Three river ranch, p.5
Three River Ranch, page 5
She looked away, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. Mistral glanced up at her and whined. “I think we should accept the fact that we’re going to be roommates.”
“You don’t even know me.” Carson’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re right.” Rory shrugged and adopted a breezy tone. “But Blythe gave you a good character reference. So did Bliss, in a way.”
At that, something in Carson’s demeanor softened. For a moment, they stood silently, amid a chorus of birdsong and the soft rustle of wind in the trees. Then Carson took a deep breath and stuck out his hand.
“I appreciate that.” He spoke gruffly. “You didn’t have to offer to share the guesthouse with me. That was decent of you.”
She eyed him suspiciously, then took his hand and pumped it once, briskly, trying not to notice his long fingers, the strength and warmth of his grip. “So you agree?”
He shoved his fists in his pockets. “Just until I get the old lodge fixed up. A few weeks, at the most.”
“No rush,” Rory said. “There’s plenty of room.”
“I know, I know.” Carson frowned and looked up toward the hill. “But we just met.”
“Relax, Carson,” Rory said. “This is strictly business. I’m not asking you to marry me.”
Carson’s jaw dropped. Rory hid her smile and turned back to the guesthouse, feeling—for the first time since their inauspicious meeting—that she’d finally gained the upper hand.
Chapter Six
Carson awoke with a start to the unfamiliar sound of someone else moving about nearby. Even though he hadn’t lived at Three River Ranch for years, even though he wasn’t in Granger Lodge, he’d quickly slipped back into the feeling of being home. Long-buried memories of his mother rose, bringing with them a sense of longing and loss. Despite the troubled relationship he’d had with his father, he’d never doubted his mother’s love. Being back again might be harder than he’d anticipated.
Rory’s blind parting shot last night had hit home with stunning accuracy. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Damn his father. The ranch had always come first with Derek—his legacy, his empire. But after that, all he wanted was a clone of himself who would carry on after he was gone. Since Mitch had gotten the hell out of Dodge, Derek had trained his sights on Carson, hoping to force him to take over the ranch.
Derek had always known exactly how to manipulate his boys. If neither of them would take over Three River as a working ranch, then he’d see that it was tied up in legal machinations indefinitely.
But perhaps his father had underestimated him, Carson mused. Derek had always dismissed his son’s passion for conservation, rather than capitalism. He’d believed Carson’s love for the wild horses was something he’d grow out of—but what if Carson could support his dream independently? He was so close now to making it a reality. When his grant application was approved, he wouldn’t need to find some woman desperate enough to marry him for money.
As soon as the thought came to mind, a face followed.
Not some woman. Rory. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the image of her walking away from him yesterday. Damn, she cleaned up good. Soft gray yoga pants clung to her trim legs. The neckline of her long butter-yellow shirt had revealed a glimpse of lush cleavage, and he couldn’t help remembering the blue checked bra. He wondered what she’d looked like before the baby. She seemed like she’d have a dynamite body. And, without the plaster dust, her hair was a deep gold that caught the light when she moved.
No woman had ever even come home to the ranch with him. Oh, he’d had his share of liaisons in the field, with colleagues who shared his passion for the wilderness as well as his fear of commitment. But they hadn’t been girlfriends.
Except for Laura.
His mind dodged the thought, but it refused to be ignored. Laura, the one woman with whom he’d believed himself, however briefly, to be in love. The one woman who had carried, however briefly, his child.
He winced at the memory of her face when she told him that she’d “taken care of the problem,” and that they’d have to be more careful in the future. His initial reaction had been relief, but then any feelings he’d had for her fizzled within a few weeks, taking their future with them. He nursed no fatherly ambitions—the Granger track record inspired no optimism on that front—but still, the thought of his own child being conceived and discarded stirred up a wealth of confusion and anger.
He understood that it was her body, her choice, but all the politically correct slogans in the world couldn’t make up for the fact that she’d thrown away his child, and he’d had no say in the matter. What would he have said, if she’d asked? He didn’t know. But she hadn’t, and that was the point.
So much for commitment.
A crash bolted him from his reverie and he leaped out of bed, dragged on a pair of jeans, and ran, barefoot and bare-chested, down the hall to the small galley kitchen.
“Sorry.” Rory smiled, wide eyes blinking up at him from beneath sun-kissed layers of tousled hair as she gathered a stack of books from the floor. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I thought ranchers were always up at the crack of dawn, anyway.”
“I’m a horseman, not a rancher,” he snapped. “And it’s six in the morning. What in the hell are you doing?”
He kicked himself inwardly as her smile faded.
“I thought I’d make us coffee,” she said. “I figured you could use some. I know I could.”
She turned her back on him, hurt evident in the tight line of her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I have to get used to being around people again.”
“No problem,” she answered lightly, without meeting his eyes. Her hairy lump of a dog huddled beside her, glaring at him balefully.
He watched her move the pile of books onto the table, then fill the kettle and set it onto the stove. She kept her head down, her arms curled protectively. Suddenly he realized how displaced she must feel. She probably hadn’t slept well. I haven’t exactly welcomed her, he thought with shame.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry. Full disclosure? I’m an ass. I admit it.”
She stopped moving, then turned slightly and gave him another one of those heart-stopping glances from beneath her lashes.
“We agree on that, at least.” A slight smile tugged at her lips, and he had to quell a rush of desire.
He cleared his throat and put his hands up, palms forward. “But I need you to tell your fat dog to quit looking at me like she’s planning to kill me in my sleep.”
“My fat dog?” Rory turned then, her eyebrows raised. “You think my dog’s fat?”
“Look at her.”
Rory put her hands on her hips, cocked her head. The dog sat, tilting her shaggy mop in exactly the same angle.
“What do you think of the scientist’s conclusion, Mistral?” Humor lurked in the back of Rory’s voice. “He’s a smart man, after all. Maybe we should listen to him.”
“She waddles like a duck.”
Rory nodded, pursing her lips. The kettle whistled and she poured boiling water over freshly ground coffee beans in a glass carafe. “You might have a point.”
“What kind of dog is she, anyway? Some kind of rescue?”
“What’s your guess?” Rory’s smile was benign but Carson felt like a fish being played on the end of a line. The smell of coffee made his mouth water.
“I don’t know, she could be anything. Hard to tell with all that hair.” He paused at the door. “Is the coffee ready?”
“Almost,” she answered. “You going back to bed?”
He snorted. “I’m hitting my desk. I’ve got Stormy’s travel record to write up.”
“I can bring you a cup, if you’d like.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I don’t,” she said with exasperation. “I’m offering. What’s the matter, no one ever do anything for you out of the goodness of her heart?”
Not for a long time. Possibly not since his mother had died. Years of working in the competitive atmosphere of academia and field research had made him forget that people were capable of such simple kindnesses. Yet Rory had none of the servitude with which his mother would have made such an offer.
Who was this woman? And how had she been able to make herself at home so quickly?
Finally he found his voice. “It’s…uh…it’s been a while.”
…
Rory watched him walk out of the room, allowing her gaze to run over the long expanse of muscle between his shoulder and waist. His jeans hung low on his lean hips, revealing a narrow band of lighter skin beneath the deep tan of his body. Something like hunger ached deep inside her.
The earlier annoyance in his voice had tripped a visceral memory of a typical interaction between her and David. Even before she’d discovered David’s affair, they’d so seldom communicated comfortably. She could understand children without language skills, but her own fiancé had been a mystery to her.
Yet…Carson had apologized. That was new to her. She didn’t know how to feel about that. David had never apologized about anything.
“But he thinks you’re fat,” she said to Mistral, who’d flopped down in a patch of morning sunshine. “He’s in for a surprise, then, isn’t he?”
The dog flapped her shaggy tail in answer.
Rory looked through cupboards until she found one that had mugs in it. Another cupboard revealed a wooden tray and an assortment of glassware. She added a couple of the pastries that Bliss had left yesterday, a spoon, and then, as an afterthought, slipped a sprig of lilac that she’d cut earlier into a jelly jar and tucked it onto the breakfast tray.
“I don’t know how you like your coffee,” she began as she shouldered through the door. Carson sat at the desk, still shirtless. The large bed beneath the window still bore the imprint of his body on the rumpled sheets, and a warm, male scent reached her nostrils. Embarrassment flooded her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, flustered. “I didn’t mean to intrude—”
Carson looked up in surprise, as if he’d forgotten her presence. He grinned at her obvious discomfort, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. “No problem, roomie.”
Rory pulled her eyes away from his golden skin and cast about desperately for a clear spot on which to set the tray. He had the lean musculature of a runner, rather than a bodybuilder—an efficient, well-cared-for body.
That smooth flesh beckoned; her fingers itched to touch, to knead into the deep muscles across those bronze shoulders, to see if she could make him moan in pleasure.
The thought shocked her. Where had that come from? She hadn’t touched a man since David, having neither opportunity nor interest. Proximity, she told herself. That’s all it is.
That and hormones, her body answered.
“Familiarity breeds,” she muttered under her breath, shoving aside a stack of papers with her elbow to clear a spot for the tray.
“What?” Carson said, his grin slipping.
“Nothing!” She could feel the heat radiating off her face. “I mean, here’s your coffee.”
As if in slow motion, the stack of papers tipped, tilted, and toppled off the edge of the desk. Rory and Carson both dove for them at the same time, but it was like trying to catch feathers in a pillow fight. They reached and scrambled for the fluttering pages, but most of them evaded capture and settled on the ground.
Both Rory and Carson ended up on their knees on the floor. The tray and its contents remained, miraculously, unmoved. Carson was near enough that Rory could feel the warmth pulsing off his bare chest. She started to rise, but a sheet of paper slid beneath her hand and she slipped forward into Carson, knocking him off his knees, her face right up against the warm, brown skin of his chest.
Carson tightened his arms reflexively, and Rory felt his fingers leaving little trails of electricity in their wake. She pressed against his chest and levered herself up, then backed away and straightened her long overshirt with shaking hands.
“Sorry about the mess,” Rory said breathlessly. “Are you okay?”
“Better than ever,” he drawled. “Never had a woman throw herself at me before. I kind of like it.”
“Your self-esteem is intact, at least,” she answered, her voice crisp. She gathered the loose pages into a rough pile and clutched them against her chest. “I’ll put these back in order for you.”
“Don’t worry about that, they’re pretty complicated. Just leave them on the table.”
She narrowed her eyes, harrumphed, and turned on her heel.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he called after her. He laughed out loud. “And Rory? If you want me, just holler.”
Why, oh why, she thought glumly, did I ever get out of bed this morning?
She set the pile onto the kitchen table, which was still surrounded by boxes of her own books, then plunked herself down in a chair. Next time, he could get his own damn coffee.
She straightened the pages so they were all at least aligned the same way, then began fanning through them. Instantly, her interest was piqued. Within moments, she was engrossed in the content of the material in front of her, her current indignity forgotten.
When Carson walked into the kitchen, she looked up eagerly.
“This is amazing! I didn’t know Spanish mustangs descended from Arab Moorish stock. Stormy’s mitochondrial DNA tests show Spanish and Andalusian genetic markers, which explain her unusual coloring, I guess. I can’t wait to see her foal.”
She stopped suddenly, noticed that Carson was staring at her, and once again cursed the fair skin that revealed her every emotion.
“I’m babbling, aren’t I? I do that.”
Before she could say anything more, he jumped in. “You actually read those?”
She nodded uncertainly. “Just a few. I hope that was okay?”
“Yeah.” He frowned and put a hand up to his chin. “But I mean…okay, most people would rather watch hair grow than read gene studies.” He shrugged and looked at her questioningly.
She smiled wryly, then nodded. “Yup, I’m more than a klutz. I’m a geek, too.”
Carson had a strange look in his eye now, as though he was seeing something new, something unexpected. Something he liked.
“Oh, no,” he said, his voice silky as melted chocolate. “You might be a lot of things, Aurora McAllister, but you’re no geek.”
She broke his gaze then and got to her feet in a rush, gathering the pages together and thrusting them toward him, like a sword.
“Well. Here you go, before I mess them all up again. I’ve got my own unpacking and sorting to do and a few errands to run in town. Mrs. Fulston sent the rental agreement to your lawyer for amendment, so I’ll need directions to find it. Oh, and to the post office, so I can pick up my mail. And I haven’t even started getting baby stuff!”
Carson took the papers she pushed at him. “Don’t worry about the law office; they’ll send everything here. And you can’t miss the post office. It’s next to the coffee shop on the corner of First and Main, just down from the bank.”
“Okay, good. And what about the birthing center? I’ve got an appointment today.” She mentioned the street, smiling at the thought of seeing her friend Sabrina again.
“Don’t ask me. I didn’t even know Chinook had one.”
“Really? It was pretty big news when it opened. Women come from all over to have their babies here.”
“I’ve been traveling for the past few years. Even when I’m here, I don’t go into town much. Most things can be handled by phone or e-mail.”
“Shook the dirt off your feet when you left, huh?”
“It was a long time ago.”
He turned away and her smile faded. She could see the tense set of his shoulders, the defensive line between eye and mouth. There was pain in this history.
“Sorry. None of my business,” she said, wanting to kick herself. “Things are always more than they appear on the surface.”
She reached up to the hook by the door for her purse, ignoring the look of confusion he shot her. “I’ll see you after I’ve finished my errands. Mistral,” she called, looking over Carson’s shoulder. “Want a car ride?”
Then she dashed out the door, pretending she didn’t see the pain on Carson’s face. The last thing she needed, she told herself as she headed down the driveway, was to worry about someone else’s feelings. The very last thing she needed was to complicate her temporary accommodation with whatever it was she’d felt when she was on the floor. Of his bedroom. In his arms.
“Stop it!” she said sternly.
Mistral’s head whipped around, her ears lowered anxiously.
“Not you, Mistral,” Rory hastened to assure her, reaching over to stroke the dog’s hairy ears. “You are smart and beautiful and perfect.”
The dog thumped her tail in relief.
…
“Come on, Jonah!” Carson had slapped his hand against the steering wheel of the truck. “You can’t believe that old man was competent enough to make his own decisions.”
As soon as Rory mentioned the law office, Carson knew he needed to warn Jonah against telling the woman anything more than absolutely necessary. Not about his inheritance, and definitely not about the marriage clause. But Jonah had been less than cooperative.
“I certainly can,” Jonah had replied, somewhat testily, “and you’d agree, if you’d spent any time with him.”
“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to guilt-trip me into anything here.”
“Fine. But the fact remains that your father had intentions for Three River Ranch, and you can’t do anything about it now.” He’d paused for a sigh. “Can I say something? Not as your lawyer, but as a friend?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Why not at least let her know about the clause, give her a chance? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Are you kidding me?” Carson swerved to avoid a pothole. “A lifetime of misery. A bank-balance-sucking legal proceeding. Plus, I don’t want to be divorced any more than I want to be married. And I certainly don’t want to be unhappily married.”
