Had a good night’s sleep, did you?” he asked in a dark, pleasant tone that lifted the hairs on her nape. The name Bennett slapped her, accused her.
“Did you?” she tossed back; she had no guilt to spare for him. Gwyneth resented looking up those inches to his face, resented the tremor that went through her, the memories that had been safely tucked away slashing at her.
He handed her a note written by Anna. “This was by her telephone.”
The note read: “Call Gwyneth. Ask her to plow my garden.”
Gwyneth fought the hot burn of her tears, carefully folding the note and tucking it into her bib overalls pocket; she’d read it again later, treasuring a woman she loved. “I usually do that for her. That was six weeks ago….”
“You never plowed it.” Tanner’s voice was angry, biting her, condemning her. His gaze slashed the corral gate, hanging from one hinge, the unpainted house and the assortment of old farm equipment rusting in the field. “You’re killing yourself on this place. You’ve got guard dogs—trained guard dogs—four locks on the front and back doors, and you’re…”
His lips clamped on the rest and he scowled at her. “I want this cleaned up. I’m not going anywhere soon and I don’t want you tearing into my mother’s driveway again for a kamikaze attack. You’re working too hard,” he added more softly, watching her too intently, as though he could see where the darkness tore at her.
“Ranch work is hard. It’s my land now and I’m keeping it. Fences don’t mend themselves, you know, and cattle still have to be fed in the winter, when a blizzard comes through.”
Tanner slammed his open hand against the weathered barn boards. “Don’t hand me that. You’re still terrified of men—or is it just me? Everything was fine until that night—you were a bit pale and jittery looking, but innocent brides-to-be are known to be—What happened to you, Gwyneth?”
“Lay off,” she said, brushing by him and slapping her bare thigh for her dogs to follow. Penny and Rolf remained at Tanner’s boots, tongues hanging out as they grinned, their tails happily thumping the ground.
She slapped her bare thigh again, impatiently this time, and Tanner’s easy smile wasn’t nice. “We’ve become friends. As soon as your van leaves, they both run to mother’s house. They each have a bowl at her back steps and I just continued to feed them as she had done. They are trained guard dogs and I want to know why. Invite me in and we’ll chat. Just to set the rules. Unless you’re afraid.”
Afraid? When had she not been afraid? Gwyneth tried to ignore the pounding of her heart and fought back to when she hadn’t been afraid—she hadn’t been afraid of Tanner and Leather was a man others feared, keeping her safe. Then just before the wedding, her life had changed. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she lied.
“Well, then, you won’t be afraid to invite me in for a neighborly chat, will you?”
“You’re nosing around here, just for the sheer nastiness of it. Anna wouldn’t have liked that.”
He looked down at her, and for a heartbeat, the hard line of his mouth softened. “Are you getting all steamed up to yell again, Gwynnie?”
“Anna wouldn’t have wanted you bothering me,” she restated firmly.
Don’t hide behind my mother. Don’t ever hide from me behind anyone again,” he said, reminding her of how she’d hovered behind Leather, afraid to talk with the husband she abandoned on their wedding night.
“I can handle you on my own,” she answered, lifting her chin to angle a hard stare up at him.
“Can you?” The question was too soft as Tanner reached out, grabbed the flannel shirt covering her T-shirt and hauled her up close to him. Fear ruling her, Gwyneth brought her boot down on his and there in the quiet layers of morning mist, with the meadowlark trilling on the old fence post and the roosters crowing, Tanner studied her face. “I’m wearing steel toe work boots, honey. I never felt a thing. Now that was an interesting move. You’ve had some self-defense training, too, haven’t you? Why?”
Her hands had sought an anchor as he’d lifted her to her tiptoes, and the warm muscles surging on his upper arms told her that Tanner had only gotten stronger. She met his dark look, forced her fingers to uncurl from his arms and pushed the trembling fear back in its hole.
“The Founding Mothers knew how to shoot well enough to protect themselves and others. Times haven’t changed that much, just a new twist on the methods,” she shot back and tore herself free of him. She breathed unsteadily, trying to recover her reality before Tanner began prying into her life, yet every breath took his scent into her.
“Not around here. That’s what the video training course was at my mother’s, wasn’t it? She was helping you. Why?”
She missed Anna terribly. “We were friends. I loved her. She helped me…we learned self-defense together. That’s all you need to know.”
“My mother? Sparring in the backyard?” he asked in disbelief.
His expression was dazed, almost comical and Gwyneth waded in to deepen the shock and shake his almighty arrogance. Apparently Tanner had the same view of women as Leather—that they needed big, strong men to protect them. “We used my barn hay and I was very, very careful not to hurt her, but she tossed me good once or twice. I was quick, but Anna was sure.”
Tanner ran his hand through his waves, tilting his head in that old way, his eyes shadowed by those gleaming lashes, as though he was trying to understand. He lifted his head to scan the Smith ranch yard and fields, the house with its missing shingles and boards nailed over her bedroom window. His gaze lingered there, reminding her of how he’d tossed a pebble at her window years ago; he’d given her a wildflower bouquet at midnight and told her he loved her. Now the sound of his hand sliding slowly across his unshaven jaw caused her to shiver. “Invite me in, Gwyneth. Let’s talk. I need answers.”
“Is that why you came? To push and pry and ruin my life again?”
“You’re hot-tempered too early in the morning—I wonder why? Is it because you know that I tried and you didn’t? How many times did I try to talk with you? How many times did I call? And how many times did Leather lie for you, enjoying taunting me?” His finger strolled down her taut jaw. “I came to get my mother’s two milk cows. You’ve got enough to do here without milking chores. But the yell sounded real interesting—I want answers, Gwyneth. Something is very wrong and it has been for years. You flinched when I touched you yesterday and again today. Haven’t you gotten over that yet? Do I repulse you that much?”
For just a beat of her heart, Tanner’s expression revealed that same quick shaft of confusion and pain. Then his look down at her was too mild, his half smile too practiced.
She swallowed, forcing moisture down her dry throat, for this man wasn’t young Tanner; dark rivers of emotions ran through him now, and the mist seemed to pulse with his storms.
“Everything is just peachy. Go away.” She wished she hadn’t seen the doily escaping his jeans pocket. He missed Anna, and the painful task of separating her household possessions still awaited him and his sisters.
“Sure,” he returned easily. “I knew you’d be too afraid to actually talk to me. Is that your studio, that addition onto the old house?”
He
