and I’m sure you’d like to rest up before you move that herd of heifers over to the north pasture tomorrow morning. If she wants something else done, I’ll take care of it.”
The man looked as though he might want to argue the point, but apparently he decided that crossing the boss might not be a wise choice. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then,” he finally said, turning toward the hall.
Lane leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway and waited for Roy Lee to bid Taylor a good evening and leave before he walked over to where she stood at the counter finishing the dessert she was working on. “Now that your problem is solved with Roy Lee, I’m going to take a shower and drive over to Beaver Dam for the evening.”
“You won’t be here for dinner?” she asked, looking disappointed. “I’m making prime rib, twice-baked potatoes with herbs and cheese, asparagus spears with hollandaise sauce and cr?me br?lеe for dessert.”
She had apparently been too distracted by wanting to get rid of Roy Lee to have heard him tell her earlier that he was leaving for the evening. He shifted from one foot to the other as he stared into her crystalline green eyes. She was going to a lot of trouble making dinner and if the look on her pretty face was any indication, she was going to be extremely disappointed if he didn’t stick around to eat it. He decided right then and there that if he wanted to talk her into selling her share of the ranch to him, or at the very least convince her to go back to L.A., he was going to have to placate her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her to agree to anything.
“I thought you might not feel like making dinner after spending the day unpacking and arranging your things,” he lied.
She gave him a smile that caused a hitch in his breathing. “Cooking is one of the ways I relax.”
“Do I have time to take a quick shower before dinner?” he asked, unbuttoning the cuffs of his work shirt.
“Sure.” She placed the ceramic ramekins in a pan with water in the bottom, then began to fill them with the cr?me br?lеe mixture. “Everything should be ready by the time you come back downstairs.”
Nodding, Lane clenched his jaw as he walked out of the kitchen and headed upstairs. He wasn’t the least bit happy about the change in his plans for the evening. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. It was one of those damned if he did and damned if he didn’t situations where no matter what he chose to do, he’d be the one suffering the consequences.
Taylor would take it as a deliberate insult if he didn’t have dinner with her and insulting her would make it impossible to talk to her about the future of the ranch. And then there was the matter of the itch he needed to scratch. Just being in the same room with her seemed to charge the atmosphere with a tension that sent hormones racing through his veins at the speed of light, reminding him that he was a man with a man’s needs.
When his body tightened in response to that thought, he muttered a guttural curse and headed straight into the bathroom to turn on the cold water. Stripping off his dusty clothes, he stepped inside and hoped the icy spray would clear his head, as well as traumatize his body into submission.
As he stood there with his teeth chattering like a pair of cheap castanets, a plan began to take shape in his mind. If successful, it would settle things once and for all. And the sooner he got Taylor to agree to it, the better.
If he didn’t, he had a feeling one of two things would happen. She would either drive him completely insane or he would end up suffering frostbite on parts of his body that no man ever wanted to think about freezing.
Three
“Thank you for getting rid of Roy Lee for me,” Taylor said as she sat down in the chair Donaldson held for her. “I was so relieved to finally have him out of the house, I forgot to thank you earlier.”
He shrugged as he sat down at the head of the table. “I don’t think he meant any harm.”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “He’s just always seemed a little creepy to me, even as a teenager.”
“So you’ve known him a long time?”
She nodded. “He started working summers here before he got out of high school.” Pausing, she had to think back. “That would have been about twelve years ago.”
“Besides overstaying his welcome this afternoon, has Roy Lee ever said or done anything else that made you feel uncomfortable?” Donaldson asked, taking a sip of the cabernet she’d had him open and pour for them.
“Not really.” Pushing the asparagus spears around her plate with her fork, she tried to put into words how she felt whenever she was around the man. “I know it’s probably just my imagination, but he seems to watch every move I make.” Looking up, she added, “You know, like those paintings with eyes that follow you around the room.” She couldn’t keep from shuddering. “He’s that kind of creepy.”
“I’ll try to make sure he stays away from the house,” Donaldson said, taking a bite of his prime rib. Swallowing the tender beef, he smiled. “This is really good.”
“Thank you,” she answered, hoping her cooking worked its magic and put him in a good mood. “I’m glad you like it.”
They fell into an awkward silence for the rest of the meal and by the time they finished dessert, Taylor’s nerves felt ready to snap. Yesterday she had tried talking him into selling his share of the ranch to her and that hadn’t worked. Hopefully there was something to the old adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Only in this case, she was hoping to appeal to his sense of justice. The Lucky Ace had been in her family for years and her grandfather had known just how much the place meant to her. He’d always told her that one day he wanted it to be hers and not once had he mentioned that he intended for her to share it with someone else.
“After we get the kitchen cleaned up, I’d like to discuss something with you,” Donaldson said, interrupting her troubled thoughts.
“About the ranch?” she asked, afraid to hope that he had changed his mind and was going to be reasonable about it.
He nodded as he rose to his feet and reached for her empty ramekin. “It’s a nice evening. I thought we could go out on the front porch and watch the sun go down while we talk.”
Getting up from the table, she walked over and began rinsing their dishes to put into the dishwasher while he put the leftover prime rib in a plastic storage container and placed it in the refrigerator. As they worked side by side to clean the kitchen, Taylor’s nervousness increased tenfold, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with their upcoming discussion about the ranch.
Why did she have to notice how handsome Donaldson looked in his black shirt and jeans? And why did he have to smell so darned good? There was something about the combination of expensive leather and the scent of clean male skin that was just plain sexy.
Their fingers touched as he handed her their wineglasses and Taylor felt a streak of longing course straight through her. She came dangerously close to dropping one of the delicate crystal goblets.
“It won’t take me more than a few minutes to finish up here.” She cleared her throat and hoped her voice didn’t sound as husky to him as it did to her. “Why don’t you go on out to the porch?”
