by Sky, JoAnn
“You’re serious.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m serious. Try it.”
“You first. I’ll watch.”
He led Lacy to the milking station, pulled up a stool, and started singing a lullaby version of Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name.”
“Eighties rock,” Grace said flatly.
He winked. “It’s their favorite genre.”
Grace leaned against one of the posts. Noah’s face relaxed, and his body eased. He seemed perfectly at home, at peace, singing to the goat. His tight jeans outlined hard thighs, and Grace could see every flex of his shoulders and back muscles through his worn T-shirt. Her stomach twisted.
Dear Lord, she was turned on watching Noah milk a goat. She shook her head. Must. Stop. This.
“So, uh.” She cleared her throat. “I want to learn about the types of things schools can do, should do, for kids like JJ. You know, beyond what Google says.”
“At one time, Sheila was all over that.”
“Where’d she learn it?”
“There, done.” Noah swiveled on the stool.
Grace nodded at the pail of milk. “Not bad. Maybe you should make a CD, sell it at the farmers’ market.”
Noah raised a brow, as if considering the idea. “Maybe.” He stood up and let the goat out of the station, then turned to face Grace. “I don’t know where Sheila learned it,” he said, getting back to their original conversation. “Maybe Mrs. Walters’s friend has some ideas.”
“Who?”
“This woman in her bowling league used to work with special needs kids. She just moved up from Vegas.”
“How do you know about her?”
He pulled his brows together, like he used to do so often when she asked questions that, to him, had no-brainer answers. “She told me. Friends help each other out, Gracie, offer support, sometimes without even being asked.” He slowed his speech like he was teaching her Chinese. “That’s how friendship works.”
Sarcastic prick, even if he was right. She wasn’t used to accepting help; he’d taught her not to depend on anyone. But she was tired of being needled about it. Maybe she was tired of the way he made her feel in general—guilty, insufficient, uncomfortable. He needed a taste of his own medicine.
She stepped close to him. Close enough to touch him. Too close. His eyelids widened a millimeter, barely noticeable, but his dark blue eyes flared at the challenge, and with something more. Desire. Goose bumps ran up Grace’s neck and down to her knuckles at the thought. Her fingers tingled, aching to touch him. “You made me ask you for help. What does that make us?” Her words came out in a weak whisper, not the snappy comeback she wanted.
He leaned in until they were only inches apart. “What do you want to be, Gracie?”
His breath feathered her cheek. Her mind swirled with clever responses, with unanswered questions, with utter confusion. The only clear thought was the overwhelming urge to touch him, taste him, breathe him in. His body shifted, closing what little distance was left between them.
“I want—”
The phone in her back pocket buzzed and vibrated. Grace stepped back, nearly tripping over the pile of hay behind her.
“Careful.” Noah leaned forward, grabbing her, his fingertips searing her forearms like a branding iron. The heat ran up her shoulder to her neck, burning her cheeks.
She pushed away—what did I almost do?—and grabbed the phone from her pocket. Thank God for whoever was calling. She checked the screen. Claire. “I better, uh, take this.”
She scrambled from the barn toward the chicken coop, her mind swirling. “Hey, Claire,” she said into the phone as she watched the chickens peck at the ground. Chickens had it so easy: eat, peck, poop, lay eggs.
“Grace, when are you coming back?” The panic in her voice jumped through the line and grabbed at Grace’s stomach.
“Didn’t you get my email?”
“Yes, yes, it came through fine. The book is printed, done. And it looks fantastic, as usual. In fact, I think it’s one of your best works. You have such talent, Grace.”
Grace sighed. “What do you want?”
“I’m being sincere. You’re very talented. I know it, and Simon knows it. Which is why he depends on you so much.”
“And?”
“Simon’s still in St. Croix—got a huge opportunity. He wouldn’t go into details, just said that he’s not going to make it to Milan.”
“That makes no sense.” Simon had been talking about shooting that wedding for months. The publicity, the international exposure. She figured on his deathbed, he’d demand to be carried into the wedding on a stretcher.
“You need to take his place,” Claire said.
“What?” A chicken looked up at her as she squeaked the word before returning to its pecking. “I can’t take his place.” Sure, she’d traveled with Simon on shoots, but she’d never taken on something this important herself. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t good enough.
“He says you need to go for him, that you’re the only one who can. I’ve researched flights and can get you out tomorrow night direct to JFK, and from there to Milan.”
“Simon thinks I’m ready?” She should have been elated, soaring on clouds. Instead Grace’s heart plummeted to her stomach. Couldn’t one thing, just one thing, go her way? “I can’t go to Italy.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to need the full two weeks here, maybe more. Things are complicated.”
“Complicated? We’re in disaster-mode here! This isn’t a request, Grace. Simon says you are to go to Milan.”
Grace bit back a caustic response. One thousand one, one thousand two… It wasn’t Claire’s fault. It was Simon’s. Every time he got into a jam—overbooked, whatever—he expected Grace to pick up the slack or fix it. Except that made this Grace’s fault, for letting herself get dragged in and taken advantage of every time an emergency popped up. But what else was she supposed to do? This was more than a job. This was her career—a career she loved. And the man was a genius.
She sighed. “I don’t know, Claire.” Maybe she could fly out for a week or so and then come back? Though that would extend her dates in Reno. She’d be calling it close with the bank’s deadline. She’d also miss Spencer’s opening. Plus, she had two weddings booked in June. But could it work? Maybe. She needed to lay it all out on a calendar. “Let me look into a few things, and I’ll call you back.”
“Oh, I knew I could count on you, Grace. I’ll tell Simon you’ll be there.” The phone went dead.
Selective hearing. Great. Grace debated redialing her, but there was no point until she figured out a schedule that might work. Simon, Noah, JJ, even Mr. Lincoln—everyone wanted something from her.
She looked out past the ranch. Acres and acres of empty land, miles even, reaching all the way to the foothills. Way out there, there were speckles. Wild horses, probably, running free. How she wanted to be free of everything.
Grace took the porch steps two at a time, grabbed her purse from her room, then turned around and beelined for her car. She needed to drive. She needed to think. Somehow in all this wide-open space, she was suffocating.
Chapter Eleven
When Grace got back to the ranch—well after lunch—Noah was wrestling with fence posts. Ripped jeans and ripped abs topped with a cowboy hat. Did he know that he belonged on the cover of a Reno’s Sexiest Non-Cowboy Cowboys calendar? She’d thought her tastes had matured since leaving. Though there was nothing immature or under-developed about the man building that fence. Grace shook her head. Those were some of the thoughts she’d just spent two hours driving out of her brain.
She needed to stay away from that man, or at least not be alone with him. He made her feel things she’d thought were buried so deep they’d never get out. But every time he came close, every time he looked at her, those feelings resurfaced. She wanted to hate him. But the look in his eyes almost made her forget the pain he’d caused seven years ago. The look in his eyes—anticipation mixed with deter
mination—scared her.
Yes, she needed to stay far, far away from Noah. And right now, that was utterly impossible. She’d asked for help, and he was going to give it. This togetherness thing was going to kill her.
She slid in next to him, handing him tools and holding up posts to replace the broken ones, like she’d never left. She waited for him to ask where she’d gone, but he didn’t. He just accepted her back into the fold. Slowly, she relaxed and fell into an almost comfortable work rhythm.
There were a thousand other things she should be doing right now. Figuring out Italy topped the list, and so did going through the junk in the attic and packing things up. But she couldn’t pull herself away. The country air, fresh and pure, not heavy with car fumes and other city smells, filled her lungs. She’d forgotten how tranquil it could be, away from the hustle and bustle, and the crowds and the chaos.
She looked out into the wide-open fields that stretched up to the foothills. The horses had moved closer to the ranch. Her eyes immediately searched for Socks. He was there, at least twenty feet away from the rest of the horses. JJ sat in the tall grass, watching the band.
“Is Socks always off by himself?”
Noah followed her gaze. “You know bands only have one stallion.”
Horse harems. Yes, she remembered.
“Socks hasn’t figured out a way to maneuver away his mare,” Noah said. “But it’s more than that. The animal can’t seem to break the horse code. He’s socially inept, and he keeps getting turned away. I think that’s why JJ follows him. Kindred spirits.” Noah stood up, whipped off his hat, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweaty and still sexy. Grace focused on the horses instead.
She’d have to remember to ask JJ more about Socks and about his drawings, once he was talking to her again. Grace stood and shook off the dirt from her jeans. “I’ll make dinner tonight. It’s my turn. And I want to, you know, for JJ.” She needed to reach that kid, form a relationship. But first, she had to get him speaking to her.
“JJ’s not big on frozen pizza.”
She fake punched Noah’s shoulder. “I can cook. A little.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I picked up everything I needed at the store earlier.”
Noah’s lips melted into a grin at the admission. She turned away before he could see her blush and started toward the house. Why did she care what he thought? She didn’t need his permission to cook dinner. It was her house. She quickened her pace. She could make frozen pizza every night of the week if she wanted. But tonight, she felt like making meatloaf. It didn’t mean anything more than she was hungry for it.
“Meatloaf it is,” he called after her.
…
“Excellent meatloaf, Gracie.”
Noah watched her purse her lips as she tried not to smile or show she cared what he thought. A sliver of hope wormed its way into his chest. He couldn’t help but feel it nestle in and expand as he breathed. He’d been working hard to keep it casual. He hadn’t meant to scare her off this morning. But he also hadn’t expected what he’d seen in her eyes—questions, uncertainty, vulnerability. But mostly desire. And it rocked his world.
His Gracie was there, underneath that hard shell. Now he just had to prove it to her.
“What’d you think, JJ?” Noah asked.
JJ grabbed the used cloth napkins and started folding them. “It was okay.”
Gracie reached across the table and put her hand over his pile.
JJ froze.
She didn’t pull back. “Hey, kiddo. I saw Socks today. He looked so majestic. I bet you capture that in your drawings. I’d love to see them. Would you show me?”
With his head totally immobile, JJ’s eyes moved from Gracie to Noah and back to Gracie. Noah held his breath, waiting for an explosion. He’d warned her not to touch him or his stuff. Not to invade his space. Pull back, pull back. Still Gracie didn’t move away.
“I’m sorry, JJ,” she whispered.
The seconds ticked, ticked, ticked into eternity.
Slowly JJ sat back from the table. “Sure. Maybe tomorrow.” He slid out of his chair, eyes cast downward, and slinked out of the room.
“I expected an eruption,” Noah said cautiously.
Gracie turned, eyes wide, to Noah. “So did I.”
Noah wracked his brain for an explanation for JJ’s turnaround. The kid saw life differently. He studied Socks, rooted for him. Maybe he’d studied Gracie today, working the fence with Noah, and decided to root for her, too. Noah shook his head. “I’m not sure what that was, but it might have worked.”
“You told me to be honest with him. That was me listening.” She gathered up the dishes from the table.
“Oh, that’s why I didn’t recognize it.”
She laughed. “Smart-ass.”
“Well, I softened him up.”
“How so?”
He grinned, enjoying the banter. “I told him he didn’t have to go back to school. Hey, you cooked.” He nodded at the dishes in her hands. “I’ll clean up. Go take a break; relax.”
“If you insist. I’ve got to figure out some work schedule stuff. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” She passed the dishes to him. Their fingers brushed, and electricity zapped him. He almost dropped the plate.
“Uh, tomorrow?” He forced his brain to focus. “First thing in the morning, I have a conference call. Then I was going to clean out the goat stalls.”
She paused, resting a hand on the wall leading into the hallway. “After we’re done with that, how about we start going through the attic?”
Her use of “we” wasn’t lost on him. She was trying to hold up her end of the bargain, to do things together. Sure, she needed him to help. But there something more to it, as well. He was sure. He’d get her used to working together. Maybe his desire to buy this place at the auction wasn’t that crazy. That sliver of hope expanded in his chest. “Sounds like a plan.”
…
Noah’s silhouette, standing on the porch with a beer in hand a couple hours later, was billboard-worthy. Did that man ever look bad? Grace stepped outside.
He turned to face her. “Thought you had work to do.”
“I did enough for tonight.” She’d listed her to-dos, researched flights, and played around with the calendar for everything that could be moved. But she couldn’t see how she’d swing Milan, not with everything else she had to get done. Dang it. This was her opportunity to show what she could do. Instead she was stuck here, packing up stuff that wasn’t hers, taking care of a kid that wasn’t hers—and doing it all with Noah, who was no longer hers. And Noah accused her of not being able to step up.
She’d call Claire first thing in the morning and tell her the bad news. Simon wasn’t going to like it, but of course he’d understand that the circumstances were well beyond her control.
“Figured you’d be gone already,” she said. And that I could sit on the porch swing in peace.
Noah’s eyes glinted in the dark. Grace could feel them tug at her, stronger than gravity. Definitely stronger than her willpower. She stepped toward him.
“I saw Nessie at the store the other day. She hasn’t changed much.”
“She’s…matured. We all have.” He took a swig of beer.
“She asked about you.” Sort of. She couldn’t tell by his noncommittal grunt if he was surprised, if he cared. “You see her often?”
“We hang out sometimes.”
Nessie hadn’t been lying. Not that it mattered. “She mentioned that.” Grace tried to keep her voice light, nonchalant. Instead it came out hard, tight.
The sound of crickets filled the air.
“You’re jealous,” Noah finally said.
She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Heat swathed her cheeks, then spread to her ears. Thank goodness it was dark.
He downed the rest of his beer. “You’re jealous of Vanessa.” He tossed the bottle in the recycle bin on the side of the
porch and came toward her with an I’ve-got-this-all-figured-out saunter. “Just admit it. And admit why. You still feel something for me.”
His sheer cockiness pissed her off. Grace straightened her shoulders, ready to object, but found herself backing up as he continued to approach. She opened her mouth to protest, to stop him from coming at her. Her back hit the porch post, and she pressed against it, watching his gait. It was more of a prowl, his body fluid, determined, like a cougar with prey in its sight. Her mind went blank.
“You feel something for me,” he repeated. “You don’t want to, I got that. You think I was an ass seven years ago. I was. And I’m sorry.”
Her body stiffened at his words, but he kept coming at her, kept talking.
“But that something that used to be between us, Gracie, it’s still there. You’re pretending you don’t feel it.” He reached her, trailed a finger up her left arm. She shivered. “Don’t fight it.”
They were inches apart. Her chest ached. Her entire body was on alert.
No, she couldn’t let this happen. She’d barely survived his rejection the first time. She wasn’t strong enough to wade through that pool of pain again.
Was he getting closer? How was that even possible?
“I’m not fighting anything.” Feeble. She had to do better than that.
“Are you sure?” Heat from his breath tickled her ear, burned a fire trail down to her stomach, then lower. Yes, he was definitely closer. Noah’s scent was everywhere, surrounding her, invading her, paralyzing her.
“I like New York.” More weak words to match her tone. Her mind was mushier than tonight’s potatoes. She placed a hand on his chest to push him away. But without the necessary strength or will, it sat there, the beat of his heart vibrating against her palm, warmth radiating into her fingertips.
He took that hand in his and pinned it above her head against the porch post. “You like other things, too.” His teeth grazed her left earlobe.
God help her. “No, not any—”
Noah’s lips pressed against hers, and his tongue pushed through her teeth, assaulting her mouth. This wasn’t the tentative tasting of a first kiss. This was an it’s-about-time kiss, a where-the-hell’ve-you-been kiss. This kiss urged, demanded. Claimed.
