Читать книгу One Husband Needed - Jeanne Allan - Страница 9

“C’MON, Jimbo, open wide. The early bird’s supposed to eat all his worms.”

“What are you doing with my son?”

Jamie squealed and pounded the tray of the high chair.

Worth turned to face the owner of the furious voice. Sparks practically flew from her red hair. A man would be crazy to want all that heat and voltage centered on him. “I’d say I’m feeding him breakfast, but since the majority of the food is everywhere but in his stomach, you’d probably call me a liar.”

“You had no right to come into my bedroom and take Jamie.”

So much for gratitude. Worth shoved food in Jamie’s mouth and debated apologizing. He didn’t debate long. Widow or not, Elizabeth Randall’s abrasive attitude was beginning to rile him. Besides, she had no business standing there with sleep-tousled hair, doing bad things to his body. “I knocked, but you were snoring so loud, you didn’t hear me.”

“I do not snore.”

When she stuck her nose in the air and jerked her spine straight, the top of her shiny green pajamas poked out in interesting places. Worth gave her a deliberately obnoxious grin. “You made more racket than a freight train, sleeping with your mouth hanging wide open.”

“You watched me sleeping?” She practically shrieked the question.

Turning his back to her, Worth gave Jamie a wink and another spoonful of cereal. “Only for a minute, Red.” Revolving to face her, he added in a guileless voice, “I was admiring your green pajamas.”

She pokered up indignantly. He could almost feel the electricity as she searched for a response to his compliment which would put him in his place. Worth smiled in anticipation.

“Don’t call me Red.” His wolfish smile rattled her. His smile and his comment on her pajamas.

She should have taken time to put on a robe instead of panicking when she’d found Jamie missing from his bed. Being in nothing but pajamas and bare feet made a woman feel vulnerable. Elizabeth wanted to run, but instinct told her the dumbest thing she could do was let this man know he unnerved her.

Making her way across the kitchen, she took a mug from the rack and filled it with coffee. She desperately needed caffeine to recharge her brain cells and took a deep gulp of coffee. “Yuk.” She spit the mouthful of liquid back into the mug and poured it down the sink. “If I licked tar off the street, it would taste better.”

“Does anything around here suit you?” he asked mildly.

“Jamie suits me.” She looked at her son and did a double take. “What in the world is he wearing?”

“Since Jimbo and I didn’t want to disturb his lazybones of a mom, we had to improvise a little. He was sopping wet.”

Jamie gave her a toothy grin and smeared banana on the man’s undershirt he wore. “I don’t suppose you bothered to change his diapers.” Grudgingly, Elizabeth admitted to herself her son didn’t seem to be suffering.

“He’s wearing a dish-towel diaper with a plastic bag over it, aren’t you, Jimbo?”

That made the third time he’d said it. “His name is Jamie,” she said tersely.

“Well now, Red,” Worth drawled, “Jimbo and I had a little discussion about that, and we decided Jamie is a sissy name. A cowboy needs to have a name like Jimbo.”

“He’s not a cowboy and he’s not going to be a cowboy.”

“That’s not what his Grandpa Russ says.”

“Russ has nothing to say about how I raise my son.”

Worth slowly rose. Sticking his hands in his back pockets he silently contemplated her with narrowed eyes. The food splashed down the front of his T-shirt did nothing to subtract from his masculinity. He should have looked ridiculous. He didn’t. He looked sexy.

Elizabeth shivered. Only because the house was cool.

Jamie banged on the tray of his chair with his drinking cup.

She moved to step around the obstacle in her path. The obstacle blocked the move with his large body. “I need to take care of my son,” Elizabeth said.

“He’s fine.” Worth studied her face with such intensity the hairs on the back of her neck rose in uneasy protest.

She dropped her eyes to stare at a hunk of banana stuck to his T-shirt. Elizabeth’s secrets were her own. She didn’t want him, didn’t want anyone, gaining access to them. “Please move.”

With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he stepped aside.

Ignoring him, she concentrated on feeding Jamie the last of his cereal, then wet a paper towel and bending down, scrubbed her son’s face.

“I surely do love those green pajamas.” The soft drawl flowed from the kitchen doorway.

Elizabeth straightened up and spun around so fast she made herself dizzy. Worth Lassiter slouched against the doorjamb, masculine approval filling his eyes with a drowsy, sensual heat. Her stomach zoomed to her toes. She wanted to run and hide. She couldn’t move. Her traitorous body reacted as if he were physically touching her. And he knew it.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “What do you want from me?”

A lazy smile crept across his face. “You know what I want, Red. And I intend to make sure I get it.”

What kind of man tried to seduce a woman he barely knew who was a guest in his home? She picked up Jamie, as much to hide behind him as to give herself time to regain her composure. “When you live in a university town, and your husband dies, someone’s bound to bring you a book on being a widow. As if it’s like learning how to sew or raise puppies. I had nothing better to do, so I read it. The book talked about this.”

“This?”

“How some men will tell a widow they know she must miss sex and offer to, well, comfort her.” Her voice rose nervously, which both annoyed and mortified her. She forced herself to look him directly in the eye. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Lassiter. I am not a lonely widow looking for a man to share my bed.”

Surprise flashed deep in his eyes, then he lowered his eyelids to half-mast, concealing any expression. “You know, Red, it’s always enlightening to watch a woman’s mind at work. I compliment your pajamas, and you immediately conclude I want you out of them.”

“If I was wrong, I apologize,” she said stiffly.

“A man would be crazy to have sex with you without a fire truck standing by. I don’t want sex. I want you to forget the reason you came here, because I intend to make sure you don’t get what you want.”

“What could you possibly know about what I want?”

“I know you hope to stop the wedding, and I know I’m not going to let you do anything which makes my mother unhappy.”

He was so far wrong, she would have laughed. If his exasperating, irrational fixation uttered in a patient, long-suffering voice didn’t make her back teeth ache. “I’m not going to stop the wedding,” she shouted.

Jamie started crying and clutched at her.

“Good. You don’t start any trouble, and we’ll all get along just fine.” His eyes darkened and a lopsided smile slowly curved one side of his mouth. “Jimbo, you little devil, you.” He strolled out of the room.

“Don’t cry, sweet pea. It’s okay. The mean ol’ man has gone.” Elizabeth quit grinding her teeth and looked down at her son. And realized Jamie’s frantic clutching had unbuttoned half the buttons on her pajamas leaving the top gaping wide open. The cool morning air had hardened the tip of her bared breast to a tight nub.

He was having so much fun watching the color wash across Elizabeth’s face each time he managed to catch her eye, they were halfway through dinner before Worth realized the tension at the dinner table could be cut with his dinner knife. Russ and Elizabeth were excruciatingly polite to each other. His mother was trying valiantly to bridge the conversational gap between them. With very little success.

Worth couldn’t believe it. He thought they’d reached an agreement this morning that Elizabeth wouldn’t cause trouble. Obviously she’d had no intention of honoring that agreement.

Her mistake. He didn’t care if her anger at Russ was justified. Nobody messed with his family.

“Elizabeth,” Mary said, “your father has told us how much you love to ride. The two of you should check out some of the trails around here.”

Elizabeth’s head shot up. “I didn’t bring clothes for riding.”

Worth’s senses sharpened. There was nothing about his mom’s proposal to cause the hint of panic he picked up in Elizabeth’s voice. He didn’t like one bit that the panic suggested Elizabeth feared her father.

“It seems a shame not to get in all the riding you can while you’re here,” Mary said. “If you’re worried about Jamie, I’m happy to watch him while you ride.”

“That’s very kind of you, but Jamie’s a little overwhelmed by all the changes in his routine right now. Having me disappear for hours would be too distressing for him.”

“You don’t want to make a mama’s boy of him,” Russ said. “He’ll be fine with Mary for a couple of hours.”

“I haven’t ridden for years,” Elizabeth said tightly. “I’d get all stiff and sore, which would be no fun with your wedding coming up.”

“We don’t have to ride that long,” her father said. “You gotta be tough to be a cowboy,” he added in a hearty, teasing voice.

“So you’ve told me.”

As Elizabeth turned to her son, Worth had the oddest impression that every muscle in her body quivered. The way a horse quivered when terrified. It was clear Elizabeth was adamantly opposed to riding with Russ. Why? What did she fear?

Old family friends had introduced Russ to his mother, but Worth had still checked into Russ’s background. He wondered if he’d checked deep enough. Russ’s first wife had left him, and Elizabeth and Russ obviously had an uneasy relationship. Russ’s surprise at Elizabeth coming to the wedding took on new, ominous overtones.

If Worth had misread Russ’s true character in a desire to see his mother happy, now, before the wedding, was the time to find out. Leaning back in his chair, Worth set out to probe into Elizabeth’s fear. “Russ, you’ll have to drive Elizabeth around and show her the ranch while she’s here. You can take your grandson along.”

“Jamie likes to ride in cars,” Elizabeth said quickly.

“You can see more on horseback,” Russ said.

A more perceptive man than Russ would have felt his hair singe at the look Elizabeth gave him. An unbelievably absurd notion began snaking its way into Worth’s head. Elizabeth didn’t object to going with Russ; she objected to going with Russ on horses.

Russ had boasted of his daughter’s riding skills until the entire Lassiter family had grown sick of listening. Worth tried to talk himself out of it, but a gut feeling that Elizabeth was afraid of horses wouldn’t go away.

Watching her closely, he tested his hunch. “We raise quarterhorses here on the Double Nickel. Although we’ve bred our share of reining and cutting champions, most of our horses are good stock animals, trained to work cattle. Too many of them are just standing around right now, eating their heads off and getting frisky. We could bring a couple up to the house for Elizabeth to try out.”

“Everyone is busy with wedding preparations,” she said immediately. “Please don’t bother doing anything special for me.”

If she hadn’t come out here to sabotage the wedding, he might have admired the way she throttled down her emotions. Emotional women grated on his nerves. With that red hair of hers, he had a feeling those pent-up emotions periodically exploded. When it happened, the fallout must be considerable.

Worth reminded himself Elizabeth’s emotions weren’t his concern. His mother’s happiness was. “It’s no trouble at all. I could bring in two or three horses first thing in the morning.”

“Put her on Wall Street,” Russ said. “That stallion’s a lot of horse, but Elizabeth can ride anything with four legs.”

For a split second her face turned so pale Worth could almost count the freckles.

“No, I can’t,” she said sharply. “Ride in the mornings, that is. I spend my mornings with Jamie.”

Worth weighed Elizabeth’s fear of horses against his mother’s future happiness. It was no contest. Life had delivered hard knocks to both women, but Mary Lassiter had never given in to self-pity. His mother had never blamed others for what fate had dealt her, and most assuredly, she’d never coldly planned to sabotage someone else’s happiness for her own revengeful purposes.

Elizabeth Randall was not going to interfere in his mother’s wedding. Or steal his chance for freedom.

Not if Worth had anything to say about it.

After dinner, Elizabeth went upstairs to put Jamie to bed. In the living room, Worth watched Russ and his mom over the top of the newspaper as they pretended to watch TV.

Russ abruptly stood. “I’m going to bed.” He strode out of the room.

Worth waited until he heard the front door shut before quietly asking, “Problems?”

Mary sighed and switched off the TV. “I’m fifty-four years old. I have wonderful children and beautiful grandchildren. Why am I thinking about taking on a husband? Maybe this wedding business isn’t such a good idea.”

A cold chill went down Worth’s back. Elizabeth Randall had spread her poison well if his mother, who deeply loved Russ, was having second thoughts. “What happened?” Worth figured he knew everything but the details.

“It’s hard to explain. At lunch Elizabeth was feeding Jamie and she made a teasing remark to him about his daddy not liking beets either, and Russ said he hoped Jamie didn’t grow up to be anything like his sissy father. Elizabeth told him she didn’t want him to belittle Jamie’s father in front of Jamie.”

“That’s no reason to get wedding jitters.”

“Russ got defensive and wouldn’t stop,” Mary said bleakly. “He went on and on criticizing her deceased husband, but as far as I can tell, the only thing Russ had against him was he wasn’t a cowboy. Elizabeth grabbed Jamie and walked out of the room. Russ knew he’d gone too far and tried to apologize, but she refused to listen to him.”

Worth pictured the entire episode as clearly as if he’d been there. Elizabeth Randall had manipulated circumstances to make Russ look bad to Mary. The first step in her campaign to sabotage the wedding. “Let them sleep on it. They’ll make up.” He didn’t believe it for a second.

“Her husband’s been dead only a little over a year. You can tell by looking at her she’s still grieving. I’m wondering if I know Russ as well as I thought I did.”

Hearing the troubled doubts in Mary’s voice, Worth gave his mother a reassuring smile. “You’ve said yourself Russ is better with cows and horses than people. Maybe he’s trying to remind Elizabeth that a living son takes precedence over a deceased husband. Doing it badly doesn’t mean Russ isn’t trying to help Elizabeth through her grief.”

“You really think that’s it?” she asked hopefully.

“I think he’s sitting out in the guest cabin fretting about what kind of father he is and worrying that he’s blown the chance to marry the world’s most wonderful woman, and he doesn’t have a clue how to fix things.”

Mary smiled self-consciously. “Maybe I should go out and give him a few clues.”

“Maybe you should.”

Worth waited a few minutes, grabbed an afghan from the back of the sofa, and sauntered out to the front porch.

Elizabeth sat curled up in the old, double porch swing. Worth handed her the afghan. “It gets chilly here at night.” He sat beside her.

She scooted as far away from him as the swing permitted. “What do you want?”

“I saw you sneak past the living room while I was talking to my mother. You should have joined us, Red. You might have been able to stop me from repairing the damage you did today.”

“Damage I did?” she asked blankly.

“Setting Russ up to look like a jerk.”

“He does that all by himself.”

“I thought we’d agreed this morning that you aren’t going to try and stop the wedding.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I did not come to Colorado to stop Russ from marrying your mother.”

“Why did you come?”

“I came because Russ asked me to. Why do you find that so difficult to believe?”

Her claim would be easier to believe if it hadn’t taken her so long to come up with it. “You came even though he didn’t go to your husband’s funeral?”

After a quick startled movement, Elizabeth asked thinly, “Russ told you?”

“He said you’re still mad at him.”

With slow, painstaking precision, Elizabeth adjusted the afghan, then pulled it tighter around her before saying in a less than credible voice, “I’m not mad at him.”

“I can see what a warm and loving relationship you two have.”

His sarcastic words hung in the air. Watching some bats swoop down to catch night-flying bugs around the porch light, Worth waited. Familiar night sounds filtered through the night. None loud enough to drown out the sound of Elizabeth breathing or the creaking of the swing chains as he propelled the swing back and forth.

When Elizabeth finally spoke, her voice was strained. “My relationship with Russ is none of your business.”

“It wouldn’t be, Red, if you hadn’t made it my business.”

She heaved a loud, long-suffering sigh. It didn’t come close to what his sisters could do when they wanted him to know how aggravating they thought him. “If you had half a brain in your head,” Elizabeth said, “you’d know I did not come to Aspen to stop Russ from getting married. Why shouldn’t he get married again? My mother is happily remarried. She has been for years. I didn’t try and stop her wedding.”

“Maybe you were too young.”

“And maybe you’re an idiot.”

“I suppose that’s always a possibility.”

“But you doubt it.”

He gave her a slow once-over in the light shining through the living room window. Ordinarily he liked a woman who didn’t back down. But not when that woman was intent on revenge. “I doubt it.”

“It must be nice to be so smug and self-assured. Something you learned at your father’s knee?”

“Nope.” Because he knew it would annoy her, he laid his arm along the back of the swing and gave her a mocking grin.

“Of course not. I’m sure your father was perfect.”

“Beau was a lot of things, but he’d have been the first to admit perfect wasn’t one of them.”

“It’s hard to believe a man related to you could be humble.”

“Humility has nothing to do with it. Beau was honest. He knew his strengths and weaknesses.”

“Which were?”

“He was a rodeo cowboy with a talent for riding bulls and charming ladies.” Worth paused. “And a lousy father and husband. After I was born, Mom stayed here on the ranch and Beau dropped by whenever he needed a place to recuperate after an injury. Once he healed, it was off to the bright lights again, twice leaving Mom pregnant.”

“Don’t you mean three times?” Elizabeth asked,

Worth shook his head. “Beau picked up women like a dog picks up burrs. Greeley’s the result of a fling Beau had with a bartender in Greeley. After the woman gave birth, she drove here straight from the hospital and dumped Greeley off on Mom.”

“Just like that? What did Mary do?”

He heard the horror in her voice and guessed she was thinking of her son. “Mom raised Greeley,” he said. “Loved her. Greeley is one of us. A Lassiter. Lassiters take care of Lassiters.” Worth could almost see Elizabeth processing the information as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

“Now I understand. It’s called transference or something,” she said slowly. “You don’t want your mother to remarry, but you’re filled with guilt about feeling that way, so you’ve assigned your negative feelings to me.” His face must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt, because she continued, “I suppose you’ve considered yourself the man of the family for a long time. You don’t want another man moving into your territory and taking over from you.”

Worth laughed. “If you’re going to try and confuse the issue with psychobabble, you at least ought to come up with something halfway plausible.”

“I was trying to sympathize with you,” she snapped.

He gave a disgusted snort. “Good try, but I’m not so easily fooled. Or sidetracked. Your resentment of Russ sticks out a country mile.”

“I do not resent him,” she said, glaring at him. “And I’m not going to sit here and listen to any more of your paranoid accusations.”

He closed his fingers around the clump of hair at the back of her head before she could stand. “We haven’t finished our little chat.”

“I’ve finished.”

“Then you can listen, but first…I hate your hair skewered to the back of your head like that.”

“I don’t care if…What are you doing? Stop that.”

He imprisoned the hand swatting at his hand. “I’ve been wanting to do this from the minute I saw you. Here.” Opening the hand he held, he dropped the hairpins in her palm. “You don’t have to look as if you have one foot in the grave just because your husband died.”

A stark silence met his words before she said in a shaken voice, “That’s a cruel thing to say.”

“It’s honest.” He locked eyes with hers. “Your husband died, and I’m sorry for what you’re suffering, but you have a child to raise. It’s time for you to think about what’s in his best interests and quit being self-indulgent. How can you take care of your son if you don’t take care of yourself? Skipping meals and not getting enough sleep are stupid. They won’t bring your husband back to life any more than skinning back your hair will. The man gave you his son. Refusing to live yourself is no way to thank him.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know I’m going to kiss you.” He hadn’t known it, but now he’d said it out loud, the idea intrigued him.

Elizabeth froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

Worth spread his fingers over her face, his palms cupping her cheeks. Her skin was warm and smooth, like a baby’s skin. Nothing about her mouth reminded him of a baby. A full bottom lip wobbled the tiniest bit. Worth hesitated. He didn’t force kisses on unwilling women. She didn’t back away. Her mouth opened slightly. Inviting him.

He sensed she was as curious as he was.

His fingers slid into her hair. Silky threads snared his knuckles. Slanting his mouth over hers, he kissed her gently, then added some firmness, and when she didn’t protest or pull away, he deepened the kiss.

She didn’t pull away from him, even if her muted response only hinted at a fiery passion he suspected she’d buried with her husband.

Every muscle in Worth’s body tightened, and he knew he shouldn’t have kissed her. Because he wanted to keep kissing her. Wanted to take her to bed. Wanted to make love to her until she’d completely freed that passion.

Thoughts of her husband brought back sanity, and Worth lifted his head. The light from the living room fell on her face, and he read a confused vulnerability in her eyes before she looked down. Worth tucked the afghan securely around her legs and curved a hand around the back of her neck. “I’m not going to apologize.” Curling a tendril of red hair around his finger, he wondered it didn’t sear his skin. “You wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you.”

“You didn’t want to kiss me,” she said wearily. “You wanted to intimidate me.” Her downcast eyelashes brushed against the dusting of freckles on her cheeks.

He snatched his hand away from her neck. “Are you saying I forced you to kiss me? That you didn’t want to kiss me?”

“I’m saying you have this idiotic notion I’m here to stop Russ from marrying your mother, and you’ll do anything you can to ensure the wedding goes ahead.”

He relaxed. She might shy away from acknowledging she’d returned his kiss, but apparently she was honest enough, at least about that, not to tell outright lies about it. “I didn’t realize you were so susceptible to my kisses.” Worth swallowed a grin as he felt her stiffen. “That leads to all kinds of possibilities. If I kiss you again, will you shovel out the barn? Repair some fence? I have a whole stack of calving data which needs entering in the computer. How many kisses will that cost me?”

“You rate your kisses too high. If I were trying to interfere with the wedding, which I’m not, you could kiss me from now until the cows come home, and you couldn’t stop me.”

“Lucky for me that I’m not relying on my kisses to stop you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it—” She stopped abruptly. Several minutes passed before she asked warily, “What does that mean?”

Elizabeth’s fear of horses was her own business, and under ordinary circumstances, Worth would never have mentioned it. The possible consequences of Elizabeth’s need to punish her father kept this from being an ordinary circumstance.

Drawing a long strand of hair under her chin, he used it to raise her face. “My sisters used to call it blackmail.” In spite of her being nothing but a troublemaker, the indignation on her face made him want to kiss her again.

“You can’t blackmail me over a silly kiss. I don’t care if you tell the entire world you kissed me.”

“But you would care if I told Russ you’re afraid of horses.”

Her sharp intake of air must have sucked in half the mosquito population of Colorado. After a bit, she said, “Me, terrified of horses? That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He’d never heard a less believable denial. “You are, and you don’t want Russ to know, or you would have told him by now.”

She went very still. “I’m not afraid of horses.”

“That’s good, because Russ is real anxious to put you up on Wall Street. Wally’s a good-looking stallion who’s all muscle and power, and you don’t want to believe the hands if they try and tell you he’s a mean, fractious son of a gun.” Wally had the temperament of a favorite nanny; even so, Worth never put an insecure or unknown rider on over half a ton of finely-tuned horseflesh.

Elizabeth didn’t say anything for the longest time. Then she deliberately pushed aside his hand and stood. “Jamie and I will leave tomorrow.” She didn’t look at Worth. “I’m not staying where we’re not wanted.” Her voice was stiff with pride and wounded dignity.

For a second, Worth felt like a heel for harassing her, then he remembered the trouble she’d managed to stir up in only one day and hardened his heart. Catching the afghan still wrapped around her, he pulled her back down to the swing. “You’re not going anywhere. Russ and Mom want you here for the wedding, so you’re staying. And you’re going to behave yourself and forget about your plans for sabotaging the wedding. If you don’t,” reaching for her hand, he played with her icy fingers, “I’ll tell Russ your dirty little secret about being afraid of horses.” He wouldn’t, no matter the provocation, but she didn’t need to know that.

She yanked her hand away from him. “He won’t believe you.”

“Maybe not. But I’m guessing he’ll start wondering when you keep refusing to ride.”

“I’m not afraid of horses.” She stared straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap. “I have lots of reasons for not riding.”

“I’ll bet you made up a real nice list before you got on the plane.” It didn’t seem to occur to her that if she told Russ the truth, Worth would lose his leverage over her.

“Blackmail and blackmailers are despicable.”

“Dregs of the earth,” he agreed cheerfully. This time Worth made no effort to stop her when she stood.

“I have my son to think about.” She started for the door. “I won’t have him hurt by your fun and games.”

“Elizabeth.” He hadn’t run a large ranch for more than his adult life without learning how to crack his voice like a whip. She stopped dead in her tracks. Standing, Worth reached past her shoulder and held the screen door shut. “I would never put Jimbo in harm’s way. You can trust me on that.”

She turned, leaning against the door, her eyes glittering in the light from the house. “Trust is a word people use too easily. They don’t understand what trust is. I have no idea if I can trust you. I don’t even know if you know what the word means.” Turning back to the door, she removed his hand and went inside.

Worth returned to the swing, contemplating the puzzle Elizabeth presented. Why did she hide her fear of horses from her father? Russ was hardly the type to tell his daughter never to darken his doorstep again, nor was he likely to force her to ride in spite of her fears. A part of the puzzle was missing, which intrigued Worth.

He wondered who’d betrayed her trust.

Russ, because he hadn’t gone to her when her husband was killed? If a woman couldn’t trust her father, rely on him in her darkest moment, who could she trust? Russ had let his daughter down badly, and he knew it. Worth could do nothing about that. He could make sure their problems didn’t hurt his mother.

Elizabeth Randall was a bundle of nerves held together by not much more than sheer grit. A fierceness in her eyes had told him she’d fight desperately for her young son’s well-being. She didn’t need to fight Worth. He had no intention of harming her or her son, but he would not allow her to compromise his mother’s happiness or his freedom.

Her response to his ultimatum had surprised him. She hadn’t cried or whined or begged. Or tried to sweet-talk him. He would have believed, had halfway expected, at least one of those.

She could have tried a little feminine persuasion. Tried to bribe him with a kiss or two. Or an invitation to her bed.

He wouldn’t have accepted. For many reasons, not the least of which, she was a guest in his house.

He certainly wasn’t worried he might enjoy sharing her bed so much that he’d allow her to disrupt his plans. Nothing about Elizabeth Randall worried him. She was nothing more than a skinny, red-haired troublemaker. Worth had handled plenty of trouble in his time. He wasn’t worried.

Even if this time, trouble had come with olive green cat eyes.

Elizabeth watched as a chipmunk darted recklessly across the dirt road and disappeared in a patch of wild roses. Dark blue spikes of larkspur waved in the slight breeze. Worth turned onto another road where water trickled along the roadside ditch and willows displayed their catkins. Overhead, swallows dipped and soared in a blue, cloudless sky.

Some might call the landscape beautiful. Elizabeth knew the darker side of nature lurked below the idyllic surface. If a predator didn’t get the small animal, automobile tires probably would. Roses had thorns, larkspur poisoned cattle, and the swallows were fighting for nesting territory. In Nebraska, the roots of a willow tree in her yard had caused extensive damage to her house’s plumbing.

It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t pretty. It was life.

Elizabeth knew all about life.

She might not know all about smug, arrogant men who thought they could kiss you one minute and blackmail you the next, but she was learning fast.

A prime example of the species currently sat behind the wheel of a beat-up, dark blue, extended-cab pickup, wearing worn jeans and a faded blue work shirt with rolled-up sleeves. If Worth Lassiter expected her to swoon over the muscles in his forearms, he could think again.

She’d had enough of him and his muscles.

Her mistake had been allowing him to kiss her. All right, kissing him back. For a short time, she’d felt desirable, cherished. More proof of what a horrible judge of character she was. Only a weakling and an idiot would think his arms were a refuge. As she’d learned quickly enough when he’d used her weakness against her.

He’d be positively overjoyed if he discovered exactly how weak she was.

For the second night in a row he’d invaded her dreams. Invaded. Dominated. Starred in.

Dreams of a sexual nature. Dreams she didn’t need. Didn’t want. He had no right to ruin her nights.

He should be content with ruining her days.

“I came with you today because Jamie loves riding in a car.” In the backseat, Jamie gurgled happily to himself. “Your silly threats last night had nothing to do with me accepting your invitation.”

No response. As if her claim was so ludicrous, he couldn’t be bothered to refute it.

Which naturally increased her irritation. “And I am not afraid of horses. I’ve been riding horses since I could sit up. I rode my first pony all by myself when I was two.”

“So Russ has repeatedly told us. According to him, you’re a born cowboy.”

“I fell off and broke my arm.” She regretted the words the instant they popped out.

He chuckled heartlessly. “Russ forgot to mention that part.”

“He usually does.”

“Is that why you’re afraid of horses?”

“I’m not, and what difference does it make to you if I am? You’re like all cowboys. Whether I got an A in math or graduated third in my high school class or did well in college doesn’t mean a thing to you. You don’t care if I can run a coffee shop or coordinate a convention for three hundred out-of-towners or find rooms for a busload of tourists whose travel agent messed up their plans. Cowboys judge a person by her riding skills or roping skills or cow-chasing skills. Nothing else matters.” Belatedly she clamped her mouth shut, having revealed too much.

“Why haven’t you ever told Russ you’re afraid of horses?”

“I’m not afraid of them, but speaking hypothetically, when exactly was I supposed to tell him?” she asked tartly. “Every summer when I was shipped off to visit him and he threw me on some huge, wild monster who’d been running free all winter and saw no reason to wear a saddle? Before or after the concussion, the sprained ankle, the bruised hip, the horse bite?”

“Those injuries don’t sound hypothetical to me.”

“Russ has had his share of injuries. You heard him last night. Gotta be tough to be a cowboy.” In spite of her efforts, bitterness coated her last words.

“Are you tough?”

As if she’d admit she wasn’t. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be a cowboy.”

After a bit Worth said, “Russ can look over a herd of horses or cows and pick up instantly on the least little thing wrong, but I’m guessing he has no clue what makes you tick.”

It didn’t take a genius IQ to figure that out. “My mother says cowboys refuse to understand any creature with less than four legs.”

“I suppose her feelings explain the divorce. I’m surprised she married Russ in the first place.”

A question Elizabeth had considered frequently over the years. “Mother was a city girl who fell in love with the cowboy mystique. Ranch life came as a rude shock to her. When I was about three, she had a miscarriage. She needed comfort from Russ, but he buried himself in ranch work, so she cried a lot and they fought a lot and the marriage disintegrated.”

“And you blame Russ.”

“I don’t blame either of them. Onions and ice cream go together better than my parents did. People should marry people they have something in common with.”

“Is that what you did? Mom said your husband wasn’t a cowboy. What was he?”

“A history professor at the university.” She could have added Lawrence was also a liar, a fraud, and a thief, but she didn’t. She sensed Worth looking at her.

“I’m not going to bad-mouth him because he chose a different career from the one I have,” Worth said.

“Russ does.”

“Seeing you hurting must upset Russ. He wants to make everything better for you, help you cope with your loss, but he has no idea how, so he’s angry and frustrated and the only person he can take his anger out on is your husband. It’s not logical, but it’s human nature.”

“I didn’t come with you to listen to a sermon or homespun counseling,” Elizabeth said tightly. “I’m not hurting and I’m coping just fine with my loss. As you pointed out last night, I have Jamie.”

“And your memories.”

Elizabeth briefly squeezed her eyelids shut against the sharp pain. The last thing she wanted from her marriage was memories. Not after the way Lawrence had tarnished them. Clutching her seat belt she pinned a smile on her face and said, “Yes, of course. My memories.”

Worth paused as he came out of the feed store. Elizabeth crouched in front of the large storefront window pointing out items to Jamie. Her son was trying to gnaw his way through the plate glass.

Grinning, Worth tossed the supplies in the back of the pickup and strolled over to the store window. “I think Jimbo needs a bone to chew on.” He swung Jamie up into his arms and gave Elizabeth a bland look as she stood. “I would have helped you up, but I know how you hate being helped.”

“I don’t need your help. I’d be just fine if you’d leave me alone.”

He felt a curious reluctance to do that. Only a fool stuck his finger in a light socket, but Elizabeth Randall made him want to poke and prod her. Everything from her skinned-back hair to her trim, belted khaki trousers and buttoned-up shirt indicated a woman who believed in controlling all facets of her life. Worth might have believed the outer trappings were it not for the heated emotions which ebbed and flowed deep in her expressive eyes. Elizabeth Randall was made for intense feeling, deep loving and raw passion. He wondered why she went to such lengths to deny her nature.

And knew an insane urge to solve the riddle before she returned to Nebraska.

Securing Jamie in his safety seat, Worth said mildly, “I’ll try and remember you want to be left alone.”

“While you’re remembering that, remember my son’s name isn’t Jimbo.”

“Some things aren’t worth the effort of remembering.” He slid behind the wheel.

“What is worth the effort?” she asked waspishly.

Worth gave her an amused look, enjoying the sudden color washing across her face.

“Never mind,” she said.

“When a woman asks a man a question, it’s because she wants it answered.”

“You’re a real sagebrush philosopher, aren’t you? Is there anything you don’t consider yourself an expert on?” She strapped herself in.

He turned sideways in the driver’s seat, his right arm across the back of the seat and watched her face. “My sisters like to change the subject thinking they can get me off the track. They can’t.”

“Being single-minded is nothing to brag about. I’ve never met a man so determined to—”

He cut her off. “Kisses in the dark are worth remembering.”

Her mouth closed, and she swallowed hard.

He smiled slowly. “Unbuttoned green pajamas.” He had looked away immediately, honorable behavior he had a feeling he’d forever regret. The glimpse had shown him a nicely-shaped, womanly mound. The perfect size to fill a man’s hand, its tip hard against his palm.

More red splashed her cheeks, and she swallowed again. “Never mind. I’m not interested in your memory.”

Worth lifted an eyebrow. “Then let’s talk about yours.”

“I have no memory,” she snapped. “I’d forgotten all about yesterday morning in the kitchen and Jamie unbuttoning, that is, I hardly remember kissing you because it didn’t mean a thing to me, and—What are you doing?” she shrieked as he slid across the seat. “It’s broad daylight, and we’re sitting in the middle of a parking lot. You can’t kiss me here.”

He captured her head, his fingers busy with the tight knot of hair at the back of her neck. “I hadn’t thought about kissing you right now, but if you want me to…My mother taught me it’s rude to say no to a lady.”

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she said breathlessly.

Her eyes were enormous in her pale face, and Worth could read the lie as easily as if she’d written it on a giant green chalkboard. He read other truths there, too. Her awareness of him as a man. Her curiosity. Distrust. And fear.

He wanted to prove she’d lied. Deepen her awareness. Satisfy her curiosity. His gut clenched. Satisfy his. Answer the question as to whether a green-eyed redhead who sparked with anger at the slightest provocation brought that same electricity to bed.

“Your husband was a very lucky man,” he said.

She stared at him, and then slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “He wasn’t.” A single tear ran down her cheek.