by Savanna Fox
“Yeah, right.” He lifted his glass and took a very long swallow, no doubt relieved.
“You see, that’s what I’m trying to say,” she went on. “I shouldn’t have had sex with you because it was only casual sex, and I don’t do that.” Even though her hormones were putting in a strong vote to try it just one more time. Ty really was so sexy, so different from every other man she’d met.
He put his glass down. “I still don’t get what’s wrong with it. I thought we had a great time.” He cut a slice off a lamb chop and lifted it to his mouth.
So he’d had a great time too. The rodeo star who had buckle bunnies throwing themselves at him had had a great time with her. “What’s wrong with it?” she echoed, trying to remember what she’d said to Marielle. “Well, it’s kind of a waste of time, if what you’re really looking for is a life mate. Which I am.”
“Guess I kind of am myself, but—”
“You are?” Yes, it was rude to interrupt, but he’d stunned her. She didn’t see him as a one-woman man, at least not for long.
“Yeah, it’s time. But anyhow, if the right person hasn’t come along, what’s wrong with a little fun while you’re waiting?”
Her body tingled with the memory of his arms around her, his tongue mating with hers, his hard penis pumping inside her. It wasn’t like she was going to find the right man until she was back in Hong Kong, so seeing Ty wouldn’t interfere with her future.
Munching absently on a saffron prawn, she struggled to remember the other thing she’d said to Marielle. “Isn’t casual sex kind of, like, not valuing yourself? Just hooking up with whoever comes along?”
He scratched his jaw. “Guess it could be, if that’s what you were doing.”
Mesmerized, she remembered how that finger had felt on her sensitive skin. Gentle but callused. Oddly, that bit of roughness was more erotic than the touch of a smooth finger.
“But you liked me, right?” he went on. “Me, not just any cowboy at the rodeo or at the bar. And you were the woman I noticed. The one I wanted to talk to, dance with, leave with.”
“Why?”
“Uh . . .”
“I told you what appealed to me about you. Now it’s your turn.”
Ty’s hazel eyes danced, the green in them particularly noticeable tonight. “Guys suck at this, you know?”
She had to smile. “Man up, cowboy. Answer the question and I’ll give you a prawn.”
He gave a mock groan. “You’re harsh. Okay, here goes. You’re cute, sexy, distinctive. You have your own style. You’re interesting, different than anyone else I’ve known. And did I mention, you’re hot?”
“Hot?” Henry had never told her that. No guy had.
It could just be a line, yet Ty had said he didn’t lie, and she actually believed him. Maybe, with him, she was hot. “Thanks,” she said, pleased and embarrassed. “You earned your prawn.” She transferred one to his plate and watched as he ate it. “What do you think?”
“Good, but I liked mine better. The flavor’s more complex.”
“You like complex?”
He shook his head, looking a little baffled. “Not usually. Maybe I’m changing my mind.”
Did he mean she was complex? Probably so, compared to buckle bunnies who jumped into sex, all hot and uncomplicated.
Which really did sound awfully appealing.
To distract herself from his dancing eyes and sexy grin, and from the way they made her body hum, she asked, “Could I taste the lamb?”
“Sure.” He cut a generous slice, but didn’t pass it over. “If you pay the price. I get to ask you a question.”
“Seems to me you’ve been asking a lot of them.” In fact, he was proving to be more complex himself than she’d first assumed.
“I kind of asked this one before, but you still haven’t given me a straight answer.”
She frowned. “I thought I answered everything you asked.”
“I asked what was wrong with having a little fun in bed. You said that stuff about not valuing yourself if you hook up with just anyone. And I said, you and me, Saturday night, we weren’t just anyone.”
She swallowed. Was he going to ask if she’d sleep with him again? How would she answer? She wanted to, but it was so unlike her. “That’s not a question.”
“I’m building up.”
Despite her nervousness, he made her smile. “I didn’t take you for the subtle type.”
“Ask the horses I train. I can be subtle.”
“You’re a horse trainer? I thought you were a rodeo rider.”
“Sidetrack. Now, here’s the question. If you and me had sex tonight”—his eyes gleamed and his sensual lips pronounced the words slowly and seductively—“would you feel like either one of us doesn’t value you?”
Heat flooded through her, centering in a needy pulse between her legs. She blinked, trying to focus on his question.
“How badly d’you want to taste my lamb?” he teased.
“I’m thinking.” She waved a hand quickly. “Not about the lamb; I know I want to taste it. I’m thinking about your question.”
He groaned. “You know you want the lamb. You don’t know if you want me. I’m screwed.” But his eyes still danced.
He was totally adorable and totally sexy, and she really had to put that aside and be analytical rather than tease back that he wanted to be screwed.
Okay, an analysis. Marielle advocated having fun. Lily said sex with a stranger could be dangerous. Marielle trusted her judgment when it came to men. Marielle had loads of experience. Kim had very little experience. Did she have good judgment?
Ty had been polite, nice, a gentleman in a rough-around-the-edges way, both Saturday and tonight. He saw her as an individual, thought she was special. Thought she was hot. On Saturday, he could’ve taken advantage of her but he’d treated her nicely and been a generous lover. A sexy lover. An unbelievably sexy lover. A shiver of remembered pleasure rippled through her.
“Man,” he said wryly, “that’s a lot of thinking.”
“All right. I guess I wouldn’t think that either one of us didn’t value me.”
A smile flashed, happy and victorious. He slid the lamb onto her plate, then gave her a forkful of the saffron rice that accompanied it.
She ate slowly, appreciatively. “That’s really good.” Then she took another sip of her Stanley Park Amber. Ty was so gorgeous, so sexy, and he had her whole body buzzing with desire. If she had another bottle of ale, it would be an excuse to get over her inhibitions and give into the attraction she felt. She didn’t honestly believe it would be dangerous having sex with him. And she knew the sex would be terrific.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in a resigned tone.
“Wrong?” she stalled.
“You didn’t do this much thinking on Saturday.”
“I had more alcohol on Saturday.” She put down her glass. “Ty, I’m not really the person I seemed to be on Saturday. I’m just not the kind of girl who leaps into bed with a stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger.”
“Kind of. We don’t know much about each other.”
He studied her. “Tell me you’re not saying we’d have to date six months before you’d go to bed with me again.”
“N-no. I’ll be long gone in six months.” And she really did want more sex with him. She scratched her head, trying to work it out. “I need to know more about you than that you’re a hot cowboy. And I want you to know more about me than that I’m an artist from Hong Kong.”
He didn’t answer, just kept looking at her.
“Okay,” she said, feeling a pang of loss. “I’m too old-fashioned, too boring. Not worth taking the time over.” If that was the truth, better to know now.
He shook his head, looking exasperated. “I drove into town to take you for dinner. We’re talking, getting to know each other. You’re not boring, Kim. Don’t say crap like that.” He reached across the table and took both her hands in his. “Yeah, you’re ho
t and I want you. In bed. But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in you. You’re not like the people I usually meet.”
It was hard to concentrate on his words when his hands felt so warm and strong, reassuring and sexy all at the same time.
“So, talk,” he said. “Tell me something about you. Ask me something about me.”
Tell him something about her? Like what? As for what she wanted to know about him . . . How many lovers had he had? What was his favorite position in bed? How many erections could he have in a night? No, those weren’t things a good girl like her should want to know.
The waitress came to clear their empty plates, and Ty released Kim’s hands.
“Another drink?” the waitress asked. “Or dessert?”
“I’m not much of a dessert guy,” he said, “but I’ll have another stout.”
No, Kim absolutely wasn’t having more alcohol. “What do you have for dessert?”
The waitress recited the options, ending with, “And flourless chocolate cake, which is my personal favorite.”
“Okay, I’ll try it. And a coffee, please.”
A moment later, the waitress returned with their orders.
Kim tasted the cake and moaned. “Oh, this is good. So rich and fudgy. Want to taste?”
He shook his head, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, but not the cake. D’you have any idea what you do to me when you moan like that?”
“Oh!” Was it sexy? She filed that bit of information away.
“If you want me to think about something other than sex, then talk, woman,” he said, humor in his voice.
All right. What did she want to know about him other than sexy things? Lots, actually. “You told me a bit about your grandparents and parents, and the family ranch. Your truck . . .” She flushed, remembering what they’d done on that truck. “Your truck says Ronan Ranch and I noticed at the rodeo that you’re from the Fraser Valley. That’s your family ranch?”
“It is now. The original ranch was in Alberta. Grandpa was from Alberta, Grandma was from Texas. They met on the rodeo circuit, got married, saved their winnings. When they were ready to settle down—this was the early 1950s—they bought a chunk of range land and raised cattle.”
“That’s about as different from Hong Kong as I can imagine.” It didn’t sound the least bit appealing, but she wouldn’t be rude and say that.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Anyhow, Grandpa was around forty and Grandma was in her late thirties when they quit rodeo. They had two kids. My aunt didn’t like ranch life, but Dad loved it. He worked alongside them over the years, facing all the challenges that came along. Mom too, when she married Dad.”
“And you?”
He swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “Sure, as a kid. But from the time I was seventeen I was away at college and rodeoing. Back home, well, I guess things just got harder and harder.”
“Harder?”
“When they started out, beef was in demand. There were no worries about cholesterol, global warming, stuff like that. But times changed.”
Her parents, with their property management and investments, had hit exactly the right timing. Ty’s family had the opposite experience. “That must have been rough.”
“Yeah.” He took a long swallow of stout. “Maybe I should’ve stuck around and worked with them. That’s what Dad wanted. Mom too. But from the time I competed in my first Little Britches rodeo, Grandma and Grandpa encouraged me to follow in their footsteps.”
Kim thought about the pressure her parents exerted on her, and how they believed that all the deceased ancestors wanted exactly the same thing they did. “That must have been strange, having your parents want one thing and your grandparents want something else. How did you decide?”
He gave a wry grin. “Hell, I was a kid, and I loved rodeo. Sure, I loved the ranch too, but it was steady, not exciting. I told myself there’d be time for all of that later. And it wasn’t like I was just rodeoing. I was in college too, on a rodeo scholarship—”
“There are scholarships for rodeo?”
“You bet. Anyhow, I studied agribusiness and animal sciences, learning things I planned to bring back to the ranch eventually. Except the ranch went under.”
“That must have been devastating for your family.” She tried to imagine her parents losing CPM, the company they’d built from the ground up and took so much pride in.
“Yeah,” he said grimly. “They fought hard. Adapted to the times, went grass-fed, hormone-free, but they were fighting a losing battle. My parents said things were bound to pick up, but then the scare over Mad Cow disease hit.”
He took another long drink. “My grandparents were fighters, but they were worn out. And old. He died of a heart attack when he was out riding. Grandma died in her sleep a couple weeks later. The next year, my parents surrendered. The only way to dig themselves out from under the mountain of debt was to sell off.”
She heard guilt in Ty’s voice and knew he must beat himself up over not having tried to help. Not that he’d likely have been able to save the ranch, but he could have been there. Her parents would blame him, but she didn’t. It was hard to balance your family’s needs and your own desires. “How sad. What did they do then?”
“Got jobs in town. She did bookkeeping and he worked in the feedstore. They hated it. I came home and saw that. Guess that’s when I grew up.”
Sipping coffee, she studied his expressive face. “What d’you mean?”
“I was in my early twenties. I’d been having fun at college, traveling around to rodeos, hanging out with guys like Blake, enjoying the buckle bunnies—”
She wrinkled her nose.
He grinned and went on. “Building a name for myself. Don’t get me wrong; rodeo’s hard work. But I love it, and I’d been working hard since I was a toddler, so that part didn’t bother me one bit. Anyhow, I got to thinking about the future, and how long I’d keep rodeoing.”
“And?” Kim took another small bite of cake, savoring the chocolaty richness.
“I saw my folks, aging and unhappy. And I remembered how great it had been, growing up at Ronan Ranch, the whole family working together. I thought maybe that would be a better way to live than traveling from rodeo to rodeo, motel to motel. So I started saving money. I made a fair bit, those years. When I traveled I checked out the opportunities for ranching, thought about where I’d like to live. Where my folks might be happy as well.”
Now she realized where this was heading. “Are you saying you bought the ranch in the Valley?”
A satisfied smile spread across his face. “Three years ago. Saw land for sale, halfway to Hope—”
“Hope? Is that a town?”
“Yeah. Cool, eh? Called it Ronan Ranch, of course. Mom and Dad moved out and we’ve got us a nice little spread.”
Her heart warmed. Ty was a lot more than the admittedly gorgeous picture that met the eye. What woman could resist a man like this? “That name, Hope, it was symbolic.”
Twelve
Guess so,” Ty said. “A second chance for Ronan Ranch. For my family.”
A chance to heal, she figured. “How wonderful.” His parents probably felt abandoned when he chose rodeo over the ranch, then like failures when they lost the ranch. And Ty felt guilty, partly responsible. She doubted he would come out and say any of that, or if he even totally realized it. Yes, she was learning a lot about this man tonight. He was human, flawed, and incredibly appealing.
“The new place is way different from the Alberta one, but times change.”
“Different?” She nodded. “I guess it would have to be, if the old one couldn’t survive.”
“Yeah. I put my education to use, did more research, a lot of thinking. Talked to my folks.” He made a face. “That was a challenge. Dad and I butt heads; Mom tries to mediate. A traditionalist would say the new place isn’t really a ranch, but we hung on to the name. Dad’s a cattle guy, and we’ve got purebred Angus. That’s his baby. Mom handles the other specialty stock: ostrich for mea
t; llamas, alpacas, and angora goats for wool.”
Fascinated, Kim leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And you rodeo and train horses?”
“Yeah, and a lot of my time goes to management, with input from Mom and Dad and our workers. I only hit a few rodeos now, mostly in BC where the travel time’s shorter. Don’t see myself giving up rodeo for a while yet. Besides, it’s promotion for the ranch.” He gave a boyish grin. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
That grin gave her a hint of the kid he’d been: hardworking yes, but with a touch of the devil. The little girls had no doubt been as crazy about him as adult women were.
“I’ve always been a horse guy,” he went on. “I have a way with them, so I’ve set up a training business.”
“You break broncs?”
His laugh rang out, rich and infections. “Hell, no. I gentle them rather than break them.”
“Gentle them? You mean like horse whispering?”
“That’s what some folks call it.”
“But . . .” She tilted her head, puzzled. “How do those go together? Bronc riding and horse whispering? They seem like opposites.”
“In the old days, yeah. Back when rodeo had its roots, cowboys who needed horses would capture wild ones, climb aboard, and stay on until the horse gave up. They called it breaking, which, you’re right, is the opposite approach to gentling. But the bronc riding you see in rodeos now, that’s a different thing. Those horses are bred and trained to buck. It’s their job. The ones that do it well—”
“The rank ones?”
“Yeah, the rank ones. They’re worth a lot and they’re treated great. Bronc riding’s not about trying to break a horse’s spirit and make it submit. The horse would be worthless then. It’s more like—have you ever gone surfing?”
“Surfing?” She gave a startled laugh. “No. Have you, cowboy?”
“Matter of fact, yes. It’s not like the big wave’s your enemy; it’s a challenge. It’ll do what it does, it’s a force of nature, and you have to read it, feel it, go with it. And when you connect with it that way, when you ride it all the way, man is it a thrill.”
