by Cait London
A hunter, Rio sensed when she awoke, and instinctively his hand shot out to capture her wrist. She jerked it away, leaving him with the silky-soft feel of her skin. Swinging her legs and feet, encased in the sleeping bag, to the floor, Paloma glared at him. In the shadowy interior, her eyes flashed silver. “Get out of my bus.”
“Not a chance. I brought your dinner...you need to eat. And we can talk.” Rio poured a cup of the hot soup and handed it to her. She’d awakened too fiercely; at some time in her life, she’d had to protect herself when she slept.
Distracted and apparently hungry, Paloma sniffed the soup appreciatively, and Rio tossed a spoon onto her lap. “Shrimp bisque.”
“I’m not eating this.” Paloma dipped the spoon into the soup and stirred it before lifting the first spoonful to her lips. She reminded Rio of a wary kitten—hungry, yet ready to scratch and hiss.
“Too bad. It goes with the fettuccine Alfredo.” He almost smiled at Paloma’s light, reluctant groan as he unzipped the hot food bag to show the platter to her, then zipped it again.
The lady has a healthy appetite, he thought as Paloma quickly finished the soup and dived into the hot fettuccine, expertly winding it around her fork. He couldn’t resist a taunting nudge after all she’d put him through; her blue eyes flashed at him as he asked, “This isn’t so bad, is it? Us sharing the same air?”
“You’re persistent,” she said around a mouthful of pasta. “I don’t like that trait And I don’t like being studied. Every time I turn around, you’re there with that dark narrowed expression—as if you’re hunting something and I’m it. That may get you to first base with most women, but I’m not buying. I’m certain you can find a woman more to your liking—you’ve got the experience.”
Rio wanted to wrap his fist in that mass of sleek black hair and—She was baiting him, looking for a reason to block negotiations on the feed store; he wouldn’t give her the chance. Letting her taunt drop into the shadows, he said evenly, “With you as a careless partner, I’m legally tied at every decision. I live in Jasmine. I want that feed store to continue as it has since pioneer days, when it was a trading post” Then he asked the question that had lurked in his mind since he’d met Paloma. “Exactly what do you have against me?”
Dislike shot out of her like a steel-tipped arrow. “Does it matter?”
“I’ll live without your love, lady, but I’m curious.”
“I don’t like being pushed or trapped. It’s that simple. And I don’t like ladies’ men. You’re obviously one of the breed. I just let you come along because my ladies enjoyed patting that good luck rear so much.”
When she smirked, Rio fought that slight, rising edge to his temper. Then it cut through his control. “I like women. I enjoy them. Sorting through them is basic to getting the home and family I want... What are you afraid of, Paloma? Returning to Jasmine? Facing Boone’s death? Me?” he shot at her, the shadows quivering around them.
“Lay off,” she warned him in a low, dangerous purr, and her hand tightened on the plate.
“I’d say, it’s all of the above. You throw that pasta at me and you’re in for it.” He stood and braced each hand on either side of the seats, then leaned down toward her. “There’s hot water in the thermos and your choice of herbal teas in the bag... This temperamental artist bull is a cover. You’re afraid, of something, lady, and that’s why you’re running. Make it easy on yourself and sell. Then you won’t have to face whatever is in Jasmine that terrifies you, and you’ll have a nice little profit.”
He took his time, running his finger slowly down the straight line of her nose. He thoroughly enjoyed touching Paloma, surprising her, unraveling all those nasty, exciting, unpredictable edges. When she reached to slash at his hand, Rio caught hers, held it just long enough to test her will against his, then lifted it to his lips. Her skin was ever so soft and fitted his hand, his mouth—He pressed a kiss into her palm and straightened to watch her reaction; her expression was stunned, pleasing him. Paloma’s sleeping bag began to slide down—with her in it Rio placed his hands under her arms and lifted her back up to sit. “The material is slippery,” she explained quickly.
He’d expected and enjoyed the quick, irritated rubbing away of his kiss on her palm against her thigh, the dark thunderous look and the temper vibrating in her husky, low, uneven tone. “Don’t threaten me. Why don’t you just mosey along out of here?”
“You’re afraid, slim. And you’re running,” he repeated, tossing the challenge at her before he turned and walked to the exit. “Let me know when you’re ready to sell.”
Two
Kallista Blaylock eased to her side, the baby kicking to protest the move as she snuggled into her husband’s arms. Roman Blaylock was certainly a comfortable man. Early March swooped around the corners of the addition they’d made to Boone Llewlyn’s stately two-story home. Snug in her bed, Cindi, another granddaughter of Boone’s, slept soundly. Cindi didn’t know yet that she was really Kallista’s half sister, and Boone’s granddaughter—but in time she would. Meanwhile, Roman had adopted her to keep her safe. The eleven-year-old child had had enough trauma in her life, thanks to her parents. Boone Llewlyn’s irresponsible, bigamist sons had left a trail of unwanted children. But Boone had provided for his grandchildren, Kallista and the rest; he’d paid a fortune to keep his sons’ offspring from publicly being branded as illegal. They only knew their grandfather as a family friend, their parents dropping them off to visit the old man. As executor of Boone’s estate, Roman had been given the secret task of bringing each one home—to the big Llewlyn ranch. When it was time, each of Boone’s grandchildren would know how their grandfather loved them. Kallista’s fingertip stroked Roman’s curved lips. “Roman, are you going to tell me what’s pleasing you so much these days? Other than the baby.”
His big hand moved to circle and warm the hard mound, their baby, and she sighed. Against her cheek, Roman grinned and she punched him lightly. “Okay, I’m not worried about Paloma Forbes returning to Jasmine. She’s half owner of the feed store, and since Rio went to buy her out, he’s been acting like a growly old bear. Else thinks he’s found ‘the one.”’
“Boone kept files on all of us grandchildren, and his file on Paloma said she’s not looking. Something happened in her early twenties and she hasn’t dated since. Roman, can’t you tell Paloma who she is—Boone’s granddaughter? She’s had such a rough life. As a child, her mother drove her ruthlessly. She was left in hotels, locked in rooms alone and poorly fed and clothed—until it was time for her to perform.”
“All of you have had a hard time, but I promised Boone that I wouldn’t tell anyone but my wife—and his grandchildren, when it was time for them to know. It’s not time yet, to tell Paloma. Boone wanted them to come here, to love the land, before telling them. You know, she’s the image of his mother. Tough, too. ‘Made to stand the weather.’ She won’t give up her half of the feed store. But Rio never backs off once he’s set on a course.”
Kallista punched his side again. “You’re enjoying this. Women dote on your brother. He’s easygoing and lovable... and used to doing as he pleases.”
Roman grinned again. “So is she. She’s the payback for the easy life Rio’s had with women, though he hasn’t been in the dating game for years.”
Roman turned to bend over his wife, love in his eyes. “If Rio decides she’s the one, he’ll go after her. Just like I went after you.”
“You’ve got that turned around, big boy. I bagged you—you didn’t have a chance. And you deliberately gave Rio Paloma’s location to start the fireworks, didn’t you? Stop smirking and kiss me.”
“She’s here. That Paloma Forbes woman. Turned up riding a big, flashy motorcycle. She’s walking around the place and snooping. Dressed all in black leather. She’s an Amazon—hard to picture her as some high-class piano player—and I don’t like the look in her eye...I seen it before, just before women start messing with things they hadn’t ought to,” Pueblo Habersham had
whispered into the telephone when he thought Paloma wasn’t listening. “Get over here, Rio, and get her out of here. She ain’t sweet, like she was as a kid with Boone. She just comes right to the point and asks questions bald-like. I’m only the manager. I ain’t no encyclopedia.”
Paloma placed her biker boots on a sack of chicken mash, stripped off her black leather jacket and settled back to wait It had taken her two nonstop weeks to complete her affairs, and now in the middle of April, she was exhausted and ready for the seclusion of Boone’s cabin. Boone. Was he her father? Why had her mother kept that secret all those years?
The rough-hewn timbers running across the old feed store ceiling were the same, the wooden bins of bulk garden seed, even the small barrel seats used by Jasmine’s elderly spit-andwhittle males. The smells, dark and laden with memories, surrounded her. She listened to the baby chicks cheep in their cardboard boxes and thought of how Boone had brought her here to buy feed for his animals. She’d always loved him. She’d measured every man she met by Boone and none had come close. Once, she thought she was in love, but that bnef affair ended painfully, her lover moving to another virgin, another conquest.
As an adult, she couldn’t bear to return to Jasmine, to see the man who’d rejected her. When Boone died, the happiest part of her life had been torn away. She’d come now to answer Rio’s challenge, or was it her own? She had to resolve her tangled emotions, her feelings about Boone, her suspicions that he was her father. Lou, her booking agent, had turned pale when she told him that she wanted a year off to rest and to resolve the past. “You’re giving me a heart attack, kid. Say you don’t mean it. You’ll ruin everything we’ve bmtt—” But in the end, Lou agreed that she badly needed a break. “You’re too thin, kid. Try to get healthy, will you? You got from April to next Apdl—one year to rest. Next time I see you, no circles under your eyes, got it?”
Paloma spread her slender capable fingers, studying them. This feed store was all she had of Boone. She couldn’t let go, couldn’t sell it to Rio, not yet. She couldn’t bear to see Llewlyn House or Boone’s grave. Her last tour had swelled her bank balance and she didn’t have to worry about money. Now it was time to sweep away the old, and create a new life for herself. For months, she’d felt like a mechanical woman, though only she knew her performances lacked the fire she could give them. At first, the passionate storms within her had fired her career, but now she had to find peace. She’d start by cleaning the feed store, placing her music aside long enough to discover who she was and what she wanted. Was she her mother’s daughter? Boone’s?
April to next April. Would she be able to make peace with a lifetime of Boone’s rejection in just one year? Was she his daughter? Why hadn’t he wanted her? Paloma glanced outside the feed store to the snow-covered Rocky Mountains and damned Rio Blaylock for challenging her to face her fears.
For the past few months, she’d wondered about her career. She was tired, edgy and had just realized she did not love playing the piano. She hated concerts, was drained after them. Was that her mother’s gift to her—to be owned by the life her mother had created?
Paloma watched Rio’s black pickup glide into the parking lot and smiled. She was really going to enjoy this payback.... She listened to Rio’s boots hitting the ancient boardwalk outside, and savored the impatient, angry tattoo.
Rio stepped into the cluttered feed store office, a small section of adobe brick warmed by an ancient cast-iron heating stove. A lean, tall Westerner, dressed in a lined flannel jacket, he hadn’t softened in the three months since she’d seen him. Beneath the dark stubble on his jaw, a cord moved rhythmically as if in anger. He whipped off his black Western hat, slapped it against his leather chaps and found her instantly, his black eyes narrowing. She denied the little shiver lifting the hairs on her nape. She’d faced hard audiences before, and the best method was to step right up and launch into the job she had to do. Right now, that was keeping her control and putting this cowboy in his place. She lifted her eyebrows and met his stormy gaze. “Did I catch you at a...” She paused to wrap her next words in a smirking insinuation. “Busy time? You weren’t interrupted, were you?”
“You picked a fine time all right,” he stated in a low dangerous tone and took off his denim jacket to reveal a battered red plaid work shirt. The thermal shirt beneath it was frayed. He tossed the jacket to a rickety chair and Paloma disliked the sudden raw sensual impact to her body as Rio turned his back, a powerful, graceful sinewy male. He took his time pouring coffee from a battered pot atop the old woodstove and turned slowly to her. His black eyes leveled coolly at her over the coffee mug. “I take it you came to do business.”
“I have.” She almost felt sorry for the confident, impatient male in front of her, his hair shaggier than when they’d met, just past his collar. He hadn’t bothered to shave. With the shadows of the large, old room hovering around him and the weathered logs as a backdrop, Rio could have been a mountain man coming down to purchase his goods at the old trading post.
The man lacked a soft melody. He was too earthy, too raw, too—just too. And just the sight of him set her off, reminding her of how he’d left the bus, tossing her fears at her feet. He really-shouldn’t have kissed her-palm, those warm lips resting against her skin, branding her. A guarded, solitary woman, she couldn’t forgive the intimacy, the trespass.
“Good. Name the final price, I’ll write the check and you can be on your way.” Rio took the checkbook from his shirt pocket and tossed it to the scarred old desk.
She’d expected the arrogant contempt in his tone. This was a man who had lived in one place all of his life, tethered by family and land. She locked her gaze with his and settled back to enjoy the impact of her next words, “I’m staying and I’m not selling. I think my half would make a great country boutique.”
Pueblo’s shocked gasp behind the slightly opened door to the storage room said she’d scored a hit on at least one male. Rio’s cold, tight smile almost caused her to shiver. Almost. “I suppose you think that’s funny.”
“I’m staying, partner,” she said cheerfully and stood up. “See that those girly pictures get stripped from the bathroom, will you? And that it’s scrubbed down. Until we can remodel, adding another bathroom, layers of gray on the porcelain won’t suit my lady customers. Be seeing you. Hey, Pueblo,” she called. “I’m parking my bike in the storage shed. I’ll be down from the mountain when I’m ready.”
Rio caught her arm as she passed him and Paloma resented those four inches up to his face. She wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. “What mountain?” he asked roughly. “There are avalanches up there, lady, and spring flooding. I wouldn’t want to have to pull you out from under a ton of snow.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Have I asked for your help?”
There was just that flick of temper, to show she’d scored a hit. He smelled of smoke and fire and leather and dangerous male, packed with enough exciting edges to make her feel alive, really alive. “Where are you staying?” he asked roughly.
“Boone’s mountain cabin. I know the way.” She’d been safe there, with Boone. Now, as an adult, she had to sift through her childhood memories and find peace. “Boone wouldn’t want me to sell. He gave me his half for a reason. I’m going to find out why.”
Rio’s dark eyes softened; “Spanish eyes” the locals called the Blaylocks’ expressive trademark. “I’ll take you to his grave—”
“No!” The answer came out too sharp, too fierce, and Paloma hated that Rio had seen inside her fears—the man saw too much. He was frowning slightly now and studying her face. He’d known Boone...was her likeness to him easily seen?
“I’ll take you to Llewlyn House. My brother and his wife have added on to it...their family is growing, but there’s plenty of room. You’d be welcome.”
“No...I’d...rather not.” A wave of panic smashed against her, all the old memories coming back, the old piano... Boone.... She wasn’t ready; she had to prepare, to protect herself bef
ore—
“When you’re ready, then,” Rio murmured as if understanding her fears. His tone was soft, gentling, and Paloma sucked air, fighting the panic. Rough warmth curled around her hand, and she looked down to see his larger hand holding hers. The sight terrified her, too intimate, too close, too warm.... She jerked her hand away and hurried out the door.
She heard his footsteps, then for a second time, Rio’s hard grasp caught her, spun her around. “Listen, you hardhead It’s dangerous up there—”
She managed to smile coolly, despite fears fluttering around her like vulture wings. She was good at that, managing to look cool and hard, when inside, she was in agony. She’d learned first under her mother’s cruelties, and then fighting stage fright in concerts. She knew how to shield herself. “Worried about little old me?” she taunted.
Pueblo came outside, peering up at her. “Rio is our local ranger, ma’am. He’s rescued plenty of people in his time. There was a forest fire a few years back and he almost killed himself, trying to rescue a little boy. The boy didn’t make it and—”
“That’s enough.” The quickly shielded look of pain etched in Rio’s face surprised Paloma.
“I’ll be all right,” she said quietly. “Your brother, Boone’s executor—Roman—said there’s plenty of wood and I’m welcome to use the cabin. Boone taught me how to live up there. A friend is helicoptering in food and supplies. I’m looking forward to being alone. You’re not stopping me. Now let go of my arm.”
She wished Rio weren’t looking at her so closely, that his hand hadn’t just reached to stroke her long, loose hair. She wished that she didn’t tremble when his fingertip brushed back a tendril from her cheek. She wished her heart hadn’t started racing at that close, intimate look as he bent slightly to brush his lips against hers. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he whispered in a deep, uneven smoky tone. Then he leaped off the platform and strode toward his pickup.
