Since the ranch caretaker was so organized that he left detailed notes about starting a generator, Peter wasn't at all surprised to learn he had left the same kind of clear instructions for watering and feeding the stock.
"We'll be fine," Katherine assured him again. "You tell your father not to worry a minute about us. Tell him to save his energy for healing that leg of his."
"I'll do that, ma'am."
With one last worried look, the boy disappeared once more inside his winter gear, mounted the snowmobile at the bottom of the porch then roared off down the driveway.
"What now?" Peter asked when the throb of the sled's motor had faded to a distant roar.
She smiled, the first one she'd given him since his arrival the day before. "First we'd better find you something warmer than that leather jacket you came in. Then I guess we get to work."
* * *
She could do this.
Katie pulled on the warmest, thickest gloves she could find in the mudroom while she repeated the mantra to herself. She was a bright, healthy woman. She was strong, she was invincible, yada yada yada.
If she could keep from throwing up the half bagel she'd managed to choke down for breakfast, she just might make it through.
And if she could keep her mind away from the dangerous memory of how sleep-rumpled and sexy Peter Logan had looked that morning, she just might be able to control her chaotic hormones enough to keep her out of trouble.
You're already in a world of trouble, Katherine Celeste, a sly little voice in her head mocked.
But she didn't have to make things worse by doing something utterly stupid like falling in love with him. She could only be relieved that Peter despised her so she wasn't tempted to complicate the mess by sleeping with him again.
She was relieved, she told herself. It was better this way. Once the storm cleared, he would return to Portland and leave her alone. He would likely want nothing more to do with her. And she could think of no reason for their paths to cross again.
She would be free to have her child alone and he would never know their single night of passion had left any legacy behind.
She drew in a shaky breath, fighting off the sudden depression that had settled on her shoulders, colder and heavier than even eighteen inches of snow. She had no choice, she reminded herself, and walked into the great room to face him.
Despite her lingering nausea and the ache in her heart, she had to laugh at the picture he made. The Portland gossip columnists would have a tough time believing the man zipping into brown insulated coveralls was the same sexy, urbane CEO they loved to write about, the one who consistently made it on to Portland's Top Ten Best-Dressed list.
Peter was a big man but Clint was huge, both tall and broad. His coveralls on Peter bagged in every direction.
He looked up at the sound of her laughter. "At least they're roomy," he said with a wry look.
Maybe it was a stress release from the tension still simmering between them, but her laughter seemed to bubble out like water from a geyser. "Look at it this way," she said. "If there are any half-frozen calves out there, we'll know just where to put them to warm them up."
"You can just forget that idea right now. I'm not sharing. Any half-frozen calves will just have to find their own heat source."
He finished zipping up the coveralls, watching her with an odd light in his eyes as her laughter faded. "Okay, I'm ready," he said. "Are you sure you're up to this? You're still looking a little peaked. I can probably take care of things on my own."
So much for that vaunted pregnancy glow, Katie thought. She looked horrid and she knew it perfectly well. She just had to keep him from figuring out why.
"I'm fine. Let's go," she muttered, and led the way out into the teeth of the storm.
Five
Once they were outside, she wasn't surprised when Peter took over the lead, bearing the full brunt of the wind that cut like jagged glass, even through all the layers. Despite her six-foot-tall moving windbreak, the storm still hurled swirling snowflakes at her like tiny, sharp stones that stung her eyes and lodged in every exposed nook.
Peter shortened his stride through the knee-high snowdrifts to match hers so she was better able to walk in his footsteps. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness. It was hard enough fighting the wind without having to blaze a path through the snow.
The three hundred feet from the house to the sturdy barn seemed to take an eternity to cross but at last they reached the door. Both of them worked another several moments clearing snow with their gloved hands away from the doorway so they could slide open the door.
By the time they made it inside, Katie was exhausted and queasy enough to fear the bagel would make a reappearance.
Peter pulled off his hat and gloves as Clint's two border collies greeted them with quick, well-mannered barks. He leaned down to pet one, shaking his head. "That storm is incredible. I've never seen anything like it!"
"Neither have I. I've been here a few times during storms but they were nothing like this. This is intense, even for western Wyoming. I can't believe it's March."
"Remind me to heed the weather forecast the next time I'm tempted to take off from Portland on a whim."
She wouldn't be around to remind him of anything, she thought with another pang. Back in the city, they would go their separate ways. He would return to the helm of Logan, probably still believing she stole company secrets. This interlude of theirs would probably add more fuel to the Logan-Crosby feud.
She hoped her baby never found out how much her father despised her mother.
"I suppose it's a good thing I did," Peter went on, scratching the other dog. "Come out here, I mean. You never could have handled this on your own."
She wasn't completely helpless. Really, she probably knew more about horses and cattle than he did from all the time she had spent out here. This further evidence of his poor opinion of her stung, she had to admit.
"I would have figured something out," she muttered.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You would have been in one hell of a bind on your own out here and we both know it."
She would have had a rough time of it alone, she had to admit, especially with the nausea so close to the surface and the fatigue weighing her down. To say she was glad he'd come to Sweetwater would have been a gross exaggeration, so she opted to change the subject.
"Let's find out what we have to do, shall we? Joseph said Clint left the instructions in the tack room, right over here."
Clint kept the barn in ruthless order. Just like the rest of his domain, it was clean and well organized—no clutter, no loose hay, no scattered tools. The tack room was used as the ranch office. A huge, scarred pine desk with a computer dominated the room, along with a couple of worn armchairs and one entire wall hung with saddles and bridles and leads. The smell of leather and horses was heavy in the room.
They found the note addressed to Darwin Simmons on a bulletin board behind the desk, sandwiched between an invoice from the feed and grain in Jackson and a list of phone numbers.
Katie tugged off her gloves to pull the note down. Peter stood behind her to peer over her shoulder, and she was suddenly intensely conscious of his nearness. Heat emanated from him in the cool room. He had taken time for a quick shower before bundling into the winter gear and she could smell clean soap and some indefinable scent uniquely Peter.
Pregnancy had definitely made her sense of smell more acute. The scent of him, familiar and erotic, instantly transported her to the night they spent together, reminding her of tasting every inch of his skin, of inhaling that scent as he kissed her, of lying in his arms and feeling safe and warm and wanted.
Oh, how she craved that again.
The intense hunger came out of nowhere and she drew in a sharp breath. What was the matter with her? Peter despised her and thought she had tricked him like some corporate Mata Hari into sleeping with her only so she could worm out Logan secrets.
She was foolish to
even think about their night together. It would never happen again and wanting the impossible only wasted energy she couldn't afford to expend. Might as well wish for that storm out there to suddenly stop, she thought. She had as much chance of controlling her thoughts as she did of controlling the weather.
Where was she? She had lost her place, she realized with chagrin. Even worse, her body had instinctively leaned back toward his, drawn by his heat and the invisible ties that bound them inexorably together. She jerked upright just before she would have settled against him, just as if she had every right to snuggle there.
Had he noticed? she wondered. How could he have missed the motion? Embarrassed color flooded her face and her gaze flew to his. She found him watching her, a disconcerted expression in his eyes.
He cleared his throat and stepped away, putting space between them. "It all looks fairly self-explanatory," he said. "I'll take care of the cattle, you can feed and water the horses."
She didn't register his words for a few moments, still lost in her mortification. When she did, her spine straightened and she forgot all about being embarrassed.
"Forget it," she said sharply. "You take care of the horses and I'll see to the cattle."
Sweetwater's dozen horses could all be fed and watered from inside the barn, but the small herd of cattle were pastured out in the open, in the middle of the wind and swirling snow.
"I'm taking care of the cattle," he said, his voice leaving no room for arguments.
She didn't let his hard tone stop her. "It's my family's ranch. I won't ask you to go out into that storm again, just to help a Crosby."
A muscle worked in his jaw, as if he didn't like being reminded of her last name. "You didn't ask. I offered. No, I'm not offering, I'm insisting. Whether they're Crosby cattle or not, they still need to be fed."
"I can do it."
"You're a hell of a liar, Celeste, but even you won't be able to convince me you're able to haul a hundred-pound hay bale, not when I can tell you're still feeling under the weather."
She didn't like being reminded of how horrible she knew she must look—or the reason for it. "I would be doing everything myself if you hadn't come charging out to Sweetwater like some damn avenging angel. I can handle it. I'm tougher than I look."
"So am I. And if you want to see how tough I can really be, keep arguing."
She bristled. "Are you threatening me, Logan?"
He narrowed his gaze. "Damn right. Shut up or I'll lock you in this tack room until I'm done feeding all the cattle and the horses."
One look at his hard expression warned her he would make good on the threat. She blew out a frustrated breath but wasn't quite ready to give up. "You might run Logan with that iron fist of yours, but this ranch belongs to me and my family."
"I don't see anybody else here but you and me."
"Peter—"
"Give it up. You won't win this one." He headed for the door. "I'll meet you back here when I'm done."
"Take the dogs," she called out just before he went outside. "They'll help you find your way back to the barn with this poor visibility."
After he left with Luke and Millie in the lead, she fought a completely childish urge to throw something at the door behind him or at least to stomp her boot on the plank floor.
He was right. That was the hardest pill to swallow. She wanted to think she was capable and self-sufficient, but deep in her heart, she knew she would have been in a terrible bind without him here. She couldn't carry a hay bale by herself, even a few hundred feet to the fenceline of the vast pasture where the cattle grazed.
She knew she would have figured something out—maybe she could have rigged up one of the horses to help haul the hay bales out—but it would have taken her hours to do everything. In her current condition, she would have been completely exhausted.
Still, he didn't need to be so high-handed. Threatening to lock her in the tack room of her own ranch!
After a few more moments of fuming—and willing her morning sickness to subside—she sighed and rose from Clint's chair. If she didn't get off the south side of her pants, as Clint would say, Peter would finish his share of the workload before she did hers, even though he had the bigger job. And wouldn't she just hate that?
For the next hour, she cleaned out stalls and forked fresh straw and checked the water in each trough. She put out feed according to Clint's instructions and made sure the dogs had food and water in their snug little corner of the barn.
In the process, her nausea receded, to her vast relief. She even started to enjoy being among the horses. She saved her favorite for last, a bay with the prosaic name of Susan.
Katie loved the little mare and rode her whenever she stayed at the ranch. Susan wasn't the flashiest of horses on the ranch or the quickest or the strongest, but she was sturdy and dependable.
When she neared the horse's stall, Susan whinnied a greeting and edged close for her expected treat.
"I didn't bring you anything this time, sweetheart. I'm sorry."
Susan seemed quick to forgive. She nuzzled Katie's shoulder through the insulated coveralls. "Next time I'll bring you a goodie, I promise. I was just a little distracted this morning. Any woman would have been if she woke up with a gorgeous man in her kitchen—even a bossy, annoying one like Peter Logan."
Susan snorted and it sounded so much like the horse agreed with her that Katie couldn't help laughing.
Just as abruptly, her laughter faded. To her considerable dismay, she found herself sobbing instead. For the first time since discovering she was pregnant, Katie gave in to the jumbled emotions raging through her—anxiety and fear and dismay and joy.
Susan nickered and nudged her shoulder again, as if she wanted to give comfort, and Katie buried her face in the horse's warm neck. Where was all this emotion coming from? she wondered. It sneaked up on her out of nowhere, and she didn't know how to cope with it.
Not that she was ever much good at handling emotions, Katie thought. She had spent so much of her childhood trying to stay out of trouble that she suppressed the natural highs and lows every child learns to contend with. After her engagement ended so disastrously, she finally forced herself to see a therapist. Dr. Sikes helped her figure out that she turned to food to avoid facing the thick soup of emotions simmering inside her—the rage and rejection and loneliness.
Talking things out had helped her finally break the vicious cycle between what she ate and how she felt. It had worked with Dr. Sikes and maybe it would help her now.
Though she felt a little silly, she found herself now spilling the whole story of Peter and the charity gala to Susan, who listened with wide, compassionate eyes and only gave the occasional snort in response.
Ten minutes later she felt much better. She wiped at her eyes with the heavy sleeve of her coveralls, grateful beyond measure that Peter was tending to the cattle and hadn't caught her.
Though she knew it wasn't healthy to suppress her emotions completely, she also knew she couldn't afford to give in to them right now. Not with Peter here at Sweetwater, watching her every move. She couldn't give him any hint that she was pregnant. If he found out, he would be livid.
She had to be strong, as stoic as Clint, until Peter left for Portland and she could figure out how to go on from here.
There was no question she was keeping her child. She loved her already, the tiny little life growing inside her. She didn't know how she could so fiercely love someone she hadn't known existed a week ago but she did know she was going to work hard to be a good mother.
Her own childhood had been terribly unhealthy, between Sheila's complete self-absorption and Jack's workaholic disinterest. But Katie was going to do everything in her power to give her own daughter a wonderful future, where her baby knew every moment of her life that she was loved.
That happy picture certainly didn't include Peter Logan. It couldn't possibly.
* * *
The wind still shrieked and howled when Peter finished wi
th the cattle and returned to the barn. The two low-slung dogs led the way, leaping through snow drifts about as high as they were.
His muscles ached from the exertion of forking hay bales and fighting the storm, but he didn't mind. It was a pleasant kind of burn, the ache of knowing he had worked hard and earned each twinge.
He wasn't out of shape; he believed a tight, well-functioning body helped his mind work harder. He swam several dozen laps and ruthlessly lifted weights each morning. This was a different ache, though, one of knowing he had accomplished something more worthwhile than making it to the end of the pool in record time.
He caught the direction of his thoughts and gave a rueful laugh. If he wasn't careful, he might find himself tempted to buy a ranch and move west. No, thanks. He would stick with his weights and his lap pool. His usual workout might lack this noble sense of purpose, but at least when he was done he could usually feel his toes and his eyelashes didn't freeze together.
Just in the hour or so since he'd left, more snow had piled up in front of the barn door and he had to shovel it away to swing the door open. The dogs were as eager as he for the warmth of the barn. They sidled through and immediately found their cozy spot.
He found Katherine nose to nose with one of the horses. She was still wearing her insulated coveralls but had removed her hat and her hair stuck out in little spikes.
"How did it go with the cattle?" she asked.
"Good. Your foreman runs a tight ship. Everything was right where he said it would be. I only had to fork the bales over the fence and the cattle came running."
"What about water?"
"There were a few spots of ice in the middle of the tank but the cattle seemed to be able to get enough water around the edges."
She frowned. "You said you saw some patches of ice? That's not right. The warmer should keep the water above freezing so there isn't any ice. Clint said he was a little concerned with that unit. I wonder if it's malfunctioning."
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