Reckless Promise (12 page)

"I have to get more sunscreen before we
leave." She ducked under the rail and darted up the path to her
cabin.

Alone at last. She pressed a cool washcloth
to her face. Damn the man. She'd let him turn her to jelly. Again.
And he didn't even seem to be all that involved. Except for that
bulge in his jeans. The memory of what it had felt like to press
her hand against that bulge, to feel him pulse against her fingers
sent desire flaring through her.

She had to stop this. More pressing concerns
loomed ahead. Like getting through a trail ride. Like talking Tom
out of this stupid plan.

If only she had realized how much harder
being a vamp-in-residence would be. Meeting a man for a few minutes
or making a couple of phone calls had been easy compared to this.
With Alice—and Mac—watching her as though she were an amoeba under
a microscope, her cowgirl vamp act had to be one hundred and ten
percent perfect all the time.

She scurried back to the corral and mounted
Trigger. Tom got everyone into a rough approximation of a line and
led them off across the meadow toward the hills. They hadn't gone a
mile before that blasted Brandi swung into action, blundering out
of line to stay close to Tom. He ordered her back to her place and
dashed around like a hyperactive sheep dog, nudging horses into
line, answering questions, taking the lead to show the way,
dropping back to offer hints on how to ride. Just watching him
exhausted her more than a whole day in her lab. Yearning for that
cool, calm, clean, air-conditioned lab, for the impersonal,
bustling city, for home, swept over her. She sighed. Even if Kate
were successful in getting her reinstated, would it ever be the
same?

"Everybody trot," Tom yelled, pulling her
back to the confusion of people and horses and dust and messy
emotional problems.

Poppy rode at the rear of the group, with Mac
right behind her, close enough to hear anything she said even if
Tom had managed to stay next to her. Mac watched her every move,
she knew it, and he probably snickered at every bounce.

She felt his gaze riveted to her until each
tilt of her pelvis felt like an obscene suggestion, until every
brush of denim, every touch of leather, set off skyrockets inside
her. Wonderful. She'd turned into a poster girl for those
wear-it-all-day-no-one-will-know intimate products advertised in
tiny type in the back of magazines.

An hour and a half later they reached their
hilltop destination. Gratefully she slid from Trigger's back, aware
of muscles she hadn't used in years. When her feet hit the ground,
her knees buckled. She would have kept right on going except for
the steel-hard arm around her middle.

"Thought you might be a little shaky," Mac
said, hauling her up against him.

"I'm all right." Except that the feel of him
make her even shakier.

"Sure you are." He eased her down, letting
her slide against him and setting her on her feet.

The friction sent her head spinning. "And
I've almost gotten the hang of sitting the trot," she said,
grabbing for sanity.

"I know. I was watching."

She heard the smile in his voice and stepped
away from him to loosen the saddle. "I know. I could feel you."

He stepped up close behind her. Her breath
caught.

"Hey, Mac." Tom's shout broke the tension.
"Help Mrs. Hamilton, will you."

"Later," Mac muttered in her ear. "I'll see
you later."

Poppy ignored the leap of her pulse and led
her horse toward the makeshift hitching rail between two trees. Her
first tentative step worked pretty well, so she took a few more,
looking around for Tom. Surrounded by people, he loosened girths,
tied up horses, answered questions, and gave tips on saddle sores.
Not a good time to bother him.

Her gaze flew to Mac as if magnetized. He'd
collected a crowd of women. She snorted. Mac would always collect a
crowd of women. He looked up as if he'd heard her thoughts, and
winked at her over the heads of his groupies. She picked her way
through the sagebrush of the clearing toward Tom.

By the time she reached him, three other
guests had claimed his attention. She drifted off to look at the
view. The next time she tried to get near Tom, Mac popped out from
behind a bush to loom between them and didn't leave until two older
ladies had commandeered Tom to identify wildflowers.

A bee sting —on someone else, thank
goodness—cut short her third try. He shrugged as he trotted past
her with the first aid box.

He had been crazy to think they'd get a
chance to talk on a trail ride. Poppy watched the brunette bimbo
lean her barely-covered breasts against his arm and shuddered at
the idea that people saw her charade the way she saw this woman. If
Tom wanted to make his wife jealous, he could have his pick of
buckle bunnies. But this one looked like she played for keeps. No
wonder he'd hired Poppy.

She gave up and went to get her
sandwich-and-soft-drink lunch, then looked around for a place to
eat. She didn't see Mac, so she took a couple of experimental steps
toward Tom.

Mac popped up, right on cue. "Looking for a
place to sit?"

"Lean, I think," Poppy told him. "I may never
sit again."

"Planning to walk home?"

"In new cowboy boots? Sure." She shook her
head and wandered toward a patch of rocks on the crest of the
ridge. If she couldn't sit and couldn't talk to Tom, she could at
least enjoy the view. She ended up sharing a rock with the
brunette, not a satisfactory arrangement for either party, it
appeared.

Her rock-mate didn't like other women much.
"Yes, my name is really Brandi," she said, and turned her back.

Poppy gave up trying to make conversation.
Too bad the guy who'd hit on her in the lounge the first night had
declined the trail ride. He and Brandi were made for each
other.

Brandi sighed.

Poppy tried again. "What a great ride."

"If you can ride. And I hate horses."

"But why vacation on a dude ranch?"

"I thought it would be an opportunity. I
expected more men." Brandi gave her a jaundiced stare. "And fewer
single women." When Mac joined them, she perked up like a dry plant
being watered.

Poppy got up and carried the wrappings and
scraps from her lunch over to the makeshift kitchen area. And there
stood Tom.

"Thank God," he said. "Protect me. That
brunette barracuda wants to play for keeps. No pretense there."

"What's no pretense?" Mac asked.

Tom strode off toward the tethered
horses.

"Nothing," Poppy said. "Don't you have work
to do? Who's watching those kids?"

"Parents. I don't do babysitting. I watch the
people who don't know how ride. Those suckers are like a handful of
dynamite. Into trouble faster than a speeding bullet." He grinned
down at her. "Like some women."

When Tom yelled, "Time to mount up," Poppy
discovered that her legs had stiffened amazingly. Mac, of course,
showed up to help her mount, planting that big hand smack on her
bottom again, reducing her brain to mush.

He stayed beside her for a moment, one hand
on the reins, the other on her thigh, and looked up at her. "You
okay?"

She nodded. "Just fine. I haven't ridden for
a while is all." The casual words belied her awareness of his
nearness, of his hand so close to that tingling between her legs,
of what she wanted him to do.

Of what he wanted to do. It burned in his
eyes, igniting a melting deep inside her. Abruptly he turned
away.

Tom led again, the riders strung out single
file behind him. She fell into line in front of Mac, but Brandi
dropped back behind her. Poppy still felt Mac watching her, though,
even through Brandi's flirtatious chatter.

The horses picked their way down the short,
steep section of trail right below the ridge crest where they'd had
lunch, riders lurching in their saddles. The trail leveled off and
crossed a flat strewn with rocks and animal burrows.

Behind Poppy, Brandi's voice rose in a
shrewish whine. "You can't stop me."

Decidedly nonflirtatious. Poppy smiled. The
thwack of leather on flesh cut her amusement short. Brandi's horse
grunted and flung up its head, hooves scrabbling on the loose
stones.

Adrenaline slammed through Poppy when she saw
the horse's flattened ears and jigging steps. "Hold him," she
shouted. "He's going to bolt."

Too late. Nostrils flaring, eyes showing wild
and white, the horse hit a dead gallop in two strides, heading for
certain disaster.

Chapter 7

Poppy kicked Trigger into a gallop. Within a
few strides she caught the runaway's rein and pulled him to a walk.
The horse tried to rear, but Poppy held him down. Brandi wobbled
alarmingly in her saddle and began to cry.

"Hold on to the horn, dummy," Poppy snapped.
She got both horses stopped, and Mac crowded close on the other
side to steady the idiot woman before she fell.

His gaze met Poppy's. "Good work. If you
hadn't been so quick... Chasing a runaway across ground like this
is a lose-lose proposition."

"I know." She began to shake with the
adrenaline aftermath. And pleasure at the compliment. "Faster than
a speeding bullet, I believe you said?"

He shot a quick glance at her shaking hands.
"Don't cave on me now, honey."

"I'm fine." Almost fine, even though she had
to work hard to keep her voice from trembling.

He nodded, and she sat taller in the saddle,
that same old pride reaction that she always got when her work won
respect.

Tom had stopped the other riders and arrived
at a fast lope. Mac explained, and Tom gave Brandi a look that
wouldn't ever make the genial-host handbook.

"Just to make sure we don't have any more
problems..." Mac pulled a lead line out of his saddlebag and
clipped it onto the bridle of her horse.

"Are you going to lead me?" Brandi batted her
eyelashes at Mac.

"Nope. She is," he said cheerfully, and
turned to Poppy. "You don't mind if we put you to work, do
you?"

She shook her head and took the lead line,
ignoring Brandi's glare. All the way back to the barn, visions of
what might have happened tormented her. If the horse had galloped
out of control across that rocky flat— Her mind painted
all-too-graphic pictures. The horse falling, rolling, Brandi flung
like a rag doll. Poppy shuddered. She didn't like Brandi, but no
one deserved that. Especially the horse, who would probably have
broken a leg.

Much better to think about Mac. He'd asked
her for help. The warm glow that suffused her had nothing to do
with lust this time. He trusted her, in this at least.

When they reached the corral, Tom turned the
unsaddling over to Moses. "Come up to the house, please," he told
Brandi. "We have to talk."

"You're mean to me," she sobbed. "You've just
ruined—"

Moses loomed over the group, looking more
like an outlaw biker than ever in spite of jeans and boots. "You're
upsetting the horses," he said, leaving no doubt he didn't permit
anyone to upset the horses. "Git along with Tom like he said."

Brandi's eyes went wide and scared. After a
moment she slunk along after Tom.

Mac took Poppy's hand and followed.

"How did you stay so calm?" she asked.

"Acting ability," he said. The lopsided grin
flirted with his mouth. "Pretended I was Eastwood. You looked
pretty cool yourself."

She raised one eyebrow, a gesture that always
made her feel cool and sophisticated. "Acting ability." Her knees
were shaky when she navigated the porch steps, and cool and
sophisticated bit the dust. She leaned against Mac and watched Tom
usher Brandi down the hall and into the little office. "What's he
going to do to her?"

"Give her a lecture. Should refuse to let her
ride again, but he'll probably just give her a more sluggish horse.
Maybe make her ride on a lead line. She pulled that trick on
purpose, of course. Guess she figured I'd save her. Sweep her off
her horse and carry her home."

Poppy felt her face flush when she remembered
the way he'd swept her up onto his horse. "I imagine you're right,"
she said, trying to sound prim and proper.

"Whatever. Tricks like that make me wish we
ran sheep instead of dudes. And she was really out of control.
Anyone who can't ride any better than that has no business out on
the trail." He gave Poppy a long, serious look. "You're a hero, you
know. If you hadn't stopped that horse when you did..."

She closed her eyes. "I kept seeing it, what
might have happened, all the way back."

He put his arms around her and she huddled
against him.

"I prescribe something medicinal," he said.
"A small one. You sit on the porch. I'll get it." He scooped her
up, carried her outside, and plunked her in a big wicker chair.

Brandi passed him in the doorway. "What's all
that about? I'm the one who should be getting taken care of."

Why? Poppy bit her tongue to keep from saying
anything unpleasant. She wanted to concentrate on how fragile and
cherished she had felt in Mac's arms.

"I mean with tall, dark, and wonderful.
Aren't they supposed to carry you across the threshold into the
house instead of out?"

"Oh, well..."

"Or is he recycling you? You really get
around, don't you? Tom yesterday and Mac today. Who's on tomorrow's
menu?"

Poppy's face went stiff. Every time this
happened, it hurt more than the last. At least this time, the nasty
comments were justified. It still hurt to have people think see her
as a bimbo. "Don't you have something to do?" she suggested in a
mild voice that didn't give any hint of the mix of feelings roiling
inside her.

"I'm waiting for Alice to bring the car
around. I've had enough of this place for one day. I'm going into
town. Shopping. Some of us don't spend all our time
man-hunting."