by Cait London
Kallista couldn’t sit still; the mention of Boone caused the tear in her heart to widen painfully. She stood slowly, cradling the mug that had been made in the shop. “Roman Blaylock is living in Boone’s house.”
Hannah spoke softly. “He took care of Boone in that last year. I think it gave him purpose. But Boone gave Roman something, too. A sense of belonging. He lost some of that with Debbie and kept to himself. It was as if he felt shamed that his marriage didn’t work, the only Blaylock to be divorced. We’ve tried to—”
“I don’t want to know about Roman’s pride,” Kallista stated flatly and ran her finger over the top of a bisque chess knight.
“I’d heard you’d already tangled with him two weeks ago. You took right up where you left off—Jasmine is still talking about the time you slapped him and that kiss,” Morganna purred silkily. “It appears that you two had a busy night, and disturbed Dusty’s and Titus’s sleep. The next morning, Roman slammed into the barn looking like a thundercloud. And at just the mention of his name, you look as though you’d like to tear something apart other than that bagel you’re shredding—”
Morganna’s gaze snagged on the long, tall cowboy leaning against the pickup outside. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she licked them. She took a deep breath and sighed dreamily.
Hannah laughed outright. “Love. She can’t wait to get her hands on her husband. Two months after Feather’s birth, he’s looking more worn-out than she is.”
“I’ll be back. Glad you like the cappuccino maker,” Morganna said, hurrying out of the shop. At the doorway, she slowed, straightened her blouse and smoothed her jeans, and reached to smooth her hair. She sauntered to Jake and ran a finger down his chest. Tension sizzled between them, before Jake bent, scooped her up in his arms, and placed her in the pickup. She snuggled close to him and Hannah grinned. “He’s head over heels and so is she. She still makes tacos hard enough to break teeth, but she knows how to power-ramrod a business deal and has the much needed youth center up and running. They’re more in love than ever. Just like Dan and me.”
The Blaylocks were a loving family and Roman, a dark maverick who had separated himself from them, concerned Kallista. “Tell me what you know about Roman.”
Hannah looked evenly at Kallista and sighed. “You’ve been asking everyone about him.... Okay, then. It tore the heart out of him when his little girl drowned. His marriage to Debbie changed him slowly, and we see little of him. He’s been taking good care of Boone’s ranch and his own. He has to hire men to check fences and watch those ten thousand Llewlyn acres. It’s a big operation, and he hasn’t had much time to take care of his own. He won’t sell, though, because it is Blaylock family land.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m behind on my decorating business, but if you need help, let me know. I didn’t place new greenware orders because I thought you’d want to make your own selection.”
Kallista wanted more answers. “Roman isn’t a friendly sort then—with women?”
“You mean, does he party in Boone’s house? The man is a recluse, driving Else frantic to have him back in the family. Every woman in the countryside has given up on him...he doesn’t seem to notice.”
After Hannah left, Kallista sipped her cappuccino. She looked around the shop and began to see the possibilities, just as she’d done all her life, settling in to make a temporary home—just long enough to see that Boone’s lifework was wrenched out of Roman’s big powerful fists. If she had to take it away, piece by piece, she would.
Kallista locked her hand to the counter. Two weeks had passed and she hadn’t heard one dark remark about Roman Blaylock’s character.
Else, the oldest Blaylock sister, and now the matron of the family, arrived, wearing her mother’s pearl doingbusiness earrings and a warm smile. She handed a huge vining plant to Kallista and gave her a kiss. “I hear you’re picking on my little brother. He’s been in a bad mood and even told my husband, Joe, to back off. That’s a first for Roman. Joe says Roman reeks of woman-trouble. That wouldn’t be you, would it, Kallista?”
Kallista coolly met Else’s amused stare. “I’m going to give him hell.”
Else’s eyebrows shot up. “Mind if I ask why?”
“He’s moved some woman into the house. I saw a note she’d left. She’s changing sheets and Boone would have never put up with that—”
Else laughed aloud and went to collect her ceramic crouching black leopard from the finished shelf. “That’s me, honey. That old house is stuffed to the brim and needs a full-time cleaning woman. Margaret Berry does most of it, but she doesn’t starch doilies—and neither do I. Farm living leaves little time for such niceties. So Boone’s mother’s doilies had to be stored. But other than that, Roman has kept the house as it was.”
Else watched Kallista pack the leopard into soft wrap and place it in a sack. “I’ve got three unmarried brothers at the moment—Roman, Rio and Tyrell. Tyrell is in New York now, a number cruncher, a high-flying finance chief, but he flies in occasionally. Rio is girlfriend shopping and you’ve met him. Then there’s Roman.”
“Yes, then there’s Roman,” Kallista repeated slowly, darkly.
“When you get tired of sleeping up in the shop’s loft, you might think about renting Roman’s house,” Else murmured lightly.
Three
The scents of June blooming and sweet alfalfa and clover didn’t help Roman’s dark mood. He eased his pickup to a stop near Boone’s barn and prowled through his thoughts. Other than the burning strip of flesh that barbed wire had ripped, lack of sleep, a humming sensual tension riding his body—and a whole lot of gossip burning his ears about Kallista Bellamy’s month-long stay in Jasmine—he was just fine.
Boone’s Hereford bull had decided to walk through a fence as if it were a lace ribbon. The amorous bull, seeking a friendly cow, had dragged the fence along, tearing out fence posts, until he’d become too entangled to be free...and from there things weren’t pleasant. That had suited Roman just fine; he’d needed a battle royal to relieve his frustration, and First Prince gave it to him.
Roman looked at the corral and frowned. Neil Morris, the veterinarian, hadn’t left the ranch, but was sitting on the top board of the corral giving instructions to the horsewoman within it Neil’s blond wavy hair had been neatly combed and he’d changed into the extra clean shirt he kept in his pickup. His face was smooth, the morning stubble gone, a warning that Neil was woman-hunting. Roman ran his palm across his stubble-rough cheek, then damned fancy razors that used batteries or plugged into vehicles and Neil’s bachelor-drooling look. “An honest man wouldn’t use a battery or a pickup motor to beautify himself,” Roman muttered darkly, before the vision in the corral stunned him.
Framed by the golden setting sun, Kallista’s black hair was loose, long rippling blue-black silk, as Loves Dancing the sleek graceful mare, trotted around the corral. The flow of woman beneath Kallista’s tight black sweater and black jeans didn’t help Roman’s dark mood. Neither did the sight of his brother’s angular backside perched near Neil’s. Rio’s Western hat was tipped back and he had that curl to his mouth as if he’d just identified a succulent female morsel. Roman sucked in his breath; an infamous bachelor rogue, Rio had been making noises about settling down; Neil had that same female-hunting look. Dusty and Titus looked as if their worn Western boots were an inch off the ground, their weathered, lined faces shoved into grins. In honor of Kallista’s return, both men wore their store-bought teeth.
Roman whipped off his hat and slapped his dusty torn jeans. He was sweaty, bloody, and his good shirt had been ripped to hell. He blinked and looked down at the brand-new chambray shirt that had been hanging in the closet for a year. With a sharp note that someone had to take care of him, Else had purchased new jeans and shirts. Now the new jeans were ruined and his blood soiled the price tag; he had no idea why he was wearing stiff new clothes; and damn it, Kallista was holding court to two wife-hunters.
After a le
vel look at his brother, Rio dropped to the corral floor and sauntered to Kallista, tipping back his hat and grinning up at her. She returned the favor with a flirty look that hitched Roman’s bad mood higher. If she was out to make trouble, she knew just how....
He found himself placing a hand on the low gate and vaulting both legs over it. Rio slanted a look at the intruder, and his grin slid down a notch, his black eyes leveling with Roman’s.
“Hello, Roman. You look like hell,” Rio said pleasantly.
Drawn to staring at Kallista, Roman braced his legs apart and his boots on the corral dirt. He locked his hands to his hips to keep from reaching for her, and everyone else fell away in the June sunshine as his heart kicked up and flipflopped over into uncertainty.
“Yeah, we’ll be there for Men Only Night, Kallie-girl,” Titus called. “Anything to help business get up and going. A week from Tuesday night? About seven?”
“Men Only,” Rio said quietly to his brother. “I’ll be there. There’s a dog food bowl I want to paint for Mix, Else’s dog.”
“I guess I’ll just have to cut you out of the herd, then, won’t I, boy?” Roman heard himself say in a low, soft growl to his younger brother.
“You can try, old man. I’m really primed for that dog bowl.”
Roman skipped the growling side talk and shot right to business. “Your pointy ears better settle down, boy, because this filly is mine.”
A younger brother who’d had to fight to hold his own, Rio didn’t back down easily. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “She’s not wearing your brand.”
“She will.”
“I’m sweet. You’re not. You’re a rangy, old lonesome wolf,” Rio murmured and slid Kallista a big grin.
Kallista’s furious expression burned down at Roman, but he didn’t take time to examine why—Rio wasn’t getting Kallista. “I can grow fangs if I have to, lover boy,” Roman muttered darkly. “But you leave this one alone.”
Rio’s blank stare shoved into dawning awareness and a slow grin; he hooted at his brother’s first interest in a woman in years. Roman damned the heat rising up the back of his neck and braced himself to take his little brother down. “Else’s wooden spoon won’t save your backside this time, Rio. She’s not here to protect you.”
“Could be you who needs her protection this time,” Rio purred back and glanced at Kallista. “You’re all fired up.”
Kallista’s mare pranced as if sensing the tension running between the humans. An experienced horsewoman, Kallista held the reins taut. “Exactly what does that mean, Mr. Blaylock? Why should your brother leave me alone?”
The brothers turned to her, and she defined which Mr. Blaylock: “You, Mr. Blaylock, the one with the sweet temperament and the price tag on your shirt.”
Roman ripped the tag away and started toward her. He was uncertain how to handle this woman, but advancing into the war seemed a sensible move. “Get down from there.”
With the rugged mountains as a backdrop, she was an exciting sight, a strong woman who would take the weather and stick. Kallista wasn’t sweet or dainty—but ripe, all wild and passionate and furious with him. Shoulders squared, body taut with tension—she was a powerful woman, vibrant, alive and Roman admired the high-handsome look of her.
He traced the gentle rise on her upper arm as she reined the mare, and wanted to smooth the delicate feminine muscle, unlike his own. He wanted to skim his fingertips and his palms and his lips over that elegant strength and... Her legs controlled the mare and Roman’s body shot to steel. His gaze jerked higher as Kallista breathed hard and her breasts rose and fell quickly beneath the sweater. Her hands tightened on the reins as if nothing could tear them away, and that was just how Roman wanted her holding him—hard and strong. Her legs flexed, locking to the mare’s sides and Roman barely kept his hand from reaching out to stroke her.
Like the honed blades of raised swords, every humming emotion between them flashed in the sunshine, neon-bright, shielding nothing of the heat, everything real and honest. He ached to make those flashing emerald eyes turn to a softer, drowsy shade, to hold her in his arms and take that ripe, sassy mouth as if it were his right—He stopped in midstride, caught by the boyish excitement rushing through him, his emotions stunning him. He felt as if he’d just stepped out of a gloomy cave and in front of him was the woman he wanted. Betraying him, his body hardened, and Roman damned his lack of expertise in controlling himself. He glared at her, the woman who had turned the comfortable rhythms of his life into a hurricane of uncertainty and need.
The protective layers were peeled away from his keeping now, and he knew that he’d never needed, not like he needed Kallista. He stood and stared at her, locked in the need to swing up on the horse behind her and...
Kallista’s generous mouth tightened, her face pale with fury, her eyes narrowed and burning him. Holding his look, she backed the mare to the farthest part of the corral; she nudged the mare’s belly and leaned forward. Loves Dancing shot into the short distance of the corral and hurled gracefully over the gate. The mare hurled over the next gate, and sailed into the open pasture, woman and horse a beautiful symphony.
One whistle would stop the mare, Boone’s favorite, and Kallista could be hurt. Roman sucked air into his lungs, and realized that he’d been frozen by the beauty of the jump, terrified for the woman he desperately wanted.
Standing at his side, Rio nudged Roman’s ribs and flipped a quarter into the hair, slapping it to the back of his hand. “Toss you for who rides her down.”
Without taking time to think, Roman hooked his boot behind Rio’s and jerked. Rio’s butt hit the corral dirt. Sprawled in the dust, he grinned up at Roman. “You’re slow and you’re old and she’s a fast mover.”
“I can keep up,” Roman tossed back and wondered if he could. On a run, he bent through the corral boards and eyed Massachusetts, a fast black gelding that didn’t like the saddle. Roman reached for a fist of black mane and swung up on the gelding’s back and they stretched out in the pasture, following Loves Dancing and Kallista.
Roman realized suddenly that he was chuckling and had a silly grin pasted on his face, like a boy playing chase with his girl. He noted the soft flow of her bottom on the saddle and swallowed hard; she was all woman, free and wild, and Roman’s instincts told him to capture her, to claim her. She looked over her shoulder to him and scowled, then slowed the mare quickly and turned to face Roman. He slowed Massachusetts and eased the gelding beside the mare. Kallista, cheeks flushed, was glorious, the most exciting woman he’d ever seen. She eased the mare away from him and in the sunlit pasture, they moved in a slow circle. Roman wanted to stroke her hot cheek, but instead he asked, “What’s got you revved up?”
“You. I don’t like you.” She spoke tightly, maneuvering the mare away from his gelding in that taut, challenging circle.
“Did I ask you to?” She was one hundred percent real, Roman thought, fire and flash and ready to go for him, nothing hidden. “Are you staying?”
“Just long enough to do the job on you. Boone should have relatives and they should be taking care of his property. Not you.”
“That sounds interesting. Run when the going gets tough, why don’t you?” he challenged and knew her for a woman who wouldn’t back away.
For a blinding moment, he saw her as his wife with children and dreams between them. The image stunned him.
Kallista’s silky black mane whipped around her head as a cool breeze swept down the mountains into the pasture. The breeze riffled the soft blue-black tips, stirring Roman’s need to reach out and run his hand down that sleek swath. He wasn’t a touching man, but now the need to touch Kallista leaped upon him, digging in.
An expert horsewoman, she turned the mare to face him. “Debbie said you hurt her, and that day at the shop, I saw her cower from you as if she was afraid you’d strike her. I detest bullies.”
He admired her cutting dive to the bald truth, no softness cluttering the spring air between them.
“I never hurt Debbie. She got what she wanted. What do you want?”
“From you? Nothing. I’ve known men like you, who hurt and take and—”
The pain in her eyes, quickly shielded, caused Roman to ache. The bitterness in her tone startled him, nicked his pride. “I won’t hurt you,” he said slowly, meaning it.
“You won’t get the chance—”
Roman followed his instincts; he reached out a hand, claimed the front of her sweater and drew her to him for a long, slow kiss that tasted like warm honey and sunlight spread on heaven. It seemed just right, out there in the pasture, with fingers of evening shade, brushing his lips lightly against hers. She didn’t move away, and Roman held his breath as he leaned closer. While slanting his lips lightly over hers, he eased his arm around her waist and gently, slowly so as not to frighten her, lifted her to Massachusetts’s back.
The sweep of Roman’s big trembling hand down Kallista’s side to her thigh and back up again, resting under her arm, fingertips just touching her outer breast, should have frightened her. His dark heated look that slowly ran down her body, brushing her breasts and came to settle on her face, should have terrified her. Large men could send a familiar terror through her, but Kallista wanted to pit herself against him, and take... Roman’s solemn eyes were soft upon her and shuttered, waiting for her reaction.
She’d been too stunned by his kiss to react, too surprised that he could handle her easily, gently, as if she were one of Boone’s orchids to collect and cradle against in his rough palm.
Suddenly she was too close to retreat, Roman’s broad shoulders solid and warm beneath her hands, his face too close, his uneven breath warm upon her skin. His advance was too raw, too urgent, and there wasn’t time to back away. He was testing her, seeing if she’d run. She wouldn’t, she could take what he gave and give it back hotter. He tasted like home and excitement and whatever she’d sought all her life, beyond the edge of now, here, this time. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer, fusing her mouth to his tempting hard one.
