Читать книгу Kiss Me - Susan Mallery, Susan Mallery - Страница 12

CHAPTER FIVE

“GOATS?” PHOEBE ASKED as she stared at the array of large, open pens. Several horned goats nibbled on their breakfast of hay and some kind of grain. “Didn’t you say that the Castle Ranch has goats, too?”

“Those are dairy goats. Heidi makes cheese.”

Phoebe shrugged. “And that’s different how?”

“These are cashmere goats,” Chase grinned. “Just imagine the horror of discovering a cattleman raising goats. They’re Zane’s most embarrassing secret.”

She supposed the romance of the Old West didn’t lend itself to goats the same way it did to cattle, but as far as she was concerned, four-legged grazing animals were all pretty much the same.

She’d sure seen plenty on her tour. The Nicholson Ranch was nothing if not huge. As they’d been on foot, she and Chase had only explored a tiny bit of it. She didn’t know the going price of cattle on the hoof, or the per acre value of land in this part of the country, but from what she could tell, no Nicholson was ever going to die poor.

Better than that, the land had been in their possession for generations. Phoebe wondered what it would be like to have roots and a history—a place to belong. Family.

“If he doesn’t like goats, why does he have them?” she asked.

Before Chase could answer, a man on horseback rode over a crest in the property. One minute there had been green grass and blue sky, while the next a tall silhouette appeared. Zane. Phoebe watched, mesmerized. Her lone experience with riding a horse consisted of slow, sedate turns on a carousel. Not exactly the same as cow roping on the open range.

As she watched, he approached. He moved easily on the horse, riding or swaying or doing something so that he and the animal appeared to be one and the same. It was darned impressive.

As Zane got closer, his handsome features became clearer, which made her breathing increase. Chase might be the charming brother, but there was something mighty fine about Zane Nicholson.

Beside her, Chase groaned. “He’s going to make me help Frank put together the kits for the cattle drive.”

“What kits?”

Chase grimaced. “Supplies. Tents, eating utensils, first aid, that sort of thing. We have to take it with us and he’s basically made me Frank’s slave.”

Phoebe wanted to ask who Frank was. She also considered pointing out that if Chase hadn’t taken money from unsuspecting customers in the first place, none of this would have happened. But before she could say anything, Zane reined in his horse and dismounted. From the second his feet touched the ground, she knew it was going to be impossible for her to form coherent sentences.

However, Zane ignored her, instead turning his disapproving expression on his brother. “Frank’s looking for you.”

“I’ll get there.” Chase turned his back on his brother. “I was showing Phoebe the goats.”

“Frank’s waiting now. Folks’ll be arriving tomorrow. We need to be prepared. If we’re short on supplies, you’ll have to head into town and pick them up.”

Chase muttered something under his breath, but didn’t overtly argue with Zane.

“Take Tango with you,” Zane said, handing the reins to his brother.

Chase grabbed them, then turned his attention to Phoebe. Rebellion darkened his eyes and tightened his expression. “Sorry to cut this short. Maybe my brother will tell you all about the goats.” Some of his annoyance faded as a smile pulled at his mouth. “They hold a special place in his heart.”

With that, he left. Zane watched him go, then walked to the edge of the fenced pen and rested his arms on the top rail.

Dinner with Zane hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. They’d started out okay, but early on, he’d gotten quiet. She wanted to tell herself it was because he had a lot on his mind, but in her heart, she had a feeling he simply didn’t find her interesting. Which was too bad, because he was the most compelling man she’d ever met.

“You think I’m too hard on the boy.”

His words were so at odds with what she’d been thinking that it took her a second to catch up. “Not unless you’re beating him in secret.”

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe one corner of his mouth turned up. “I’ve thought about it from time to time.”

Phoebe made a quick mental list of Chase’s recent infractions, then admitted the possibility that he’d been a handful all of his life.

“Thinking and acting are two different things.”

Zane’s response was a quiet grunt. She tried to figure out if that was better or worse than a loud grunt. When she couldn’t come up with a decision, she turned her attention to the pen in front of them.

“Tell me about the goats,” she said.

“What do you want to know?”

Like she had a basic “Ten facts about goats” list she needed filled. “Are they friendly?”

Zane shot her a look that wasn’t especially pleasant...or flattering. Okay, so if he didn’t like the question he could have volunteered information on his own.

“They can be tamed. It takes time and effort.”

Somehow she doubted he was willing to put either into the goats.

“Chase implied it’s a problem for a cattle rancher to have goats. Is that true?”

Zane shifted his weight, then stepped back from the pen. “Come on,” he said and started walking.

Phoebe figured she had the choice to follow him or not. Even as she told herself he wasn’t very social and obviously didn’t like having her around, her hormones kicked in, sending instructions to her legs. Before she could decide if she wanted to follow Zane or not, she found herself dutifully trailing after him.

They circled around a barn, passing more pens with more goats. There were dozens and dozens of the horned, furry critters. An entire goat colony. Sort of a Nicholson Ranch Goat-ville.

Zane stopped in front of a pen filled with small goats. Instantly her kitten-and-puppy-loving heart contracted at the sight of baby goats. They were small and sweet-looking with big eyes and dark noses they had yet to grow into.

She crouched down by the fence and sighed. Her heretofore silent biological clock offered a soft but meaningful tick.

“Just weaned,” he said.

“They’re darling.”

“They’re for sale.”

Phoebe gasped. “You’re allowing some stranger to rip apart goat families?” The second the words were out, she realized how stupid they sounded.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said hastily as she scrambled to her feet. “It’s not as if goats have an actual social infrastructure that will be disturbed by separation or anything. And if they’re old enough to be weaned, then I guess they’ll be okay on their own.”

Zane’s expression remained unreadable throughout her monologue, for which she was really grateful. When she was done, he let the silence linger. A neat trick that made her words echo in her brain, sounding more ridiculous with each replay.

Finally he asked, “What did you say you did in LA?”

“I sell real estate.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Beverly Hills.”

“Ever been on a horse?” he asked.

“Just a wooden one.”

Zane turned away. She thought he might have muttered something under his breath. As it hadn’t sounded like “golly darn” she didn’t ask him to repeat it.

“Why did Maya drag you out here?” he asked.

Phoebe didn’t think telling him that Maya was hoping she would be a distraction, and a possible sex partner, would be something he was longing to hear.

“I needed a vacation,” she said. Unfortunately the statement came out sounding a whole lot more like a question.

Zane grunted.

Even annoyed and monosyllabic, he was still intensely appealing. Phoebe liked the way he squinted in the bright sun. Lines formed by his eyes, which gave him the appearance of being wise beyond his years. It probably wasn’t true, but hey, this was her bout of physical attraction and she could take it in any direction she liked...as long as she wasn’t foolish enough to act on it.

“Chase implied you hate the goats,” she said to change the subject and get the attention off her. “Why do you keep them?”

She expected him to say something like they made a lot of money—and based on how much she’d paid for her only cashmere twinset, she knew that had to be true. Or maybe that he was doing an experimental genetic ranch-type breeding program thing with them.

Instead he said, “My dad bought them. He saw them as a way to diversify. He wanted to end up with the biggest herd in the continental US.”

Oh, man. Phoebe wanted to stomp her foot on the soft grass and offer up her version of a four letter word. This was not right. Maya had always painted a picture of Zane that was coldhearted, taciturn and humorless. In her mind he’d been more of a robot than a real person. Which had made her instant—and somewhat embarrassing—physical attraction interesting, but not significant. Because there wasn’t a real person inside. But if Zane was human and nice, she could be in real trouble. After all, a man who kept goats just because his dad had liked them couldn’t be all bad. Right?

“Were you and your father close?” she asked.

“No.”

Phoebe almost laughed. For one split second she’d been so darned sure she had a window into the real Zane Nicholson. Her heart had melted at the thought of getting to know the inner man. So much for that theory.

She started to ask why, if he and his father hadn’t been tight, Zane bothered to keep the goats, but before she could, one of the kids walked up to the fence and rubbed its head on the corner post.

Phoebe instantly dropped to her knees. “Hi, baby. How are you?” She stuck her fingers through the metal fencing to pet the little guy. The soft fur, or fleece, or hair or whatever it was delighted her. Right before amazingly strong teeth clamped around her fingers.

She screamed. The loud noise frightened the kid into releasing her, and she jerked her fingers back through the fence. Before she could study the damage, Zane grabbed her by her arm and pulled her to her feet. He took her hand in his and examined the injury.

Several things occurred to her at once. First—that they’d never stood this close together before. He was so big, tall and broad that he made her feel positively delicate by comparison. Second—for a man who had spent his morning on a horse, he smelled really good. All clean and woodsy. Third—the instant his fingers touched her, the pain miraculously vanished. Talk about amazing.

“Skin’s not broken,” he said as he turned over her hand. “Tell me if this hurts.”

He bent her fingers back and forth. His warmth sent sizzling jolts of awareness slip-sliding all through her body. Despite the heat filling her, something was wrong with her lungs because it was impossible to breathe. He touched her gently, as if he didn’t want to hurt her.

The logical part of her brain turned cynical, announcing that he was simply concerned about a lawsuit by a goat-bitten city girl. The romantic side of her suddenly understood all those country songs about cowboys. What was it that country star Lacey Mills had sung? “Go ahead, cowboy. Rope me in.” It was a brief battle, with romance emerging victorious.

Whatever emotional distance she might have been able to maintain was lost the second Zane lightly squeezed her hand and smiled. She’d never seen him smile before. If she’d been able to breathe, he would have taken her breath away.

“I think you’ll live,” he said. “Just stay away from the goats.”

“Okay.”

The single word was the best she could do under the circumstances. Zane continued to look at her. Even better, he kept her hand in his, his thumb rubbing up and down the length of her fingers. Over and over. Up and down. It was very rhythmic. And sexual.

Her thighs took on a life of their own, getting all hot and shaking slightly. Her mouth went dry, her breasts were jealous of the attention her hand was getting and her hormones were singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Obviously she needed intensive therapy...or maybe just sex.

Zane’s eyes darkened. The muscles in his face tightened, and he stared at her with a hawkish expression. Had he been anyone else, she would have sworn that he’d just had a physical awakening of his own. Awareness crackled around them, like self-generated lightning. The tightness in her chest eased just enough for her to suck in a breath, which was really good, because the next second it all came rushing out again when he kissed her.

Just like that. With no warning, Zane Nicholson bent his head and claimed her mouth.

It wasn’t a movie-perfect kiss. They didn’t magically melt into each other. Instead their noses bumped, and somehow the hand still holding hers got trapped between them. But all that was fairly insignificant when compared with the intense, sensual heat generated by the pressure of his lips on hers.

That part was exactly right. Not too hard, not too soft. When he moved against her, need shot through her body. Had she been breathing again, she would have whimpered. Had he tried to pull away, she would have fallen at his feet and begged him not to stop.

Somehow he released her hand and pulled his free. He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her against him so her entire body pressed against his. The man was a rock. Big, unyielding and warmed by the sun. She wanted to snuggle even closer. She wanted to rip off her clothes and give the goats something to talk about. She wanted—

He licked her lower lip.

The unexpected moist heat made her gasp as fire raced through her. Every singed nerve ending vibrated with need for more. The masculine, slightly piney scent of him surrounded her. Operating only on instinct, she parted her lips to allow him entry. She had a single heartbeat to brace herself for the power of his tongue touching hers. Then he swept inside and blew her away.

It was like being inside the space shuttle on takeoff. Phoebe might not have any personal experience with space flight, but she could imagine. The powerful force between them left her weak and clinging to his broad shoulders. She trembled and needed and ached with equal intensity.

His tongue brushed against hers again. He tasted of coffee and mint and something wonderfully sensual and sweet. His mouth seemed designed for kissing. Maybe it was all that non-conversation. Maybe talking too much undermined a man’s ability to kiss. She didn’t know and didn’t care. All that mattered was the way he stroked her, touched her, teased her. He cupped her head with one hand and ran his other up and down her back. If only this moment would never end.

But it did. A sharp bark from somewhere in the distance brought Phoebe back to earth with a rude thunk. She suddenly became aware of being pressed up against a really good-looking stranger, kissing in front of a goat pen. Apparently Zane got a similar wake-up call, because he stepped back at the same second she did. At least the man was breathing hard. She would hate to think she was the only one who had been affected.

“Okay, then,” she said when she realized that all feelings to the contrary, she still could breathe.

Zane continued to stare at her.

She swallowed. “Did you want to say something?”

Anything would be fine. Just any old reaction. As long as he wasn’t going to say it was all a mistake. That would really annoy her. Or maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe he kissed lots of women out here by the goat pens.

“I have to get back to work. Can you find your way to the house?”

She blinked at him. That was it? Okay. Fine. As long as she didn’t try to walk on legs that were still trembling, she could pretend nothing had happened.

“Sure,” she muttered. “No problem.”

He nodded, then bent down and picked up his hat. She frowned. When exactly had that fallen off? He straightened, opened his mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t even surprised when he turned and left without saying a word. It was just so typical.

When she was alone, Phoebe tried to work up a case of righteous indignation. When that didn’t work, she went for humor. If nothing else, she had to give Maya credit for the promised distraction. Oh. She also had to remember that as soon as she found out what constituted a treat on the baby-goat food hit list, she would be sure to send a thank-you gift.

* * *

ZANE FIGURED THE morning had been a cheap lesson. If one city slicker could get bit just walking around the ranch, what kind of trouble were ten greenhorns going to get into on a cattle drive? As he headed for the main barn, he considered the potential for broken legs, stampeding cattle and raging cases of poison oak. If he was lucky, that would be the worst of it. He didn’t want to consider what would happen if he wasn’t lucky.

Most of the time he didn’t allow himself second guesses. They were a pointless waste of time. But for once he wondered if he’d made the right decision when he’d chosen to host a cattle drive instead of simply paying back the deposits and taking the money out of Chase’s hide with a summer full of rough physical work.

That boy was going to be the death of him.

He jerked open the barn door and stalked toward his office. But instead of entering it, he passed through to the file room—an open area with dozens of file cabinets filled with breeding information, records for the ranch and medical histories for every Black Angus steer, cow or bull to step foot on the Nicholson Ranch. He crossed to the back wall where he studied a map of the area, including his ranch, the Castle Ranch to the east and the Konopka place to the west, and of course, the nearby town of Fool’s Gold.

His normal route for the cattle drive took him about a hundred and fifty miles from one end of Nicholson land to the other. It was an easy two weeks of lazy rides, wide-open spaces and plenty of time to just be without the hassles of everyday life. It was also about as far from the main ranch buildings as he could get, outside of coverage from the cell tower he’d had built several years ago. He took a few trusted men, some supplies and Tango, his best horse. Primitive didn’t begin to describe the conditions. They were his favorite two weeks of the year.

But not this year. Not with ten vacationers who, like Phoebe, had probably never been on a horse. He would—

Phoebe.

The reality he’d been doing his damnedest to ignore crashed in on him with all the subtlety of a bull after a cow. Desire flared, making him hot, horny and uncomfortable. He swore, stopped, remembered how good she’d kissed, then swore again.

What had he been thinking? Which was a stupid question because he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been reacting. One minute he’d been worried that she’d lost half a finger to an inquisitive kid, the next she’d been close and soft and he’d looked at her mouth, then bam. He’d kissed her. Like an idiot. Like a man who hadn’t kissed a woman in far too long.

The latter was true, but he ignored it, along with the burning need and his throbbing hard-on. She was Maya’s friend—someone he barely knew and didn’t plan to like. He didn’t go around kissing women on impulse. He didn’t do anything on impulse. When he figured it was time to scratch an itch, he found someone appropriate. Someone who understood his world and respected his responsibilities. Not brown-haired city girls with big eyes and shy smiles. Not women from LA. Not Maya’s friends.

He knew his ex-stepsister had sent Phoebe up to the ranch to keep an eye on him until she could arrive to do it herself. For as long as she’d known him, Maya had made it clear she considered him a potential child abuser who had it in for his brother. Her idealistic view of Chase frustrated him, as did her need to always take his side. The kid was a screwup, plain and simple. If someone didn’t take him in hand and fast, he was going to spend his whole life never getting one thing right.

Zane knew the danger of that. Maya thought he didn’t care, but she was wrong. He cared enough to be a bastard. Let Chase hate him all he wanted, just so long as the kid had a chance at a life without regrets.

Zane stared at the map without seeing it. Honesty insisted he admit Chase got one thing right. He was a born ladies’ man. From the second he’d learned to talk, he’d been charming females into giving him extra cookies and letting him stay up late. Now that he was a teenager, Chase probably spent his dates charming his way into girls’ pants. Zane had given him the safe-sex lecture more times than either of them could count and kept the kid supplied with condoms. The last thing either of them needed was an unplanned pregnancy.

Zane had yet to meet a female who didn’t fall for his brother’s easy words and open smile. Unlike Zane, Chase always knew the right combination of sincerity, charm and flattery. He wouldn’t kiss an attractive woman, then walk away without saying a word. Not that Zane had been talking all that much before he’d kissed Phoebe.

He could talk to the cowboys on his staff, explain the lineage of any of his prize bulls to a potential buyer and go toe-to-toe with the toughest, orneriest negotiator this side of the Mississippi, but with women...especially women like Phoebe...he clammed up tighter than a virgin in church.

The sound of footsteps distracted him. He turned his attention back to the map in front of him as Frank entered the room.

“Sent Chase into town for supplies,” the older man said. “I got bad news.”

Zane braced himself.

“We needed a couple more tents, and we’re a saddle short.”

Zane winced. A tent wouldn’t be expensive, but a good saddle was. “See if maybe Clay Stryker has one we can borrow. If not, keep track of how much we put out for this. I’ll take it out of Chase’s summer earnings.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Zane moved closer to the map. “We can’t take them on a real cattle drive. We’ll follow the river toward the edge of our property that borders the Strykers’, then turn west here.” He indicated the spot on the map.

Frank slid off his hat and rubbed the top of his head with his free hand. “You’re going in a circle?”

“A big one. We’ll never be more than four hours’ ride from either here, the Strykers’, or Reilly Konopka’s place.”

Frank’s expression tightened with surprise. “I didn’t know you’d started talkin’ to him.”

“I haven’t.” If he had his way, he never would. “We have to stay sharp. If there’s an emergency, I can’t risk us being too far from help.”

He knew he could count on the Stryker men, and while Reilly Konopka might be a crusty old pissant of a man who would happily leave Zane out in the cold to freeze to death, he wouldn’t turn away a stranger in need.

“Arrange for supplies to be delivered every day. You’ll have to write up a schedule for the men. Have Cookie plan a menu this afternoon.”

Frank’s eyes widened. He looked as if someone had just run over his favorite dog. “Boss, you’re not taking Cookie with you.”

It was more of a plea than a question. “No one else can cook for shit. What am I supposed to feed them?”

“But without Cookie, one of the boys will have to cook for those of us left behind.”

“There’s enough stuff frozen to get everyone through a week.”

“Ah, jeez.” Frank’s shoulders slumped. “Why’d you have to take Cookie with you?”

Zane ignored the question. Frank knew he was stuck on the ranch. With Zane gone, Frank would be in charge.

“I’ll have the two-way radios with me. With the new tower in place, you’ll be able to reach me any time.”

Frank was still grumbling about losing the ranch cook for a week.

“Want to trade?” Zane asked flatly.

His foreman pressed his lips together. They both knew taking ten novice riders out on a fake cattle drive through wilderness was nothing short of five kinds of hell. June weather was usually good, but there was always the possibility of a freak snowstorm, a sizable flash flood, spooked cattle, bears, runaway horses, snakebite and saddle sores.

Frank slapped him on the back. “You have a fine time out there, boss. The boys and I will keep things running back here.”

“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”