Reckless Promise

by Jenny Andersen

  Thank you, Chickie. Poppy relaxed, and watched them. Every time she'd seen them together, Chickie had been tugging on the massive Moses, yapping out orders. The Chihuahua and the Great Dane.

  Even her smile hurt, so she lay back and tried to remember the last time she'd had such a lazy day. Nothing to do except enjoy the quiet warmth and wait for her battered body to heal. And wonder how Chickie had seen through her act. And wait for Mac to return. Poppy closed her eyes and let pleasant dreams of him fill her mind.

  She felt someone staring at her and looked up to see the letch from the first night at the foot of her lounger, staring at her violence-stained skin.

  Oh great. She so didn't want to hear his comments.

  Before he spoke, his wife joined him. "Oh, you poor dear."

  "Wait a few days. I'll be purple and green."

  "Don't make a joke out of it. Mac told us all about how brave and wonderful you were."

  Poppy looked over her head and saw Mac. "He did?"

  He joined them, taking his place at the end of her lounger with a proprietary air. "You did save my sister's life."

  So she'd gone from bimbo to hero. "It's not like I wasn't involved. I didn't rush into a burning building to save helpless orphans."

  She looked up at the sound of a car engine and watched the Suburban ease across the cattle guard and up to the house as gingerly as if it held raw eggs. Tom scurried around from the driver's side to help Alice out. She waved, looking pale and shaky, but her smile lit the whole day. Her husband put his arm around her and she leaned against him. Over her head he caught Poppy's eye and gave her a quick thumbs-up.

  Good. All seemed serene on the marital front, just as she'd hoped, leaving her free to deal with her own life. Let the vacation fling begin. Finally. She looked up to find Mac watching her, promise in his eyes.

  Her breath quickened. She flicked her tongue across her lower lip. His eyes flared with something hot and demanding and she shivered in anticipation.

  Tom and Alice back together.

  Mac interested.

  What could go wrong?

  Chapter 9

  At dinner, Alice and Tom rivaled the honeymoon couple in loving attention. Poppy glanced across the table at Mac and found his gaze on her, steady and unfathomable until he smiled. The slow, lazy curve of his mouth set her insides trembling.

  She stared back, aware only of the desire that simmered underneath every moment, a searing, bubbling passion that scared her half senseless even while it called her with an irresistible siren's voice.

  Down the length of table, Alice and Tom sat close together, whispering to each other. Poppy definitely sympathized when Alice wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably and she watched with pleasure as Tom put down his fork to give her a gentle shoulder massage. Alice's face went slack with pleasure. Poppy's eyes closed as she fantasized the warmth and comfort of Mac's touch on her own aching muscles.

  After dinner, Mac reached her side before she got to the door. "I'll give you a massage tonight," he promised. "You'll be ready to ride tomorrow."

  Right. She didn't believe it for a minute, but she wouldn't turn down the bone-melting comfort his hands could offer. "Just a massage?"

  "Just a massage. I have plans for you, honey, but like I told you, not until you're ready."

  "But—"

  He put an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. The sore muscles in her neck protested the pull. She choked back a whimper, but Mac heard and removed his arm. "See? I rest my case."

  Disappointment, as sharp as the muscle twinge, shot through her. Hurt that he could find it so easy to leave her came next, but his crooked smile said he didn't find it all that easy. Mollified, she led the way into her cabin.

  "Take a hot shower and I'll give you a back rub." He turned her toward the bedroom with a light slap on the rear.

  "Just as though I were a stubborn mare," she grumped, but gathered up her modest calf-length sleep tee and stalked to the shower. The beat of the hot water soothed but couldn't live up to the expectation of Mac's touch.

  When she came out, warm and flushed, he had turned back the covers and stood by the bed holding a bottle. "Liniment," he said. "Chickie brought it down earlier for you. Doesn't smell as good as that almond oil, but you'll feel a lot better tomorrow. In you go. On your stomach."

  Just like last night. But maybe this time... She climbed into the bed. He pulled the covers up to her waist and then inched her shirt up over her head, so careful to not expose her body that embarrassment swept through her. For heaven's sake, he was being more circumspect than the masseur at her gym. "I'm not going to leap up and attack you," she muttered into her pillow. "Stop worrying."

  "That's good. If you spilled this stuff, we'd never get the smell out of the rug."

  She heard him remove the bottle's stopper, and a sharp, medicinal odor stung her nose. "Good grief. What's that?"

  "Old Reliable Liniment." He pushed the bottle to the edge of the nightstand where she could see it. A clear bottle half full of something green-black in color. A label with straining draft horses pulling something she couldn't make out.

  "Good grief," she said again, and closed her eyes. Elizabeth Arden this was not.

  The first touch converted her. If Ms. Arden had anything half this comforting, she'd own the world. Mac had warmed the stuff and smoothed it over her back and shoulders with a gentle touch. He began to knead her muscles, working out the knots and leaving her in a haze of limp satisfaction.

  "Better than sex," she murmured into the pillow.

  "Don't you believe it, honey." His fervent voice startled her. She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud.

  "I'm a scientist," she said through the fog of liniment and relaxation. "I don't believe, I experiment and test."

  Just as she drifted over the edge of sleep she heard him say, "You can believe that I'm going to make love to you, and you're not going to be thinking 'experiment' when I do."

  She believed him.

  * * *

  "Morning." Mac watched Poppy come up the steps onto the veranda of the lodge. With some bounce back in her step and the sparkle back in her eyes, she looked better than he’d expected.

  "Mmm. I had to shower for about an hour to get rid of the liniment smell, but it was worth it. I feel great."

  She looked considerably better than great. Just like every man's fantasy of what he'd like for breakfast, in fact. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but you didn't get rid of it. You're going to smell more like Old Reliable than White Diamonds for some time to come."

  "Oh. Well. Surely it will fade by the time I leave." She tilted her head and gave him an impish glance. "The important thing is that I'm scarcely sore at all, even though I still look like I've been run through a meat grinder. The bruises remain."

  "Want another massage?" He got hot just thinking about it. He'd spent all night remembering how she'd felt, all warm and relaxed and sleepy under his hands. He'd be happy to put his hands on her any time she asked.

  "Maybe." She smiled, an impish, teasing grin that spiked his circulation.

  Even if she hadn't been teasing, he couldn't take advantage of her. Not yet. "We'd better go in to breakfast."

  She nodded, and led the way down the hall toward the dining room. He watched her walk and wished he could get her alone.

  Alice came out of the kitchen. "Oh. Poppy. You're looking good. Chickie's liniment is a miracle, isn't it?"

  "Oh. Yes, it is." Poppy stammered, disconcerted by the warm, welcoming smile and words.

  "Go on in. I'll be along in a minute," Alice said, her voice the next thing to singing. Only the sling and bandaged arm reminded of the accident.

  "From the looks of it, she got more than a back rub with her liniment," Poppy blurted. She looked up at Mac and blushed. "I didn't mean to say that."

  "Jealous?"

  "No."

  He hid a smile.

  "I can ask for what I want. If I had wanted anything els
e, I'd have asked."

  He fought to keep from grinning. "You did."

  She scowled, and he swallowed a smile, enjoying the business of watching her twist a little, keeping her off balance.

  "Actually, I'm very shy."

  She looked him straight in the eye when she said it, and he believed her. Just one more item to file under 'mysteries about Poppy', but he couldn’t resist a little more teasing. "Oh, yeah. I could tell right off that you're just a timid, bashful little thing."

  All the soft flirtiness froze. "That's very condescending. I'm not a 'little thing'."

  She hadn't been all that bashful, either, but he'd better not remind her. "Sorry." Every time he thought he had her figured out, a new facet emerged.

  She'd bombed into the middle of their lives, luring Tom into a flirtation, almost as though she wanted to make Alice jealous, yet she had a magic touch with the other guests.

  She'd acted like a bimbo and made Alice cry, but Chickie liked her, and she'd saved two lives in one day.

  She had more secrets than the CIA, but he'd never enjoyed just talking to a woman so much.

  Maybe the time had come to put his hormones on hold and start unraveling some of her mysteries. Maybe, just for the heck of it, he'd tell his secretary to have the detective firm that checked references for them run a make on her.

  She stepped around him and marched into breakfast, radiating equal parts indignation, Old Reliable liniment, and come hither. He followed slowly. He'd have to keep a close eye on her, and the idea pleased him way much.

  Judging by his reaction to watching her march down the hall, putting his hormones on hold might be an impossible task.

  * * *

  Poppy spent another lazy morning by the pool, and decided to nap in lieu of lunch. Mac caught her heading toward her cabin.

  "Hey, what's this? It's lunch time. You can't leave."

  "I'm under arrest?" She suppressed the spark of redheaded temper. "I can so too leave. I'm tired. I want a shower. And a nap. Tonight's the chuck wagon cookout, remember?"

  His eyes held mischief and anticipation. "Nap?"

  "I didn't—"

  He all but dragged her into the dining room and seated her next to Tom instead of her usual place. She tried to concentrate on eating, but the current of suppressed excitement filled the room and distracted her. Every time she looked up, she caught someone staring at her with what looked like anticipation. A nervous twitch rippled down her back. Something was up, and everyone knew about it except her.

  When it dessert time arrived, Tom stood and waited for everyone to fall silent. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank our resident hero, Boston's finest, Poppy Grayson. She not only saved one of our horses and its rider with a demonstration of superior horsemanship, but on the same day exhibited excellent driving skills, saving Alice and the ranch Suburban. I know you all would miss having Alice looking after you, but if that vehicle had gone off the cliff, you'd all be stranded here." The look he gave Alice belied the flippant humor of his words.

  Poppy looked around the table at the laughing guests. The crowd didn't include Brandi.

  "Okay, Chickie," Tom called, and she carried in a large cake and set it in front of Poppy. A red-headed frosting Amazon subdued a runaway horse with one hand, and lifted a candy-trimmed frosting car onto a licorice road with the other.

  "You're an official hero now, Poppy," Tom announced.

  Alice applauded, and everyone around the table joined her.

  Hero? No, she'd been scared. Scared of seeing Brandi and her horse fall in a broken, bloody heap, scared of going off the edge of a cliff in the SUV. No hero stuff here.

  She looked around at the smiling faces, all the happy people waiting for her to speak. "Thank you," she said. "You're really too kind. I don't believe I did anything each and every one of you wouldn't have done in the same circumstances. So I don't deserve all this fuss, but—" She grinned. "Any excuse for a party, right? Let's celebrate having our hostess back in one piece."

  Everyone laughed and applauded and Tom kissed Alice's cheek.

  Poppy cut the cake and passed plates. Yesterday she'd been a home-wrecking bimbo, today a hero. If she had to choose, she'd take semi-earned adulation instead of unearned censure, but they still didn't see the real Poppy.

  Finally everyone finished cake and coffee and compliments, and she escaped to a quiet corner of the porch. She slumped against the railing and blinked against the hot sting that said tears were on the way.

  Mac followed her. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. But just for once I'd like someone to see me for what I am. I'm not a hero, and I'm not a home wrecker. I'm just—me." She choked and fled to her cabin.

  Chapter 10

  Mac leaned against a tree and surveyed the crowd milling around the old chuck wagon now permanently parked in a little meadow a couple of miles from the main house. The sun neared the horizon. The air held the sharp tang of approaching evening and smoke from the barbeque tantalized his appetite. One more day almost over, which reminded him he'd never had that talk with Tom.

  From the way Tom and Alice had been snuggling all day, maybe he didn't have to. Poppy and Tom hadn't been near each other all day. Alice looked happy. No chance now, anyway, not when the weekly cookout had them all hip deep in work.

  And after that, Poppy. With any luck, he'd end up spending the night in Poppy's cabin. The cookout always ended with a moonlight ride back to the ranch, nice and romantic. He tilted the bottle and let cold beer try to quench his reaction.

  He tamped down his impatience and glared at the crowd. One of the problems with a dude ranch was the presence of dudes. Having guests around meant staying in business, but it also meant having to live your private life around the edges of the guests' needs. He stooped to pull a bottle of beer out of the ice chest sitting next to one of the picnic tables and popped the cap.

  He couldn't exactly say that all his doubts about Poppy had been resolved. She still had a lot of secrets. But she'd seemed so straightforward, so honest this afternoon, that they didn't seem very important. The look in her eyes when she'd wished for someone to see her as she really was had just about torn him up.

  And now she pitched right in, working as hard as Chickie and Alice, just like she belonged here on the ranch. As if his thought had conjured Poppy, she walked by carrying a tray of hamburger buns.

  "Hey." He took the tray and handed it to Moses, who tended a grill full of sizzling burgers and steaks. "You're a guest. You're supposed to be having fun, not working."

  "I am having fun. This is nothing like working all alone in my lab."

  He couldn't imagine her as a white-coated science nerd. "Lab?"

  She nodded. "Research. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do. But this is fun too."

  Her eyes sparkled gold in the firelight and distracted him from everything but her beauty, which he couldn't mention without making her mad for some reason, or how much he wanted her, which he also had better not mention. "Buy you a beer?"

  "Well-l..."

  "Take a break. You don't want to be too tired to dance." He meant to get her in his arms, one way or another. Some nice, slow cowboy music couldn't hurt.

  "Dance?"

  "Sure. You know." He slid his arm around her. "A chance to hold you close and whisper suggestive comments in your ear. Save me a slow one?"

  She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with mischief and mock outrage. "Maybe just one dance. And no beer. I promised to help Chickie." She followed while he got her a soda and led her to a chunk of log just big enough for two. "Aren't you supposed to help too?"

  "Guests are my job. Especially dancing with them," he said, just to see those eyes glint gold with mock temper again.

  She ignored the teasing. "You do this every week?"

  "Yep. It's a real chuck wagon, too. My great granddad used it on cattle drives."

  "Real live history," she murmured. "I had no idea. And I'll get to do it again
next week."

  "You're something else, honey. Tell me." He leaned back, crossed his ankles, and addressed the toes of his serviceable black cowboy boots. "Is the real Poppy Grayson the flirt who hits on married men, or the cowgirl who likes trail rides, or the woman who thinks work is fun?"

  "Why do I have to be only one of those? Maybe I'm all of them. Or maybe you haven't even seen the real Poppy Grayson." She shot him a glare that could have peeled paint and jumped to her feet. All the way to the chuck wagon, Mac could hear her muttering. "...can't ever see the real me...don't know what I have to do...men...all alike..."

  He'd stuck his foot in his mouth that time. In her fury, her hair all but shot off sparks when she stalked across the open area that would be the dance floor after dinner. Right now the inevitable kids crowded it along with a few good natured ranch dogs, and a couple of male guests who needed to have their teeth rearranged for the way they watched her switch past.

  She headed straight for the back of the old chuck wagon where Chickie was setting out the huge covered bowls of salad she'd fixed in her all-modern kitchen at the house. Historical realism didn't cut a lot of ice with Chickie when it came to cooking. Mac edged his way through kids and dogs until he could settle onto a bench within easy listening distance of the two women.

  "Poppy, honey, you're a guest. You don't have to do all the work," Chickie said.

  Poppy laughed. "Oh, come on. If I help you, maybe you'll get time for a beer—and maybe even a dance—with Moses. You're not going to turn that down, are you?"

  "Oh, go ahead, bribe me. I guess I wouldn't mind a dance at that." Chickie handed Poppy a box filled with squeeze bottles of catsup and mustard. "Maybe if you'd set those out on the picnic tables..."

  Poppy worked with Chickie as smoothly as if they had practiced for years, and had the tables set up before Moses had the barbeque ready.

  "Pull up a chair," Chickie invited, waving vaguely toward the closest picnic table. She grabbed a couple of sodas from a cooler and handed one to Poppy. "You're some nice, you know that?" she said, popping the top on hers.