Stay...

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Tristan was in the kitchen, the phone at his ear, and when he saw her, he held it toward her. “Stuart,” he told her.

  Emily pondered the receiver. She didn’t really want to talk to Stuart. He wanted a decision from her regarding her job, and she didn’t want to give it to him. Taking the receiver from Tristan, she covered it with her hand. “Too bad I wasn’t a few minutes later.”

  “Just tell him what you want to do.”

  “If I only knew,” she muttered. Pulling a clean dish towel out of the drawer she draped it around her neck and dabbed her face. Then she sat down at the table and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello, Stuart,” she greeted.

  Ten minutes later Emily wasn’t sure if she still had a job or not. She hadn’t agreed to take on the consulting position. But Stuart hadn’t fired her, either. She supposed it was a good sign. She set the phone on the table, then picked it up again when it suddenly rang. It was for Matthew, so Emily took a message, then went to find him to deliver it.

  It was no surprise that he wasn’t around, but Emily went to check the bunkhouse just in case. Through the open door she saw Maggie and called out her name.

  Maggie whirled around nervously, her fingers brushing her cheeks.

  Emily forgot the slip of paper tucked in her palm. “Maggie? What’s wrong?” The snatch of argument she’d overheard flitted through her head.

  Maggie shook her head. “Nothing.” She turned away and pulled an apron around her waist, clearing her throat. “Did you need something?”

  “Just looking for Matt. Um, Maggie, you’re feeling all right. Aren’t you?” It was so obvious the other woman didn’t want to talk, that Emily felt like an intruder for even expressing her concern. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that Maggie had been crying. No doubt a result of the argument Emily had inadvertently overheard.

  “Matt’s out with the vet,” Maggie answered.

  Emily could take a hint. “I’ll leave this in his office, then,” she wagged the slip slightly. “I sort of made arrangements to go riding with Jaimie this morning, but she’s probably given up on me by now. Is she around somewhere?”

  “She’s with Matt, also. She did mention riding, but that it would need to wait until she finished her chores.”

  “She surely doesn’t need to be tied up every minute with chores. She’s a guest, for heaven’s sake!”

  Some of the tension eased from Maggie’s drawn face as she shrugged. “Jaimie wants to do the work. She likes it. Of course it drives Matt up—” she broke off, seeming to realize that she was speaking to a member of Matt’s family.

  “Up the wall,” Emily finished easily. “Good. He needs someone to shake up his world a little. Well, we’ll get together later. If you can, perhaps you’ll join us? That is if it’s all right for you to be riding, what with the baby and all.”

  The smooth skin around Maggie’s eyes seemed to draw up tight. “Maybe,” she allowed. She turned to the large refrigerator and yanked open the door. “Let me know later when you’re going,” she added, her voice muffled by the door.

  “Sure.” Emily hesitated a moment longer, watching Maggie bend over the deep shelves of the refrigerator. What more could she say? She didn’t see any reason on earth why she couldn’t become friends with Maggie. They were similarly aged. They were the only women living at the Double-C. Well, add Jaimie to that, for now, Emily amended silently.

  Feeling edgy, Emily made her way to Matt’s office and left the message on his desk. Then, putting off her shower for a few more minutes, she headed into the horse barn. Daisy greeted her with a soft nicker, and Emily retrieved a brush and currycomb and let herself into Daisy’s stall.

  She missed her own horse. Missed the morning rides when Bird was frisky and full of sass and vinegar. Missed the regular, soothing ritual of grooming him. Emily ran the brush over Daisy’s back. “But you’re not too bad, either,” she assured the horse softly. “You and Bird would make some pretty babies, too. Wouldn’t you?” Daisy’s tail flicked. “Of course with him in San Diego and you here, there’s not much chance of that.” She switched to the comb and smoothly worked on Daisy’s mane. “In fact, you have about as much chance with Bird as I do with Jefferson.” Daisy’s head bobbed. “You agree with me, don’t you?

  “But,” Emily continued, “if I end up with no job, maybe you’ll end up meeting Bird after all.” Emily hung her arm over the horse’s neck and sighed. “What am I going to do, Daisy? I know you’re a smart girl. I can see it in your eyes. So what do you think I should do? Hmm?”

  “Stop asking horses for advice for one thing.”

  Emily whirled around, tangling the comb in Daisy’s mane. “Dammit, Jefferson, don’t sneak up on me.” She turned back to the horse and worked the comb free. He was still standing there when she finished, and she shot him a look over her shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “Crabby today, eh?”

  “So? Did you think you had a corner on that market?” She let herself out of the stall, expecting him to move aside. But he didn’t. Her brow rose. “Do you mind?”

  Silently, he let her pass. She returned the comb and brush to the tack room and came out to find him still standing by Daisy’s stall. His faded jeans were wearing through at the knee, and his denim shirt had been washed nearly colorless. She knew people who paid fortunes to obtain the “distressed” look. But Jefferson wasn’t trying to be vogue. He simply looked mouthwatering no matter what he wore.

  Next to him, Emily felt like a dirty dishrag in her baggy shorts and wet T-shirt. She probably smelled like something that needed shoveling off the floor, too. Great, just great. She shoved a limp tendril of hair away from her face, wishing like everything that she’d hit the shower instead of—

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were worried about your job?”

  “What?” Her brain sluggishly switched tracks.

  “Yesterday, when we were out at the pond.”

  She shrugged, studying the dusty toes of her running shoes. “It didn’t come up.”

  He lifted her chin with a long finger. “I specifically asked you about your job,” he chided. “You didn’t say much of anything.”

  As they were wont to do, Emily’s thought processes grew muddled when she looked up into his azure eyes. Her teeth worried the inner corner of her lips. “It, um, didn’t seem important,” she heard herself say faintly.

  “It was important enough to tell Tristan.”

  Emily blinked away visions of those mobile lips pressed to her skin and concentrated on his words. My Lord, he’d sounded almost jealous. Her mouth went dry, and she slowly moistened her lips. “I’d have told you if I had thought you were really interested.”

  He went still, his shoulders stiff beneath the denim shirt.

  “I’d tell you anything,” she added softly. “I’d listen to anything you said to me. If you…were—” she hesitated when his finger dropped away from her chin “—interested,” she finished, feeling stranded.

  She ached at the glimpse of torment in his eyes before he turned away.

  His fingers whitened when he closed them over the top rail of Daisy’s stall, and his back bowed as he lowered his head. “Leave.”

  She tentatively touched his hand. “Jefferson—”

  He yanked away from even that small touch. “Dammit, Emily, go.”

  Her mouth opened soundlessly, and she snatched her hand away, clasping it at her waist. She closed her eyes for a moment. Looking anywhere but at him, she instinctively turned toward escape, praying that she wouldn’t embarrass herself further by tripping over her wooden feet.

  She hurried past the stalls, flinching when she heard his soft curse. Her stomach churned, the need to somehow help him warring with the need to protect herself from more pain. She kept her focus on the sunshine beyond the yawning entry, determined not to turn back. Not even when she heard the sharp crack of something hard and unyielding strike something else equally hard and unyielding.

  She heard his footste
ps, yet wasn’t prepared for the arm he scooped about her waist, pulling her around to him.

  She pushed at his arms. “Let me go,” she pleaded. Being in his arms was a double-edged sword. Easing distress. Adding tension. Making her crazy.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed against her temple. His palms cradled her head as his lips covered hers. “Sorry,” he murmured, “so sorry.”

  She could no more resist his gentle kiss than she could stop breathing. She reached for him, but he caught her hands in his, pressing them to his chest.

  “I don’t deserve your touch,” he muttered between short, burning kisses that left her quaking for more.

  She wanted to know what he meant by that. She wanted him to tell her what was in his heart. In his dreams. His nightmares. But his hands were sliding up her arms, into the oversize armholes of her wet shirt. Seeking the swelling curve of breast. The tight crests.

  “I can’t think,” she whispered, her fingertips frantically catching over the buttons on his shirt.

  “Just feel.” His low growl rustled along her neck as he gently tugged on her ponytail, revealing the curve of her throat to his lips.

  She swallowed a moan. He held her arched so tightly to him that she couldn’t move her hands from his chest. His heat seared through their clothing, and she strained even closer. Their breath sounded harsh in the silent barn before he closed his mouth over hers.

  His large palms molded her shoulders. Moved down her back. Glided over her hips and tilted her against him, rocking against her. His lips fused to hers, his kiss deep, thrusting, and Emily felt it down to her toes. Colors were swirling in her head as he slipped his fingers up the loose leg of her raggedy shorts. He swallowed her cry when he brushed his thumb across her smooth hip. Her naked hip.

  He groaned her name as his hand shifted, cupping her bare bottom.

  Daisy snorted, and Jefferson’s head shot up.

  “No,” Emily cried faintly. Her knees were so weak she could only sag against him. But she heard the same thing that Jefferson did. The sound of boots crunching across the gravel. Definitely drawing closer, accompanied by the indistinct murmur of voices.

  Jefferson slowly withdrew his hand and adjusted her shorts. Wordlessly he set her away from him, and moments before Daniel rounded the yawning entry to the barn Jefferson disappeared out the back.

  She fruitlessly smoothed her ponytail. Her body hummed with yearning, and no doubt Daniel would know with a single glance just what was what. Sawyer appeared just moments behind Dan, but the men merely greeted her with lifted arms before veering off to the side and heading down the other row.

  She sagged. Relieved. Frustrated. Her legs were none too steady when she walked toward the back side of the barn, but when she looked out, Jefferson was nowhere in sight. Damn the man, anyway. She kicked the side of the barn, but it didn’t help. And she was left with a set of throbbing toes.

  She stomped back to the house, not even pausing when she heard the raised voices coming from inside. She let the screen door slam nice and loud as she entered and walked in to find Jaimie and Matthew squared off on either side of the big table. “Stop arguing,” she said wearily. “Can’t anyone around here carry on a normal conversation? Can’t any of us have normal relationships with each other?”

  Matthew snorted, but his eyes were trained on Jaimie. “If people were reasonable,” he began.

  Jaimie huffed, clearly girding herself for another skirmish. “Reasonable? Look who’s talking! I was perfectly capable of handling that truck—”

  “Capable! You backed it into a fence.”

  “Then why were you waving for me to keep going?”

  “I was waving for you to stop,” he gritted.

  Emily raked her fingers through her hair. “I am going upstairs,” she announced, even though it was perfectly obvious that the other two had already forgotten her presence.

  After showering, Emily changed into a deep blue sundress. Still restless and out of sorts, she dried her hair and pulled it back into a loose braid, then smoothed on some makeup. She might feel like a wreck on the inside, but at least from the outside she appeared perfectly controlled. It was some small comfort.

  She tidied up the room, then headed downstairs. She heard the clang of the bell from the bunkhouse kitchen. Maggie, announcing the noon meal. Her bare feet were soundless as she entered the blessedly empty kitchen. Propping her chin on her hands, she leaned against the counter and looked through the window at the activity Maggie’s summons had spurred. A pickup rolled by and a group of young men hopped out, heading straight for the bunkhouse. They looked like high school kids.

  Probably were, since it was still summer vacation. Matt would’ve hired the kids, giving them a chance to earn some money. Within minutes, it all quieted. Everyone was probably seated at that huge long slab of a table, tucking in to the rib-sticking meal that Maggie, most capably, would have laid out for them.

  Operations at the Double-C were running as always, smooth as glass.

  So where did she fit in?

  There was not a lick of work around this place that wasn’t already being handled by someone else. And from the way things were progressing at her office, she was either going to have to agree to the type of job she’d never wanted, or look elsewhere.

  Knowing that she was sinking into a depressing mood, she sighed deeply and straightened. It wasn’t as if she weren’t capable of finding a new job, she reasoned with herself as she began opening cupboards and pulling out ingredients.

  She was well qualified and had an excellent employment history. She even enjoyed her work. Found it satisfying to make everything balance out in the end. Numbers were numbers. They could be counted on. Oh, sure, you could manipulate them just like anything else, but the numbers themselves? They were always constant. Unlike some things.

  She thumped a bag of flour on the counter and a little puff of white floated into the air. Be honest, Emily, my girl. You are never going to be completely satisfied. Because what you really want is a family. A husband. Not just any husband, either.

  “What on earth are you planning to make? Pickle-flavored cookies?”

  Tristan’s voice startled her, and she accidentally knocked the box of unsweetened chocolate off the counter with her elbow. Aware that he’d bent to pick up the box, she blinked at the conglomeration of items she’d gathered. Sure enough, among the flour and sugar, butter and vanilla, sat a huge jar of dill pickles. Grimacing, she returned the jar to the refrigerator.

  “Okay, squirt, what’s bugging you?”

  “Aside from my entire life?” She answered flippantly. “Not a thing.” She pulled out a small saucepan and automatically began melting butter and chocolate squares.

  “Now, come on.” He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down in a single gulp, then refilled it and did it again. “It can’t be that bad,” he finally said.

  “Says who,” she muttered. She lowered the heat and turned around, her arms crossed. She cocked her head and cast a considering eye his way. “You know, Tristan, you really are an attractive man.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “No, I’m serious.” She considered him for a few more moments. “How come you’ve never…you know.” She flapped her hand.

  “You know?” He echoed warily. “What, you know?”

  “You know,” her eyes widened meaningfully. “You. Me. It’s not as if you don’t like women.”

  “Cripes, Em! We don’t feel that way and you know it. Geez…” He shook his head, and headed for the back door.

  “Wait a minute,” Emily stopped him with a hand on his arm. His white T-shirt was sweaty and his jeans were covered with dust. His golden tan had deepened to an even darker hue from working outside, and his familiar blue eyes looked warily down at her from his towering height. The man had a brain that was darn-near frightening, and he had looks that rivaled Jefferson’s. If there was a single man on the face of the earth who could measure up to Jefferson Clay, it would be h
is youngest brother.

  But to her, Tristan was simply her best friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  “What? If I don’t hurry up, there’s not gonna be any food left.”

  “Forget your stomach for a minute.” She frowned. “I’m serious. Tell me why.”

  “Em—”

  “Come on. Consider it research.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Tristan—”

  “Oh, hell.” He flipped the hair off his forehead, clearly aggrieved.

  “You’re impossible.” She turned back to the stove. “It was just a question.”

  He sighed abruptly and plopped down onto a kitchen chair. “The things you ask of me,” he muttered. “Never let it be said that I disappointed a woman.”

  “Just forget it, will you? I changed my mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “Well…inquiring minds want to know and all that.”

  She shot him a look.

  He shrugged, dropping the sarcasm as she slumped into a chair. “You know what your problem is?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “Lack of sex.”

  She groaned and dropped her head to the table. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, her voice muffled. Her shoulders heaved with a huge sigh and she sat up. “Tell me what to do, Tris. I’m at a loss. And I’m not referring to sex,” she added hastily.

  “Thank God. I love ya squirt, but lessons in sex are not something I’m willing to give you. I prefer pupils who have some…personal…interest in me.”

  She made a disgusted sound and rose to remove the chocolate from the stove. “I live with you,” she reminded him. “I’ve seen your pupils.”

  “Okay, this emotional quandary is either about your job, or about Jefferson. I’ll pick door number two and choose my big, bad brother. And much as it pains me to say it, I don’t have a clue what you should do.”

  “There’s a first.”

  “Snottiness will get you nowhere, runt.”

  “Being a good little girl isn’t getting me anywhere, either.” She cracked an egg and tossed the shell into the sink, then followed it with two more. “I’m not sure I should stay here any longer,” she said, voicing the unpalatable idea that had been swimming in her mind.