The Rancher and the Redhead Read online

  Too tired to think now, moving strictly on instinct, Roni stumbled down the hall to Sam’s bedroom and peeked in. In the stream of light from the hall, she could see him sprawled out on the massive king-size bed, his bare chest and legs dark against the white sheet pulled over his middle. Miraculously, Jessie slept peacefully beside him, thumb in her mouth and bottom poked at the ceiling.

  They both looked so relaxed, and the bed so delicious, Roni didn’t even think. She crawled in beside her husband and daughter, gave a sigh and went right to sleep.

  * * *

  A cattleman’s instincts usually woke him up before dawn, but as Sam surfaced from the haze of sleep, he knew that something was different this morning.

  That something had warm silky skin and rounded curves and soft breasts, which at the moment were pressed against his side. Sam drew a careful breath, inhaling the fragrant scent of sleep-warmed woman, and opened one eye.

  Jessie had rolled away during the night and was lodged against the headboard, snoring softly, her cheeks pink, but not the hectic fever red of the past few days. Roni, the sneak thief of sleep, lay snuggled against Sam’s chest, the breath from her slightly open mouth wafting over his nipples, the hem of her cotton T-shirt shrugged up to reveal the long slender length of her legs and a glimpse of turquoise satin panties.

  Sam swallowed and shut his eyes again with an inner groan. Fire stirred in his middle. It would be nothing to roll her beneath him and quench that fire once and for all. Dammit, it felt so right to hold her, as if she truly belonged in his arms. And somehow she must feel it, too, or else why would she have sought him out in her sleep?

  Shifting slightly, he explored the fantasy, drifting his fingertips across the ruffled mass of her whiskey-brown curls, down her shoulder in a feather’s caress, softly, softly stroking the luscious curve of female flesh. He felt like a thief himself, stealing sensations while she slept on, but he could no more refrain himself than stop the flow of the Flat Fork River.

  He grazed his knuckles across the crest of her breast, watching in fascination as the nubby tip contracted, poking against the soft cotton knit with a will of its own. Almost imperceptibly, her breathing accelerated, but still she didn’t stir. Emboldened, he let his palm cup the heavy weight, thinking that nothing had ever fit his hand so well.

  Would they fit as well in other places? The question nearly drove him wild, and he groaned aloud.

  Roni jumped, awake yet not awake, her newly acquired mother’s instincts on instantaneous alert. Lifting herself with a hand splayed in the middle of his chest, she blinked owlishly at Sam. “Huh? What is it? Jessie—?”

  “Shh. She’s all right.” His voice was husky, and he didn’t dare move, for the tight bud of her nipple pressed against his palm like a burning brand. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Uh-huh.” Happy to take the suggestion, she shifted, fitting her head into the crook of Sam’s shoulder and resting her updrawn knee on his thigh with a voluptuous sigh of contentment.

  Sweat popped out on the back of his neck, and he gritted his teeth with the pleasure/pain of pure arousal. But she was oblivious, unaware what her innocent embrace was doing to his overloaded circuits, and he’d be the world’s worst kind of heel if he took any further advantage. After a tortuous moment, her breathing evened out again, and he gently eased her onto her back and climbed out of bed.

  He was so excited, he could barely walk, and he sucked in air, willing his body into compliance. Not sparing her a look—all it would take to send him straight back to bed again—he headed for the coldest shower he could find.

  * * *

  Later, after Sam returned from his early-morning chores and a furious gallop on Diablo that was meant to pound the devil out of them both but hadn’t, he found both his girls still fast asleep. He had no doubt it was the best thing for them, so he packed up Roni’s artwork as her note requested and decided to take it on into town to the post office.

  And since the transport truck wasn’t good for much more than salvage now, he was going to have to lay it on the line down at the local bank, and there was no point in putting off the unpleasant task.

  It was worse than unpleasant. It was downright humiliating.

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” Jack Phillips said as he saw Sam out of his office a couple of hours later. “The directors are adamant. Until you’re able to make some payment on the principal, we just can’t extend you another loan. Wish there was something more I could do.”

  “I appreciate it, Jack.” They shook hands at the plate glass entrance. Sam started to turn away, then had a thought. “If I land that contract with Buzz Henry at the Wichita rodeo, would they consider it then?”

  “Well, now, that would be different,” Jack said thoughtfully. “A signed contract might shed a whole new light on the subject. Any chance of it happening?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m doing my damnedest,” Sam drawled.

  “Good luck, then. And let me know.”

  “Right.” Nodding, Sam donned his hat and went outside. The hot May sunshine beat down on the sleepy streets of Flat Fork with the early promise of sweltering summer. The chime of the Methodist church bells sounded eleven, but only a few dusty trucks and a handful of cars moved up and down the tiny business district that hadn’t changed substantially in fifty years.

  The orange sign above Kelly’s Pharmacy was a reminder for Sam, and he dug into his pocket for the scrap of paper with the prescription number of Jessie’s medicine. Since most of the pink stuff was currently decorating the nursery’s walls, he figured he might as well get the refill while he was in town. With the truck out of commission, no help at the bank and himself fresh out of ideas, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do.

  The inside of the drugstore was dim and cool and smelled faintly of antiseptic. Sam approached the rear counter, coming up behind a tall cowboy dressed in an ebony shirt and jeans with his left arm in a white sling.

  “You know why cowboys ride bulls, don’t you, darlin’?” the cowboy was asking the pretty blonde behind the cash register.

  The young woman giggled flirtatiously while she rang up his purchase—a small bottle of prescription painkillers—on the register. “No, why?”

  The cowboy draped his rangy form over the counter and gave a wide grin that lifted his black mustache and made his dark eyes dance. “To meet nurses, of course.”

  Sam stiffened as he recognized Travis King’s brash cowboy charm at work. Truth be told, it had always attracted women like flies, and it seemed things hadn’t changed. Especially the fact that Travis, for all his likability and good-ole-boy charisma, was a hell-raiser and a troublemaker from the word go. And there was no getting around the fact that if he hadn’t been liquored up after a big win, Kenny might still be alive today.

  The girl giggled again, flirting back with the handsome cowboy. “Well, I’d say you’ve met your share of pretty nurses, Travis.”

  “Doctors, too.” He winked. “You’d be surprised what a starched white coat can do to a man’s imagination.”

  The salesgirl, who was wearing just such a jacket, blushed. Then she noticed her other customer. “Hey, Sam. What can we do for you today?”

  “Missy.” He tipped his straw hat and passed the prescription number to her. “A refill for Jessie.”

  Travis turned to the newcomer, and some of the mischief went out of his expression. “Howdy, Sam. Long time no see.”

  Sam barely nodded an acknowledgment. “Travis.”

  “Hear you got yourself hitched again. Roni Daniels, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “I think so.” Sam’s measured gaze took in Travis’s saucer-size rodeo trophy belt buckle and the white sling. “Still riding rank stock, I see.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “That’s where the money is.”

  “Looks like you had one wreck too many.”

  Travis’s lean features tightened at the double meaning
, but he chose to ignore any intentional reference to the past, and his smile was easy as he indicated his injured arm. “This little old thing? Just a minor dust-up. I’ll make the Reno rodeo in June, easy.”

  “Gettin’ a mite old for that kind of cowboying, aren’t you?”

  “Naw, I’m indestructible. Too mean to quit, anyway. Besides, I got me a few Mexican Corrientes out on my place now.”

  Sam’s attention sharpened. Corrientes cattle were the favorite rodeo roping steers. That kind of prime stock could make the difference when a rodeo supplier was talking contracts.

  Travis hung a thumb in his belt loop and gave Sam a speculative look. “If I can sweet-talk Buzz Henry, maybe I can get me something going with the Wichita rodeo. Heard you’re dealing with Buzz, too. Brahmas, right?”

  Sam had always been a man who played his cards close to his chest, and his reply was typical. “Could be.”

  Travis laughed without humor. “All right, have it your way, Sam. But you and me, we could make an attractive package to offer to old Buzz. You take a notion that direction, you let me know.”

  When hell freezes over. “Sure.”

  At the bitter sarcasm in Sam’s single-word reply, Travis’s affability vanished, and his look turned hard. “You ain’t ever going to let me off the hook, are you, Sam?”

  Sam didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Kenny’s dead.”

  “Hell, we weren’t much more than kids. I made a mistake.”

  Sam’s mouth tightened with anger that was still festering after more than ten years. “You sure as hell did, but don’t look to me for absolution.”

  “As if I’d want it from a stiff-necked Preston.” Travis picked up his pill bottle and stuffed it in his jeans pocket, unable to hide the stiffness of his movements, an indication that his arm wasn’t his only injury. “Blame me all you want, but I’ve paid well for that night. I’m still paying.”

  Sam’s only reply was a stony look. Regret and resignation flickered in Travis’s dark gaze for a moment; then his mask dropped, covering whatever he was feeling with a smile that didn’t reach the bleakness in his eyes. He tipped his hat at Missy behind the counter and gave Sam a brief, two-fingered salute.

  “Give Roni my best, will you? I only hope the gal knows what she’s in for.”

  Travis’s parting shot ate at Sam all the way back to the ranch. What the gal was in for? Roni ought to know, especially since this marriage had been all her idea. But Sam’s conscience besieged him as he drove down the dusty highway toward the Lazy Diamond. Roni’s rough time with Jessie, his preoccupation with the ranch’s troubles, maybe going flat broke with him, being groped in her sleep by a horny husband—no, she probably wasn’t expecting any of that.

  Sam’s confidence as father, husband and breadwinner was battered, and it made his mood morose. He was a bad bargain all the way around, and if he had any sense at all, he’d try to find a way to make it up to Roni. He was supposed to be giving her time and space so she could get accustomed to living with him, then come around eventually to sharing his bed in more than just a platonic fashion, right? So he’d better not let his hormones get the better of him again as he had this morning.

  For starters, he would look after Jessie this afternoon so Roni could get some more rest. Then he would get a baby-sitter this Friday and take his wife out to Rosie’s for their usual weekend ritual. She needed a break from motherhood, and a resurrection of their previous friendly footing was bound to diffuse the volatile atmosphere. Under the circumstances, it was about the only thing he could come up with.

  Feeling somewhat better for having a plan—even one so modest—Sam entered the house, only to find that the sickroom atmosphere he’d been expecting had turned magically into a bustling hive of activity. Country-western music blared from the radio, a pot of something aromatic bubbled on the stove, what appeared to be all of Jessie’s nursery furniture and equipment had been transferred to the front parlor, and the faint but undeniable scent of paint permeated the air.

  “Sam? Is that you?” Roni popped out of Jessie’s doorway, appearing totally restored in tight jeans and sleeveless cotton top knotted at her midriff. Her eyes were bright, and a perky ponytail bobbed at the back of her head. “There you are. What took you so long? Have you eaten? I made some soup—”

  “Whoa, woman.” Slightly boggled, Sam walked to her and caught her by the shoulders, inspecting her closely. She had made a total transformation from the weeping wreck of the night before. “How do you feel?”

  “Great.” She beamed up at him. “Best night’s rest I’ve had in years. How’d you sleep?”

  “Uh...” Sam gulped, forcing back the images of a sleep-tousled female in his arms. His palms tingled on her bare skin, and it was all he could do not to pull her into himself and ravish her smiling mouth. So much for good intentions. With an inward groan of self-denial, he released her and cleared his throat. “I slept just fine. How’s Jessie?”

  “See for yourself.” Roni pointed. Jessie sat in her walker, babbling to herself and swatting the tray that held an assortment of brightly colored plastic toys. “No more fever.”

  “Well, hallelujah for that,” Sam drawled, amazed. He registered the mostly empty room, the spread newspapers, the open paint cans, and his amazement grew. “So now what’s going on?”

  “Oh, this?” Roni shrugged. “I started scrubbing the medicine off the walls, but then I figured it would be simpler to paint. Remember, I told you we’d have to do something with this room to make it special for Jessie? So why not now? What do you think about a mural?”

  “A mural?” Sam blinked, knocked for a loop by this display of boundless energy from a woman he’d sworn mere hours earlier was at death’s door.

  “I’ve got the cutest idea for some Western critters,” Roni enthused. “I can use trompe l’oeil to bring the outdoors inside. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “What? Of course not. I just don’t want you knocking yourself out.”

  “But this is fun. And I have plenty of paint left over.” She pushed Jessie’s walker ahead of them with her foot and looped her arm through Sam’s. “Come on, I’ll fix your lunch and you can tell me how the meeting at the bank went.”

  “How did you know about that?” he asked sharply.

  “Angel mentioned you might be going.” In the kitchen, she handed Jessie a wooden spoon to play with, then reached for a soup bowl as Sam took his accustomed place at the head of the table. “How bad is the truck?”

  “It was dead on arrival at Hartwell’s Garage.”

  Accepting that, she placed the bowl of vegetable beef soup on the table with a basket of crackers. “Okay, now what?”

  “Now, nothing.” Hungry as he was, having to admit defeat stung his pride and stole his appetite.

  “But, Sam—”

  “I’m working on it, all right?” To keep from having to explain further, he picked up his spoon and began to eat.

  Roni looked up from handing Jessie a cracker, taken aback by his vehemence. Sam ignored her, swallowing soup as if he were on a deadline. Roni stepped up behind his chair, and he jumped as she began to knead the tight muscles in his neck.

  “Didn’t you give me a lecture about communication last night?” she asked softly. “How are we going to make this work if you don’t come clean with me, cowboy? Tell me what’s going on.”

  Irritated at being backed into a corner, as well as by the way his body leapt at her soft but insistent touch, Sam threw down his spoon. “All right, you want to know the worst? Here it is.”

  Succinctly, he laid out the situation with the vehicle, the bank, the necessity of landing the rodeo contract to ensure the survival of the Lazy Diamond.

  “I see,” Roni said when he finished. “We’re between a rock and a hard place.”

  “Yeah.” Sam pushed aside his unfinished soup.

  “But there’s something else,” she guessed. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sam...” In a
revival of a childhood ritual, she pinched the tendon in the curve of his neck and shoulder in warning. “Communication, remember?”

  “Would you cut that out?” He caught her hand and drew her around. Obediently, she perched on the edge of the bench, knee to knee with him, but her gaze held a demand he couldn’t ignore. His mouth twisted.

  “All right, I saw Travis at the drugstore. Turns out he’s running a few roping steers and trying to do business with Buzz Henry, too. And he had the nerve to suggest we throw in together.”

  “Sounds as though he was testing the waters.”

  “Well, he can drown in them for all I care,” Sam growled.

  “Think about it, Sam. It’s not such a bad idea.”

  “What?”

  Roni nodded, her expression serious. “He’s raising roping cattle, and you’ve got riding bulls. Having a partner would cut expenses in half. You know everything about raising cattle, but hate the traveling and selling. We all know Travis has never had a clue about ranching, but he’s got a line of bull that could sell an Eskimo an ice maker.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’d hook up with that rodeo bum,” Sam said, his face going dark as thunder. “So you can just keep your damn-fool advice to yourself.”

  “You used to value my ‘damn-fool advice’ when I was your drinking buddy and not just your wife,” she retorted hotly.

  He groaned. “Now don’t start that.”

  “Well, it’s true. Holding a grudge against Travis all these years about what happened to your brother is a waste of emotional energy.” Her expression softened. “You need to let it go, Sam, for your own sake, if not for Travis’s.”

  “Forget it. I can’t.”

  “Then think about it this way. Can you really afford to let pride make you turn down an opportunity that could save the Lazy Diamond?”

  Her question cut deep, and his jaw hardened. “I never noticed before that you’ve got a real mean streak in you, Curly.”