by Karen Anders
“Midsize, but close to Houston and Galveston.”
Jenna saw the gleam in Sarah’s eye. “I can work with that. At least I can get some good publicity out of this fiasco.”
“So you’ll do it?” Jenna asked.
“You’ll finish out the tour?”
Jenna felt some of the tension go out of her spine. “Cross my heart. Have I ever let you down, Sarah?”
October 8, 1957
It’s now been six months since I started my journey of sexual awakening and I’m no closer to my goal. I’ve had experiences that have been carnally satisfying, fulfilling the needs of the body, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. It’s vaguely disappointing and I can’t understand why. This is what I wanted, what I planned for, yet it hasn’t given me as much pleasure as I expected. Perhaps I just haven’t met the right man. I’ll find that one perfect physical encounter. I just have to keep looking.
Jenna closed the diary and looked out the window of the 747 into the bright cloudless sky. It had always been Jenna’s impression that Gran loved Gramps with all her heart. After reading this passage, she wondered why Gran had so desperately wanted her to read these diaries. She rather liked the love story she’d heard about her grandparents and didn’t want to read about the other men in her gran’s life.
The “fasten seat belt” light came on and the pilot announced their approach to the Houston airport, stating the time was one o’clock and that the weather on this fine April day was a mild seventy-three degrees.
Jenna reached down and reverently picked up the worn black violin case and opened the lid. Inside sat her instrument, a gleaming Stradivarius that had been a present from Gran and Gramps when she’d graduated from Julliard.
The thought of Julliard brought back many memories. Memories of how she’d left Rosewood, Connecticut, which had been Gran’s respite from New York City. To Jenna, though, the Victorian house with the gazebo-like porch and the pointed roofs with the contrasting white gables was her home. The expensive apartment Gran had purchased for her, so that Jenna wouldn’t have to commute during her four years at Julliard, didn’t mean much to Jenna.
Julliard had been a bane and a boon. Because of her mother and grandmother’s fame, Jenna was goggled at, given a wide berth, and, because of it, felt isolated and alone. She’d had nothing but the music to bolster her and she’d retreated into it, excelling at her studies, but only engendering more awe.
She hadn’t wanted the awe. What she’d wanted was to belong, to be treated like everyone else.
She’d even tried singing, but that, too, made the students envy her, shun her or ignore her. Jenna was cursed with talent and it was just one more lesson in the many lessons she’d learned the hard way. Her music never shunned her, deserted her or asked for what Jenna couldn’t give.
Even her gran had been somewhat insensitive to Jenna’s needs. To her disappointment, Jenna had taken up the violin instead of developing her exceptional singing voice. Truth be told, Jenna didn’t really want to go into a profession that would have her competing directly with her mother.
Jenna stroked the instrument with a soft cloth she kept in the case. Unable to help herself, she ran her hands over the strings. Just thinking about the sound of the sweet, pure notes it produced made her smile.
She closed the case and kept the violin in her lap. Grabbing her briefcase from under the seat in front of her, she tucked the diary inside.
Antsy and agitated at the reason for her impromptu journey, she gripped the seat arms as the plane touched down.
As she made her way to the gate, she vowed she wasn’t leaving Savannah, Texas, until she got what she came for.
True to her promise, Sarah had participated fully in the scheme and sent Jenna’s photo to Sam Winchester so he could recognize her at the airport.
Unfortunately, Jenna had no idea what Sam looked like. It was no matter; he was probably some aging, retired lawman with a potbelly and gray hair, who couldn’t stop reliving stories of his thrilling time in the Rangers. She was pretty confident that she’d be able to wrap this old guy around her little finger.
A man caught her eye. In fact, he caught more than one eye. He was standing against the far wall, obviously waiting for someone, probably a sweetheart, since his fist was full of roses. One black-booted foot was propped against the wall, while the other long leg was braced to hold him upright. The brim of the black Stetson he wore obscured most of his face except for a strong jawline. His eyes were lowered to a piece of paper in his free hand.
He was wearing a black Western-style shirt, edged in white piping and, over the shirt, a beautiful black buckskin-fringed jacket with soft leather appliqué that featured white buffalo galloping around the hem of the short waist. The jacket covered a pretty impressive set of shoulders and a wide chest. A pair of tight, formfitting black jeans outlined sleek, heavy muscles molded to those long legs.
That was some lucky lady he was waiting for. For a moment, just a moment, Jenna felt envy that she wouldn’t have a man like this waiting at JFK for her when she returned home.
The flight was announced again and the man’s head jerked up as if he’d been studying the paper so hard he hadn’t heard the flight information the first time. Jenna’s lungs seized. He had an arresting face, a face that made several women behind her sigh in appreciation. Dark hair had escaped the hat and lay across his wide forehead above dark brows. His gaze collided with hers—his eyes were a clear, heartbreakingly deep blue, made all the more intense by his tanned face and the black hat he wore.
His surprised look had a glint of wariness, which put her a little on her guard. But then he smiled and pushed off the wall. His smile slammed into her with rock-hard force—it was filled with sin and danger.
He walked straight toward her with the cocky swagger of a man who looked as though he enjoyed living on the edge. Jenna couldn’t take her eyes off him to see who the lucky woman was that had this cowboy focused with such intensity. When he stopped in front of her, it took Jenna a moment to realize she needed to step aside. But then she saw the picture in his hand. He thrust the flowers out to her and said, “Welcome to Texas, Miss Sinclair. It’s nice to have you visiting. We appreciate all your help.”
His voice was deep and resonated inside her like a pure, sweet sound—almost too beautiful to be true. For a moment, she couldn’t speak as she hastily took the flowers he offered, juggling her briefcase and violin case. Her heart lurched into her throat and her pulse skipped a beat. Surely this must be some ranch hand that Sam Winchester had sent to pick her up. Perhaps he was busy, or sick.
“Mr. Winchester couldn’t make it?”
“I’m Sam Winchester, but since we’ll be living together, you can call me Sam.” He offered his hand and Jenna awkwardly transferred the flowers into the crook of her left arm. She slid her palm over his work-roughened hand, the abrasion of his skin making her insides jolt and spin. His skin was warm, sending prickles of electric sensation up her arm to hum through her blood. She let go hastily.
“You’re Sam Winchester?”
He removed the Stetson and twirled it in his hands, giving her a cute aw-shucks look. “Sure am. Who were you expecting?”
His hair was midnight-black, short on the top but longer in the back, curling around the collar of the jacket. “You, but you’re not exactly what I imagined.”
His voice was teasing and easy as he drawled, “A dusty cowboy with hay in his hair?”
“No. An aging sheriff with a big gut.”
He laughed, flashing that oh-so-dangerous smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am.”
“Who said I was disappointed?” The comment came out of her mouth before she engaged her brain. He sent her another smile and tilted his head as if he wasn’t quite sure about her.
Clearly, from the twinkle in his eye, flirting was fine with him. He put the hat back on his head. “We’d better pick up your bags and get going.”
He reached for her briefcase and violin case, an
d Jenna recoiled from his touch.
“Pardon me.”
“No. I’m sorry. Please, take the briefcase, but I am very protective of my instrument. I think I’ll hold on to the flowers, too.” She smiled, trying to alleviate the sudden tension between them.
“My apologies. I should have realized that musicians and their instruments are as inseparable as a cowboy and his horse.”
He was far too charming, with his easy manner and his soft voice; she immediately relaxed and returned his smile.
At the luggage carousel, they waited side by side until her bags came whirling around. He plucked them off without any effort and indicated she should follow him.
“So why are you willing to come all the way to the wilds of Texas and perform for free?”
Jenna had already worked out an answer to this question. “I’ve been around the world to many glamorous places and have seen what every cosmopolitan city has to offer. So, when my agent told me about the article she’d read in Entrepreneur Magazine, about your effort to raise money to modernize the hospital, I couldn’t resist. I think it’s time I saw something of small-town life. Besides, yours is a good cause.”
He nodded and they exited the airport. After a few minutes of navigating through parked cars, Sam stopped in front of a black-and-chrome truck. He set the bags down, and inserted a key in the passenger door lock. “So how did you know I was a lawman?”
Oops—that was in the report. She thought quickly. “I think someone at the college told me you used to be a Texas Ranger.”
“I see.” He opened her door for her, then placed her bags and briefcase into the back seat.
“Why did you stop being a lawman?” She set her violin on the floor just behind the seat and placed the roses on top of her suitcases. Then she eyed the truck. Because the vehicle sat quite a way off the ground, Jenna had to lift her leg up and onto the running board. It wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d worn a pair of slacks, but the pencil-thin black skirt didn’t allow any leeway.
“My father got…ill and I came back to run the ranch. He died about a year ago,” Sam answered, watching her with interest.
“Why did you leave the ranch in the first place?” she asked as if undaunted by the height and his obvious skepticism. She raised her leg, revealing a swath of thigh and immediately put her foot down. She tried different ways for a full minute, but she couldn’t get up high enough to slide easily into her seat.
Amusement filled Sam’s eyes as she struggled to figure out how to get in. “When I was eighteen, my father and I had a parting of the ways. I joined the Texas Highway Patrol right out of high school.”
“I thought you were a Ranger.” Jenna lifted her leg again, and again had to put it down.
“All Rangers are chosen from the ranks of the Texas Highway Patrol. So, once I did my eight years, I applied to the Texas Rangers, was accepted and served for two years, then I took over the ranch.”
One moment she was standing in the Texas heat, trying to figure out how she was going to get into the truck and carrying on a conversation with him, and the next she was in his arms. The heat of his big body ran like electricity down her form from one end to the other.
“Is this considered truck-side service?” she asked, her eyes connecting with his.
She was very close to his face and for a moment he stared into her eyes. The mischief she had seen in them only moments ago intensified, deepened and coalesced into something so intriguing she couldn’t look away. Like a new piece of music when played, it gave such an exquisite sound that the listener had to pause, close one’s eyes and savor the sound.
“As much as I enjoyed watching you try to maneuver into my truck in your tight, fancy skirt, I hadn’t figured on spending the whole day here.”
The thrilling sensation of his hands on her body and her breast against his hard pectoral muscle moved through her blood, and along her flesh in sharp waves. Right at that moment, lust, too deep and strong for her to deny, and more overwhelming than she’d ever experienced, made her want to lean in and taste his full mouth to see if it was as delicious as it looked.
He placed her in the cab of the truck, his hands lingering on her shoulder and thigh. When he slowly removed them, she wanted to reach out and capture his face in her hands and give in to the need swirling in her blood.
She settled in the seat as he came around the hood of the truck and climbed in. The space in the cab seemed to shrink with his presence.
She was here on a mission to retrieve the diary and jewelry, she reminded herself. With scepticism, she thought of her gran’s words chronicled in the diary she’d read on the plane. Was there something that could be defined as perfect physical pleasure? Did she dare think that she could let herself go? No. It wouldn’t be ethical to look for the diary while giving in to her baser needs. Would it? Trying to get back to some normalcy and defuse the suddenly tense atmosphere in the cab, Jenna murmured, “I’m sorry about your father, I just lost my gran.”
He glanced at her, releasing a breath. Something tangible seemed to hover around them still. “I’m sorry, too. It’s hard to lose someone you love. I didn’t realize how much I missed the town and the ranch until my father died.”
“We take a lot for granted, especially people we love and who love us. We don’t realize how important they are, until we lose them.” She looked out of the window at the magnificent skyline of Houston. “Do you miss being a Ranger?”
“Sometimes, but I love ranching. The place—the Wildcatter—has been in my family for generations. I couldn’t sell it or trust anyone else to run it, so here I am.”
The obvious pride in his voice was the same kind of pride that Jenna heard in her own voice when she talked about her music. “And your involvement with the modernization of the hospital? I find that intriguing.”
“Every town needs a facility that can handle trauma emergencies and difficult medical situations. Although I had no idea that I was going to be dragged into policy matters and such.”
“It sounds like you’ve gone above and beyond what any citizen would do.”
“Well, I’m also the founding father’s direct ancestor. In fact, the town is named after my great-grandmother, Savannah. The politicking that goes on keeps me knee-deep in cow…manure.”
“And you do that from the sidelines? You’re not exactly the politician type.” Too rugged, too outdoorsy—she had trouble imagining him in a suit sitting around a conference table discussing municipal problems.
He smiled and glanced at her. “First, I’m not what you expected a former Ranger to look like. Now, Miss Sinclair, are you saying that I’m not smooth enough to be a politician?”
Unable to help herself, she smiled back. “Please call me Jenna, and not exactly.” She studied his face, couldn’t stop her eyes from gazing at his body. He looked like he’d go down real smooth and have her begging for more. The words came out before she could stop them. “You look too honest to me.”
Sam laughed and said, “Ah, a burden I have to carry and one virtue the mayor agrees I have too much of.”
Right. He looked honest, but so had her uncle, a man who hadn’t waited until her gran, his sister, was cold in the ground before he was trying to profit from her death. “Something required in a lawman, but not necessarily valued in a public servant?” She gave him a quick smile.
“So it would seem.”
“Part of the charm?”
The sparkle in his eyes turned into a wicked glitter. “Aw shucks, ma’am.”
“Make that cowboy charm.”
He smiled. “I’d say that honesty in any relationship is important.”
With a twinge, Jenna nodded her head. If only she could trust him. Sam didn’t look like the kind of man who would cheat her out of her gran’s mementos, but she couldn’t take that chance.
“I’m looking forward to staying on your ranch.”
He looked at her warily as they left the city and merged into highway traffic.
&n
bsp; “What would you expect for your ranch experience.”
“Everything. I want to see what you do every day.”
“You want to pay bills?”
“Well, maybe not that, but I want to get a feel for the cowboy life. I’ve always been fascinated with the Wild West concept,” she improvised.
“My ranch is not like any TV show or movie if that’s what you think. It’s nice, but it’s not glamorous.”
Without thinking, she reached out and put her hand on his arm in a companionable gesture. “So no melodrama around the campfire?” Her mouth went dry at the feel of the corded muscles in his forearm and, for a moment, she couldn’t remove her hand.
2
SAM WINCHESTER FELT heat swell inside him at the touch of her hand and the thought of this beautiful, sophisticated woman in his house. He wasn’t a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. Yet he’d been down the city slicker path before with his ex-wife. Tiffany had been all excited to see his ranch, saying it would be a wonderful experience, but had then decided she couldn’t stand it: the noise, the smelly cows, horses and, of course, him. She’d found many reasons to get off the ranch and away from him. Shopping sprees, trips to visit her upscale friends and snooty family, until there was nothing left between them but two gold rings and a lot of bitterness.
Jenna still hadn’t removed her hand and it was beginning to distract him, along the lines of watching her try to find a ladylike way to get into his truck. “No, no melodrama. A lot of people think that ranching is romantic and exciting, but it’s dirty, sweaty and hard work.” This hothouse flower would probably take one look at the longhorns, pinch her nose and go running for the house. And she’d be dodging cow paddies in those out-of-place expensive heels along the way. The things on her feet were fine for Park Avenue, but as useless, on a working ranch, as tits on a bull.
However, he couldn’t think of anything wrong with the way she smelled. Her expensive, heady fragrance lodged in his brain, setting his senses on fire.
“I don’t have any fancy expectations.”
