No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) (11 page)

“Sally,” Clay said listening to her ramble under her breath.

“Put the pies in the refrigerator.” She stood with her hands braced on the sink. “Count the till…drop it at the bank.”

He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him, or checking off a mental list.

“Sally,” he said a little louder, hoping to shake her from her reverie. He’d seen many different ways that people handled trauma and stress—hell, he was no poster child for calm, that much was true. But twice now, he’d seen her unravel before his eyes. She turned suddenly to face him. Given the look on her face, he wasn’t sure whether to duck or run.

“Why does shit like this always seem to happen to good people?” Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head. “Betty and Jerry are two of the nicest people I know. They’re always doing something for this community.”

Clay listened, something he’d done a lot around Sally Andersen of late—besides kissing her. “He’s going to be okay. It might be a while before he recovers fully though.”

She shot a laser-like gaze to his. “What do you mean? Did the medics say what happened?”

“No,” He went back to scrubbing the stove. “But I know what a stroke looks like.”

“A stroke?” Sally pushed her palm to her forehead. She glanced at Clay. “You know it’s Betty who comes up with the ideas, but it’s Jerry who’s the real cook. He’s the one who puts out the food. Well, except of course Rebecca’s pies and pastries.”

Aimee stuck her head inside the door. “What else can we do?”

Sally tucked her arm through Aimee’s. “Come on, Liberty and I can show you. You know that I used to work here as a waitress back in high school.” She stopped suddenly. “Wow, that was a long time ago.”

They walked out and Clay was grateful to have the kitchen to himself. He glanced at the sack on the serving shelf, realizing it was likely his supper. After popping it in the microwave to heat it through, he sat down on an old wooden stool at the prep table and dissected the burger, eyeing its content, tasting the simple spices of garlic, salt, pepper, and something he couldn’t quite detect. Hungrier than he thought, he finished the second burger, making note of how Jerry had put it together. Licking his lips, he sat back with a satisfied sigh. Damn, if it wasn’t one of the best burgers he’d ever tasted. He scanned the L-shaped backroom—it had a walk-in freezer tucked in one corner, surrounded on the remaining walls by floor-to-ceiling pantry shelves filled with dry goods and canned staples. A stainless-steel island separated the longer portion of the room in half, dividing the stove from shelves of dishware and serving pieces. Jerry had an extensive alphabetized spice wall rack within arm’s reach of the stove. “I could do this,” he said quietly as he shifted on the stool to take in the entire kitchen set-up. He’d have to run it past Betty, of course, and Rein. He didn’t realize that he wasn’t alone.

“Do what?” Sally asked, walking past him, her arms loaded with an arsenal of condiment bottles.

Clay used a napkin to wipe his fingers and mouth. “Fill in for Jerry, at least temporarily, until Betty finds someone else.” He took his plate to the dishwasher, aware that as he did, it placed a greater distance between him and Sally. That was probably a good thing.

“You can cook?”

Clay tossed her a lingering look, observing how efficiently she’d lined up the bottles to refill them. “I took a couple of classes in college. I’ve always messed around in the kitchen.”

“Messed around?” She chuckled softly. The sound of it washed a little too well over his tired mind just now.

He shrugged, choosing to stay focused and not allow the conversation to drift into dangerous waters—like discussing that night in the barn. “I used to watch my mom in the kitchen. She was a great cook. My dad wasn’t around much—workaholic, so I learned how to cook meals so it’d be ready for mom when she got home from work.”

He’d been so busy loading the dishwasher that it took him a moment to realize she hadn’t responded. He glanced back, expecting to find himself alone. Instead, he found her standing behind him. She had her arms folded across her chest, the grey Mickey Mouse T-shirt and those faded jeans looking every bit as sexy to him as peek-a-boo lingerie. He cleared his throat, letting those thoughts dissolve. “What is it? What’d I say? You’ve got that look that teachers give you when it seems they’re trying to dissect your brain.”

“No.” She smiled, eyeing him. “It’s you. Everything you say, everything you do. It’s like you’re not the same person who came here less than a year ago.”

Clay’s brows rose. He hadn’t expected that. “I suppose it’s been good for me. The Last Hope Ranch has lived up to its name as far as I’m concerned. The hard work, being around my old college buddies, working with Michael and the horses—”

“I want to have a baby.” Her gaze was steady.

He’d tiptoed his way through a minefield or two in his time—he could handle this. He reached for a towel and wiped his hands, proceeding cautiously. “Yeah, I saw the brochures.” He glanced over her shoulder and saw the rest of the ladies seated in the other room, busy talking.

“No, what I mean is…I really hadn’t given this much thought—you know, about asking somebody to help me.” She looked away as though piecing it together in her brain. “I could pay you a fee, of course, and there would have to be some legal issue—a contract.

Whoa
. Contract? Clay suddenly felt the need for a drink. He opened one cabinet and then another. Surely Jerry kept a stash of whiskey around, if only for cooking.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking for the whiskey.”

“Jerry’s a beer drinker,” Sally answered.

“That’ll do.” He continued to check every cabinet and shelf in the kitchen.

“You think I’m crazy.”

It wasn’t really a question. More of a statement of fact as presented—he just happened to agree. “Bingo.” He leveled her a look, then went back to his quest.

She walked toward him and he had the strongest urge to grab a rolling pin. But a greater battle roiled inside him. His libido was on fire, ready to sign on the dotted line, but common sense cautioned him to keep his dick as far from her as possible.

“Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to commit to anything.” She scooted her fine little ass on the wooden stool and crossed her legs. “You know; it was really that kiss that got me to consider this idea.”

Good to know she’d been affected. Crazy train wasn’t exactly the response he’d planned on.

“It’s perfect,” she continued. “You have no ties here. I assume you’re not planning on staying since your only family is out in California.”

Clay stared at her, trying to decide if the woman was certifiable or simply delusional. Did he look like the kind of guy who could walk away from his own child? “You don’t know anything about me.”

Her face lit up. “I know, that’s why it’s perfect. I don’t really need to know much. I already know you’re kind to animals, patient with kids, you’re a hard worker, former military, good in medical emergencies, and you can cook.” She lifted her palms. “What more, other than your health, do I need to know?” She eyed him. “And from here you look pretty damn healthy.”

Clay blinked, waiting for his brain to catch up with his good sense, which kept tripping on his libido. He felt like a damn racehorse, and if she asked him to smile— “Look, Sally. I’m flattered, really. But they have places—clinics—I’m sure they’re mentioned in the brochures. Places where guys can donate—”

“Sperm, Clay,” she interjected. “And yes, I know. I’ve done the research. Crunched the numbers. And honestly, the bottom line looks grim. My insurance covers only the initial exams and tests. The rest of it I would be financially responsible for.” She held his eyes for a moment more, then slapped her hand on the table. “You know, you’re right. It’s a crazy idea.” She hopped off the stool. “Forget I mentioned it.”

***

Later that night as he lay staring at his bedroom ceiling he decided that when it came to Sally Andersen, he had a lot to try to forget. First, was the kiss that jumpstarted his motor in a way he hadn’t felt in way too long, and now this…
proposition
. Both difficult to shove aside, especially given that he hadn’t had sex since his split with his fiancée’ and that was just before he came to the ranch.

“I don’t need to know anything, really.”

Her words played over and over in his brain. Looking down, he lifted his stump of a leg and wondered how she’d feel about being in bed with that. He hadn’t given a second thought to how his fiancée would react. They’d been madly in love before he deployed, active sexually, and on more than one occasion had phone sex while he was overseas. He’d been more focused on adjusting to his new condition than considering what she might want or need. He’d mistakenly assumed she’d be there for him, no matter what. Hell, everything else, thankfully, was fully operational. As it turned out, she couldn’t make the adjustment. It was a blow, one that came on the heels of his mother’s stroke that ultimately evolved into Alzheimer’s.

He pushed his hands over his face, mentally washing off the residual pain of the look on his fiancée’s face as she left him. He shook his head to clear it, pulling his thoughts back to the present. All the woman really wanted was his swimmers. Maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe she wouldn’t notice his partial leg, or the deep scars that marred his skin from shrapnel. Simple mechanics. Insert tab A into slot B. What guy wouldn’t jump at the chance for unbridled, commitment-free sex? No strings attached. The very idea semi-aroused him. Was he insane to even give this ridiculous plan of hers a second thought? She was right. He hadn’t planned on making his life here. His only family lived on the coast and thanks to X-box, he and his nephews had found common ground. Besides, he’d probably be gone before she had the baby.

And right there is where his common sense caught up and put an abrupt halt to the lusty, whirlwind of thoughts. He sat up, battling with the question rolling around in his brain.
Was she serious?

There was really only one way to know for sure. Even as he secured his leg and tried to tell himself he only wanted to talk, talking was the last thing he had on his mind.

Chapter Six

“They’ve admitted Jerry for more tests, but the initial assessment appears to be a stroke. The severity is what they’ve yet to determine.”

“And Betty? How’s she holding up?” Sally asked.

“About as you’d expect. The woman is tough, but she looks tired. I know she was grateful that you all took care of things for her. That was a big weight off her shoulders. But she is going to keep the café closed for a couple of days, so she can be here.”

“Be sure to give her and Jerry my love. What about you? Are you heading home?”

“I’ll be sure to tell her. Actually, Dalton and Em are on their way down to pick me up. Betty wants to stay, so I’m leaving her my car.”

The threat of tears pricked at Sally’s eyes. Despite the frequent annoyances of living in a small town, there were moments—like these—when she cherished this dinky little place. “You guys drive safely and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thank you for the update.”

Sally stood for a moment in the quiet house. Marriage. Longevity. Her parents’ divorce. She thought of how many years Betty and Jerry had been together—all they’d weathered together over the years. It gave her pause to think about raising a child alone. There would be plenty of opinions, either way—that much she knew was true. There was a time, sure, that she’d waited patiently for her cowboy to sweep her off her feet and ride her into the sunset, but weeks turned to months, months to years and after waiting, after the dead-end dates, she’d made the decision that her happiness was not reliant on having a man in her life. She found fulfilment in her profession, working with kids, had trusted friends, and relative financial security. A child of her own, one created in her body, brought into this world by her, raised by her with her love, became her heart’s single desire. She wasn’t the type to overthink things. Once an idea presented itself, she’d research it to near obsession, and if no flaws, no deterrents were found, she’d proceed as planned. So it had been with wanting a baby. It was bringing the world around to her plan that was her greatest obstacle.

She eased into her grandmother’s rocking chair and pulled the afghan kept there around her shoulders. The view from the tiny Victorian gothic turret on the second floor gave a view of the quiet street and of the gravel drive and old garage at the side of the house. An old pine stood tall between the back door and the garage, its branches reaching out as though shading the falling apart one-car garage that was in desperate need of repair. When young, she used to sit in the little space off her bedroom and read or play with her dolls. Like many a young girl, she always assumed that there’d be a ‘Ken’ for her as well one day. But those dreams had faded with time.

“You think I’m crazy.”
Her words came back to haunt her. His felt much worse.

“Bingo.”

She glanced around the room, seeing the stark changes before her, remembering when she’d stripped down the old lavender gingham checked curtains given the majority of her stuffed animals and dolls to those who could use them. Over time, when she had the money, she’d worked on stripping old flowered wallpaper and painting, polishing the beautiful hardwood floor and finding soft tufted areas rugs to sink into after a hard day.

She’d transformed the room, with its calming seas colors and shabby chic rustic décor, in a place of serenity—her little respite from the world. Over the years she’d added items she’d carefully selected from flea markets and antique stores. Her greatest splurge, before the renovations, was a bed set ordered from a hotel chain where she’d stayed during a teacher’s conference in Kansas City.

But this change was far different than anything she’d ever tackled. Her biological clock was ticking. It was true that women were often getting married and having children much later than the generation before. Having to watch her father deteriorate and so rapidly in a few years only fueled her resolve to be young enough to enjoy this child while her health was good. She dropped the blanket over the back of the chair, and tucked her shoes under the old wooden bench at the end of her bed. She slipped into her T-shirt and baggy pajama bottoms with faded hearts, brushed her teeth, and lowered the speed of the ceiling fan she preferred to overhead lighting.

Crawling beneath the thick comforter and clean sheets she’d taken from the dryer this morning, she switched off her bedside lamp and watched the ceiling blades spin lazily, until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

***

Sally didn’t want to wake up. An insistent noise had interrupted the fabulously sexy dream she’d been having with a faceless man. The sound pulled her awake and she turned her head to note the time. Uncertain if she were still asleep, she pushed up wearily on her elbow and squinted at the old alarm clock.
Did that say two o’clock?

She fumbled for her cell phone and through blurry eyes searched for messages and missed calls. Much to her relief, there were none since Angelique’s last update. Another round of knocks, louder this time, brought her fully alert. She swung her legs over the bed and flipped on the bedside lamp. This was no dream. Someone was at the door. She grabbed her hoodie, struggling with the zipper as she navigated the stairs in the dark, chiding herself for not turning on the light.

As she reached the bottom step, she flipped on the porch light. Comforted that Rein had suggested the dead bolt and had put one on both the front and back doors, she peeked out of the lace curtain covering the narrow beveled window along the side of the front door. Standing on her porch, his hand braced against her door, was Clay Saunders.

He glanced up, catching her gaze just before she stepped back. Her hand over her chest, Sally stood a moment trying to quell the sudden racing of her heart.

“Let me in, Sally.” His voice, low and steady, came through the two-inch thick, wooden door.

She swallowed, wondering if he’d closed down Dusty’s after leaving the restaurant. “Have you been drinking?” she asked, leaning against the door.

“Not a drop. Open up, we need to talk,” he said in response.

Chewing her lip, she debated the wisdom of opening the door—in particular, since she was fairly sure the faceless man in her sexy dream had been Clay.

“Sally, it’s damn cold out here,” he said. The screen door squeaked open.

She released a deep breath, turned the deadbolt, unlocked the door, and stepped away as he pushed his way around the door.

“Shut the door,” he ordered, taking off his gloves and unzipping his coat. He hung his jacket beside hers on the shabby chic coat hanger she’d gotten last week on a whim at deep discount. The contrast between coats was intriguing, but not nearly as much as why he was standing in her foyer at two in the morning. He looked around and rubbed his hands together.

She pulled her gaze to his.

“Did you really mean what you said tonight?”

Oh, shit.
Sally swallowed and held his steady gaze. She’d been right. He’d rolled out of bed, tossed a T-shirt and jeans on and drove all the way into town—just to ask her if she’d been serious. “You mean the thing… about the p-proposition?”

He kept his eyes to hers as he reached out and bolted the door. “Yeah. The proposition.”

She darted a glance at the door. It wasn’t fear that caused her heart to feel like a thundering herd of wild horses. “What are you doing?” His eyes held hers as he closed the gap between them.

“Practicing. Auditioning.” He cupped her face with his hands. “Whatever you want to call it. Sorry, my hands are still cold.”

She hadn’t noticed. Her temperature was already on the rise given that dream she’d been having. Sally shut her eyes. His fingertips brushed across her cheek, slipping down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Opening her eyes, she met his just inches from hers.
Was this going to happen?

“I’m going to kiss you,” he stated lowering his mouth within a breath of hers. “Is that okay?”

“S-sure, okay.” She heard the word, but focused on memory of his kiss, of how he tasted—how his tongue had teased, wanting surrender.

“We’ll see how things go from there, agreed?” he whispered, his breath fanning her face as his lips brushed over hers.

She succumbed to his soft seduction, clinging to the hem of his shirt to steady herself when her knees felt like buckling. “I don’t have any paperwork,” she said quietly, though she couldn’t have cared less. It had been a very long time since a man had seduced her.

“Just a trial run.” He kissed her then, full on lip-lock. Sally’s brain went into shutdown, while her girl parts all but trembled with anticipation. She grabbed the back of his head, holding his face to hers, giving back the hunger in his kisses. A basket fell as he backed her against the wall. Heat ignited between them. Sally wanted to see him, touch his skin bronzed by the sun. She wanted his hands all over her. “Clay,” she spoke breathlessly between kisses, “I’m not sure this is wise. I don’t have protection.”

He captured her mouth again, even as he unzipped her hoodie, unceremoniously dragging it from her shoulders and tossing it over the stair railing. “If it comes to that, I’ve got it covered.”

Surprised when he lifted her, she hooked her legs around his waist as he carried her to the couch in the front room. He perched her on the arm of the chair and held his arms up as she tugged the shirt over his head. Good lord. She touched him, delighted to feel him shudder. Moving her hands over the hard muscled plane of his chest, she stood ready to show him to her room. He stopped her.

“Tell me what you want, Sally.” His eyes searched hers.

“You, Clay.” She took his hand and he held her in place.

“You’re sure?”

She had no hesitation. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, but tonight we do things my way.” He tugged her back to the couch.

He sat her on the chair arm, and kissed her, his hands meanwhile slipping her pajama bottoms down her hips. She clung to the couch as he slid them off and tossed them aside.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” He took her face, tilting it up to meet his. His kiss was slow, thorough, drugging her senses.

“I knew when I slept here that night this would be perfect,” he whispered, nibbling her ear lobe.

“Oh?” was all she could answer, delightfully lost in the wonder of his kisses. “Perfect?”

His hand cradled the small of her back as he tipped her back on the couch. He braced one hand as he bent down to kiss one breast and then the other. His calloused hands moved down her body, parting her knees, his fingers skimming her sensitive flesh.

“I’m not sure what to do.” She looked up at him from the odd angle.

“Enjoy.” He leaned down, brushing his shadowy jaw to the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

“Oh lord,” she sighed, reaching out tentatively to touch the top of his head.

He chuckled low. “Relax, Sally, I got this.”

She dug her fingers into the couch cushion, surrendering to her sensations, floating between bliss and reality. Control slipped away. It’d been so long…so very long since she’d allowed herself such freedom. “Clay,” she whispered. He continued, relentless, drawing her to a blind euphoria. At last, digging her heels into the couch, she came apart in a shattering climax.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to her navel.

She lay listless—divinely—astounded by his prowess, by how easily she’d given him control. As she tried to catch her breath, she opened her eyes and found him standing at the end of the couch holding his hands out to help her up. “Wait. Are we done? Is that it?” God, she felt sexy, freed from inhibition. This was new and intoxicating.

He pulled her upright, took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. “I hope we’re just getting started, Sally. That’s up to you.”

“But you haven’t touched me, I mean…”

“With my dick? Yeah, I know. I think we should leave it at that for tonight.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, still reeling from the most amazing thing she’d experienced since post-it notes.

He held out her clothes and kissed her on the forehead. “I had to know if you were serious and,” he shrugged, “if we had chemistry.”

“Does there need to be?” she asked tugging on her pajamas, though it was the last thing she truly wanted.

“I’m not a machine, Sally.” He studied her. “And I won’t lie to you. As much as we both think it’s wise to keep emotions out of this arrangement, I warn you it could get complicated.”

Sally watched as he pulled his shirt back on. She hadn’t expected the war of emotions occurring inside her. For the first time, she questioned not Clay, but herself, in keeping things in check. She nodded. “I didn’t think it would be easy. I guess that’s why I thought you were the perfect candidate. I have no past with you, no future.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded. “I should go. Don’t want neighbors seeing my truck parked out front.”

“Oh, right.” She hugged her arms as she followed him to the door where he slipped on his coat.

“Uh, Clay. About the bachelor auction coming up.”

He nodded, righting the umbrella stand, and faced her.

“For… well, lots of reasons, really, I think it’d be best, that is if you’re agreeing to this, if you weren’t with,”—she crooked her fingers for emphasis—“other women during the term of our contract.”