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“Detaching isn’t a problem for me,” he admitted, unwilling to confess how deeply he wrestled with the fallout from that skill. “Sometimes that makes me far too abrupt, as you witnessed firsthand in today’s committee meeting.”
He watched her face, locking on her expression before he continued. “Were you venting negative emotions about that when you drew the picture of me?”
Perhaps she’d been expecting the question, or maybe she’d simply been more prepared to revisit the topic after her initial embarrassment about the sketch. She lifted a brow, her gaze wary, but she didn’t flush with discomfort this time.
“You noticed that and didn’t say anything?” She shook her head with a rueful laugh and leaned up against a built-in counter with cabinets below and shelves overhead. Paintbrushes in every size imaginable hung on a rack over the shelves. “I guess you are good at detaching. If I saw someone had made a picture of me, I would have been quick to ask a hundred questions about it.”
His gaze traveled her body, where her position drew all the more attention to her curves.
“I was curious.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to combat the urge to touch her. “I just didn’t think it was the right moment to ask.”
“Truthfully, yes, I felt frustrated about the meeting when I returned to the studio. I didn’t have any preconceived idea of what I would draw. I just sat down to blurt out anything that came to mind.” She met his eyes directly. Openly. “I was surprised when I saw you take shape on the paper.”
He wanted to think he’d ended up there because they had a connection. An undeniable spark.
Because the longer he lingered in Abigail’s sunny studio, the more he felt his normal boundaries crumbling. And while he wanted that—craved following up on the attraction simmering between them—he wasn’t sure how he would handle anything beyond simple lust. The realization made him edgy.
She filled the silence that followed with a sudden question. “Would you like me to finish the drawing?”
His throat went dry. The question had gotten complicated in the space of a moment as he started to recognize that Abigail wasn’t going to be the kind of woman who would be open to a purely physical relationship.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.” He couldn’t think of a more eloquent retreat with Abigail moving toward him. Touching him again.
“Not at all.” She took his hand briefly to lead him toward a chair near her painting spot, her touch fanning the flame inside him, making him think about so much more. “Have a seat and I’ll finish up. You can see what it’s like to watch an artist at work.”
In the space of five minutes, Vaughn realized he’d somehow used up all his emotional reserves today. All of his ability to detach. Because that simple touch from Abigail sent all the wrong messages to his brain. He hadn’t given himself the outlet of a sexual relationship since he’d returned from Afghanistan. And now, the consequences of that had him on sensory overload, when he’d already battled the aftermath of a hellish surgery this morning.
A perfect storm of too many emotions without enough time to process them. He should have taken the time to go home and pick up Ruby before he came here. Having his dog beside him would have helped.
But he was already sitting in the seat Abigail had shown him when she returned with a heavy pencil in one hand and her half-made sketch in the other. She set both on a low table nearby, then moved closer to him, her gaze all over him. Studying him.
Seeing inside him somehow.
“Do you mind if I position you just a little?” she asked, already setting aside the folder he’d been carrying.
He wasn’t sure if he’d agreed or not. His forehead broke out in a sweat. Warning heat blasted up his back. He wanted her.
“Here.” Abigail set her hands on his shoulders and gently shifted them toward her.
She stood close, her knee brushing his thigh as she moved him, her breasts at eye level. She smelled like cinnamon and oranges, a spicy, tangy fragrance that would be burned into his memory forever. Sunlight kissed her face as she lifted his chin with one palm, her eyes taking a critical assessment of his features while he battled lust and a whole knot of other things he couldn’t come close to naming. Hunger for her gnawed at him. Hot. Persistent.
“I’ve got to go.” He clamped a hand on her wrist. Too hard at first. But then, realizing his responses were all out of whack, he gentled his hand. Released her. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I forgot that I said I would—” He rose from the chair. Sidestepped her. “Upload my notes on a critical-care patient after some—” His brain worked to come up with something vaguely believable before he did something stupid. Like kiss her until they were both breathless. Senseless. “Technical difficulties at the hospital.”
His voice rasped drily as he grappled for control.
“Of course.” She nodded even though she appeared as perplexed as he felt. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the hospital when I start work on site.”
“Right.” He didn’t reiterate his offer for her to come by his ranch. He needed to get his head on straight first. “I’m sure you will.”
Backing out of the door, he lifted a hand in a quick wave.
“Thank you for coming by. I couldn’t be more excited about the project,” she called after him.
But Vaughn didn’t answer. He was down the steps and seated in his truck in no time, slamming the door behind him while he turned over the engine and blasted the air-conditioning on his overheated body.
He didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking, pursuing this sudden attraction he was clearly not ready to handle. Maybe some other day, when he wasn’t already depleted from a surgery that had brought back too many memories. But for right now, he needed to put some distance between him and a woman who stirred a surplus of emotions. No matter how much he thought he had mastered detachment, Abigail Stewart made him realize he’d only succeeded in getting damn good at lying to himself.
Three (#u99b965af-ddd7-533b-b45b-de5983508d38)
A few days later, Abigail wondered if it had been presumptuous of her to accept Vaughn’s offer to search for pieces of fallen wood on his ranch outside of town. Driving out of downtown toward the address Vaughn had given her, she knew it was too late to turn back now. She did really want the chance to walk through the trees and find inspiration, along with some different kinds of boughs for the oversize statue she was creating for Royal Memorial. That much was true.
But there was no denying her interest in the lone wolf doctor who so fascinated her.
When she’d texted her request for when she’d like to come to his property, the response had been almost immediate, making her wonder if he was just that prompt. Or if he’d been thinking about her, too. She was intrigued to see him again even though she knew she needed to tell him about her pregnancy.
Now, turning down the road that passed the Ace in the Hole Ranch, where she used to work for the man she’d believed to be Will Sanders, she couldn’t stop the flood of memories. The main house was massive, with a deep front porch and multiple rooflines, plus an open breezeway connecting to a guest cottage. The crisp, white-painted home and dark shutters were immaculate, the trimmed hedges in perfect alignment. In the years she’d lived in Royal, she’d never seen the rolling lawn allowed to grow a millimeter too long. At night, it was really something to behold, with the many windows lit from within, and landscape lighting that illuminated the prettiest features.
Working at the Ace in the Hole had been rewarding if only to step onto that gorgeous property every day for a few weeks last winter. Her actual duties had been straightforward enough—organizing files and transferring them to more secure storage for Will.
Or, more accurately, the man who’d been impersonating Will Sanders, his former friend, Richard Lowell. Not many people in Royal knew that Will Sanders had returned to town to crash his own funeral. The FBI was now involved in the quiet investigation since they hoped that they might lure Rich Lowell back. Abigail knew about it because she’d received a letter from an attorney asking her to attend the funeral, since she was named as one of Will’s heirs. She’d nearly fainted when Will walked into the service himself.
None of that changed the fact that she’d had a one-night stand with the man who’d impersonated Will.
And now, she needed to let Vaughn know about the pregnancy. She was trying to move beyond the anger and frustration surrounding the father of her baby. She still worried about what she would tell her child about his or her daddy down the road. That he was a felon? A sociopath? Guilty of more crimes than she even knew about?
Shuddering, she touched her belly protectively and felt an answering flutter. The shifting movements of this life inside never failed to amaze her since she’d started noticing it in the last few weeks. Amid so much grief this past year, those signs of vibrant renewal felt like the most precious gift in the world.
Pulling up to the gates of Vaughn’s property, some of those happy feelings faded, however. The gates were huge. Imposing.
And the most definitely ensured privacy.
She knew many doctors earned a good living, but an electric gate with wrought-iron scrollwork outlining the house number suggested a whole different level of wealth. The arched entrance was a good ten feet tall on the sides, swooping up to fifteen at the peak of the arch. She pressed the call button on the keypad and Vaughn’s voice answered as the gate mechanism whirred softly, pulling open to the paved road that must lead to his home.
“Glad you found the place, Abigail,” he said, through the speaker on the security system. “You can park in front of the house and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Her voice sounded flat. Because she was intimidated? Or because she’d hoped to find Vaughn living somewhere more...accessible?
She knew it wasn’t fair to hold it against him that he’d done well in life. But after seeing how Will Sanders’s money had corrupted someone into impersonating him, she sure didn’t take any pleasure from the wealthy trappings that other people might find appealing.
Rounding a bend surrounded by live oaks, Abigail had to admire the old growth buffering the home from the roadway. There were walnut and maple trees, ash and pecan.
And then, there he was.
Vaughn Chambers stood out in front of his ranch home built of sandstone, the dusky browns and tans of the rock walls blending with the hills and trees so seamlessly it looked like a part of the landscape. A planked porch wrapped around two sides, with the main roofline continuing down to the porch, a trick of building that provided plenty of shade to homes in the summertime. The darker roof and wooden porch columns set off the lighter stone. Three dormers graced the main roof, giving the house a modest-sized second floor and a huge footprint on the main level. A detached garage with huge, dark wood doors looked big enough to hold a monster truck. Or, more likely, multiple vehicles.
The house was lovely, and couldn’t be more different from the manicured beauty of the Ace in the Hole. Vaughn’s home had a rustic, natural appeal.
As for the man himself, her breath caught to see him again. The short beard and moustache appeared freshly trimmed today. His thick brown hair was darker and spiky from a recent shower. He wore a gray T-shirt with jeans and boots that looked like they’d seen real work. A golden retriever sat at his feet, its long fur brushed and gleaming in the July sunlight.
“What a beautiful dog!” She was grateful for the animal, a welcome topic of conversation to hide her nervousness.
“This is Ruby.” He scratched his canine behind the ears, the affection in his voice obvious. “Ruby, meet Abigail.”
“May I pet her?” She liked to ask first even though the dog appeared well-trained. Her sister had once startled a stray in her eagerness to pet it when they were kids, and she had a scar on her leg from the bite for the rest of her too-short life.
How daunting that a hundred and one things every day still made her think of Alannah. Her chest went tight with the familiar squeeze of sorrow.
“Sure. She’s a social dog and she likes a good scratch on the haunches.”
Bending closer to Ruby, Abigail stroked the silky fur. Her knee brushed up against the animal’s collar as she patted one side of her back, the movement jingling the silver tags. One had her name engraved on it and, she guessed, Vaughn’s contact information on the other side. It was the second tag that caught her eye for the red caduceus and the Service Dog—Full Access notation.
Vaughn had a service dog?
She knew it was rude to ask about it, a working-dog etiquette tip she’d picked up from her friend Natalie St. Cloud, who owned the Cimarron Rose B and B in Royal, where Abigail occasionally stopped for a meal. Natalie had an autistic son who had a service dog, another golden retriever, and the animal had made a world of difference in their lives.
Straightening from petting the dog, Abigail swallowed the questions pinwheeling through her brain. If Vaughn had noticed her reading his dog’s tags, he didn’t indicate it. He gave the dog the command to “free play,” and Ruby sprinted over to a pair of weathered gray barns on the side of the house near a large, fenced pasture.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He turned toward her again. “I regret the way I left in a hurry on Wednesday.”
The hint of hunger in his green eyes made her feel things for him she shouldn’t. She really needed to tell him about her pregnancy. End this heart-fluttering tension between them and focus on her work and her baby.
“It was kind of you to make the time to stop by personally in the first place.” She took a deep breath, prepared to tell him the truth.
“Would you prefer the walking tour or a horseback version?” he asked and gestured toward the barn before she could get the words out.
She loved riding, but it had been years she’d been in a saddle and wasn’t sure how she would fare. Five months pregnant might not be the best time to try refreshing her skills.
“Maybe I’d do best on foot today. My horseback-riding skills are decidedly rusty.”
“I have a utility vehicle with a cart attached. If you see something you like while we’re out, you can just let me know and I’ll use the cart to pick it up for you later.”
“That would be great.” She had planned to simply use the day for inspiration in creating her own tree for the children’s ward, but she appreciated the offer of bringing some pieces home with her. “Thank you.”
They started down a worn path between the house and barns. Ruby remained close to Vaughn’s side even though she wasn’t on a leash. The golden retriever didn’t dart off to examine butterflies or sniff interesting fence posts. Clearly, the dog was tightly bonded to Vaughn.
Abigail enjoyed walking with them both as they entered a wooded area on the southern side of the ranch. Part of her delight was being in nature, something she missed in her downtown bungalow. With the earthy scents of green and growing vegetation around them, she breathed deeper, her fingers trailing over tree trunks and brushing against mossy logs. But another aspect of her pleasure had to do with Vaughn’s very male presence beside her. His warmth and strength. The simple consideration he showed for her when he lifted a low sapling branch out of her way or pointed out a rocky patch in the terrain.
“I didn’t get to ask you something the other day.” Vaughn held out his hand to her to help her across a rivulet.
She accepted his offer, squeezing his fingers for balance as she hopped over the water, his touch making her far too aware of him. “What’s that? After our first meeting, I can’t imagine you holding back on any question you wanted to pose,” she teased lightly, telling herself not to let the brush of his fingers affect her.
“Are you seeing anyone?” He stopped beside her, his boot cracking a twig underfoot as he pivoted to look at her, his hand still holding hers.
Everything inside her stilled. Because with that question, he was making it clear that she hadn’t misread the signals he’d sent. If she hadn’t been expecting a baby, maybe this could lead to something more. Something special.
Her heart thudded so hard he probably felt it in his hand where her palm grazed his. Staring up into his eyes, she allowed herself a flash of if-only thoughts, where this moment would play out differently.
And then, she forced herself back to reality.
“No. I am definitely not.” With a resolute shake of her head, she stepped back, disentangling their fingers with more than a little regret. “But my life is about to get very complicated, Vaughn, because I’m five months pregnant.”
* * *
Too stunned to hide his shock, Vaughn dropped his gaze to her slim figure. She wore three-quarter-length yoga pants and a blue-and-white floral blouse that covered her midsection. Now that he thought back on it, all the times they’d met she’d been wearing loose tops or, like the other day, her artist’s smock.
He’d just assumed she was single when he didn’t see a ring and felt—thought he felt—the sparks between them. Damn. Damn. Damn. He knew it was rude to stare and, belatedly, he forced his eyes to meet hers.
“I had no idea.” He shook his head, feeling like a first-rate idiot as a bird whistled and circled overhead. Ruby pressed against his leg, her head lightly nudging his knee. “I never would have guessed—”
“Well, I haven’t made a habit of advertising it yet since I’m still trying to come to terms with what this pregnancy means for me.” Abigail rubbed one hand over her other arm as if to ward off a chill, even though the day bordered on being hot. “Would you mind if we keep walking?”
“Sure.” He nodded, his hand scratching Ruby’s head automatically as they stalked deeper into the woodland portion of the ranch. “You’re not...with the baby’s father?”
She shook her head. “I’m not even sure he’s alive.” Her words were halting. Troubled. Then, as she slanted a look his way, something fierce lit her dark eyes. “But even if he is, he won’t be a part of my child’s life.”
“He won’t?” Vaughn knew she might not have a legal say in that since the father could sue for paternal rights. If Vaughn had a child, he would move heaven and earth to make sure he had a role in the baby’s life.
Not that he would ever be a father after the way his world had changed forever. Besides, from the vehemence in her voice he suspected it wasn’t the right moment to speculate about possible legal action involving her baby.
“Are you close with anyone in the Texas Cattleman’s Club?” she asked, surprising him with the quick turn of conversation. Her tone was different now. Confiding. Confidential.
How sad that he felt like they were getting closer on the same day she pulled away. He still couldn’t believe the woman he was so attracted to was carrying another man’s child. He was too shocked at the news to figure out how he felt about that.
“I’m not active, but my father still is.” His dad had asked him to stop by the club more than once since his return from Afghanistan.
His parents didn’t really understand how hard he battled the PTSD, or that Vaughn didn’t socialize more than strictly necessary. He pointed to a turn in the path through the woods, silently showing Abigail the way while she continued.
“Then you might know—and your father most likely already knows—that Rich Lowell was impersonating Will Sanders before the imposter faked Will’s death.”
Vaughn had heard rumblings, but not the full story. Will Sanders was a man who had it all—including a prestigious family with deep roots in Royal, and with the Texas Cattleman’s Club. He owned one of the largest ranches in Royal in addition to being CEO of Spark Energy Solutions, an energy company with ties to oil, gas and solar.
Or at least, he was CEO. Before his supposed death eight weeks ago.
“I heard something about Will Sanders walking into his own funeral this spring, but the story was too incredible to believe.” Vaughn wondered how Abigail knew about it. The story hadn’t been in the local news outlets even though Will Sanders was a high-profile member of the community.
And then, he understood. Abigail wasn’t a member of the TCC. So if she knew about the FBI investigation that was allegedly probing into the impersonation and embezzlement schemes of a man posing as Will Sanders, it could only mean she’d been questioned. Or was close to one of the main parties under investigation.
She halted beside him, her brows lifted, as if fully expecting he would have put the pieces together.
He stroked the top of Ruby’s head, taking comfort from her presence when he should probably be offering support to Abigail. “Is the man who pretended to be Will Sanders the father of your child?” he asked.
The hum of summer insects in the meadow nearby penetrated the woods, filling the air with a rising, buzzing sound, an ominous underscore to his question.
“Yes.” The terse reply communicated a wealth of resentment.
Or was it something more complicated than that? He couldn’t read her expression, but there was a plethora of emotions there.
“I’m so damn sorry.” He spotted a place he’d wanted to show her, where a fallen log made a mossy seat beside a rushing brook. No doubt, this day wasn’t going to be the kind of prelude to romance he’d hoped for, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t still drawn to the compelling woman beside him. He took her hand again, craving the feel of her in spite of everything. “Come sit for a minute.”
