by JoAnn Ross
“Close. I had Cal put the cow—”
“Steer.”
Rachel shot him a frustrated look. “Cow, steer, what’s the difference?”
“Let’s just say that a steer’s a bull who’s lost his motivation for getting up in the morning. Actually, if you want to get technical, thanks to a little snip job, the poor guy can’t get it up at all.”
As his eyes danced with humor, Rachel felt a familiar zing race through her.
“Thank you for that image,” she said dryly. “Well, anyway, I scrubbed it with hot soapy water and disinfectant then had Cal put it in our backyard for a surprise.”
“That’s great. Scott’s wild about that steer. He was really feeling bad when he thought you were going to get rid of it.”
“I know. That’s why I decided to keep it, although it’s got to be the world’s largest garden ornament and even worse than a pink plastic flamingo. I also needed to try to come up with something that could compete with those bank robber’s fingerprints you gave him.”
“I hadn’t realized we were in competition.”
“Aren’t we?”
“Believe me, Rachel, we both have your son’s best interests at heart.”
Things were becoming too complicated too quickly.
Desire was one thing. Rachel could deal with that. Well, perhaps not exactly deal with it, considering those dreams that had kept her tossing and turning all night. But Cooper was, after all, a very sexy man. She’d probably have reason to worry if she weren’t attracted to him.
However, as well intentioned as the man might be, encouraging him to grow closer to her son would be entering into something far more serious than a sexual encounter. Scott had already been wounded by the loss of his father. Rachel wasn’t about to risk his happiness for some fleeting physical pleasure.
“You haven’t told me what you’re doing here, Sheriff.”
Although he lifted a brow at her brisk tone, he didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he looked down into the mug he’d poured himself with surprise. “This is good. What did you do with Johnny’s battery-acid maker?”
“I threw it out. And if your sole purpose in dropping by was for a cup of coffee, now that you’ve had it, have a good day protecting and serving the citizens of River’s Bend while I get back to work.”
She turned away, picked up her brush and began slapping paint on another wall.
“I understand you’re working on a tight deadline,” he said. “Which is why I’m here.”
She glanced suspiciously over her shoulder. Instead of his usual jeans and blue chambray shirt he was wearing an unfamiliar starched khaki uniform with his badge pinned to his chest. The fawn Stetson was on his head and his boots were polished to a gleaming sheen. He certainly didn’t look like a man prepared to do manual labor.
“You’re here to paint walls?”
“Sorry.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Hey, you’re lucky I’m not volunteering. I’m the world’s worst painter. Just ask Dad, who put me to work painting the barn after he caught me sneaking back into the house after a summer kegger down at the river the week before my senior year. Believe me, it wasn’t pretty. I brought you a restaurant-warming gift.”
“An automatic paint sprayer?” Not that she’d know how to use it. She’d considered renting one, but had decided she’d probably end up spraying paint all over everything she’d already replaced or repaired.
“Better.”
She put down her brush and crossed her arms. “Are you going to let me in on exactly what this gift is? Or is it a secret?”
His grin broadened. “A fireplace.”
Rachel could only stare at him. “A what?”
“A fireplace. Didn’t you tell me after dinner last night that you wanted a beehive fireplace in the dining room?”
“I hadn’t realized you were listening to anything I said.”
Cooper’s smile didn’t fade in wattage, but a gentle censure appeared in his eyes. “Just because I find you a very appealing distraction doesn’t mean I wasn’t listening, Rachel. I heard everything you said.”
The intimate affection in his gaze tugged at something elemental deep inside her. Struggling against its appeal, she said, “Then you should recall I’d decided I couldn’t afford to put one in.”
“Now that you mention it, that does ring a bell.”
“I also told you that I don’t want to borrow any of your money.”
“I remember. Although you did promise to consider taking on an investor.”
“I only promised to think about it,” she stressed. “And after giving it more consideration—”
He held up his hand, forestalling her planned refusal. “The fireplace isn’t going to cost a cent, Rachel. Hank Young volunteered to donate supplies and I’ve got one of the best stonemasons in the county sitting out in my Jeep.”
“Mr. Young has already donated the roofing material and been kind enough to give me a contractor’s discount on the paint, copper ceiling, and other supplies. Why would he want to give me anything else?”
“Simple. He’s getting hungry and figures that anything he can do to get the New Chance reopened in a hurry will be worth the price.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hank’s a bachelor. He’s getting sick and tired of eating out of cans and boxes. Besides, it just so happens that his brother-in-law, Willard, ordered too many bricks from the supplier three months ago and it’s getting expensive to keep carrying them on the books.”
“Why do I have this feeling he didn’t come to this generous decision all on his own?” she asked suspiciously.
“Beats me. So, how about it? Do I bring the stuff in or not?”
“Even if you’re telling the truth, I’m not certain I can accept.”
“Why not?”
“Because building a fireplace has to be a time-consuming, difficult job and anyone who actually knows how to do it is a skilled craftsman who deserves to be paid for his labor. And I really can’t afford to do that.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“It’s simple. Building your fireplace is a condition of Jake’s parole.”
“Parole?” Rachel was beginning to get a headache. She rubbed her fingertips against her throbbing temple. “Your bricklayer is a criminal?”
“Not really. It’s sort of complicated to explain.”
The pounding in her head increased. “Why don’t you try?”
He took his time answering, instead drawing circles in the sawdust on the counter, which drew her gaze to his large, dark hands, which in turn reminded her how they felt on her body. Which caused a glimmer of heat to race up her spine.
It wasn’t wise being alone with a man who could make her feel this way.
Not wise at all.
“Jake’s had a run of bad luck lately.” As he switched to squares, the brim of his hat shielded his face from her view. “Drought two years in a row cost him most of his cash hay crop, then we got a period of heavy rain up in the mountains where his cattle were grazing for the summer. Some flooding released anthrax spores into the soil. Unfortunately, the disease can kill in days.”
“He lost his cattle?”
When he lifted his head to meet her gaze, Rachel could read the terrible sadness in his eyes. “Most of the herd. And the rest were put in isolation quarantine, since people can contact anthrax by eating contaminated meat.”
“That’s terrible.” Didn’t she know all too well about loss? “Isn’t there any way to prevent it?”
“There are vaccinations and Jake had all his cattle inoculated, but for some reason the stuff didn’t take. The state health department’s looking into that particular batch of vaccine, but even if they find it’s defective, it isn’t going to get Jake his herd back.”
“Can’t he at least sue the manufacturer?”
“I suppose so, if it turns out to have been defective. Th
e problem with that scenario is that we’re talking about a drug company with thousands of lawyers and Jake would be lucky to be able to afford one. And his odds of finding one who’d work on contingency are slim to none. Meanwhile, he’s flat out of money and about to be run off his land.”
“Oh, no.” Personal economic disaster was something Rachel could definitely identify and empathize with.
“As rotten as Jake’s luck has been, I think he could live with that. After all, it’s part of the gamble of living off the land. His granddaddy knew that ranching was a gamble, his daddy knew it, and Jake knows it. The problem that got him into trouble with the law is that he’s convinced the government’s taking his land illegally.”
“Do you believe that?”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think anyone would do such a thing intentionally. But Jake insists he made all his payments on time and I’ve never known him to lie.”
He flashed her a quick grin at odds with the seriousness of the topic. “Unless it’s about the size of the fish that got away or the ten-point buck he almost shot the opening day of hunting season. Or that redheaded waitress down in Tulelake who has supposedly been lusting after his body for the past ten years.”
“It sounds as if you know this Jake well.”
His fleeting hesitation suggested he was choosing his words carefully. “His land borders the Bar M and we’ve always been close.”
“And now you were forced to arrest him.”
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. Broad shoulders lifted and fell in a weary shrug. “He’s not really that bad, Rachel. The poor guy just gets frustrated, has too much to drink, then gets rowdy. I’m driving up to the government offices in Salem today to see if I can track down someone willing to search for the payment he swears he’s made, and the truth is, I’m asking you to baby-sit him while I’m gone. If he’s busy building your fireplace, he won’t be able to get into trouble.”
“Surely taking on a maze of governmental red tape isn’t part of your job.”
“Jake’s all caught up in that tape. Someone’s got to help him.”
Rachel wasn’t as surprised by that simple declaration as she would have been when she’d first arrived in River’s Bend.
“I wouldn’t bring him here if I believed he presented any danger to you or Scott,” he said. “Whatever doubts you might have about me personally, Rachel, you have to believe this.”
She had not a single doubt he was telling the truth. “You’re a very good friend,” she said quietly.
Amusement. Desire. Affection. All were present in his once again smiling eyes. “I believe that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
He crossed the space between them to stand directly in front of her. Then ran his knuckles down her cheek in a way that was as gentle as it was sensual.
“You’ve got paint on your face.”
“That’s no big surprise. I may be a fast painter, but I can’t claim to be neat.”
“Good thing . . . You also have a white nose.” He skimmed a finger down the slope of that nose.
Tilting her head, Rachel frowned up at him. “Are you going to spend all morning criticizing my painting skills, or are you going to introduce me to my fireplace builder?”
“In a minute.” He picked up a rag from the counter and rubbed at the white spot on her cheek. “That’s better.” Cooper rubbed his chin as he studied her thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should leave your nose as it is. It’s kind of cute. Makes you look more accessible.”
Tossing the rag back onto the counter, he curved his fingers around the back of her neck. “Do you know what I did after I left your house last night?”
“What?”
“I went home and spent several long and frustrating hours fantasizing about making love with you.”
As hard as she’d tried not to think about Sheriff Cooper Murphy, especially not in that way, hadn’t she done the same thing?
“Really Cooper . . .”
The slight tightening of his fingers on her nape was the only sign he’d heard her. “I imagined pulling you down onto that rug in front of the fireplace and undressing you. Taking off your clothes piece by piece, your skin gleaming in the glow of the firelight.”
The evocative vision was definitely too close to some of the fantasies she’d been having lately. “Please,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t . . .”
He was only touching her neck, but his gaze had the physical impact of a caress as it moved down her body.
“And then,” his deep, hypnotizing voice continued as she fought against an urge to fling her arms around him and drag him down to the sawdust covered floor, “after I’d caressed every bit of your creamy flesh, I’d enter you slowly, giving you time to adjust to my incredible—”
“Incredible?” Despite the fact that he was driving her crazy, Rachel couldn’t resist a ragged laugh. “No one could ever accuse you of having a less than robust ego, Sheriff.”
“Just wait,” he promised easily, bending his head to brush his lips briefly, without pressure or force, against hers. “Besides, as I was saying, that’s how I imagined making love to you last night. Seeing you in the bright light of a new day, with paint on your nose, has altered things.”
“Changed your mind?”
Why, oh why, did Rachel find that idea vastly disappointing? She had no intention of becoming involved with Cooper. None at all.
Hell. Whom was she trying to fool? Anyone who’d believe that she wasn’t interested in River’s Bend’s sheriff would be a prime candidate for beachfront property on Front Street.
“Oh, not about the act,” he assured her. “Just the location.” His smile was quick, sexy, and oh, so dangerous. “I don’t know if it’s the paint, or how sexy your butt looks in those jeans, but I’m struck with this urge to tumble you in a hayloft.”
He nibbled on her neck. “How about it, Rachel, my sweet,” he murmured enticingly. “Have you ever made love in a warm bed of hay?”
Even as she sought to ignore the havoc his teeth were creating, Rachel’s rebellious mind conjured up the pungent scent of hay warmed by a slanting buttery sunbeam. Cooper’s skin, where the sun touched it, would be dark, contrasting vividly with the hay and his body, as it pressed against hers, would be hot and hard and . . .
No. It was happening all over again!
Ducking out of his light embrace, Rachel grabbed up the wet rag and began scrubbing furiously at her nose.
“We can’t do this.”
“Don’t look now. But we have been. And from my point of view, it’s been going pretty well. Though I sure wouldn’t mind kissing you again. All over.”
“You have to stop talking to me like that,” she insisted, pressing her fingers against a temple where a new headache threatened. “Someone might hear you.”
He shrugged. “Cal and Fred are outside working on the roof, Dad drove out to the ranch to get some linseed oil, and Jake’s still sitting in the truck, waiting to come in. You don’t have to worry, Rachel. We’re all alone.”
That knowledge did nothing to instill calm. Nor make her feel any safer. Needing to change the subject, Rachel glanced pointedly at her watch. The face was spattered with pinpoint drops of white paint, but she could still read the Roman numerals.
“If you’re planning to get any work done in Salem, I’d suggest you’d better leave now. Government employees have a habit of closing up shop and going home earlier than the rest of us.”
“Going up there sure as hell isn’t my first choice.” He plucked the rag from her hands and disposed of the remainder of the white paint on her face with a few deft strokes.
Then he lowered his head and laid his mouth on hers, drawing forth a sigh as his lips cruised over hers, as soft as snowflakes on a silent, moonlit night. Oh, he was good she thought, as the floor started turning beneath her.
His lips took a slow, almost languid journey up her face, warming her temples, causing her lids to close as they skimmed over them, down
her cheek and around her jaw. By the time he’d returned to her lips, she was clinging to the front of his shirt to keep from slipping off the suddenly, spinning, tilting floor.
He cradled her face. “Feel free to kiss me back,” he murmured as he nipped at her bottom lip. “If you feel inclined.”
As if she could stop herself if she tried. Which she didn’t.
Just as she had the first time, here in this very kitchen, Rachel didn’t think five steps ahead. She didn’t plan or weigh all her options. Responding only to Cooper and the moment, she dove into the kiss, her mouth avid. Greedy. Tangling her tongue with his, she arched against him as he drove the heated kiss deeper. Darker.
Her mind was swamped with sensation, which was why it took her a moment to recognize the buzzing against her hip. A moment later, she heard it.
“Damn.” Cooper dragged his mouth away and apparently as battered as she’d been by the kiss, rested his brow against hers. “Hold that thought,” he said roughly. He dug his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, the gesture pulling the denim tight against his groin in a way that did nothing to calm Rachel’s racing heart.
“This had better involve flashing lights and sirens,” he answered. Then rolled his eyes. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Two rustlers were caught trying to coax a cow into an old Suburban. Turns out she wasn’t going along with the program. Nor was her owner, who’d noticed her missing and was riding the fence line looking for how she might’ve escaped.”
“Rustlers?” For a fleeting moment, Rachel wondered if he’d somehow managed to take her back in time with that mind-blinding kiss. “I had no idea they still existed.”
“As long as there are cattle, there will be rustlers.”
“But isn’t that why there are brands?”
“In theory, but there are ways to get around brands. One popular old trick is to steal a cow, get her pregnant, though it’s even better if someone else’s bull has already done that for you. It’s not that hard to keep her hidden during the winter, then set her free on the range after the calf is born come spring. Cows have a strong homing sense, so chances are she’ll eventually end up back on her own ranch.”
