by Devine,Carol
Chapter Eight
"Kiss me? Here? Why?"
Her last question was edged in panic and Sarah put her hands up to push him away. But he had hold of her chin and his other hand was curving around the back of her neck, pulling her close.
Unlike yesterday, his fingers weren't punishing and he wore the funniest smile. At once bemused and tender, it tugged at her and she felt herself drawn in.
At first his lips barely touched hers. His taste teased. She could smell mint and the freshness of the breeze this morning that had lifted his hair. The palm she had flattened against his chest picked up his heartbeat. The same rapid rhythm drummed in her own ears. The gentleness of his mouth was a marked contrast. Perhaps that was what made her lean into him. The novelty of his gentleness.
He spread his hand downward from her chin and across the exposed arch of her neck. She knew she was lost when the threat she should have felt wasn't there. Even when the kiss deepened and his thumb caressed the base of her throat, her instinct for self-preservation remained utterly quiet. Instead she felt the sweet rush of anticipation.
"Open up for me, Sarah," he whispered.
She had no idea what he meant until he nudged the line of her mouth with his tongue and shivers raced down her spine. Her knees unlocked. She was falling, spinning, had to hold onto something. The hand on his chest fisted and gripped the front of his shirt.
My God, she thought. Save me.
Zach felt her sway and grabbed her arms, breaking the kiss. He'd barely touched her, yet she looked at him with dazed eyes. He grinned, ignoring a sudden wish to kiss her again. Once appeared to be quite enough.
"Not gay. Got that, Sarah?"
She put her hands to her face in confusion. "You're not happy because you kissed me?"
Her innocence had the most perverse effect on him. Chuckling he whispered a clear definition in her ear. Even with the barest of clinical details, more color flooded her face.
Drawing back, she stared at him, unable to disguise her shock. "But how?"
"I'll leave that up to your imagination," he said.
She blushed to the roots of her hair. It was then he vowed to teach her more than how to kiss, debts, obligations and employment contracts be damned. He would find a way. Sarah was much too innocent for her own good.
Taking her hand, he led her on a detour through the woman's sportswear department. She was so nonplussed by their conversation, she didn't utter a word of protest. He was able to flag down another saleslady, a much younger one this time, and asked her to pick out some everyday clothes for a young woman of twenty-four who wore a perfect size six.
The woman seemed to understand Sarah's style with one assessing look, for she returned with a dozen outfits fashioned, she said, retro-style. A half hour later, Sarah was wearing a flowing burgundy dress that ended in a swirl around her knees. It was modest by modern standards and fit her so perfectly, he bought another one just like it in blue. He also bought two skirts, five blouses, three t-shirts and three pairs of blue jeans, even though she claimed she'd never worn pants before and certainly wouldn't in the future.
"We'll see," he said.
If she'd been uncharacteristically quiet about the new clothes, she was the opposite when they finally made it to the shoe department. Though she mispronounced the brand name Nike to rhythm with mike, she rattled off her size and favorite style in record time. When he pointed out possible footwear to go with her new dress, the latest in high heel couture made her shake her head in dismay. They finally settled on some ballet flats, ankle boots and a pair of fleece-lined moccasins he picked out himself. Winter was approaching and he remembered how cold those wood floors in the old house could be.
He caught himself. Trailer, he thought. He was certain the floor in the trailer could be pretty cold, too.
Their last stop was the hosiery department where he bought a dozen socks, tights and leggings. They were strolling toward the exit, both laden with bags and packages when Sarah stopped to gaze in wonder at the many cosmetic aisles.
Feeling indulgent, he took the bags she was carrying and added them to the half dozen he had in his hands. "I'll take the stuff we bought out to the truck while you look around here for a few minutes. When I come back, we'll go to lunch."
She nodded and he set off, feeling like a pack animal. A rather happy pack animal, he decided. So what if he'd gone over his initial target time. Three hours was pretty good considering everything they'd accomplished.
He loaded the truck and returned to the cosmetic section. He found Sarah immediately, close to the place he'd left her. She hadn't gone very far because she was like a kid in a candy store, picking up the tiny glass bottles of perfume, sniffing at various fragrances, pausing to rub lotion between reverent fingers. With the bulk of their shopping done, he was in a hurry to eat, and he placed his hand in the small of her back, urging her along. "Come on, Sarah."
"Wait, Zach. You have to smell this."
She held out the stopper from a diamond-shaped bottle. He dutifully sniffed. The fragrance was delicate, like wildflowers. A cosmetologist in a white lab coat approached. "May I help you?" she asked.
"Just looking," Zach answered, hoping the woman would take the hint and leave them alone.
"How about you, miss?" She smiled at Sarah showing a mouthful of shiny white teeth. Zach noticed her name tag said Mystee and rolled his eyes. "We're having a special promotion this week," she said. "Would you care for a free facial?"
"This service costs nothing? Sarah asked, clearly intrigued.
"Sarah, believe me," Zach said, taking her hand. "It may not cost anything up front but you can bet by the time you're done, you will have shelled out plenty."
"Now, sir," said Mystee. "There is never any obligation to buy."
Sarah turned to him. "May I, Zach?"
Zach groaned inwardly. "We've been shopping for over three hours. It's past one o'clock. Aren't you hungry?"
She reluctantly put down a miniature sample.
"It will only take a moment," said Mystee. "We have some wonderful products designed to make skin feel new again. Like this mineral water spray." She spritzed Sarah's forearm.
Zach caught a whiff of the subtle fragrance. It smelled fresh, like the yucca Sarah had used on her hair.
"Surely we can spare a moment, Zach?"
Zach had a feeling any cosmetics the indefatigable Mystee might apply would take considerably more than a moment. The woman was so perfectly made up, her face resembled a mannequin's. "Maybe later," he said.
Sarah laid a hand on his arm. "Please?"
She'd asked for little throughout the entire shopping trip. Until now. "All right," he said and looked at Mystee. "But none of that makeup stuff."
"She has such beautiful skin, she really doesn't need any." Mystee led Sarah to a padded stool behind the counter. "And I can assure you, if you use our simple five-step complexion-care regimen, you will always have beautiful skin.
The simple five-step, complexion-care regimen took twenty minutes to apply. First came scrub cream, then cleansing lotion, a pink-tinted freshener, then a spritz of the mineral spray and finally, a moisturizer with sunscreen. But Zach couldn't begrudge Sarah the time as he watched her sit and be pampered. Had anyone ever fussed over her before? Seeing the absolute bliss on her face, he doubted it.
When the cosmetologist picked up one of those eyeliner pencils, Zach did interfere. "I said, no makeup."
"You're absolutely right. Her complexion is so fine, she doesn't need any foundation," Mystee said smoothly. "I'm just going to play up her eyes a little bit," she added, already sketching under Sarah's lower lashes. "Such dark eyes deserve a bit of highlighting. A little color will bring them right out. And, of course, lip gloss never hurt anyone."
He kept his mouth shut for the extra five minutes, which was more than plenty because his heart stopped when Sarah slid off the stool. It wasn't so much the makeup or the flattering color of the burgundy dress. It was the glow in her eyes.
&nbs
p; "You like it, Zach?"
He liked it too much. "Very nice."
"No one will laugh at me now."
He ended up buying a couple of products just to see her light up again. Then he took her to a restaurant inside the mall, a nice sit-down place to show off her new look. After the hostess seated them, Sarah perched on the edge of her chair, supremely self-conscious, judging from the surreptitious looks she cast at the other diners.
"Yes, they're all looking at you," Zach said.
"They are?"
"The women are looking because they're jealous of you. The men are looking because they're jealous of me."
She laughed and called him a terrible liar but the compliment must have hit home because she lost her self-consciousness and focused on the menu, concentrating on it with the same single-minded zeal with which she approached everything. He found he liked that about her, although he couldn't exactly say why. Her single-mindedness could also be a big pain in the butt.
The waitress came by. Sarah ordered a hamburger, fries and a glass of milk, the last of which made him smile. He told the waitress he'd take the same but substituted a bottle of beer for the milk. There was only so much clean living he could take.
"Well," he said after the waitress left. "Are you having a good time?"
"Oh, yes." Her eyes fairly danced. "Are you?"
"I hate shopping," he said and took her hand to soften the bluntness of the admittance. "But I'll go with you again anytime."
"You mean that?"
"One thing you should know about me, Sarah. When I say something, I mean it."
"That brings to mind a discussion we had earlier today."
"What discussion was that?" he asked, wondering which figured higher on her list: the wonders of modern lingerie, adrenaline rushes or homosexuality.
"You must have had plenty of time to think while I was trying on all those clothes. What about the house?"
Chapter Nine
She wore him down. There was no other explanation.
Zach decided this on the way back to the Bar M late that afternoon. With Sarah settled in the seat next to him in the truck, surrounded by shopping bags, he realized how, slowly but surely, she had actually gotten him to reconsider one of the most solemn promises he'd ever made to himself.
It wasn't her badgering that made him rethink his stand concerning the house. It was her sense of excitement about the prospect of moving in and fixing it up. It was the way she broadly gestured and talked with such light in her eyes, showing amber in their depths as she explained what she would do and how she would do it, to make an abandoned place look and feel new again with a little time and plenty of elbow grease. Sarah didn't seem to mind manual labor in the least.
He was impressed by how confident she was, how sure of herself. Even when she'd felt overwhelmed in the store, her natural optimism and poise had quickly reasserted itself once she'd gotten used to the pretentions of the surroundings.
Considering her background, he thought she'd be different. Meek and mild or more judgmental given the spouting from the Good Book. But though her beliefs were strong, they were tempered by a pragmatism that came from thinking for herself. Sarah was definitely open-minded, willing to readjust her thinking. He liked to believe he was the same way. So how could he justify saying no to such a simple request?
Ten years ago, on the day of his father's funeral, he'd gone through and boarded up the house out of spite. Spite for home, for family, for the entire ranching life. Opening the house would open old wounds, wounds he'd gone out of his way to close. But in listening to Sarah's plans, he couldn't help but see the wisdom of what she proposed. The Bar M would attract higher bids if all the buildings were in good shape. He'd already conceded that.
Even better, his debt to Sarah would be fully repaid. Being generous with the clothes was easy, too easy. She had risked more than mere clothes when she dragged him out of the creek. The injuries to her hands and feet attested to that.
Granted, going back on his word went against the grain. But there were times a man had to weigh the needs of others over those of his own. And though he'd made a career of rejecting that notion, this was one time he recognized it was his turn to do a favor. Sarah had certainly done him one. He could compromise on this one thing and let her do what she wanted. It didn't mean he had to actually set foot in the place. All he had to do was oversee the work to make it livable. He'd planned to bring in some renovators and the hands could help her with the muscle if it came to that. He could still insist she serve meals out of the bunkhouse. Being boss did carry some prerogatives.
Over the past couple of years, he'd sometime wondered what it would feel like to come home to a woman after a long, hard day, to look forward to a feeling of welcome and a good, hot meal. With Sarah, he could test the experience without any loss of autonomy. She knew upfront her job was only temporary, that once the ranch was sold, they would part company. He wouldn't have risked such an arrangement, otherwise.
Chapter Ten
She wore Zach down. There was no other explanation.
Sarah stood at the back door of the main house, surveying her new domain with pride. She had spent the past two weeks cleaning this one room, a nice, big kitchen, along with overseeing the installation of new cabinetry and counters. Now the surfaces gleamed and every plate, bowl, platter and dish was washed and put away in an orderly fashion. The odor of baking bread permeated the air and on the long, polished dining table, she'd set a ceramic pitcher full of late-season daisies, found when she'd sheared back the weeds growing in the garden.
Discovering the daisies had been a pleasant surprise, the latest in a week of pleasant surprises. The first had been Zach's agreement to let her live in the house. Ever since their excursion in the mall, they had become easier with each other, having become friends. Good friends.
Sarah wiped her hands on the apron fronting her gray wool dress and peered through the window above the kitchen sink. From here she could see the top of the barn over the trees. Zach stood upon the roof, working to fix a gaping hole. He wore what he called his jungle outfit: camouflage fatigues and heavy, thick-soled boots. His bare back attested to the fine autumn day, clear and sunny, with temperatures in the high fifties. After the first snowfall of the season earlier in the week, the weather had been pleasant for several days. Zach had seized the opportunity to repair the roofs of several of the outbuildings.
The hammer in his hand flashed in the sun. He was tireless, up at dawn and not stopping until well after dusk. Invariably, he already had a pot of coffee going in the machine at the bunkhouse when she arrived at six a.m. to prepare breakfast.
That had been one of the conditions he'd imposed when he'd agreed to let her live here. All meals would be served in the bunkhouse. At the time she thought it a practical suggestion for the main house kitchen was far from useable then. But now she knew this was to be a permanent arrangement.
Sarah felt the smile slip from her face. Zach repeatedly refused to come near the house. A not so wonderful surprise.
She had tried everything she could think of to get him inside, to show him the improvements taking shape. Oh, he was nice enough about it, treating her with an indulgence he rarely showed to anyone else. He'd hired a plumber and an electrician to make the place safe and immediately livable and early on, an army of handymen had come to replace what couldn't be fixed. But he flatly refused to inspect their handiwork, saying if what they did was fine by her, it was fine by him.
When she asked if the house held unpleasant memories for him, he clammed up completely. So she attempted to learn more about Zach and his family from what was in the house. And especially, from what wasn't in it.
Someone must have liked houseplants for there were clay pots in all the rooms in every nook and cranny. She couldn't afford to buy enough greenery to fill them all, so she started with cuttings from the garden and planted seed from the dried out perennials in the yard.
The volumes of books crammed on ev
ery shelf were more problematic. Most were paperbacks and so old the pages crumbled when she opened them. The hardcovers she cleaned meticulously, marveling over the inscriptions she often found inside. At one time Zach's father had loved Zach's mother enough to indulge her apparent passion for books.
On the other hand, there weren't any photographs. Photographs of family, of the ranch, of anything. During her journey, she'd become accustomed to the visual aspects of modern society, how images were everywhere. Computers, magazines, television, motion pictures, everywhere she turned there were photographs, pieces of life frozen in time. And this house didn't have one, even a calendar. None she'd found so far, at any rate.
Sarah turned her attention to the potatoes drying in the sink and began to peel, letting her thoughts wander. Tomorrow she would tackle the front room. It needed a good airing, and half the furniture had to go since she'd found several mouse nests in the upholstery. Then there was the big master bedroom upstairs where she and Butcher slept. She'd done nothing there but air the large mattress and wash the sheets. And there were still the four other upstairs bedrooms. So far, she hadn't the time to do anything more than glance at them.
Through the window above the sink, Sarah watched Zach move with precision on the roof and put her hand against the windowpane. She felt its solid warmth against her palm. It reminded her of the time he had kissed her, really kissed her. She had placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart pound. Just as hers was pounding now.
She would go see him, she decided. She had worn him down once. She could do it again.
Chapter Eleven
From his vantage point on the roof, Zach saw Sarah come out of the house carrying a tray complete with a pitcher and two drinking glasses. Uh-oh, he thought wryly. Another bribe.
As always, Butcher followed at her heels. Playfully barking, he pretended to attack the rippling hem of her skirt. She still insisted on wearing her old clothes, saying there was no use in ruining her new clothes when she was cleaning out years of dirt. Today she wore the calico blouse and the long, brown skirt, covered in good part by a white apron. He'd been teasing when he said her clothes were pretty much see-through but she'd taken it to heart, often wearing a sweater and the apron when she served meals in bunkhouse. As usual, her hair was coiled at the back of her head, showing off her graceful neck.
