Rio: Man Of Destiny

Madeline had to promise that she’d wash off her latest perfume of the month at the first rest stop. The big debate was the color of lucky felt tip markers...or the “daubers” that the bingo palace supplied.

Rio settled back onto the seat, badly needing sleep. When someone lifted his head and tucked a satin pillow beneath it, and the weight of a crocheted afghan covered his chest, Rio glanced at Paloma in her rearview mirror. He’d been dozing comfortably—he looked down at the elderly woman who with her back turned to him, her ample behind jiggling, had just stuck his left leg between her thighs. While she was busily tugging off his boot, another woman brushed a kiss across his forehead. “Sleep tight, our prince. You’re big enough to be good luck for everyone,” she whispered, patting his chest.

When Rio attempted to sit up, she pushed him down. “Just let Emily take off your boots, sonny. She has seven boys. I see you didn’t bring an overnight bag. We’ll have to stop and get you some clean underwear. You never know when an accident will happen—oh, not with Paloma driving, but you never know about crossing streets nowadays. You wouldn’t want to have to go to the hospital in unsightly underwear. Do you wear those little tight things, boxer shorts or just regular briefs—is that white or black?”

“I’ll pick up new underwear while you’re playing bingo,” Rio muttered and wondered if all women had formed a sisterhood devoted to seeing if his underwear was in good shape. His sister, Else, seemed to have X-ray vision.

In the mirror, Paloma’s silver sunglasses revealed nothing, until Rio spotted the humorous turn to her mouth, softening it “You think this is funny?” he demanded.

She didn’t answer, but held out her cup, which a woman sitting near hurried to fill from a thermos. “Thanks,” Paloma murmured, and focused on the drive.

“I’ve forgotten what kissing a man without dentures feels like,” hinted Posey Malone, eyeing Rio. He blinked as Susie asked him to hold her cane while she took a snapshot of his “sexy cowboy look.”

Rio hurried to remove his right boot before Emily could clamp her thighs around his leg; he handed Susie’s cane back to her. “I think I’ll take a nap now,” he announced loudly and shot a meaningful glance at the ladies behind him. A chorus of the ladies began to sing “Lullaby and Goodnight.”

Sarah, in the seat directly behind him, reached to smooth his hair. “That’s right. You rest. We need our good luck charm fresh and bright-eyed.” Paloma continued to drive, her expression impassive.

At the breakfast stop, Rio swung outside to help the ladies down and they hurried inside the café. After the first pat to his rear, he flattened his back to the open bus door. Mrs. Malone withdrew her comb and reached up to fix his hair. “Better,” she said, satisfied.

The last one to leave, Paloma ignored his outstretched hand and stepped down, eyeing him through her sunglasses. “Having fun?” she asked, stripping away her gloves and tucking them into her back pocket.

“It’s an experience. Are we talking now?” As she smoothed her hair quickly and checked her watch, her fingers tapping on the practical design, Rio watched closely. The hunter in him measured and watched. Her hands were feminine, graceful and lovely-tapered pale fingers with neat short nails and covered with silky soft skin. Rio’s body tensed at the absolute beauty of movement and shape. He wanted to slide his fingers between hers, testing the fit and the feel but jerked himself from the fascinating, restless movement as she stretched, rotating her shoulders. Just then, in the morning light, Paloma’s lean body was delicate, womanly, as though she needed to be held close and protected by a lover. He caught the slightest fragrance—an exotic tropical scent, previously overshadowed by diesel fumes and the other women’s perfumes.

She flicked an impatient glance at him, her slender, agile fingers smoothing the wisps of silky hair back from her face. “You die hard, buddy.”

“The name is Blaylock. Remember it.”

She leaned back against the bus, her glasses glinting up at him. “I know about the Blaylocks. I lived with Boone Llewlyn for a while and Jasmine is stuffed with Blaylocks. I can outlast you. Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and go home now?”

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.