He shot her a half smile that was filled with emotion. “Pretty bad, huh?”
Melanie shook her head. “I’d say that sounds like a normal reaction. I’m sure you’re not the only one who thought like that.”
“When she died, I wanted to go with her. I remember standing there thinking I wanted to jump into that grave with her. I didn’t want to leave her alone. I didn’t want to be left alone,” he said, looking down, the honesty making her breath catch.
“It took me a year to realize she was gone for good. A year for my instincts to remember. It’s like I had to remember that when I rode home, she wouldn’t be there, that the dinner table would be missing someone. That every damn morning I’d wake to an empty bed. It took me a year to get rid of her things. I used to go to her grave every day just to be close to her, to talk to her. Tell her what was happening with the business. I’d bring her flowers.” He stopped talking for a moment and just looked at her. Melanie quickly wiped the tears from her face and crossed her arms.
“And on the one year anniversary of her death, I sat at her grave and drank. Gage found me, late at night, and I thought he was going to convince me to leave, give me some garbage about not honoring her, but instead he sat down beside me and finished off the bottle of whiskey. Stayed with me the entire night. Then Cori came and found us the next morning and hauled our sorry asses home. And she gave me the lecture of not honoring Sarah’s memory. That was the last day of my self-pity. I knew I either had to sink or swim. So I learned how to live without her. I was married five years, and I’ve been single since. I’ve gotten used to it. I like it. I know Cori and Mrs. H think it’s because I haven’t moved on, but they’re wrong. I have learned how to live without Sarah, but that doesn’t mean I want to be married again,” he said, looking her squarely in the eyes.
Melanie swallowed the whiskey she’d been holding in her mouth as he spoke. She was waiting for him to finish so that the burn in her throat when the whiskey went down would dim in comparison to his words.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t,” she stumbled for the right words, “I mean obviously I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you. But sometimes people can live on memories. I think if she was your soul mate, the love of your life, it makes sense not to want to seek that out again,” she whispered, breaking the intense stare. She looked at the bottle with its diminishing supply and frowned. She felt privileged he was opening up to her like this. She knew it was probably the alcohol talking, but still, she knew how private he was.
She was an idiot. She didn’t even believe in marriage, so why should his stalwart declaration that he never wanted to be married bother her? And like he’d ever even entertain the idea with her. He could barely tolerate her. She was the opposite of the woman that he had adored.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry for unloading all that on you. I don’t usually do that. It must be all the whiskey,” he said. For a moment he looked vulnerable, young, the hard lines in his face diminishing. Cole was a dangerous mix of hard man on the outside and a heartbreakingly tender core. He was a man she could fall in love with. He was a man who knew how to respect the women in his life. He was strong enough to let the women around him be strong, too.
Melanie held up the bottle of whiskey and forced a smile on her face. “This is emptying really fast. You’d better drink up before it’s all gone.”
Cole’s mouth curled into a smile. “I hope to hell you know how to hold your liquor. I can’t clean up vomit,” he said, holding out his hand.
She laughed and made the trade, her fingers brushing against his. The warmth of his skin seared hers, causing her stomach to drop. He took a long drink straight from the bottle and then handed it back to her. And as sad and pathetic as it was, the realization that she hoped to have even the tiniest taste of his mouth from the bottle propelled her to lick her lips. But there was nothing, not even a hint of Cole. She opened her eyes and found him watching her. She cleared her throat. He probably thought she was a drunk trying to lap up every drop of alcohol. Chatty Cole was a little disconcerting, a little intense. She knew Cori would never have revealed much about her family situation. She scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t involve revealing too much. She couldn’t. Not to Cole. Not to anyone, really.
“So? What about you, what’s your story, Mel?”
Chapter Six
What was wrong with him? Did alcohol make him talk like a woman? Or was it the woman he was talking with? What’s your story? He couldn’t believe he’d just asked this.
“Not really much to tell.”
“Well, what about men in your life. Husbands, boyfriends.”
“No men. No ex-husband. I am not a huge fan of the entire institution of marriage,” she said with a shrug.
He turned his head sharply. “Really? That surprises me. You sort of seem like the exact type of woman who’d go for the whole marriage-and-kids thing.”
“It just seems like a way to shackle people, to force them into a position where they are vulnerable. It either fails and ends in divorce or leaves one of the two being subservient to the other. Usually the woman.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes not leaving his. “Come on. Let’s be honest here. Take you for example, big, strapping rancher. Wakes up before dawn, puts in long hours, and makes good money. Don’t tell me you weren’t the one who wore the pants in your relationship. One person has to. And frankly, I’m not willing to take my pants off for any man to wear and I don’t care how he fills them out.” She smiled sheepishly as he choked on the whiskey in his mouth. She removed the ice pack from her leg.
“I have to say, I never would have expected to hear that coming out of your mouth.” He stood when she removed her leg from his and tossed what was left of the ice into the sink. On the one hand he was happy he didn’t have the distraction of her silky leg on his thigh, and on the other, was downright disappointed. Melanie was luring him in. Not on purpose, he knew, because there wasn’t a damn coy bone in her body, but it was in the way she spoke to him, the serious side to her, the caring side.
She shrugged. “I don’t like to ramble on when something can be said succinctly.”
“So where’s your family?”
She sighed. “Back home. We sort of lost touch.”
“You lost touch with your parents? And you have a sister, right? You lost touch with her?”
Melanie traced the lines of the whiskey bottle. “We’re all pretty busy, and I don’t talk to them much.”
“What made you start the wedding planning business?”
“I used to work for a wedding planner when I was at boarding school and learned the ins and outs of her business. Because of my background, I also knew the ins and outs of high-end events; there was no guesswork. So after I graduated I worked with her full-time and took business courses at the local college. By the time I managed to finish I was ready to venture out on my own. First I did it without a storefront. I’d go and meet people through local bridal shows and then as I took on more clients I thought I’d take the plunge and open my own place.”
His mind was spinning with everything she’d just revealed. And he was kind of blown away, because he hadn’t expected any of that. No one at that school needed part-time jobs. Certainly not Melanie.
“Why did you have a job in boarding school?”
“I’ve always been interested in business and wanted to get some hands-on experience.”
“Your parents were okay with that?”
“They didn’t know.”
He thought back to every school event he and his parents had attended for Cori, but he never remembered seeing her parents. He’d seen her sister, but never any parents. And the whole line about losing touch with her family? There was obviously a hell of a lot more going on with her than he’d have guessed.
“They must have been proud of you for starting your own company.”
She shot
him a smile. “I didn’t realize you were such a talker.”
“I’m not, unless I have something worth saying. I’m not really into bullshit and trivialities, but you’re easy to talk to,” he said gruffly. “You didn’t answer my question. What do your parents think of your business?”
“I’m sure they are proud in their own way. I’m getting kind of tired. I should probably get to bed,” she whispered.
He nodded and stood. She was obviously done with being questioned. Melanie answered questions about her family the way Gage did: vague and fast. “Sure.”
She stared at his face for a moment and then gingerly stood, holding the armrest. He walked over to her, knowing what he was going to do. “Here, why don’t I carry you to bed.” She teetered to the left and he grasped her shoulders to steady her.
“Thanks but, no, no. Totally not necessary. I’m fine. I can hobble.”
“No need to hobble.”
“I don’t need you to pick me up.” Her gorgeous green eyes were glittering with something and he knew he wanted an excuse to hold her. He didn’t want her to go to bed yet.
He reached down and swung her into his arms and then almost fell backward as she started flailing around. “What the hell are you doing, Mel? Trying to make us both fall?”
“No, I’m trying to make sure I’m decent!” Decent or not, he was liking this. A little too much. He walked across the room and the weight of her against him, the softness of her full breasts pressing against his chest, her sweet scent, made him never want to put her down. But the bed was only ten feet away and he cursed himself for making such a small cabin. He sat her gently on the bed and straightened himself up.
“Thank you,” she said, shooting him a smile and inching back into the bed.
He needed to force himself to move, to take his eyes off her. Her long hair was tousled around her shoulders, her full lips red and moist, and her silky legs were stretched out. His hand flexed involuntarily, remembering the exact feel of her skin under his. Cole cleared his throat and forced himself to back up a step. “You’re welcome. I’ll just go and check that we’ve got enough wood to last the night.”
Cole poked at the fire. Melanie was fluffing her pillow and things were quiet for the first time tonight. And he was pretty damn sure he preferred the conversation to the silence. As much as he hated to admit it, talking to her was the best time he’d had in a long, long while. He didn’t want Melanie to go to bed yet. He didn’t want the night to end. He glanced over at her as she was climbing under the quilt.
“Are you sure you’re okay with sleeping on the couch?” she asked, yawning.
“I’ll make sure the fire keeps going through the night. Easier from the couch.” Actually, he wanted to crawl into bed right beside her. And not sleep.
He had never opened up to anyone like he just had. He told himself it was the whiskey, but he knew it was more. Mel and Sarah couldn’t have been more different. Sarah had been simple and sweet, and Mel was turning out to be complicated…but there was sweetness there. Sweetness and sexiness.
He found himself torn between loving her conversation, the ideas, the thoughts that came out of her mouth, and just loving her mouth. The curve of her lips. The fullness of them. Then he’d admire her skin, the smoothness, the flawlessness. Then he’d remember the lingerie in her hands. The lace. Then the way she looked last night in the hallway. He still had every curve memorized. And tonight, when she’d come out of the washroom with his shirt on, it had taken every ounce of self-discipline not to stare at her. She had essentially made a paper bag look like a million bucks.
He ran his hands through his hair roughly. He needed to stop this line of thinking. Melanie would be leaving the ranch tomorrow. They’d both get on with work. He’d find out how his sister was doing and when she was coming home. Pretty soon the wedding would arrive and he and Mel would go their separate ways. He should be spending his time thinking about the business deal. Monday morning, he’d be meeting with the man who could potentially make one of Sarah’s dreams come true. So why did the thought of not seeing Melanie until the wedding make him feel lonely?
He glanced over at Melanie; she’d passed out without even getting under the blanket. He couldn’t help but smile. And despite the fact that he’d classify her as never being his type, there was something about her, something infuriating…and endearing. And now he didn’t want the night to end, he didn’t want to sleep alone. For the first time since Sarah died, he wanted to sleep with a woman. No, not a woman. Melanie. He wanted to feel her warmth, hear her steady breath, wanted to feel her in his arms.
The quilt had been tossed aside, like she hadn’t quite gotten it over her before she fell asleep. He slowly walked over to the bed and tucked it around her. She stirred slightly, turning toward him. Her green eyes opened, immediately seeking his out, and his gut was in his throat at the emotion he read in them. She smiled softly, and either it was the whiskey, or exhaustion, but all her walls were down. He swore he saw who she was at that moment, and every preconceived notion he’d had about her was obliterated as he stared into her eyes. Now all he saw was a woman that intrigued him, beckoned him on a level he’d never experienced before. He didn’t think twice about reaching out to smooth the dark hair that had fallen forward. He knew he wanted to touch her. She watched him, silently, her eyes not leaving his. He swallowed hard when she turned her cheek into the palm of his hand, her warm breath stirring something deep inside. He knew he wanted to kiss her, but he knew exactly where that would lead, and the repercussions. She was his little sister’s friend. She was wrong for him.
“Good night, Cole,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat and pushed all the useless thoughts he had aside. “’Night, Mel.”
Cole walked back to the couch and piled up a few pillows on one end and then stretched out. His feet hung off the side and he tried to get comfortable, but he kept thinking of the woman in his bed and how he wasn’t joining her. This was the second night he was losing sleep over Melanie Simms.
Something woke him. It took him a moment to figure out where he was. The wind was violent, rattling the window, and his legs were hanging off the sofa that was too damn small for his frame. Then he remembered he was at the cabin. Fire was on. Light dim. Then he heard it again. He sat up and noticed the form in his bed. Right. Melanie. The blizzard. The whiskey.
Melanie mumbled something again, and then it sounded like the quilt being tossed to the ground. She yelled something about a dictatorship and tyranny and father. He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. What the hell was she talking about now? “Can you keep your voice down? It’s the middle of the night and I’m trying to sleep.”
“Cinnamon is for specialty beverages, not a horse’s name.”
He swore under his breath and stood. He walked over to the bed and realized her eyes were shut. She was dreaming. Or having some kind of nightmare.
“Melanie,” he said gruffly, touching her shoulder.
“I hate your horse,” she mumbled and then turned away.
He frowned down at her. Obviously she couldn’t handle drinking whiskey and tomorrow morning he was going to inform her of that.
He sat on the bed beside her and gently rubbed her back, trying to wake her, but she stiffened and he felt her intake of breath. “Mel, wake up. It’s Cole; you’re having a nightmare.”
Her face was still buried in the pillow, but he could tell she was waking. She whipped her head around to look at him and then covered her face with her hands. They were shaking.
“You okay?”
She nodded, her face still behind her hands. He couldn’t help but feel bad. She’d been talking about the horse. Did she mean him and how he’d tried to pressure her to ride today? But then she mentioned her father. He racked his brain for something, anything that Cori might have said about Melanie’s family, but there was nothing. He knew virtually nothing about her family other than they were extremely wealthy and that Melanie was no longer in to
uch with them.
After tonight, there was no going back. He knew her and he couldn’t un-know her. He didn’t want to. He wanted to know more. When she still didn’t move her hands, he gently grasped her wrists in his hands and pushed them aside. Her glorious green eyes were filled with tears and she stared up at the ceiling. “It’s fine. Stupid whiskey,” she muttered.
“It’s not fine,” he whispered, his voice feeling hoarse, his throat clogged with emotion. She looked young and vulnerable. Every bone in his body ached with the need to hold her. He knew that would be dangerous. Going down that road with her was not an option. He reminded himself of that, over and over again as he climbed into the bed beside her, and wrapped his arms around her. This is what he’d wanted to do all night.
Every single time she’d shoot him a look or give him some smart-ass retort, he’d wanted to pull her into him, feel the curves he’d tried desperately not to notice. The entire evening with her had been an excruciating lesson in self-deprivation, the icing on the cake being having her lingerie on display. Because at that moment the only thing he could think of was how she’d fill out the garments, how he’d like to be the one to help her back into them and then out of them. And the image of her, of them together, had played over and over again.
“Mel,” he whispered against her hair. Despite the snow, the wind, her hair smelled like sunshine, still silky, soft. He almost thought she was going to push him away, but instead she turned into him. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and everything inside him stopped for a moment.
The Rancher's Second Chance Page 7
