“Yes, well, you still haven’t had a tour of the place. I thought I’d drive you—unless you’d rather I leave?”
“Why would I do that? Because I’m not going to get you into bed today? There’s always tomorrow,” he replied, using his phone voice of last night.
Alana allowed herself to stroke his chest then. “You’re very good for my ego.”
“Looking like you do, especially in that little outfit, you have no business having any doubts.” With a firm kiss on her lips, he said an abrupt “Let’s go. I am finding myself kind of sick of looking at these paint-worn white walls, and reading my father’s old stock journals and tax reports.”
As he zipped up the tote, Alana thought about how pleased she was to hear that’s what he’d been doing. “Dry reading for sure, but Fred kept a good eye on his herd’s lineage, and his stock has always brought top dollar at the market. You’ll see for yourself now.” She led the way outside. “I thought we’d wait on getting you on a horse. Let’s drive over to the barn and we’ll use the Mule 4x4. It’ll be a little gentler on your back.”
“How long do I have to wait to eat?” Mack asked once they were in her truck. “Something sure smells good in this bag.”
“I thought we could park at the second stock pond. The view is lovely and there’s good shade. Those are breakfast burritos from Doc’s Dining Car. I zipped over there to get them before heading here. Hank Zane always wanted to be a chef and when he sold his dental practice, he and his wife bought the old train car and turned it into the sweetest little eatery in town.”
“If you break a tooth on an olive pit or peppercorn, does the crown replacement come free?”
Alana turned the truck toward the barn. “Not entirely, but he does joke with some saying he’ll cover ten percent if it happened during breakfast, fifteen during lunch and twenty at dinner.”
When they reached the barn, they found Eberardo’s truck gone, and a note on his trailer door saying that he was in town and would be back by noon. That explained why Two Dog hadn’t come to greet them, too, and it gave Alana a chance to show Mack around the barn without disrupting the ranch hand’s work. It pleased her that Mack immediately whistled in admiration.
“So this is where the money for the paint and plants around the house goes,” he said, walking through the concrete-floored building.
Alana couldn’t disagree. The place was pristine, the tack clean and in good repair, the bagged feed was safe from varmints and freeloading stock, closed in a metal storage room along with the first-aid kit and medications. The workshop—complete with a welder and enough tools to run a small business—indicated that whatever went wrong on the property, it usually got repaired on the premises. In fact, seeing the little wagon that carried the rolls of barbed wire told Alana what the problem was.
“Eberardo and Fred designed and built that together. Pulling it behind the tractor saves on physical labor, and I see the wheel has finally split from old age. That’s where he is—he’s hunting a replacement. This one is off a tractor from the 1950s. It’ll be hard to find anything that sturdy and durable again.”
“How on earth do you know that?” Mack drawled.
“I learned to drive on that old tractor when I was thirteen. After feeling self-conscious because I was the tallest girl in class for ages, I finally found a reason to be grateful for these long legs.”
“I am in serious lust with those legs.”
Alana thought about introducing him to Fred’s horse, Rooster, and Eberardo’s mount, Blanco, but they were out in the corral, and she had a feeling that if they walked there through this cool, shady barn, she would end up in Mack’s arms. She was still feeling too fragile for that.
“Come on, gyrene, before I change my mind and put you on a horse anyway.”
They climbed into the all-terrain vehicle, and Alana headed north to the first stock pond where about twenty head of cattle were collected in the shade of the pines, cedar trees, oaks and water birch that framed two sides of the water. As she braked, they were greeted with several lazy moos.
“They seem to know you,” Mack noted.
“They miss Fred’s daily visits. I try to ride around here a couple of times a week to back up Eberardo’s work, so they keep responding well to human direction.”
“And then you have your own herd?” Mack’s glance held new respect.
“It’s a much smaller one.” She nodded to the black, muscular cattle. “Fred loved Black Angus. We don’t have quite the time to invest on herd purity or attention, and Uncle Duke tends to be a Good Samaritan and buys someone’s stock if there’s a widow or an elderly couple that can’t manage them anymore. So our herd is a mix of breeds.”
Mack looked around. “Where are the rest?”
“Scattered all over the place. Mostly that way.” She pointed east. “Both of our properties are a true rectangle.”
Alana zigzagged around gopher holes and slowed through draws, mindful of how unhelpful too much bumping and shaking would be for Mack’s back. Even so, she saw him lean forward and grip the handrail a few times so his wounds didn’t rub against the back of the seat.
“We should have taken my truck,” she said.
“I’m fine,” Mack assured her. “But I didn’t expect this rolling terrain. My memory of Texas is of flat ground.”
“It tends to be that way between Texarkana and Dallas, and then farther west. Every few hundred miles you get a different topography. Here we are,” she said, as they topped another rise and approached a miniforest of strictly pine trees creating a cusp around a stock pond that was three times the size of the other they’d stopped at. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“It’s enough to turn anyone into a rancher.”
Dozens and dozens of glossy black cattle lay like the pampered critters they were, enjoying the relief from the bright late-August sun and intense heat that the long- and short-needled evergreens provided. A few calves from the spring birthing were playing by the water, only to be startled by a jumping fish that sent them running up the bank to their relaxing mothers lazily chewing their cud.
Alana parked the Mule between the first few trees. “Now dig in. I can see you’re all but salivating thinking about those burritos.”
Mack didn’t hesitate and snatched up the tote from the floorboard. “Are you ready for one?”
“No, thanks. I ate what Duke fixed at home. I didn’t bring you any of that because a burrito is easier to handle. By the way, both of those are yours if you can manage them.”
“Remember you said that.”
As he unfolded the first wrapper, Alana shared more about the property’s past. “You probably don’t recall any of this from Fred’s lectures—I know he must have offered plenty—but for decades this was all dense forest. Around World War II, they timbered a lot of this region. Undoubtedly, there was a need—especially with the housing boom afterward, as the country experienced another spurt of immigration. Those pines you’re looking at are what’s left of the replanting. Your grandparents and then Fred worked their butts off turning everything else into the prime pasture you see now.”
“I don’t see any tree stumps,” Mack said, between bites. “Did they all rot?”
“Heavens, no. Fred had the last of them ground down. In your grandparents’ time, they either pulled them out with tractors and chains, or burned them.” Alana nodded to the pond. “This is where your grandparents made your father.”
Mack choked on a bite of food, then laughed. “Son of a gun. I guess they got along better than my parents did.”
“From what I hear it was love at first sight. Fred was born here, too.” It was also the last place he’d asked to come before he grew too weak to get out of bed, but Alana didn’t want to ruin Mack’s obvious enjoyment of the other information.
Having finished the first burrito, he was pouring himself more coffee and he did a double take upon hearing that. “I take it that involved a bit of bad planning.”
“Exactly.
There are almost always wildflowers blooming in Texas, except in the coldest few weeks of winter,” Alana said, gesturing to the pockets of black-eyed Susans on the sunny side of the pond. “We go from bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, crimson clover, verbena, to moss rose, daisies, trillium, butterfly weed...you name it. Your grandmother also planted water iris, and wild roses—she loved her flowers—and your grandfather was working to clean the weeds from the area so she could enjoy them more without having to worry about snakes.
“As the story goes, she’d begun having labor pains. This was in the old house—not much more than a cabin—closer to the road. She saw a storm was building and believed your grandfather would notice and surely come home, since he was only on the tractor, and not the big air-conditioned/heated one you have in the barn now. But he didn’t come. So she went to get him in their truck. Time was growing short if she was to get to the hospital. The downpour made this area slippery, and she got stuck. No matter how much your grandfather tried to push with the tractor, it was no use, and the chains were back at the house.” Alana shrugged. “The rest is history.”
Mack chuckled. “No wonder the old man had such a tough exterior.”
“Given the chance, he would have shown you his softer side,” Alana insisted, as he went on to sip his coffee. “At any rate, you inherited some of his genes. They helped you survive the ghetto life that you went into as a vulnerable boy.”
As he finished washing down his breakfast, she climbed out of the Mule and walked along the dam on the trail the cattle had worn into the already-packed red clay. The sunshine felt good on her bare skin and the sadness that had been pressing in on her eased a little to where breathing wasn’t the taxing chore it had been. When Mack came up behind her and took hold of her upper arms, she let him draw her back against his chest.
“I didn’t mean to make you sadder by talking about him,” he said, caressing her with his thumbs.
“You didn’t. I can remind myself that while he was cheated of years, as my family was, he was so very sick that passing was a relief for him.”
“Thank you for putting yourself through sharing those memories, and for bringing me here. It’s undeniably a romantic and special place.”
Alana looked up at him and saw desire flicker in his cool gray-green eyes. “Yes,” she murmured, saying more by tilting her chin to offer him her lips.
Cupping the side of her face, Mack brushed his lips against hers once, then again, before taking complete possession. In that instant, Alana felt as though the dam had given way beneath them. The kiss was hot from coffee as much as from his hunger for her, and combined with the sun’s heat, she was caught up in a sensual tsunami that stole her ability to think, only to feel. With a soft mewing sound that spoke to her own longing, she turned to wrap her arms around his neck and seek even closer contact.
A soft growl rose from Mack’s chest speaking to his approval, and he brought her closer yet, his arms strong bands locking her against him. However, while there was no missing that he had been wanting this, had been hoping for it, his kiss spoke of caring, even as he asked for her passion.
Alana was compelled to yield the trust he asked for. This was too perfect to end so soon. All of her life—at least from the point where happiness ended—she’d sought a cure for her grief. Maybe this wasn’t it, maybe Mack was meant to just be a momentary panacea, but she wanted it. She wanted him.
She loved how he stroked her with his tongue and his hands, reveled as his muscles bunched like Tanker’s when she caressed him. He didn’t seem to be able to keep still, either. His large but skilled hands were magical as they moved down her back to encourage her hips closer to his, then up to cup the sides of her breasts and slip his thumbs between them to find her taut nipples.
As a little cry of pleasure broke from her, Mack drank it, too, then crushed her to him, and moved against her, his arousal undeniable. The kiss went on and on, until they realized there wasn’t enough oxygen to continue, and they broke apart to find reality or at least balance as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
“Well, that answers one question,” he said, his chest rising and falling as quickly as hers.
“Which one?” she gasped.
“You want me as much as I want you—and a quickie would be an offense to the strength and beauty of that.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but had no words. With a helpless shake of her head, she managed, “I suddenly feel like such an ingenue.”
“This is new territory for me, too.”
The way his mysterious eyes searched hers made Alana feel he was at once moved and yet troubled by that. She laid her hand against his heart. “You’re a good man, Mack Graves.”
“I wasn’t always,” he warned her. He was tender as he folded her gently in his arms and kissed the side of her neck. “But you make me want to be. At any rate, you need to get home and get some sleep.”
“I know.”
“This is me being noble.”
She sighed, managing a smile for his gruff teasing. “I get it. Only, sleep is more trouble than it’s worth. But I know you’re right.” Because she couldn’t resist, she caressed the strong line of his jaw.
“Nightmares,” Mack said, and it wasn’t a question. “I’ve had my share, too. That’s the reason why you work the shift you do. So you won’t wake your uncle...or he won’t hear you walking the floor.” When she nodded, he took her hand and touched his lips to her wrist. “Forget what I just said. Come to the house. I’ll hold you until you sleep, and if you start to dream, I’ll bring you out of it.”
“We’ve just become real friends, taking the first steps to becoming serious lovers, and now you’re inviting something that’s sure to chase you away?” As achingly tempted as she was by his offer, she shook her head, unwilling to damage what she wanted to remain beautiful.
“Ally...I’ve seen people do the worst possible things to each other,” he replied, his voice all gruff tenderness. “What makes you think a gorgeous woman with too soft of a heart has a chance in hell of scaring me?”
Alana didn’t know whether she was more touched, flattered or horrified for all he’d experienced. “Can I have a rain check?” she asked, knowing she needed to build up her courage a little more.
“Only if I get to deliver it with a kiss,” he said, already reaching for her.
* * *
“I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Sam Carlyle pulled his head out from under the hood of his ten-year-old pickup truck in the nearly empty parking lot of the grocery store. It was almost ten o’clock and he’d been the store’s last customer of the day. The pleasant-looking man of somewhere approaching fifty was appreciative but doubtful as he went to attempt to start the engine again; however, the thing sprang to life on the second try.
With a satisfied nod, Alana shut the hood, and brushed the grime from her hands.
“You just need to take this thing to the dealer and have a decent servicing, Sam,” she told him as she stepped up to the driver’s window. “Until I met you, and your poor abused Bluebell here, I thought all men were born mechanics, or at least tinkerers. Do you ever even pull the dip stick out to check it, or the other fluid levels?”
“Gardening is more rewarding.” The blond-and-silver-haired Sam didn’t look at all apologetic. “It’s not everyone who can practically grow a tomato in concrete.”
Which was why he waited until so late to do his shopping. He was always in his yard and had the tan and leathery skin to prove it. “No, they can’t. Speaking of which, I haven’t tasted much of your success lately. You must’ve found yourself a new girlfriend to share your surplus with.” She liked to tease the shy widower, who had sold his successful Tyler accounting business three years ago when his wife had been diagnosed with cancer.
“Aw, Ally, you know I haven’t done that. But I have been busy canning and freezing everything I’ve been picking.”
“Well, when you get around to making a big batch of eg
gplant parmesan, remember Bunny and me. You know she loves your gifts as much as I do.”
“That Barbara Jayne is a nice lady. Really friendly. Why on earth does she like night work?”
“Because she’s lonely and nights can be long.”
“They sure can.” Sam’s expression turned more quizzical than before. “I thought she was married?”
With a shake of her head, Alana explained. “Brewster couldn’t limit himself to one woman. Of course, he blamed her for that. He said she talked too much and drove him from his own home.”
That had Sam chuckling. “She couldn’t talk more than my Maureen did. She knew something about each and every person in the phone book. She tried to teach it to me once. I do believe that takes a talent all its own.”
Alana stared at Sam with new respect—and simultaneously had a brainstorm. “Do you?”
“Sure. I learned things about folks I had no idea about. These days when I pass out programs at church on Sunday morning, I have something to say besides, ‘Program?’ I can say, ‘How’re your bunions, Mrs. Adams?’ ‘Hope that gall bladder isn’t giving you any new trouble, Norman.’”
Alana started to formulate a plan. “Why don’t you stop by the station on your way home?”
“Why would I do that?”
Bless him, Alana thought. It was a miracle that some feral female hadn’t sunk her claws in him yet. “Because Barbara Jayne brought a rhubarb pie in this evening, and you need to taste it. I’m convinced you’ll want the recipe.”
He looked tempted. “I haven’t tasted a good rhubarb pie since my mother’s. I’ve tried to duplicate it, but I never do catch that something extra she put in. I believe I will stop by if you think Barbara Jayne won’t mind.”
“Just knock on the door. We keep it locked after dark. Tell her I sent you. Enjoy!”
She waved him off and was retrieving a hand wipe to finish cleaning off engine grease when another pickup pulled into the parking lot. Since it was now after ten and the grocery store doors were locked for the night, whoever was arriving was out of luck. But the pickup didn’t head for the storefront, it turned her way and came to a stop beside her. There was no denying the thrill that raced through her when she realized it was Fred’s truck. But that was soon followed by concern. What on earth was he doing driving around town when he wanted to keep his presence a secret?
A Holiday to Remember Page 9
