The Rancher Gets Hitched & An Affair of Convenience

by Cathie Linz

  8

  “ALONE AT LAST.” Cliff uttered the heartfelt cliché with a sigh of relief. “You know, there were times I didn’t think we’d make it here.”

  Mallory glanced at him as she dumped her overnight bag on a chair. Cliff had borrowed a small getaway home from a friend. It consisted of only a bedroom, a living area, and a small kitchen, and was nestled in the mountains within a half mile of Julian’s short main street Best of all, it had no phone service, though both the plumbing and electricity were fully operational.

  “I know what you mean,” she said. “But we’re here. Pagerless. Phoneless. And, as far as I know, absolutely no one knows where we are.”

  He dumped the last of their various bags and provisions on the battered wooden table that served as both kitchen work area and dining table. “Did you have any trouble clearing your schedule?”

  Mallory hesitated. She hadn’t mentioned her agent’s urgent call yesterday to Cliff for reasons she wasn’t quite able to articulate, even to herself. “No,” she said slowly, “not any more than I expected. How about you?”

  He stuffed some perishables into the ancient refrigerator before answering. “Same here.” Having successfully completed his task, he turned to her. “So. What would you like to do first?”

  Involuntarily, her gaze focused on the doorway that led to the bedroom. She’d already checked it out and discovered the only truly luxurious piece of furniture in the entire cabin—a king-size bed covered with a fluffy comforter and a pile of soft pillows.

  When their eyes met again, Cliff knew he’d been right to insist on this private getaway. Slowly, wanting to savor every second, he walked over to her. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

  She never broke his gaze. “Yes,” she said softly. “More than time.”

  But he had one more worry. “Mallory, this is what you want, too—isn’t it?”

  “Did you think I’ve changed my mind?” A smile licked the comers of her mouth, tilting it upwards just enough to entice.

  “I haven’t been sure. So many things have gone wrong between us. I thought maybe you were disappointed, or maybe just—”

  “Shhh.” Her fingers covered his mouth. “We went through that before.”

  His hands settled naturally at her waist, like a nesting bird settling into a well-hollowed space. “God knows I don’t want to talk about it any more. But I don’t want you to feel rushed.”

  He saw her smile widen first in those bluebell eyes. “I don’t feel rushed. If anything, I feel like maybe I was right the first time.”

  “Right? About what?” He was memorizing her face. The tiny mole beside her left eyebrow, usually covered with makeup. The slightly asymmetrical arch of her eyebrows. The welcome in her smile.

  “When I said you lawyers were all talk, no action.” She looped her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we forget all the what-ifs and maybes and just do what we came here to do?”

  And though his arms tightened around her, Cliff couldn’t quite let go of his worry. “This is going to be special. I’m going to make it special for you.” He intended his words as a vow.

  Only when he led her into the curtain-shadowed bedroom did she answer, a response that left him breathless. “Don’t you understand, Cliff? It’s already special because it’s with you.”

  SHADOWS AND LIGHT permeated the room, glistening briefly on a gracefully feminine arm here, a sensuously tensed shoulder there. Their first moves were slow, tentative. Cliff helped Mallory undress, taking his time, treasuring each revelation. Then Mallory did the same, bestowing lingering caresses on his arms, chest, legs.

  By the time they lay on that enormous, voluptuous bed, he’d forgotten why he had fretted so about his ability to please her. She was the most intensely responsive lover he’d ever had. Alone with him, protected from interruptions, she displayed a sensual enjoyment of his lovemaking that was utterly erotic.

  He quickly forgot his worry that she would find him—or the circumstances—unsatisfactory yet again. Instead, he concentrated on drawing out both their pleasure, needing more than anything to demonstrate to her how very much he wanted her—and how much he wanted her to want him.

  Wanting him didn’t seem to be a problem. With her lips kissed to a rosy glow and the gleam of arousal in her eyes, she responded to his every movement. Sometimes she initiated her own arousing caresses, sometimes she followed his sensual lead as they rediscovered the age-old, ever-changing dance of completion. Her lips traced the outline of his body as ardently as his traced hers. Her hands touched and probed and explored with delight, just as he reveled in his explorations of her. Her body melded itself to his with eager passion that wordlessly conveyed her own pleasure.

  And when he entered her, he thought he’d come home.

  No, it was better than coming home. He lay for long, thundering heartbeats, buried deep inside her, half-afraid any movement would shatter this unbelievable sensation of utter rightness. He’d never experienced anything like it. In Mallory’s arms he felt truly loved and wanted.

  With his heart thumping out a drumbeat of desire, he slowly began to move, guiding Mallory’s hips to his rhythm. He watched her face intently, waiting for the first signs of her release. Only when she called his name in a hoarse moan and he felt her quivering response surround him did he allow his own passion to erupt into a climax that splintered him into a million shards, then, somehow, amazingly, made him whole again.

  “WAS IT GOOD FOR YOU?” Mallory’s husky, teasing words feathered over his shoulder in sleepy humor.

  He’d just managed to catch his breath from their latest bout of Olympic-class sex. If this kept up, he’d be dead by Sunday night. Ecstatic, but dead.

  “Couldn’t you tell?” Idly, he stroked her arm, tracing the muscles from shoulder to wrist. “If it was any better, I’d have died and gone to heaven.” He paused. “What about for you?”

  She must have sensed that his query wasn’t made in jest, but her voice was laced with satiated humor. “I did die and go to heaven. Didn’t you see me sprouting my wings?”

  “Wings, huh?” He ran his hands over her shoulder blades. He just couldn’t stop stroking her skin, as smooth and warm as molasses left out in the sun. “I don’t feel any feathers.”

  “That’s because they all fell off when you dragged me back to earth.”

  “Dragged? I figured it was you dragging me. Weren’t those your hands clutching my butt?”

  She giggled, letting her breath tickle his cheek. “Caught. I guess I’ll have to throw myself on the mercy of the court. Again.”

  He adopted a judicial frown and nestled her more firmly against him. “Well, Ms. Reissen, since this is your second offense, I’ll have to be more strict with you. I sentence you...”

  Suddenly, she rolled over, landing full length on top of him. “Sentence me to what?”

  “Ahem. Young lady, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” It was hell trying to maintain a properly judicious attitude with a naked nymph undulating against him.

  “Throwing myself on your mercy?” She wriggled into a more intimate position.

  “That’s not my ‘mercy’ you’re on.”

  “Oh. Well...it’ll do, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” he gasped as her squirming enticed his flagging body back into life. “It’ll definitely do.”

  BUT THEY COULDN’T make love all the time. Eventually they decided to get out and enjoy their stay in Julian. After a hilarious shared shower and quickly made sandwiches eaten at the rickety table, they wandered outside. The day was perfect for mid-April. Bright blue skies domed over a forest rich with the scent of pine trees and resurgent spring growth. Delicate mountain wildflowers painted sheltered corners with purples and pinks and blues. And on nearly every sun-splashed bank, hordes of yellow daffodils proudly waved in the breeze from bulbs originally planted but now allowed to spread in wild profusion.

  “It reminds me of my grandmother’s home,” Mallory commented as they walked contentedl
y into Julian’s minuscule downtown area. “She lived up in the Sierras, and every spring her yard had tons of wildflowers blossoming everywhere.”

  Cliff looked at her curiously. “I had the impression that you were raised back east, not in the mountains of California.”

  She turned to stare into the antiques displayed in a store window. “Mostly I was in boarding schools. My parents were always busy with their careers, so that was the easiest option.”

  He sensed something more behind her careful explanation. Delicately, he probed. “Easiest for whom? Them? Or you?”

  She tossed her head, letting the blond strands he’d persuaded her to leave free fly across her face and conceal her eyes. “Oh, both, I think. My mother is an archaeologist and is forever off on digs in really remote places—especially in summer during school vacations. And my father is a concert pianist who spends most of his time on world tours.”

  Cliff chewed that over for a moment. “Sounds like they weren’t home much,” he finally said carefully.

  “They weren’t. But then, neither was L” She flicked back that strand of hair and met his gaze head-on.

  “What about vacations? Did you ever travel with your parents then?” He guided her around a pair of tourists, stepping into the recessed doorway of another shop.

  “Oh, no. What would a kid do in Eastern Europe? You can’t just let a ten-year-old wander around unsupervised in a foreign city. And my mother’s digs were generally in places you wouldn’t want to take a child. No, I stayed home with my Gramma Lawrence.”

  He could think of a lot of things a child could learn and enjoy in Europe—or even in remote areas, on an archaeological dig. Funny. He’d always thought of his own childhood as deprived, but at least his mother, unsatisfactory as she’d been as a parent and family breadwinner, had cared enough to keep him with her. It couldn’t have been easy for her to raise him by herself. While she wasn’t the greatest mother in the world, at least somewhere inside he’d always known she wanted him. And that validated the feelings of loss he’d experienced at eighteen when she’d died, a broken and bitter woman who never had the chance to make it big.

  It wasn’t much consolation, but it was something.

  “Want some pie?” He gestured at the etched-glass windows of Mom’s, one of the several pie shops that, according to the Julian chamber of commerce, made the best apple pies anywhere. When she nodded, he opened the door and led her inside. It wasn’t until he’d collected two orders of apple-cherry pie with coffee and seated her at a table that something clicked in his memory.

  “Is that the same Gramma Lawrence you were talking about last Sunday in the car? The one who left you some kind of legacy?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She took a bite of the pie. “This is really good.” After swallowing, she added, “I inherited her house up in Sunfield. It’s where I spent all my summers and school vacations until she died when I was twelve. It’s beautiful up there. I had a great time with Gramma. I’ll probably have to sell the house, though. If I get that network job, or any network job really, I’ll be based in New York, not California.”

  Her casual statement was like a punch in his gut. If she gets the network job, she’ll be leaving for New York. He knew that, of course. He’d always known she’d be leaving sooner or later. So why did that realization effect him so strongly now? She was too smart and too talented not to get what she wanted professionally.

  He took a sip of coffee to moisten a mouth suddenly too dry. “Do you think you’re likely to hear something soon? About the New York job, I mean.”

  She gave him an odd look he had no clue how to interpret. “Maybe,” she said. “But we’re having trouble scheduling a mutually convenient interview. It’s possible they’ll hire someone else without even talking to me.”

  She’ll stay! He tried to disguise the bubble of elation that rose at the thought. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  She changed the subject. But while they wandered and shopped desultorily in Julian’s tiny downtown area, Cliff felt as if he’d successfully dodged a bullet. Mallory was going to stay in town, at least for a while longer, and he could simply concentrate on enjoying their time together.

  But he soon urged her to return to the cabin, where he made love to her all afternoon and into the evening.

  CLIFF ENJOYED taking Mallory out to dinner on Sunday evening. They settled on a local restaurant and lingered over the meal, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. It amused him to realize that anyone watching them would have taken them for a honeymoon couple. And that thought surprised him. He’d have expected to be embarrassed or irritated at such an assumption.

  As dessert was served, he realized to his surprise that neither of them had shown the slightest inclination to discuss their jobs. In fact, the words career and work had been tacitly taboo for almost the entire weekend, as if both were trying to forget that such real-world issues existed.

  It was the longest period in years that he hadn’t even thought about his work.

  But as Mallory dipped her spoon into her caramel flan, she asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask you how your meeting with your boss went last week. Did you clear up the problems that were bothering you?”

  Cliff’s gaze released hers and he shifted uncomfortably. “I guess. I understand better now why they’re doing what they’re doing.” His answer was deliberately vague because he hadn’t been able to tell Mallory anything specific about his problems—and especially not that they related to the infamous Bartlett murder case.

  Actually the senior partner had been very sympathetic about Cliff’s concerns, but had pointed out the hard facts. Client fees paid for the salaries and office expenses of the firm, and clients who were sent to jail often were irritated enough not to pay their bills. Not to mention that they often bad-mouthed their attorneys to everyone who would listen, which wasn’t very good for business. Besides, it was in the honored tradition of American jurisprudence that every client—even one with tons of evidence against her—be provided with the best possible defense.

  Cliff did understand. He always had. He wasn’t one of those pie-in-the-sky dreamers who dashed around tilting at windmills and making everyone—especially themselves—miserable.

  But this case still seemed different. The cop in question was a good cop, with an excellent record of more than twenty years of work. He had a wife and a couple of kids. No doubt the hatchet job Cliff’s firm planned would hurt, maybe even destroy, the man’s career. And his family.

  “That didn’t sound very certain,” Mallory commented on his less-than-enthusiastic agreement.

  “It wasn’t. I still disagree with the tactics.” No, he hated the tactics. And surprised himself once again for caring. “It’s funny. All your life you work for something and then when you get it, it turns out to be very different from what you expect.”

  Her head tipped sideways, considering his words. “What do you mean?”

  “Only that real life is different from what you see in movies or read in books.” He gestured vaguely. “As a kid I saw all those rich, successful lawyers riding around in great cars and living in ritzy houses, and I thought, man, that’s the place to be.”

  “And isn’t it?” Her question was gently put, and her fingers closed around his.

  “Not really.” He gave a wry grin. “I never realized that if you’re going to make money defending people from criminal charges, you end up spending a lot of your time hanging around with criminals.”

  “You mean your clients aren’t all lily-white?” she teased.

  “God, no. Some are merely nch enough to buy their way out of trouble.”

  He saw the question gathering in her eyes before she asked it. “Then how can you defend them if you know they’re guilty?”

  His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Because we’re trained in law school that everyone—even the guilty—is entitled to a defense. Besides, I don’t know they’re guilty—we’re also trained never to ask that question. Guilt or i
nnocence is for the jury to decide.”

  She shook her head, but changed the subject. “Tomorrow’s Monday. We have to go home then.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  She shoved her dessert aside and stared at him through the golden candlelight. “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Neither do I.” It was true. Even the thought of facing the same problems again made his stomach clench.

  Her wistful smile tugged at his heart. “I don’t suppose you’d like to run away with me, would you? We’d never have to go back to the real world.”

  With all his heart he wanted to say yes. “Sorry. You’d miss out on your grand career plan. The network is waiting for you, you know. And I wouldn’t make partner.”

  For a long heartbeat she stared at him. “And would that be so bad?”

  “It’s what you want, what you’ve always wanted. Isn’t it?”

  She studied his face for a moment without answering. Then she released his hand and pushed away from the table. “We’d better be going.”

  Her words were said with the finality of an epitaph. He knew she was right. It was time to leave this idyllic interlude and return to the things that really mattered. Their careers.

  Their affair was well established now. They were comfortable with each other in bed and out. They had a genuine “relationship,” a word which sent instinctive shivers up his bachelor spine but which also seemed right when it referred to him and Mallory.

  Yes, this weekend had accomplished everything he’d wanted it to. So why was he so reluctant to put it behind him and return to what he truly loved?

  9

  LENNY’S VOICE abraded Mallory’s ear. “They canceled, Mallory. They’ve found someone else.”

  It was three weeks since she’d returned from the trip into the mountains, and she’d kept the hope alive that her impulsiveness hadn’t destroyed her chance to hit the big time. Obviously, those hopes were in vain.