Taming Blackhawk

by Barbara Mccauley

  Her knees felt weak.

  “Something I can do for you?” he asked in a raw, hot-whiskey voice.

  Now there was a loaded question, Grace thought, and quickly dismissed all the options that jumped into her brain.

  “Rand Sloan?” she asked, annoyed at the surprise in her voice and the breathless quality that accompanied it.

  He stabbed the pitchfork into the ground and nodded.

  “I…I’m Grace Sullivan. I’ve been trying to contact you for the past two weeks. You’re a hard man to get a hold of.”

  Grace blushed at her words. What woman wouldn’t want to get a hold of this man?

  “Sometimes I am,” he said simply. “Sometimes I’m not.”

  “You don’t have an address or phone number and I tried just about—”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what you want, Miss Sullivan?” His eyes dropped to her hand. “Or is it Mrs.?”

  “What? Oh—it’s Miss. Grace, I mean.”

  He lifted a brow. “Miss Grace?”

  “No.” Dammit. There was that blush again. She rarely blushed, and now she couldn’t seem to stop. “Just call me Grace.”

  He nodded, his expression telling her that he was waiting for her to answer his question.

  And what was the question? Oh, yes. He’d asked her what she wanted. She had to think a minute to pull her thoughts together.

  “I’m from the Edgewater Animal Management and Adoption Foundation,” she finally managed. “Maybe you’ve heard of us. We rescue wild horses and care for them until they can be adopted out. We’d like to hire you to round up some stray mustangs in Black River Canyon and bring them out.”

  “You went to a lot of trouble, Grace.” He turned his back to her and stabbed another flake of straw. “My answer is no.”

  No? Just like that? No?

  Grace stared at him, did her best not to notice the firm backside he’d turned toward her.

  “We’ll pay you very well, Mr. Sloan, plus all expenses and travel costs.” She stepped closer, and the scent of fresh straw, horse and sweat-covered male assailed her senses. Strangely, the combination was not at all unpleasant.

  “You’ll have to find someone else.”

  He continued to work, his muscles rippling as he tossed another forkful of straw into the stall.

  She’d met some difficult people before, Grace thought in annoyance, but Rand Sloan took the prize.

  “I don’t want anyone else.” She moved beside him, refusing to be ignored. “I want you.”

  Rand straightened and leveled his gaze on Miss Grace Sullivan. In a different situation, he might have taken the woman’s comment and carried their conversation in a different, more interesting direction. But this was not the day, and—he took in her light-colored silk suit and heels and caught the scent of her expensive perfume—this was not the woman.

  Not that she hadn’t caught his attention in the looks department. That thick, tousled, auburn hair of hers was enough to catch any man’s eye. It was the kind of hair a man could fist his hand into, then pull that long, slender neck back and dive in. Her skin looked liked porcelain; her eyes were bottle green, wide and tilted at the corners, with thick, dark lashes.

  And that mouth. Lord have mercy. Those lush lips of hers were meant for a man’s mouth.

  She had long legs—he guessed her to be around five foot eight—narrow waist, full breasts…

  He glanced at the fresh straw, then at the woman.

  What a damn shame.

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “Everyone says you’re the best,” she said. “This is a difficult job. Probably dangerous. I heard that’s your specialty.”

  Another time he might have been flattered, and he definitely would have been interested. He’d always enjoyed a challenge, and the danger part made his blood race.

  Another time.

  He unclipped Maggie Mae’s bridle. “You’re wasting your time, Miss Grace.”

  “You’re my last hope,” she said quietly.

  Her words, spoken with such intensity, made something catch in his chest. He didn’t want to be anyone’s last hope. Didn’t want anyone to depend on him. He closed Maggie Mae’s stall door.

  “That’s too bad.” He tugged his handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped at the sweat on his face. “But my answer is still no.”

  “Mr. Sloan,” she said when he started to walk away, then, “Rand, please.”

  He stopped when she said his name so softly.

  “Could you please just give me a few minutes?” she asked.

  “I haven’t got a few minutes, Miss Grace.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to my father’s funeral.”

  Two

  The sound of a car door slamming startled Grace awake. She hadn’t meant to doze off, but after only five hours sleep the night before, the early-morning board meeting, the flight to San Antonio, then renting a car at the airport and driving one hundred miles, her eyelids had simply grown too heavy to keep open.

  She rose from the comfortable easy chair in Mary Sloan’s living room and looked out through the lace curtains. Mary and Rand had already stepped out of an old, dust-covered tan truck. A second truck, newer, deep blue with dual cab, pulled up in front of the house, as well. Two men younger than Rand, also tall, with dark-brown hair climbed out.

  Grace glanced at her wristwatch, surprised that the Sloan family was back so soon from the funeral. The service must have been a short one, and the reception, if there had been one, even shorter than that.

  Grace hadn’t intended to stay at the Sloan house. As badly as she wanted—needed—Rand’s help, she knew she couldn’t intrude at such a difficult time. But it was a long drive to San Antonio, and after Rand had left her standing in the barn, Grace had knocked on Mary Sloan’s door to ask for a glass of water before heading back to the airport. Next thing Grace knew, Mary had sat her down at the kitchen table and asked point-blank what Grace wanted with Rand. Grace had told Mary about the foundation and the horses, then Mary had insisted that Grace stay and join them for dinner.

  Grace had politely turned down Mary’s offer, but the older woman had refused to take no for an answer. It had been a long time since she’d had any company, Mary had said, and she would certainly appreciate another female in the house tonight.

  The genuine concern in Mary’s eyes, the sadness, made it impossible for Grace to say no. Since Rand had turned her down, Grace had nowhere to go, no one else to turn to, anyway. So why not stay a few hours if Mary wanted her to? Grace could only imagine how devastated her own mother would be if anything happened to her father. If Mary Sloan wanted female companionship, then it was the least Grace could do for the woman.

  She looked up when Rand opened the door and stepped inside. He’d obviously showered and shaved since she’d seen him last. He now wore black dress jeans, a white shirt and shiny black boots. He glanced at her, unsmiling. Obviously, Rand did not approve of his mother’s request that Grace stay.

  Well, the hell with him. The man was just going to have to deal with it.

  Their eyes locked for one long moment, then he boldly slid that dark, intense gaze of his all the way down her body, then slowly back up again. It annoyed Grace when her breasts tightened and, dammit, her nipples hardened. She pressed her lips firmly together. She decided he was crude and coarse and…just about the sexiest man she’d ever met.

  “I heard you’re staying for dinner,” he said at last, bringing his gaze back to hers.

  “Your mother—”

  “Mind your manners, Rand Sloan.” Mary swept in the house behind her son and moved past him. “I asked Grace to stay. A woman needs a breather with all that testosterone that’ll be filling this house tonight. I need some feminine balance.”

  “Matt and Sam will be here,” Rand called after Mary, then turned and looked at his brothers as they strode through the front door. “That should balance the femininity about right.”

/>   Surprised, Grace glanced at Rand. The man had actually made a joke, she realized. A sarcastic one, true, but a joke nonetheless. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.

  “I’ll give you feminine when I’m picking your teeth out of my knuckles.” One of the brothers walked toward Grace and stuck out his hand. “I’m Matthew Sloan,” he said with a smile. “This is Sam.”

  Heavens, but the Sloan men were a handsome lot. Though Rand had darker hair and eyes than his brothers and his face was more sculpted, they were all rugged and tall, with killer smiles. Not that she’d seen Rand smile, she thought dryly.

  “Grace Sullivan.” She shook each of their hands. “I’m sorry about your father.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence, as there always was with condolences, then Matt said, “Thanks for staying. After looking at Rand’s ugly mug all day, my eyes could use a break.”

  Rand frowned at his brother, but there was no malice in the look. If anything, Grace thought, it was the first sign of affection Rand had displayed.

  “Matthew and Samuel,” Mary called from the kitchen. “Get your butts in here now. I need help.”

  Matt and Sam excused themselves, leaving Grace alone with Rand. “I…I should go help, too,” she said.

  He took her arm when she started toward the kitchen. “In all the years I’ve known her, my mother hasn’t asked for help in the kitchen once.”

  Confused, she simply looked at him.

  “She’s thinking we need a minute alone.”

  “Oh, I see,” Grace said, then gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I’m sure the last thing you want is to be alone with me.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Grace felt her throat go dry at the flare of interest in his black eyes. She looked down at the hand he’d laid on her forearm. A working man’s hand. Large, with long fingers and tanned, rough skin. Against her smooth, cream-colored silk jacket, the contrast was amazingly sensual. The heat of his fingers burned all the way through the fabric.

  She really needed to get a grip on her hormones.

  “Rand,” she said carefully, “your mother asked me to stay, but I have no intention of intruding on your grief. Just forget why I came here and think of me as you would any other guest in your mother’s house.”

  It might be hard to explain to the woman that his mother rarely had guests in her house, Rand thought. But it really wasn’t anything that Miss Grace Sullivan needed to know, anyway.

  “Samuel Sloan, you get your fingers out of that potato salad right now!”

  Rand watched Grace’s head snap toward the kitchen. At the sound of a loud thwap, those deep-green eyes of hers went wide.

  “Shoot, Mom, someone’s gotta make sure it tastes right,” Sam told his mother.

  “You saying I don’t know how to make potato salad?”

  Another loud thwap!

  Rand heard the sound of Matt’s laugh, then again, thwap!

  “Hey! What’d I do?” Matt complained.

  “It’s for what you’re gonna do,” Mary said. “I saw you eyeing that cake.”

  “You hold her, Matt,” Sam said. “I’ll grab the cake.”

  “You so much as—” Mary’s reprimand was cut off abruptly and there was a lot of hollering.

  A good sound, Rand thought. When Edward Sloan had been around, the family rarely joked. The best times in this house had been when the old man was gone, either on a business trip or one of his hunting and fishing excursions. Fortunately for everyone, Edward took those trips often. It was the only time they ever really relaxed, the only time they could have fun like this without Edward hollering they were all making too much noise.

  “Matthew Richard Sloan,” Mary yelled from the kitchen. “Get your fingers out of that frosting right this minute!”

  Grace looked at Rand, her brow furrowed with concern. “Shouldn’t you go help?”

  “Why would I do that?” Rand shrugged. “Unless you want some cake. I could probably grab it while they’re all busy and be out the back door before they even noticed. My mom bakes a chocolate cake that could make a grown man cry.”

  “Chocolate cake, you say?” Grace lifted a brow and glanced at the kitchen. “With chocolate frosting?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “I suppose I could start my car and you could jump in,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d expect a fifty-fifty split, though.”

  Rand felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. It felt strange to joke with a woman, especially a beautiful one. His entire adult life, when there’d been interest between himself and a woman, there’d been few preliminaries. There’d been the usual amount of flirting and silly banter, he supposed. But there’d been no pretenses, no long courtships. If he wanted a woman, he simply said so. If she wanted him back, then fine. If she didn’t, then that was fine, too. He respected a woman’s right to say no. There were always more women in the next town he’d drift to.

  Not to say that he slept with every pretty female that came along. In spite of the rumors, Rand had always considered himself a man of discriminating—and careful—tastes. He was no fool, and he wasn’t stupid when it came to sex.

  He looked at Grace, watched those big, green eyes of hers widen at the sound of a crash from the kitchen. She wasn’t going to be around long enough for him to give it a lot of thought one way or the other, Rand knew. She’d be gone after dinner, and he would never see her again.

  And that, he thought as he looked at those gorgeous lips of hers and killer body, was a damn shame.

  Unlike the worn and neglected exterior, the inside of the Sloan house was neat and tidy and clean. The furniture was utilitarian: a plain brown sofa and chair in the living room, maple coffee and end tables. A bookcase filled mostly with history and ranching books. No TV, no DVD or video equipment, not even a stereo, that Grace could see. Simple and practical and down to the basics, would best describe the Sloan residence.

  It wasn’t a cold house, but it wasn’t exactly a warm one, either. Except for the dining room, Grace thought, where the family had gathered around an oval pine table to eat. She felt comfortable here, relaxed. Well, not completely relaxed. It was pretty difficult to truly relax with Rand sitting across from her, those incredible black eyes of his watching her. Not that he was staring. In fact, it seemed that every time she’d looked at him, he was intentionally not looking at her.

  Nevertheless, she felt his eyes on her, felt the intensity of that dark gaze. No man had ever made her so…aware. Of him, of herself, of everything around them. The feeling confused her, made her unsteady. It also annoyed her that she was being such a nervous Nelly. Such a scaredy-cat. A big, fat—

  “Chicken?”

  Startled, she snapped her gaze to Rand. “What?”

  “Would you like a piece of chicken?” He held a large platter of fried chicken in front of her.

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” She helped herself to a leg and smiled at Mary. “This all looks wonderful.”

  A person would have thought that an entire football team was coming to dinner instead of three men, Grace thought. Mile-high, fluffy mashed potatoes beside a tureen of velvety brown gravy; a heaping bowl of baby peas; golden, steaming biscuits with a tub of honey-sweetened butter. The smell alone was enough to make Grace’s mouth water.

  And when she took a bite of the chicken, it was all she could do not to groan. Mary’s sons, on the other hand, were not subject to the same restraint. Every one of them, including Rand, expressed their pleasure with sighs and groans and enough compliments to make Mary beam with delight.

  “Lord, I’ve missed your cooking,” Matt said around a bite of biscuit. “When you sell this place and move, I’m just gonna have to follow.”

  “You’re selling the ranch?” Grace asked as she scooped up an extra ladle of gravy. She didn’t care if she had to do three extra miles on her treadmill at home. This meal was worth every calorie.

  “She’s moving to Sin City,” Sam said. “Las Vegas,
Nevada.”

  “I have a brother there,” Mary said. “I haven’t seen him in ten years. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

  Grace listened while they all talked about Mary’s move and their uncle Steve. It seemed odd to her that not once was there any mention of the funeral or Edward Sloan. No shared memories of their life together. And not one person had stopped by to pay their respects. It was almost as if the man had never existed.

  “My mom says you’re from Dallas, Grace,” Sam said, interrupting her thoughts. “What do you do there?”

  She glanced at Rand, who appeared intent on buttering a biscuit. She’d promised not to mention the wild horses, but she supposed it was all right to mention the foundation. “I work with Edgewater Animal Management,” she said.

  “I saw an article in the Dallas Chronicle about Edgewater Animal Management.” Matt teased his mother by reaching for her already buttered biscuit. Without missing a beat, Mary slapped her son’s hand and kept on eating. “If I remember correctly, the piece mentioned its founder was the daughter of some mega-millionaire Dallas businessman.”

  “Probably some spoiled, buck-toothed debutante who wouldn’t know the backside of a mule if it stared her in the face,” Sam muttered.

  “I do believe I would know,” Grace said curtly and stared at Sam.

  There was a long beat of silence, then Sam’s eyes widened, and he had the decency to blush. Matt and Mary both started to laugh, and even Rand had a grin on his face. Sam took his knife and made motions of cutting his wrists.

  “Hot damn, Grace,” Matt said, still laughing. “Any woman who can put my brother in his place is the woman I want to marry.”

  “The fact that she’s beautiful and rich don’t hurt, either,” Sam added. “Come on, Matt, I’ll arm wrestle you for her.”

  Mary shook her head at her sons’ nonsense while she offered Grace more chicken. Grace declined, shocked that Matt and Sam actually had their elbows on the table and hands locked, ready to wrestle. Never in her life had she seen anything like this. Dinner at her parents’ house was always quiet and sedate, a five-course meal prepared by a cook and served by a maid on fine china and linen tablecloths.