Three river ranch, p.10
Three River Ranch, page 10
“I just got up too fast,” Rory called out after him.
“Don’t care,” he called back. “If you move, I’ll tie you down.”
A few minutes later, Carson returned with two cups of tea and a plate piled high with cinnamon toast. Rory lay on the couch, beside the whelping box, her hand trailing over the edge, sound asleep. He stopped, then set down the tray quietly on the table. Everything she’d endured in the past year had clearly pushed her past her limits. The last thing she needed was night shift in the maternity ward. He shot a glance at Mistral, who blinked at him placidly.
“This is your fault,” he whispered to the dog. “You should have done this on your own, while we were out.”
As if in response, Mistral’s eyes widened and her body tensed. Her back legs pressed against the side of the whelping box, her claws extended. She was pushing.
There was another puppy coming.
Carson looked from the dog to the woman, then back again. He wasn’t about to wake Rory for this. Surely the dog could birth this last one without her.
And within moments, another gold pup was born, a rich red tinge to its wavy fur.
But this pup was smaller than its littermates and it lay on the blanket, unmoving. Mistral lifted her head toward the puppy, then dropped it. She was exhausted, too, Carson realized.
The dog whined, looking at him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? You sure you trust me?”
But she whined again, then lifted herself up with a groan and nudged the puppy with her muzzle. No response. It looked dead.
Carson looked at Rory, willing her to wake up. She snored delicately, her lips working, and he had to drag his thoughts back to the dog.
He couldn’t let Rory wake up to a dead puppy. She’d be devastated. And he’d delivered enough foals to know that sometimes they just needed a little help. How different could it be? He slanted a look at Mistral.
“If you bite me, we’re gonna have issues.” He got down beside the whelping box and, keeping a close eye on Mistral, gently wrapped the damp, unmoving puppy in a clean towel. It lay limp in his hand, a tiny, warm mass so nearly alive. He wiped the pup’s muzzle free of mucus and rubbed its chest.
The tiny ribs heaved.
“All right, little one,” he whispered. “Come on. You can do it.”
He stroked the baby’s chest and moved it from side to side, one hand to the other. The small muzzle opened convulsively, the tongue inside like a miniature curled blue-gray leaf.
It was trying to breathe. He grabbed the bulb syringe and suctioned out the pup’s mouth and nostrils. Once more, it lay limp and unresponsive in his hand.
“Come on, come on,” he muttered, massaging more roughly now. He suctioned the pup’s mouth again.
Suddenly the puppy gave an enormous heave, and its front limbs stretched out, scrabbling for air. A thin stream of fluid bubbled in and out of both nostrils as it struggled for breath.
“You can do it, little guy.” Carson wiped the pup’s nose and watched in amazement as the tiny tongue went from dusky blue to pink. The ridged rib cage, no bigger than an egg, bellowed in and out like an accordion and within a few seconds, the pup was squeaking and wheezing.
Mistral heaved herself onto her elbows and whined. Beneath her, the displaced puppies complained vociferously as she pulled away.
“Okay, okay, here he is.” Carson placed the youngest puppy in the whelping box with the others, and Mistral immediately inspected it from top to bottom, licking it all over, before nudging it toward a nipple. Then she lay back with an enormous sigh, as if to say that finally she could rest.
Carson got his tea and toast, now cold, and settled himself onto the floor beside the whelping box. Just until he was sure the newest puppy was okay, he told himself.
…
Rory woke up in darkness to the soft sounds of mewling and rustling. Mistral! She remembered suddenly that six brand-new babies had arrived earlier that night, before she’d fallen into her temporary coma.
She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to displace the fog of sleep that still beckoned her back to the depths. She swung both feet over the edge of the couch and sat upright, again feeling the head rush that had sent her to the couch in the first place.
“So this is swooning,” she muttered to herself. “Can’t say I like it.”
“Rory?”
The voice came from the dark mass in the corner chair. Rory jumped.
“Carson?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
The ancient upholstery complained as Carson unfolded his long limbs from their cramped positions.
“Catching a few winks, like you.”
Rory’s eyes had adjusted to the low light, and she could see his mussed hair and hear the gravel in his voice. “You were watching over me!”
“Nah. You don’t need watching. But you kinda fell asleep on the job, so I took over watching Misty here.”
She sat up, pulling the afghan tightly around her shoulders, and leaned over the whelping box. She stroked Mistral and her dozing offspring. Her hand drifted lightly over the tiny bodies, now fluffy and dry, then stopped. She peered in more closely.
“Aha,” Carson said, a smile in his voice. “You noticed.”
“When did that happen? Were you here? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Hey,” Carson said, squatting beside her and stroking her back lightly. “I was here. She’s okay. The puppy’s okay. That’s the main thing, right? Gave me a scare though, this one. He didn’t want to breathe at first. I had to give him a little encouragement.”
Rory shuddered. “I can’t believe I slept through it. What if you hadn’t been here? Oh my God.”
“Rory, hey, look at me.” Carson took her by the shoulders and tipped his head down to look into her face. “It happened fast; there wasn’t time to wake you and you seemed to need the sleep. We managed. I did the same thing I would with a flat foal. And everything turned out okay.”
“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Rory murmured, the newest puppy in her hands. Although she kept her voice low, she couldn’t keep a thread of guilt from weaving through it. “Golden Boy looks okay, but I’ll call the vet in the morning, just to make sure.”
Carson’s smile faded. “That’s all you have to say? Really?”
She kept her voice low, trying not to let him hear it shake. Suddenly everything she was taking on, by herself, loomed in front of her, impossibly huge. “I appreciate what you did. But you should have woken me. This is my problem, not yours.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m just supposed to…what? Just walk away, let you handle it all by yourself? What do you take me for, Rory? Why can’t you just accept the help and say thank you?”
Rory turned, hiding her face, feeling the room swirl around her. She closed her eyes, willing the sensation away, trying to focus. He’d hit the nail on the head, that’s for sure. He didn’t understand how important it was for her to be self-reliant. She could not allow herself to get used to having someone else to lean on—she must not be dependent.
Carson said nothing, just stood beside the window, watching her. She hazarded a glance in return. Moonlight caressed his face, lighting up the strong line of his stubbled jaw, throwing deep shadows over the opposite cheek. His expression was hurt in the dim light. Suddenly she was aware of the heat radiating off his body, so close to hers. She could smell his sleepy warmth and it drew her, pulling at her senses on some primal level.
“I’m sorry, Carson.”
But that’s all she said before the coffee table leaped into her path, knocking her off balance.
“Whoa!” Carson grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly against his chest. “Watch it.”
Reflexively, Rory clung to him, her heart pounding, and not just from the near fall. Here she was, again, in his arms. Was some part of her being clumsy on purpose? She allowed herself a moment, just a split second, to enjoy it, drinking in the feel of his muscled flesh beneath her palms, against her hip, next to her belly, where the baby rolled and stretched.
“Talk about being thrown together,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Carson’s voice lacked the lightness she’d deliberately injected into hers. His words sounded distant, careful. “You fainted earlier and—”
“I didn’t faint.”
“You fainted. Have you seen your midwife yet?”
“Carson,” she protested, “I’m fine. My appointment got bumped, but I’m going next week. You’re being ridiculous.”
“You’re seeing her tomorrow, or I’m taking you to the hospital. No argument.”
Ever so casually, he dropped a soft kiss onto her nose. For just a moment, she let herself feel it. The gesture was so tender, so gentle, so undemanding. Then she turned away, swallowing hard.
“Uh, thanks,” she managed, her voice croaky. “I’m better now.”
“Okay. Sure.”
She could feel his gaze on her, penetrating the defensive mask she’d erected, seeking to get beneath to the soft, vulnerable part of her.
“I am. I should—” But before she could tell him that she needed to go to bed, to get a snack, to feed the dogs, to do anything, he’d tightened his grip on her upper arms and pulled her closer, into the warmth of his chest.
“Carson,” she tried again, but he hushed her, bringing his forehead down against hers. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of sensation, the terrible togetherness she felt suddenly. “I don’t think—”
He grazed his lips over hers, first feather-light and quick, then deeper, firmer. Without thinking, she clasped her arms around his broad body and closed her eyes, her mouth melting open beneath his.
Small mewls of pleasure sounded deep in her throat, and Carson smiled against her lips. She tried to pull away, furious at her body’s uninhibited response.
“Oh, not so fast.” The smile lacing his voice sounded like a purr. “I think the lady likes it.”
Rory bent her head, tucking her face against his neck.
“I don’t do this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing is that?” This time, Carson tilted her chin with one finger, forcing her to make eye contact with him. The heat in his eye brought a flush to her cheeks. “Kissing a man you just spent the night with? The man you live with? Come on, Rory, we’re both adults here.”
This time, when she pulled away, she meant it. “I don’t do casual sex and whatever…that…was, it’s a bad idea. Things are complicated enough already.”
She shoved past him, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, ignoring the heat in her body and the way it responded to his.
“Rory!” He stared at her. “What the hell?”
She drew herself up to her full height, then scowled at how he still towered over her. “I thank you for your help tonight. Mistral and her babies thank you. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She turned on her heel and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Before she reached it, she stopped, then returned to the whelping box, sheepish but determined. “Actually, I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight. So you’re going to have to leave.”
Carson shook his head, then waved an exasperated hand at her. “Kind of takes the wind out of your sails.”
…
I deserved that, thought Rory. She tucked the last baby, the one she’d named Golden Boy in her mind, with his siblings, and stood up slowly. She didn’t want to trigger another episode of light-headedness. She was having enough trouble resisting Carson without giving him reason to touch her.
But she felt no triumph at her attempt to shut down the growing attraction between them. She felt…empty. Bereft. Why? She hadn’t expected him. When she discovered he was here, she’d been resentful. Had she changed that much in such a short time?
She was grateful for Carson’s intervention, but she couldn’t help wishing she’d been the one to save the puppy. She wanted to handle this herself; she needed to handle it herself. The last thing she wanted was to be beholden to a man, especially one she had to live with for the immediate future. Especially one who triggered desire that she couldn’t afford to feel. And especially one who looked dangerously…honorable.
She wouldn’t foist herself on anyone. She wouldn’t allow anyone to “take her on” out of guilt or pity or obligation or even common decency.
If someone like Carson wanted her, it had to be for herself alone. Because he loved her.
And that wasn’t about to happen. She could tell he wasn’t the kind of man to let it happen. He knew what he wanted and wouldn’t let anything–-or anyone–-get in the way. She wasn’t going to be some convenient plaything on the sidelines.
Not that she wanted that, anyway.
“It’s you and me, babe,” she whispered to Mistral, dozing lazily amid her squirming puppies. “We’ll take care of each other, okay?”
The dog looked up at her then and Rory could have sworn there was sorrow and disappointment in her eyes.
I’m a dog, she imagined Mistral saying. What’s your excuse?
Carson listened to the soft sounds coming from the kitchen as he tossed and turned. Was that blasted woman planning on making this kind of racket all night? Okay, so maybe she wasn’t making that much noise, he admitted grudgingly. Maybe he was frustrated. Disappointed. Even a little hurt. But it was better, safer, to be mad. Why tonight, of all nights? He had an early-morning appointment, an important meeting with potential backers. Success was nearly in his grasp; the impression he made on this committee could allow him to finalize the details to make Three River Mustang Study Center a physical reality.
Once the money came through, he could hire all the staff he needed. He’d pay whatever penalty necessary to break the lease and Rory could take her dog—dogs, plural, he corrected himself—and disappear. And he could get back to the business of saving horses.
He turned over again, reached behind him, punched the pillow viciously, and threw himself against it, knowing that no matter what he tried, it wouldn’t work. All thanks to that woman.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memory of her face, flushed with sleep, her ripe body, her hair falling every which way, her bare feet, intruded relentlessly, making his groin tighten. She’d smelled so damn good, so warm and clean and inviting. And her mouth, well…
He hadn’t been with a woman since Laura, and until now, had been too occupied with keeping his distance to feel deprived. Suddenly here he was, acting like the stallion back in the mountains, pacing back and forth, going without food and sleep, driven only by desire. That taste had simply fanned the embers he hadn’t even realized were simmering, just waiting to burst into flame.
And now they were burning, all right.
With nowhere to go. She’d made that plain. She wanted nothing to do with him, was only about her stupid dog. He couldn’t believe that, for a few moments, he’d even considered telling her about the will…no. She wasn’t the sort of woman to go for such a plan, and he wouldn’t want her if she were. Not that he wanted her.
He had to ignore the burn. Nothing he’d done in his career had meant as much to him as creating this sanctuary, and he couldn’t allow his hormones to get in the way now, when he was so close to achieving his goal.
But dawn’s pink fingers were slipping beneath the night sky before he dozed off. And the sun was considerably higher than that when he finally awoke.
Chapter Eleven
Rory spent the rest of the night on the couch, having finally worn out the excitement of watching the birth of the puppies.
The sound of a door slamming made her jump. Mistral startled, then growled.
Carson ran out of his room, tucking in his dress shirt, a tie draped over one arm, a string of muttered curses pouring from him.
“What’s the matter with you?” Rory said, before realizing that silence might be the wiser course.
He shot her a glare while rummaging through the debris on the counter.
“Where the hell are my keys?”
“How should I know? And lower your voice; you’re scaring Mistral.”
“I’m late for my meeting,” he said. “If she’s scared, too bad. She’ll get over it.”
“Sleeping through your alarm is not our fault,” Rory snapped. “So don’t take it out on us.”
Having located his keys, Carson stormed out of the house, gunned his engine, and tore off down the driveway. As the sound of his tire tracks faded away, Rory stroked the dog and eventually, they both went back to sleep.
“That man,” she murmured as she moved her hands hypnotically over the warm fur. “I guess he’s not a morning person.”
Then she tucked the blanket around herself, unable to stay awake long enough to feel the confusion he stirred. That man.
…
It was well past the agreed-upon meeting time when Carson burst through the front doors of the agency in Billings. He’d made the drive in record time, but he was still very late.
“Carson Granger,” he told the receptionist, who appeared to have many more important things to do than talk to him. “I’m, uh, a little late for my appointment.”
She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “You’re more than a little late, Mr. Granger. Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Green waited for you for twenty minutes.”
He stared back at her and this time chose his words carefully. “I was unavoidably detained. Please tell them I’ve arrived.”
She pursed her lips, then picked up the phone and turned away so Carson couldn’t overhear her. A moment later, she turned back, her face blank.
“Mr. Sanderson will see you now. Down the hall, first door on the left.”
Carson thanked her and followed her directions, his mind racing. He hated starting out at a disadvantage. He needed to impress them.
Even before he’d sat down, he knew it was too late.
“We were about to give up on you,” Mr. Sanderson said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “As it is, my colleague, Mr. Green, had another appointment and was unable to wait.”
