by Vonna Harper
“But you won’t like it.”
“I just said I understand—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Alerted by his brother’s tone, he again turned toward him. Jason’s eyes had darkened as they did when he was deep in thought. “Spit it out,” Maco said.
“Okay, maybe I have it wrong. Like you said, I’m not psychic. But when you say her name, you use a tone I haven’t heard in years, not since long before your divorce.”
“Tone?”
Jason shrugged. “Caring. Concerned. Yeah, that’s what it is. Crystal got under your skin, and you fell in love with her. Stayed that way for a long time. Now, however, you’re over her and finally ready to move on. Take a chance with another woman.”
“I thought we were talking about security and damn fools who think they’re saving the planet by kicking us out.”
“Were talking. Now we’ve changed subjects. Being in love isn’t a fatal disease. I’m willing to bet you’d like it more and longer the next time.”
He didn’t need to hear this. Damn it, he didn’t want his kid brother psychoanalyzing him! Putting Crystal out of his life had torn him into little pieces, but he’d had no choice. Their marriage had become dysfunctional at the core. If Crystal was ever going to stand on her own two feet, which she needed to, he had to stop propping her up.
No more playing the big protector with a woman or thinking of her as a newborn calf or foal. Particularly one with the ability to, as Jason would say, get under his skin.
“I’ve pissed you off?” Jason asked.
“What? No. I’m just thinking about what you said.”
“No shitting. You are?” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “My sunburn’s getting a sunburn. What I wouldn’t give for a few clouds. So do you think there’s something to my attempt at pop psychology?”
Working up a smile, Maco punched his brother’s shoulder. “I think you need to get a life so you’ll stop trying to mess around in mine.”
“I’ve got a life.”
“Do you?”
As he suspected, Jason didn’t answer. Instead his brother turned away and headed for the travel trailer that served as their on-site office. Studying Jason’s attire, which was a clone of his cowboy hat, western shirt, jeans, and sidearm, he recalled how the governmental engineers had kept switching their attention from one brother to the other. On the surface, the Durants looked as if they were copying each other.
They weren’t. They simply held true to their upbringing.
To his way of thinking, the biggest difference between them was that Jason had been a widower for over a year, and the wound caused by the fast-moving cancer that had taken his wife’s life was still raw. If there was one thing Jason didn’t need, it was his older brother rubbing on that wound.
Once his business with Shari was over, he’d go to his brother and apologize.
The noise from the machinery made it impossible for Maco to hear anything else, but he saw the dust before he recognized
Shari’s Bronco. She stopped near the travel trailer with OFFICE written on the door in red paint but didn’t get out until the dust settled. The afternoon sun beat down on the hard-packed ground. Despite the activity below, he felt isolated. It was just him and the land—and Shari Afton.
She acknowledged him with a short wave, but instead of walking toward him, she headed toward the back of the Bronco. When she opened the rear door, two large, muscle-bound, mostly black Dobermans jumped out. Instead of giving in to the impulse to study Shari, he concentrated on the dogs. They had a dignity about them, a restrained curiosity as if they knew they weren’t here to play. Because his family had always had working dogs, he’d never confuse the Dobermans with spoiled pets. Just the same, the mostly Border collies had the run of the house when they weren’t with the cattle. He wasn’t sure the same held true for the four-legged security force that had just arrived.
Shari, wearing faded, tight jeans, a T-shirt with a picture of a Doberman plastered on the front, and dusty tennis shoes, headed his way. The dogs, looking regal and alert, kept pace, one on either side of her. Even before the trio reached him, her presence swept over every inch of him.
Still approaching, she pointed at the darker of the two dogs. “Bruce,” she said. “The other’s Tucker. You want to get to know them?”
What he wanted was to pull her shirt tight over her breasts and study their contours. What he wanted was to get her out of those jeans so he could run his hands over her bare thighs and memorize the contours. Most of all he wanted to stare. Touch.
Followed by asking her what the hell she’d done to him.
“Sure,” he said, wondering if he sounded as distracted and dumb as he felt. “Something I should have brought up before is how they are around horses.”
“Horses?”
He pointed toward the small, tree-shaded corral where Jason and he kept their two quarter horses when they weren’t using them to get around the site. “Silver and Broomtail. My brother and I prefer them to dirt bikes.”
“Oh.” Stopping, she stared at what she could see of the dozing horses. They were saddled and bridled. “Not a problem, once I make the introductions, so to speak.”
“Good.”
Instead of checking out their new turf, the two dogs remained near Shari and watched her every move. She waited until only a few feet separated her and her companions from him. Then she swept her right hand, palm down, in his direction. That must have been some kind of signal because the dogs walked over to him, heads high so their gazes met his.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Let them smell the back of your hands. They’ll understand you’re a friend.”
“That’s what that movement of yours was about?” he asked. “Giving them the all clear?”
“Pretty much. Go on. They won’t bite.”
“I didn’t figure they would.” As the dogs investigated first his hands and then every part of his anatomy their noses could reach, his respect both for them and what Shari had accomplished with them grew. Most dogs lost whatever minds they possessed around strangers while this pair seemed to be simply assessing him. Of course maybe he just wasn’t that interesting to them. How would they react if they knew he’d like nothing better than to discover what their mistress was like in the sack?
“Enough.” Shari snapped her fingers. The dogs immediately backed away from him and flanked her, their noses testing the air. “They’re a little overloaded because they’re in a new environment. I want to give them time to comprehend their surroundings.”
“You know what they’re thinking?”
She chuckled. The sound sliced through his skin and went straight to his nerves. “I wouldn’t call it thinking. They pretty much operate on well-developed instinct. Maco?”
Say my name again. “What?”
She looked around. “I didn’t realize how big this operation is. I should have, but—I’m impressed.”
“So am I,” he admitted. “Jason and I have worked a number of large projects, but this is our first dam.”
“Then how do you know what you’re doing?”
“Simple. We follow the engineers’ blueprints and specs.”
“It’s more than that. It has to be.”
“Correct.” He was surprised at his ability to hold up his end of the conversation. “Getting the right manpower working for us is a key element. So is a broad understanding of construction. That said, at this point it’s pretty basic. Right now we’re doing the ground preparation, something we have expertise in. Once that’s done, they’ll bring in experts who’ve worked with dams before, and we’ll follow their lead.”
“Oh.” Her tone said she knew things were even more complex than he’d alluded to but wasn’t sure she wanted to go there. Neither did he.
“How’s your day going?” he asked. She was an intriguing mix of competence and subtle femininity, a modern woman with a primal body.
“Busy. Same as yours, I imagine.”
“They’re all busy.” Damn it, come up with something better than that! “What about what happened yesterday? Have you heard anything from the sheriff’s department?”
“Not a word.” She tucked her hands in her back pockets. The maybe unconscious gesture pushed her breasts against her top and reminded him—as if he needed reminding—of what he wanted to do to and with her. “It’s been peaceful except for my having to call a couple of pups away from a skunk just as I was loading up these dogs. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I’m glad. Really glad. One day of excitement’s enough, right?”
“Right.”
“You don’t sound particularly convinced. Are you sure it’s back to normal?”
“Whatever normal is,” she muttered.
Good thing her hands were out of reach. Otherwise, he’d be tempted to grab them and pull her against him. Ask her if she really had a handle on her emotions. Take her past memories of what had happened to Ona.
When she tilted her head, it occurred to him that she was waiting for him to say more. Unfortunately his cock was the only part of his anatomy engaged in dialoguing with his brain. Damn it, the woman turned him on.
Was that all? He was horny and she came equipped with the anatomical part capable of handling his horniness? Throw in a slender but strong form and big eyes and he wanted nothing else from life?
If only.
Silence enveloped Shari, making her both uneasy and unnerved. Granted, silence wasn’t the operant word, thanks to the lumbering machinery mostly below the level area where they were standing, but neither she nor Maco was saying anything. Probably he was waiting for her to launch into educating him about Bruce and Tucker, although maybe he thought she’d be more interested in the dam’s construction or the horses.
Neither of those things mattered.
Maco was male with the stereotypical capital M. No way could she convince her body otherwise. This macho place was his world. He belonged here, understood it, accepted it. No urban high-rise office for him. Instead, he piloted the massive red-and-blue helicopter waiting a short distance away that made her think of a Pterodactyl. He’d climb into the powerful machinery and bring it to life. Under his direction, the great, awkward-looking beast would lift off and reach for the sky. Whatever he commanded of it, it would perform. Gracefully. Perfectly.
That’s how he’d handle her—a competent and confident man guiding her to that place where modesty no longer lived. Under his guidance, she’d eagerly hand her body to him, surrender. Scream out her climax and welcome his cum into her core.
Lightheaded and unnerved, she struggled to remember how to breathe. As she filled her lungs, she looked away so hopefully he couldn’t read the truth of her thoughts. She had to get the conversation going, somehow. Remember what it meant to be a civilized woman.
“What’s that on the side of the helicopter?” she managed. “Some kind of design?”
“A painting. Of a rearing horse.”
“Oh?” Go on, think!
“It’s our logo for Mustang Construction.”
“Of course.” Keep it going. Make the words flow. She shielded her eyes from the sun. Mostly black against the helicopter’s silver side, the profile was of a horse with its forelegs reaching for the sky and its muscled hind legs effortlessly balancing its weight. “Now I see it. My goodness, it’s detailed. Did you create it?”
“Not me. My mother’s the artist in the family.”
He had a family, parents, siblings. A life she longed to know more about. At first the puffs of dust coming from the so-called road she’d driven on to get here didn’t register. Then, maybe because the dust had caught Maco’s interest, she paid attention.
The approaching vehicle was an older blue pickup. Its height from the ground identified it as a four-wheel drive with oversized macho tires and a large unpainted metal front bumper that looked like it belonged on a tow truck. It fairly screamed redneck. Two men were in the cab. Another two rode in the bed.
“Damn,” Maco muttered. The hackles rose on the dogs’ backs.
“What is it?” she asked. She tapped her thighs to indicate she wanted the dogs back by her sides.
“The opposition. Look, the best thing is for you to either get in your vehicle or wait in my office until I get rid of these guys.”
Alerted to his take-charge tone, she touched his shoulder. Even with the truck closing the distance, her attention shifted to what she’d just done. His shoulder was every bit as solid as she’d thought it would be, and the heat and energy radiating from him sent more of the same throughout her. Maybe he’d had the same reaction because his gaze locked on her hand. His nostrils flared.
She opened her mouth. So did he. For what felt like a long time, neither of them spoke. Then he said, “I’m serious. These guys are hard-nosed.”
Forcing herself to remove her hand took all of her concentration. “How do you know?” she finally came up with.
“This isn’t the first time that truck’s been here. It looks as if Roe has brought reinforcements.”
“The first time—was it confrontational?”
“Let’s say it wasn’t friendly.”
The pickup rocked to a stop a short distance away. All four men stared at Maco and her. They didn’t move. If dust from the gravel road bothered the two in back, they gave no indication. One scratched at a sideburn.
“I mean it,” Maco warned. He hooked his thumbs over his holster, making her think gunslinger. “Go where it’s safe.”
Instead, she snapped her fingers, which immediately brought the two dogs’ heads up. Their stances widened and their tails straightened. “What about them? This is why you wanted protection, right?”
“Yeah.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “What would they do?”
“Whatever I tell them to.”
“Attack?”
“If necessary.”
“No wonder you don’t carry a gun. Damn it. We don’t need this.”
Noting that he’d positioned himself so he was between her and the truck, she fought the impulse to touch him again. She was used to watching her own back, had learned that lesson before she’d learned how to read. Maco didn’t have to think he had to take over that responsibility, yet he had.
“There’s a gun rack in the cab,” she pointed out unnecessarily. “And two rifles in the rack. They can’t seriously—”
“Who knows what Roe and his friends want? The sheriff warned me that he’s both determined and unpredictable.”
A sharp creaking alerted her to the opening truck doors. Roe—she guessed he was the driver—was heavyset with a beer belly, in need of a shave and wearing baggy worn jeans and cracked boots. His T-shirt had once been white. Although the three other men weren’t as heavy, their clothing was similar. Their deeply tanned faces and forearms let her know they spent much of their days out-of-doors. Any other time she might have admired their blue-collar strength and determination. Bruce and Tucker growled.
“What’s that?” Maco asked.
“They’re picking up on our tension.”
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you leave?”
Because I’m not the terrified child I once was. “I want to hear what they have to say. I need to.”
Roe squared himself so he was facing Maco. However, his attention was split between her and the dogs. “What’s this?” He jerked his head at the Dobermans.
“What do you think it is?” Maco’s tone, although calm, held a warning undertone. “What brought you here? You said you were done talking.”
“I am, cowboy.” Roe’s dry lips lifted as he jerked his head at Maco’s revolver. “There’s nothing wrong with my showing my friends around, right? You don’t own the land.”
The way Maco shook his head said he was already weary of the conversation. “It’s federal land, Roe. You know that.”
“And I’m a taxpayer. Also, I’ve got more land than most people, which means my taxes count more than you
rs. Or hers.”
Damn Roe! He was undressing her with his eyes, as were the three clones planted behind him. If there was one thing she hated, it was being treated like a sexual object. Telling herself that they were doing so in an attempt to either anger or intimidate her didn’t help. Surely they didn’t consider themselves God’s gift to women.
“Your beef isn’t with me.” Maco’s eyes all but drilled holes in Roe. “You and I have been over this before, same as you heard from the courts. The legal objections have been presented and decided on. The dam’s a go.”
“Because those fuckin’ judges are being paid off,” one of the other men insisted. He didn’t take his attention off the dogs. “Money talks. Dirty money, not what’s needed to keep us ranchers here from being shut out and going bust.”
From what she knew, much of the objection to the dam had come from local ranchers concerned that limitations on what they’d be allowed to draw out of Graves River would leave them without adequate irrigation. She’d initially sympathized with the ranchers’ position until she’d learned that most of the water was earmarked for the vast agricultural, farming, and ranching lands to the south. Realizing how complex water-allocation issues were, she was glad she wasn’t a judge or lawyer.
“I understand your position,” Maco said. “Until you have proof that you’ll still have what water you need, you’re going to be uneasy. But your argument isn’t with me. My job is to help get the dam built. For the record, I believe in the need for it. Otherwise, my brother and I wouldn’t be here.”
The man who’d spoken vigorously shook his head but didn’t say anything more, making her wonder if Roe had been chosen, or had chosen himself, as spokesperson.
“We’re just here to get an idea of what’s actually being done,” Roe said. “Seeing all those graphs and charts and aerial maps isn’t the same as the real thing. Interesting about that fencing.” He jabbed a finger at the cyclone enclosure where a few pieces of machinery were being stored. “Protection against vandalism?”
“You know the answer to that,” Maco said. He hadn’t so much as shifted his weight since the “conversation” had begun. Still, she sensed his awareness of her. That cut both ways. “You don’t want me calling the sheriff.”
