If he laid her down now, the ceiling could crash on them, the floor could turn to rubble and it wouldn’t matter.
Going down the third time . . .
He pulled back, with the last shreds of self-control, resting his forehead against hers as he pulled in breaths that carried too much of her scent to bring much sanity. But enough, just barely enough.
Carefully, he put his hands to her shoulders and guided her back to sit on her heels. Then sat back himself. He made himself look at her.
“Hannah.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
She said it quickly, too quickly. Like someone who’d been thinking of saying the opposite, but was not willing to risk it. Or was that wishful thinking?
“I better go.”
“Yes.”
With quick pulls and tugs she had her clothes mostly back in order before they even stood. He fastened his shirt and tucked it in with reluctance as they headed to the door. He would have liked one more touch, one more brush of skin to skin.
“I’ll take you to that movie tomorrow night.”
“Dax, there’s no need—”
“I want to see you, Hannah.” He didn’t have the strength in him to not say that.
She drew in a deep breath. “I want to see you, too.”
* * * *
Digging in his bottom drawer for the new shirt he’d bought on a spring trip to Denver, Dax came across the old black-and-white photograph.
He squatted there and stared at it the way he used to as a kid, the way he had that last night before he’d left home for good, never to return until his father’s funeral.
A dark-haired woman with a smile that came from her eyes sat on the narrow porch step that used to lead to the back door before he added a full porch when he moved back. The woman wore a checked dress and an apron. She had both arms around a little boy of maybe five in denims and a plaid shirt who sat on her lap. Her cheek rested on the top of the boy’s head, the shadow from her face obscuring the child’s.
For no reason he could name he thought of the photographs of Hannah and her family he’d seen last night. In those pictures, everything was clear—the faces, the connections and the love. The features of her parents blended well in their children, so each resembled the others, yet was a distinct individual.
Seeing that in Hannah’s photographs should have made the uncertainties and isolation he’d always found in this photograph hurt more. It didn’t.
“Dad?”
Dax dropped the photo into the drawer, pushed it closed and rose before he turned to face his son.
“What’s up, Will?”
“What’re you doing?”
“Getting a clean shirt.” He bent to retrieve the shirt, setting off the telltale crinkle of tissue paper as he squeezed it.
“New shirt? What for?”
“I’m taking Hannah out tonight.” He pulled the straight pins that had held the sleeves folded in place, shook it out and hung it up, running a hand down its surface in a rough ironing motion. Would Hannah run her hand over this fabric tonight? Would she slip a hand under the fabric and touch his skin? His lower body stirred at the thought.
But he wouldn’t let it get carried away. He couldn’t.
“Again?”
“Yup. It’s what happens when two people have a good time together. If she lived around here, I’d go slower, but she’s leaving in a week.” That was his safety net.
“You’re not wearing the new shirt for the roping Friday?”
“Thought we’d wear the green, if that suits you.” He crumpled the paper and sent it toward the wastepaper basket. It hit the rim and went in.
“Should’ve been all net on an easy shot like that.”
“Lucky or good, two points are still two points.”
Will grinned. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re lucky, then. Uh, Dad, Mr. Weston called and asked if I would come help them for a couple hours closing up some of the cabins for the season. With Pete at college, he said they could use some help—Travis Grainger’s going to be there, too—and Mr. Weston said he’d pay us. My chores are done.”
Dax understood the lure to Will of working for the Westons—they paid him. All the work Will did around the ranch earned him only rare extra cash. Will hadn’t ever asked for a whole lot, and Dax had always been ready to give him money for a movie or a book or some candy in town. That needed to change. Will needed to be making more of his own choices, setting more of his own priorities about money. God, his son was really growing up.
“I thought we were going to practice roping,” he said instead.
“I’ll be back by five. We can get in an hour before supper.”
And at seven-thirty he’d pick up Hannah. Strange the satisfaction that thought brought. “Homework?”
“Mostly done. I’ll finish the reading tonight.”
“Okay. You need a ride?”
“Nah, I’ll ride Merc.”
“Okay. See you at five, then.”
“Bye.”
Will headed out, but before Dax followed him-—at least as far as the desk in the den where a stack of paperwork awaited him—his gaze went back to the bottom drawer of his dresser.
The picture doesn’t hurt the way it used to.
But he’d still hidden it from Will.
* * * *
Hannah slept in Sunday, and that was entirely Dax Randall’s fault. First for keeping her up so late and second for invading her dreams.
But she wasn’t about to tell the Westons that when she emerged from her cabin after noon. The less attention she drew from the group gathering by the main house’s porch to prepare the unoccupied cabins for winter, the better.
Besides Irene and Ted, Boone and Cambria, she saw Jessa, Travis Grainger and Will. Cambria for one wouldn’t hesitate to ask about her evening with Dax, a question Hannah didn’t want to answer, especially in front of Will.
“Hannah,” called Irene. So much for slipping into the group unnoticed. “We saved you breakfast. It’s warming in the oven.”
“I had coffee. I’m ready to help. I just . . . I didn’t, uh—”
“Nonsense, dear,” Irene kindly cut her off. “Coffee is not enough. Come on, I’ll get your plate, and then we’ll catch up with these folks.”
So Hannah was led off, with all eyes on her. That did not, however, kill her appetite for Irene’s apple bread, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and orange juice. While she ate, Irene talked about the tasks of draining water pipes, sealing windows and protecting furniture in the cabins.
“We’ll get half done today, then next week’s the festival so we’ll have guests in the bunkhouse and a couple other cabins. But that’s really the last of the season.”
“Festival?”
“Shakespeare Days. A local celebration.”
“Oh, yes, Boone mentioned that when we scheduled this trip.”
“Next weekend is the rodeo and fair. So the rest of the cabins will wait until the weekend after. Although if you wanted to stay . . .”
Stay? Hannah pushed the idea away from the threshold of her mind and swallowed a bite of apple bread. “I have to get back. Boone isn’t letting me do any work here, but I do still have a job I’m being paid for.”
Irene sighed. “Then the cabins will all be empty and we’ll finish week after next. I tried to get Cully to stay on here with Travis, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he didn’t want to impose. Impose.” She blew out an indignant breath. “I like having people around. Travis is staying with us tonight. It’ll be like old times getting a boy up and out for the school bus tomorrow. And it’s nice having Jessa and Travis and Will here to help today. Though it does seem strange without Pete. With him off at college, I guess a lot of things will be strange until he comes home for Thanksgiving.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Oh, yes, we e-mail and talk on the phone, but it’s not like having him here. He’s my baby, after all. It’ll be good for Ted and me to be away awhile later this fall—in Nor
th Carolina when Cambria has the baby.”
“That will give me a chance to repay some of your hospitality.”
Irene smiled a bit absently. “That will be lovely, dear.” Her gaze focused to a laser. “You’ve thought about having a baby, haven’t you?’’
“I, uh . . .” In the early days with Richard she’d longed for one. Since then? Had she thought about it? She wasn’t sure she wanted to answer that question to herself, much less anyone else. “It’s like you told Cambria at the cook-out, Irene, the first step should be finding the right husband.”
“Yes, of course.” Irene wrapped the remaining apple bread, then put the orange juice and butter in the refrigerator. Hannah carried her empty plate and glass to the sink. “How is Dax?”
Hannah’s fork rattled against her plate as she sputtered for an answer. Irene certainly had a knack. Her implication was clear, but couldn’t be disputed without making a big deal of it. Hannah bent to load her dishes in the dishwasher. “He’s fine, I guess.”
“Yes, he is a fine man,” Irene said, serenely misunderstanding. “And he’s been such a good father to Will. It would be wonderful to see him have more children. He should have a baby, too. With the right woman, of course.”
Was she the right woman? The question exploded in Hannah’s mind before she could hope to defuse it. The image followed of a brown-eyed baby with a killer smile that wouldn’t be as rare as the father’s. And then another image—of her and Dax and methods of conception.
Oh, my.
“Someone who appreciates more about him than his tight buns. Someone who gets him to enjoy more in life, like a beautiful day or a starlit night. He deserves more happiness in his life.”
Hannah knew she was gaping and blushing, and she couldn’t stop either one. Irene looked so unthreatening, but she’d lobbed a half-dozen hand grenades into Hannah’s stomach. The right woman . . . He should have a baby, too . . . Beautiful day . . . starlit night . . .
“There,” Irene said briskly, surveying her tidy kitchen, “Now, we’ll get you started helping Jessa with covering the furniture.”
Hannah docilely followed Irene’s instructions and stepped into a cabin in time to take the fluttering end of a sheet Jessa was shaking out over an overstuffed chair.
“Thanks. Glad to see you, Hannah,” Jessa said as the subsiding sheet revealed her dark hair, then her smiling face. “I thought— Now tuck it into the crease of the cushion, then under the feet. I thought Irene might keep you in the kitchen bending your ear. But you weren’t in there above twenty minutes. Although you do look a little, uh, rattled.”
Hannah kept her head down as she secured the sheet under the chair foot. “There. Now what?” Her cheerfulness echoed hollowly in the partially shrouded room.
“The bedroom. Strip the bed, then cover the furniture with these.” She hoisted a stack of covering sheets. “Are you okay, Hannah? Did Irene say something to upset you?”
Jessa sounded so concerned and the last thing Hannah wanted to do was malign Irene—even by omission. Besides, it was not what Irene had said but her own reactions that had her reeling. Irene had made a general observation, and she’d made it personal—very personal. Irene talked about Dax’s baby, and Hannah had made it her baby, too. Like a schoolgirl combining her first name with her boyfriend’s last name.
Hannah Randall.
No. No.
She wouldn’t do that.
And she wouldn’t confide in anyone like a schoolgirl, either—especially because she wasn’t sure what she would confide if she did. She searched for something truthful, innocuous and not too revealing.
“She said, uh, that Dax has tight buns.”
Jessa stopped dead with a pillow in one hand and the pillowcase she’d pulled off it in the other. “Irene said that?”
Hannah nodded vigorously. “She said tight buns. I’m not making that up.”
“Tight buns.” Jessa shook her head in obvious bemusement. Then she giggled.
It was infectious, and a delicious release of the lingering aftershocks from Irene’s hand grenades as Hannah broke into answering laughter. They both dropped onto the bed, laughing.
“Irene never ceases to amaze me,” Jessa said, using a comer of the pillowcase to dab moisture from her cheeks.
“Though, I must say, she’s right. Dax does have tight buns, along with some other very nice attributes. Oh, don’t look at me that way, Hannah. There’s never been anything like that between Dax and me.”
“It wouldn’t be any of my busi—”
Jessa ignored her. “But you know, it’s an odd thing— Cambria told me that getting together with Boone made her more comfortable with other men’s attractiveness in some ways. You should have heard her on Cully.” Jessa’s slightly glazed expression made Hannah suspect Cully’s fiancée was not remembering Cambria’s comments, but the original model. “I’ve noticed it, too. It’s like you know you’ve got the whole package that’s the best for you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t admire individual points on other men. Dax has a lot of points worth admiring.” She sighed and stood. Hannah helped remove and fold the spread and blankets, then piled the linens for washing. “It’s just a shame no one’s really seen beyond his tight buns to the whole man.”
“That’s what Irene said. Someone who appreciates more than his tight buns.”
This effort to deflect the conversation failed. Jessa gave her a steady, serious look. “And someone who wouldn’t disappoint him. He’s had a lot of hurts.”
Hannah drew a steadying breath. “Yes, I hope he finds that, too. It’s been a pleasure to get to know him this past week and I hope to enjoy his company before I leave.”
“You might come back.”
“Maybe.” Hannah reached for the covering sheet to go over the now bare mattress, “but my life is in North Carolina.”
“Lives can be moved. Believe me,” she said, reminding Hannah that Jessa had moved to Bardville a few years ago. “Cully’s doing it now. So’s Travis for that matter. It’s a tradition of the West. Maybe because not so long ago—in historical terms—everybody was new to the area, even most of the Native American tribes that are here now.”
Hannah jumped on the opportunity to turn the conversation and peppered Jessa with questions about the region’s history. She learned a lot of interesting information as they finished that cabin and moved on to three more.
She also avoided uncomfortable questions and thoughts.
“You’ve been great, Hannah. I’ll put the linens in the laundry room, then be on my way. I have to get cleaned up before Cully and I go out to dinner—a rare treat during campaign season, let me tell you.”
“I’ve enjoyed it, Jessa, but I think you should let me take the linens in, because someone’s waiting for you.” Hannah nodded to a figure leaning against a four-wheel drive parked beside Boone and Cambria’s.
Jessa turned around, then surrendered the armload of sheets and towels without an argument.
The tall man with the easygoing air took off his sun-glasses and, as he focused on Jessa, Hannah felt a shiver zig down her back. When it came to this woman. Cully was not so easygoing, after all.
Was it possible for a man to be different with one woman?
She heard Jessa say, with a laugh, “You were supposed to meet me at the house, Cully. I’m a mess. I need to get out of these dirty clothes and take a shower.”
Hannah thought Cully’s low voice answered, “We can take care of that.”
They put their arms around each other and kissed.
“There they go again,” said Travis as he joined Hannah walking toward the house. His words, while filled with a twelve-year-old’s disgust for such matters as adults kissing, also carried acceptance. As their path took them near the couple, he added, “Glad I’m staying with Irene and Ted tonight.”
“Me, too, Trav,” Cully said with a slow smile, his arm around Jessa.
With pinkened cheeks, Jessa put her palm to Cully’s chest and rubbed l
ightly. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Need to campaign if I hope to win this election.”
“You’re going to get elected. You don’t have to campaign so hard.” It wasn’t a complaint, but a reassurance.
“Maybe. But I want people to know what they’re getting. That way they’re more likely to stick with the bargain when things get rough.”
Everyone else seemed to show up at once, all eager to say hello to Cully. Hannah took the opportunity to slip away, depositing the linens, then heading back toward her cabin.
She had her own cleaning up to do before Dax arrived.
She found herself thinking about Cully’s words: I want people to know what they’re getting. That way they’re more likely to stick with the bargain when things get rough.
That was part of what had gone wrong with Richard. Neither of them had been truly honest in showing the other what they were getting. Richard had thought he was getting someone who enjoyed ambition and high living as he did. And she’d thought she was getting someone who could change to the warm, family-oriented man she’d wanted.
And when things got rough, they hadn’t stuck with the bargain.
Dax Randall would always let someone know what they were getting, wouldn’t he?
“Uh, Ms. Chalmers?”
Caught.
Trying to forget she’d been indulging in more foolish schoolgirlisms, she straightened her shoulders and, with a determined smile, faced Dax’s son by the empty campfire circle. “Why don’t you call me Hannah?”
“Okay. I, uh, just thought I should say—I mean, I want to tell you, it’s not just that I think I should.” He ducked his head, then raised it and met her eyes straight on. “I’m sorry. For being such a jerk to you.”
Hannah felt a bloom of warmth unfurl in her chest.
The evening with Dax had been one of the best of her life. She felt comfortable talking to Dax; more important, she felt comfortable being silent with him. She’d known long before he’d kissed her—a kiss good-night that had come so close to turning into their saying good morning—that she felt more for this man than she had expected to.
As much as she’d tried to be sensible, she’d begun to hope Dax felt the same. What he’d told her about his ex-wife and raising Will had fueled that hope, for he clearly confided in few people. And the chemistry between them could fuel a laboratory. Maybe Irene and Jessa were right. Maybe it wasn’t outrageous to hope.
The Rancher Meets His Match Page 11
