Reckless Promise

by Jenny Andersen

  "Such a big frown so early in the day." Tom tethered a horse to the rail next to her.

  Duty called. She revived enough to give him a thousand-watt smile. Oh, wait. No Alice. She let the smile fade.

  He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. "We need to make some plans. If there's a chance at lunch, let's have a strategy session."

  Bad idea. Their only strategy should be to stop this idiocy. But Tom looked both demanding and pleading. She nodded. "Good idea."

  "What's a good idea?" Mac gazed across the horse at Poppy with flint-hard eyes.

  "I have to get more sunscreen before we leave." She ducked under the rail and darted up the path to her cabin.

  Alone at last. She pressed a cool washcloth to her face. Damn the man. She'd let him turn her to jelly. Again. And he didn't even seem to be all that involved. Except for that bulge in his jeans. The memory of what it had felt like to press her hand against that bulge, to feel him pulse against her fingers sent desire flaring through her.

  She had to stop this. More pressing concerns loomed ahead. Like getting through a trail ride. Like talking Tom out of this stupid plan.

  If only she had realized how much harder being a vamp-in-residence would be. Meeting a man for a few minutes or making a couple of phone calls had been easy compared to this. With Alice—and Mac—watching her as though she were an amoeba under a microscope, her cowgirl vamp act had to be one hundred and ten percent perfect all the time.

  She scurried back to the corral and mounted Trigger. Tom got everyone into a rough approximation of a line and led them off across the meadow toward the hills. They hadn't gone a mile before that blasted Brandi swung into action, blundering out of line to stay close to Tom. He ordered her back to her place and dashed around like a hyperactive sheep dog, nudging horses into line, answering questions, taking the lead to show the way, dropping back to offer hints on how to ride. Just watching him exhausted her more than a whole day in her lab. Yearning for that cool, calm, clean, air-conditioned lab, for the impersonal, bustling city, for home, swept over her. She sighed. Even if Kate were successful in getting her reinstated, would it ever be the same?

  "Everybody trot," Tom yelled, pulling her back to the confusion of people and horses and dust and messy emotional problems.

  Poppy rode at the rear of the group, with Mac right behind her, close enough to hear anything she said even if Tom had managed to stay next to her. Mac watched her every move, she knew it, and he probably snickered at every bounce.

  She felt his gaze riveted to her until each tilt of her pelvis felt like an obscene suggestion, until every brush of denim, every touch of leather, set off skyrockets inside her. Wonderful. She'd turned into a poster girl for those wear-it-all-day-no-one-will-know intimate products advertised in tiny type in the back of magazines.

  An hour and a half later they reached their hilltop destination. Gratefully she slid from Trigger's back, aware of muscles she hadn't used in years. When her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled. She would have kept right on going except for the steel-hard arm around her middle.

  "Thought you might be a little shaky," Mac said, hauling her up against him.

  "I'm all right." Except that the feel of him make her even shakier.

  "Sure you are." He eased her down, letting her slide against him and setting her on her feet.

  The friction sent her head spinning. "And I've almost gotten the hang of sitting the trot," she said, grabbing for sanity.

  "I know. I was watching."

  She heard the smile in his voice and stepped away from him to loosen the saddle. "I know. I could feel you."

  He stepped up close behind her. Her breath caught.

  "Hey, Mac." Tom's shout broke the tension. "Help Mrs. Hamilton, will you."

  "Later," Mac muttered in her ear. "I'll see you later."

  Poppy ignored the leap of her pulse and led her horse toward the makeshift hitching rail between two trees. Her first tentative step worked pretty well, so she took a few more, looking around for Tom. Surrounded by people, he loosened girths, tied up horses, answered questions, and gave tips on saddle sores. Not a good time to bother him.

  Her gaze flew to Mac as if magnetized. He'd collected a crowd of women. She snorted. Mac would always collect a crowd of women. He looked up as if he'd heard her thoughts, and winked at her over the heads of his groupies. She picked her way through the sagebrush of the clearing toward Tom.

  By the time she reached him, three other guests had claimed his attention. She drifted off to look at the view. The next time she tried to get near Tom, Mac popped out from behind a bush to loom between them and didn't leave until two older ladies had commandeered Tom to identify wildflowers.

  A bee sting —on someone else, thank goodness—cut short her third try. He shrugged as he trotted past her with the first aid box.

  He had been crazy to think they'd get a chance to talk on a trail ride. Poppy watched the brunette bimbo lean her barely-covered breasts against his arm and shuddered at the idea that people saw her charade the way she saw this woman. If Tom wanted to make his wife jealous, he could have his pick of buckle bunnies. But this one looked like she played for keeps. No wonder he'd hired Poppy.

  She gave up and went to get her sandwich-and-soft-drink lunch, then looked around for a place to eat. She didn't see Mac, so she took a couple of experimental steps toward Tom.

  Mac popped up, right on cue. "Looking for a place to sit?"

  "Lean, I think," Poppy told him. "I may never sit again."

  "Planning to walk home?"

  "In new cowboy boots? Sure." She shook her head and wandered toward a patch of rocks on the crest of the ridge. If she couldn't sit and couldn't talk to Tom, she could at least enjoy the view. She ended up sharing a rock with the brunette, not a satisfactory arrangement for either party, it appeared.

  Her rock-mate didn't like other women much. "Yes, my name is really Brandi," she said, and turned her back.

  Poppy gave up trying to make conversation. Too bad the guy who'd hit on her in the lounge the first night had declined the trail ride. He and Brandi were made for each other.

  Brandi sighed.

  Poppy tried again. "What a great ride."

  "If you can ride. And I hate horses."

  "But why vacation on a dude ranch?"

  "I thought it would be an opportunity. I expected more men." Brandi gave her a jaundiced stare. "And fewer single women." When Mac joined them, she perked up like a dry plant being watered.

  Poppy got up and carried the wrappings and scraps from her lunch over to the makeshift kitchen area. And there stood Tom.

  "Thank God," he said. "Protect me. That brunette barracuda wants to play for keeps. No pretense there."

  "What's no pretense?" Mac asked.

  Tom strode off toward the tethered horses.

  "Nothing," Poppy said. "Don't you have work to do? Who's watching those kids?"

  "Parents. I don't do babysitting. I watch the people who don't know how ride. Those suckers are like a handful of dynamite. Into trouble faster than a speeding bullet." He grinned down at her. "Like some women."

  When Tom yelled, "Time to mount up," Poppy discovered that her legs had stiffened amazingly. Mac, of course, showed up to help her mount, planting that big hand smack on her bottom again, reducing her brain to mush.

  He stayed beside her for a moment, one hand on the reins, the other on her thigh, and looked up at her. "You okay?"

  She nodded. "Just fine. I haven't ridden for a while is all." The casual words belied her awareness of his nearness, of his hand so close to that tingling between her legs, of what she wanted him to do.

  Of what he wanted to do. It burned in his eyes, igniting a melting deep inside her. Abruptly he turned away.

  Tom led again, the riders strung out single file behind him. She fell into line in front of Mac, but Brandi dropped back behind her. Poppy still felt Mac watching her, though, even through Brandi's flirtatious chatter.

&nbs
p; The horses picked their way down the short, steep section of trail right below the ridge crest where they'd had lunch, riders lurching in their saddles. The trail leveled off and crossed a flat strewn with rocks and animal burrows.

  Behind Poppy, Brandi's voice rose in a shrewish whine. "You can't stop me."

  Decidedly nonflirtatious. Poppy smiled. The thwack of leather on flesh cut her amusement short. Brandi's horse grunted and flung up its head, hooves scrabbling on the loose stones.

  Adrenaline slammed through Poppy when she saw the horse's flattened ears and jigging steps. "Hold him," she shouted. "He's going to bolt."

  Too late. Nostrils flaring, eyes showing wild and white, the horse hit a dead gallop in two strides, heading for certain disaster.

  Chapter 7

  Poppy kicked Trigger into a gallop. Within a few strides she caught the runaway's rein and pulled him to a walk. The horse tried to rear, but Poppy held him down. Brandi wobbled alarmingly in her saddle and began to cry.

  "Hold on to the horn, dummy," Poppy snapped. She got both horses stopped, and Mac crowded close on the other side to steady the idiot woman before she fell.

  His gaze met Poppy's. "Good work. If you hadn't been so quick... Chasing a runaway across ground like this is a lose-lose proposition."

  "I know." She began to shake with the adrenaline aftermath. And pleasure at the compliment. "Faster than a speeding bullet, I believe you said?"

  He shot a quick glance at her shaking hands. "Don't cave on me now, honey."

  "I'm fine." Almost fine, even though she had to work hard to keep her voice from trembling.

  He nodded, and she sat taller in the saddle, that same old pride reaction that she always got when her work won respect.

  Tom had stopped the other riders and arrived at a fast lope. Mac explained, and Tom gave Brandi a look that wouldn't ever make the genial-host handbook.

  "Just to make sure we don't have any more problems..." Mac pulled a lead line out of his saddlebag and clipped it onto the bridle of her horse.

  "Are you going to lead me?" Brandi batted her eyelashes at Mac.

  "Nope. She is," he said cheerfully, and turned to Poppy. "You don't mind if we put you to work, do you?"

  She shook her head and took the lead line, ignoring Brandi's glare. All the way back to the barn, visions of what might have happened tormented her. If the horse had galloped out of control across that rocky flat— Her mind painted all-too-graphic pictures. The horse falling, rolling, Brandi flung like a rag doll. Poppy shuddered. She didn't like Brandi, but no one deserved that. Especially the horse, who would probably have broken a leg.

  Much better to think about Mac. He'd asked her for help. The warm glow that suffused her had nothing to do with lust this time. He trusted her, in this at least.

  When they reached the corral, Tom turned the unsaddling over to Moses. "Come up to the house, please," he told Brandi. "We have to talk."

  "You're mean to me," she sobbed. "You've just ruined—"

  Moses loomed over the group, looking more like an outlaw biker than ever in spite of jeans and boots. "You're upsetting the horses," he said, leaving no doubt he didn't permit anyone to upset the horses. "Git along with Tom like he said."

  Brandi's eyes went wide and scared. After a moment she slunk along after Tom.

  Mac took Poppy's hand and followed.

  "How did you stay so calm?" she asked.

  "Acting ability," he said. The lopsided grin flirted with his mouth. "Pretended I was Eastwood. You looked pretty cool yourself."

  She raised one eyebrow, a gesture that always made her feel cool and sophisticated. "Acting ability." Her knees were shaky when she navigated the porch steps, and cool and sophisticated bit the dust. She leaned against Mac and watched Tom usher Brandi down the hall and into the little office. "What's he going to do to her?"

  "Give her a lecture. Should refuse to let her ride again, but he'll probably just give her a more sluggish horse. Maybe make her ride on a lead line. She pulled that trick on purpose, of course. Guess she figured I'd save her. Sweep her off her horse and carry her home."

  Poppy felt her face flush when she remembered the way he'd swept her up onto his horse. "I imagine you're right," she said, trying to sound prim and proper.

  "Whatever. Tricks like that make me wish we ran sheep instead of dudes. And she was really out of control. Anyone who can't ride any better than that has no business out on the trail." He gave Poppy a long, serious look. "You're a hero, you know. If you hadn't stopped that horse when you did..."

  She closed her eyes. "I kept seeing it, what might have happened, all the way back."

  He put his arms around her and she huddled against him.

  "I prescribe something medicinal," he said. "A small one. You sit on the porch. I'll get it." He scooped her up, carried her outside, and plunked her in a big wicker chair.

  Brandi passed him in the doorway. "What's all that about? I'm the one who should be getting taken care of."

  Why? Poppy bit her tongue to keep from saying anything unpleasant. She wanted to concentrate on how fragile and cherished she had felt in Mac's arms.

  "I mean with tall, dark, and wonderful. Aren't they supposed to carry you across the threshold into the house instead of out?"

  "Oh, well..."

  "Or is he recycling you? You really get around, don't you? Tom yesterday and Mac today. Who's on tomorrow's menu?"

  Poppy's face went stiff. Every time this happened, it hurt more than the last. At least this time, the nasty comments were justified. It still hurt to have people think see her as a bimbo. "Don't you have something to do?" she suggested in a mild voice that didn't give any hint of the mix of feelings roiling inside her.

  "I'm waiting for Alice to bring the car around. I've had enough of this place for one day. I'm going into town. Shopping. Some of us don't spend all our time man-hunting."

  Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Slow deep anger burned in Poppy's stomach. She would not lose her temper. She would not lose her temper. She would not— She would. "Don't feel bad about it, honey," she purred as she stood. "Those who can, do. Those who can't, shop. I'm sure you can manage that."

  Brandi took a deep breath and her face turned red. "You—you—slut. I had you pegged the minute I saw you. I knew—"

  Poppy regretted her words the minute they were out. She'd done it again, acted out of hurt and done something dumb. She had to stop doing that. After all, there was no point in living down to this woman's expectations. And she had brought it on herself by shamelessly chasing two men.

  As if her thought had conjured him, Tom appeared at her side. "Hey."

  "Hey, yourself," she said, and forced her expression into a smile. Alice must be somewhere around. Poppy sank back into the chair and concentrated on giving a good performance.

  "You okay? You look upset." Tom leaned over and breathed the words in her ear. It probably looked like hot stuff.

  She nodded, and her curls brushed his cheek.

  "We owe you big time for that one. That could have been nasty. Not to mention bad publicity and lawsuits," he said in a loving tone of voice that would have fooled any one listening.

  Mac came through the door with a glass in one hand. "Here we go—" He stopped and glared at Tom. "Everything okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, but stepped between them. "This should settle your nerves." He handed her the brandy.

  "Thanks." The heady burn did chase away the deep-down shakiness, but too late she remembered the trouble alcohol had gotten her into the first night here. She tried not to look up at him to see if he remembered.

  He did. "It's only a couple of sips." His glance teased her, saying that he remembered too, and his little half-smile drew her gaze to his mouth. She remembered exactly how it had felt, that first touch.

  "How predictable." Brandi sneered at Poppy. In a move as smooth as Mac's had been, she cut in between them, smiling up at Mac, laying one hand on his arm. Her inch-long purple nails dug into him
and he winced. "I've been wanting to ask your advice," she said as she maneuvered him a few steps away, her voice low and throaty, completely unlike the vixen screech she'd used on Poppy.

  "That is not a nice person," Mrs. Hamilton said in a low voice.

  Poppy jumped. She hadn't seen the woman come up the stairs behind her. "Maybe she's just unhappy."

  Mrs. Hamilton didn't look convinced. "That's no excuse for speaking to you like that. And after you saved her life."

  "Well—"

  "But you know, dear, you really should be a little more careful about married men. Tom, for instance—"

  Poppy looked around, hoping for any avenue of escape. Everyone believed her act, even nice little Mrs. H., and she just couldn't stand it. Alice drove up in that awful Suburban with the steer horns. Poppy bolted down the steps, climbed into the car, and fastened her seat belt. "I guess Brandi changed her mind. Anyway, she's busy. Do you mind if I go to town with you instead?"

  "Of course not. Guests are always welcome to ride along."

  And keep going? Alice probably wished they'd both leave. Poppy might be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. She could only hope Alice would play the good hostess.

  As Alice jerked the SUV into motion and they jounced over the cattle guard, Poppy assured herself she wouldn't look back. Mac probably hadn't even noticed that she'd left. She would not look.

  She leaned forward and checked the side mirror. He stood at the foot of the steps, empty glass in one hand and brunette clinging like poison ivy to the other, staring after them. Well, at least he'd noticed.

  She settled back in her seat and glanced at Alice, whose gaze didn't budge from the road. The tight line of Alice's mouth said not to count on conversation. Poppy faced front and realized she'd done it again. This didn't seem like a big mistake, as her mistakes went, but once again she'd gotten her feelings hurt and just jumped off a cliff without any thought for what might be below.

  So here she sat, stuck in a car for a whole afternoon with a woman who hated her, headed for town with uncombed hair, dirty hands and face, and still smelling like horse. No purse. What could she do in town without a cent to her name? "How long are you planning to stay?" She gave a light laugh. "I guess I should have asked before I jumped in the car."