THE RESTLESS VIRGIN

by Peggy Moreland

  Nash smiled again. A loose kind of easy smile this time that had Sam's tense shoulders relaxing the teeniest bit. "Colby likes you, too. In fact, I'm afraid her feelings for you border on hero worship."

  Sam blushed, but did manage a smile in return. "I'm no hero. I just understand her love for her horse."

  The waiter arrived and placed a drink in front of each of them. With a nod of thanks to the waiter, Nash lifted his glass in a toast. "To Sam, the rescuer of doomed horses and the mender of little girls' broken hearts."

  Rolling her eyes, Sam took a sip of her drink. "You give me way too much credit."

  "Maybe not enough." He rested his arms on the table, studying her, still in shock over the change in her appearance. "You're a fascinating bundle of contradictions. Tell me about yourself."

  Self-consciously, Sam smoothed a finger down the side of her glass, gathering condensation on the tip of her finger. "There isn't much to tell."

  "I think there is. For starters, why don't you tell me why you chose to become a veterinarian?"

  Sam touched the drop of condensation to her tongue, totally unaware of the sensuality behind the gesture … or its effect on Nash. "I grew up on a ranch surrounded by animals. When I was little, I used to trail Gabe, our foreman, and watch him doctor the livestock. Before long, I was doctoring them myself."

  The tip of that pink tongue darted out again, licking the last droplet of water from her finger … and Nash felt his groin tighten in response. Surprised by his reaction to her, he forced his attention back to the conversation. "Did your father encourage this interest?"

  "My dad?" Sam snorted indelicately. "Hardly. In fact, if he'd lived, I'd never have become a vet." Noting his surprise, Sam explained. "Daddy wouldn't let any of us go away to college. Flat-out refused. Said all the education we needed he could provide right there on the Double-Cross. We went round and round with him over it. Especially Merideth. She wanted to go to acting school in New York. But he wouldn't budge. Once he made his mind up about something, there was no changing it."

  "Sounds like a stubborn man."

  "Oh, he was stubborn all right. And he always got his way."

  Nash looked at her across the table. Candlelight flickered on high cheekbones, highlighted full lips moistened from the peach-flavored drink, and teased at the shadows between her breasts exposed by the generous V in her blouse. As he stared, he wondered if she realized how beautiful she was, how sexy, and wondered further why he'd never noticed it before now. But he knew better than to comment on it. He'd already learned that compliments made her uneasy. "Do you enjoy your work?" he asked instead.

  "I love it, though my business is small."

  "Where's your clinic located?"

  Sam chuckled, circling a finger around the rim of her glass. "In my truck."

  He arched a brow in surprise.

  "I've never wanted the kind of restrictions a clinic demands, though I have commandeered a room in the barn for my supplies. I limit my practice to ranch and farm calls. If X-rays or surgery are required, I refer my clients to one of the other practices nearby."

  "Wouldn't it be more profitable to set up your own clinic so that you could offer a full line of services?"

  "Probably."

  "Then why not do it?"

  She lifted a shoulder and took a sip of her drink. "Being cramped up inside all day doesn't appeal to me." She set her drink down, and folded her forearms along the table. "What about you?" she said, redirecting the conversation his way. "Colby tells me you inherited Rivers Ranch from your father."

  He shuddered visibly. "I hate to think what all she had to say on that subject."

  Sam laughed, the first real laugh Nash had ever heard from her. The sound was full, yet feminine, and made his own smile widen.

  "Don't worry," Sam assured him. "She didn't reveal any deep, dark family secrets, although I did get the impression that she wished you were a rancher and not a developer."

  "I'm afraid my choice of career is a huge disappointment to my daughter."

  "I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but I do know that the idea of leaving Rivers Ranch saddens her. She seems to love it there."

  Nash smiled ruefully. "She always has. But then that's probably because her experiences there are more like vacations. She doesn't know how difficult life can be on a working ranch."

  "And you do?" The words were out of her mouth before Sam realized she'd even voiced them. "Sorry," she said, blushing. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  "No apology necessary. And, yes, I know how hard ranch life is. I grew up on Rivers Ranch."

  Sam leaned forward, unable to hide her surprise. "Really? I took you for a city slicker. No offense," she added hastily. "But considering the way you are and all, I have a hard time picturing you working on a ranch."

  Biting back a smile, Nash leaned forward too. "Believe it or not, I can rope and brand with the best of them. I just choose not to."

  Sam sank back into her chair. "Wow," she murmured. "Who'd have ever thought?" She stared at him, trying to imagine him covered in grime, holding a steer down in the dirt while pressing a hot branding iron to its hide. The image simply wouldn't form. "Then why don't you?" she blurted out. She leaned forward again, her expression earnest. "I mean, why don't you put the ranch back into operation instead of cutting it all up and selling off the pieces? It wouldn't take much, I'd bet. The pastures need cleaning, but the soil is good. You'd need to do some work on the barn, but, heck, you could hire someone to do that. And since cattle prices are down right now, it would be the perfect time to—"

  Nash threw up a hand to stop her. "No way. I've had a stomach full of ranch life."

  "But—"

  "I know you mean well," he said, interrupting her. "But nothing you say will convince me to go back to ranching. I watched my grandfather and my father sweat blood over that place, sacrificing everything, including their health, to keep from losing the land when times were rough. As far as my father was concerned, he didn't have a family, he had the land, and that's all he ever wanted."

  Sam heard the bitterness in his voice. "And you resent him for that," she said knowingly.

  "Whether I resent him or not doesn't matter anymore. My father's gone and soon the ranch will be, too. Besides, I like what I do and I'm good at it. I can sleep at night, not worrying about the weather or the price of grain or the price of beef on the hoof." Realizing how worked up he was getting, he smiled ruefully. "Sorry. As you can probably tell, Rivers Ranch is a sore spot with me." He forced himself to settle back in his chair, anxious to change the subject. "Now why don't you tell me about this other sister of yours. Merideth, isn't it?"

  Sam lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, sleep the last thing on her mind. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, keeping her eyes wide open, her mind clicking like a computer sorting data.

  She'd done it. She'd actually gone out with a man and survived. Not only survived, she thought with a small measure of pride, but enjoyed herself immensely.

  Of course, the credit was due to Nash. He was a gentleman through and through, and so easy to talk to that she'd forgotten her nervousness … at least for a while. There had been that moment of awkwardness when he'd walked her to the door. He'd taken her hand, and for a minute she'd thought that he meant to kiss her.

  But he hadn't. He'd simply squeezed her hand, then released it and thanked her for an enjoyable evening.

  Sam pressed two fingers to her lips, wondering what it would have been like if he'd actually kissed her. Would she have panicked? Would she have been repulsed? Would she have melted at his feet?

  Grabbing the covers, she pulled them over her head, groaning. "Grow up, Sam," she told herself firmly. It was a date. Nothing more.

  But she still had her dreams.

  While Sam was pulling the covers over her head, Nash was tiptoeing down the hall of his own house, hoping to make it to his room without being detected.

  "Nash? Is that you?"

 
He halted, grimacing as a light snapped on in his mother-in-law's room. Feeling like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew, he took a few steps backwards and stuck his head into her room.

  "Yes, ma'am, it's me."

  She pulled on glasses, peering at the clock beside her bed. "Goodness! It's after one!" she exclaimed, looking up at him in surprise.

  But Nash refused to feel guilty. Hell! He'd taken a woman to dinner. Where was the crime in that?

  "Did Colby give you any problems?" he asked, hoping to divert her attention from the lateness of the hour.

  Her expression softened. "She was an angel. We decided against watching The Little Mermaid again, opting instead to look through old scrapbooks." She sighed dramatically and pulled a handkerchief from the cuff of her nightgown's sleeve to dab at an eye. Nash knew she was setting him up for something, but what? He didn't have to wait long to find out.

  "It was difficult for me, of course," she went on, "but Colby so loves looking at pictures of her mother. Your and Stacy's wedding album is her favorite." She pressed her handkerchief against trembling lips, then turned her watery gaze on Nash. "Sometimes it's so hard to believe that she's gone. It's seems like only yesterday that the two of you married. I miss her so much."

  The reminder was well-aimed and ripped through Nash's heart with the brutality of a serrated knife. "Yes, Nina," he said, wearily, "I miss her, too." He backed from the door. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll head on to bed. It's been a long day."

  Hands, clever competent hands that teased and seduced moved over his shoulders, his back, kneading the muscles in his arms, splaying over his chest and abdomen, flicking a nail against his aroused nipples. Lips full and luscious drew on his own, sucking him deeper and deeper into the web of desire that weaved itself around them. Beneath him she moved, her skin as sleek as satin where it rubbed against his, her slender hips arching high to meet his.

  He could feel the heat building within him. His manhood straining to meet her, to join with her, to mate with her. To make them one. He knotted his hands in the tangle of long brown hair haloing her face on his pillow.

  "Sam," he murmured, nearly drunk with the taste of her. "Oh, Sam," he cried as he entered her and her velvet flesh closed around him. The heat built, nearly blinding him, as sensation after sensation stacked one upon the other, filling him to near bursting. "Now," he groaned. "I want you now."

  Nash awakened abruptly, pushing himself to his elbows, his body drenched in sweat. His chest rose and fell in deep, grabbing gulps for air as he looked around his bedroom and found himself alone. A dream, he told himself. Just a dream. He twisted, his legs tangling in the sheet as he groped blindly for the lamp beside his bed.

  He found the knob and light flooded the room. He closed his eyes, blocking out the shocking brightness, then opened them … and found himself staring at a picture of Stacy.

  "Oh, God," he groaned, falling back against his pillows. He pressed his fists against his eyes. How had this happened? he asked himself in growing panic. How had he allowed himself to become physically attracted to Sam? When he'd lost Stacy, he'd sworn that he'd never become involved with another woman. For almost seven long years, he'd held to that pledge.

  Dropping his fists from his eyes, he leaned over, plucking the picture from his nightstand. He settled back against his pillows and propped the frame on his abdomen. Stacy. His wife. The woman he'd promised to love and cherish until death do us part. He waited for the guilt to seep in. The sense of betrayal for thinking intimate thoughts of another woman.

  Nothing surfaced but the familiar anger.

  He sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his head back against the pillows. Stacy had lied to him. She'd deceived him. And in the end he'd lost her. Anger tightened his chest, firmed his lips. The doctors had told her not to get pregnant. They'd warned her of the dangers. A woman who was already suffering kidney problems from advancing diabetes would never survive a pregnancy.

  But Stacy, stubborn Stacy, had ignored their warnings. She'd only pretended to take the birth-control pills her doctor had prescribed. She'd gotten pregnant, and then hidden her pregnancy from Nash until she was over three months along.

  He remembered well the day she had told him about the baby they'd created together. At first, he'd been too shocked to respond, then he'd become angry, shouting at her, demanding that she terminate the pregnancy. Finally, he'd been reduced to begging.

  But she'd refused.

  Stubborn Stacy. Determined to have the baby she longed for, convinced that she was strong enough to survive the demands the baby would make on her body.

  But she hadn't survived, though she had lived longer than the doctors had predicted. She'd lived eight hours after giving birth to Colby. Long enough to hold the baby she'd gambled her life on, long enough to name her daughter … but not long enough to erase Nash's anger with her.

  And that was where the guilt lay with Nash. He'd accepted his wife's death, healed the wounds her passing had left on his heart, but he'd never gotten over his anger with her for robbing him of whatever life they might have had together. And because he couldn't let go of his anger, he felt a tremendous guilt. Nina only increased that guilt by trying so desperately to keep her daughter's memory alive.

  Nash sighed, replacing the picture on his nightstand. He touched the pad of a finger to Stacy's cheek. He didn't need Nina's constant reminders. He remembered Stacy. He always would. But she was gone. That had been her choice and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

  But there was something he could do about this attraction he was beginning to feel for Sam. He wouldn't get involved with her. It wouldn't be fair. Not when he was still burdened with this guilt, this anger with Stacy.

  "Daddy said he had a good time Friday night."

  Sam kicked over a barrel and sent it rolling. "He did, huh?"

  Colby trailed Sam, leading Whiskey. "Yeah, and he said you looked absolutely gorgeous."

  Shocked, Sam whirled to stare.

  Colby squenched up her nose and giggled. "I think he likes you."

  Sam glanced at the Mercedes parked by the arena and at Nash, who sat inside talking on a cellular phone. She forced herself to stoop and pull the barrel upright. "You shouldn't say things like that, Colby."

  "Why not? It's true." She fell into step behind Sam again, as they headed for the next barrel. "Did he kiss you good-night?"

  Sam jerked to a stop and whirled. "Colby!"

  Unfazed, the girl peered up at Sam, her look an odd combination of impertinence and innocence. "Well, did he?"

  Sam turned away, marching toward the next barrel. "That's none of your business."

  "When Daddy says that, it usually means yes."

  "Well, when I say it, it means just that. It's none of your business."

  "I'll bet he did kiss you," Colby said smugly, "because your face is so red. Are you going out with him again?"

  "No."

  "Did he ask you?"

  "No."

  "He will."

  Exasperated, Sam turned. "Are you going to ride that horse or lead him around all day?"

  Colby grinned, showing off that missing front tooth. "I'm gonna ride. Will you give me a boost up?"

  Frowning, Sam cupped her hands and Colby stuck a boot in the cradle she'd made. With a heave upwards, Sam settled her in the saddle. "Warm him up," she instructed, and turned away.

  "Sam?" Colby called out, stopping her.

  "What?"

  "I think you're pretty, too."

  Though she wanted to hold on to her anger with the child, Sam discovered she couldn't. Chuckling, she shook her head. The kid was too dang much. "Thanks, Colby."

  Sam stole a glance over her shoulder in the direction of Nash's car. He still sat behind the wheel with his cellular phone propped between shoulder and ear. He had a notebook of some kind braced against the steering wheel and was writing furiously as he talked. The fact that he hadn't ventured from the car since his arrival with Colby almo
st an hour earlier began to eat at Sam.

  She didn't know what she'd expected from him, but some kind of acknowledgement of the evening they'd spent together would have gone a long way in negating her own doubts about its success. Even a casual "Hi, how are you doing?" would have beaten this awkward silence.

  With a sigh, she turned her gaze back to the center of the arena where Colby was practicing figure eights. Colby was wrong, Sam told herself. Nash hadn't had a good time. In fact, he was probably sitting out the lesson in his car in order to avoid having to talk to her again.

  Two quick blasts from the Mercedes's horn had Sam turning again in his direction. As she watched, the window glided down and Nash stuck out his head. "Time's up, Colby!" he yelled. "Let's go."

  "Oh, Daddy," she whined. "Just a little bit longer?"

  "No, and no arguments." His head disappeared inside the car again and the window slid back up. He never once glanced Sam's way.

  "I went to dinner with him last Friday night."

  Camille arched a brow. "Oh? And how was it?"

  Sam slumped in the chair, scrunching her mouth to one side. "Miserable."

  "For you or for him?"

  Sam wanted to lie and say for both of them, but an innate honesty made her reply, "Him."

  "Did he tell you that?"

  "Not in so many words."

  "Then how do you know he was miserable?"

  Sam lifted a shoulder. "It was obvious."

  "Was he rude?"

  "No. He was a perfect gentleman."

  "Then what was it about his behavior that made you think he was miserable?"

  "Nothing that night. It was yesterday, at Colby's lesson, that I realized the night was a flop."

  "And what happened at the lesson to make you think this?"

  "He sat in his car and talked on his cellular phone the entire time."

  "So you assumed he didn't enjoy your evening together."