A Rancher's Pride(45)
She breathed deeply, taking in the scent of his aftershave mixed with the faint aroma of wood shavings, a surprising combination—but a lethally masculine one.
She couldn’t stop herself from running her hands over his broad shoulders and up his tanned neck and, finally, tangling her fingers in his hair. When she gave a gentle tug, bringing his mouth closer yet, he inhaled raggedly and teased her lower lip with his teeth.
Suddenly, he backed away from her, leaving her hands in midair. Empty. She dropped her arms to her sides.
“Listen,” he said, his voice rasping and deep, “it ought to be clear enough I’m never going to learn what it takes to talk to Becky. Why don’t we quit all this playing around, and you just stay here with her? That’ll solve all our problems at once.”
“Stay here? You mean, permanently?” She choked on that last word.
“Yeah. You want to be with her. You can live with her here. Why not?”
“Why not?” she echoed.
He looked at her without speaking. She stared back, holding his gaze for what seemed a long time—long enough, anyhow, for her to see the gleam of some kind of emotion brighten his eyes.
Lust, probably.
She hoped her eyes didn’t look the same. “I’ll tell you why not, Sam.” She moved out from behind the coffee table and past the end of the couch. Well beyond his reach. “I think you’re out of your mind.”
AFTER A LONG, RESTLESS night, Kayla walked down the stairs the next morning with Becky by her side. She’d made sure to wait until her niece had gathered up her toys and was ready to leave her bedroom. And she had her seated at the table long before Sam entered the kitchen. Not because she was afraid of him or of how he would react. Because she was worried about how she would react when she saw him.
When she’d left him last night, she had started away angry. The man was crazy. Certifiable, even.
By the time she’d gotten upstairs to her room, the full impact of his insulting words had sunk in. He’d expected her to jump at the chance to pick up her life in Chicago and move in with him—conveniently getting him off the hook for having to find another caretaker for Becky. Or worse, to learn to talk with her.
But it was only in the darkest hour of the night, as she tossed and turned, wide-awake, that the realization came to her. A realization she still didn’t want to admit.
She had never in her life felt more hurt.
The door to the back porch opened. At the stove, Kayla stiffened, tightening her grip on the frying pan.
When Sam stepped into the room, Becky gave him a big grin. Kayla could have cried. Instead, she poured the eggs into the pan and turned on the teakettle.
“Breakfast will be ready shortly,” she said.
“Yeah. I’d have been here sooner to help, but I just got done showering out in the bunkhouse. That calf decided to make her appearance last night.”
“Everything went okay?”
She nearly shook her head at her own question. A few weeks ago, she couldn’t have cared less—or known less—about the birthing of a calf.
A few short weeks ago, I hadn’t cared so much about Sam.
Her quick inhalation turned into a gasp. She coughed, trying to cover it.
He reached toward her, as if to touch her elbow. When he saw her expression, he stopped, leaving his hand hovering in midair for a long moment before dropping it to his side. Just as she’d had to do the night before when he’d backed away from her.
“Yeah,” he said, “everything went okay. The mama’s fine. Baby, too. Already up on her feet, taking her first steps.”
You could be, too, Sam.
He hesitated. “About last night. I’m sorry.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down at the frying pan, trying to concentrate on breakfast. She didn’t want to think about last night. About Sam’s body against hers in that tight space between the couch and the coffee table. About that insane suggestion he had made.
She looked across the kitchen. Despite how uncomfortable Kayla felt with Sam beside her, she couldn’t help smiling at her niece. Becky had her head down, her eyes intent on her drawing pad. Matt’s wife, Kerry, the art teacher, said Becky had the determination and drive to become a good artist someday.
The reminder of the lawyer made the smile slide from Kayla’s lips. She should be on the phone with him now, not standing here waffling over how to respond to Sam. Before she could figure out what to say, he spoke again.