by Ann Roth
“You memorized all that?” She managed a smile at odds with her trembling insides. “I’m flattered and impressed.”
She was also taken aback. She’d never heard the words spoken out loud, and that part of the five-thousand-word article sounded more tabloidlike than she’d intended.
“Every word is burned into my mind. You all but came out and called me shallow, vain and sex-obsessed.”
“Well, aren’t you?” she countered, though after this morning, he no longer seemed either shallow or vain. “Most men would appreciate being praised for their skills in the bedroom.”
“That’s not what I object to. I’m a red-blooded guy. Of course I like sex. You’re a healthy, beautiful woman, and I’ll bet my truck that you enjoy it, too.” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to argue.
He thought she was beautiful, which surprised her. He was also right—she did like sex and thought about it a lot, probably because she hadn’t been with anyone since Matthew.
“I don’t want anything serious, and I’ve always been up front about that,” he went on. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else.”
She wasn’t about to point out that he’d just spent several minutes doing just that. She was on the verge of asking what he specifically objected to, when he told her.
“That so-called quote from the buckle bunny just about ruined my life. How would you like to come home from an exhausting road trip to find a couple of women camped at your door, waiting to join you in bed? Trust me, it’s not half as fun as it sounds.”
The thought of Clay in bed with two buckle bunnies at the same time did not sit well, and only proved Sarah’s point. “The quote was real,” she said. “The bunny you slept with a couple of nights before I left was only too happy to sing your sexual praises. I’ll bet you don’t even remember her name. Well, don’t ask me, because I refuse to divulge my source.”
“So that’s what all that stuff was about—some groupie I spent an hour with.” Clay snorted. “Your article ruined my life. You’re lucky I didn’t sue your cute little ass.”
“Ruined your life? That’s quite an exaggeration.”
“Nope. One of the many women who read your article and showed up at my door later claimed that I impregnated her. I was pretty sure I hadn’t because like I said, I always use protection. She was lying, of course—a DNA test proved that.”
Sarah hadn’t realized. “That’s terrible, Clay, but I’m not responsible for the woman’s behavior, and I doubt that your life was ruined because of it.”
“You have no idea.”
None at all, and she wanted to know. “What hap—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He compressed his lips.
“All right, but since we’re airing complaints, here’s mine. When we met nearly three years ago, you led me on.” He’d treated her as if she was special to him. That was before she’d overheard the two buckle bunnies and realized she wasn’t. “I actually thought you liked me. You kissed me that way.”
“I did like you.”
“And yet, the night before, you had sex with some bunny. I don’t understand how you can have sex with one person and the very next day, kiss someone else as if she mattered.”
“What I did with her had nothing to do with you and me. Besides, I had no idea I was ever going to kiss you, not until just before I did it.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You’re right about one thing, though. That kiss meant something.”
His eyelids dropped a fraction over his very warm gaze, seductive and intent. Making her feel restless and needy. She half wished he’d kiss her again.
She posed the question that had plagued her ever since. “Why did you kiss me, Clay?”
“Because that mouth... I thought... We both...” He broke off and blew out a loud breath. “To hell with the past, Sarah.”
With a dangerous glint in his eyes, he started toward her. Unable to move, she swallowed. “What are you doing?”
“What I’ve wanted to do since you knocked on my door this morning.” He cupped her face between his big rough hands, and brushed her bangs back with his fingers.
“Please, Clay,” she whispered, not sure whether she wanted him to let go of her or step closer.
The corner of his mouth lifted. Angling his head, he kissed her.
* * *
SARAH TOLD HERSELF to pull away, but she wanted this. Clay’s mouth, eager and hungry on hers, his muscular arms tight around her.
She was barely aware that she was walking backward, his thighs prodding her legs to move, until she bumped against the car.
He caught hold of her hands and pinned them against his solid chest. Right over his thudding heart.
Which was beating as hard as hers.
Nudging his leg between hers, he kissed her again. Several times. Long, deep, tongue kisses that stole her breath and obliterated her common sense.
Not hiding what she wanted, she slid her hands up his chest, twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same hunger.
Clay groaned and thrust his tongue against hers in a tangle of slickness and heat. His restless hands explored her back and wandered lower. He palmed her behind and anchored her against his groin.
He was aroused.
Dampness flooded her panties and her breasts swelled and tightened. “Clay,” she pleaded, breathless.
“What?” he murmured, before taking her in another searing kiss.
Moaning, she hooked her foot around his calf. “Touch me.”
He slid his hand under her blouse, up her stomach and toward her breasts. As she inched back to give him access, a car honked.
“You go, bull rider!” a man yelled.
Sarah and Clay jerked apart.
Muttering, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Great, just great, something for the gossip mill. I’ll never live this down.”
Sarah was sure he would. And she was thankful people around here didn’t know who she was. Whoever had called out probably figured she was some buckle bunny. Clay said they didn’t come around anymore, but Sarah guessed that from time to time, a woman or two knocked at his door.
How many others had he kissed—and more—since he’d moved to Saddlers Prairie? Sarah didn’t want to be one of the many.
Feeling foolish and mad at herself for falling into his arms and responding to his attention, even if he was the best kisser she’d ever known, she straightened her top. “Goodbye, Clay, and thanks for the footlocker.”
She felt his eyes on her as she pulled the car door closed and started the engine, but she wouldn’t let herself look at him.
Confused and disappointed at her weakness for this cowboy, a man who would never return the feelings she admitted she still carried for him, she drove back to Mrs. Yancy’s.
* * *
AROUND LUNCHTIME FRIDAY afternoon, Clay arrived at his ranch to interview a man for the foreman job, the first of the crew he needed to hire.
He was nearly an hour early, giving him time to check in with Garrett McReedy, his builder. Clay headed toward the giant hole where the former wreck of a house had stood.
After tearing down and carting away the debris from it and enlarging the hole to accommodate a bigger structure, the construction workers had poured the foundation. At last.
Building a custom house took time, and progress was slow. Too slow for Clay, who wanted to move to the ranch as soon as possible. He half wished he’d moved into one of the trailers on the ranch, but they were for his future crew.
McReedy assured him that his men were on schedule to finish around Thanksgiving.
The all-male construction crew sat eating lunch among piles of building supplies. Every one of them called out a greeting. A gangly male who looked all of eighteen stood and shyly approached Cl
ay.
“I’m a real fan,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m honored for the privilege of building your house, and I promise to give this job my very best.”
Clay nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“Would you mind if one of the guys snapped a photo of us together?”
Clay fielded the same question several times a week. Even when he’d been at the top of his game, he’d never enjoyed posing with strangers. Now that his bull-riding days were over and he was a has-been—the ex-bull rider with the bum leg everyone felt sorry for—he detested the practice.
But the kid looked so eager that Clay couldn’t turn him down. He shrugged. “Why not.”
One of the men snapped several photos with his phone, and the kid beamed.
“Thanks, Clay. This is sure to earn me big points with my girlfriend.”
Whatever floated her boat. “Where’s your boss?” Clay asked.
“In the trailer.”
Clay crossed the hard ground, stirring up dust despite Wednesday’s rainstorm. The earth begged for a grassy yard. All in good time.
He knocked on the trailer door before poking his head inside.
Garrett McReedy sat as his desk, munching a sandwich, studying the blueprints and tapping at his laptop.
“Hey,” Clay said, entering the room. “You wanted to show me the custom windows?”
The builder nodded in greeting. “I don’t want to order them without your okay. They’re gonna be real pretty, and the triple insulation will cut down on your heating and cooling bills.” Clay sat down across the desk, and Garrett turned the laptop toward him. “Take a look at this picture-window mock-up for the great room and see what you think.”
While Garrett explained how the window was constructed, Clay studied the drawing. “I like it.”
“At the price these babies cost, you’d better. Here are a couple more. These will face south.”
They continued this way, Garrett showing Clay various windows and asking questions. While Garrett scribbled notes and tapped at his laptop, Clay thought about Sarah.
Part of him wanted to show her the house plans so she’d know that despite his fall from celebrity, his bank account was healthy. Another part of him knew better.
He’d thought a lot about yesterday. About her. Her elation over the footlocker and her bad case of nerves. The gratitude she’d shown when he stuck around and kept her company.
She’d been so mad and defensive when he’d called her out for the things she’d written about him. He hadn’t exactly been cool and calm, either. Yet despite his anger, the defiant spark in her eyes had turned him on. But then everything about her did.
He hadn’t wanted a woman this way for a long time, and holding and kissing her again had felt good. Really, really good.
But kisses weren’t nearly enough—for either of them.
Sarah’s response to him proved that she wanted him, too. The two of them together were like a brush fire about to grow into raging flames. Which was dangerous on so many levels.
If he were smart, he’d back away from her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. Having been around this block many times, Clay knew exactly what his strong feelings meant. He was infatuated with Sarah, and sooner or later, his desire, his lust, would fade away.
She was only in town two weeks, not long enough to get too involved. The perfect scenario—if she were anyone else. But Sarah was special and he didn’t want to hurt her. Or to get hurt himself. He didn’t trust her.
For those reasons, it was better for them both if he pulled back while he still could. No matter how badly he wanted her.
“I wish I’d thought to build a house as big as this one when I was your age,” Garrett said. “You’re smart to think ahead for when you get married and have kids.”
“I don’t see that happening.”
“With all the beautiful woman in your life, I understand.” Garrett shook his head. “Me, I’m happy with Charlotte.” He glanced at the framed color photo of him and his wife that hung on the wall.
A goofy, still-on-our-honeymoon smile lit his face, but they’d recently celebrated their seven-year anniversary. His wife was pregnant now, due about the time Clay’s house would be finished. “You sure you want four bedrooms and three-and-a-half baths?”
Clay nodded. “I have a big family, and I want room for when they come visit.”
“Works for me.” Garrett’s watch beeped. He crumpled his sandwich wrapper. “Back to the salt mines. What’s on your agenda this afternoon?”
“I’m meeting a potential foreman here.”
“Good luck with that. If anything else comes up with the house, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, man.”
They shook hands and exited the trailer. As the construction crew donned hard hats and started back to work, a battered red truck drove up and parked beside Clay’s.
A forty-something, bowlegged cowboy built like a linebacker gone to seed slid from the driver’s seat and approached Clay.
“Mr. Hollyer? I’m Stanley Mattson, but I go by Burl.”
With his barrel chest, the nickname made sense. Clay nodded. “You can call me Clay.”
Burl’s grip was strong and his gaze direct. Despite his less-than-fit appearance, after a few minutes of talking, Clay knew he could do the job. His resume showed that over the past twenty-five years he’d worked at just two ranches, and he had experience with every ranching chore imaginable.
Machinery pounded loudly at the construction site, making conversation difficult.
“Let’s walk and talk,” Clay said over the noise. “I’ll show you around.”
“I expect you want to know why I moved ranches,” Burl said as they headed toward the barn. “The first time, the family sold to a corporation that laid us all off. I’d been there ten years, since I was eighteen. Then I was hired as foreman at the ranch I’m with now. Figured I’d be there forever, but times being hard and all, they’re about to go belly-up. The boss just laid me off, along with the rest of the crew.”
“That’s tough,” Clay said.
Mattson shrugged. “Sometimes a man’s gotta roll with the punches, pick himself up off the ground and start over again.”
If that didn’t describe the past year of Clay’s life to a T. With that, he made up his mind. “If you want the job, you can move into the foreman’s cottage this weekend and start work Monday. There’s plenty of fencing to be done, and an auction next Wednesday. You can come with me and help me choose the right stock.”
They discussed money and job duties, and shook hands. Clay showed him the cottage and gave him a key. “Tell those crew members who worked for you to get in touch if they want a job here,” he said.
“Will do.”
Mattson drove off.
One huge item checked off Clay’s to-do list. A weight fell off his shoulders. There was plenty more to do before the ranch was up and running, but he was off to a decent start.
Chapter Six
Saturday morning, Sarah stood at the open closet door in her rented room and eyed the clothes she’d brought. She wanted to look professional, yet not overly dressed up.
Lucky Arnett, the rancher she was about to interview, probably didn’t expect her to wear a skirt and pantyhose, but she wasn’t about to show up in faded jeans and a T-shirt, either. She decided on cowboy boots, navy jeans, a crisp blouse and a blazer.
She’d wasted yesterday afternoon driving twenty miles to Four City High School, where she’d attempted to get the names and contact information for teachers and administrators who’d worked at the school when Tammy had attended. Pre-internet, of course. Sarah had learned that the school had burned down ten years ago, and all files had been lost. She had also spoken with the secretary at the one church in town, a woman unfamiliar with t
he Becker family. She’d left messages at other churches within a ten-mile radius of Saddlers Prairie, but as of yet, nothing had come of that, or of a closer look at Tammy’s things.
If only she’d recorded her thoughts and feelings about the pregnancy. If only she’d named the father.
It was all so frustrating, and after so much fruitless work Sarah looked forward to focusing on the upcoming interview and forgetting about Tammy Becker for a while.
Standing in front of the vanity mirror over the dresser, she applied gloss to her parted lips. Lips Clay had looked at with such desire that she’d melted even before he’d kissed her. Remembering, her lips tingled and her nipples tightened.
“What do you expect after more than a year of celibacy?” she asked herself, frowning.
But did the man she wanted have to be Clay Hollyer?
“No more kissing Clay,” she sternly added. Since she doubted she’d see him again, that shouldn’t be a problem.
Suddenly, Mrs. Yancy called out from the bottom of the stairs. “Sarah? Would you like something to eat before you leave?”
Sarah didn’t want to put the woman out, especially when she was supposed to take care of lunch on her own. “I’ll grab something on the way,” she called back. “But thanks. I’ll be right there.”
She loaded her notebook, tape recorder and camera into her equipment bag and headed downstairs.
Mrs. Yancy was waiting for her in the living room. “I packed you a lunch anyway,” she said, handing Sarah a brown paper bag. “Now don’t fret, it isn’t much—just a sandwich, an apple and a couple of double-chocolate-drop cookies.” She nodded at a foil-covered plate. “Those are for Lucky. He likes sweets and doesn’t have anyone cooking for him, and I know he’ll appreciate them.”
“I’m sure he will.” Having talked briefly with Mr. Arnett on the phone, Sarah knew he was an older man. Maybe Mrs. Yancy was interested in him. “Is he a widower?” she asked, studying the older woman closely.
“Lucky? Heavens, no. He never married. He’s in his seventies now, and was a customer of John’s from way back. Over the years, they became friends and used to fish together. Now and then, after a long day at the river, John would bring him home to supper. That’s how I learned about his sweet tooth. My John had one, too. Those two could eat a whole pie in one sitting and never gain an ounce. That used to make me so mad.”
