to next April. Would she be able to make peace with a lifetime of Boone’s rejection in just one year? Was she his daughter? Why hadn’t he wanted her? Paloma glanced outside the feed store to the snow-covered Rocky Mountains and damned Rio Blaylock for challenging her to face her fears.
For the past few months, she’d wondered about her career. She was tired, edgy and had just realized she did not love playing the piano. She hated concerts, was drained after them. Was that her mother’s gift to her—to be owned by the life her mother had created?
Paloma watched Rio’s black pickup glide into the parking lot and smiled. She was really going to enjoy this payback.... She listened to Rio’s boots hitting the ancient boardwalk outside, and savored the impatient, angry tattoo.
Rio stepped into the cluttered feed store office, a small section of adobe brick warmed by an ancient cast-iron heating stove. A lean, tall Westerner, dressed in a lined flannel jacket, he hadn’t softened in the three months since she’d seen him. Beneath the dark stubble on his jaw, a cord moved rhythmically as if in anger. He whipped off his black Western hat, slapped it against his leather chaps and found her instantly, his black eyes narrowing. She denied the little shiver lifting the hairs on her nape. She’d faced hard audiences before, and the best method was to step right up and launch into the job she had to do. Right now, that was keeping her control and putting this cowboy in his place. She lifted her eyebrows and met his stormy gaze. “Did I catch you at a...” She paused to wrap her next words in a smirking insinuation. “Busy time? You weren’t interrupted, were you?”
“You picked a fine time all right,” he stated in a low dangerous tone and took off his denim jacket to reveal a battered red plaid work shirt. The thermal shirt beneath it was frayed. He tossed the jacket to a rickety chair and Paloma disliked the sudden raw sensual impact to her body as Rio turned his back, a powerful, graceful sinewy male. He took his time pouring coffee from a battered pot atop the old woodstove and turned slowly to her. His black eyes leveled coolly at her over the coffee mug. “I take it you came to do business.”
“I have.” She almost felt sorry for the confident, impatient male in front of her, his hair shaggier than when they’d met, just past his collar. He hadn’t bothered to shave. With the shadows of the large, old room hovering around him and the weathered logs as a backdrop, Rio could have been a mountain man coming down to purchase his goods at the old trading post.
The man lacked a soft melody. He was too earthy, too raw, too—just too. And just the sight of him set her off, reminding her of how he’d left the bus, tossing her fears at her feet. He really-shouldn’t have kissed her-palm, those warm lips resting against her skin, branding her. A guarded, solitary woman, she couldn’t forgive the intimacy, the trespass.
“Good. Name the final price, I’ll write the check and you can be on your way.” Rio took the checkbook from his shirt pocket and tossed it to the scarred old desk.
She’d expected the arrogant contempt in his tone. This was a man who had lived in one place all of his life, tethered by family and land. She locked her gaze with his and settled back to enjoy the impact of her next words, “I’m staying and I’m not selling. I think my half would make a great country boutique.”
Pueblo’s shocked gasp behind the slightly opened door to the storage room said she’d scored a hit on at least one male. Rio’s cold, tight smile almost caused her to shiver. Almost. “I suppose you think that’s funny.”
“I’m staying, partner,” she said cheerfully and stood up. “See that those girly pictures get stripped from the bathroom, will you? And that it’s scrubbed down. Until we can remodel, adding another bathroom, layers of gray on the porcelain won’t suit my lady customers. Be seeing you. Hey, Pueblo,” she called. “I’m parking my bike in the storage shed. I’ll be down from the mountain when I’m ready.”
Rio caught her arm as she passed him and Paloma resented those four inches up to his face. She wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. “What mountain?” he asked roughly. “There are avalanches up there, lady, and spring flooding. I wouldn’t want to have to pull you out from under a ton of snow.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Have I asked for your help?”
There was just that flick of temper, to show she’d scored a hit. He smelled of smoke and fire and leather and dangerous male, packed with enough exciting edges to make her feel alive, really alive. “Where are you staying?” he asked roughly.
“Boone’s mountain cabin. I know the way.” She’d been safe there, with Boone. Now, as an adult, she had to sift through her childhood memories and find peace. “Boone wouldn’t want me to sell. He gave me his half for a reason. I’m going to find out why.”
Rio’s dark eyes softened; “Spanish eyes” the locals called the Blaylocks’ expressive trademark. “I’ll take you to his grave—”
“No!” The answer came out too sharp, too fierce, and Paloma hated that Rio had seen inside her fears—the man saw too much. He was frowning slightly now and studying her face. He’d known Boone...was her likeness to him easily seen?
“I’ll take you to Llewlyn House. My brother and his wife have added on to it...their family is growing, but there’s plenty of room. You’d be welcome.”
“No...I’d...rather not.” A wave of panic smashed against her, all the old memories coming back, the old piano... Boone.... She wasn’t ready; she had to prepare, to protect herself before—
“When you’re ready, then,” Rio murmured as if understanding her fears. His tone was soft, gentling, and Paloma sucked air, fighting the panic. Rough warmth curled around her hand, and she looked down to see his larger hand holding hers. The sight terrified her, too intimate, too close, too warm.... She jerked her hand away and hurried out the door.
She heard his footsteps, then for a second time, Rio’s hard grasp caught her, spun her around. “Listen, you hardhead It’s dangerous up there—”
She managed to smile coolly, despite fears fluttering around her like vulture wings. She was good at that, managing to look cool and hard, when inside, she was in agony. She’d learned first under her mother’s cruelties, and then fighting stage fright in concerts. She knew how to shield herself. “Worried about little old me?” she taunted.
Pueblo came outside, peering up at her. “Rio is our local ranger, ma’am. He’s rescued plenty of people in his time. There was a forest fire a few years back and he almost killed himself, trying to rescue a little boy. The boy didn’t make it and—”
“That’s enough.” The quickly shielded look of pain etched in Rio’s face surprised Paloma.
“I’ll be all right,” she said quietly. “Your brother, Boone’s executor—Roman—said there’s plenty of wood and I’m welcome to use the cabin. Boone taught me how to live up there. A friend is helicoptering in food and supplies. I’m looking forward to being alone. You’re not stopping me. Now let go of my arm.”
She wished Rio weren’t looking at her so closely, that his hand hadn’t just reached to stroke her long, loose hair. She wished that she didn’t tremble when his fingertip brushed back a tendril from her cheek. She wished her heart hadn’t started racing at that close, intimate look as he bent slightly to brush his lips against hers. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he whispered in a deep, uneven smoky tone. Then he leaped off the platform and strode toward his pickup.
“I’m not looking for
