by Geri Krotow
“Yes. Did Jeremy tell you any more than I did, about my father’s death?”
“No. Well, yes. The part about Livia Colton.” He took on a pinched expression. Odd. “Only that you’ve been trying to keep the ranch going since and it hasn’t been the best time, financially.”
“No, it hasn’t. I’ve invested all that Dad left me back into the ranch and it looks good on paper. The reality of it is a bit harsher, I’ll admit. I just need a little more time to see the investments pay off.” She fingered her paper place mat, the familiar printed advertisements promising the “best” salon, cemetery, dentist and more in Shadow Creek. Soon she’d have the Bluewood logo in one of the promotional boxes. “I suppose you don’t allow yourself time to make good on your investments. You expect immediate positive payoff.”
His laugh was short but powerful. “That would be ideal, but rarely happens. Not anymore.” Something warm and soothing unfurled in her belly at the whiteness of his teeth against his skin. And his candidness with her.
“I thought it was an instant-gratification world?”
“In many businesses, yes, but I deal with a man-made, centuries-old recipe. That’s what all of my business dealings and investments come down to. Whiskey is my core product. So no matter how modern technology or stock performance affects my industry, if my product isn’t up to snuff it doesn’t matter.”
“So, even if all the modern trappings of business in the twenty-first century were to melt away, you’d still have your brew. Your whiskey.”
“Yes. That’s the secret to my success, to the sales margins of Clyde Whiskey.”
“That’s how I feel about Bluewood Ranch. It’s an infinitesimal outfit compared to Clyde Whiskey, I get that. But it’s just as important to me. And at its root I know it’s a viable operation.”
“It means everything to you, am I right?”
“Yes.” She met his steel blue gaze. “It’s my legacy. And now, our baby’s.”
Chapter 9
“Your carriage awaits, Madame.” Alastair reached out to her with a small smile and his hand, which she grasped as she placed a foot on the truck’s running board.
“Thank you.” Before Halle could pull herself up onto the passenger seat, Alastair’s hand was on her lower back, heat scorching through the thin dress fabric. She felt as if she’d see his handprint on her skin if she looked in a mirror, she was that tuned into him. Not to mention turned on by him. It had to be the wedding—it was natural for it to make her feel sexually needy, wasn’t it? No matter the motivations, they were husband and wife.
His hand moved to her leg as soon as she was settled. He gave her thigh a squeeze just above her knee. “Okay?”
She looked down at his strong hand, only a portion of which was visible under the layers of her full tulle skirt. He hadn’t meant it as a come-on, she was sure; it was a comforting gesture. But because of the slipperiness of the material his hand had slid to the top of her thigh, and as she looked at him she almost willed him to extend his glorious fingers up a bit higher, to find the lacy white slip of panties she’d worn to match the dress. You didn’t wear panties; you put on a thong.
Yes, she’d put on a thong, and that was something she didn’t do during the everyday work of running her ranch. She’d thought about Alastair’s reaction, the familiar heat in his eyes, if he saw her sexy underwear. The heat that was radiating off him, fueled by the sparks in his blue eyes as they locked gazes over her frothy dress, could melt a snow cone in January. And he hadn’t even seen her lingerie.
They were married—it wasn’t illegal to have a midday sexual fantasy about her dearly beloved, was it?
“Okay.” Her aroused state made her reply sound more like Marilyn Monroe about to sing “Happy Birthday” to her favorite president.
His eyes narrowed and an undeniable smoky want in their depths signaled that Alastair felt their chemistry, too. She offered him a smile. “We never said how long you’d be staying in the guest room.”
His breath hissed in and he jerked his hand off her thigh. “No, we did not.” He shut the passenger door and she watched him stride around the hood of the truck, his expression not as relaxed as it’d been in the diner. This was the look of Alastair on the prowl. Worked up, needing a toss in the hay.
Get a grip. This is a business arrangement. Her hormones disagreed.
The driver’s side door opened and his scent preceded him. She loved the smell of Alastair—freshness and all-male sexy musk. Did Scotland smell like this? She didn’t remember that from her year abroad. She laughed.
“What’s so funny?” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, shifting the gear into Drive and turning toward home.
“I’m thinking back to when I went to college in Glasgow for my junior year. It was so much fun, but now it’s mostly a blur in my mind. I remember a lot of taverns, beer and The Mackintosh House.” She was reluctant to tell him her more traitorous thoughts—ones that involved them both naked.
“And that’s humorous why?”
“Um, private reason.” She kept her gaze forward, hoping he’d let it go.
“How long ago, exactly, was that?” His words were clipped and sounded closer to a British accent than his usual Scottish brogue. This was professional, no-nonsense Alastair. The coolness in his tone didn’t completely quench her desire for him but it helped.
“It was my junior year, so...twelve years ago.” She looked out her window and watched Shadow Creek give way to the desolate countryside she so loved. Home.
“I daresay Glasgow would look the same to you as far as the city landmarks go, but it’s expanding and modernizing at the most rapid rate since after the war.”
“It’s always been home to you, then? Your family, too?”
He shrugged. “All of Scotland is my home. With the family business headquartered in Glasgow, we’ve had to open offices in Edinburgh and London to facilitate distribution.” He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I live exclusively in Glasgow but my parents have semiretired and move to the Highlands come summer. I’ve purchased land not far from them and plan to build my own respite. Right now I have a smaller cottage on the property I use when I’m there. They live there along with my grandmother.”
“Do you like city or country living better?”
“City living in Glasgow isn’t the same as Dallas, or New York City, or even Austin. But yes, I prefer more activity.”
“Then Shadow Creek must seem so boring to you.”
“Boring isn’t the adjective I’d use. To be honest I’ve never been uninterested in any part of the world—it’s always about the people.” Finally he blessed her again with his gaze. She’d never tire of it—as she’d never tire of watching the ocean when she stood on a beach. His eyes flicked to her belly, then back on the road. “My good friend Jeremy is here, of course, and now, I’ll forever have a connection to Shadow Creek, won’t I?”
Halle sure hoped the heat he was sending out was intentional, and that he wanted to celebrate their nuptial contract as much as she did. His signals were as mixed as her feelings—as if he, too, felt the need that thrummed between them but, like her, worried they were indulging where they shouldn’t. It had been simpler on the trail, before their duty to the baby appeared.
“I never thought I’d get married.” A lump grew in her throat, totally unexpected.
“Never? But all you speak about is your legacy. A legacy must be passed on.”
“I know. And I never thought I’d be pregnant—it wasn’t something I’ve ever longed for or felt was necessary for a complete life.” She fiddled with the sheer overlay of her skirt. “Since my father was killed I’ve thought about it more, that if I didn’t marry I’d eventually have my own child, either by in vitro or adoption.”
“And now?”
“And now I’m driving h
ome with my husband and I have a bun in the oven.” Someone had to lighten the mood; it might as well be her.
“A ‘bun in your oven’?” Alastair smiled. “Sounds like something my grandmother would say.”
“The same one that lives near you?”
“Actually, yes, my only remaining grandparent. She’s ninety-five and lives on the same property as my parents and I, but in her own small cottage. It’s in between my small place that I mentioned and my folks’.”
“She still lives by herself?”
“Yes. Of course, my father checks in on her each day, and my mother helps with any physical needs like bathing or lifting heavier items. Her shoulders are racked with arthritis from her years of working in the distillery. But she’s very independent, and thank God has no symptoms of dementia. It’s imperative she keep every last vestige of independence for as long as possible.”
“She sounds like someone I’d get along well with.”
“You’re very much like her. And when she and my grandfather met, she was alone, too.” He said no more and she didn’t encourage him to open up. Their relationship wasn’t like his grandparents’ in one key aspect, she was certain. They hadn’t signed a contract and agreed to divorce in one year.
“Tired?” His hand covered hers on the leather armrest between them. He must have heard her sigh, a breath she’d not been aware of.
“I’m fine. Although a nap might be in order.”
“We’re almost home.”
Home. It wasn’t hers alone anymore, no matter what Alastair promised about her keeping all of the assets she came into the marriage with. And hopefully left with, but in a much better financial state. She ignored any concern over what the state of her heart would be after they dissolved their union. Why borrow trouble?
* * *
Alastair didn’t trust himself to speak as he drove up into Bluewood and headed straight for the ranch house. He’d been fighting a full erection since they’d left the diner, since after he’d kissed her so less-than-platonically at the courthouse. Probably since he’d landed in Shadow Creek, if he were to be brutally honest.
“Don’t pull up at the door. Park the truck over there.” She pointed to the grassy area alongside the corral and barn. “The truck blocks the view from the porch if we put it here. The sunsets are spectacular this time of year. You won’t believe how it is next month, in December, as the air gets colder and the sky looks like an endless carpet sprinkled with stars.”
He didn’t reply but turned and stopped the truck where she’d asked. Halle’s pale hand reached for her door and the click of the passenger door lock reverberated through the front seat as if it’d been a gunshot. Couldn’t she wait to get away from him, out of his reach? Or was she as fired up as him? As confused?
“Halle, wait.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. Her silky cover-up was the only thing between his palm and the creamy smoothness of her skin. The fabric bunched under his fingertips as he caressed her and he fought from ripping it away so that his tongue could taste that sweet spot between her nape and shoulder again.
She turned back, away from the door, and the smolder in her eyes slayed him. Her long locks had started to come loose from her sophisticated updo, framing her heart-shaped face. The auburn strands glinted copper in the afternoon sunlight. Her lips were full, her bottom lip more so, as if she’d been worrying them the entire drive home. Home. Whether he wanted it or not, he had another home where his child had been conceived.
“Before we go inside, I want to make sure we’re on the same footing. It’s not going to be easy this year, with all the changes.” He ran his index finger down her creamy cheek.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by ‘footing’?”
“I mean I don’t want anything to happen that we’d both regret.” Hell’s bells, the tone of his voice was absolutely pleading. Definitely not a corporate boardroom manner.
“You mean we shouldn’t partake in any connubial bliss?” Halle’s sweet lips formed the words as sexily as if she’d uttered an erotic request. His gut tightened at the image of what that bliss would entail, while acknowledging the fresh, incredibly funny side of Halle he’d only just begun to discover. No woman had ever stoked him like this before.
“If we do, if we did, ah, go to bed, it has to be mutual and with no strings. I never want you to feel I’m pushing you into something.”
“But I can push you into doing what I want?” Her dimples had teased him since they’d met and begged for his tongue to explore them and he allowed his fingers to stroke the side of her neck.
“Do you ever not joke about things, Halle? This isn’t a comedy.” He barely got the words out, so large was the rock in his throat. She had him tied in knots and he knew one sure way to get the tangles out. For both of them.
She continued to stare him down, and Alastair decided it was time to employ his most ingrained CEO leadership skills. Decisiveness. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her nape, and gently tugged. When she offered no resistance, but in fact leaned in toward him, Alastair imploded with his craving for Halle and hauled her to him, crushing his lips on hers.
Halle was as willing and as hungry as he, if the way she met his tongue with hers was any decent measure.
Her enthusiasm rocked his self-control. Her hands were cool on his nape, on his scalp. Her long fingers tugged on his short hair as her tongue dipped into his mouth and fought his. Her taste, so sweet, so hot.
“Halle.” Her name came out on a groan, and he lifted his mouth from her lips only to suck teasingly at her throat. He needed the breasts he held to be free of her bra, out of the girly dress. Alastair wouldn’t be satisfied until they were skin on skin. In broad daylight, across her bed or his or the damned truck bench seat, he didn’t care. “I need to see you, all of you. Now, Halle.”
Her gasps turned to soft pants as he touched her thigh, moved higher to her panties and stroked her heat. The thin fabric was wet from her arousal and he wanted to shout with relief at his discovery. “Let me see you, Halle.”
She stilled and he froze. Regret started its freezing march across his heart. He’d pushed too far, too soon. He’d forgotten that at the center of it all, this was only a business negotiation. He braced for her rejection.
“Not here. Not in the truck, Alastair.” She still wanted him!
Lust slammed into him again and he gave her a short, hard kiss, afraid to linger or he’d make love to her with no preliminaries in the damned vehicle. This was their wedding day, and he didn’t want to treat her like a farm animal in heat.
“Wait here.”
He was out of the cab and lifted her from her seat in record time. He grasped her hand and tugged her alongside him as they walked to the weathered front porch of her modest ranch home.
“Alastair, slow down. We have all day.” He ignored her words and heard only the breathlessness with which she said them. He looked at her as he kept walking, taken in by the peachy rush of color on her cheeks and the deep red of her lips. She was as hot and ready for him as he was for her.
“Exactly. And I don’t want to waste one minute, one second of it out here.” He didn’t stop, willing the hundred feet or so to close, seeing her splayed out on the bed, her dress hiked to her waist—
“Oh. My. God.” Halle stopped dead in her tracks and he almost toppled over her before he let go of her hand. Absolute horror stamped her expression, obliterating the wanton aura of seconds ago. “Alastair, look.” She pointed at the porch.
At first he saw nothing. The sun was still bright and the porch roofed, so all he made out was the dark area past the three steps to reach the door. And then, at the base of the door, he saw it. A severed cow’s head, blood still fresh and dripping onto the wooden porch slats, leaned against Halle’s front door.
Alastair immediately grabbed Halle to him, tryi
ng to shield her. “Don’t look at it.”
“Like hell I won’t.” The woman he barely knew, yet felt the deepest connection of his life with, shoved him away and strode up to the porch. “Oh God, it’s Ernie.” She knelt next to the longhorn’s head, placing her hand on the space between the dead steer’s eyes. “He was the last steer that Daddy bought. I couldn’t bear to sell him.”
Alastair watched her, torn between wanting to rip her away from such horror, save her from any distress, and wanting to turn and go find whoever did this. Because the perpetrator would pay. Dearly.
Instead he knelt next to her and placed his arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, lass. Who would have done this?”
She shook her head, her fancy chignon but a memory after their near-lovemaking in the truck and their hurried walk here. “No idea. Some sick, sick loser. What the hell is wrong with people?”
“Here.” Alastair handed her the ivory handkerchief from his breast pocket. It somehow comforted him to see her use the same square of linen his great-grandmother had used to carry her wedding bouquet of Scottish heather and daisies. He’d tell her that detail later.
“Thanks.” She gave her nose a hearty blow and crumpled the cloth in her hand, still staring at her beloved steer. The remains of him, at any rate. Crap. He was going to help her get rid of this, and then he’d go find the rest of the steer. His hands tightened into fists and he clenched his jaw. When he caught the criminal, they’d regret this for the rest of their life.
“I need to call the sheriff.” His bride had an iron will.
“Here.” He helped her stand before lowering both of them onto the porch swing not three feet away. A quiet, restful place on the ranch that some jerk had shattered with a gratuitous act of violence. Keeping his arm around her, he handed her his phone. “Call with my mobile.”
Halle did so, and he noted her hands trembled but her spine was steel-straight. He’d not married a shrinking violet, that was certain. As shaken as she was, her voice was steady and precise as she explained what was on her front porch in excruciating detail.
