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He watched her mouth move and kept thinking about what it might feel like under his. What it might taste like…
She gave him a big smile. “There are changes going on in the industry, Grant. Ranchers are learning that just because a thing has always been done a certain way doesn’t automatically mean it’s the best, most efficient and profitable way. What I’m getting to here is that lots of ranchers now are switching from spring to summer calving. And you know what?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh. What?”
“It’s working for them, Grant. Matching the nutritional needs of the herd to the forage available can cut production costs and improve profitabil…” Her sweet, husky voice trialed off. “Grant? You with me here?”
“Yeah.”
“You seem…distracted.”
“No. Really. I’m not.”
She leaned in a little closer to him, a tiny frown forming between her smooth brows, the amazing scent of her taunting him even more cruelly that a moment before. “Is it…” She spoke so softly, almost shyly, the savvy ranch foreman suddenly replaced by a nervous young girl. “…about earlier?”
He flat out could not think. His mind was one big ball of mush. “Uh. Earlier?”
A flush swept up her satiny throat and stained her cheeks a tempting pink. “Um. You know. At the creek…” Her gold-tipped lashes swept down. And she swore. A very bad word.
It shocked him enough that he let out a laugh. “Steph. Shame on you.”
With a low, frustrated sound, she straightened and stepped back. He felt equal parts relief and despair—relief that she was far enough away he wasn’t quite so tempted to grab her. Despair that the delicious smell of her no longer swam all around him.
“Damn it,” she said—a much milder oath that time. “I am so…dumb. Just…really, completely childish and dumb.”
“Uh. Steph.”
“What?” She glared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
She flung out a hand. “Oh, please. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Er. I do?”
“I keep…beating this silly dead horse to death over and over again. It’s just not that huge a deal that you saw me naked, right?” She looked at him pleadingly.
For her sake—and his—he told a whopper of a lie. “No. Not at all. Not a huge deal at all.”
“Exactly. It’s no big deal and I need to act like a grown-up and let it go. But no. Every time you look at me funny, I’m just sure you’re thinking how annoyed or amused or…whatever you are at me and it gets me all…flustered and I instantly start babbling away about the whole stupid thing all over again. Oh, I just… Will somebody shoot me? Please. Will somebody just put me clean out of my misery?”
He rose. “Steph.”
She put up a hand. “Oh, wait. I know you’re going to say something nice. That’s how you are. Always so good. So understanding. So…um…” Her eyes widened as he did exactly what he shouldn’t do and closed the distance between them. “Wonderful…” she whispered. “Just a wonderful man.”
Getting close again was bad enough. But the last thing he ought to do was to put his hands on her. He knew that. He did.
So why the hell was he reaching out and clasping her shoulders?
Damn. Her bones felt so delicate. And the warm silk of her skin where the red shirt ended and her flesh began…
There were no words for that, for the miracle of her skin under his hands. There was nothing.
But the scent of her, the feel of her…
She swallowed. “Grant?”
He remembered to speak. “I’m not that wonderful. Take my word for it.”
“Oh, Grant…”
“And I want you to know…” The thing was, he could stand here holding her shoulders and looking in her shining eyes for the next decade or so. Just stand here and stare at that dimple in her chin, at her slightly parted lips, her clover-green eyes…
“What?” she asked.
He frowned and, like an idiot, he parroted, “What?”
“You want me to know, what?” Wildly she scanned his face.
And he had no idea what. Not a hint. Not a clue.
And something was happening. Something was changing.
Something about Steph. She was…suddenly different. All at once her nervousness, her girlish embarrassment, had vanished.
Now, he looked down at a woman, a beautiful woman, a woman sure of what she wanted.
“Oh, Grant…” They were the same words she’d said not a minute before.
The same.
And yet totally different.
She lifted her hands and rested them on his chest and before he could remember that he should stop her, she slid them up to encircle his neck.
He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be standing here way too close to her, shouldn’t be looking down at that mouth of hers, thinking how he’d like nothing better than to cover it with his own.
He shouldn’t…
“Oh, Grant. Oh, yeah.” And she lifted up on tiptoe and pressed that soft, wide mouth to his.
Chapter Three
More things he shouldn’t be doing…
He shouldn’t be wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, shouldn’t be easing his tongue between those softly parted lips of hers. Shouldn’t be sweeping his tongue over the eager surface of hers. Shouldn’t be finding the taste of her even sweeter than he’d dared to imagine.
Shouldn’t be.
But he was.
He ran an eager hand down the curve of her back and cupped her firm, sleek bottom, pulling her up and into him, nice and tight. So she could feel exactly how she affected him…
Wrong, he thought.
Shouldn’t…
But that didn’t stop him. He kissed those soft-sighing lips of hers and when she sighed again, he kissed her some more.
She didn’t seem to mind.
Far from it. She kissed him right back.
It was good. The best. Better than the best. He didn’t want it ever to end.
But he knew that it had to. Exerting a superhuman effort of will, he lifted his mouth from hers.
There was a moment. Breath held. They stared at each other. Her eyes were greener than ever, her lips slightly swollen from that kiss he shouldn’t have shared with her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and clasped her shoulders again to put her gently away from him. “I don’t know what the hell my problem is. I shouldn’t have done that.”
And she smiled, a smile that trembled a little at first, and then grew wider. A smile that became so bright, it blinded him. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You should have. And I’m real glad you did.”
For the first time ever, Marie’s famous pot roast had no taste.
Not to Grant, anyway. The last thing he could think about that evening was food.
In his mind, there was only Steph: her smile, her laughter, the memory of her kiss, the look in her eyes across the table whenever their glances happened to meet.
He had a really big problem here and he knew it. He kept almost forgetting who she was, kept losing sight of the fact that he was sworn to look out for her, that he could never, ever hurt her, that the last thing he would ever do was to take her to bed.
He was all wrong for her and he knew it. She was a find-the-right-guy-and-marry-him kind of girl. An innocent in her heart. Hell. He was reasonably sure she was still a virgin.
A virgin. Oh God.
Grant didn’t go out with virgins.
And wasn’t up for the whole marriage-and-family deal. Not now. Not ever.
And even if she didn’t expect him to marry her, a girl like Steph would at least want something approximating what women liked to call a relationship. Grant didn’t have relationships.
When it came to women, he liked things free and easy, fun and open-ended.
And sitting at the dinner table that evening, he felt trapped. Boxed in by his own burning lust for sweet little Stephanie Julen.
He needed to stay away from her. Oh, yeah. Since he couldn’t keep his hands off her once he got close, the solution was simple: He would keep his distance. Yeah. That should work. If he just stayed away…
He poked more food he didn’t taste into his mouth and resolutely chewed.
Marie asked, “Grant, are you feeling all right?”
He swallowed. Hard. “Uh, yeah. I’m just fine.”
“You’re looking a little strange. Is the pot roast okay?”
“The best. As always.”
Rufus let loose with one of those low, knowing chortles of his. Grant sent him a dark look.
The old cowboy shrugged. “Hell, Marie. This is the best you ever made. Nothin’ wrong with this here pot roast, nosirree. It’s tender and juicy. Perfect in every way. Just like the potatoes and the carrots and these rolls of yours that are fluffy as little pillows. Uh-uh. If the boss has got a problem, it’s not with the food.” He forked up a big bite and stuffed it into his mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. I’ve got no problem at all.” Grant scowled at Rufus for all he was worth.
“Hear that?” Rufus grinned good and wide. “Boss says he ain’t got a problem.” He raised his beer. “I’ll drink to that.”
Grant looked away from the old man—and saw that Jim, the new hand, was staring at Steph. Grant resisted the urge to tell the fool to get his eyes back in his head where they belonged.
After all, who was he to tell Jim not to look at Steph? The cowhand seemed like a nice enough guy. Steph had mentioned after she hired him that he was a good worker. Rufus said he kept his area of the bunkhouse clean and in order. Maybe Jim was hoping to settle down, find himself a suitable woman and ask her to be his wife. If so, he’d be a lot better match for Steph than Grant ever would.
But Steph wasn’t looking at the hired hand. Steph was looking at him. And every time she looked at him, he wanted to jump up and grab her and carry her off someplace nice and private, someplace where he could peel off that red shirt and those snug jeans and have another long look at what he’d seen down by the creek.
He covered pretty well, he thought. Except for Rufus’s sly remarks and the occasional shining glance from Steph, they all kind of carried on as usual.
There was pie and ice cream after the meal. Grant dutifully packed it away. And then, at last, Marie started clearing off.
“It was great, Marie. Thanks.” He slid his napkin in at the side of his plate and pushed back his chair. “And it’s an hour’s ride back to the resort. I think I’d better get moving.”
Rufus grunted. “Your horse is ready to go. Tacked him up before I came in to eat.”
“’Preciate that.” He pushed his chair under the table, and turned for the entry hall. The hat he’d borrowed waited on the peg by the front door. He grabbed it, yanked the door back and fled.
Too bad Steph was right behind him.
She caught up with him out on the porch. He didn’t know what the hell to say to her. So he said nothing. She didn’t seem to mind, just strolled along at his side across the yard to the post beside the barn where Rufus had hitched Titan.
As they reached the big gelding, she spoke. “Nice out now. Cooling off a little…”
The sun was just sliding behind the mountains, but it would be a while yet till dark. “Yeah,” he said, without actually looking at her. “Nice.” He took the reins and mounted. Then he made the mistake of glancing down at her.
She smiled. That wide, glowing, happy smile. Something tightened in his chest.
“How about a picnic?” she asked. “I can’t tomorrow. We’ve got too many fences that need fixing around here—not to mention a couple of ditches that have to be burned out so those fat yearlings I’ve been bragging on won’t die of thirst. But I could get away Tuesday. Say, noon? I’ll meet you out by that big, dead cottonwood over in the Danvers pasture.” He’d ridden by that tree earlier on his way to the ranch. Once, it had been on Triple J land. She asked, “You know where I mean?”
Tell her how you just can’t make it. “Yeah. I know.”
“It’s about midway between here and the resort, so it won’t take you all that long to get there. Over the fence from that pasture is Parks Service land and some nice shade trees. I’ll bring the blanket and Mom’s cold chicken. And the beer.”
Tell her no, you can’t make it. Tell her it’s just not possible. Tell her now.
