Rio’s nightmares. Perhaps he had inherited more from his mountain man ancestors than he knew—this need to hunt, to search for something, someone. He shrugged mentally. He couldn’t control that restless need, but he could keep the feed store safe. This woman wasn’t getting away—Paloma Forbes had been avoiding his business offer for a year and a half already. And now he had her.
Rio Blaylock held out his hand to help a frail lady with a cane onto the bus. He smiled at her tightly. If Paloma managed to pull grace out of her six-foot body when she performed in piano concerts around the world, she wasn’t sparing him a drop. Dressed in a black heavy sweater, black jeans and truck ers’ boots, Paloma Forbes’s body wasn’t curved or graceful, rather efficient and powerful as she hefted multiple overstuffed bags into the bay of the bus. She resembled more of a trucker now, packing her product for a fast run, than a world-class pianist. There was just that small odd gait to her fast stride, and he noted that she protected her hands with leather gloves and her wrists with elastic supports.
Rio forced himself not to let her word, “chitchat,” offend him. But it did. “I don’t ‘chitchat,’” he informed her. “Fact is, you own half the Jasmine feed store. I own the other half. I want to buy you out. It’s that simple.”
Standing beside the tour bus in a freezing January dawn, he eyed an elderly gray-haired woman; in passing, she had just slipped a stealthy pat on his jean-clad rear. While light snow curled around the collar of his leather jacket, he tried not to crush the “good luck” rose-decked hat another woman had thrust under his arm while she rummaged for her ticket. Another woman tucked a pink satin pillow under his free arm. Rio closed his eyes, took a deep breath and continued his battle.
“Did you get my letters?” he asked Paloma, determined to finally pin his silent partner into facing his offer to buy her out. From what he knew of Paloma’s life, she lived out of a suitcase. She hadn’t come to Boone’s funeral, nor had she returned to Jasmine—all indications that she did not value land or history...or Boone, who had apparently loved her.
“The letters weren’t returned to you, were they?” she clipped, nudging him out of the way with her shoulder. “Gee, that must mean I got them, huh.”
Riding on no sleep, coffee and determination, Rio really resented taking that step back on her direction, but he obliged to allow an elderly woman to board the bus. He smiled briefly as the woman’s lips formed a kiss. then he refocused on Paloma. “I just wanted to be certain-”
“I got your letters and don’t have time for this.”
“It’s a historic landmark. I’d like to see it preserved—”
“Sure, buddy. You’re all heart and I’m certain there’s a dollar in there somewhere for you. Now step out of the way.” Delight and warmth curled around Paloma’s tone as she grinned at a matron with a blond Dolly Parton wig. “Hi, Vandora. T’m so glad you could come this year.”
Vandora’s bright brown eyes peered at Rio. “Is this gorgeous hunk yours, Paloma?”
“He’s not my type.” Paloma’s flat denying snort didn’t soothe Rio’s taut senses. Not that he wanted to appeal to the rangy six-foot woman who had just nudged his chest with her shoulder again.
This time, Rio stood still and simply looked down at her. When she glanced at him, he smiled again, slowly, and Paloma’s blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “I won’t be pushed into anything sudden,” she said “And I’m immune to ladykilters.”
Rio dismissed the taunt, he had business to do. “You inherited Boone’s half of the feed store over a year and a half ago. I started trying to make contact with you then.”
“I’ll get back with you at a later date. Meanwhile, get out of my way.”
“When I’m ready.” Rio spaced his words firmly. He didn’t like orders. He’d had enough of them in the military. “It makes sense to sell. You don’t know the business.”
Paloma’s blue gaze lasered at him and locked, darkening into a deep, rich blue like the evening sky before it filled with thunderstorms. Good, he thought. Payback time. I’m getting to her—at least I have her attention.
Hurrying by him, another kindly matron plucked the pink satin pillow from beneath his arm. She reached to pat the stubble on his set, angular jaw. “Thanks, sonny. You’re gorgeous. Hope you’re coming with us to play bingo for two days. You could be my good luck charm. I just adore big, dark and dangerous cowboys—that shaggy-and-stubbled look really makes my motors purr.”
With the ease of a woman who took care of herself, Paloma hefted an overstuffed tote bag into the side bay of the tour bus. Her constant movements said she wasn’t waiting for him...or anyone.
Rio studied the woman who had inherited Boone Llewlyn’s half of Jasmine’s historic feed store; she hadn’t even bothered checking on the landmark property since she’d inherited Boone’s partnership.
In an efficient movement, she tipped her face upward, her mirrored sunglasses sliding to shield her piercing blue eyes. She tilted her face up the four inches to his as if she was considering how to handle a man of his size—should she have to remove him from the area. Dawn softened her strong, slant ing cheekbones, and a silky strand of black hair swept across her pale, angular jaw. She swept it away impatiently. Her generous mouth pressed into a firm line, and, in contraist, a shy dimple appeared on her left cheek. If Rio had been looking at her as an interesting woman, instead of as an obstacle, he might have appreciated the odd mix of angles and softness in her face—the slight slant to her eyes, the gleaming sweep of high cheekbones.
Paloma jammed her worn truckers’ boot on the first step into the bus, which was filled with elderly ladies, all excited about a two-day bingo trip to another state. Their driver wasn’t wasting time talking to Rio. “This is a nonstop trip—down, then back. No hotel or sleeping arrangements, If you want to talk with me, you’ll have to get on the bus, Blaylock. Otherwise, step back”
Rio wasn’t stepping back. He’d just dug two spoiled teenagers riding on snowmobiles from a Wyoming snow avalanche, saving their lives. Once he’d decided to take a course, little stopped him. His brother Roman, executor of Boone’s estate, had pinpointed Paloma’s whereabouts. Lou, her booking agent, had said she was performing at a senior citizens’ get-together the night before driving the bingo bus. Without sleep, Rio had driven his pickup tuck for eighteen hours through snow to catch her. He hadn’t wanted to risk coming by plane—with bad weather possibly grounding his flight, she could easily get away. Paloma wasn’t an easy woman to catch, always on the move. He had her now—not a mailbox or a message machine, but the woman, up-front and personal, and he wanted the full title to the feed store. He locked his boots to the pavement, legs braced, and pasted his best slow smile on his face. “We need to talk.”
Paloma Forbes’s cool sky-blue eyes ripped down Rio’s body with an “I know exactly what you are clear through, mister, and I don’t like you a bit” look. The impact sent an unexpected jolt down his body. There was just that 8ick of contempt that said she thought his tired look was from too many women and too many bars.
Rio inhaled in an effort to keep his smooth smile despite her unspoken taunt. He rolled his left shoulder, his taut body regretting the eighteen-hour drive from Jasmine, Wyoming, to the small town in Missouri. On the other hand, his nerves resented the woman who had not answered his letters, his calls.
Her impatient, darkening blue glance whipped at him again. “All aboard?”
With an expert athletic move, Paloma
