Josie spun on her heel and marched from the room.
Max frowned as he watched her go. He’d handled that like a cocky so-and-so, he thought. Nicely done. He didn’t have the energy to figure out how he actually felt about this bizarre turn of events, so he’d gone for being obnoxious.
What little oomph he had left was centered on one very disturbing question.
What in the hell was Joseph Wentworth up to?
Chapter Ten
Max opened his eyes halfway, then stifled the groan gathering force in his chest.
He had, he decided, what felt like a hangover, worse than any he’d suffered during his younger, rowdier days.
Darn that Jeff Wilson. His so-called buddy had taken it upon himself to knock him out cold with an enormous shot for pain, before allowing him to undertake the flight to Freemont Springs, then the ambulance trip to Josie’s.
There’d be a ride in an elevator, as well, Jeff had said, since Josie lived in a penthouse apartment. And all that jostling would be agony for a man in his condition, Jeff had announced cheerfully before saying, “Sleep tight, Carter.”
“Damn,” Max said, squeezing his temples with one hand, “I’m dying.”
He’d better think about something other than his killer headache.
He opened his eyes the rest of the way, slowly, cautiously, and began to scrutinize the large room where he was lying in a double bed with an intricately carved oak headboard.
White carpeting? White? Josie sure wasn’t planning on some grungy cowboy tromping through this place in muddy boots. No way. The people who entered Ms. Wentworth’s penthouse apartment knew what mud was, but had probably never touched the stuff.
Oh, man, what in the hell was he doing here? He was so out of his league, so far from the world where he belonged, it was a crime. Just looking around Josie’s room made him feel big and clumsy, and too rough, with his bulky muscles and callused hands. White carpeting. Cripes.
This, he thought, was where Josie lived day in, day out, where she was comfortable and at ease. It made it even more unbelievable that she’d stayed so long on the Single C in his shabby house, seemingly content.
Of course, he reasoned, she hadn’t known at the time who she was or that a plush apartment like this was waiting for her in Freemont Springs.
But one would think that a lifetime of having been surrounded by the finest, of having people wait on her hand and foot, would have caused her subconscious to send messages of revulsion regarding where she was residing.
He’d bet his best cow horse that Josie was now shaking her head in wonder that she’d survived the ordeal at the primitive Single C.
Their lovemaking sure as hell hadn’t been an ordeal, though, Max thought, sliding one arm beneath his head on the pillow. It had been sensational, incredible. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He felt a coiling of desire as scenes of making love with Josie began to materialize in his mind’s eye.
“Knock it off, Carter,” he muttered. What he’d do well to concentrate on was why Joseph Wentworth had been so hell-bent on installing him in his granddaughter’s guest room. Why would someone like Joseph Wentworth deposit an uncivilized, poor-as-a-church-mouse cowboy in his precious Princess’s megabucks apartment?
It hadn’t made sense yesterday. It didn’t make sense now. Well, he wanted an answer to that question and he fully intended to get it.
That Josie owed him, had a debt to repay was pure bull. Joseph knew that Max had withheld his granddaughter’s true identity from her. Why wasn’t the man suing him, or even getting him slapped in jail?
This whole scenario was crazy.
Max’s stomach rumbled and he turned his head to look at the clock on the nightstand. It was two in the afternoon. He’d slept most of the day away. No wonder he was famished.
So now what? His lousy broken leg meant he couldn’t go strolling into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. Hell, he was actually a prisoner in this bed, this room, this apartment
Was that it? Did Joseph have a diabolical plan to get revenge by having him lie here and slowly starve to death? Was he alone in the apartment, Josie having been whisked away to somewhere else by her grandfather?
How did they intend to dispose of his body when he croaked?
Money. Money could buy anything, including silence about the poor sucker who died of starvation in Josie Wentworth’s apartment. Well, by damn, he wasn’t checking out without a fight.
“Help!” Max yelled, clutching his painful ribs. “Someone. Anyone. Help!”
Josie’s head snapped up, her concentration on preparing a tray of food for Max broken.
Help? she thought. Max wasn’t calling her name; he was hollering for anyone, someone for help? Dear heaven, was he delirious?
Josie ran down the hall and into the guest bedroom, where a sleeping Max had been settled into bed hours before by the ambulance attendants.
“What? What?” she said, coming to a teetering halt next to the bed.
“Aha,” Max said, pointing a finger at her. “You haven’t left yet, huh? Well, I want you to know that I’m wise to you and your vengeful grandfather’s master plan. It won’t work, you know. I’ll get out of this apartment even if I have to drag myself inch by inch along the floor.”
Josie placed her hand on Max’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” she murmured. “You must be out of your head from that shot Jeff gave you.”
“Help!” Max bellowed.
“Would you cut that out?” Josie said, cringing. “You’re going to crack the plaster in the ceiling. Just hush and wait for the effects of the drug to wear off.”
“They’ve already worn off,” Max said none too quietly. “I’m being held prisoner here. I’m at your mercy. You’re going to starve me to death, right? Your grandfather decided that taking my ranch or putting me in jail wasn’t enough punishment. You two decided I should die slowly.”
“What?” Josie said, bursting into laughter. “Good grief, Max. You’ve been watching too many horror movies. I was fixing you a tray of food when you started yelling your head off.” She paused and frowned. “Of course, with my lack of culinary talents, I suppose that could be viewed as a slow death.”
“You were preparing me a meal?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Max nodded. “Well, maybe my imagination got a little carried away.”
“More than a little,” Josie said, rolling her eyes.
“All right, I’m sorry, but let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Josie, why am I here? Your grandfather’s bull about you owing me is a crock, and you know it. Why isn’t he fuming over the fact that I concealed your identity from you?”
Josie sighed. “I don’t know, Max. When I pressed Granddad on the subject, he asked me if I remembered what I’d said when I came barreling into your house from the woods after you were struck by the tree.”
“And?”
“It’s a blur. I was totally exhausted and hysterical, begging him to get help for you but...” She shrugged. “I’m trying to recall what else I said, but I don’t have the slightest clue at this point.”
Max frowned. “But Joseph’s attitude, his determination that I recuperate here hinges on something you said when you first saw him?”
“Apparently so.”
“Then think! What did you say?”
“I don’t remember!” Josie said, flinging out her arms.
“Cripes.”
“You’re getting very grumpy,” Josie said, turning and starting toward the bedroom door. “I’ll bring you something to eat. Maybe that will improve your mood.”
“I doubt it,” Max muttered under his breath.
“I heard that, Carter,” she said as she disappeared from view. “Food is food. What I fix won’t be great, but it will fill your stomach. So shut up!”
Max chuckled at Josie’s snippy retort. Oh, yes, he thought, she was really something, Ms. Feisty Wentworth.
In the next moment Max sober
ed.
Fighting against tremendous obstacles, Josie had managed to get help for him when he’d been struck by that tree. She’d had to have been exhausted already from running to the woods from the house after discovering her purse hidden in the closet.
But despite her fatigue and the danger of the storm, she’d gone all the way back to the house. For him.
And now here he was in her penthouse apartment. In her world of wealth and privilege. Here he was...where he didn’t belong.
Tit for tat.
That was true, because for a month of her life, Josie had existed in his world, where she didn’t belong. And she’d done a helluva fine job of it. She’d even gotten her hands dirty by pulling weeds in his front yard. Oh, yeah, she was really something.
“Soup’s on,” Josie said, whizzing back into the room carrying a tray. She set it on the dresser, then planted her hands on her hips and looked at Max. “Okay, let’s figure out how we’re going to do this. If I put the pillows behind you, you ought to be sitting up enough to manage to eat.”
“Whatever.”
“Definitely grumpy.”
Josie retrieved the pillow from the other side of the bed, then came back around to stand next to him. She leaned the pillow against the bed.
“Here’s the plan,” she said. “I’ll help you sit up, then I’ll fluff the pillow you’re using, slide this other one into place and—ta-da—you’ll be able to eat this outstanding meal.”
Max nodded, propped his elbows firmly on the bed and attempted to push himself upward.
“Oh, Lord,” he said with a groan. “My ribs.”
Josie slid one arm behind Max’s broad shoulders, then wrapped the other around his chest.
“Are you ready?” she said, turning her head to look at him.
“For what?” he said, gazing directly into her big, brown eyes.
Their lips were mere inches apart. The oh-so-familiar heat of desire rocketed through them, causing heartbeats to quicken and sensuous memories of lovemaking to flash in minds consumed by passion.
Max lifted one hand to the nape of Josie’s neck and brought her mouth hard against his, delving his tongue between her lips.
Josie forgot everything and was aware only of the heated desire thrumming low and sweet in her body.
The kiss was heaven itself.
The kiss was Max.
A purr of pleasure whispered from her throat.
Josie, Max’s mind hammered. It had been an eternity since he’d kissed her, tasted her, inhaled her aroma of sunshine and flowers. He wanted her. He burned for her. He was going up in flames of need.
Josie broke the kiss, lifting her head far enough to cause Max to drop his hand from her neck.
“Max, this is foolish,” she said, her voice unsteady. “You’re injured. We can’t... What I mean is...”
“There are certain parts of my body that weren’t hurt one bit by that damn tree.”
“Yes, well... Come on. You really should eat. You must maintain your strength.”
Max wiggled his eyebrows. “You betcha, babe. I need every ounce of strength I can muster when you and I—”
“Hush. We’re not discussing that.”
“But we will.”
“Hush.”
After a few fumbles with the pillow, accompanied by moans from Max, he was propped up, and the tray was set across his lap. He began to devour a huge ham sandwich and a bowl of fresh fruit.
“Not bad,” he said between bites. “How did you get a supply of food on hand so quickly? You haven’t been home in a month.”
“There’s a grocery story off the lobby downstairs. I just called in an order and they brought it up here.”
Max frowned. “Easy living, huh? Snap your fingers and whatever you want is delivered.”
“Yes,” Josie said, lifting her chin. “That’s how it works. Max, I’m not going to apologize for having money or for being a Wentworth. That’s simply who I am. It doesn’t mean that my life has automatically been bliss. Money can’t erase the fact that my parents were killed when I was too young to remember them or what it felt like to be held in their arms, tucked into bed, hugged. And money can’t erase that I just lost my beloved brother Jack. No amount of wealth or power is ever going to bring him back.”
“You’re right,” Max said quietly. “I’m sorry, Josie. I was out of line.”
She nodded, then carried a desk chair from across the room and placed it next to the bed. She sat in it and looked at Max intently.
“I have to know, Max, I really do. Why? Why did you hide my purse and my car? Why did you keep my identity from me?”
Max took the last bite of the meal, slid the tray onto the bed next to his legs, then sighed.
“At first I did it out of a sense of survival,” he said. “I was positive that your family, the mighty Wentworths, would sue me, take my ranch, because you’d been injured on my land. So I thought if I could just wait until your memory returned, we could. sit down like sensible adults and agree that what had happened to you was an unfortunate accident. But then...”
“Then?” Josie prompted, leaning slightly toward him.
“I hated the lies, Josie, I really did. I’d make up my mind to tell you the truth about who you were, then let the chips fall where they might. But I kept postponing the big confession because... because, hell, Josie, I didn’t want you to leave the Single C, to leave me. Not yet.”
“I see.”
“What do you see? That I’m a liar? A rotten bum who—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I have a confession of my own. As my memory began to come back in bits and pieces, I remembered very early on that I’d had my purse with me that first day when I climbed onto the wagon with Rusty.”
“What?”
“I never told you that. I never asked you if we could go carefully over the route Rusty had taken so I could look for my purse.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because what we were sharing was so special, so rare and wonderful. It was a fantasy world that I didn’t want to end. Not yet. It all came crashing down on me when I found my purse in your closet.
“My first reaction, the one that sent me running from the house, was that you’d lied to me, betrayed me. I was shattered, so terribly hurt.”
“Josie, I—”
“But now? Max, I lied to you, too, by keeping my silence about knowing I had that purse on the wagon. You have every right to be angry and hurt, too.”
“Here we go again,” he said, smiling slightly. “This isn’t the first time we’ve both felt guilty about the same thing. Shall we handle it like we did before? Call a truce?”
“I’d like that,” Josie said, smiling.
“Then consider it a done deal,” Max said, matching her smile.
They continued to look directly into each other’s eyes. Smiles faded as the embers of desire were fanned into licking flames once again. The air seemed to crackle with sensuality, like electrified threads weaving over and around them, pulling them closer and closer, although neither of them moved.
They were in their fantasy world, known only to them, created by and for only them. They weren’t in a plush penthouse apartment with pristine white carpet, nor in a run-down ranch house with a muddy kitchen floor.
They were in their place, where passions soared, wildflowers bloomed, and an amalgam of emotions tumbled one after the other.
“Oh, Max,” Josie whispered, unable to tear her gaze from his.
“Josie,” he returned, then cleared his throat when he heard the gritty sound of his voice. “What is this thing that happens between us? Beyond the desire, the want, what is this?”
He shook his head, breaking the spell, bringing them back to reality with a thud.
“Forget it,” he said. “I don’t want to know. I really don’t.”
Josie drew a much-needed breath, only then realizing she’d been hardly breathing while held mesmerized by Max’s dark eyes.
“Why
not?” she said. “Why don’t you want to know what’s happening between us?”
“What’s the point?” Max frowned and swept one arm through the air. “Look at this room. I can only imagine what the rest of the place is like. This bedroom alone is bigger than my living room and kitchen put together. And white carpeting? White?”
Josie jumped to her feet. “And what, pray tell, is wrong with white carpeting? I happen to think it’s very attractive. It creates an open, airy, floating-on-clouds atmosphere that I find soothing and peaceful.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll come tromping through your fancy-shmancy white-carpeted living room in my muddy boots, because that’s who I am, a man with muddy boots and sweaty clothes. Maybe then you’ll finally realize why there’s no purpose to be served in wasting energy attempting to discover what’s happening between us.”
He paused. “Am I getting through to you? Our worlds don’t mesh, Josie. Not even close. You belong here. I belong on the Single C. Do you understand what I’m saying, Josie Wentworth?”
“You betcha, babe. You’re coming across loud and clear.” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, get this, Carter. You’re stuck here for now in this oh-so-awful world of large rooms and white carpeting, just as I was stuck on the Single C. Which is appropriately named, by the way. There isn’t a woman born with a working brain who would be dumb enough to become seriously involved with such a narrow-minded grump of a man.
“But while you’re in my home, buster, you’ll be as pleasant as I was while in yours. I didn’t even complain about your not having a dishwasher, for Pete’s sake. So you’d better get your act together, Max Carter, because your ridiculous story about Granddad and me having a plan to starve you to death is beginning to hold a certain appeal. Got that?”
Josie spun on her heel and marched from the room.
A smile crept onto Max’s lips. “You betcha, babe.”
He dragged both hands down his face, erasing the smile in the process.
Why had he done that? Jumped all over Josie, been so nasty, rude and—okay—grumpy? Why? Because something major and important was growing between them. He’d lashed out at Josie because he’d had a rush of panic, of fear, that he just very might be falling in love with her.
The Rancher And The Amnesiac Bride Page 12
