his head again, he continued to smile. “Sure it is. I’m close with my brothers. That doesn’t mean I want a bunch of old letters none of us will look at twice. They’re musty, rotting and of no value.” He leaned closer, so close she blinked and forgot the letters. He was only inches away and his mouth was inviting, conjuring up her curiosity about how he kissed.
“You’re looking at me as if I just sprouted fangs.”
She couldn’t get her breath to answer him. His eyes narrowed a tiny fraction and his smile vanished. The look in his eyes changed, intensifying. Her pulse drummed, a steady rhythm that was loud in her ears. “I can’t understand your attitude.”
“Well, we’re alike to a degree there—I can’t understand yours,” he said lightly. Again a thick silence fell and she couldn’t think about letters or the subject of their conversation or even what he had just said. All she thought about was his mouth only a few inches from hers. Realizing the lust-charged moments were happening too often, she shifted and looked away, trying to catch her breath and get back on track.
She stood and stepped away, turning to glance back. “I’ll get a pen and paper in case I need to take notes.”
“I’ll help sort some of these,” he said, studying her with a smoldering look.
She wanted to thank him and tell him his help wasn’t necessary. It definitely wasn’t wanted. She needed to keep space between them. Big spaces. This wasn’t a way to start a new assignment. She had no such attraction to men she worked with in Dallas, or anywhere else for that matter. Why was Zach Delaney so compelling?
It was certainly not because he was great fun or because they had so much in common. The only similarities they had were living in Texas at the same time in history and being connected in business to the same company. She had to get a grip on her reactions to him.
In every way he was not the man to be attracted to. Her boss, a world traveler, cared almost nothing for all the things that were important to her, family most of all.
Picking up a tablet, a pen and an empty wooden tray, she returned to her chair, pulling it slightly farther from his, but she couldn’t move away because the basket and box to put the old documents in stood between them. She placed the wooden tray on the floor beside her chair.
When she opened the first envelope, a faint, musty odor emanated as she withdrew thin, yellowed pages covered in script. She read the letter from a man who wrote about frontier life, the “beeves” he had rounded up, and his plans to take them north to sell.
“Zach, if this is your great-great-grandfather, you should read this letter and see what kind of life he had,” she said impulsively. “It’s fascinating. He writes about a wagon train that came through and camped on his land. Is that this same ranch?”
“Same identical one,” he remarked dryly, amusement in his expression.
“Listen—’their leader was Samuel Worthington,’” she read. “‘Samuel asked if they could stay. He said they had traveled from Virginia and were going west. They had lost four people in their group. The four unfortunates drowned when they crossed a treacherous river after a rain. I gave them flour and beef so they had fresh supplies. Worry ran high about finding water in days to come so I drew Samuel a map of the land I know and showed him where to find water when they left my home. They have great expectations regarding their journey.’”
She lowered the letter to look at Zach. “I think that’s wonderful. Don’t you feel you know a little now about your great-great-grandfather? He was kind and generous with those travelers. I would be so excited if these were letters written by my great-great-grandfather.”
Zach smiled at her as if facing a bubbling child. “Okay. My great-great-grandfather was a nice guy who was good to people passing through. That knowledge really doesn’t bring me closer because he lived years ago. It doesn’t change the course of life. He was a rancher in the old days of the longhorns and he had a tough life. He worked hard and was successful and built on the land to pass that on to the next Delaney son. I don’t need to wade through all his old letters about life on the plains in the early days.”
She tilted her head to study Zach. She was both annoyed by his attitude and at the same time, mesmerized again by his enticing smile. “Do your brothers feel the way you do?”
“We haven’t talked about it. I’ll ask before I shred these. I would guess that Will might want them and Ryan will feel the same as I do.”
She shook her head. “I can’t understand your family. You must not have been close growing up.”
He shrugged and shook his head. “When our mom walked out and divorced Dad, he sent us away to different boarding schools. I suppose he had some reason that seemed logical to him. We’re close in some ways, but we were separated most of the time for a lot of years. It made a difference.”
“That’s truly dreadful.”
He smiled again and her pulse fluttered. “Don’t feel too sorry for us. Our father spent a lot of money on us.”
“Money doesn’t make up for some things.”
“We could argue that one all night,” he said, leaning back and placing his hands behind his head. The T-shirt stretched tautly across his broad shoulders and his muscles flexed. As he stretched out, she could not keep from taking one swift glance down the length of him. Feathers were holding a dance inside her. Everything quivered and lustful thoughts flashed in her mind. She realized silence was growing again and he watched her with a look of interest. Her mind raced for something, trying to think where the conversation had ended.
“Your great-great-grandfather—I wonder if any of you resemble him.”
“You can see for yourself. In the last years of his life, someone painted his portrait. It hangs in the library.” He put down his arms and leaned forward. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
“You don’t need to walk there now. I assume you’re supposed to be staying off your foot.”
“I can walk around,” he said, getting the crutch. “I go to the doc next week and hope to get off this crutch. I’ll still be in some kind of crazy medical shoe, but at least I may lose the crutch. C’mon. We’ll go look at my old ancestor. I suspect he was a tough old bird. My dad was in his own way. I’m amazed he kept the letters. He didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body until the last couple of years of his life. Or maybe since Caroline’s birth. That little granddaughter changed him.”
“That’s family—little children wrap around your heart.”
He gave her another big smile. “You’re sentimental, Emma.”
“I certainly am,” she replied cheerfully.
He led the way into the library that held shelves of books from floor to ceiling. A huge portrait in a gilt frame hung above the fireplace and she looked at a stern-faced man with prominent cheekbones, straight gray hair, mustache and beard.
“I can’t see that you look like him in any manner at all.”
“No, I don’t think so either.” He gestured across the room. “Over there are portraits of my paternal grandfather and my dad.”
She crossed the room. “You don’t look like them
