THE RESTLESS VIRGIN

by Peggy Moreland

  "So the man has some fears of his own to deal with."

  "Yeah, I guess," Sam admitted grudgingly.

  "When he touched you, did you want him to remove his hand?"

  The quick change in topic took Sam by surprise. "I—I—well, no, not exactly," she finally admitted.

  "Was he rough?"

  "No. Gentle. Almost tender. It was the heat that scared me."

  "His hand was hot?"

  "No, warm. The heat was inside me."

  "Where?"

  Sam placed a hand on her abdomen, feeling the muscles knot again at the memory. "Here. But all over, really."

  "Have you had much experience with sexual desire, Sam?"

  Again Sam felt heat crawl up her neck to redden her cheeks. She was twenty-nine years old and still a virgin, for God's sake. And because of some jerk who'd thought he could force her to have sex with him, it seemed she was destined to remain one forever. "You know I haven't."

  "But you've been attracted to men, haven't you?"

  "A few."

  "But never enough to allow one to get close to you."

  "I couldn't."

  "Wouldn't," Camille corrected. "It was a mental decision, not a physical one."

  Sam's lips thinned in anger. "With the same result."

  "Yes, but the distinction is important." Camille leaned forward again, planting her elbows on her desk and her fists beneath her chin. "When do you and Colby have another lesson?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Will her father be present?"

  Sam snorted again. "You can count on it."

  Camille smiled. "Good. I'd like you to try something. A little experiment, if you will."

  Sam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What?"

  "If during the lesson he places himself near you, don't move away. Force yourself to remain in place. See what other feelings surface. Can you do this?"

  Her mouth suddenly dry, Sam tried to work up enough saliva to swallow. "I could try."

  Camille smiled. "Wonderful." She flipped open her appointment book. "Why don't we meet again at the same time in two weeks?"

  Sam closed her hands over the chair's arms and levered herself to her feet. "Okay. But don't expect anything earth-shattering to have occurred. I just said I'd try."

  Camille made the notation in her book, then closed it, rising. She stepped around the desk and put a hand on Sam's shoulder as she walked to the door with her. "That's all I ask, Sam. That you try."

  "The surveyors are finished with their work. I dropped a copy of their report off at Jasco's so they can start laying out the roads. The—" Marty lifted his head and saw that his boss was staring out the window. "Are you hearing a word I'm saying?" When Nash didn't respond, Marty slapped a hand on top of the desk. "Nash!"

  Nash started, bumping a knee on the lap drawer of his desk. "What?"

  "Jeez," Marty grumbled. "Where were you, anyway?"

  Nash straightened, raking a hand though his hair in hopes of scraping the image of Sam McCloud from his brain. "Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."

  "Yeah, so do I. And most of it deals with the Rivers Ranch. Now are you ready to listen?"

  "Do you know the McClouds?" Nash asked.

  "The ones who own the Double-Cross Heart Ranch?"

  "Yeah. Do you know them?"

  "Not personally, though I've heard a lot about them."

  "Tell me what you know."

  "If you're thinking about trying to buy their land, you can forget it. Those people are rooted in deep. That ranch has been in their family since back in the 1800s. It's now owned by the three McCloud sisters. In fact, they just doubled the ranch's size when one of the sisters married."

  Nash's ears perked up. "Which sister?"

  "The oldest one. Mandy, I think's her name." Oblivious to the relaxing of Nash's shoulders, Marty went on, "Anyway, she married Jesse Barrister and they combined the Double-Cross and the Circle Bar."

  "Jesse Barrister? Any relation to Margo Barrister?"

  "Stepson. And there's no love lost between them."

  Nash frowned. "What about the other sisters?"

  "One's an actress. She lives in New York, I think. Appears on some soap opera. My wife's a big fan. Personally, I can't stomach those shows. One catastrophe after another, with everybody switching spouses all the time."

  "What about the other sister?"

  "Sam?"

  "Yeah. What do you know about her?"

  "Not much. She's been away at school for years. Became a vet, as I recall. Heard she was coming back here to set up her practice on the family ranch. Those women are tight," he said, chuckling. "You don't mess with one without the other two jumping into the fray. And they're rich, to boot. Old Lucas knew how to make a dollar and turn it into ten. From what I heard, he left them a chunk of cash, plus the ranch."

  Which explained to Nash why Sam had said she didn't need his money. But it certainly didn't explain why she was willing to spend time with a six-year-old kid.

  "I've hired Sam to give Colby barrel-racing lessons."

  "Really?" Marty arched a brow. "I'd say you're damn lucky to get her. She was a contender for the national title at one time. Dropped out when her old man died." He wagged his head. "A shame, too. As I recall, she all but had the title in her hand."

  "She seems a little … well, rough around the edges."

  Marty slapped his knee, chuckling, obviously enjoying Nash's choice of words. "That'd be Sam, all right. She's a tomboy through and through. She could outride and out-rope any boy she went up against. The exact opposite of her sister, Merideth. She's the actress," he said in explanation, then whistled through his teeth. "Now that one is all woman. A real babe."

  Though Nash found the contrast interesting, he wanted to know more about Sam. In his opinion, the woman acted a little strange and he didn't entrust his daughter to just anyone. "Colby's safe with Sam, isn't she? I mean there's nothing I should worry about, is there?"

  "With Sam? Heck, no! She wouldn't hurt a fly. In fact, it makes sense that she's a vet. She always had this soft spot for any orphaned animal." His forehead suddenly furrowed into a frown. "There was something, years ago," he began, "a rumor of some kind floating around." His forehead pleated as he tried to remember, then he shook his head. "It escapes me now, but I can assure you that Colby is safe with Sam."

  After Marty left the office, Nash settled down to work. Plats were scattered across his desk, sharing the space with aerial views of the Rivers Ranch. Thick stacks of bids were propped on one corner, waiting for his consideration, while a prospectus for potential investors served as a coaster for a mug of murky coffee.

  The prospectus no longer served any purpose, since Nash already had all the investors he needed to begin the project. The groundwork was all laid. It was just a matter of putting the wheels into motion. If Nash was right—and his gut instincts told him he was—Rivers Ranch would soon become one of the most sought-after developments in the Austin area.

  Nash picked up one of the aerial shots and leaned back in his chair to study it. He could see the tin roofs of the old homestead and barn, both a faded red, which were the only outbuildings remaining on the land. There had been other barns in the past, but they had all given way to time and weather, leaving nothing but a scar on the landscape to mark where they'd once stood. Nash remembered one in particular, a dome-shaped structure where hay and grain were once stored.

  He remembered well the sweltering summers he'd spent cutting, raking and baling hay on the seat of a bone-jarring tractor, then hauling it to the barn and stacking it for storage. He remembered, too, loading that same hay onto the bed of the old farm pickup in the winter months and hauling it out to the pastures, in freezing rain and biting cold, to keep the livestock from starving.

  He shook his head and tossed the picture back to his desk. "Never again," he muttered. Backbreaking, sweat-inducing work with no guarantee of compensation. His grandfather and his father might have enjoyed that kind of life, but not
Nash. He'd watched the ranch and its never-ending demands suck the life right out of both men and had sworn that he'd never follow in their footsteps.

  When he announced he wanted to go to college and pursue a degree in civil engineering, his father had accused him of being lazy, of wanting a cushy life. But if putting in a ten-hour day in an air-conditioned office and making regular trips to the bank made him lazy, then that was just fine with Nash. He'd had a stomach full of the ranching life before he'd turned eighteen. Give him a white-collar job any day.

  Selecting a bid from the top of the stack, he began to study the costs of laying the underground electrical lines. The cost was exorbitant, but Nash considered the end results well worth the cash outlay. The caliber of people he wanted to attract wouldn't want their views of the Texas Hill Country marred by electrical poles and wires.

  He already had a couple of doctors interested in buying five-acre tracts and the homes they planned to build were in the half-million to million-dollar range. With the deed restrictions already established within the covenants, their investments would be protected. A golf course and clubhouse, already in the design stage, would attract even more of the white-collar crowd.

  Everything was clicking along smoothly, falling neatly into place…with the exception of Colby. Nash frowned as his thoughts took a U-turn to his daughter and her opposition to his plans. Colby didn't want him to cut up the Rivers Ranch and had been very vocal about it.

  "And what isn't she vocal about?" he muttered to himself. Colby had an opinion on everything and her focus at the present seemed to be on one Sam McCloud. She'd been singing Sam's praises from dawn 'til dusk for three days now and Nash was getting damn sick and tired of hearing the woman's name. It was "Sam this," and "Sam that." Colby had even told Nash she thought Sam was pretty.

  Pretty? Nash snorted. If you liked tomboys with an attitude. In his opinion, Sam McCloud was as plain as a vanilla wafer, thin as a rail and dressed like a cowboy. And she was flat-chested to boot! Or at least he thought she was. It was kind of hard to tell what lay beneath those ratty, oversize T-shirts she wore.

  Disgusted with himself for even giving her a thought, he forced his attention back to the bid he'd been studying.

  "Pretty," he muttered, giving the papers a firm snap. "Pretty bossy, maybe," he added disagreeably.

  * * *

  Three

  « ^ »

  Two lessons a week with Colby hadn't seemed like that big of a deal when Sam had originally agreed to the schedule. But now she was having second thoughts. Not that Colby was a problem. She was a good kid, eager to learn, and as playful as a pup when the mood suited her.

  It was Nash who was giving her the second thoughts … or maybe, more accurately, it was Camille's suggestion of the little experiment with Nash that was giving her second thoughts. Just thinking about it made Sam's hands grow damp on the steering wheel as she turned onto the road leading to the Rivers Ranch.

  She knew he'd be there waiting for her. He'd already let it be known that he would be present for every lesson. But how in the heck was she supposed to pull off Camille's ridiculous experiment when every time he got within two feet of her she froze up like an engine without oil? And if he touched her again… Sam shuddered at the thought. There was no way she could go through that again.

  She parked in front of the barn and let out a weary sigh. A life, Sam, she told herself firmly. You want a life and if it means brushing shoulders with Nash Rivers to get over this ridiculous fear of men, then by God you'll do it! Besides, Camille had only said she had to try.

  Her stomach already knotting convulsively, Sam glanced around as she stepped from her truck, but there wasn't a soul in sight. Heat radiated from the hard-packed dirt beneath her boots and worked its way up through the soles, making her feet burn and itch. Tucking a boot behind her thigh, she gave it a brisk rub, but only succeeded in polishing the top, doing nothing to ease her burning feet. With a sigh, she dropped her foot and turned to squint toward the house. Nash's car was parked out front, but there wasn't a sign of him or Colby anywhere. Confident that the two would appear eventually, Sam headed for the barn and its welcoming shade.

  Once inside, she paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the change in light. And that's when she saw him. Nash. Sitting on a bale of hay in front of Whiskey's stall, his face buried in his hands.

  The despondent hunch of his shoulders made Sam momentarily forget about the ridiculous experiment. Instinctively, she took a step toward him, then stopped, reluctant to approach him. "Nash?"

  He lifted his head and turned to look at her.

  A chill chased down Sam's spine and gooseflesh pebbled her arms when she saw the emptiness in his eyes. Sure that something awful had happened, she ran the distance that separated them and dropped to her knees beside him. She wanted to reach out to him, if only to put a concerned hand on his arm, but years of shunning physical contact kept her palms pressed tightly against her thighs. "What's wrong?" she asked as she glanced frantically around. "Where's Colby?"

  He braced his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet.

  "She's in town with her grandmother," he said miserably. "There won't be a lesson today," he added. "In fact, there won't be any more lessons at all."

  Slowly Sam rose. "But why?"

  "Colby broke the rules. She rode Whiskey this morning while I was gone."

  Sam felt the blood drain from her face. "Is she hurt? Did Whiskey throw her?"

  He waved away her concern. "No. She's fine. It's Nina." He braced his hands at his hips and turned his face to the barn's ceiling, his jaw tensing. "She threw a fit when she discovered that Colby had slipped out of the house to ride. She called me at work and demanded that I come home and get rid of the horse."

  "Isn't that a bit extreme? Couldn't Colby be punished in another way?"

  "I wish she could, but her grandmother can be pretty stubborn. And she's right," he conceded reluctantly. "I did tell Colby that if I caught her on the horse without either you or me present, the horse would go." He turned, and Sam saw the rifle propped against the stall door beside him.

  "Oh, Nash, you can't!" she cried and took a quick step sideways, placing herself between him and the gun.

  "Don't worry," he said, obviously embarrassed by his own cowardice. "I thought about it, but I couldn't even bring myself to point the gun."

  Sam breathed a sigh of relief. There might be hope for Nash, after all. "So what are you going to do?"

  "Sell him, I guess. But I'm afraid that'll break Colby's heart almost as much as if I shot him."

  "Let me have Whiskey," Sam said impulsively. "I'll take him home with me until the dust settles around here, and you decide what you want to do with him."

  He looked at her in surprise. "Would you?"

  "Yes." As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Sam wished she could call it back. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, already imagining Colby's reaction when she found her horse gone. And this time, she'd blame Sam, as well as Nash. "When do you expect Colby and her grandmother to return?"

  Nash glanced at his watch. "They've been gone almost an hour, so they should be back any minute now."

  Which gave Sam no time to make a run to the Double-Cross for her trailer. "I'll need to use your trailer to haul him home."

  Nash waved his arm expansively. "Take whatever you need."

  Working together, Nash and Sam hooked the trailer to Sam's truck and loaded Whiskey inside. They brushed hands, bumped shoulders, knocked heads, but Sam was so anxious to leave before Colby returned, she didn't even notice the physical contact.

  After locking the doors into place behind the horse, Sam turned and found Nash looking at her and all those uneasy feelings returned with a vengeance. Feeling awkward and much too aware of his presence, she stuffed her fingertips into the front pockets of her jeans. "I'll take good care of him."

  "I don't doubt that for a minute." He took a step closer and placed a hand on Sam's arm. "I really ap
preciate your doing this."

  Though her first impulse was to shake off his hand, Sam could almost feel Camille's nudge. Force yourself to remain in place. See what other feelings surface. It took all her strength and determination to do so, but Sam stood her ground, diligently trying to focus on her emotions rather than the feel of his hand on her.

  But Nash's touch was like a brand, the heat crawling up the length of her arm to stain her neck and cheeks, then diving down to swirl low in her abdomen. His eyes, gray and full of emotion, seemed to penetrate her flesh, baring her soul. How was she supposed to think, to analyze, for God's sake, when she could barely breathe?

  Unable to stand the torture another second, she stepped back, breaking the contact. "When you decide what you're going to do with him," she said hastily, "let me know."

  "I appreciate that. And don't think I expect you to take on the financial responsibilities of caring for him. I'll send a check to pay for his feed and what other expenses might come up."

  "Okay." With nothing left to say, Sam turned and strode for her truck.

  "Sam?"

  She turned, her hand on the door handle.

  "Thanks."

  The simple word of gratitude sent a warmth rushing through her that she felt all the way to her toes. "No problem." Quickly she climbed inside the cab and started the engine. As she glanced up at the windshield, she saw a car bumping down the rutted road toward the house, chased by a cloud of thick dust. "Oh, no," she murmured, recognizing Colby as the passenger.

  Nash must have seen her too, because he slapped a hand against the side of the trailer. "Go!" he yelled, frantically gesturing at Sam. "Get him out of here!"

  She quickly shifted into gear and pressed down on the accelerator. But by the time she reached the Y where the road split, one track leading to the barn and the other to the house, Colby was already leaping from the car and racing toward her. At the fear she saw on the child's face, Sam increased the pressure on the accelerator and swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat as she made the sharp turn.