Crave the Moon

by Lori Handeland

  His forearms were taut and tanned; his biceps weren’t bad, either. Gina’s gaze slid up the long legs to another part that wasn’t bad.

  He turned and, startled, Gina straightened. That face belonged in a magazine, perhaps advertising the no-doubt expensive horn-rimmed glasses perched on his too-perfect nose.

  Who was this guy?

  As if he’d heard her question, or perhaps just seen her move, the man lifted his head. She couldn’t distinguish the shade of his eyes from here, but considering his hair and skin, they were probably as dark as her own. He was exotic in a way she’d never encountered—the rugged body tamed by a face just short of pretty, the wildness of his hair tempered by those retro-geek glasses.

  He started for the house, and Gina hurried to meet him, boot heels clattering down the staircase. The front door was open, allowing the spring breeze to blow in through the screen, allowing him to hear her steps, glance up, see her, and smile.

  “Hello.”

  His voice was slightly rough, as if he’d spent the night in a bar that still allowed smoking, woken up after a bourbon bender, or called out someone’s name in passion so long and so loudly he wound up hoarse.

  Where had that thought come from?

  “I wanted to discuss something with you. Could I come in?”

  The contrast of that craggy voice with the overly polite words increased his exotic quotient by ten. He appeared Hispanic—at least part—so perhaps English wasn’t his first language.

  “I—uh—”

  Hell. Since when did she get tongue-tied around men? She’d been raised by one, been raised with one, worked next to them, and worked for them. However, she’d never seen one quite like this.

  Gina took a deep breath, which smelled oddly of oranges, and tried again: “Sure.”

  Opening the screen door, he stepped inside. He was a lot taller standing next to her than he’d looked from the upstairs window. For the first time in a long time Gina didn’t experience the urge to slouch. She stood five ten in her stocking feet. Put on her boots and she was pushing six foot.

  Here, in the land of itty-bitty women, Gina was a giantess. She didn’t need anything else to make her feel like a freak. Being labeled an orphan had long been good enough.

  Her gaze was caught by a single white envelope on the hall table. Dr. Mecate again.

  She cursed beneath her breath, snatched up the letter, and tore it in half, then in half again. For good measure, she crumpled the parts into a teeny-tiny ball and tossed them into the trash.

  The stranger cleared his throat. “Bad news?”

  “Sorry.” What had gotten into her to behave like that in front of a potential customer? Since he was still waiting for an explanation, she shrugged and told him the truth—or at least part of it. “Some professor…” Gina couldn’t help it; her mouth twisted on the word. “Wants to dig up my land. Ain’t happenin’. Not in this lifetime.”

  He blinked a few times. “Ah. I see.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr.…?”

  “I’m Teo.” He held out his hand.

  Gina took it, enjoying the scrape of his calluses against her own.

  “I was—uh—” He looked around as if he could find what he wanted in her front hall.

  “Were you interested in one of our packages?” Gina prompted.

  Why else would he be here? Unless it was to try to collect on a bill.

  “Sure,” he blurted. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Our Trail and Spa package starts today. That’s a three-day trail ride, followed by two days of spa services in the lodge and surrounding area; then we finish up with a slightly more difficult four-day trip. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Then if you’ll just follow me to my office, Mr. Teo…” Gina realized they still held hands, but when she tried to retrieve hers he held on.

  Confused, she lifted her gaze. His eyes weren’t brown as she’d thought but hazel and, when surrounded by long, dark hair and a well-bronzed face, as striking as the face itself.

  “Just Teo,” he said, voice even rougher. “And you are?”

  “Gina O’Neil.” She pumped his hand once more, and this time when she pulled back he let her.

  “The proprietor.”

  “Have we met?” Gina knew damn well they hadn’t. Him she would remember.

  “Your name was in here.” He pulled their brochure from his back pocket. “Gina O’Neil, owner.”

  Gina was happy to see those brochures had been good for something. They’d cost a bundle she hadn’t wanted to spend, but Jase had insisted self-promotion was the key to increasing their business. Maybe he was right.

  “Let’s get you registered, Mr.—” He cocked his head and his garnet-streaked hair slid over one sun-kissed cheek. “Teo,” she corrected. “This way.”

  She led him down the hall toward her office at the back of the house. Since the last guests had left the day before and the newcomers hadn’t yet arrived, the only scents drifting from the kitchen were those of coffee and toast. Most days the smell of eggs, bacon, pancakes, cinnamon rolls overlaid with the zest of salsa and the saccharine of syrup would draw everyone within sniffing distance to Fanny’s domain.

  Gina flicked the lights and sat at her desk. When she glanced up, Teo stood in the doorway seemingly transfixed by the photos on her wall. Most people didn’t even notice them.

  “I was going to ask who’d taken the pictures for your brochure. But I can see now it was…” His eyes met hers. “You?”

  Gina shrugged. He was the first person who’d ever noticed that the pictures in the brochure had a similar style to the ones on her wall.

  “You’re very talented. Where did you study?”

  “Study?” Gina laughed. “I picked up a camera, and I pointed it at stuff.”

  His eyebrows lifted, and he glanced at the photos once again. “Then you’re even more talented than I thought.”

  She had to look down so he wouldn’t see how much those words pleased her. She’d never told anyone, not even Jase, how much she loved photography. There was no point. She’d had the choice of selling this place and attending college or sucking it up and staying here.

  So, in truth, she’d never really had any choice at all.

  And that was all right. It wasn’t like she couldn’t still take pictures. She did so all the time. She’d just never be able to make a living at it.

  Nahua Springs Ranch was her life. Unless, of course, she lost the place.

  Gina cleared the uncommon thickness from her throat and reached for a registration form. “Fill this out, and we’ll get you settled.”

  His fingers closed over the paper; he grabbed a pen. The chair creaked as he sat; then scratching noises followed as he complied. Outside, several car doors slammed.

  Jase and the others were back.

  Gina stood just as Teo signed his name to the bottom and held out the sheet to her.

  She gave the document a cursory glance. Teo Jones. From some town in Arizona she’d never heard of—there were a lot of them. He was a teacher, which explained the glasses but not the body. Unless he was a phys-ed teacher, who perhaps coached track and basketball on the side and worked construction in the summer. She was more intrigued by the minute.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked when she continued to stare at his registration.

  “Uh, no.” Her gaze flicked to the two most important items on the page. He could ride a horse. He’d been camping often. That was all she needed to know. “If I could just get your credit c—”

  He dropped a handful of cash onto the desk. Gina’s mouth hung open with the word card on the tip of her tongue.

  “Cash is better, yes?”

  Gina nodded. Who carried around that much money?

  No one she’d ever met.

  “About the pic—” he began.

  “Gina!” Jase called from the front of the house. Usually she was waiting out front t
o greet the guests when they arrived.

  “Coming!” she shouted, but his footsteps sounded in the hall an instant before he appeared at the door.

  His gaze went from the pile of cash on the desk, to her startled face, to Teo Jones, who smiled his charming smile. It didn’t work half as well on Jase as it had worked on Gina.

  “Who the hell are you?” Jase demanded.

  From the tone of his voice and the tension in his shoulders Jase had pegged Teo as a bill collector. Several of them had begun to demand cash up front.

  “A walk-in,” Gina said so brightly Jase’s frown deepened. “Teo, meet Jase McCord, my partner.”

  Teo’s welcoming smile faded a bit. Jase had never bothered with one in the first place. He wasn’t much of a smiler, but then neither was Gina.

  Still money was money and this was cash. Jase should be clapping Teo on the back and claiming him as his new best friend. She wanted to.

  The men stared at each other so long, Gina thought they might refuse to do the meet and greet altogether. If they’d been dogs, their ruffs would have been lifted along with their lips.

  Gina cleared her throat, and Teo’s hand shot out. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Jase blinked. Because the welcoming words did not match the level, challenging stare or because the drawing room vocabulary sounded so strange in that ruined Clint Eastwood voice?

  Gina took a step forward. Why she had no idea. Did she plan to forcibly lift Jase’s arm and make him shake Teo’s hand?

  At last Jase found his manners, placing his palm against Teo’s and shaking once. From Teo’s stifled wince, once had been enough.

  Men.

  “I’ll just show Teo to his room,” Gina began. “Then—”

  “No.” She glanced at Jase. He was still staring at Teo. “I’ll show him the room.” Jase jerked his chin toward the front of the house, where she could hear the others milling and murmuring. “You deal with them.” He stalked into the hall.

  Gina gave Teo an apologetic smile. “One of the new guests must be a…” She paused, not wanting to speak ill of one paying customer to another.

  “Royal pain in the behind?” Teo finished, and Gina laughed.

  “Yeah. Those Jase leaves to me.”

  “Hey, buddy!” Jase shouted from the hall.

  What was up with him?

  “I’d better go.”

  “Once everyone’s settled,” Gina said, “we’ll meet at the barn and get you a horse that suits your riding ability.”

  Teo lowered his head, a mini-bow. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Gina watched him leave—she couldn’t help it; the view was incredible. Still, there was something about the guy that made her twitchy.

  She just wished she knew what it was.

  * * *

  Matt hadn’t planned to give a false name and join the party. But the instant Gina had torn up his latest letter, then tightened her mouth and narrowed her eyes as she explained why, he’d known that she would throw him off the place as quickly as she’d destroyed not only that letter but also every one he’d sent before.

  Luckily, he’d dressed and packed for the trail, as he’d naively believed he could explain what he wanted and Ms. O’Neil would take him to it.

  Matt gave a mental eye roll as he left her office. Sometimes he was as clueless about human behavior as any absentminded professor.

  He was also thankful that the need to grease local wheels, hire day laborers who weren’t exactly legal, and buy things at places where only cash would suffice had ascertained he had enough money to pay for the package. He couldn’t very well offer a credit card with his real name emblazoned on the front.

  Matt found McCord at the bottom of the polished wood staircase, fingernails tapping on the newel post, boots scratching against the floor as he shifted his feet. The guy reminded Matt of several of his students.

  After they’d gone off Ritalin.

  He tried again to smile. Again, he earned a scowl before the man stomped up the steps with a muttered: “Come on.”

  If this was how they ran their business, Matt was surprised they had any customers.

  He cast a longing glance toward the office. He would have liked to study those photographs further and ask Gina about them. Though none of the images matched the one in his bag, the similar style made him even more certain that the place depicted in it was located here and Gina knew exactly where.

  Matt’s gaze was drawn to the screen door, through which half a dozen men and women were visible, hanging around his rental car, seemingly lost. Then a door slammed at the back of the house and Gina appeared.

  She strode toward the newcomers, long legs encased in worn, loose jeans. Matt had never considered that loose jeans could be so enticing. Most of the women at the university wore jeans so tight he wasn’t sure how they ever got them off. Or on.

  But Gina’s made him wonder things the others never had. Like the shape of her thighs as the wind blew the soft denim against them—there and then gone and then there again, a mere hint, just enough to arouse. And the tail of her flannel shirt—cinnamon, chocolate, and lime-green stripes—which barely reached the curve of her rear, fluttering in that wind, drawing his gaze and holding it there.

  She greeted the others, the warmth of welcome in her voice. Everyone in the yard straightened and smiled, unconsciously leaning toward her like flowers long denied the sun. It appeared he wasn’t the only one captivated.

  Turning, Gina gestured at the house, and the movement of her arm drew that well-washed shirt taut against her breasts. They were very nice breasts. He wanted to—

  “Buddy!”

  Matt yanked his gaze from Gina. Unfortunately, his mind stayed right where it was, imagining the taste of those breasts, the weight of them in his palms, the sensation of them dragging across his chest, nipples hard and full.

  How strange. As an adult, his imagination had been nil. He had little room for fantasy in a life devoted to pursuing facts. However, considering what had just meandered through his mind, and how alive it had made him feel, maybe he’d been wrong.

  “You gonna eye-fuck her all day?”

  Matt jolted at the vulgarity. Not that he hadn’t heard similar words on every dig; he’d just never gotten used to them. When you spent your life immersed in a language composed of beautiful pictures, sometimes you lost track of the vocal crudities. But there was always someone there to remind you.

  McCord stood at the top of the steps, and Matt started up, head down so the other man couldn’t see the telltale flush in his cheeks. Because he had been doing exactly what Jase accused him of, and he would not be doing so again.

  Matt would discover as much as he could about the ranch and surrounding area. If Nahua Springs contained the final location pinpointed in his mother’s research—and with every minute he became more certain that it did—he needed to discover that location, then find a way to convince Gina to let him dig there.

  He’d have to tread carefully. She was touchy about her land. No reason to arouse her suspicions and get himself thrown off the place before he knew for certain that he was right.

  If Nahua Springs Ranch was merely another misstep in a long line of them, why tell Gina the truth at all? He’d just go on the trip, then quietly fade away.

  Before Matt reached the landing, McCord spun about and disappeared into the nearest room. A quick glance revealed that there were similar doors extending down both sides of the hallway.

  Matt stepped inside. A large four-poster bed sat to the left, a matching oak dresser to the right. But what dominated the room was the wall of windows opposite the door. From it Matt could observe the entire valley.

  “Exquisite,” he murmured, and McCord blew a quick burst of air, somehow both amused and derisive, between his lips.

  Matt started to ask what was so damn funny but didn’t bother. He never understood jokes, wasn’t up on current lingo. He’d spent his formative years with his mother and her colleagues. He’d neve
r had playmates, not even imaginary ones. By the time he went off to college, people his own age … Well, they only confused him.

  “Gina said you were her partner,” Matt ventured.

  McCord’s dark brows lifted. “So?”

  “The brochure lists her as the owner of the ranch.”

  “She is.”

  “Then your partnership is—”

  “Physical,” McCord interrupted. “Which is why you need to keep your eyes, and your hands, and any other part of you that might want to glom onto her off.”

  “Glom,” Matt repeated. He wished he’d taken more linguistics. However, modern language patterns would be of no use to him while attempting to translate ancient Aztec.

  McCord stepped close, crowding into Matt’s personal space. The man had to lift his chin to meet Matt’s eyes, since he was several inches shorter, but he did so with a challenge any alpha animal would recognize. Matt had never considered himself an alpha—he’d had his ass kicked as a kid too often by every bullying local in every town he and his mom had ever visited—nevertheless, he had to suppress an urge to bump chests and snarl.

  “Touch her,” McCord murmured, “and I will end you.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Gina couldn’t figure out which of their guests was the one who had sent Jase over the edge. They all seemed normal enough to her. Or as normal as most of the guests got.

  If working with the public for over half her life had taught Gina one thing it was this: People were weird. Every day, in some small or large way, her theory was proved right.

  For instance—the Hurlaheys, Mel and Melda, were nearly as interchangeable as their names. Short, round, with curly white hair that framed their always-flushed faces, they resembled a mini Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Gina would have thought they’d skipped the North Pole—leaving the elves, the reindeer, and Mr. Claus’s beard behind—if the Hurlaheys hadn’t cursed like rap singers and finished each other’s sentences as if they were literally of one mind.

  “We’ve always wanted to come here,” Mel said. “Ride a goddamn—!”

  “Horse,” finished Melda. “Damn straight. Go west, young—”

  “Dude. Shi-i-i-it,” Mel said, then smiled with such beatific sweetness Gina was left thinking she couldn’t have heard what she had.