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The unnerving impulse to wrap her braid around his fist and draw her head up for his kiss startled Rio. He inhaled sharply, dismissing the impulse. He was too tired and his body was protesting the long drive followed by the bus trip. Paloma. He couldn’t be attracted to Paloma, the woman. He reached over to push her glasses up, to rest upon her head. He wanted to see her eyes, that bright, cutting glare, locking with his gaze. On base level she didn’t like him, she didn’t trust him, and her expression was wary. “Why don’t we talk over breakfast?”
“I’ll bet you’ve said that line a few times in your life,” she purred and walked from him into the café. Her odd stride did not distract from the sensuous sway of her long braid above her slender hips and endless tight jeans.
Rio leaned back against the bus, studying her. Paloma wasn’t feminine or sweet; yet for an instant, her fragrance had caught him. The beauty of her hands had startled him, fascinated him; the sleek sway of her braid had hitched up his sensual interest, surprising him.
Nettled, tired and uncomfortable with that brief attraction, he shoved away from the bus. He preferred soft, easygoing women with curves.... Rio grimaced—not at the ladies waiting to surround him in the café, but at himself. He had to get out more often. His brother, Roman’s, recent marriage had stirred Rio’s own mating instincts. Admittedly a romantic, Rio had prowled through potential mates, dating frequently. He hadn’t found a woman who excited his nesting urges, who could take his breath away. An adult Blaylock male, he knew the difference between lust and caring, and he needed to cherish and be cherished. He couldn’t settle for less.
He glanced warily at Mrs. Reeves, who was waving to him from the café, and settled into his thoughts: he wasn’t feeling delicate and alone. Oh, hell, maybe he was. He wanted a woman to hold, to wear his ring, to continue what Blaylocks were bred to do—make families and lives and love one woman for eternity. Just looking at Roman and Kallista, now expecting their first child, caused Rio to want his own child...with the right woman. He admitted reluctantly to the nesting urge, a biological need to create a home and a family, to protect them. Else, his sister, had stopped pushing unmarried women at him and Rio understood—Else had spotted that nesting urge in him and had decided to let nature take its course, just as it had with Roman, Dan, Logan and James. The youngest Blaylock, Tyrell, was too busy in New York as a top corporate financial officer to think about a long-term nest; Tyrell liked corporate games, fed upon them.
Rio lifted his face to the cold wind, aching for Wyoming, and hurting for the little boy who plagued his nightmares... he’d been too late to save little Trey Whiteman. He had to find peace—and Paloma Forbes wasn’t it.
Later at the bingo hall, the ladies played, concentrating with deadly intent upon the caller’s numbers and then yelling when they won—or didn’t. Rio settled back to watch Paloma. Obviously enjoying herself, she moved between the players, sometimes sitting to chat and help, but never played herself. A restless woman, Paloma had ignored him. Now, her sleek blue-black hair loose and swaying around her shoulders and back as she moved, she looked relaxed, her laughter almost melodic and gone too quickly as if it had escaped her locked keeping. That odd dimple in her left cheek appeared and deepened as she grinned. She touched the women as if cherishing each one, amusement softening her face. She’d given them a gift—driving the bus and caring for them—and she enjoyed their delight.
Rio frowned slightly. That silky hair was too sensuous, shifting around her body as if needing to be tamed, and treasured by a man’s soothing hand. He pushed the thought away. He wasn’t interested in Paloma as an intriguing woman—a candidate for marriage—but something about her unshielded, gentle expression snared his heart.
“Did you get those new shorts, sonny?” Mrs. Dipper asked as she passed him, her arms filled with a stuffed teddy bear, her bingo prize. When he nodded curtly, she backed up close to him and called, “Mable? Do you have your camera? I want a shot of Sonny and me canoodling. He got those new shorts,” she called loudly to the other women, who nodded in approval.
Rio inhaled slowly. He always kept his word and now he was paying for it. The Blaylock males were trained to be courteous to females by their mother, who used her wooden spoon with unerring precision. Or there was that painful ear-twist thing. He reluctantly placed his arm around Mrs. Dipper as she had directed. She cuddled up to him, her hand looping around his waist as Mable shot the picture. Rio bent to collect the colored markers that Elizabeth had just spilled to the floor. “Did you get our errands done, sonny?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Rio nodded. “I got everything on the lists and put the sacks in the bus. Your change is in the sacks.”
“You’re such a good boy,” she whispered before she cupped his face and kissed him full on the lips. When he managed to pry himself away, he met Paloma’s gaze—and found there undisguised contempt.
Rio stepped up into the darkened, cold bus and quietly closed the door behind him. After an entire day of trying to talk with Paloma and being dismissed, or else distracted by the ladies who really appreciated their “good luck cowboy,” he’d finally cornered his elusive business partner.
He placed the insulated hot food container on a seat and studied her in the shadows. She lay curled on the back seat that stretched across the bus, amid a clutter of tiny floral and silk pillows. Sleeping on her side, snuggled deep in a down camping bag, Paloma had lost her defensive, hard look. Her lashes curled in dark fringes across her pale skin, while those elegant yet strong fingers, now at rest, lay upward, exposing the soft center of her palms. Without her elastic supports, her wrists looked fragile, the inner skin gleaming palely in the shadows. Her hair draped and fell around her like a shimmering black waterfall.
She sighed in her sleep, turning to her back, her hands lying at her side, and the soft line of her breasts flowed beneath the sleeping bag. That exotic scent curled to him and he fought the impulse to draw it into him, to appreciate the womanly fragrance as he might if he wanted to know the woman more intimately. Detennined to wait until she awoke, he settled into the seat in front of her. He drew up his coat, then tucked a floral satin pillow behind his head and a pink afghan over his legs to keep warm. He rested his legs on the seat opposite his, preventing Paloma’s escape, and waited. It was peaceful in the cold bus, with only the slight sound of the woman’s slow, deep breathing.
A hunter, Rio sensed when she awoke, and instinctively his hand shot out to capture her wrist. She jerked it away, leaving him with the silky-soft feel of her skin. Swinging her legs and feet, encased in the sleeping bag, to the floor, Paloma glared at him. In the shadowy interior, her eyes flashed silver. “Get out of my bus.”
“Not a chance. I brought your dinner...you need to eat. And we can talk.” Rio poured a cup of the hot soup and handed it to her. She’d awakened too fiercely; at some time in her life, she’d had to protect herself when she slept.
Distracted and apparently hungry, Paloma sniffed the soup appreciatively, and Rio tossed a spoon onto her lap. “Shrimp bisque.”
“I’m not eating this.” Paloma dipped the spoon into the soup and stirred it before lifting the first spoonful to her lips. She reminded Rio of a wary kitten—hungry, yet ready to scratch and hiss.
“Too bad. It goes with the fettuccine Alfredo.” He almost smiled at Paloma’s light, reluctant groan as he unzipped the hot food bag to show the platter to her, then zipped it again.
The lady has a healthy appetite, he thought as Paloma quickly finished the soup and dived into the hot fettuccine, expertly winding it around her fork. He couldn’t resist a taunting nudge after all she’d put him through; her blue eyes flashed at him as he asked, “This isn’t so bad, is it? Us sharing the same air?”
“You’re persistent,” she said around a mouthful of pasta. “I don’t like that trait And I don’t like being studied. Every time I turn around, you’re there with that dark narrowed expression—as if you’re hunting something and I’m it. That may get you to first base with most women, but I’m not buying. I’m certain you can find a woman more to your liking—you’ve got the experience.”
Rio wanted to wrap his fist in that mass of sleek black hair and—She was baiting him, looking for a reason to block negotiations on the feed store; he wouldn’t give her the chance. Letting her taunt drop into the shadows, he said evenly, “With you as a careless partner, I’m legally tied at every decision. I live in Jasmine. I want that feed store to continue as it has since pioneer days, when it was a trading post” Then he asked the question that had lurked in his mind since he’d met Paloma. “Exactly what do you have against me?”
Dislike shot out of her like a steel-tipped arrow. “Does it matter?”
“I’ll live without your love, lady, but I’m curious.”
“I don’t like being pushed or trapped. It’s that simple. And I don’t like ladies’ men. You’re obviously one of the breed. I just let you come along because my ladies enjoyed patting that good luck rear so much.”
When she smirked, Rio fought that slight, rising edge to his temper. Then it cut through his control. “I like women. I enjoy them. Sorting through them is basic to getting the home and family I want... What are you afraid of, Paloma? Returning to Jasmine? Facing Boone’s death? Me?” he shot at her, the shadows quivering around them.
“Lay off,” she warned him in a low, dangerous purr, and her hand tightened on the plate.
“I’d say, it’s all of the above. You throw that pasta at me and you’re in for it.” He stood and braced each hand on either side of the seats, then leaned down toward her. “There’s hot water in the thermos and your choice of herbal teas in the bag... This temperamental artist bull is a cover. You’re afraid, of something, lady, and that’s why you’re running. Make it easy on yourself and sell. Then you won’t have to face whatever is in Jasmine that terrifies you, and you’ll have a nice little profit.”
He took his time, running his finger slowly down the straight line of her nose. He thoroughly enjoyed touching Paloma, surprising her, unraveling all those nasty, exciting, unpredictable edges. When she reached to slash at his hand, Rio caught hers, held it just long enough to test her will against his, then lifted it to his lips. Her skin was ever so soft and fitted his hand, his mouth—He pressed a kiss into her palm and straightened to watch her reaction; her expression was stunned, pleasing him. Paloma’s sleeping bag began to slide down—with her in it Rio placed his hands under her arms and lifted her back up to sit. “The material is slippery,” she explained quickly.
He’d expected and enjoyed the quick, irritated rubbing away of his kiss on her palm against her thigh, the dark thunderous look and the temper vibrating in her husky, low, uneven tone. “Don’t threaten me. Why don’t you just mosey along out of here?”
“You’re afraid, slim. And you’re running,” he repeated, tossing the challenge at her before he turned and walked to the exit. “Let me know when you’re ready to sell.”
Two
Kallista Blaylock eased to her side, the baby kicking to protest the move as she snuggled into her husband’s arms. Roman Blaylock was certainly a comfortable man. Early March swooped around the corners of the addition they’d made to Boone Llewlyn’s stately two-story home. Snug in her bed, Cindi, another granddaughter of Boone’s, slept soundly. Cindi didn’t know yet that she was really Kallista’s half sister, and Boone’s granddaughter—but in time she would. Meanwhile, Roman had adopted her to keep her safe. The eleven-year-old child had had enough trauma in her life, thanks to her parents. Boone Llewlyn’s irresponsible, bigamist sons had left a trail of unwanted children. But Boone had provided for his grandchildren, Kallista and the rest; he’d paid a fortune to keep his sons’ offspring from publicly being branded as illegal. They only knew their grandfather as a family friend, their parents dropping them off to visit the old man. As executor of Boone’s estate, Roman had been given the secret task of bringing each one home—to the big Llewlyn ranch. When it was time, each of Boone’s grandchildren would know how their grandfather loved them. Kallista’s fingertip stroked Roman’s curved lips. “Roman, are you going to tell me what’s pleasing you so much these days? Other than the baby.”
His big hand moved to circle and warm the hard mound, their baby, and she sighed. Against her cheek, Roman grinned and she punched him lightly. “Okay, I’m not worried about Paloma Forbes returning to Jasmine. She’s half owner of the feed store, and since Rio went to buy her out, he’s been acting like a growly old bear. Else thinks he’s found ‘the one.”’
“Boone kept files on all of us grandchildren, and his file on Paloma said she’s not looking. Something happened in her early twenties and she hasn’t dated since. Roman, can’t you tell Paloma who she is—Boone’s granddaughter? She’s had such a rough life. As a child, her mother drove her ruthlessly. She was left in hotels, locked in rooms alone and poorly fed and clothed—until it was time for her to perform.”
“All of you have had a hard time, but I promised Boone that I wouldn’t tell anyone but my wife—and his grandchildren, when it was time for them to know. It’s not time yet, to tell Paloma. Boone wanted them to come here, to love the land, before telling them. You know, she’s the image of his mother. Tough, too. ‘Made to stand the weather.’ She won’t give up her half of the feed store. But Rio never backs off once he’s set on a course.”
Kallista punched his side again. “You’re enjoying this. Women dote on your brother. He’s easygoing and lovable... and used to doing as he pleases.”
Roman grinned again. “So is she. She’s the payback for the easy life Rio’s had with women, though he hasn’t been in the dating game for years.”
Roman turned to bend over his wife, love in his eyes. “If Rio decides she’s the one, he’ll go after her. Just like I went after you.”
“You’ve got that turned around, big boy. I bagged you—you didn’t have a chance. And you deliberately gave Rio Paloma’s location to start the fireworks, didn’t you? Stop smirking and kiss me.”
“She’s here. That Paloma Forbes woman. Turned up riding a big, flashy motorcycle. She’s walking around the place and snooping. Dressed all in black leather. She’s an Amazon—hard to picture her as some high-class piano player—and I don’t like the look in her eye...I seen it before, just before women start messing with things they hadn’t ought to,” Pueblo Habersham had whispered into the telephone when he thought Paloma wasn’t listening. “Get over here, Rio, and get her out of here. She ain’t sweet, like she was as a kid with Boone. She just comes right to the point and asks questions bald-like. I’m only the manager. I ain’t no encyclopedia.”
Paloma placed her biker boots on a sack of chicken mash, stripped off her black leather jacket and settled back to wait It had taken her two nonstop weeks to complete her affairs, and now in the middle of April, she was exhausted and ready for the seclusion of Boone’s cabin. Boone. Was he her father? Why had her mother kept that secret all those years?
The rough-hewn timbers running across the old feed store ceiling were the same, the wooden bins of bulk garden seed, even the small barrel seats used by Jasmine’s elderly spit-andwhittle males. The smells, dark and laden with memories, surrounded her. She listened to the baby chicks cheep in their cardboard boxes and thought of how Boone had brought her here to buy feed for his animals. She’d always loved him. She’d measured every man she met by Boone and none had come close. Once, she thought she was in love, but that bnef affair ended painfully, her lover moving to another virgin, another conquest.
As an adult, she couldn’t bear to return to Jasmine, to see the man who’d rejected her. When Boone died, the happiest part of her life had been torn away. She’d come now to answer Rio’s challenge, or was it her own? She had to resolve her tangled emotions, her feelings about Boone, her suspicions that he was her father. Lou, her booking agent, had turned pale when she told him that she wanted a year off to rest and to resolve the past. “You’re giving me a heart attack, kid. Say you don’t mean it. You’ll ruin everything we’ve bmtt—” But in the end, Lou agreed that she badly needed a break. “You’re too thin, kid. Try to get healthy, will you? You got from April to next Apdl—one year to rest. Next time I see you, no circles under your eyes, got it?”
Paloma spread her slender capable fingers, studying them. This feed store was all she had of Boone. She couldn’t let go, couldn’t sell it to Rio, not yet. She couldn’t bear to see Llewlyn House or Boone’s grave. Her last tour had swelled her bank balance and she didn’t have to worry about money. Now it was time to sweep away the old, and create a new life for herself. For months, she’d felt like a mechanical woman, though only she knew her performances lacked the fire she could give them. At first, the passionate storms within her had fired her career, but now she had to find peace. She’d start by cleaning the feed store, placing her music aside long enough to discover who she was and what she wanted. Was she her mother’s daughter? Boone’s?
April to next April. Would she be able to make peace with a lifetime of Boone’s rejection in just one year? Was she his daughter? Why hadn’t he wanted her? Paloma glanced outside the feed store to the snow-covered Rocky Mountains and damned Rio Blaylock for challenging her to face her fears.
For the past few months, she’d wondered about her career. She was tired, edgy and had just realized she did not love playing the piano. She hated concerts, was drained after them. Was that her mother’s gift to her—to be owned by the life her mother had created?
Paloma watched Rio’s black pickup glide into the parking lot and smiled. She was really going to enjoy this payback.... She listened to Rio’s boots hitting the ancient boardwalk outside, and savored the impatient, angry tattoo.
Rio stepped into the cluttered feed store office, a small section of adobe brick warmed by an ancient cast-iron heating stove. A lean, tall Westerner, dressed in a lined flannel jacket, he hadn’t softened in the three months since she’d seen him. Beneath the dark stubble on his jaw, a cord moved rhythmically as if in anger. He whipped off his black Western hat, slapped it against his leather chaps and found her instantly, his black eyes narrowing. She denied the little shiver lifting the hairs on her nape. She’d faced hard audiences before, and the best method was to step right up and launch into the job she had to do. Right now, that was keeping her control and putting this cowboy in his place. She lifted her eyebrows and met his stormy gaze. “Did I catch you at a...” She paused to wrap her next words in a smirking insinuation. “Busy time? You weren’t interrupted, were you?”
“You picked a fine time all right,” he stated in a low dangerous tone and took off his denim jacket to reveal a battered red plaid work shirt. The thermal shirt beneath it was frayed. He tossed the jacket to a rickety chair and Paloma disliked the sudden raw sensual impact to her body as Rio turned his back, a powerful, graceful sinewy male. He took his time pouring coffee from a battered pot atop the old woodstove and turned slowly to her. His black eyes leveled coolly at her over the coffee mug. “I take it you came to do business.”
“I have.” She almost felt sorry for the confident, impatient male in front of her, his hair shaggier than when they’d met, just past his collar. He hadn’t bothered to shave. With the shadows of the large, old room hovering around him and the weathered logs as a backdrop, Rio could have been a mountain man coming down to purchase his goods at the old trading post.
The man lacked a soft melody. He was too earthy, too raw, too—just too. And just the sight of him set her off, reminding her of how he’d left the bus, tossing her fears at her feet. He really-shouldn’t have kissed her-palm, those warm lips resting against her skin, branding her. A guarded, solitary woman, she couldn’t forgive the intimacy, the trespass.
“Good. Name the final price, I’ll write the check and you can be on your way.” Rio took the checkbook from his shirt pocket and tossed it to the scarred old desk.
She’d expected the arrogant contempt in his tone. This was a man who had lived in one place all of his life, tethered by family and land. She locked her gaze with his and settled back to enjoy the impact of her next words, “I’m staying and I’m not selling. I think my half would make a great country boutique.”
Pueblo’s shocked gasp behind the slightly opened door to the storage room said she’d scored a hit on at least one male. Rio’s cold, tight smile almost caused her to shiver. Almost. “I suppose you think that’s funny.”
“I’m staying, partner,” she said cheerfully and stood up. “See that those girly pictures get stripped from the bathroom, will you? And that it’s scrubbed down. Until we can remodel, adding another bathroom, layers of gray on the porcelain won’t suit my lady customers. Be seeing you. Hey, Pueblo,” she called. “I’m parking my bike in the storage shed. I’ll be down from the mountain when I’m ready.”
Rio caught her arm as she passed him and Paloma resented those four inches up to his face. She wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. “What mountain?” he asked roughly. “There are avalanches up there, lady, and spring flooding. I wouldn’t want to have to pull you out from under a ton of snow.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Have I asked for your help?”
There was just that flick of temper, to show she’d scored a hit. He smelled of smoke and fire and leather and dangerous male, packed with enough exciting edges to make her feel alive, really alive. “Where are you staying?” he asked roughly.
“Boone’s mountain cabin. I know the way.” She’d been safe there, with Boone. Now, as an adult, she had to sift through her childhood memories and find peace. “Boone wouldn’t want me to sell. He gave me his half for a reason. I’m going to find out why.”
Rio’s dark eyes softened; “Spanish eyes” the locals called the Blaylocks’ expressive trademark. “I’ll take you to his grave—”
“No!” The answer came out too sharp, too fierce, and Paloma hated that Rio had seen inside her fears—the man saw too much. He was frowning slightly now and studying her face. He’d known Boone...was her likeness to him easily seen?
“I’ll take you to Llewlyn House. My brother and his wife have added on to it...their family is growing, but there’s plenty of room. You’d be welcome.”
“No...I’d...rather not.” A wave of panic smashed against her, all the old memories coming back, the old piano... Boone.... She wasn’t ready; she had to prepare, to protect herself before—
“When you’re ready, then,” Rio murmured as if understanding her fears. His tone was soft, gentling, and Paloma sucked air, fighting the panic. Rough warmth curled around her hand, and she looked down to see his larger hand holding hers. The sight terrified her, too intimate, too close, too warm.... She jerked her hand away and hurried out the door.
She heard his footsteps, then for a second time, Rio’s hard grasp caught her, spun her around. “Listen, you hardhead It’s dangerous up there—”
She managed to smile coolly, despite fears fluttering around her like vulture wings. She was good at that, managing to look cool and hard, when inside, she was in agony. She’d learned first under her mother’s cruelties, and then fighting stage fright in concerts. She knew how to shield herself. “Worried about little old me?” she taunted.
Pueblo came outside, peering up at her. “Rio is our local ranger, ma’am. He’s rescued plenty of people in his time. There was a forest fire a few years back and he almost killed himself, trying to rescue a little boy. The boy didn’t make it and—”
“That’s enough.” The quickly shielded look of pain etched in Rio’s face surprised Paloma.
“I’ll be all right,” she said quietly. “Your brother, Boone’s executor—Roman—said there’s plenty of wood and I’m welcome to use the cabin. Boone taught me how to live up there. A friend is helicoptering in food and supplies. I’m looking forward to being alone. You’re not stopping me. Now let go of my arm.”
She wished Rio weren’t looking at her so closely, that his hand hadn’t just reached to stroke her long, loose hair. She wished that she didn’t tremble when his fingertip brushed back a tendril from her cheek. She wished her heart hadn’t started racing at that close, intimate look as he bent slightly to brush his lips against hers. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he whispered in a deep, uneven smoky tone. Then he leaped off the platform and strode toward his pickup.
“I’m not looking for a cowboy like you, lady-killer,” she whispered when her breath returned to her body. She managed to pull her eyes away from that stalking symphony of broad shoulders and fine backside, cupped in worn denim, and placed a check-in call to Lou, her agent. To her disgust, Rio Blaylock’s backside and long legs fascinated her.
Rio slowed the horses, hushing the uneasy mare. Frisco, his saddlebred gelding, settled with the touch of Rio’s gloved hand and the Appaloosa mare quieted. He waited until the bear, awakened from his winter nap and foraging for food, crossed the path leading to Boone’s cabin. Rio pushed down the panic that the bear had already found Paloma, alone and unprotected. He’d given the stubborn woman two weeks, two long weeks of wondering if she were alive, if she needed him. He grimaced, unsettled by his admission that he needed her—his woman. Irritating, mule-headed woman...
May sunlight dappled the thick pines, and animals scampered in the forest’s thickets. The mountain blueberries would be thick and sweet this year. Waxy yellow buttercups would soon rise, and he hungered for her, this woman who softly haunted his sleepless nights, blending with the nightmares of the boy he couldn’t save....
“Perverse...contrary...maddening,” he muttered, beginning his journey again after glancing at the mare, packed with supplies. Why should he care if the obstinate woman had food? Would she be safe? Why did he care? Why had he promised himself after that first meeting that he’d come for her—if she didn’t return to Jasmine?
That shy dimple on her left cheek created the whole problem, he decided stormily. He couldn’t wait to see it again, that bit of magic on her smooth cheek.
It was her hands, he corrected as he watched deer move through the thicket, heading for lush summer grazing meadows on higher ground. He wanted those lovely, active, slender hands on him, touching his face, his hair, tethering him. He wanted that angular feminine body to be a part of his. He wanted to hold all that silky river of hair in his fists and kiss that—
He almost smiled. Paloma would bite.
Rio shook his head, not understanding his need for her, his need to keep her safe. She wouldn’t like his visit, of course, his checking up on her. He released his smile. Those sky-blue eyes would darken, slashing at him—His heart leaped at the thought, the excitement of seeing Paloma respond to him, almost vibrating under his touch, shocked as he’d kissed her palm, stunned as he’d touched her hair. Hell, he’d been stunned at the feel of her skin beneath his, the widening of her eyes, so blue a man would think he was floating in the sky.
He whipped the reins through his fingers. He should be at home, tending his Corriente and Hereford cattle, plowing and seeding and keeping his accounts. The beefy Herefords were a practical choice, but the contrary Corrientes matched Rio’s Spanish heritage—edgy, dark, dangerous. He smiled; the cattle reminded him of Paloma’s fire and the excitement she gave him; his heart raced just looking at her.
His remodeled house—an old barn—always needed work, and he was behind on his ranger and deputy rounds. He’d taken time away from his duties to see about Paloma, and to explore his shocking hunger for her. He scoffed at himself, now thirty-seven, desiring a woman who wasn’t sweet-natured, cuddly or curved. He recognized the age-old instinct to capture and claim her for his own-he’d known it the moment he’d seen her left hand, her third finger barren.
The Appaloosa mare was his first gift—she’d need the horse; that injured leg wouldn’t like the mountain hike. And Rio had just discovered that he liked the traditions of his Apache ancestors—like the bridal gift. A tracker and a hunter by nature and by Blaylock blood, Rio had followed Paloma to the cabin, watched her struggle, laden with a backpack. She had begun limping just before she’d reached the cabin, but she had reached it. He’d smiled when she’d let out that victorious whoop. Then he’d slid away into the forest; she wouldn’t have appreciated his concern.
“The ride with her won’t be easy,” he muttered as he moved into the clearing. Boone’s rough-hewn log cabin stood as it had for years, frequented now by Roman, Kallista, their adopted daughter, Cindi, and soon their new baby. Roman’s new family had nudged Rio’s nesting urges—okay, he wanted Paloma in bed, under him, over him. The savage need to mate with her, a primitive fire that would create new life, awoke him and he blamed her—that exotic scent, those agile pale fingers.
When he managed to stop staring at the lacy underwear hung to dry across the porch, Rio swung to the ground and tethered the horses to the old hitching post. He quickly unleashed the supplies from the mare’s saddle and tossed them on the board porch, expecting Paloma to come out, temper blazing. She didn’t, and the house was too quiet. Rio scanned the pines circling the house and slowly walked up the steps—at any moment, Paloma would rush at him and he didn’t care to sprawl in front of his lady—his ladylove, he corrected grimly. After all, he’d come to court her, hadn’t he? The admission went down uneasily.
Everything about her was expensive and classy. Exactly what did he have to offer a woman who had traveled around the world? He liked to carpenter, to smell the wood and work with his hands. He liked good hard work, he liked his ranger and deputy duties, because he felt he was helping preserve the land Other than a few sound financial investments, he bad a barn he’d remodeled, part of the original Blaylock homestead, his cattle and a deep need to love Paloma as she’d never been loved before. He wanted to protect her—no woman should have to awake in terror, protecting herself.
Rio’s jaw tightened. A relationship with a woman as strong and independent as Paloma might take time to craft, but he would. His first priority was to prevent a boutique from replacing half of Jasmine’s feed store. Part of the man-woman sorting process was that a man’s century-old gathering place stayed intact.
When she didn’t respond to his knock, Rio opened the door and entered the cabin. The shelves were lined with canned and dried foods, the cabin neat. Too neat—as if Paloma was ready to move easily, quickly. Boone’s big bed was littered with women’s magazines, all with one theme—country collectibles and crafts. A quick glance at her lists—Rio ran his thumb over her large, loopy feminine handwriting-said she was going through with her plans. “Boutique makings,” Rio heard himself mutter. “No way.”
He wondered who had dropped the supplies. An old boyfriend? He didn’t like the sudden unfamiliar surge of jealousy. One hand on the old woodstove said that she’d burned a fire at night and let it die in the morning. Where was she?
She could be anywhere on the mountain, and in danger. He inhaled sharply, remembering the trees clawed by a cougar and a bear, each marking their territory. There were timber wolves on the mountain, and coyotes and bobcats, none of them friendly. There was that old mine, where he’d finally found the boy—
He pushed down his leaping fear and hurried outside; panic wouldn’t help find Paloma. He glanced-at the old avalanche, the rock slide now covered with moss, and just over that hill was a cliff, a sheer drop to the bottom that no one could survive. Visions of Paloma’s mangled body terrified him. Rio quickly unsheathed his rifle from his saddle and looped a circle of sturdy rope across his shoulder. Minutes later, he shook his head—Paloma’s footprints led to the cliff. She’d broken a pile of sticks, the stacks small and neat as though she’d been placing her thoughts in order. “The footprints are a few days old. Contrary, mule-headed...”
At a run, he headed for the old mine—that killer mine—the timbers rotting and treacherous, and if she were lying at the bottom, unconscious...Rio pushed away the fear clawing at him. He’d failed to save the boy; maybe he was too late to save Paloma, too. The vise around his heart tightened, and then he saw the gold mine’s fresh cave-in. “Paloma?” he called, bracing himself for her call—he prayed she would be alive. “Paloma?”
Silence echoed his fears. He took one step, moving toward the tree that would hold his rope as he eased down into the opening. Suddenly the crumpling sound of rotted wood enveloped him; the earth gave way beneath his feet and he slid into the cold musty darkness.
Returning from her walk and furious with herself for think ing of Rio Blaylock, Paloma had heard the earth rumble. She paused, frowning at the two horses in front of the cabin. Then Rio’s shout sounded in the vicinity of the old mine. At a run, she made her way through the red-barked pines and found a new cave-in. “Rio?”
“Stay back.”
“Are you hurt?” Her body frozen in terror, she prayed he wasn’t.
“A few bruises. Get my horse over here and—” A coil of rope surged up out of the cave-in and landed at her feet. “Tie this to Frisco’s saddle horn. He’ll pull me out. He is the gelding, the other is a mare,” he added very carefully. “He’s bigger and—”
“I know the anatomical difference,” she muttered, nettled by his male arrogance, and just that little need to torment Rio slipped out again. “You say you’re not hurt?”
“Uh-huh. I don’t exactly feel like wasting time chitchatting,” he answered daddy, returning her comment to him when they first met.
“You don’t? You say you’re not in any danger now?” She had to be certain before she set about provoking Rio, about making him pay for disturbing her thoughts and dreams and for her wanting that brush of his mouth to deepen into a very warm, hungry kiss. His silence provoked her and she grabbed a tree limb, easing closer to the cave-in.
