Читать книгу Honorable Rancher - Barbara White Daille - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Leaving Ben as quickly as her pink high heels could carry her, Dana escaped to the kitchen, seeking safety in her favorite room in the house. But once there, she felt the walls closing in. As a tenant, she couldn’t make permanent changes, but she’d decorated with blue-and-white towels and curtains to match her dishes. The normally soothing colors did nothing for her now.

Throughout the room, she’d hung so many houseplants Lissa often said they ate their meals in a garden. A jungle, five-year-old P.J. insisted every time.

An appropriate description at the moment, as she roamed the room like a tiger on the prowl, too tense to sit while the coffee brewed. Too aware of Ben just a few yards away.

After the dance, the ride home in the car and the sight of him sitting comfortably on her couch, nothing could calm her. And she had to go back into the living room and make polite conversation with him—at this hour! Why hadn’t she said goodbye at the door instead of inviting him in?

Not wanting to admit the answer to that, she gathered mugs and napkins and turned the teakettle on.

Ben would only want coffee, though. She knew that about him and a lot more. His coffee preference: black, no sugar. His favorite food: tacos. Favorite cookie: chocolate chip. Favorite ice cream: butter pecan. What she didn’t know about Ben Sawyer wouldn’t fill the coffee mug she’d set on the counter.

What he didn’t know about her...

She stared at the teakettle, which took its sweet time coming to a boil. Maybe better for her if it never did. Then she wouldn’t have to go into the other room and face the danger of getting too close to him and the disappointment of knowing all the things she wished for could never come true.

This reprieve in the kitchen couldn’t last much longer. Unfortunately. She had to stop obsessing about Ben.

She had to think of her kids. And her husband.

The reminder froze her in place.

Not all that long ago, her marriage had become about as solid as the steam building up in the teakettle. She and Paul had both known it, but before the issues between them could boil over, he announced he had enlisted. No warning. No compromise. No discussion. She’d barely had time to adjust to the news when he’d left for boot camp.

She had tried to see his decision as a positive change, a chance for him to come home a different man. For them to work things out. She owed her kids that. But the changes didn’t happen for the better. His letters slowed to a trickle and then stopped arriving altogether.

When he came home on leave, the brief reunion was more uncomfortable than happy. Their final time together, she’d made one last attempt to save their relationship—an attempt that had failed. By the end of his leave, they’d agreed to a divorce. And to keep that between them until he returned after his discharge.

Only, he hadn’t returned at all.

She’d been left with kids she loved more than life, a load of debt she might never crawl out from under, and renewed determination to hold on to the truth. A truth she had sworn no one—especially Ben Sawyer—would ever learn. A determination that Ben, so full of kindness and concern, undermined with almost his every breath.

Beside her, the teakettle screeched and spewed steam.

Like a dragon, P.J. always said.

She looked at it and shook her head. Dragon or no, the kettle didn’t scare her. Neither would Ben.

As long as she didn’t get too close to either of them.

With an exasperated sigh, she moved across to the coffeemaker and poured a full, steaming mug. She was stalling, delaying the moment she’d have to face him again, whether he scared her or not. Quickly she poured her tea. Then she stiffened her spine and stalked toward the doorway to the living room. There, she faltered and stood looking into the room.

Tall and broad and long limbed, he seemed to take up much more than his share of the couch. He had left his jacket in the truck. While she had gone to the kitchen, he’d undone his tie and the top few buttons on his shirt. The sight of that bothered her somehow. Maybe because he hadn’t hesitated to unwind, yet she remained strung tight.

He turned his head her way. His dark eyes shone in the lamplight. A smile suddenly curved his lips.

“I made myself comfortable,” he said.

“So I see.” Obviously he felt right at home, while she felt...things she definitely shouldn’t allow herself to feel.

“You haven’t changed much.”

Startled, she stared at him. Then she saw he hadn’t meant her at all. His gaze roamed the room, scrutinizing the well-worn plaid fabric on the couch and chairs, the long scratch on the coffee table where P.J. had ridden his first tricycle into it. Ben had been there that Christmas afternoon. He had bought that tricycle. Was he thinking about that now, too?

Nothing in the house had changed since he’d last visited. But she had. “No, not much different in here,” she answered with care, as if he would pick up on the distinction.

With equal care, she handed him his coffee. For a moment his fingers covered hers. She nearly lost her grip. The hot, dark liquid sloshed dangerously close to the point of no return. When he took the mug, pulling his fingers away, she gave a sigh of relief mixed with regret.

Still, she hesitated.

She glanced across the room at her rocking chair, so nice and far from the couch. But with such sharp edges on the rockers, ready to pierce the lace of her dress. She’d lost even that small chance of escape.

One of P.J.’s dinosaurs sat wedged between the couch cushions. She plucked it free and dropped it on the coffee table. Then, cradling her tea mug, she took a seat.

“Your hands still need warming?” he asked.

Again she stared. If she said yes, would he take her hand between his again, the way he had when she’d climbed from his truck? Her palms tingled at the thought. But of course he hadn’t meant that as an offer. How desperate must she be, wanting his attention so badly she found it where none existed? At least, that kind of attention?

She shook her head to clear it as much as to answer his question.

From under her lashes she watched him set the mug down on his thigh, holding it in a secure grip, as if he didn’t want to risk spilling coffee on her old couch. Or on his tuxedo pants.

He had large hands with long, strong fingers, firm to the touch from all the hours—all the years—he’d spent working with them. No town boy, Ben Sawyer. He’d always lived on his family’s large ranch on the outskirts of Flagman’s Folly.

Working with real estate, she knew to the acre how much land Ben Sawyer owned. Not as much as Caleb Cantrell now did, but a good deal more than most of the ranchers around here. She knew to the penny the worth of Ben’s land, too.

Not as much as his worth as a man. Or as a friend.

She took a sip of her tea, understanding she was stalling again. She could list Ben’s good points forever, but now she used them to keep her mind occupied so her mouth couldn’t get her into trouble.

“How’s the ranch?” she asked finally. A safe subject.

“Still there, which says something in this economy. You haven’t come out since we raised the new barn.”

So much for safe. “Work has kept me busy.”

“I’m sure. Well, I’ll need to have another potluck one of these days, before the weather turns.”

Again she wondered if his words held a hidden meaning. No. Not Ben. But she couldn’t be quite as open with him. Since Paul’s death, she’d made it a point of visiting Ben’s ranch with the kids only when he had a potluck. When there would be plenty of folks there. And even then she felt uneasy. Unable to trust her judgment around him.

Just as she felt now.

“We’ve got a couple of new ponies the right size for Lissa and P.J.”

Her laugh sounded strangled. “Please don’t tell them, or I’ll never get Lissa to stay home and focus on her homework.”

“Is she struggling with it?”

“Some. Mostly math. I try to help her, but a lot of it’s over my head. It’s gotten tougher since we were in school.”

“A lot of things have.” He sounded bitter. He smiled as if to offset the tone. “I can stop by and give her a hand.”

Oh, no. She had to nip that bad idea before it could blossom into another problem. “Thanks, but she started going for tutoring. With Nate. I think they’re catching on.”

“Good.” But he sounded disappointed.

Refusing to look at his face, she stared down at her tea. She couldn’t risk having him come around here, getting close to the kids again. Sending her emotions into overdrive every time she saw him.

“Well.” He gestured to the coffee mug. “What happened to my cookies?”

She looked up at him in stunned surprise. That was no casual question, was it? That was a direct quote of his own words, something he’d once said to her time and time again, beginning with the first week of her eighth-grade cooking class.

He sipped from the mug.

His averted gaze gave him away, proving he’d asked that last question deliberately. He’d meant to remind her.

Hadn’t he?

Yet, truthfully, everything he said and did, everything he was, only made her recall their long history.

Everything she thought and felt only made things worse.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m all out of cookies.”

“That’s no way to say thanks for a ride home, is it?”

“If I’m remembering correctly—” she paused, cleared her throat “—I offered coffee, not dessert.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?” Now, over the rim of his mug, his eyes met hers.

Her heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t be flirting with her. Not Ben. He couldn’t want more.

Even though she did.

“Sure,” she said finally. “Dream on.” She looked down at her mug and blew lightly on the inch of lukewarm tea that remained, pretending to cool it. Needing to cool herself down. Needing to get him out of here—before she gave in to her own imaginings and made a fool of herself. Her cheeks burning, she added, “Speaking of dreams, I...I guess it’s time for me to turn in. And for you to go. Before it gets too late.”

“It already is.”

She stared at him.

He shrugged. “It’s nearly one o’clock, and I’m usually up by four. It doesn’t seem worth it even to go to sleep, does it?”

“Not for you, maybe. But I intend to get a few hours in before I pick up the kids.”

He nodded. “I’d better go, then.”

Relief flowed through her. Two minutes more, and she’d be safe. She set her mug on the coffee table and rose from the couch. She had turned away, eager to lead him to the door, when he rested his hand on her arm. She froze.

“Before I go,” he murmured, “you might need some help.”

“I don’t think so. I can manage a couple of mugs.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He tapped her shoulder lightly. “Did you plan on sleeping in this dress?”

“No,” she said, hating the fact that her voice sounded so breathless. That she felt so breathless. She must have imagined his fingertip just grazing her skin. “I thought Lissa would be here.”

“She’s not.”

“I know.”

She swallowed hard. Why had she ever wanted to make a dress she couldn’t get out of herself? Why did she not regret the decision now? She could have saved herself some heartache.

She turned to him, and their eyes met. Unable to read his—unwilling to let him see what she knew he’d find in hers—she spun away again. “Well, you can unbutton the top two buttons. That ought to get me started.”

Behind her, he laughed softly. He touched the low-cut edge of the back of her gown. Her breath caught. As he undid the top button, his knuckles brushed the newly exposed skin. She clutched her lace overskirt with both hands and hoped he had touched her deliberately.

He undid the second button, his fingers following the same path along her spine. Warmth prickled her skin.

When he reached for the next button and the next, she closed her eyes, wishing he’d meant to set off the heat building inside her.

After he’d undone the back of her gown, she turned, already planning the quick farewell that would send him on his way. With one look at him, her words disappeared before they reached her lips. Now she could read his eyes clearly. Could read naked longing in his face.

A longing she recognized too well.

In those endless months when she’d known in her heart her marriage to Paul was over, she had begun to yearn again for all the things she had always wanted in her life. All the things she had hoped Paul would be but never had been.

A solid, steady, dependable partner.

A husband she could truly love.

A daddy who would willingly raise her children.

A man...

A man just like Ben.

“Think I’ve gone far enough?” His voice rumbled through her. No sign of laughter now. His chest rose and fell with his deep breath. He looked into her eyes, then let his gaze drift down to her mouth.

She had spent the entire evening wanting him to kiss her—and she couldn’t wait for him to kiss her now.

Slowly he reached up and rested his warm hand flat against the back of her neck. She tilted her chin up, let him cradle her head in his palm, allowed her eyelids to drift closed.

His breath fanned her cheek.

The brush of his lips against hers came with the lightest of pressure. Not tentative, but restrained, as if he touched her in awe and disbelief. That sense of reverence made her eyes sting. Made her heart swell.

He cupped her face, his fingers curving beneath her jaw, fingertips settling against her neck. He couldn’t miss her rapid pulse.

His head close to hers, he murmured, “You know, I’ve had a crush on you since kindergarten.”

“No.”

“Yes. Although I admit,” he added, his voice hoarse, “I didn’t think about this until a few years later.” He slid his hand from her neck and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

When she opened her eyes, she found his face mere inches away. “You’re only looking for cookies,” she teased.

“Oh, no. Not when I’ve just had something much better.” His mouth met hers again. “You taste like wedding cake.”

She smiled. “You taste like champagne.”

“Only the best for you, darlin’. Always.”

Always. The way he’d been there for her.

Yet through all the years she had known him, she’d never imagined they would ever kiss. During the recent months when she’d begun to dream about him, she’d never dared to let those dreams bring her this far.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. Still, her voice cracked. “Are you trying to sweet-talk me, cowboy?”

“Sweet? No, ma’am.” He shook his head. “I’m thinking more like hot.” He slid his hand into the unbuttoned back of her gown, pressing his fingers wide and firm against her. The soft material slipped from her shoulders.

Not breaking eye contact with her, he trailed both hands down her arms. Like the water bubbling in the country club’s fountain, the gown fell in a froth of pink satin and lace.

When he took her hand and sank onto the couch, she went with him, wanting to get even closer, to brace herself against his solidness, to absorb his warmth. Wanting to hold on to a reality she wasn’t yet sure she believed.

A few minutes later, though, she believed in him with all her heart. Despite his words, he was gentle and kind and sweet. And yes...later...he was hot, too.

He gave her everything she’d ever dreamed of. And more.

An even longer while later, she reached up to slide her hands behind his neck and link her fingers against him. As she held on, unmoving, he explored once again, running his hands down her sides, cupping her hips and holding her closer.

When she sucked in a deep breath, one side of his mouth curled in a smile. “This isn’t what I expected when I drove you home tonight.”

“That makes two of us.” Like a schoolgirl, she struggled to hold back a giggle of pure joy at being two halves of a couple with him.

“And,” he said, “this isn’t what I expected when I promised to take care of you. But you don’t hear me complaining.”

Her throat tightened, and the giggle died. “No,” she said, “I don’t.” Goose bumps rippled along her skin.

To accompany the chill running down her spine.

“In fact—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, meeting his eyes. “You said ‘take care’?”

He nodded. “Of you and the kids.”

She tried to keep her tone even, her voice soft. “And you made that promise to...?”

He shifted, as if the question she’d left hanging caused him considerable discomfort. A small gap opened between them, and her body cooled.

“To Paul,” he said.

“I see.” She sat up, needing more distance between them. When he let her go, she grabbed her gown from the floor and slid into it, heedless now of the fine lace, of the delicate satin. “That’s the reason behind everything?” she asked. “Because you made a promise to Paul?”

He leaned against the arm of the couch. “What ‘everything’? You mean us, here?”

“We’ve never been ‘us, here’ before tonight.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t—think about that now. It took twice as much effort to keep her voice level as it had to stifle that foolish giggle. “No, I mean everything you’ve done. Trying to help me. Stopping by my office unannounced. Buying the office building. All that—because of what you promised Paul?”

Frowning, he nodded. “Yeah. But I’d have done those things anyway. Why wouldn’t I? I told you, you’ve been the girl for me since kindergarten.”

“How long ago did you have to make that promise?”

“The day he shipped out at the end of his leave. But there was no ‘have to’ about it. I willingly gave him my word.”

“I’m not willing to let you take care of me.”

“It’s too late for that.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I’ve watched over you for years. Ever since we were kids in school.”

“Then it has to stop. We’re not kids anymore. And as I’ve told you before, many times, I can take care of myself—and my children. I don’t think you’ll ever understand that.” She tugged the bodice of her gown into place. “And I think it’s time for you to go.”

For a few long moments he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he curled his fingers into fists and stared at her, his eyes narrowed.

She had no fear. This was Ben. He was good and kind and meant well. And because he was so good and kind, because he felt so determined to take care of her, she’d hurt him.

After he’d just made love to her as if—

She couldn’t finish that thought. She couldn’t sit here and watch him walk out.

Instead, she rose from the couch, then crossed the room. “Good night,” she said over her shoulder. Her voice shook.

“Running away won’t help anything,” he said.

“I’m not running,” she answered, climbing the stairs without looking back. Without stopping. “I’m just standing on my own.”

On legs no steadier than her voice had been and that threatened to give way at any moment.

From the upstairs hallway she listened to his movements below.

When he left, she went down again to lock the door.

Then she sank onto the rocking chair. Her heart thudded painfully. She had wanted to stop him. Wanted to call him back. But she couldn’t. She had to make him leave, had to force him to understand she didn’t need him.

She had to force herself to accept a painful truth, too. For all this time, Ben had considered her his responsibility.

She couldn’t allow that to continue.

No matter what she had heard for years from another man, no matter what that man had tried to make her believe, she wasn’t anyone’s burden. Never had been—and as long as she lived, never would be.

Especially not Ben’s.