by Lisa Jackson
“Good.”
Mary twisted off the radio and they headed outside.
The ride to the stables was thankfully short and silent. Mary Theresa, ten miles above the speed limit, had the radio blaring and drove with one hand; the other, casually holding her cigarette, hung out the driver’s side window. She was careful to turn her head and exhale out the window as well.
“Mom knows you smoke,” Maggie observed as they turned off on the lane to the ranch. The BMW bucked and bounced down the gravel lane, its underbelly scraped by weeds growing in the center strip between the twin ruts made by hundreds of tires over the years.
“So?”
“I don’t know why you try so hard to hide it.”
Mary Theresa slowed and tossed her sister a look that silently called her an idiot. “There are lots of things Mom and Dad don’t know about me. That’s the way I like it.”
“Fine. I was just saying—”
“Okay, I’ve heard the lecture before.” Angrily, Mary Theresa stood on the brakes, and the car slid to a stop near Flora’s garage. “I don’t need to hear it again.”
“I didn’t mean that—”
“Forget it.”
“No—”
“Just get out, okay?” Mary Theresa was really ticked off. “You know, Maggie, I’m sick and tired of your holier-than-thou attitude.”
“Get real.”
“You know, I’ll bet you’re out here doing it with some lowlife cowboy!”
“What!” Maggie’s jaw dropped open. She gaped at her twin in disbelief. “I’m not—”
“Well, if you’re not, then quit hanging out here. Find a boyfriend and grow up, will ya?”
Maggie’s blood started to boil. She held her tongue. No reason to get into it. She reached for the door.
“You could do better,” Mary Theresa said, “than some piss-poor hired hand who—”
“Who isn’t related to me?” Maggie cut in, her temper boiling. “Sorry. But I think our cousin or brother or what-ever-you-want-to-call-him is taken.” She said it without thinking, and Mary Theresa’s face drained of color. She gasped and could barely speak.
“I’m not…I mean I—”
Maggie climbed out of the car. She was already regretting her sharp tongue even though Mary Theresa had asked for it. “I’ll find a ride home.”
“Oh, God, Maggie, please, it’s not—” A tear started to drip from beneath the edge of Mary Theresa’s sunglasses. But Maggie wouldn’t listen. She slammed the door shut and stormed down the short hill to the paddock near the stables. Why had she let Mary Theresa draw her into an argument? Why? Why hadn’t she kept her damned mouth shut?
Thane sauntered out of the stables. A half smile was tacked onto his face, softening the contours of his square jaw. “Bad day?”
“Don’t ask.”
He whistled under his breath. “Okay, I won’t. From where I stand, you’ve got a pretty good life, princess.”
“You don’t know anything,” she retorted, then saw a light of amusement fire in his cool gray eyes. That damned self-satisfied smile didn’t move an inch. “And I’m not a princess.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You’re a saint.”
“Enough!”
He chuckled. “Whatever you say.” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of grimy, nearly threadbare jeans. “You’re the boss.”
Her head snapped up, and she started to argue. “I’m nothing of the sort—” But she stopped short when she noticed the twitch of his lip, the crinkling of the corners of his eyes. What was it today? Something in the air that convinced people to pick a fight with her? “You ready?”
“Always.” His voice had lowered a bit, and she felt a prickle of anticipation run across her skin, like the breath of the wind touching her intimately, but there wasn’t the slightest breeze moving the leaves of the trees.
Thane’s gaze shifted just as she heard the crunch of sandals on gravel. His eyebrows lifted a fraction as he stared over Maggie’s shoulder and his interest shifted from her. She felt it. As she had a hundred times before. She didn’t have to turn around to sense that Mary Theresa was approaching. “Thought you might need this,” she said, as Maggie looked over her shoulder.
Swinging saucily down the hill, she held out Maggie’s oversized suede bag, the one with long fringe and a shoulder strap.
“Thanks.” Maggie swiped it from her sister’s outstretched hand.
Mary Theresa smiled as she looked past Maggie to Thane. “Hi, I’m Maggie’s sister, Mary Theresa.”
“Thane Walker.”
“The horse trainer?” she asked as if she’d listened raptly to everything about him.
“Sometimes.”
She laughed gaily. “And other times?”
“I do a little of everything.” He lifted a broad shoulder and Maggie wished for once that he didn’t look so damned sexy, that his tanned arms weren’t visible, that his eyes weren’t such an intense shade of gray blue, that he didn’t appear so raw and masculine and…interested in her sister. Maggie felt, as she had all of her life, as if she had suddenly disappeared.
“So you’re giving Maggie a lesson today?”
One of Thane’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s the plan.”
“Think you could teach me how to ride?”
Maggie nearly fainted. Mary Theresa wanted to ride a horse, the same animal that she had called “stinky, obnoxious, and just plain boring?”
“You wanna learn?”
“I might.” A dimple creased Mary Theresa’s cheek.
“Then I ‘might’ be able to teach you.”
“Good.”
“Set it up with Flora.” Thane’s interested gaze swung back to Maggie. “Right now, I think you and I should get to it.”
“Right,” she said dully.
“Bye!” Mary Theresa lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers, then turned and swung up the hill. Thane glanced briefly at her, then back to Maggie.
“You didn’t tell me you had a twin.”
“Didn’t see a reason to.”
“She’s pretty.”
Maggie’s heart sank, and she wondered what she was doing here.
“Almost as pretty as you.”
Her head snapped up. “Sure,” she said automatically before she saw that he was being serious, no smile curved his lips, no flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.
“You don’t think so.”
“I don’t worry about it one way or the other,” she lied, though she felt a warm glow inside that she would, under no circumstances, let him see. She’d gotten compliments before, plenty of them, but this was different; she sensed Thane Walker didn’t hand them out casually. He didn’t seem the kind of man to say a kind word just to see her reaction or because he wanted something more from her.
“Just thought you should know.”
“Why?” She couldn’t help asking.
Appearing skeptical, he hitched his chin toward the parking lot, where Mary Theresa was climbing behind the wheel of the BMW. She tore out of the lot. “Because I get the feeling that she might run roughshod over you.”
“No way,” Maggie said, the backs of her ears burning.
He didn’t say anything else, just got down to the business of teaching her how to command the horse. Riding bareback, she tried to listen to his instructions as he explained about holding the reins in gentle hands that not only told the horse what she expected but also felt her mount’s hesitation or determination. She went through the motions of turning Ink Spot in several different gaits, but her mind wandered, and she was more aware of the back of Thane’s neck as he looked downward, how the cords supporting his head stood out, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, only to be pushed aside by an impatient hand, or the sensations he caused when he touched her briefly, fleetingly, when he adjusted the position of her fingers as she held the leather straps. Rough, callused, dirty hands guided hers.
“Just hold like this—no, a little more tightly,” he said,
his voice low and commanding as his hands covered hers.
The back of Maggie’s throat turned to cotton. “Like this?”
“Yeah, but don’t squeeze the hell out of ’em. Remember, this is how you’re communicating with Ink Spot. She has to feel that you mean business without scaring her. Intimidation that earns her respect. Here.” He patted the animal’s thick neck and in one swift move swung up behind Maggie.
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Let me show you.” Strong arms surrounded her, big hands clasped over hers, and the wall of his chest was pressed firmly to her spine. She couldn’t move and tried not to notice that his legs were formed intimately to hers, the fronts of his longer jeans-clad thighs hot against the backs of her bare legs and knees. His booted feet dangled longer than hers, but the hard pressure of his fly rode steady against her buttocks.
New sensations stole through her blood, turning it hot, causing sweat to dampen her skin. Images that had nothing to do with guiding horses galloped through her mind, and she thought as she held her breath that she might pass out.
“Here.” Holding her hands over the reins, he clucked to the horse.
Ink Spot resisted at first, but Thane urged her forward by moving his legs. His breath was hot against the back of Maggie’s neck. She swallowed hard as the mare broke into a gallop, and Thane’s free arm encircled her waist, holding her close, keeping them both astride and riding in unison. She sucked in her stomach, felt a tingling in the deepest part of her, and tried like crazy to keep her mind on anything but the hardness pressed against the base of her spine and the dizzying images that teased her mind.
“Like this,” he said, leaning forward so that his chin bridged her shoulder and his head was next to hers. His hands moved subtly with the reins, and the horse responded, turning in a smooth arc to the left, dark ears flicking as if searching for more clues from the two riders. “You try.”
She nearly dropped the reins, but forced her hands to take control, to mimic his commands as he held tightly to her, and the buildings of the ranch, the stables, barn, garage swept by in a dizzying blur. Her heart and head pounded, her blood pumped through her veins wildly, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his hands on her body…Oh, God, she was hot.
“There ya go, now ease up a bit.”
Automatically she relaxed and let the reins slip through her fingers.
“Whoa—not so much. That gives her too much head, and you’ll have no control.” Again he grabbed hold of Maggie’s hands. “Firm but not hard, see? Show her what you want.”
Maggie nodded, felt his head turn and his eyes study her face. For a split second she thought he might kiss her, might tip her chin with one strong finger, forcing her to twist her neck so that he could capture her lips with his. Her heart thundered, her pulse skyrocketed, and she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, sensing his gaze lower to her shoulders and chest, rising and falling with each one of her ragged breaths. “I—I see,” she said, nodding slowly, trying to clear her head, but as long as any inch of his skin touched hers, rational thought proved impossible.
“Good. Whoa.” He pulled gently up on the reins, Ink Spot slowed, and he swung to the ground easily. Maggie nearly lost her balance. “Now, you try. Yourself.”
Oh, yeah, right, she thought, but managed to encourage the piebald to a trot, somehow handle the reins though she felt as if she were all thumbs, and guide the horse around the paddock while keeping her seat. Fence posts and clumps of dry grass marked her progress; horseflies hovered in the air.
Thane stood, long legs apart, arms folded over his chest, eyes trained on her every move. His shoulders stretched the seams of his faded blue T-shirt, his biceps bulged, and she thought then that he was probably the sexiest man on the planet.
“Better.” He nodded, his eyes narrowing as he watched, his lips compressed, that blond-streaked hank of hair falling into his eyes. “Definitely better. Work on it.”
“I—I will,” she promised, and wondered why he made her feel like a schoolgirl. Checking his watch, he flashed her a smile guaranteed to break a young girl’s heart. “Class is over.”
“Good.”
“Wanna do it again next week?”
Yes! “Probably.”
“Let me know.”
“I will,” she promised, knowing that she’d work extra hard at her job, collect as much money as she could in tips and wages, just to spend an hour this close to him. It was crazy, she realized as she turned Ink Spot toward the open gate and the arid fields beyond. He was too old for her. Way too old. And he was a stranger—a kind of mystery man from Wyoming somewhere. A cowboy who’d probably been kicked out of high school before he’d graduated and had never so much as set one foot inside a university. Her parents would faint if they thought she was interested in this guy—a lowlife from the wrong side of the tracks.
But Maggie couldn’t help herself. She found Thane Walker downright fascinating, and, for the first time in her seventeen years, she didn’t give a damn what her mother, father or even Mary Theresa thought. This time, she was going to make her own decisions about her life, and the devil could damn well take his due.
Chapter Eight
A few days later, Maggie was still troubled, her mind jumbled with thoughts of Thane and her splintered family. Each day the tension seemed worse, and she sought solace as she rode through Flora’s acres alone even though she sensed a storm approaching.
The creek bed was dry, littered with rocks, not so much as a trickle of water or muddy patch indicating that water ever ran through this part of Flora’s ranch. Astride a fidgety Ink Spot, Maggie surveyed the chasm that cut through the parched acres and tried to imagine it with water bubbling and rushing over the stones, with insects skipping on the surface and tadpoles congregating in the deeper pools, but all she saw was dirt clods, clumps of dry grass, and dead, dust-dry leaves.
Clucking her tongue to the horse, she tried to shake off her bad mood, but found it wedged firmly in her psyche. As oppressive as the clouds that gathered in the sky, the feeling that something cataclysmic was about to happen weighed heavily in her heart.
Ever since she’d seen Mitch and Mary Theresa together, she’d felt this, the premonition that all hell was about to break loose, and the thick, roiling clouds that had blown in off the ocean hundreds of miles away did nothing to dispel her apprehension. She edged Ink Spot toward the stand of monstrous eucalyptus trees near the northeast corner of the ranch. Once in the shade, she dismounted and dusted her hands. Perching on the edge of a boulder, she looked across the canyon. Vineyards stretched over the rolling hills, row upon row of grapevines interspersed with access roads. The leaves were still lush and green, and soon the grapes would be harvested, crushed, and their juice aged in oak casks. Not that she cared. Not that she really gave a damn. Her blouse stuck to her back, and sweat seeped from her pores. Ink Spot lifted her nose to the teeniest breath of wind and snorted, shaking her head and rattling her bridle as a horsefly hovered near her head.
Biting her lip, Maggie slid off the giant rock and lay back on the prickly dry grass. Through the branches, she viewed the sky, thick with dark and troubling clouds. Her ponytail pulled at her head, and she yanked out the rubber band, then finger-combed her hair and stretched. How many nights had it been since she’d slept well? A week? Two?
Rolling over, she rested her head on her arm and closed her eyes. The drone of insects was interspersed with the squawk of a blue jay hidden in the branches overhead. She felt at peace here, more at peace than she did at home or work. Here she could escape, if only for a little while…
Thane finally caught sight of the piebald grazing, white-and-black tail switching at flies, riderless among a copse of scraggly oak and eucalyptus trees. With a sense of satisfaction he urged his mount, Buster, forward and ignored the spark that fired in his blood whenever he was around Maggie.
He’d known that she’d taken Ink Spot out this afternoon. Hell, he’d sensed her
presence the minute she’d shown up at the ranch sometime around noon, and he’d been barely able to concentrate since. There was something about her that he found fascinating, more than that really, she was downright tempting. There were a dozen reasons he should avoid her like the plague. She was too young, a kid, not quite eighteen. She was a princess, lived in the pricey part of town, wheeled around with that snotty twin of hers in a goddamned BMW and sometimes a Mercedes. She was his boss, in a manner of speaking, and she had a smart mouth on her, the kind of girl or woman he usually detested.
Besides that, he had his own demons to deal with. He couldn’t get close to anyone and reminded himself that she was way out of his league. If she had any inkling as to his past…if anyone did…The dark part of his soul opened for a second, let in a little shaft of light, then withered away again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outrun his past. Sooner or later it would catch up with him.
That was the bottom line; he couldn’t get involved with a woman, especially a girl who’d been raised to expect the better things in life. It was just too damned dangerous.
And yet he’d found it impossible to stay away from her. As if she were Eve in the garden of Eden, he was tempted. Sorely tempted. To the point that just looking at her brought a stiff erection that was damned near painful as it pushed against the button fly of his Levi’s.
Lately his nights had been assailed with images of her and he’d fantasized about her, even while alone in his unmade bed, with only his hand as comfort. He’d thought about the flash of defiance in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, curve of her mouth, and the way she chewed on the corner of her lip whenever she was nervous. Though he’d tried not to, he hadn’t been able to ignore that her breasts would fit snugly into a man’s palm or that her buttocks were round, firm, and usually tense.
Now, as he approached the shadowed grove, a black-and-white magpie screeched, its yellow beak open wide in the branches above the ridge where Maggie lay.
She was stretched out on her side, her eyes closed, and his heart seized at the thought that perhaps she’d been thrown, struck her head on a rock, and lay either dead or unconscious. Jaw clenched, he dropped the reins, dismounted quickly, and knelt at her side. “Maggie? Hey.” He touched her shoulder, felt her warm skin beneath his fingers and the prickle of desire that came with it. “Hey, kid, are you all right?”
