Then he turned and walked to his own vehicle. With a wave, he started it up and drove off.
She sat there watching until the pickup disappeared around the other side of the ridgeline. She’d wanted to grab his neck and make the kiss go on and on. Hug him and tell him how much she’d come to value his help and support.
What she needed to do, though, was to beat down the flood of desire that, even greater than her lust, made her long to give herself to him, give everything to him. Recapture and hold on to the precious feeling of being loved and protected.
She had to guard against making too much of this, weaving daydreams about something that might never happen. Yes, they desired each other. Yes, Duncan McAllister was a kind, caring, sympathetic neighbor. And he held her and kissed her just the way she wanted to be held and kissed.
But none of that necessarily meant he was interested in anything long-term or lasting. People her age indulged in brief, casual affairs all the time.
She knew herself well enough to know that she didn’t do short-term and casual. Parker had teased her about having the dated morals of a little old lady, but she was simply too private, too reserved to be able to enjoy a quick romp in the hay with someone she hardly knew and didn’t care about. No one-night stands or even friends-with-benefits for her.
When she gave herself to a relationship, she gave everything.
Despite his flirting, his passion, and his concern, “everything” might be a lot more than Duncan McAllister wanted.
Hang on, Cowgirl, she told herself. Hold your heart back a little longer and see where this goes before you heedlessly, needlessly, run straight into heartbreak again.
Chapter Thirteen
A few hours later, cell phone on speaker, Duncan talked with his brother Brice while he drove back into Whiskey River. “So, what do you think?” he asked after giving his brother an account of what he’d discovered at the Scott Ranch.
“There’s no ‘organized conspiracy’ going on that I’ve heard about,” Brice said. “You don’t think it’s just kids acting stupid?”
“Could be. I’d be more inclined to write it off as that if most kids around here didn’t know enough to know their daddies would tan their hides if they found out they’d been making more work for another rancher. And if the Thomason Investment Firm hadn’t been not-so-subtle in pressuring some of the struggling ranchers to sell.”
“I guess the Scott place would be high on the list if they were trying to get ahold of good real estate. Has some of the best views in the county—perfect location for building high-priced condos. And it’s currently being run by a woman with little experience who might be easier to discourage than an owner who knows the business and has more ties to the land.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking. Any bright ideas on how I might be able to prove or disprove the theory?”
“Short of catching someone in the act? You might try putting up some motion-activated cameras on some of the fence posts along the country roads—but that’s a lot of territory with a high likelihood that the perps could be getting onto the land somewhere the cameras aren’t.”
“What about tracker dogs?”
“You could try that, but without a specific sample to track, they would be just as likely to pick up your scent or Miss Scott’s.”
“But if they were taken into the pasture where we’ve sighted a break, could they pick up a scent and track it from the fence?”
“Probably. Assuming your suspect’s already long gone, they could follow it back to the road, so you’d at least know where the trespassers had accessed the property.”
“Know where I can get some dogs and a tracker?”
Brice laughed. “I can probably arrange it. You’re pretty serious about this, aren’t you?”
“It makes me furious that some bastard could be creating more work for a girl who’s already pushed to the limit, trying to learn and do what she needs to in order to hang on to her place. And makes me even madder to imagine some lazy S.O.B. trying to push her out so he can make a fortune disfiguring our ridgelines with a fungus-growth of condos.”
“I’m with you there. The idea of Golden Boy selling our old camping spot for big bucks so some moneybags Dallas lawyer can build a house that can be seen from three counties doesn’t sit well with me either. Let me check with some people and I’ll get back to you about the dogs.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. So how goes it, Romeo? Has the lady fallen for your charm yet?”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Duncan said, punching off the call to the sound of his brother’s laughter.
Now he had an ace in his pocket. Time to see if he could win the hand with it.
A short time later, Duncan parked his truck along the square outside Booze’s Bar and Grill. Marshall Thomason was known to frequent the place, chatting up locals about what was happening in the area, always looking for business opportunities or trolling for lovelies willing to take him home for the night.
Hoping that Brie Connolly wasn’t there and Marshall was, Duncan walked in.
He turned out to be lucky on both counts. No vivacious blondes in sight—and Marshall sat at a table talking with Ryder Ford and two other business-suited men.
After grabbing a draft beer at the bar, he walked over to join them.
Ford, a partner in the local law firm Ford, Gamble, and Lannigan, saw him first and waved. “Hey, Duncan, how goes it? Haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“Hi, Ryder. Calving season. Spend most of my time chasing pregnant cows around the pasture. Marshall,” he added, nodding back as the real estate man tipped his long-necked beer at him.
“Duncan, meet Edward Matthews and Tom Sullivan, lawyers from San Antonio who’ve been working on a case with us,” Ryder said. “They’re in town for a few days of consultations. Gentlemen, this is Duncan McAllister, owner of one of the oldest ranches in the area.”
The men exchanged greetings and handshakes, after which Duncan said, “Hope you are enjoying your visit.”
“Beautiful town,” Sullivan said. “So pretty, in fact, that I’ve been talking with Marshall about maybe building a weekend place up here if he can find me the right piece of real estate.”
Trying not to grind his teeth, Duncan swallowed the sharp retort he wanted to make. Managing to summon a smile instead, he said, “In the meantime, Hell’s Acre B&B next door does a great breakfast, and I imagine you can find some places to rent through Vacation Spots by Owner.”
“Might try that. But I’d really like to have something more permanent. You’ll keep working on that, won’t you, Marshall?” Sullivan said.
“Absolutely.” Marshall smiled at the prospective client. “I’ll check through the portfolio and give you a call. I’m sure I can find something special that’s just right for you.”
Glancing at his wristwatch, Ryder said, “We’d better go. Almost time for our reservations at Baron’s Steakhouse. You’re going to enjoy this, gentlemen. Best steak in the area.”
“Some of it supplied by ranchers like Duncan,” Thomason added smoothly.
If that was supposed to butter him up, it wasn’t working. Ignoring the comment, Duncan said, “Nice to meet y’all. Hope you enjoy the rest of your time in Whiskey River.”
“I’m sure we will,” Sullivan said. “And we’ll be back.”
After farewells all around, the lawyers walked off. Turning to Thomason, Duncan said, “Mind if I join you?”
“Help yourself,” the Realtor said, indicating a chair. “To what do I owe the honor? You don’t normally stop by for a chat.”
“Just dispensing a little information,” Duncan said as he took a seat, all too aware of the tension between them. He and Golden Boy had disliked each other from their first rancorous exchange in high school, and nothing much had changed since then.
“How can I help you? By the way, had a pleasant interlude with your old friend Brie Connolly last night. What a woman, eh?”
Trying to tweak him by hinting he’d bedded a girl Duncan had dated? That would be about Marshall’s speed.
“Very competent banker,” Duncan agreed. “Whiskey River Bank is lucky to have her.”
Thomason sniggered. “A number of men have been lucky to have her.”
Incensed on Brie’s behalf by the crude comment, Duncan snapped, “The smart ones appreciate the gift.” Getting a handle on his temper, he continued, “I hear you were talking to Harrison Scott about selling her ranch.”
“I’m always interested in acquiring prime property. With her not bred to ranching, it’s going to be hard for her to carry on a place like that. Even with so-called ‘expert’ help. I wanted her to know we’d give her the best deal if she did decide to sell.”
“Prime enough property that you’d be willing to give her a little push to encourage her to sell?”
Did he catch a flicker in Thomason’s eye? There’d been something, he was sure of it. After a brief hesitation, Thomason said, “Encourage her how? Other than promise her we’d get her the best price possible for her property? A lot more than a local rancher could afford to pay.”
“I also hear there have been some strangers in a pickup driving around town. Been seen out by the Scott place too.”
“Really?” Thomason said with a lift of his eyebrows. “No one knows who they are? Lots of people drive up here from San Antonio and Austin, just looking around. If someone talks to them and they’re interested in buying land, tell folks to refer them to me.”
“Maybe they’re interested in other things. Like cutting fences and damning up streams.”
Once again, Duncan noted a minute hesitation, as if the man were assessing his response before he said, “Are you suggesting that someone’s been doing that?”
“I’m saying I’ve seen the evidence. The ‘expert help’ recognizes what the novice might overlook.”
Frowning, Thomason shook his head. “If that is happening, it’s outrageous! Why are you talking to me? You should inform the sheriff.”
“I’ve already talked to Brice. He might be sending in some tracking dogs. Just thought you’d like to know. Because if outsiders were hired to do criminal mischief, they’re not being paid enough not to give up their employer if they get caught.”
Thomason’s eyes flared, a look of indignation on his face. “Are you accusing me of something? If you are, you’d better have more grounds than a high school kid’s pathetic envy to back it up.”
“Not accusing you of a thing,” Duncan said evenly. “Just passing along some information.”
“How neighborly of you,” Thomason said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Now that you’ve passed it along, you can go.”
“Happy to,” Duncan said and finished off his beer.
Before he could get up, Thomason said, “You know, we both might want the same thing. But at least I’m not trying to seduce her into it.”
“This conversation is over.”
As Duncan pushed back his chair, Marshall added, “Julie Ann’s really enjoying her life in the city. Gave me a personal tour of her new high-rise apartment in Dallas last time I was there. My, that girl knows how to entertain! Silk sheets and everything.”
Duncan laughed. “What kind of man would sleep on silk sheets? Must be a sissy. Julie Ann should know better. See you around, Marshall.”
“I hope not,” he spat back.
Duncan felt the man’s hard-eyed stare pinned to his back as he dropped his empty mug on the bar and walked out. Fuming as he stalked to his truck, Duncan thought how much he would have liked to punch the smirk off the face of that self-indulgent chauvinist bastard.
Golden Boy Thomason, who’d been handed everything he’d wanted his whole life. Who seemed to think if someone got in his way, he was justified in using any means available to move them out.
He might be arrogant, conceited, rich, and self-centered, but he wasn’t stupid. And like most bullies, at heart, he was a coward. Hopefully the possibility of having hired goons tracked back to him would be enough to convince him to give up the sabotage attempts—if he were in fact behind them.
Duncan might never be able to prove it, but he’d be willing to bet his south pasture that Thomason was the culprit.
By the time he got back to his truck, his fury had cooled to an icy anger. Like he’d told Brice, he’d be mad enough if someone were simply harassing Harrison, creating more work, frustration, and anxiety for someone who’d had more than her share the last few months. But if someone had deliberately caused the break in the fence that had put her in danger—that, he could never forgive.
The intensity of his reaction when he’d thought she might be hurt had pretty much settled any remaining doubts about how deeply he cared for her. By now, he felt like Harrison’s problems and worries were his problems and worries. He wanted to share them and everything else with her, wanted her in his arms and his bed and his life, now and for always.
As scary as the prospect was of loving a woman he wasn’t yet sure would stay with him, he was all-in now. Time to stop taking it slow and find out if she could be all-in too.
Chapter Fourteen
After a day of constant rain during which Harrison had assisted Duncan in only the most necessary outside tagging work before sharing a congenial dinner and some toe-curling kisses, the next morning dawned crisp and clear with the sky that spectacular Hill Country blue Harrison loved so much.
Feeling energized and refreshed after tossing down some yogurt and her favorite coffee, she was out riding her usual circuit, looking for new calves, when she felt the phone in her pocket buzz.
She halted the truck and pulled it out to find a new text from Duncan.
She read it, smiling at his suggestion that instead of returning to the ranch for lunch, he meet her down at her favorite spot along the creek below the bluebonnet meadow. They could check to see whether the hay in the adjoining pasture was ready for cutting, and it was a glorious day for a picnic. He’d bring some provisions if she’d bring the wine.
Texting back an acceptance, she started the truck again, anticipation raising her spirits. She’d come oh-so-close to asking him to stay the night last night. Though he’d kissed her with increasing passion, he hadn’t tried to persuade her into more, a forbearance she really appreciated. As he’d promised, he was taking things slow, giving her space, and letting her determine the pace of their intimacy.
Despite that, she was tottering on the edge of offering him everything. And she knew that for her, yielding her body meant she’d be giving him her heart as well.
She knew he appreciated her dedication to the ranch and her passion. She wasn’t nearly as certain how much more of her he really wanted.
So it would be just as enjoyable, and probably safer, to meet him for lunch at the creek’s edge in the open air, even if the only likely chaperones had four hooves and chewed a cud.
After finishing her circuit of the pastures, she drove back to the ranch, changed into a prettier shirt and clean jeans, and actually fixed her hair, curling the long straight mass into a semblance of a hairdo instead of pulling it back into a ponytail. After putting one of her favorite wines into a cooler, she tossed a ground cloth into the truck and drove on down to the creek.
When she saw Duncan’s truck already parked by the water, she felt a flood of anticipation, delight, and something so sweet it made her chest ache.
He walked up to meet her, offering her a hand as she climbed down, then bringing it to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles. “How pretty you look, Cowgirl! I don’t think I’ve seen your hair fixed like that before.”
She felt herself reddening. Was she being too obvious? “Occasionally I do more with it than slicking it back in a ponytail.”
“It looks good like that too. But having it curl around your face—makes those pretty dark eyes look even bigger.”
“You look good yourself,” she said, suddenly realizing it was true. Like her, instead of his usual
well-worn work clothes, he’d opted for a more cleaned-up look, sporting a crisp, tailored western shirt, pressed jeans that hugged his strong legs and lean backside, and a dress Stetson. As he helped her down, she caught a whiff of spicy aftershave that made her mouth water.
Who needed a picnic? Duncan looked good enough to eat.
“Walk with me for a minute?” he asked, pulling her out of her sensual haze. “I’ll point out where I think you need to start cutting hay. We’re supposed to have a full week of warm, sunny weather. Best to cut it when there’s a good chance you can get it dried and rolled before the next rain.”
She walked beside him across the pasture, nodding as he pointed out where the grain looked ready and recommended a mowing pattern that would have it fall in the optimal direction. “Do you have someone lined up to cut it for you?”
“Not yet. My tractor skills aren’t up to cutting on a slope, I don’t think. I need to look back through the records and see if Daddy used anyone.”
“If he did, it was probably Frank Tyler. He cuts hay for a lot of the ranchers with smaller spreads who don’t want the expense of buying the heavy equipment. I’d offer myself, but once the calving’s done it will be a sunup-to-sundown operation getting all the pastures cut on the Triple A.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to ask you, not after all you’ve already done. You try to make it sound as if helping out here hasn’t caused you any problems, but I know it can’t have been easy trying to keep me caught up and still handle your own spread.”
He shrugged. “It’s been busy. But with company like yours, I’ve got no complaints.”
He led her a little higher and around a giant rock where a picnic blanket had been spread. “I know you love sitting beside the creek, but I thought you might like it here too. The view’s pretty good.”
Turning in the direction he pointed, she caught her breath. They’d climbed higher than she’d realized, with the big rock towering over a point of land where the ever-twisting creek took another sharp bend. Looking down from here, she could see the sparkle of sunlight on the stream as it curved around the outcrop and the sweep of pasture, lush, spring green, and dotted with wildflowers as it rolled down to where their trucks were parked at the water’s edge.
The Rancher Page 14
