Читать книгу Rich, Rugged Ranchers - Kathie DeNosky - Страница 27

Billings hadn’t gotten any closer overnight, Thalia realized as she drove to the airport the next morning. Five hours was a lot of time to think. Maybe too much time.

“What are you going to tell Levinson?” J.R. had asked and she still didn’t have an answer. The night of dreamless sleep in a room that hadn’t been touched since the days of The Brady Bunch and a breakfast of bacon, eggs and extra-strong black coffee with Lloyd hadn’t gotten her any closer to a plan.

What were her options? She could quit before Levinson had a chance to fire her. That might help her reputation in the short-term, but sooner or later the rumor mill would start grinding again. People would dig up the old news and the old photos of her and Levinson and start asking if maybe another affair had led to her sudden departure. It wouldn’t matter that there was no affair this time. Just the suggestion of one would be damaging enough—for her. For the second time, Levinson would come out unscathed and Thalia’s career would be ground into a pulp. And like the last time, when no one had hired her as an actress, this time no one would hire her as a producer. And if you weren’t an actor and you weren’t a producer, then you weren’t anybody in Hollywood.

She needed to avoid any action that had a hint of juicy gossip. So quitting was out. What could she do to keep her job? She could present Levinson with a list of reasons why Bradley had been a bad idea—her bad idea. Except that any reasons she came up with would pretty much have to be bold-faced lies. The man had been everything she’d hoped to find. He was less gorgeous than he’d been fifteen years ago—less polished, less perfect. He was less the pretty boy now.

No, he wasn’t pretty. Handsome. His hair had deepened from golden-boy blond to the kind of brown that only reflected hints of gold in the firelight. His ten-day-old beard made it clear he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d put on weight, maybe thirty pounds, but instead of going right to his gut, as often happened when actors let themselves go, it seemed like he’d added an all-over layer of muscle. And not the kind that came from hours spent at a gym. No, the way his body had moved, from the way he rode his horse to the way he had sat on his heels in front of her spoke of nothing but hard-earned strength.

All of those things were swoon-worthy, but his amber eyes—those were what held Thalia’s attention. They were the only things that hadn’t changed. No, that wasn’t true, either. They looked the same, but to Thalia, it seemed like there’d been more going on beyond the lovely color. And for one sweet, confused moment, she thought she’d been privy to what he was thinking.

She mentally slapped her head again. Had she touched that beard? Had she acted like a lovesick schoolgirl, swooning over the biggest hunk in the world? Yes, she had. And why? Because when she’d opened her eyes, she’d thought she’d still been dreaming. How else to explain the small smile he’d given her—her, of all people. She’d been dreaming, all right. Neither part of him—James Robert the superstar or J.R. the reclusive rancher—would be the least bit welcoming to the likes of her. She felt like a fool. She’d embarrassed herself and, based on his behavior during the meal, she’d embarrassed him, too.

At least she thought she had. The exchange—the touch, the smile—between them couldn’t have taken more than twenty seconds. J. R. Bradley was hard to read. She could see so much churning behind his eyes, but she couldn’t make sense of it. She had no good idea if he’d been embarrassed, flattered or offended. Or all three. All she knew was that her little slipup had had some sort of effect on him. The other thing she knew was that J.R.’s eyes were dangerous. Looking into those liquid pools of amber was a surefire way to make another mistake.

Thalia shook her head, trying to forget the way his stubble had pricked at her fingers. She could relive that moment again when she had the time—all the time in the world, if she was going to be unemployed. Quitting wasn’t the best option. Lying about J.R. was out. Anything she said would take on a life of its own, and she had the awful feeling that if she started the rumor mill churning about him, he might trample her the next time. What could she do to save her job?

She was walking into Billings Airport when she realized that she only had two options. One was to present Levinson with a list of better-suited actors to take the role and hope that he wouldn’t ask questions about what had happened with Bradley. Which was asking a lot of hope. It had taken a great deal of negotiating to convince Levinson that Bradley was perfect for the role. It would take a heck of a lot more to convince him Bradley wasn’t.

The other choice was to go back and get Bradley.

“May I help you?”

Thalia realized she was standing in front of the check-in desk, her return ticket in one hand.

She had to get Bradley. She couldn’t give up on him. He wouldn’t be happy to see her again—at least, she didn’t think he would be—but Minnie Red Horse was another matter entirely. Thalia did have an open invitation to come back to the Bar B Ranch, after all. If she didn’t take advantage of that, did she deserve to keep her job?

“Ma’am? May I help you?” The clerk at the check-in desk was beginning to get worried.

Thalia couldn’t leave. But she wasn’t prepared to stay. She’d planned for a quick overnight trip. She had her makeup and meds, her laptop and a change of underwear. Her dress and coat had already proven to be woefully inadequate. If she was going back out to the Bar B, she needed to be ready this time.

“Yes,” she finally said as she advanced to the desk. The clerk looked relieved that Thalia wasn’t some weirdo flaking out. “I need to buy some clothes. Where’s a good place to shop here?”

The clerk went right back over to worried. “The Rimrock mall has a J.C. Penney.”

It had been ages since she’d been in the kind of mall that had a J.C. Penney—not since she had been back in Oklahoma. It seemed fitting—and would probably cost her a fourth of what stuff in Hollywood would. She could absorb a little wardrobe adjustment, especially if it kept her employed. “Perfect.”

Thalia got directions, made sure her open-end ticket was still open and then re-rented the car. She called Lloyd to tell him that she’d be back tonight, and if it was okay with him, she’d probably be staying a few nights more.

Then she went shopping.

J.R. was getting sick of winter. Another day of riding out on the range to make sure that the cattle and buffalo had open water, and another day of trucking hay out to the far reaches of the ranch for wild mustangs they pastured. The chores didn’t bother him—it was the bone-chilling cold that hurt more every day, and they hadn’t even had a big winter storm yet. Which was another source of worry. If it didn’t start snowing a little more, the ranch would be low on water for the coming summer. If it snowed too much, he’d lose some cattle.

“Getting too old for this,” Hoss muttered off to his side.

“You’re only thirty,” J.R. reminded him. “Many happy years of winter ranching ahead of you.”

“Hell,” Hoss said as a gust of wind smacked them in the face. “At least you have options. I’m stuck out here.”

“Options? What are you talking about?”

Hoss turned in the saddle, holding his hat to shield his face from the wind. “You could have gone to California, you know. You didn’t have to stay out here with me and Minnie.”

“Didn’t want to.” He was surprised at how much that statement felt like a lie.

“Man, why not? Pretty woman like that offers to give you money for nothing to go where the sun is shining? Shoot. I’d have gone.”

J.R. chose not to respond to this. It had been two days since Thalia Thorne had shown up. On the surface, nothing had changed. He was still the boss, cattle still had to be watered and it was still cold. But something felt different. Minnie had been quiet after their visitor had left—not happy, like J.R. had hoped she’d be. But she hadn’t scolded him on his lousy behavior. She hadn’t said anything, which wasn’t like her. And now Hoss was laying into him.

He saw the something that was different as soon as they crested the last hill between them and the ranch house J.R. had built a year after he’d bought the place. There, in the drive, was a too-familiar car.

“Would you look at that,” Hoss mused, suddenly sounding anything but grumpy. “Looks like we got ourselves a pretty guest again.”

“What is she doing here?”

Hoss shot him a look full of humor. “If you ain’t figured that one out yet, I’m not gonna be the one to break it to you.” Then he kicked his horse into a slow canter down to the barn.

Damn. And damn again. If he weren’t so cold, he’d turn his horse around and disappear into the backcountry. Thalia Thorne might be able to find the ranch house, but she wouldn’t survive the open range, not in her sexy little boots and tight dress.

The fact of the matter was, he was frozen. “She better not be in my chair again,” he grumbled to himself as he rode toward the barn.

Hoss whistled as he unsaddled his horse. The sound grated on J.R.’s nerves something fierce. “Knock it off. She’s not here for you.”

“And you know that for sure, huh?” Hoss snorted. “She came for the shiny gold man in your lair up there—but that don’t mean she won’t stay for a little piece of Hoss.”

J.R. felt his hands clench into fists. One of the things that had always made him and Hoss such fast friends had been that they didn’t argue over women. Hoss went for the kind of bubbly, good-time gal that always struck J.R. as flighty, while he preferred women who could string together more than two coherent, grammatically correct sentences at a time. In the eleven years he’d been out here, he and Hoss had never once sparred over a woman.

There was a first for everything, apparently.

“She’s off-limits.” The words came out as more of a growl than a statement.

“Yeah?” Hoss puffed out his chest and met J.R.’s mean stare head-on. “I don’t see you doing a bang-up job of getting her into your bed. If you aren’t up to the task, maybe you should stand aside, old man.”

J.R. bristled. He was only six years older than Hoss. The idiot was intentionally trying to yank his chain, and he was doing a damn fine job of it. J.R. did his best to keep his voice calm. As much as Thalia’s reappearance pissed him off, he still didn’t want to walk into the kitchen with a black eye or a busted nose. “I don’t want her in my bed.” Hoss snorted in disbelief, but J.R. chose to ignore him. “I don’t want her in my house. And the more you make googly eyes at her, the more Minnie gushes at her, the more she’ll keep coming back. She doesn’t belong here.”

Hoss didn’t back down. But he didn’t push it, either. Instead, he turned and headed for the house at a leisurely mosey, still whistling. Still planning on making a move on Thalia Thorne.

Cursing under his breath, J.R. groomed his horse at double-time speed. He did not want Thalia in his bed, no matter what Hoss said. She represented too big a threat to his life out here, the life he’d chosen. The fact that she was here again should be a big, honking sign to everyone that she was not to be taken lightly.

So why was he the only one alarmed? And why, for the love of everything holy, was his brain now imagining what she’d look like in his bed?

He tried to block out the images that filed through his mind in rapid succession—Thalia wrapped in the sheets, her hair tousled and loose, her shoulders bare, her everything bare. Waking her up with a kiss, seeing the way she gazed at him, feeling the way her body warmed to his touch …

J.R. groaned in frustration and kicked a hay bale as he headed toward the house. When had this become a problem? When had he let a woman get under his skin like this—a woman he didn’t even like? When had his body started overruling his common sense, his self-preservation?

And when had Hoss decided a woman was more important than their friendship?

His mood did not improve when he walked into his kitchen to find Thalia, sitting on his stool, leaning into a hug with Hoss. That did it. J.R. was going to have to kill his best friend.

He must have growled, because Hoss shot him a look that said I got here first and Thalia sat up straight. The way her cheeks blushed a pale pink did not improve J.R.’s situation one bit.

“J.R., look who’s back!” Hoss’s tone of voice made it plenty clear that he was going to keep pushing J.R.’s buttons. His arm was still slung around her shoulders. “I was telling Thalia how good it was to see her pretty face again.” The SOB then gave her another big squeeze. “You found a casting couch for me yet?”

Thalia laughed nervously as she pulled away from Hoss’s embrace. “Sadly, I haven’t found the couch that can handle you, Hoss. But I’ll keep looking.”

Then she turned her bright eyes to him. “Hello, J.R.” She made no move to get up, no move to shake his hand—much less hug him. He wouldn’t have trusted her if she had, but damned if it didn’t piss him off all over again that she didn’t.

Behind the Thalia and Hoss tableau, Minnie tapped her big wooden spoon on the counter as she looked daggers at him. Be nice, her eyes told him. Why was it his job to make nice when everyone else was flaunting his rules in his house? Screw it. Without a word, he turned away from the interloper and the two traitors and walked—not stomped—upstairs. He heard Hoss coming up behind him, but he didn’t wait.

The shower did little to improve his mood, mostly because he couldn’t stop thinking about that woman. At least this time, she was dressed appropriately. A cowl-neck sweater in an ice-blue color that matched her eyes had clung to her curves, revealing as much—if not more—than the short dress. Instead of those teasing tights, she was wearing jeans that hugged every inch of her long legs. And instead of delicate stilettos, she had on a pair of real cowboy boots. Her hair had been freed of the severe twist so that now it fell in loose waves around her face and shoulders.

She looked like someone who did, in fact, fit out here. Worse than that? She looked like she belonged out here.

It’s a costume, he reminded himself as he rubbed dry with more force than normal. That wasn’t the real her. He didn’t know what the real her looked like, but it couldn’t be that cowboy’s dream come true down there.

If Hoss touched her again, J.R. would have to kill him.

He almost put on his favorite frayed shirt in protest of this whole ridiculous situation, but he couldn’t pull the trigger. He went with the sweater Minnie had knit him two years ago for Christmas. It usually made her happy when he wore it. Clearly, it was his only hope of keeping her on his side right now.

He could do this. He wouldn’t lose his temper, and he wouldn’t add fuel to the fire. If need be, he wouldn’t say anything. If he didn’t engage, sooner or later Thalia Thorne would get tired of asking. It was that simple.

The glint of sunlight off gold slowed him up, and he found himself staring at his Oscar. He didn’t know why he kept the damn thing out—after all, his Golden Globe and all his other awards were in a box in the back of his closet. Oscar had brought him nothing but heartache, today included. He hefted it off the mantle, feeling the cold metal. He’d been terrified the night he’d won, hoping and praying someone else—anyone else—would win, but knowing that the race was his to lose. And when they called his name, the terror had spiked right on over to panic. If he hadn’t figured it out before that moment, he knew then that he’d lost any semblance of control he’d had over his life. People had always expected things of him—his mother, his agent, film people—but he’d known when he’d won that the life he’d barely managed to keep a grip on was going to be wrenched from his control. And he’d been right. He’d stopped being a person and become nothing but a commodity.

He’d hated feeling powerless then, and he hated it now. That was the problem with Thalia Thorne. Her unwelcome intrusion left him feeling like he wasn’t in control anymore.

He looked Oscar in the face. “I’m the boss around here,” he said, more to himself than the inanimate object. So that woman had him a little spooked. So she’d won over Minnie and Hoss. He was not about to cede control of his life to the likes of her and, by extension, Levinson. No pretty face, no sweet touch and no amount of money would change his mind.

His resolve set, he headed downstairs. Nice? Sure. Polite? Barely. But he wasn’t taking the part. He wasn’t taking anything from Thalia Thorne.

At least he’d gotten back down to the kitchen before Hoss. Thalia was still on the stool with Minnie standing next to her. From the look of it, they were poring over Minnie’s latest People magazine.

“I love this dress on Charlize,” Minnie was saying in a wistful tone that was far more girlish than normal.

“Really? I thought the one she wore at last year’s BAFTAs was better.” Thalia glanced up at him, and damned if her face didn’t light up almost exactly like it had when he’d woken her up two days ago.

He was not being swayed by her face. So he crossed his arms and glared at her. It didn’t have the desired impact. Instead of paling or shrinking away, she favored him with a small grin. Damn.

“The BAFTAs?” Minnie was thankfully too engrossed in her fashion daydreams to notice his lack of manners.

“The British equivalent of the Oscars.”

“Oh.” It was hard to begrudge Minnie this little bit of fun, because she was clearly in seventh heaven. “Would pictures of that be online? We could look them up!”

“Sure.” Although Thalia was talking to Minnie, she was still looking at him like she was happy to see him again. For completely stupid reasons, J.R. was happy to note that she didn’t look at Hoss like that. Just him.

“I’ll go get my laptop.” Minnie looked up, registering his presence for the first time. “Oh, J.R., keep an eye on the casserole, okay?”

“I’ll do it,” Thalia volunteered as Minnie all but ran up the back stairs to get her computer.

He was alone with Thalia. That realization left him with an uncomfortable pit in his stomach. This was his chance—maybe his only chance—to tell her off. He was tired of feeling out of place in his own home. It was time to return the favor.

When she swung those long legs off the stool to head toward the oven, he made his move. He grabbed her arm so hard that she spun into his chest with a squeak. And just like that, they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest.

Big, huge mistake. Her breasts pressed against his chest with little regard to the two layers of sweaters that stood between them. With her boots on, her face was only a few inches below his, and when she looked up into his eyes, he realized how little space separated his mouth from hers.

“What are you doing here?” Besides driving him to distraction, that was. His body strained to respond to the light scent of strawberries that hung around her. She smelled good enough to eat.

Down, boy.

“I came back to see Minnie.” Her voice trembled a little as she pushed on his chest with her hands. Not hard—not enough to drive them apart—but enough to make him loosen his grip.

“It won’t work.”

“What won’t?” She had the nerve to look innocent. That made him mad again, which distracted him from the pressure building behind his jeans’ zipper.

“You’re trying to get Minnie to convince me to take the part. It won’t work.”

He had her full attention—and that was becoming a problem. Her eyes were wide open, her lips were barely parted. All he’d have to do would be to lower his head without letting go of her. Did she taste as sweet as she smelled?

She angled her head to one side a little. Her hair tipped off her shoulders, exposing the curve of her neck. Her hands, which had been flat on his chest, curved at the fingers, as if she was trying to hold on to him, trying to pull him in closer.

Against his every wish, his head began to dip. He could not kiss her; he could not be turned on by her; he could not be interested in her—but he was. She was going to ruin the life he’d made, and he almost didn’t care. It was almost worth the way she looked at him, soft and innocent and waiting to be kissed.

Almost.

“Did Levinson tell you to seduce me? Is that it?”

Indignant color flooded her cheeks as everything inviting about her burned up in the heat of her glare. J.R. wasn’t all that surprised when she pushed him back and slapped his face all at once. “I’m not his whore.” Her voice was level, cold—as if she were in complete control of the situation.

The way she hissed the words made it pretty clear that J.R. had finally, finally gotten under her skin. And it was still possible that her fury was an act, a cover for a seduction gone wrong.

So why did he feel like crap? “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I wouldn’t put it past Levinson.”

“I’m not Levinson.”

That fact was abundantly clear. He wished Minnie would come back so he could return to safely sulking instead of insulting Thalia’s honor. But as there weren’t any footsteps on the stairs, he might as well go for broke. “Why do you need me so bad? Actors are a dime a dozen.”

It was only after he said it that he realized his words could be taken at least two different ways. He felt his face get hot. Luckily, she looked down at the floor, so she didn’t see it.

She almost said something, he realized—but stopped short. Finally, she said, “People are curious about you. They’d pay money to find out what happened to you,” in the same cold tone of voice.

And just like that, J.R. was again a commodity to be bought and sold. That unavoidable fact took what interest he had in this woman and buried it six feet under. “I’m not going to take the part, not now, not ever.” Part of her face shut down, but not before he caught a glimpse of her disappointment. “And I don’t care what Minnie says—you aren’t welcome here.”

A gasp from behind him didn’t do much to break the tension. “J.R.! What did you say?”

This entire situation was spinning out of control, and fast. Her laptop clutched to her chest, Minnie skirted around him and rushed to Thalia saying, “Are you okay?” When Thalia nodded, Minnie fixed him with a glare that could melt glass. “Apologize to our guest, J.R.”

Thalia’s lower lip quivered—not much, but enough to make him feel like a first-class heel. He should have stuck by his original plan of not talking, but he wasn’t backing down.

“I will do no such thing. This is my home, my land and trespassers will be shot.”

Minnie’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly J.R. recalled the time when, more than half-drunk, Hoss had confided that his mother once overpowered him as a teen to keep him from going out with some gang members. Right now, she looked like she was going to take him down and it was going to hurt.

“Fine. Fine.” He knew he was way overreacting, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was the boss around here, for God’s sake, and no one seemed to be able to remember that. “She can stay for dinner. I’ll leave. But when I get back, she better be gone—for good this time. Do I make myself clear?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed his coat and hat and made damn sure to slam the door behind him.

He’d almost kissed her.

What a mess.