suffocating tightness to her chest, alarming in its intensity, yet carrying with it the gentleness of a caress.
His head tilted toward her as though in puzzlement, and when he spoke, his voice was low. “My father thinks you’re some kind of miracle worker. Are you?”
“No,” she murmured, suddenly barely able to draw breath.
He smiled, no more than a lazy curl of his lips. She wasn’t sure whether it was one of acceptance or subtle mockery, but it was absurdly charming nonetheless, a smile made to make a woman melt. More disturbing, Joan realized how easily she could fall victim to it.
“I’m a man in need of miracles, Joan Paxton. Work just this one,” he said in a silken tone, “and whatever you want most in life, I’ll see to it that it’s yours.”
It was all silly imagination, wasn’t it? The way his words seemed to work in some secret place within her. She felt as though her center of balance had radically altered, and that all the forbidden fantasies of last night’s dream were on the verge of materializing into life.
His eyes were still on her. She lost the courage to hold his gaze and lowered her head—to discover that her hand was still poised on his arm. The hard muscled flesh felt warm. The feathering of crisp, dark hair tickled her palm. She disengaged her hand so quickly that an outsider might have thought she’d burned herself.
She rose abruptly. The stack of paperwork on the corner of the table slid to the carpet. Willing away her awareness of him, she picked up their cups in a rush that surely must have been embarrassingly noticeable. “What I’d like is a little more tea. How about you?”
By the time she finished speaking she was in the kitchen, so she didn’t catch his response. She knew it was ridiculous, but the thought of rejoining him in the dining room, where the energy in the air moved like an invisible tide, seemed more than she could manage at the moment. Instead, she asked from the safe distance of the kitchen doorway, “Did you say you wanted another cup?”
He was bending to retrieve the paperwork from the floor, but he lifted his head long enough to give her a wry glance. “No, thank you. I’m not really a tea drinker.”
She turned back to the kitchen counter, concentrating on pouring water from the kettle. The odd intensity that had crackled between them only moments ago had passed, but the silence was becoming uncomfortable. She should say something, shouldn’t she? But just when she found an innocuous topic, he stunned her with his next words.
“So, you’ll come to my ranch?”
Sure she’d heard incorrectly, she returned to the kitchen doorway, kettle in hand. “What?”
He was sorting through the jumble of paper, stacking it neatly into piles. “I want to hire you to come to Luna D’Oro. You can evaluate Sarah in person.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
He looked up at her. “Why not?”
“I have obligations here.”
“No, you don’t. I told you, I know all about your quitting your job, moving out on your boyfriend. One of your fellow teachers—Marilyn, I think her name was—seemed fascinated by the whole thing. She didn’t have all the reasons why, but she liked to talk, and I know when to listen.”
“I’ll definitely have to speak to her about that.”
“Money’s not an issue,” he continued. His blue eyes sparkled.
The still-hot kettle was almost unnoticed in her hand, and she repositioned her fingers around the handle. “It doesn’t have anything to do with money. I don’t have the qualifications you’re looking for.”
“I disagree. Do you think that when it comes to Sarah, I’d take suggestions from just anyone? I checked your credentials. In addition to teaching, you act as an educational therapist for your school. You were invited to take part in that seminar in Austin because of a paper you had published in Higher Education. You know your stuff. And while I may not agree with your findings, I think you’d be impartial. Objective.”
“It takes time to do a complete evaluation.”
“You can take as long as you like. You don’t have a new job to start until the fall, do you? And only if you get that position in Oregon.”
“I’m definitely crossing Marilyn’s name out of my address book,” she muttered.
“But you’ll come?”
“It isn’t just Sarah who would have to be evaluated. It’s important to know how she interacts with others in the family. It would mean a huge emotional investment from every member of the household.”
“I’ll make sure everyone cooperates.”
She gave him a tight challenging look. “Including you?”
“If I have to.”
She withdrew to the kitchen with the excuse that the kettle needed fresh water. While she ran tap water into it, she stared at the wall, thinking.
It was so odd, really, to be mouthing so many objections to Cody Matthews’s idea, yet at the same time, to be overcome by a moment of complete exhilaration and conviction. She could help Sarah Matthews. She could help father and daughter develop coping skills if it turned out the child did have ADD. She’d experienced such conviction before, but never without gathering more information, and certainly never without at least meeting the child in question. But somehow, she just…knew.
Placing the kettle back on the stove, she drew a deep breath, thinking of the motherless and alienated child waiting back in Texas. Joan emptied her lungs, then returned to the doorway.
Matthews looked up from the papers he’d stacked on the table, giving her a questioning glance. “Well?”
“I’ll do it.” Annoyingly, he looked as if he hadn’t expected any other answer. It made her tone sharper than she intended when she continued, “But for no longer than two weeks.”
“All right. I think I should warn you that life on a ranch can require some getting used to. We’re out in the boondocks, but we’re completely self-contained. The land is unforgiving of mistakes, so it’s my world down there. I’m blunt and demanding, and I run Luna D’Oro on my terms. My people call me el jefe grande—the big boss. If that offends any of your female sensibilities, you’d better tell me now.”
She allowed a skeptical expression to flit across her features, refusing to be cowed by the note of challenge in his voice. “Actually, you’ve managed to offend me so frequently in the short time I’ve known you, a few more transgressions will hardly make a difference.”
He laughed out loud at that. “Why, Miss Paxton, you can be pretty blunt yourself.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not at all. Just means it ought to be interesting. Let’s call this a done deal, shall we?” He extended his hand and she took it, meeting his gaze squarely as he smiled broadly at her.
He wrote out a check that seemed generous, but not foolishly so. Then he rose from the table. By the time they reached the front door, Cody Matthews
