by Leanne Banks
Brock looked out at the north pasture and knew he was where he was supposed to be. The uncomfortable thought struck him, however, that Felicity had no idea where she belonged.
He got into the truck and rode back to the house. He turned out the lights and carefully locked the doors. Since his dad got sick, it had been his job to lock up for the night and make sure the Logans were safe. He climbed the stairs and peeked in on his daughter and son, then went to his room and shut his door.
After his shower, he stood, nude, in the dark inside his bedroom. He had systematically closed and locked the doors to his house to protect his family. During the last several years, he had systematically closed himself off to his needs. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want another woman swinging a wrecking ball through his guts. He’d almost convinced himself and everyone he knew that he didn’t have needs anymore.
As he stood alone in his room, however, he remembered the combination of softness and fire in Felicity’s eyes, her stubborn intention to rid herself of her wealth, and, most disconcerting, her belief in him, his character, his integrity.
He remembered her sweet scent and sweeter curves. He’d been bred for honor. She was right about that. But when she’d insisted he wasn’t attracted to her and didn’t want her, the woman was dead wrong.
Even now, though he hadn’t touched her, his body was hard with wanting, with the need to mold her to him and take her, to taste her and take her again. He was alarmingly susceptible to her. A half-hearted flirting remark sent his hormones pumping through his blood like an oil gusher.
It was raging desire. It was raging insanity.
He closed his eyes to the unfamiliar sensations coursing through him and mentally snapped his walls into place. He would not have her. Just as Felicity had concluded she wouldn’t love a man because of the curse of her wealth, Brock knew he would never risk loving another woman because of the Logan Curse. Logans never won at love.
“I’m bored,” Bree said after Felicity finished reading the third book the next morning. The little girl rolled her head from side to side on her pillow. Finding ways to keep Bree occupied was far easier than trying to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. Brock Logan, she’d decided, was honest, honorable and impossible. She rolled her eyes at the assignment he’d given her, then banished it from her mind.
“You must be feeling better,” Felicity said as she searched for another way to entertain Brock’s daughter. She thought back to her own childhood and smiled. “But just to be sure, I think I’m going to give you Marybel’s cure.”
“Who’s Marybel?” Bree stopped moving her head and looked at Felicity curiously.
“She was my very favorite nanny,” Felicity told her, fondly remembering the one person in her life who had made her feel adored. Marybel had applauded when Felicity played “Chopsticks” on the piano and had told her what a pretty girl she was when Felicity wore braces and glasses. When Felicity was sent to boarding school, Marybel had left. She still missed the woman.
“What kind of cure?” Bree demanded.
“Wait right there,” she told her.
“Texans say hold your horses,” Bree corrected.
Felicity chuckled at Bree’s attempts to Texanize her and waved her hand. “Okay, hold your horses or cows,” she said.
“Cattle,” Bree corrected again.
“Exactly,” Felicity agreed and went to the guest room to get a few items from her cosmetic case. Returning to Bree’s room, she lined up five bottles of nail polish on the girl’s bed. “Choose one.”
Bree sat up and brightened at the sight of the different colors. “This is the cure?”
“Manicure, or as Marybel used to say, cure for whatever ails you.”
“I never heard of that.”
Felicity saw her father’s skepticism creep into Bree’s eyes. “Then it’s time you did. Whether you’re heartsick or body-sick, a cure just helps you feel better.” Felicity thought about her recent disaster with Douglas. “Although if there’s a man involved, you might need a day at the spa. Choose one,” Felicity said again.
Bree frowned. “Do I have to pick just one?”
Felicity started to nod, then stopped mid-motion, remembering part of the fun of the cure when she’d been a child was that she’d been allowed to choose and whatever she had chosen was fine with Marybel. “No, you can have all five if you like.”
Bree gave a slow smile. “That’s what I want.”
Felicity proceeded to create a rainbow on Bree’s fingernails and toenails. By the time she’d finished Bree was beaming. “Wow. I can’t wait for Dad to see this.”
Felicity swallowed a secret chuckle. “Me either.”
“Have you decided if you can drive him crazy?” Bree asked.
“Oh, I think we’re probably driving each other a little crazy,” she said. “I asked your father to help me with something, but he wants me to do something first.”
“He always does that,” Bree said. “If I ask for help with my homework, he says I have to try first myself. Do you have homework?”
“In a way,” Felicity muttered. “I think I need a book. Do you know of any bookstores nearby?”
“There’s one in town,” Bree told her, admiring her fingernails and wiggling her toes when Felicity bent down to blow on them.
“How do you get there?”
“With Daddy or Addie. One of the hands usually makes a trip to town for something every day or so.”
“Okay,” Felicity said, formulating a plan as she watched Bree yawn for the third time. “It’s time for you to rest, so you need to get those tootsies under the covers. I painted them first, so they would be nice and dry.”
Bree didn’t protest, which proved she was tired. “What are we going to do this afternoon?” she asked.
“I don’t know, yet. I may go out while you rest, but Addie will be here if you need her.”
Felicity pulled the covers up and brushed Bree’s hair from her face. Her heart gave an odd turn at the knowledge that Bree’s mother had left her and Jacob. Felicity knew she would never be a mother or anything permanent to Bree, but she couldn’t help remembering all the things she’d longed for from her mother. She might not be a permanent force in Bree’s life, but Felicity hoped she could be a positive one. She kissed Bree’s forehead. “Go to sleep, so the cure will work.”
Bree sighed and caught Felicity off guard when she pursed her lips to kiss her on the cheek. “You’ll come back this afternoon, won’t you?” Bree asked.
Felicity felt her insides tighten. “Sure, I will.”
Brock checked his watch and took off his hat to cool his head for a moment. He’d been going non-stop since he’d risen this morning. A busted fence had earned him sharp words from his long-time neighbors the Coltranes when some of his cattle travelled off Logan land.
The new hand, Ray, should be back from town any minute with veterinary supplies. As soon as the thought graced Brock’s mind, he spied a truck whizzing down the lane. Ray barely slowed as he passed the barn, calling out, “Be right back.”
Brock saw Felicity wave from the passenger seat before the truck headed toward the house. Brock narrowed his eyes and a slow burn began to spread through his blood. He’d told her to stay away from the men’s quarters. He’d known the woman was trouble, known it before he even laid eyes on her.
Ray pulled the truck next to the barn in no time and got out and began to unload. “Hey, Mr. Logan. Got the supplies.”
Brock bit the inside of his cheek to check his anger. “What did Miss Chambeau want?”
“Oh, Flip?” Ray asked. “She just wanted a ride to the bookstore.”
“Flip?” Brock repeated.
“Yeah, she said that was a nickname one of her nannies gave her.” He shook his head. “That’s one pretty nice lady. If she needs someone to drive her anywhere or service her in any way,” he said with a sly grin, “I’m her man.”
Brock’s internal temperature soared. “It’s n
ot your job to chauffeur Miss Chambeau. If you don’t have enough to do, we’re at the beginning of calving season and there will be plenty to do.”
Ray looked taken aback. “Hey, I was just offering. The lady doesn’t have a driver’s license since she’s always lived in the city. That’s why she asked for a ride today. I kept my hands off of her, but I wouldn’t mind putting them on her. She’s the sweetest piece of—”
“Keep your mind on the job, Ray,” Brock cut in and carried another bag into the barn.
Ray opened his mouth to respond, then, seeming to change his mind, he wisely kept silent. After they’d finished unloading, Brock drove to the north pasture. He would deal with Felicity later.
Hours later when Brock walked through the front door of the house, the first thing he heard was the sound of piano music echoing from the back room. A curious wave of melancholy and sweet nostalgia rolled through him. The Steinway baby grand had not been played in over twenty years, not since his sister Martina had been born, and his mother had died.
The person with the easy expressive touch on the ivories clearly knew how to play. Felicity. Brock sighed and walked toward the back room, the large library which had been his father’s domain.
He hesitated before entering. The dark room was rarely used. Felicity played another measure and several keys twanged out of tune. She stopped.
“This is hideous,” she muttered, then doggedly continued with the piece.
Brock stepped into the room, taken aback at the sight that greeted him. The heavy drapes that usually shielded the windows lay in heaps on the floor with the brass rods underneath. The late evening sun shone on the dust in the air.
The whole room was probably in shock as much from exposure to the sun as the broken silence. Wearing a hot-pink silk blouse and a long black skirt, Felicity sat erect on the wooden bench, her stocking-clad foot arched against the brass pedal. His gaze was drawn to her pink toenails, the sight feminine and sexy. While he listened to the sound of a fast-moving melodic tune, he looked her up and down.
She was Queen of Chaos.
More twangy notes sounded.
Her back to him, Felicity swore under her breath, then growled and played more loudly. She finished the piece and stopped. The silence was deafening.
“It hasn’t been tuned in over twenty years,” Brock told her.
She turned around and met his gaze. “That recently,” she said irritably. “I wasn’t sure if someone had touched it since the turn of the century.”
His lips twitched. She was a snob about sound. “My father bought the piano for my mother. She played it,” he told her. “She died when Martina was born.”
Her eyes turned thoughtful. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She glanced around the room. “Have I desecrated hallowed ground?”
“Yes,” Brock said.
She looked at him again. “You don’t seem offended.”
“Other fish to fry,” he told her. “I told you to stay away from the men’s quarters.”
“I stayed away from the men’s quarters. I visited the barn.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Splitting hairs?”
“Did you say the barn was off limits?”
“No,” he admitted grudgingly.
“I didn’t want to ask Addie to take me to town because you specifically told me not to burden her. Bree told me one of the hands usually goes into town, so I asked for a ride.”
“I don’t want you distracting the men,” Brock began.
“I didn’t distract Ray,” Felicity said, impatience cutting into her voice. “He dropped me off at the bookstore while he went to the feed store.”
“You distracted him,” Brock corrected her. “He let me know he’d like to do more than drive you to town.”
Felicity rolled her eyes and waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I can’t have you distracting the men during calving season,” Brock told her.
“I don’t think there’s any threat of an insurrection,” Felicity said dryly.
“The next time you want to go to town, you either go with Addie or me,” he instructed.
Felicity stood up from the black piano bench. “With all due respect, I think you’re being ridiculous. It’s not as if I gave in to an urge to go up on the roof and sunbathe topless.”
The sensual image of her bare breasts was one more jolt on a day when he felt as if he might as well have been riding a bronc. “When did you forget you’re a silent partner?”
“When you stopped being reasonable. Honestly, Brock, you gave me an assignment. How in the world am I supposed to do what you asked me to do if I don’t get out?” She picked up two books from the piano. “Occupational assessment and aptitude. I did the skills inventory and have learned I might be able to get a job in a bar. I play the piano and know how to mix drinks.”
“I’m sure you have other talents and abilities,” Brock said. Unfortunately, the talents and abilities that filled his mind showed Felicity naked and in his bed. Never-ever land, cowboy, he told himself.
“I don’t understand why you’re insisting that I plan my future. You believe that giving away part of my inheritance to a worthy cause is good. I can see it. I can feel it.”
Not for the first time, Brock wished Felicity wasn’t so intuitive. “You’re only solving part of the problem. You feel useless and you think donating your money will give you fulfillment, but what you want is to create a heritage. That’s going to take more than plopping down a few million. Maybe you should look into managing the trust yourself.”
“There are a zillion laws and provisions,” she said.
He stepped closer and stroked his finger down a strand of her hair. “Use what’s under this pretty blond hair.”
Her eyes met his and he felt a kick inside him that would rival a ride on an unbroken stud. Her gaze darkened and for a fraction of a second, he wondered if she felt it, too.
He watched her throat work with a swallow. “The pretty blond hair is courtesy of a bottle.”
He wondered why she continued to play down her appeal. “Maybe,” he said, then skimmed his thumb over her cheek and down to her mouth “but you’ve got a lot that didn’t come from a bottle.”
“If you’re not careful,” Felicity whispered, “you’re going to give the impossible and false impression that you’re attracted to me.”
He stared at her lips. “I said you weren’t ugly,” he muttered, probing just past her lips with his thumb.
She took a quick shallow breath. “You can’t kiss me.”
“Why not?” he asked, skimming his hand down her throat, then dropping it to his side.
“Because you’re an honorable man.”
Here we go again. “If I’m such an honorable man, I can’t let you keep thinking you’re not attractive.”
“Sure you can,” she said nervously.
Brock shook his head and lowered his mouth.
“You don’t like me,” she reminded him in a voice that bordered on desperate. She seemed trapped, yet he wasn’t touching her. “You don’t want me here. Remember? You think I’m a pain in the butt. Besides,” she added, “Bree said she wanted to see you.”
Brock stopped at the mention of his daughter’s name. “Is she worse?”
Felicity took a breath and stumbled backward. “No, she’s much better, but she said she wanted to see you.” She cleared her throat and lifted her lips in a smile that worried him. “She wants to show you something.”
He glanced at her again. “What’s that?”
She smiled again, more broadly. “I promised not to tell.”
Uh-oh, Brock thought, feeling a sinking sensation in his gut. “Then I’ll go see her now.”
He felt Felicity’s gaze on him as he walked toward the doorway. “Do you ever tell her how pretty and smart she is?”
The question turned him around. “I tell her she’s the prettiest, smartest and best daughter a man could have, because she is.”
“Good,” she said in a soft voice.
He saw a dozen powerful emotions flash in her eyes as she nodded. For just a moment, he pictured her as a little girl needing to hear someone tell her she was pretty or smart. From the look in her gaze, she hadn’t heard it. He felt a weird unexpected twist of sadness and an urge to protect, while at the same time he burned to take her, all of which proved the woman could cause chaos inside as well as out.
Brock left her with a warning. “Felicity, telling a Logan he can’t do something is a surefire invitation for him to prove he can.”
Felicity locked her knees and held her breath until the sound of his footsteps disappeared. Then she sank onto the piano bench.
Her hands were trembling. Her insides were trembling. He had almost kissed her and she was a wreck. Heaven help her, what if he had really kissed her?
Felicity closed her eyes. She had wanted him to kiss her at the same time as she’d feared it. She touched her fingers to her lips and cheek, where his calloused hand had been. Was his mouth as hard as it looked? How would he taste? How would she feel in his arms?
Felicity’s internal alarm system clanged in warning. She could want Brock. Worse yet, she could like him. She could like him for being an honorable man. She could like him for giving his daughter what Felicity had never received as a child. The combination of want and like was dangerous. She’d never experienced it before.
He didn’t want her on the ranch. He viewed her as an inconvenience, which she technically was. But the fire in his eyes when he’d looked at her just moments ago rocked her from her head to her toes and every secret place in between.
He induced an odd range of emotions. She sensed she could trust him, and at the same time she wanted more than a glimpse of the passion she’d seen.
In another situation, she might let her curiosity get the best of her. He didn’t want her money. In fact, she’d bet he would tell her to leave if not for his sense of honor and upbringing. What would Brock Logan be like if he shed all that self-control? With her. Her mind was filled with the image of his strong body, persuasive, practiced hands, and his voice, deep with pleasure.
