his breath, a very bad word. “You know I do. And if you keep this up…”
“What? You’ll make love to me? Oh, now wouldn’t that be horrible?”
“You’re just a kid and you—”
She swore then, a word every bit as bad as the one he’d used. “Maybe you’d like to see my driver’s license. It’s got my birthday right on there, in case you forgot how old I am.”
“You know what I mean. You don’t…date a lot.”
Gently she pulled free of his grip. “And you do. I know that. I’m not some dreamy fool, though you keep trying to convince yourself I am.”
He actually looked flustered, his face red and his blue eyes full of tender indecision. “I…meant what I said last night, that’s all. It wouldn’t last. And you’d end up hating me. I couldn’t take that.”
She held his eyes and banished all hint of teasing from her tone as she told him, “No matter what happens, Grant, I’ll never hate you.”
“You say that now…”
“Because it’s true.” She hooked her seat belt. When he didn’t move, she slanted him another glance. “Come on. Let’s go. The barrel race is up first. I have to track Rufus down and get my horse.”
For a moment, she thought he’d say more. But then he only swore again and reached for the key to start the engine.
* * *
She lost the barrel race.
Got too close to the second barrel, knocked it clean over. And that was it. The five-second penalty for tipping a barrel took her right out of the running in a race where the difference between first and second place was in fractions of a second.
She gave Trixiebelle an apple and handed her over to Rufus, who said he’d see to getting her home. “Jim can take the other truck back and I’ll take yours.” He shook a gnarled finger at her. “You watch yourself now. Don’t go stealin’ some innocent cowboy’s heart…”
With teasing solemnity, she vowed, “You know I would never do any such thing.” The ranch hand snorted and waved her away and she went to find Grant, who’d saved her a place in the stands.
He threw an arm around her and pulled her close.
“Hey, tough luck. At least we know you’re the best.”
She thought that she wouldn’t mind losing every race she entered, if it meant Grant would put his arm around her and tell her how great she was. “Truth is, I’m thinking my barrel racing days are over. I just don’t have the time to practice like I used to. After all, I’ve got a ranch to run—not to mention teaching the occasional resort-happy tenderfoot how to stay in the saddle.”
He looked at her admiringly. “You’re a good sport, Steph. Always have been.”
It wasn’t the kind of compliment the average woman could appreciate. But Steph recognized high praise when she heard it.
He sat right there at her side through the whole rodeo, from roping to calf wresting, bareback and bronc riding and bull riding, too. It was a dream of a day and she never wanted it to end.
They were back at his four-by-four at a little before five. “Take me to dinner,” she commanded.
“This is getting damn dangerous,” he said.
But he didn’t say no.
He drove to a friendly Italian place he liked in New Town, east of the historic area around Main. He said they’d never get seats anywhere in Old Town, where all the restaurants would be packed with tourists and folks down from the resort, looking for a little taste of Thunder Canyon hospitality.
They shared a bottle of Chianti and she told him more about her plans for improvements at Clifton’s Pride. He talked about the new golf course that a world-famous golf pro was designing for the resort, about his ideas for further expansion, about how much he loved the work he was doing.
She grinned across the table at him. “You don’t have to say how much you love your work. It’s right there in your eyes every time you mention it.”
He teased, “Are you telling me I’m boring you?”
“Uh-uh. Not in the least. I like to see you happy, with your eyes shining, all full of your big plans.”
He leaned close again. “You do, huh?”
“I do.” She raised her wineglass. He touched his against it.
When he set the glass down, he said, “This is nice.”
And she nodded. “Yeah. It is. Real nice.”
“Too nice…” His tone had turned bleak.
And after that, he grew quiet. Oh, he was kind and gentle as ever. If she asked a question, he answered it. He wasn’t rude or anything.
But she knew what had happened. He’d caught himself having a good time with her—in a man-and-woman kind of way.
And that scared him to death.
“I’m taking you home now,” he said, when they left the restaurant. His strong jaw was set. It was a statement of purpose from which she knew he would not waver.
Steph didn’t argue. She could see it in his eyes: She’d gotten as far as she was going to get with him that day.
Grant let Steph off in front of the ranch house. She leaned on her door and got out with no fanfare.
“Thanks,” she said. “I had a great time.”
He nodded. She shut the door. He waited, the engine idling, until she went inside.
And then he sat there a moment longer, wishing she was still in the passenger seat beside him, cursing himself for a long-gone fool.
He headed back to town. He wasn’t ready yet to return to the resort, where he was the boss with all that being the boss entailed.
Steph’s scent lingered, very faint and very tempting, in the car. Or maybe not. Maybe he only imagined it. But whether he could actually still smell her or not, he found himself breathing through his nose, just to get another whiff of her.
This was beyond bad. He’d spent practically the whole day with her. He still didn’t quite know how that had happened. Somehow, every time he’d told himself he needed to cut the contact short, she would look at him with those green eyes.
And he would be lost.
He had to face it, he supposed: Steph Julen had it all. The total package.
There was not only her scent and her sweet, clean-scrubbed face and fine, slim body. There was also that husky, humor-filled voice of hers. There was how smart she was, how charming. How good.
She was a good person. He wanted the best for her. Even more so now, when
