* * *
Ainsley had known something was up when Riley’s brother nearly knocked her over in his haste to reach Molly. After that, the strain of impatience had warred with the reserved emotions on Riley’s face, and she found herself wondering what he’d be like if he lost that tightly held control.
His constricted composure hadn’t lasted long after that. Once Riley stormed into the kitchen, Ainsley counted how long it took to hear the back door closing. Two minutes. She didn’t blame him. Something unusual happening on the ranch was more important than a stupid singles retreat.
It was another minute before everyone else realized their dreamboat was missing, the buzz of annoyed women growing louder until Molly emerged from the kitchen. “Where did Riley go?” Robin asked.
Molly held up her hands, resignation taking over her features. “Ladies, it seems we’ll have to wait until tonight’s one-on-one speed-dating interviews to see my wayward brother again,” she said. “Please, finish your brunch and relax in here or feel free to explore the ranch.”
“So where’s Riley?” Leigh asked.
“Where did he go?” Robin repeated.
“To the stables,” Molly answered. “We have a mare about to foal.”
Silence filled the room as the women looked at each other, Molly, and out the huge window. A few of them put down their drinks or plates on the nearest surface and glided toward the door as if they’d each spontaneously decided to take a stroll.
Molly marked the mass exodus with a sigh and sank into one of the cushioned seats. “That was probably the wrong thing to say.”
“I know the smart thing to do would be to stay here.” Meagan rose from her seat, casting an apologetic look at Molly. “But I’ve been around animals before and having the opportunity to see one give birth… I can’t pass this up.” She paused, as if waiting for permission.
“I’ll wait until after you leave before I laugh at you,” Ainsley promised. Meagan stuck her tongue out before heading for the door.
“You’re not going out there?” Molly asked.
“I’ll ruin my Manolos,” Ainsley said, tracking her roommate’s exit.
Molly peeked down at Ainsley’s brown loafers. “Those are Manolos? I expected them to be… well… brighter.”
A flush warmed Ainsley’s cheeks when she realized what she’d said. “Oh, no. I mean, I don’t know much about livestock, except how to get out of the way. Riley doesn’t need eight women milling around watching the horse have a little one.”
The two women who didn’t rush out drifted over to them and made themselves comfortable on the other chairs and sofa.
“You don’t want to witness the miracle of life?” Ainsley asked them.
Mary Ellen shook her head. “I have no inclination to see a waxy build-up on a pregnant horse.”
Molly gripped the arms of her chair and made a strangled sound at the back of her throat before she muttered under her breath. Ainsley barely made out the words “kill” and “brother.”
“Well, let’s do something fun,” said Robin. “What is there to do here?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Molly said, clapping her hands and rubbing them together. She transformed into their hostess again, unaffected by the change in plans. “We have some nature trails that lead to the actual crescent ridge. Oh, and you said yesterday you’re a florist, right?” she asked Ainsley.
Ainsley nodded, dread creeping into her stomach while she waited for the woman’s admonishment over her nocturnal visit to the greenhouse. Molly’s hands tensed a bit, which Ainsley would have missed if she wasn’t watching for some sort of reaction.
“Let’s go look at the greenhouse,” Molly said.
Not quite what Ainsley was expecting. “Is that all right? I mean, it’s not off limits or anything?”
“Why would you think that it was off limits?” Molly asked.
Because of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mad As Hell. Ainsley only shrugged. “Let me go change and get my camera. Seeing different flower arrangements and how they’re grown always fascinates me.”
Molly and Robin were waiting for Ainsley when she reached the greenhouse. Molly stormed through the doors like she had to get inside, swinging them wide open.
Ainsley took her time looking around, studying the leaves of the tree closest to the door to hide that she’d been there before. Now in the daylight, though the same sweet smell of decay surrounded them, she was able to see that not all the flowers were on the verge of death. Contrasting rows of purples, pinks, yellows, and blues lined the west end, the different spicy and velvet scents opening her professional curiosity. The greenhouse covered a good half–mile, with dirt paths winding among the plants, the architecture of the building proclaiming that not all of the structure was original. Ainsley breathed deeply, relaxing in the mixed florals like she was in her shop. It smelled so much like home.
She was so absorbed in her own agenda that she barely heard Robin. “Molly, are you all right?”
Molly sat on the bench next to the notebook, hands covering her face and her shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” She wiped her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father loved this greenhouse. It was his passion, his joy. We lost him about four months ago and no one’s really enjoyed it since. I thought having new people here with me would change the…the loneliness I feel every time I come in here, but it didn’t.”
Ainsley digested Molly’s words and a heated rush made its way up her face. Riley must have been feeling the same way. And she’d just callously marched into the sacred ground like she belonged. No wonder he’d been upset. “I’m so sorry, Molly.”
Robin echoed her words and enveloped the other woman in a hug. Molly closed her eyes for a moment, then disentangled herself with a forced laugh.
“Anyway,” Molly continued as she tried to put a bright smile on her face, “enough of this. You ladies look around and let me know what you think. This greenhouse is a huge attraction for people who come to the ranch for something other than the horses and sheep.”
Ainsley paused for a moment, but Molly nudged her with a little push to the shoulder. Ainsley wandered away from the bench and breathed in the earthy scent around her. Her grandfather had instilled in her a passion for flowers. She had spent countless hours with him in the backyard of their monstrous home. She smiled at the memories as she fingered the leaves of an Indian paintbrush, the dulled red standing out against her hand. Even after he made his money in the sixties with a few well-placed investments, Grampa always took time to play in the dirt, and she thought of him every time she walked into her shop. She imagined Riley’s father had cared for the flora in the greenhouse much the same way. The way Riley had acted last night gave her the idea that Riley wasn’t ready yet to confront his memories. And Riley felt the same way she did after her grandfather had died.
“All right, Ains. Stop daydreaming. You can’t change his past,” she muttered to herself, and studied the flowers for something deeper than their memories. She spotted the ever-present Indian paintbrush, some red showing among the growing stems, and purple geraniums surrounding the skin-irritating yellow arnica. She cleared some dead vegetation, ideas for arrangements for Charleston Blooms growing in her mind. This trip was finally starting to be productive. And if she could help begin to heal the greenhouse, maybe the Pommers could begin to heal as well.
* * *
Edward swallowed around the tightness in his throat. That vibrant green bikini was going to be the death of him. Everywhere Cecelia went, the eyes of every male, from teenage boys to old men with sun visors, followed her movements. The bartender leaned forward a little too much when he handed her their drinks. Her hips swayed with her delicate steps as she came back to the lounge chairs, and Edward put himself among the ranks of her most avid watchers.
“Here.” The calypso band had started playing and she needed to shout so he could hear. She handed him a clear cocktail glass filled with a thick chocolaty liquid. Definitely n
ot the requested rum and Coke. “Drink up. I’m giving you a Screaming Orgasm.”
A low buzzing sounded in his ears. While he wouldn’t have put it as crudely, the thought of having Cecelia in his bed brought him close to losing the tight control he kept on his emotions. “Excuse me?”
She sat on the chair next to him. “The drink. It’s called a Screaming Orgasm.” She blinked at him through her long lashes. “You didn’t think…”
Heat rushed to his face and he turned away to hide it. “Oh, no, of course not. I wasn’t sure what you had said.”
“Hmmm. Too bad.” She took a sip of her own red concoction and eased back into her chair.
The thick book in her lap held her interest while he studied her over the rim of his glass. He had heard the phrase “blatant invitation” before, but actually experiencing one was something new. Her gorgeous hair fell in loose waves just past her shoulders, the breeze teasing her cheek with her blond locks. One long leg bent slightly at the knee, the other fully extended. The tiny green bikini displayed so much of her lithe body that he wanted to grab a towel from a pool attendant and cover her up.
In his list of pros and cons, the number of cons had been greater. She was too wild. She wasn’t what he needed and wanted in a spouse. Her parents—Ainsley’s parents—would never approve. But one pro overrode them all, one secret he kept from Sophia and Bennett and even his own heart.
He had always loved her.
He took a drink, unwilling to follow those thoughts any longer. She was completely unsuitable. Even with her bloodline, no way could she ever move in his world, where appearances mattered and you were judged by your relationships. The creamy liquid slid down his throat, leaving behind a hint of coffee. He took a larger swallow and tried to relax, ignoring the force of Cecelia’s personality.
Some guy made his way to the foot of her chair, every part of his overly muscled body glistening. Certainly some women found that attractive, but Edward thought it was overdone. The man stopped and posed, his bulging veins straining through his skin. “Hey, pretty lady.”
Edward’s stomach clenched. He took another swallow of his drink and glanced away, trying to play it cool. Cecelia wasn’t his, and if she wanted to go with this hulking, no-brains mass, he wasn’t going to stop her.
“Hey yourself.” Her voice was friendly and Edward held his breath.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Edward couldn’t help but resent the ease with which this man went after what he wanted. He was sure the man didn’t analyze the nuances and after effects of every situation. Maybe Edward should take lessons.
“You’re sweet. But no, thank you.”
The man moved off, studying other women lounging by the pool, and Edward exhaled slowly. He drank more of his Screaming… Orgasm.
“I’m no good at flirting.” Whoa, where had that come from? He cleared his throat. “The banter over the drinks before. I don’t know what to do.”
Cecelia closed the book with a thud and placed it on the table beside her. He caught the title—Sociology and Civics. What an odd book to take on a cruise. She leaned across the arm of her chair, bringing her lips just out of reach of his. “You know what I want you to do?”
Everything in his body swelled, including his throat. It made responding difficult. “What?”
“I want you to lose this stoic exterior and become the person you really are. The one that makes me laugh at our parents’ boring, polite holiday parties and used to go with me to see bawdy movies until you decided it would be bad for your career if someone saw you there. The person you show only to me because you know I won’t judge you. I want you to be YOU, Edward. Not what everyone else wants you to be.”
She was right. But he hadn’t been himself in a long time.
She leaned in closer. “What do you want to do?” Her gaze darted down and her tongue flicked out to moisten the corner of her mouth. “Do you want to kiss me?”
The coconut smell of her sunscreen filled his senses. She kissed his cheek, a soft feathery caress. “Do you want to take me back to your room?” She breathed in his ear, creating a roar that drowned out everything else on the deck. “Do you want—”
He grabbed her shoulders and held her away from him. Her clear green eyes bored into his, a small half-smile playing on her lips. Her lips formed one word, though she didn’t speak it. Me. He gave up.
The first touch of her mouth, warm, pliant against his, sent all thoughts of proper behavior and his life plan overboard. Her bikini-clad body joined his on the lounge chair and blocked everything from his senses.
He was completely losing his mind. And it felt good.
“Should we go back to the cabin?” she whispered. “And it won’t be to play Scrabble.”
Another roar. To have her with him, have his fantasies come true. If he had to be honest with himself, the reality was intimidating. What if he didn’t measure up to what she expected? She’d hop off the boat in the Bahamas and fly back to South Carolina. Better take it slow.
“I’m not ready,” he said.
A giggle escaped her lips and he stiffened. She laughed at him? Wounded, he extracted himself from underneath her while she buried her mouth in his chest.
“Don’t go,” she said, clinging to his arm. “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just been so long since any guy wanted to take his time with me. This one gesture, and you make me feel amazing and desired.” She kissed him again, slow and lingering, making him doubt his resolve to move slowly. When she slid the lean length of her body off his, the lack of warmth left him bereft. She sat on her chair again and picked up her book while he wondered what in holy hell had possessed him to deny her.
Chapter 5
Riley poured some water from the blue pitcher in preparation for more of Molly’s version of speed dating, ranch-style. Beefy odors wafted up from the platters of food for dinner, but he ignored them and stared at the door of the study. Maybe if he willed it, it would stay closed and not let in any more women.
Three had come in to the small room already, one at a time. Tall, short, blonde, dark, some who could ride, some who could cook. He felt like he was interviewing possible employees. Wanted: one potential wife, needs to be comfortable on a ranch and in a saddle or be willing to learn. Cooking nice but not necessary. Must be able to lift grain or hay. References required. A sip of the cool liquid trailed down his throat and he crunched an ice cube, trying to ignore the futility and waste of his time. This whole marital rodeo was stupid. Love couldn’t be forced. That lesson he had learned when his mother left, when Molly tried desperately to hold on to her marriage. When his girlfriends tried to mold him into their idea of Mr. Right. Every relationship failed.
Especially ones that started out by ignoring the safety of his favorite mare. How could they think crowding around a sterile environment, moving the hay bales and sitting on horse stall walls, was a good idea? And they kept calling his name, diverting his attention from Scarlet and her foal, asking him questions that could have easily been answered afterward. Even when he was elbow-deep in birthing fluids. That kind of egocentric me-first attitude he did not need in a relationship.
Cookie had maintained crowd control, and the women shrank back and stopped talking under his steely glare. He had put Jewel in charge of clean water, since she did have some medical training, even if it was for humans. And Scarlet seemed calmer when she saw Meagan, so he let her sit closer than the others. But Meagan had stayed silent, her feet tucked neatly under her skirt, while she watched the horse and not the man.
He checked the list of names Molly had written. It wasn’t necessary, but his sister lived to make lists and he didn’t want to deprive her. A thrill rippled across his belly when he saw Ainsley was coming in next. Ainsley who had very obviously not been in the stables. Not that he had checked.
He had managed to be polite to the women who had already come in for the speed dating, even if he stayed stiff instead of relaxing, and he sat in the cushioned brown chai
r instead of sharing the sofa. Mary Ellen had seemed wary of him, but soon they were chatting about motorcycles. Then she got offended when he asked her if she could cook. Meagan spent the entire time talking about his ranch foreman and the birth of the foal, her bright blue eyes expressing joy in each conversation, and trying to make him see the plus side to being a vegetarian. Robin spent the entire time talking and tugging on her hair, twisthing the short strands around a finger and then releasing them.
Why hadn’t Ainsley been in the stables? It was either because she understood she would’ve been underfoot or she had already had her fill of pissed-off cowboy. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. His father would've been disappointed in the way Riley had treated her, first in the greenhouse, then again at breakfast. As usual, the anger over his father’s death battled with his own helplessness to stop it. And that made him think of Seth, whom he hadn’t seen all evening. He took a gulp of water and thrust the glass down on the table, cutting off his mind and the remaining sadness. Dealing with his brother would be easier if he could control his own emotions.
The doorknob clicked and he schooled his features into neutral. Ainsley entered the small room and stood by the open door.
There it was. That rush of heat from earlier when she stood so close to him at the buffet. Her vanilla scent, her humor-filled eyes at the greenhouse. Before they’d held a challenge, ready for him. Now they seemed wary, somehow. More reserved.
“Good evening,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable stillness.
She nodded in response and Riley gestured to the brown sofa, wondering if this was what people meant by an awkward silence. She shuffled across the carpet on pink high heels, showing off shapely curves and bared shoulders in a black dress. In this environment, he could take the time to look at her as a woman instead of as an annoyance. Her green eyes set off her thick, wavy hair and she had the appearance of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. Her nose was a shade longer than what he’d consider conventionally beautiful, but her mouth was enticing. Right now the full lips compressed in a straight line. She sat with her hands primly tucked into her lap, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Who Wants to Marry a Cowboy? Page 7
