That sounded like a good plan to Marielle. She’d welcome some relief from the soreness that had plagued her since the first riding lesson. Then—
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “I just remembered. I don’t have any hot water. Something’s wrong with the water heater. It’s barely warm. I was going to mention it and see if you could recommend someone to fix it.
“I’ll take a look at it myself later,” he said. “The heating element probably burned out or something. First, though, we need to take care of you. I’ve got plenty of hot water. I’m going to take you home with me and turn you over to Consuelo. Believe me; she’ll know just what to do.”
Marielle smiled at him, grateful for his kindness and understanding. He might be an alpha male, she thought, but he was still one of the nicest guys she’d ever met. On the way to his ranch, she found herself wondering what type of woman he’d been married to and why it had ended in divorce. She’d detected bitterness in his voice when he’d made brief mention of his ex-wife. Apparently it hadn’t ended amicably. Hmm. Firmly reminding herself that it wasn’t any of her business, Marielle squelched her curiosity about Trey’s past marital problems and spent the remainder of the drive chattering about her ranch and related topics.
“Here we are,” Trey told her, wheeling the pickup down a long, tree-lined drive. Marielle looked at the big, two-story log house in admiration.
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. And meant it. The rustic house was nestled at the base of two towering snow-covered peaks that rose up sharply behind it. The mountains seemed to be sheltering the house, holding it protectively close to their mighty strength.
“Thanks,” Trey said briefly, swinging out of the truck and coming over to pen Marielle’s door. He smiled. “It’s home. The only home I’ve ever had or ever wanted.” Taking her elbow, he started down the granite walk to the wide front porch. He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. “The only time I’ve ever been away from the ranch for any length of time was when I was in college out on the west coast. I was so homesick that I begged Mom and Dad to let me drop out and come back here. But they wouldn’t hear of it and I’m glad. Ranching is like running any other business. There’s a lot you need to know about managing finances, not to mention agriculture.”
Marielle hadn’t thought of that, and said as much.
“Oh, yeah,” Trey assured her. “To stay afloat nowadays and make a profit, a rancher has to keep abreast of the new developments in animal husbandry, land management, world commodities markets, the whole ball of wax.” He grinned at her mischievously while opening the massive front door. I’ve even got a computer,” he teased. “But I’m still much happier working outside, working with my hands.”
Marielle stole a glance at the hands in question as he took his hat off and hung it on a rack by the door, then smoothed his jet-black hair back. Darned nice hands they were, too, she thought—big, strong, tanned and capable-looking. Her wayward imagination placed those masculine hands on her pale skin, their touch sure and strong …
“Marielle, this is Consuelo.” With a guilty start, Marielle came out of her reverie to see the pleasant face of the plump little woman in front of her who’d joined them in the hall.
“Hello, Consuelo,” Marielle said, warming to the older woman immediately. The housekeeper gave her a beaming smile of welcome. Once Trey had explained why he’d brought Marielle home, Consuelo sprang into action, bustling around busily and telling them both not to worry, she’d have the “poor niña” feeling much better in no time.
Consuelo was a good as her word, Marielle decided a short while later as she lay soaking in a huge tub full of fragrant, steaming water. Whatever the woman had added to her bath, it was already helping ease the pain and soreness. As Marielle relaxed, nearly dozing, Consuelo appeared bearing a cup and saucer.
“Drink this herb tea,” the housekeeper instructed, handing it to Marielle. “It will combine with the herbs in the bath and help you even more.” Consuelo laid out a big, fluffy towel while she spoke. “When you are all done with the bath, you dry off and put this salve all over your hurt places,” she said indicating a small jar that she produced from a capacious apron pocket. “Then you take the jar and give it to Senór Trey. Because I am thinking of whipping his behind for being such a big dummy and letting you stay so long on the horse.”
Marielle laughed. The image of the short, round little woman with her kind eyes and soft voice administering a whipping to Trey was amusing. “Thank you, Consuelo,” she said. “I feel much better already. Trey was right—you’re a wonder.”
“He was right about you, too, Senórita Marielle. He said that you were a beautiful and nice lady.” Consuelo cast a shrewd glance at Marielle. “Maybe beautiful and nice enough to change his mind about staying single, I think. It would be nice to have a few little ones playing in this big house. I would like that very much.” She paused. “And so would Senór Stubborn if he would just forget that spoiled and foolish woman he brought to this place once.” She shook her head. “He no longer has the tender feelings for that loco lady, you understand. But he cannot realize that all women aren’t like her.”
Marielle felt herself blush. “Oh, Consuelo, you’ve got the wrong idea. Trey and I—-there’s nothing like that between us. Honestly.”
Consuelo opened the bathroom door to leave. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled knowingly. “Are you sure about that, senorita?”
Marielle lolled happily in the healing water after the housekeeper went out. She sipped her tea and mulled over the conversation that had just taken place. She had denied any sort of romantic involvement with Trey, but she knew very well how powerfully attracted she was to him. The attraction grew stronger the more she got to know him. He was funny, intelligent, courteous, kind, and thoughtful. A bit arrogant and a little too sure of himself at times, maybe. But even that was attractive in its own way.
That and more, she told herself dryly. He had all those sterling qualities. True. And Marielle could certainly appreciate all of his character assets. But the fact that he was the sexiest man she’d ever met, who could set her on fire with just one look from those dark bedroom eyes wasn’t exactly hurting things, was it.
She giggled and swished her toes in the relaxing water. No, she thought dreamily. Those qualities didn’t exactly detract from his appeal. Still, no matter how appealing she found him, she had to stay grounded and keep her priorities in order. She’d moved up here to realize her dream of living closer to the land and eventually try to succeed as an illustrator of children’s books. Those were the goals she intended to stay focused on.
But Consuelo’s question continued to haunt her as she finished her bath; and later, while she ate lunch with Trey and his ranch hands. The easy camaraderie he enjoyed with the boys, the evident respect and admiration they all seemed to have for him only added to her estimation of him. She was beginning to suspect that Peter J. Masterson III was someone it would be all too easy to fall in love with.
Their eyes met across the big trestle table as he encouraged her to have another one of Consuelo’s excellent yeast rolls. She returned his look, caught and held spellbound by the fascination of his gaze. His look seemed to convey an unspoken message. A message—or an invitation? She wasn’t sure which. But it was unsettling either way. She wrested her attention back to the meal and their companions, striving to keep forbidden thoughts about her host under control.
That night she lay in bed, looking at a pale moon through the bedroom window and thinking back over the events of the day. Despite wanting to put it out of her mind and go to sleep, her thoughts drifted again to the conversation she’d had with Consuelo and how she had assured the woman that there was nothing between herself and Trey. Now Consuelo’s question came back to her.
Are you sure about that senórita?
Was she?
“Hello?”
“Sam!” Marielle cried happily, hearing her friends disembodied voice over the telephone line. “I finall
y got my phone on today and I couldn’t wait to talk to you. Boy, have I got a lot to tell you, girlfriend.”
“Mari!” Samantha shrieked. “Mari, wow, it’s you! Finally! I was about to give up on you getting a telephone up there. What did they have to do, anyway—train mountain goats to string the wire?”
Marielle laughed. “Nearly. Uncle Dan never installed a phone up here so it was a pretty big deal.” Then she filled Samantha in on the happenings around her new home, and moved on to the topic that she most wanted to discus: Trey Masterson.
“You know that drop-dead gorgeous rancher I told you about in my letter?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “You said he was good –looking but that you didn’t like him.”
“Well, now I do like him,” Marielle told her. “As a matter of fact, I’ll have to be careful not to like him too much. Oh, Sammy, he’s so sexy and nice and”—she sighed dramatically—” he’s just so … .sexy and nice!”
“This is a switch!” her friend said. “When I read your letter it sounded like you were at war with him. I take it you’ve called a cease-fire?”
“Oh yes, definitely. He’s been so much help, Sam. And I’ve been the biggest klutz since I’ve been here. I swear the man is probably about ready to have me put on the endangered species list.” Marielle giggled and proceeded to tell her friend about the various mishaps that had befallen her since her arrival in Wolf Pass.
“And he’s witnessed every one of them, Samantha. Every single embarrassing moment!”
Samantha howled with laughter. “Oh my God, Marielle, you shot his truck?”
“Yep. Bang, bang,” Marielle replied. “Dead-Eye Stevens, that’s me. But the good news is that he didn’t give up on me. He’s still giving me riding lessons and teaching me to shoot, and I’m getting a lot better at both. It’s kind of fun, really.”
“It sounds like fun,” Samantha said wistfully. “You lucky dog. There you are, hanging out with cute cowboys falling all over themselves for you. But I’m the one who’s always had the cowboy fantasy, remember?”
“You said you’d take your vacation up here. I’ll see if I can’t save a few of them for you,” Marielle said teasingly.
“From the sound of it, Mari, there’s only one of those cowboys that cranks your tractor—Trey. Tell me, does he pass the jeans test?” Samantha asked.
With flying colors,” Marielle assured her.
They both giggled. She and Sam had a long-standing joke about the “jeans test.” It was her friend’s theory that a suit could hide a multitude of sins, but a man who looked good in a pair of well-worn, tight-fitting blue jeans would look good in anything … or nothing. “The man is built like a Greek god, Sam. Wait till you see him. It’s unreal. And”—she paused for effect—” there’s those lips. He elevates kissing to a whole new level.”
“You’ve kissed him?” Sam shrieked through the phone wire. “You didn’t tell me that! What else are you keeping secret?”
“That’s all. Just a couple of kisses. Just once. But I tell you, Samantha, it was a taste of honey. It takes all my willpower not to throw myself at him and beg for more,” Marielle said.
“So why don’t you?” her friend inquired.
Marielle groaned. “Oh, Sam. I can’t do that. Anyway, he’s got this thing about city girls. He was married to one once, and from what little I’ve picked up about her, she must have been a real witch. Consuelo, his housekeeper, told me that his wife whined and griped and threw temper tantrums, and finally left him and went back to the bright lights. So”—she winced—” I’m not exactly his type.”
“Marielle,” Samantha told her, “you’d be any red-blooded man’s type! I wish I had an opportunity like that. I’d be after him so fast you wouldn’t see me for dust. A real, live, sexy cowboy, right in the palm of your hand. And you’re going to let him slip through your fingers.
“You have a fixation on cowboys, haven’t you Samantha?” Marielle laughed good-naturedly at her best pal. “What’s the attraction?”
“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “Maybe it’s the boots and cowboy hats. Or then again,” she said, giggling naughtily, “maybe it’s the leather chaps and spurs!”
“Sam, you nut,” Marielle said fondly, “I miss you.”
Marielle was hard at work the next morning in the small shed built on the back of her house. The back door opened into the shed, which consisted of a sloping roof supported by thick eight-foot posts. It had been designed to hold wood, Trey had explained, and had gone on to say that she would need to have it stocked before winter. He had sent a couple of his ranch hands over with a chain saw to cut wood from her property. They’d cut it, split it, and delivered it to the house.
When they’d begun stacking it, Marielle had intervened and insisted on doing it herself. Trey’s workers, eyeing her slender frame and soft hands doubtfully, had been horrified at the suggestion. She smiled. They were a chivalrous lot.
Now, straightening the last piece on the neat stack of firewood in the lean-to, she surveyed her work with satisfaction. The little shed was full to the brim with split logs. Kindling overflowed in a big wooden box right next to the back door. In addition, there was another long stack under a tarpaulin behind the house. If the electricity went off for a day or even weeks at a time as Trey had said it might, she’d still be snug and warm in her little house.
She removed her work gloves and tucked them into the pocket of the jacket—Uncle Dan’s—she’d taken to wearing for her ranch chores. Split cowhide on the outside, shearling wool on the inside, the coat smelled faintly of horses, smoke, and sheep. Baggy and weathered from years of wear and a mile too big, she knew it wasn’t the most flattering thing she’d ever worn. But it kept her warm as toast.
She was glad to have it. The coat, along with Uncle Dan’s quilted coveralls, heavy leather work boots, and creased felt Stetson hat, had come in handy. And, she thought, hearing the cold wind whistling around the corner of the house, would come in even handier when the real winter weather came.
She started inside, and then stopped as she heard tires crunching the frosty gravel of her drive. Marielle went around to the front of the house. Trey!
Oh, no, she groaned inwardly. She’d been working outside all morning. She must look a fright. Her hands went up instinctively to smooth her hair and encountered instead the battered hand-me-down hat. She glanced at the bulky coveralls and then to the thick-soled, too large boots she wore on her feet. Warm and serviceable, but hardly dainty, she told herself as Trey came toward her across the yard.
He smiled at her in greeting as he approached. A wide, heart-stopping smile that never failed to make her pulse flutter no matter how many times she saw it. She smiled back as she tried to convince herself that she didn’t care how awful she looked. When he got close enough for her to inhale the clean, male, slightly spicy scent of him, she silently admitted that she did care. Too late now, she thought. No doubt he’d be carrying this mental picture around from now on of her looking like a rodeo clown.
“Hey, Mari,” Trey said, grinning down at her. “You gave me a start when I first pulled up and saw you coming around the back of the house. I thought for a minute there that old Dan had come back to join us.”
“I’ve been stacking wood,” she replied. She gestured to the ensemble she wore with a wry grimace. “I found this stuff in a closet and appropriated it. Not exactly pretty, I know—but warm.” She laughed a bit self-consciously. Crap! She must look even worse than she’d thought.
Trey walked slowly around her, evidently assessing her appearance. He stopped in front of her again, standing very close. So close, in fact, that his warm breath fanned her cheek as he spoke. “Marielle,” he said softly, his lips quirking in a slow, sensuous smile as he looked directly into her eyes, “you’re too sexy for your clothes.”
He lowered his mouth to hers and brushed her lips in a tender kiss. Marielle stared at him wide-eyed, held by the fascination of looking into his dark eyes at such close
range. Her eyes then traced a path downwards to the full lips that had just left her own. She swallowed, nearly faint with desire all of a sudden. Involuntarily, she swayed toward him.
With a muffled groan, Trey pulled her close. His head swooped down to claim her mouth again in a deep, plundering kiss that made her knees week. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she clung to him for support while his mouth continued a hot, hungry exploration of hers.
Marielle’s senses were reeling. She felt as if she were floating in a haze of sensation and need. Trey’s hands were everywhere—caressing, stroking, kneading—blazing a path of fire wherever he touched and heating her sensitive skin even through the thick layers of her clothing.
She moaned deep in her throat and heard Trey’s answering moan as he kissed her again, probing with his tongue in hard thrusts that spoke of his own hunger and need. He tore his mouth from hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and lowered his head to the white column of her neck, trailing a series of moist, nibbling kisses until he reached the pulse throbbing wildly at the hollow of her throat.
He lingered there a moment, letting his hands come up to cup the soft mounds of her breast. Hampered by the bulky fabric of her quilted coveralls, he tugged sharply at the zipper of the garment, pulling it downward to allow himself more access. Slipping one hand inside the coveralls, he found the low neck of the silk chemise she wore underneath. When his strong fingers closed around the bare skin of her breast and his thumb began rhythmically stroking the erect peak of one nipple, Marielle felt an overwhelming wave of raw, primitive lust.
A horn blared behind them, shattering the air—a strident reminder that they weren’t alone. They sprang apart. Marielle straightened her clothing and tried to regain some measure of composure before they were joined by the unexpected visitor. She stole a quick glance at Trey. His broad chest was heaving and as he took off his hat to smooth his hair back, she saw this his hands were trembling. They both stared dumbly at Bandy as he ambled toward them, his weathered face set in pleasant lines.
Cowboys are Forever Page 6
