that brings me to one last little thing I mean to change.”
He stared down at her, helplessly, hopelessly enthralled. “W-what?”
“I thought maybe you could help me with this…” She stared up at him, smiling no longer, then reached up to finger the collar of his jacket. “You see…the problem is…I’m still a virgin.”
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN MITZY BARLOW invited him over for Saturday supper, the first week in June, Rafe Montana had gone gladly, anticipating an evening of hot, no-holds-barred sex.
Instead she’d served pot roast.
She’d served it up with such a hopeful, fluttery smile—fussing over the homey details like candles on the table, bran rolls she’d baked herself, glazed carrots just like the ones he’d enjoyed in the restaurant last week when he took her out on their first date—that Rafe realized immediately, with a sinking heart, that this wasn’t to be a simple night of fun between two healthy, sensible adults who knew precisely what they wanted.
Oh, no, this was an audition. Along with the peas, pot roast and carrots, Mitzy was dishing out all the unspoken reasons she’d make a good—no, a perfect—wife. His perfect wife.
How could a man so misread a woman’s intentions? Rafe wondered, scowling through the windshield as his headlights fled before him up the valley. He would have sworn from the way she talked last week—hell, from the way she came on to him—that they were in complete agreement. After dinner they’d danced, and you couldn’t have wedged an ace of hearts between them, the way she’d melted into his arms. And later, when he’d walked her to her door, Mitzy had made it crystal clear what she wanted. While he kissed her good-night, she’d drawn the hand he’d placed lightly on her shoulder down to her breast—then held it there while she moaned and squirmed against him. He’d felt plain apologetic, when he came up for air, explaining that he couldn’t stay. That since he hadn’t presumed to make arrangements for someone to sleep over with his daughter out at Suntop Ranch, he had to go home to Zoe.
Mitzy had caught him off guard on their first date. But this Saturday, when she’d insisted in a husky voice that it was her turn to entertain him, he’d come prepared. At his pointed suggestion, Zoe was sleeping over in Trueheart tonight with her best friend, Lisa Harding. And yesterday he’d stopped by the barber’s for a trim, a week before his usual cut. Plus he’d shaved for the second time today, just before setting out. And along with a thirty-dollar bottle of French wine, he’d brought a wallet full of condoms.
But then Mitzy served pot roast—her great-grandmother Barlow’s recipe. Rafe had sat there at the table with his expectant grin fading on his face, wondering if he should tell her how he felt before the meal. Or after.
Like all men, he was a coward when it came to hurting a woman, so he’d opted for after, praying with each bite of overdone beef that he was wrong. That Mitzy just liked to cook. Or that maybe she was building up his strength for the evening’s entertainment.
No such luck. Along with the strawberry shortcake, their limping conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Mitzy had started quizzing him on Zoe. How had he ever managed, raising a small daughter alone out on a ranch miles from anywhere, without even a neighbor’s wife to give him advice?
She’d shaken her head and smiled knowingly when he’d insisted they’d managed just fine. Seeing that smirk, he’d felt his temper rise. No one had better hint to him that he hadn’t done his best for Zoe. He’d shaped his whole life around her from the very start.
And he hadn’t been fool enough to try to raise her alone, though he owed Mitzy no explanation and so had given none. He’d recruited Mrs. Higgins to be their live-in housekeeper after Pilar’s death, and that arrangement had worked out fine.
At least it had up until last year, when Mrs. Higgins had fallen head over heels for the new county agent and, after thirty years a widow, remarried. Since then, she could only come three days a week to cook and clean, but neither Zoe nor he would have dreamed of trying to replace her. After all these years, she was family. Besides, by this time Zoe hardly needed constant supervision.
“But if it wasn’t so bad before,” insisted Mitzy, “what about now, now that she’s…um…a young lady?” Didn’t Rafe find himself at a loss dealing with sex and the other issues a young woman faced?
“When it comes to the birds and the bees, ranch kids learn most of the answers before town kids think up the questions,” Rafe had observed dryly. As to other issues—things a teenage daughter wouldn’t care to discuss with her own father—she could take those to Mrs. Higgins.
Besides, though this was nothing he’d share with Mitzy, Zoe was maturing late. That date earlier this spring, for the St. Patrick’s Day dance, had been her first real night out. And apparently nothing had come of it. The kid—what had his name been—Bobbie?—must not have measured up. Which hardly surprised Zoe’s father. She had been chosen valedictorian of her class this spring, just as he’d predicted. He’d been so puffed up with pride, watching her give the graduation address last week, he’d thought he might burst. But where was a girl like that going to find someone to match her in a small town like Trueheart? It was one more reason he’d pushed her to apply to Harvard.
“But now that she’s interested in boys, don’t you think she needs advice on how to dress, how to behave…how to flirt?” Mitzy demanded.
“She’s not interested. Not yet,” he said to close off this line of inquisition. He felt his teeth come together with a click when Mitzy burst out laughing.
“At sixteen? Of course she is, Rafe! And if you think she isn’t, that just shows how out of touch you really are.”
He kept the edge out of his voice with an effort. “She’s been pushing herself hard in school these past four years, Mitzy. Really hard. She has won national awards four years running in the science fairs. And then with her extracurricular work—the yearbook and choir. And volunteering down at the hospital in Durango—”
“But I suppose Zoe knows you’d disapprove of her choice,” Mitzy mused, ignoring him entirely. “I imagine any young man who dared to date your daughter would have to pass a pretty fierce inspection at the door.”
She had that double-damn right, at least. But that was beside the point. As yet, there were no randy young studs sniffing after Zoe for him to check out. Zoe was too busy being a tomboy and a scholar. “That doesn’t leave much time for boys,” he finished, and smacked down his coffee cup. End of subject.
“Oh, there’s always time for boys,” Mitzy purred, rising from the table. She came up behind him, and, resting one hand possessively on his shoulder, reached around him for the dessert he’d barely touched. Her forearm drew across his chest, and her breast brushed the back of his arm.
Rafe felt himself stiffen all over. He went too long between women. Managing a spread the size of Suntop Ranch, he had little time or energy left to go courting in town, where the available women were. And bringing a lover back to the ranch, with his daughter living there, had never been an acceptable solution. At least that would be changing soon, when Zoe went off to college.
“Let’s have our brandy in front of the fire, shall we?” Mitzy said from the counter, lifting two balloon glasses.
Rafe sighed and followed her to her big couch in the living room, which he’d noted with approval
