The Rancher and the Redhead (12 page)

It set his teeth on edge, knowing that she'd lived a champagne kind of life out there in California with the film industry hoi polloi, knowing that he came across as some kind of bad-tempered Texas hayseed by comparison. Feeling mutinous and resentful, he took a gulp, swishing the sparkling wine around his teeth, letting the bubbles fill his sinuses, generally making as obnoxious a process of it as he could. Roni watched him over the edge of her own cup, a small frown pleating her brow, but then something dissolved in her expression and she laughed helplessly.

“What's so funny?” he demanded, heat rising in his cheeks.

“You and me.” She toasted him broadly, then tilted her cup and drained the contents.

“Hey, watch it.”

“Why?” She blinked at him, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Afraid I'll get drunk and say something stupid? I've already proven I don't need Dutch courage for that.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm trying to apologize, you lunkheaded cowboy.” Her color was too high, and she buried her face in her hands with a groan. “And there I go again. I'm sorry, Sam. I don't know what's the matter with me lately. I didn't mean to say those ugly things. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Sam's throat constricted, and he reached out to lift her chin so he could see her face. “Me, neither.”

“I was just so furious,” she added in a rush. “I wasn't thinking about how you'd feel when I called Steve Cutler. I realize I should have discussed it with you, but dammit, Sam, you won't let me do anything.”

“Huh? How can you say that?” He frowned, mystified, and his fingertips lingered, stroking the soft underside of her chin, satiny-smooth and faintly damp with perspiration. “You're just about killing yourself talking care of Jessie and the house and me and your commissions. You're doing plenty—too damn much, the way I see it.”

She pulled back, shaking her head in frustration. “I mean you won't let me get close. You won't talk to me about your problems unless I push my way in. And you won't let me help, when I'm ready, willing and able to do so.”

“There are some things a man has to do by himself.”

“I've had it up to
here
with your macho bull.” She clenched her fist in his chambray shirt and shook him. “Listen here, buddy, I'm a partner in this thing, same as you. That's why I called the plumber. And we
are
getting new pipes in that house, and I
will
pay for it, so you better get used to the idea.”

“Jeez, Curly,” he drawled, “why didn't you just tell me how you really felt?”

“Aww...men!” She thrust him away, then grabbed Jessie who was chewing a mouthful of grass. “Oh, eat your sandwich.”

Sam couldn't prevent a smile. “Curly, you're a maniac.”

She bounced Jessie on her leg and gave him a suspicious look. “Does that mean you're going to forgive me?”

“Only if it works both ways.” He shifted uncomfortably and began to unwrap a ham sandwich, not meeting her eyes. “I—uh, that is... Look, you're nothing like Shelly and I was way out of line, so if you can just forget it, let's call a truce, okay?”

“Yes.” She gave a sigh of relief. “I'd like that. I get all knotted up inside when we argue.”

“Me, too.” He caught her wrist, turning it to inspect the scald. “So, how's the arm?”

“Not bad. I put some salve on it. Let's just put it behind us, okay?” She beamed at him. “Have some more champagne. Have some strawberries.”

Sam was more than willing. Giving her a half smile, he polished off his sandwich and accepted the cup she refilled for him, along with a handful of succulent berries. “Kind of fancy vittles for a cowpuncher's picnic.”

“A peacekeeping expedition of this proportion demanded extraordinary measures.”

A reluctant grin tilted his mouth. “Well, ma'am, I guess it worked at that.”

Laughing, she bit into a strawberry while helping Jessie drink juice from a two-handled baby cup. Finished, the child gave a sigh and curled up next to Sam's outstretched leg, murmuring sleepily to herself. “Gosh, she's tired.”

“Didn't she get her nap?”

Roni shook her head, lowering her voice as she rubbed the baby's back in a soothing rhythm. Jessie's eyelids fluttered once, twice; then she settled into sleep. “It's a bit noisy at the house right now.”

“I can imagine,” Sam said dryly.

Roni's warm brown gaze flickered to his face, then away, as though she were unwilling to risk another confrontation on that issue. Well, the deed was done, Sam thought. No use fighting about a bunch of pipes and faucets any further. But he would find a way to pay Steve Cutler for his services at some point. To keep the peace, it wouldn't hurt to let think Roni she'd gotten her way.
This time.

Roni poured herself more champagne, sipping and dipping strawberries into the bubbly liquid as her gaze roamed the lush landscape and the sun-dappled surface of the large pond.

“It's nice and quiet here,” she said. “We used to come here a lot, didn't we? I'd forgotten how pretty it is.”

“Beautiful.”

But Sam wasn't looking at the scenery. It was Roni's mouth, slick and rosily stained with berry juice, that snared his attention. He was amazed that he could run the emotional gamut from crazed fury to gut-clenching lust in just a few short moments. It was pretty clear that ole Sam was losing his ever-lovin' mind.

“It's awfully hot already for May, though,” Roni was saying.

She plucked open the top button of her blouse, lifting the fabric to encourage any wayward breeze. Sam swallowed hard as a trickle of moisture slipped from the base of her throat and disappeared into the mysterious hollows of her cleavage.

“Yeah, hot,” Sam said hoarsely. “And it's going to get worse.”

“Don't say that. I'm about to melt right now as it is, and this stuff is making me muzzy-headed.” She drained her cup anyway, then unclipped her hair and lifted it off her neck. Her eyes strayed to the pond, cool and green and inviting. “Sam?”

The sight of her breasts pressing against the fabric of her shirt robbed him of speech. “Hmm?”

“Remember how we all used to sneak up here when we were kids? You and Kenny and me? Even Travis sometimes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember what we did?”

How could he forget? Skinny-dipping with the gang, a forbidden pleasure, all childish innocence and fun. “I remember—what are you doing?”

Without looking at him, she rapidly tugged off her boots and socks, then stood, swaying rather dizzily as she unsnapped her jeans and began to shuck them off. “What's it look like?”

A bolt of sizzling alarm shot from Sam's skull to the soles of his feet. “Veronica Jean!”

“Watch Jessie for me while I cool off, okay?”

Dropping her jeans, she walked toward the water's edge, unbuttoning her shirt and then dropping that in the grass, too, apparently oblivious to the fact that neither she nor Sam was ten years old anymore.

It was that damned red silk lingerie again! Sam's body leapt to life, and he groaned at the sight of full breasts cupped by sheer scarlet net, slender hips caressed by the briefest scrap of vermillion lace. Then she was wading into the water, taking hedonistic pleasure in the sensuality of cool liquid on heated flesh. She eased under, making soft sounds of delight reminiscent of a woman in the heights of passion, then swam a few yards out.

Sam watched, mesmerized and helpless. When she stood up again, she lifted her face to the sun and pushed back her streaming hair. Water sluiced off her, turning her garments transparent, and Sam thought the top of his head would pop off.

With a glance to ensure that Jessie was still soundly asleep on the cloth, he eased painfully to his feet and stormed to the water's edge. Unfulfilled lust lashed at him, made him angry in a way that couldn't even compare to his earlier rage.

Did Roni think he was made of iron? That his willpower was inexhaustible? Surely it was the champagne that made her so foolhardy. Whatever the reason, he was at his limit, and the torture had to end.

“Curly, get your butt out of there right now!”

She spun to face him, the water lapping at her thighs. She blinked, her annoyance at his preemptory tone clear, and then something indefinable changed. Tilting her head, she pursed her lips and looked at him through her lashes, feline and taunting and provocative. “Make me.”

He saw red.

Red silk. Ripe, berry-red lips. A rosy blush of satin skin and female flesh.

Engulfed in the scarlet flames of passion, he stepped into the water. Her eyes widened as he took another step, filling his boots, saturating his jeans.

Roni stumbled back, but it was too late. Hooking an arm around her waist, Sam jerked her close. The breath left her with a whoosh as she landed against his rock-hard chest, then felt another part of him equally rigid. He threaded his other hand through her wet hair, tilting her head back at a painful angle, holding her still as he breathed fire across her face.

“You're driving me insane. Why?” he demanded, his voice harsh.

She trembled. “I don't know.”

He slid his fingers beneath the elastic band of her bikini panties, pressing into the small of her back so that she made an intimate acquaintance with the bulge in the front of his jeans. “Don't you know what you're asking for?”

“Maybe I do.” She licked her lips and tried to smile, but the soft mounds of her breasts were crushed against his shirt and her breathing was ragged.

“Don't fancy it up in your mind,” he said, making his words brutally honest. “It's release, pure and simple. For both of us.”

“You're so sure,” she said, gasping.

“I'm a man. You're a woman. We're in the same house, the same damn bed. Forget that crock about a platonic relationship. It isn't working, at least for me.”

“Sam, I—”

“Just be quiet.” He covered her mouth with a blistering kiss. When he lifted his head, she was limp.

Breathing gustily, he half dragged, half carried her to the bank, then pressed her down into the soft grass. With one knee insinuated aggressively between her thighs, he held her face between his palms, speaking plainly, with no apologies.

“I can't think or work. Half the time, I can't decide whether to bed you or strangle you. Hell, it's a wonder we haven't killed each other.”

She touched his waist. “I know. I'm sorry—”

He grimaced. “No, I'm sorry. I tried to give you time, but I've reached my limit. Given the situation, it had to happen sooner or later. And by God, it has to be sooner to save my sanity. We are going to consummate this marriage, Veronica Jean.”

She quivered. “We are?”

He steeled himself against the vulnerable tremor in her voice. “Yes. You are going to share my bed, and we are going to give each other what we need to take the edge off and get back to a normal life. We talked about how this might happen. I'm sorry if you don't like it, if you're not ready, but there it is. So what have you got to say?”

She sighed and pulled his face to hers.
“Finally.”

Shock froze Sam for a timeless instant as her lips nibbled his; then the heat of realization sparked the roiling inferno inside him into a full-fledged conflagration. He covered her completely with his body, pressing her into the lush, sweet-smelling grasses, cursing the barriers of clothing that separated them. Her mouth was sweet and responsive and willing, eagerly opening for the penetration of his tongue.

With a groan, he rolled over, pulling her on top of him, rolling his thumbs in the hollows of her hipbones. She gasped, arching away from his mouth, and he raised his head to lick at the pebbled nipple poking against the wet, lacy barrier of her scarlet bra.

“Sam—oh!” Face flushed, she clutched at his shoulders. “We've got to stop.”

Groaning, he bit lightly at the swell of her breast spilling out of its lacy covering. “Lady, you started this.”

“We can't do it here. Not now.” Her voice was rather desperate.

“Why the hell not?”

“Anyone could come up. And Jessie's awake.”

For a second, he almost didn't care, but then responsibility reaffirmed itself. With another groan of pure defeated frustration, he let go of Roni. She rolled off him, her eyes wide with what he hoped was regret—or was it relief?—and scrambled toward the cloth where Jessie was rousing.

For a long moment, all Sam could do was lie on his back and stare up at the blue sky while his body throbbed in protest. Finally he came to his feet and squished in his sodden boots to gather Roni's jeans and shirt. She was kneeling, changing Jessie's diaper when he squatted down and dropped her clothes beside her.

“You'd better put these on.”

“Yes.” Her cheeks were still flushed and she didn't look at him.

“I guess parents have to get accustomed to this kind of interruption.”

“I guess so.”

“Don't think this lets you off the hook, though.”

That snapped her head around. “I—I don't.”

Sam touched her hair, brushing the damp, curling mass over her shoulder. “You and me, tonight. After the whippersnapper goes to bed. We have some business to finish.”

She swallowed. “I know.”

“We agree it's for the best.”

“Yes.”

“Tonight, then.”

She nodded. “Tonight.”

So they made the date. But as they rode home toward the ranch house, Sam had to wonder why the woman who'd agreed to become his lover and wife in fact looked as though she were riding to her own execution.

“S
he's asleep?”

“Uh-huh.” Roni stood in the bedroom doorway, looking back over her shoulder toward Jessie's room. The pale beam of a night-light was the only illumination in the house, the low thrum of the air conditioner the only sound besides the nervous pounding of her heart. “I've never been this far away from her at night. What if I don't hear her?”

“You'll hear her.” Sam's disembodied voice came from the darkened depths of the bedroom.

“But—”

“Curly, I thought we'd agreed.”

Roni shivered under her simple emerald gown, and her voice was small. “We did.”

There came a rustle of sheets being pulled back. “Then come here.”

Roni swallowed, and slowly stepped across the carpet toward a man whose shadowy form she felt more than saw. How could she want this so badly, and yet feel so afraid? She reached the edge of the bed, then jumped when a warm hand closed around her wrist. Gently Sam pulled her down beside him. She lay on her back, tension stretching every cord and tendon, waiting, waiting. She could smell the menthol of his shaving cream and the musk of his skin, but with him propped on his elbow, all she could see of Sam's face was a shaded outline, and he seemed a stranger to her.

“I won't hurt you,” he said at last.

Her breath, which she hadn't even been aware she was holding, left her in a little rush. “I know that.”

“Then why...?” He slid a hand to her waist, rubbing his callused fingers soothingly over the cool silk of her garment. “You're stiff as a firepoker. Do I frighten you that much?”

She gulped, all her fears crowding her thoughts. It was all so cold-blooded. What if she couldn't please him? She wasn't that experienced, really. What did he expect of a lover? Oh, Lord, how was she going to go through with this?

She forced panic back and spoke quietly. “I'm sorry. It's a big step, that's all.”

Disappointment colored his voice. “Curly, if you're not ready—”

“No—I mean, yes, I am.” Heat stained her cheeks, but she resolutely covered his questing hand with her own and drew it to her breast. “I'm just a little nervous. It'll be all right.”

But it seemed he hardly heard her, suddenly fascinated with the heavy weight of her breast in his palm, his thumb exploring the sensitive tip. Dipping his head, he sought her mouth, and Sam, who had always been assured and graceful to her, now moved awkwardly, bumping noses before finding her lips.

His kiss was too gentle, over too quickly for Roni, and then he was stripping off her gown. Finding her nude beneath it, he pulled her against his body, and she gasped at the rich, dark, hair-dusted warmth of his own nakedness, blatantly masculine and intimidating. His turgid sex pressed against her thigh, branding her with his right of possession.

“Relax, Curly.” Sam's voice held the rasp of growing passion. “Everything's going to be okay, I promise.”

She tried. She really did.

But whether from nerves or inexperience or ineptitude, she couldn't fully respond to his kisses and caresses. In his consideration for her nervousness, he held her like a china doll when what she needed was his masculine power to overcome her anxiety. His touch, though gentle, was too polite, too well mannered to push her into full arousal, and she fell short of the plateaus that would have led her to forgetfulness time and again. She allowed him every liberty, and tried to touch him, to pleasure him in return, but she was out of pace with Sam's growing urgency, and she sensed his impatience as well as his determination to make things good for her. But it was impossible, and after a while her only goal was to have him finish things.

“Now,” she urged, tugging at his hips.

He slipped a finger between her legs, making her jump.

“It's okay.” She touched him intimately, knowing he was drawing close to the end of his willpower. “Please, Sam, now.”

Bending her knees up, he positioned himself and entered her. She gasped at the sharp pinch of discomfort.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” He murmured against her neck, his entire body quivering with the effort it took to hold himself still while she tried to accommodate him.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, stroking his back, willing him to take his pleasure since her own was forfeit.

But when he began to move, her tension made him uncomfortable, hampering his own release and thus prolonging her distress. When he finally collapsed on top of her, they were both drenched in sweat, and Roni couldn't prevent the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes from sliding to her temples.

He withdrew quickly. “Aw, hell, Roni, you didn't... Here, let me help.” He stroked her between her legs.

“No!” She caught his hand, staying him. “That's not necessary.”

“Oh.” Even in the dark, she could sense the fiery chagrin in his expression.

Roni shut her eyes miserably, knowing that she'd truly offended him by her involuntary rejection. “I—I'm a little tender right now. Could—could you just hold me awhile?”

“Sure.” His voice was stiff, but his arms were sure, cuddling her spoon-fashion. The kiss he pressed to the curve of her neck seemed more than she deserved after such a disaster.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, her voice an ache.

His arms tightened around her. “Cut it out, Curly. I'm the one who let you down.”

“No, it was me—”

“Look, we're not kids. You and I understand this kind of thing gets better with practice. We both wanted to know, and now we do. The worst is over, and we survived. Now get some sleep.”

“Yes, Sam.”

There was some comfort in his arms, but his brusque and businesslike dismissal of their earth-shattering experience chilled her. The intimacy she'd hoped for was missing, and she felt empty, cheated somehow, and that was a sharper disappointment than her failure to achieve the ultimate climactic peak. Was this all that a marriage between friends was destined to be?

In her raw and confused emotional state sleep evaded her, and when she finally slept, her dreams were fitful. She roused in the wee hours to find Sam standing naked before the window, gazing out over his rangelands. She rolled over, feigning sleep, her soul shriveling at the bitter regret in his single, softly spoken utterance.

“Damn.”

* * *

It was a mistake, pure and simple, and Roni knew it. She and Sam had crossed a line they had no business crossing, and now things were awkward and horrible and worse than ever. And she had no idea how to fix it.

“Roni, are you listening to me?”

Roni turned away from the kitchen window and her studied perusal of the trio of miniature ruby-throated dive bombers hurtling past Krystal's cherry-red hummingbird feeder at the speed of light. “Sure I am. What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted more coffee. Man, you're out in left field this morning.” Krystal refilled Roni's mug without waiting for an answer, tilting her blond head and giving her friend a close look. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course it is.” Roni took the cup and sipped coffee she didn't want, automatically checking Jessie's progress through a pile of toys situated in the middle of Krystal's comfortably furnished den. “Why shouldn't it be?”

“Then you've got your head in the clouds today because things are going so well between you and Sam?”

Roni forced a tight smile. “I guess that's it.”

“Yeah, and I've got a bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you.” Clad in shorts and sandals, Krystal shooed Roni toward the sofa and plopped down on the other end. “Come on, the boys will be out of school for the summer in a day or two, and I won't have time to play Mother Confessor, so spit it out.”

“Really, Krys.” Roni laughed as she settled Indian-fashion on the couch, tucking up the gauzy crinkle skirt that matched her orange tank top. She'd pulled her hair into a French braid, and Shoshone dream catcher earrings dangled to her shoulders. “I don't know what you mean.”

“What are you fighting about? Religion? Money?”

“We're not fighting.”

“Then it must be about sex.”

Roni felt her face go crimson. “Krystal!”

“That's it, isn't it?” Triumph sparkled in her mischievous expression. “Hooee. That's a good one. What? Does he want you to swing naked from the chandelier?”

Roni buried her face in her hand. “I don't know why I try to have an intelligent conversation with you. And we don't even have a chandelier.”

Krystal made a negligent gesture. “A minor detail. All right, sister, spill it.”

Roni gave an inward groan. How could she tell Krystal that her husband equated their first and only sexual encounter as “the worst?” That on arising from the bed in which they'd finally consummated their marriage, they could barely stand to look at each other, so great was their mutual embarrassment. That Sam had been in such a hurry to get away from her, he'd hightailed it out at the crack of dawn to deliver his bulls without even breakfast. And Roni was so chagrined, the thought of staying in the house while Steve Cutler's crew finished their work had just been too much, so she'd run like a coward to hide out at Krystal's. Uh-uh. Some things were just too humiliating to share.

But Krystal would wart Roni unmercifully unless she got some answers. Roni decided a diversionary tactic was in order. She set her cup aside. “Since you must know, we had a bit of a disagreement about my paying for the plumbing.”

“Aha, I see. Got him in the wallet. Men can be so stupid about money.”

“Isn't that the truth?” Roni sighed. Jessie crawled to the sofa, pulling up on the edge and demanding attention. Lifting her daughter up beside her, Roni handed the child one of the boy's plastic trucks to examine. “I hurt his pride, I guess, but I'm living in that house, and I had the funds to spend, so—”

“Makes no never-you-mind,” Krystal said with a shake of her head. “Man like Sam Preston, you're practically attacking his manhood to offer him financial help.”

“He's stubborn about it, all right.” Roni's mouth drooped. “The big truck rig died for good, and things are really tight right now.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that Sam's afraid if he doesn't land that rodeo contact with Buzz Henry, the Lazy Diamond may not make it.”

Krystal frowned. “Gosh, I'm sorry to hear that! But he's got assets. He could sell off some of his stock, or a parcel of land, couldn't he?”

“It would just about kill him, I think.”

Krystal let her head drop onto the back of the sofa and groaned. “Oh, these male egos.”

“You said it. He had the opportunity to go in with Travis King, which would give him a better chance of landing the contract, but he wouldn't even consider it.”

“Wouldn't be such a bad deal for Travis, either,” Krystal commented, reaching over to give Jessie's tummy a quick tickle and eliciting a giggle from the baby. “From what Bud says, he'd better get out of rodeoing before it kills him.”

“I wish there was some way I could convince Sam to give it a try,” Roni said.

Krystal twinkled at her. “There's always that chandelier.”

Roni burst out laughing just as the phone rang. Grinning, Krystal went to answer it. Jessie gave her new mother a curious look, then clapped her hands and laughed, too.

But Roni's chuckles at Krystal's ribald suggestion contained a note of ironic pain. Krystal might think Roni had some influence over Sam in the bedroom department, but Roni knew better, and the blow to her own feminine ego was devastating. How could she face Sam again? Would he expect them to go back to the way it had been? She couldn't blame him in the least. Mortification made her feel like running away, but the little girl drooling all over a truck wheel was a firm reminder of where her duty lay.

“Yes, she's here.” Krystal's voice carried from the phone in the kitchen. “What? Yes, I'll tell her.”

Krystal's expression as she hurried back into the den shot a bolt of alarm straight up Roni's spine. “What's the matter? Who was it?”

“Angel.” Krystal plucked Jessie up and cuddled her protectively. “You've got to get to the emergency room right away. Sam's been hurt.”

* * *

“Ouch!”

“Don't give me that.” Dr. Hazelton tied another knot in the line of stitches across Sam's shoulder blade. “I shot you so full of Xylocaine, I know you can't feel a thing.”

“That's what you think.” Lying facedown on the emergency room gurney, Sam grimaced, instantly regretting it as the swelling on the side of his face protested. The tattered remnants of his blood-stained work shirt lay draped over the end of the gurney.

“Just hold still,” the doctor ordered, reaching for the scissors his nurse held. “I'm nearly finished.”

Sam subsided, gnashing his teeth and cursing under his breath. His whole world was going to hell in a handbasket, and now this had to happen! It was his own blamed fault, though, woolgathering about Roni when he should have been paying attention to a ton and a half of bad-tempered beef on the hoof. It could have been a lot worse than being slammed into the side of a catch pen and hooked by the tip of a horn as he dodged. Served him right for being such a fool.

He still couldn't believe the fiasco he'd made bedding his own wife. While he'd never claimed to be the best lover in the world, he'd had few complaints...until last night. Not that Roni had complained, or even resisted. No, she'd been generous and sweet and trying oh so hard, and all he'd done for her was make her cry. Sam groaned at the memory.

“You aren't getting any sympathy from me with this act,” Dr. Hazelton assured him.

“Aren't you done yet, you old quack?”

“I'd watch my mouth if I were you, sonny.” The physician snipped the final knot. “There you go, and as fine a piece of needlework as you're ever going to see, too. Don't even expect it to leave a scar on that tough hide of yours, which ought to please your pretty wife.”