Typical Male

“You took advantage of Mary’s soft heart. That wasn’t nice, Lomax. You realize that you can get into legal trouble for damaging my reputation and career. You wouldn’t like the penalties. Why would you admit this now? To me?”

“I wondered when you’d get to that. You won’t raise a fuss. You’ll protect your family and your reputation — what’s left of it. You won’t want anyone knowing that the Blaylocks and Llewlyn were land grabbers. It’s all so simple, Blaylock. I want you to see me coming. I knew you’d run back here to lick your bruises —”

One black eyebrow lifted, challenging her; the morning air sizzled with electricity. Tyrell’s gaze drifted lazily over her face. “Lick my bruises? Run back here?” he repeated slowly, the sound was that of a wolf growling low in its throat just before he—

She’d been threatened before; it was her earliest memory. “You’re here, aren’t you? And not cuddled up to Hillary-poo?”

“Let’s keep on track, Lomax. Why did you choose me? I’ve got a big family.”

“You’re the baby, Blaylock. The soft spot of the family. Five brothers and one sister and they all dote on you. You were prime for the picking, like a big juicy tomato. I checked out your career and reputation and then I studied you. There you were, standing on that street corner, waiting for a taxi. You fairly dripped in expensive designer labels, you checked time on a wristwatch that cost more than some cars. And you just had that spoiled, pampered city-boy look.”

She took a breath. “I just didn’t like you when I saw you. I didn’t care if my tactics worked. I was coming to Jasmine anyway to survey Lomax land, but taking you down — you know, a Lomax taking down a Blaylock, was just something I had to try. I had time off, and pushing a Blaylock out of his cushy job seemed right. If your fiancée and your boss hadn’t believed me, that was just fine, too. But it was worth the effort, and it paid off, didn’t it?”

Anger boiled out of her as she drove home the spear. Tyrell Blaylock had everything and an easy life road; she’d had to scrimp and work for every penny. He’d zipped through college on academic and athletic scholarships; she’d had to care for her sick grandfather and father and work for grocery money, and provide for them. They were all she had — they said her mother had run off when she was only a year old. She hadn’t had tune to date, but finally, as a teenager, she reached for romance. What she found was brief, painful sex in the back seat of a car.

She studied his tall angular body. A man with Tyrell’s looks would have found everything so easy, including sex; she resented that, too. “You were looking at a solid-gold future with the Masons. I wanted to ruin you just as your grandfather and his friend Boone ruined my grandfather. So I gave you a few well-picked Christmas presents and you went down.”

“That’s called stalking, Lomax. I could stop everything with one phone call to the police, but I won’t. I’m going to enjoy the look on your face when you find out that the land has always been Blaylock.” Tyrell’s expression shifted slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking as though he was restraining a grin. He reached to run his thumb along her cheek. “A drop of sun lotion you didn’t rub in when you stopped to eat that sandwich,” he explained.

He’d been watching her. Just as she had watched him. A slight cold chill lifted the hair on her nape. Men just did not watch her, she was part of a work crew—a brief passing glance during a poker game was tops and that was to see if she was bluffing. Now, Tyrell Blaylock was dissecting her piece by piece. Celine inhaled and locked herself to what she had to do; she couldn’t be derailed by him searching out every freckle on her face, by studying her green eyes... well, one did have that spot of brown. She fought the shiver that lifted the hair on her nape; she hadn’t been studied that close — ever. She brushed away the thought that Tyrell was looking at her as a prospective sensual encounter. Men considered her as one of the boys.

She tried to ignore his slow gaze traveling over her cropped reddish-blond curls. She jerked her head to one side as he plucked a leaf from her hair and showed it to her, his eyebrows lifting innocently. She really did not like that slight curve to his mouth, just that bit of lift that said he wasn’t taking her seriously. He would...once she dug out old abstracts, journals and anything else she could find to prove her case. “You’re only thirty-seven, Blaylock. You can build a new career. You’re just —”

She released a smirk and eyed him. “You’re just taking a time-out now, and everyone knows you’re too high powered for this little burg. I saw you there in New York and you looked just exactly like my grandfather said Luke Blaylock looked, like ‘the lord of the land.’ I knew you were the perfect place to begin. I checked you out. You like numbers and take-overs. You won scholarships and aced college, the whole bit. You’re very smart. The braids are a nice touch, by the way. If you’re trying for a warrior effect. A city boy playing at macho games — my, my.”

His smile was tight and chilling. “Thank you for that much. You’re half my size, you’re on my mountain, and you’re calling me out — threatening me and my family. I suppose you’re also the woman who called Diversified’s switchboard. You left a message for me to bring a can of whipped cream, my Tarzan loincloth and lots of scented oil for our date at that sleazy hotel? It was a bit overkill, wasn’t it?”

She’d really put everything she had into that scenario. Pushing away a smirk, she blinked up at him innocently. “Oh, dear. Did I leave that message for Mason to give to you? How silly of me. And my size hasn’t got anything to do with —”

“And you’ve got a fast mouth.” Those black eyes dipped quickly to her mouth, searing it, then jerked back up to lock with her eyes. “You’re going to need much more than threats to deal with me or take any portion of my family’s land away. Tell me why you think you have claim to my family land.”

She lifted her chin, glaring up at him. Raindrops dripped steadily from the brim of her ball cap. She inched to the left to avoid the steady drip coming from the aspen limbs above her. “My grandfather said so.”

He lifted those black eyebrows and reached to switch her cap backward, revealing her face. His dark narrowed gaze sliced at her. “And that’s it?”

Celine jerked her ball cap visor around to shield her expression. One remark about her freckles or her family and she’d—“It’s enough. He wouldn’t lie. He told me the whole story, again and again. It never changed — He bought several pieces of property and he had a deed, the boundaries marked. He had a good house in a high mountain canyon and he was just getting a good start in ranching when your grandfather and Boone decided they wanted the land. They said it was Blaylock and Llewlyn land and that he had no right to it. They said that he’d bought a small piece of property by threatening the owners and then had moved the boundary markers on their land. Then Luke Blaylock, your grandfather and sheriff at the time, kept after him and he couldn’t work to pay the lawyers. The judge who sent him to prison on various robbery charges and assault was bought somehow, or the witnesses were. Then the Blaylocks got the land.”

Celine sucked in air, her temper raging. “I’m a surveyor, Blaylock, and a good one. I know how to read courthouse records, abstracts, and dig at the truth. If a rebar—a metal boundary marker—has been moved one inch, I’ll know. If a pile of rocks serving as a boundary in pioneer times has been moved, I’ll know. If a stone marker has been sandblasted to erase the chiseled inscription, I’ll know.” She narrowed her eyes behind her round tinted glasses and leveled a stare at him. She hoped the raindrops and steam on her lenses wouldn’t diminish the impact of her threat. “I’m especially good at forged deeds. I chose my career with just this moment in mind — to bring down the Blaylocks.”

Celine forced herself not to move as Tyrell lazily reached out a big hand. He lifted her ball cap and eased a finger through her jumble of curls. She forced herself to stand still; she wouldn’t be intimidated by his size. Celine fought a shiver as Tyrell said slowly, “Let me get this straight. You’re dedicated to proving your grandfather’s...belief was the truth.”

He was toying with her hair, winding it around his finger, studying the strands, and not taking her seriously. If there was one thing that could set off her Lomax temper, it was a man taking her too lightly. Celine wished he hadn’t seen her hands curl into fists; the quick glint of satisfaction in his eyes said he had. She grabbed her ball cap and jerked it down on her head. “Cutter Lomax would not lie to me. Those boundary markers were moved, and he did not commit robbery. The sheriff, your grandfather, sent an innocent man to jail and then took his land!”

Tyrell’s lazy gaze lowered to study her expression. She hated her own intensity and wished she were more skilled at covering her emotions — she wasn’t; she had never played games. He spoke slowly, “You’re serious about this. You actually want to reopen Cutter’s old feud. You want revenge.”

She pounced on the words, “feud” and “revenge.” It was to her benefit that Tyrell knew this was not a whim, but a need that drove her every breath. “You got it, buddy.”

“Well, then,” he said slowly. He stretched slowly and traced a deer moving through the woods. Celine blinked at all that male body rippling in front of her. Working in the field, she’d seen men without shirts, but they were just — she swallowed abruptly as an unfamiliar need stabbed at her. Just a feminine little lurch that she couldn’t define. Celine liked everything m black-and-white descriptions, surveyed in neat definite lines with boundary markers; she did not like unsteady emotions.

Tyrell’s slow smile might have devastated another woman. “I guess you’ve got to deal with me. I appreciate the notice. And thanks for referring to me as a ‘big juicy tomato.’ I’m honored, and you’ve gone to all this trouble, too, to pick me from my vine. My, that makes me feel so special.”

She nodded grimly, satisfied that Tyrell was taking her as a serious threat. Then the notion struck her that Tyrell Blaylock, the man she’d ruined, was flirting with her. Uncertain, she eyed him through her steamy glasses. Only men desperate for women in her remote work sites had ever made passes at her. She’d squashed those ideas without hesitation. For the most part, the men she knew considered her efficient, precise and one of the boys.

A man, not one of the boys, stood in front of her, towering over her. Tyrell Blaylock was sleek, hard and unshaken by her threat. She eyed him; maybe he had a dual personality and could flip back at any moment to his sleek city-hunter image. Either way, she had him tacked to the wall and she wasn’t backing off.

His high cheekbones gleamed, a muscle moving rhythmically in his jaw. “Let’s just keep this between us, shall we, Lomax?”

“You’re already bargaining, Blaylock. That makes me happy. I’ve got you worried and that’s a good sign.”

He lifted that disbelieving eyebrow again. “You could be wrong. All you have is your grandfather’s side of the story.”

“I’m not wrong. But I agree that it would make my research easier if your family and neighbors didn’t worry about protecting their land. After I get the information I need, I’ll turn my case over to an attorney. Or your family can pay me for the land and we’ll assess damages, starting with all the medical bills of my grandfather and father.” Her stomach twisted painfully. The markers over their graves were the cheapest — She looked away from Tyrell, stiff with pain in her body and her mind.

“Do you agree that the rest of my family won’t enter this?” Tyrell asked slowly, defining the ground rules and pushing her.

She hated being pushed. She waited because she knew he wanted an answer, and she wasn’t ready to give it to him. “Hey. I’m setting the ground rules. I’m the one with a plan. I’m in control of this gig, got it? This isn’t a fancy boardroom. I’m not obligated to you.”

“You are if you want to stay out of jail and work as a surveyor again. I’m happy to play your little busybody game—”

She turned on him, burning with fury. She could have leaped upon him and — “‘Busybody game’?”

He lowered his head, meeting her glare. His fist gripped her sweater to draw her up on the tip of her toes. “You’ve got a temper, Lomax. You push my family and I’ll call in a few favors. I didn’t leave corporate America because I was forced out. I had job offers and colleagues who would have stood with me. I walked.”

“That’s a lie. I ruined you. Me...a Lomax, and you’re not blackmailing me. I don’t go down easy. You’re living up here in a cabin because you’re broke and hiding out. High wheelers and dealers can lose it as easy as they make it. Or maybe it’s just good old shame that you’ve been kicked out.”

“‘A lie,”’ he repeated slowly, dangerously, as if no one had ever dared speak to him like that. The vein in his throat stood out in relief. He hitched her a fraction higher, his breath sweeping across her face as their stares locked. “I’ll bet that backpack is heavy,” he said slowly.

“Not a bit,” she lied, though the straps would probably leave chafe marks. Her tiptoes barely touched the ground, but she wasn’t frightened. If Blaylock wanted to test her, that was fine. She’d lived with bullies all her life. “I’ve walked across deserts carrying this weight and more.”

His eyes darkened and shot down to her mouth. She licked her lips and hoped she didn’t have a crumb of that last cookie on them — that would nun her going-for-the-kill image.

“You like gingersnap cookies, do you, Lomax?” he asked in a tone that sent a jolt of electricity to every tense muscle in her body. There was just a hint of play, of curiosity, and something darker, deeper, more elemental.

Celine tensed. Whatever the ball game was right now, she didn’t know how to play. Tethered by his grip, she glared at him. In her lifetime, when uncertain, she’d found that glaring was always a safe defensive move. Tyrell’s eyes narrowed pinning her. The air seemed to slither, tingle and heat as if it were alive; it sucked away her breath, and sent tiny thunderbolts through her body. That uncertain churning in her stomach had to be too little sleep and too much coffee. She pushed away the unfamiliar tense emotion and went for a solid jab on what she suspected might be a tender spot. “When Papa jerked your position, she didn’t want a working man. Hillary-poo chose not to believe you, didn’t she? And then she couldn’t leave Papa’s money for someone who is down and out, could she?”

His expression darkened, tightened and then he abruptly released her sweater. He rubbed his jaw and the sound of beard against his rough palm echoed eerily in the misty air. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re not exactly sweet?”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Blaylock,” she shot at him cheerfully. She blew away the raindrop that had been clinging to the end of her nose.

His expression softened, humor dancing in his black eyes. “You’re wet clear through, Lomax. A pitiful soggy little thing.”

She snorted at the “little thing.” She’d worked right beside her crew, blazing heat and freezing ice storms. She’d hauled wood for campfires, climbed mountains and — “At least I’m dressed, not standing half-naked in a drenching rain and playing at being a mountain man.”

Tyrell looked slowly down her body and Celine realized that her flesh had chilled, her nipples thrusting against the damp sweater. She usually wore a vest in the cold, but men’s chests did the same thing in cold weather. She was sturdily built, probably a gift from her Scots-Irish ancestors. She watched, fascinated as a dark flush rose up his cheeks. He closed his eyes, groaned and turned, striding through the wet grass away from her.

“Hey! I’m not done with you,” she shouted, trudging after him through the sodden meadow. “You haven’t heard all the good stuff yet. You’re just a typical male, you know...running when things get tough.”

He turned his head to glower at her over his shoulder, then turned and kept walking.

“Running, huh?” she called, enjoying herself for the first time in—in forever. Her grin stopped when he allowed a small wet branch to flip back in her face. She sputtered, mopping the water from her face as she hurried after him. “You did that on purpose. I should have expected something sneaky like that from a Blaylock.”

Her backpack slipped and as she struggled to tug it back up again, her glasses went awry. Tyrell appeared out of the mist and stripped the backpack away. Dangling from his large hand, it looked like a toy. With his other hand, he straightened her glasses. “Coming, dear?” he asked between his teeth. “Or don’t you know enough to get out of the rain?”

Celine tensed, leaning toward him, her fists at her side. Tyrell’s mouth jerked as though he were hiding a grin. She wouldn’t tolerate anyone making fun of her. “Are you calling me a ‘twit’?”

“If the name fits —” Tyrell easily blocked the fist she shot at his stomach. Without missing a heartbeat, he slid her glasses from her and pushed them into her hand. “Here. Hold these.”

Then he bent and scooped her over his shoulder and began loping easily through the forest. He carried her over the narrow path as if she were a child.

Tyrell jerked open his cabin door and eased through it, carrying his squirming burden. That compact, squirming body had muscles, and Celine knew how to swear. Just what he would expect from Cutter Lomax’s granddaughter.

She was stubborn, willful, hot-tempered, and he felt a warm glow just looking at her. As he looked down at her in the rain-drenched meadow he wasn’t happy about the odd light-hearted feeling curling around him. Bristling, threatening him and his family, and scented of gingersnap cookies, rain and mist, she was loyal and untouched — Untouched. Every male instinct he had told him that Celine was an innocent. Defenseless, alone and fiercely defending her grandfather’s lies as truth, Celine Lomax hadn’t a clue that he’d found her interesting—as a woman.

Two

In Micah Blaylock’s refinished log cabin, Tyrell knew how hi ancestor must have felt, wanting to claim his reluctant bride The thought shocked him; he had streamlined his life and wasn’t prepared for elemental emotions for a woman.

Tyrell fought a groan. He’d just escaped a cold, empty life with Hillary Mason. The last thing he needed to do now was to stand in a Rocky Mountain meadow, watch Celine’s soft sweet mouth hurl threats at him and notice that she was al woman. That she was firm, soft in the right places and had hai that magically, silkily curled around his finger, ensnaring and delighting him. The same color as her lashes, the strand seemed to sparkle in the cloudy day, the varied sun-lightened shades warming his fingers. He’d wanted to run a fingertip across her lashes, those long softly bristling lashes with spark flashing at the tips, and those freckles. He’d wondered if they danced on the rest of that milky skin.... If a grown man could swoon, he almost did when she’d smirked. Those flashing green eyes turned sultry, darkening. An intoxicating little dimple had played on her left cheek; he’d begun to wonder how it would feel beneath his fingertips and how her bottom would feel cupped in his hands.

Celine Lomax’s bottom. It was now propped over his shoulder. He glanced at his hand, open and splayed, possessively digging in on her bottom. The soft flowing surface burned his palm. He frowned and forced his fingers to straighten, his palm rigid and flat He lifted his hand slightly away. She’d ruined his career; she should be hauled into court and—

She believed Cutter Lomax; she wouldn’t believe anything else until Cutter’s lies were proven wrong. Cutter’s reputation for land fraud, shakedown and other money-making schemes was legendary. Tyrell’s grandfather, Luke Blaylock, had gained a scar from Cutter’s blade; he’d tried to stop Cutter from mistreating a worn-out horse.

She’d stopped screaming and wiggling. She was using the limp, deadweight method to wear him down. Tyrell hefted Celine from his shoulder and plopped her into a chair. Her body balled as if to hurl herself at him. Celine’s furious green eyes dominated her pale face, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Under her ball cap, which was on sideways, her curls seemed to explode, fiery red around her face. One dainty ear was framed in her curls. It was a delectable ear, unpierced and sweet. A virgin ear. He wanted to nibble on it.

Every muscle in his body flexed; goose bumps rode his body. Instincts he’d hidden from the world shot him a solid thump, low in his stomach. He breathed uneasily, shaken by the need to take her to his bed. In the small one room, he caught her scent and hoped his nostrils didn’t quiver, inhaling every nuance. She smelled like rain on a tender rosebud as yet unfurled — sweet, tight and exciting to explore.

Tyrell did not want to explore Celine Lomax; he wanted her out of his life. He shoved the backpack no woman her size ought to be carrying into her hands. He ran his hands down his wet face, plucked off her ball cap and tossed a dry towel over her head. “It’s raining sheets out there. The creeks will be swollen by now and —”

She hadn’t moved, the towel remained draped over her head. Rain ran down her bare legs and a pool of water formed around her worn boots. Tyrell studied her as he swept another towel over his head, chest and arms. He hurled it and the wet bandanna from his forehead into a corner and watched her, his hands braced on his hips.

He wanted to kick off his sodden moccasins. But Cindi, his brother Roman’s adopted daughter, had painted his toenails and braided his hair as he slept yesterday. Tyrell studied Celine under the towel, small capable hands fisting her backpack. He studied those hands — compact and strong, just like her. Unpainted nails, blunt working tips and white knuckles — she was in a snit, all right. So was he. He wasn’t happy about discovering his shocking interest in a woman who wanted to destroy him.

He decided to let her sulk and turned to stuff wood into the old iron stove to warm the cabin. She’d tromped into his retreat; he wasn’t the offender. He simply wanted to take time to realign his life...without distraction. Tyrell wasn’t a man to be distracted easily. He glanced back at her. She sat very still Too still.

He could almost feel the whack of his mother’s behave yourself wooden spoon on his shoulder. The Blaylock males were trained to honor and treat women well. That spoon now belonged to his sister, Else, and she wouldn’t have been happy with him packing this fierce little fireball into his sacred lair.

He scowled at Celine Lomax, troublemaker in his life. He knew he had a savage temper, the surface of which was only scratched even when he discovered Hillary and her father’s rejection. He knew that of all the Blaylocks, he was perhaps the most elemental, and that was why he protected himself with an icy veneer. Deep within him, Tyrell knew that he had inherited arrogance and passion from his conquistador and Apache ancestors. He’d learned to conceal it early, and even in lovemaking, he was controlled. But the mountain fed his need to release that savage passion and here, in the wilds, he was free of tethers.

Tyrell studied Celine’s damp, gleaming legs. He could almost feel them around him, the slender feminine muscles tightening — His body lurched sensually, unexpectedly. He frowned at the towel covering Celine’s head and crossed his arms over his bare chest. She’d invaded his woman-free retreat. Still bitter about Hillary’s defection, he wanted a temporary breather from the whole female sex and he did not like bumps in his life. Celine was definitely a strawberry-blond bump.

He swallowed tightly, fear rising in him. Maybe she was crying. Hillary cried prettily to get her way, some new bauble or a glittering social event that he didn’t want to attend; Celine’s cry would be genuine. His stomach clenched again. Celine Lomax was too real, emotions pouring off her like molten lava. He ran his hand over his stomach as an old ulcer threatened to start up; one delicate sob from Celine and he didn’t trust himself. He scowled at her; she was unbalancing not only his life, but his emotions. A man who prided himself on cool logic, Tyrell looked at her uncertainly and waited.