A Ranching Man. Linda Turner
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“I was going to take a bath, but there’s no hot water,” she began, only to gasp in delight when her glance slid past him to the antique bed he’d obviously been working on. “Is that the bed you bought from Myrtle?” she asked in surprise. “The one for your niece? My God, it’s beautiful!”
If she hadn’t recognized the angels carved into the bed’s headboard, she never would have thought it was the same bed she’d seen Joe carry out of Myrtle’s shop last week. Then, it had been ugly and scarred and nearly black with paint. She wouldn’t even have looked twice at it. But now…it was gorgeous!
Eager to examine it closer, she stepped across the threshold into the workshop, but that was as far as she got. She never saw him move, but suddenly he was right in front of her, blocking her path, and so close she could almost feel the hard wall of his chest against hers. Startled, she looked up and found herself caught in the trap of his narrowed, dark brown eyes. And for no reason at all, her heart began to thump.
“The barn isn’t included in the agreement with the studio.”
She knew that and wouldn’t have had a problem with it—if the glint in his eyes and the low rumble of his voice hadn’t dared her to even think about taking another step. Between one heartbeat and the next, she’d had enough…enough of his hostility when she’d done nothing except have the misfortune to be a single female…enough of his flinty looks and distrust. So he’d been hurt by a woman. She could sympathize with that. But he wasn’t the only one who’d ever had the misfortune to be hurt by love. And she wasn’t the one who’d hurt him!
Drawing herself up to her full five foot seven inches, she somehow managed to look down her nose at him in spite of the fact that he towered over her by a good six or more inches. “I wasn’t going to contaminate the place, just look at the bed. But that’s not what you’re worried about, is it, Mr. McBride? You’re afraid I’m going to trip you and beat you to the ground.
“Oh, don’t bother to deny it,” she said quickly when his brows snapped together in a fierce scowl that would have intimidated a lesser woman. “You think I’m some sort of loose floozy from L.A. looking for a little dancing between the sheets while I’m stuck here in the boondocks, and I’ve set my sights on you. Well, just for the record, you can relax. It’s not going to happen. And do you know why? Because I’m not interested. Which is a good thing for you, big guy,” she taunted softly, thumping him on the chest. “Because if I was, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Dismissing him with a toss of her head, she turned and walked out. And never knew that she left him standing there staring after her like a man who had just been hit by a two-by-four.
Tiny’s Pool Hall was the only place in town that came close to passing for a bar, and it was a poor substitute. Granted, there was a jukebox in the corner, and smoke hung like a cloud overhead, rising unrestricted to the bare rafters, but the only alcoholic beverage sold was beer, and that was limited to three per customer. The locals knew the rules and had long since accepted the fact that Tiny was never going to let anyone leave his place drunk, but the Hollywood crowd was something else. Packed shoulder to shoulder in the humble establishment and looking for action, they grumbled and whined about everything from the size of the minuscule dance floor, where couples were packed together like sardines, to the fact that the beer wasn’t imported. But no one left. Because unless someone wanted to check out Ed’s Diner down the street and get something to eat, Tiny’s was the only hot spot in town open after eight o’clock.
Seated alone at a rough-hewn table far in the back, Joe nursed a beer and never noticed the interested looks he was getting from some of the female cast members of Beloved Stranger. Instead, his gaze was focused inward, on the film’s star and the cocky, knowing little smile she’d given him right before she’d lifted that pert nose of hers into the air and sailed out of his workshop like a princess decked out in a tiara.
So she thought he wouldn’t stand a chance if she decided she wanted him, did she? he fumed. That he had no choice in the matter? Like bloody hell! He’d gone after her to tell her he had no intention of dropping at her feet like the rest of the men in the country, but by the time he’d reached the house, she’d already gone upstairs. Just the idea of confronting her in her bedroom had been enough to send him packing. He’d only taken time to relight the pilot light on the hot water heater, then he’d gotten the hell out of there.
He hadn’t been able to go back to the barn, not without envisioning Ms. Tinseltown there, so muttering curses, he’d headed into town to Tiny’s for a beer and a game or two of pool. That should have been enough to push the lady from his mind, but half the population of L.A. seemed to be crammed into the pool hall, and everywhere he looked were reminders of Angel. The blonde on the dance floor wore her hair like Angel’s; the brunette at the bar had her smile. It was enough to drive a man to drink.
He had to admit he’d thought about it—having his three-beer limit at Tiny’s, then stopping at the Quick Stop on the edge of town and picking up a six-pack to take home. Maybe then he’d be able to forget at least for a little while that he not only shared his home with Hollywood’s newest sweetheart, but that he slept right across the hall from her night after night after night. And he didn’t like it, dammit! He didn’t care how much she stayed out of his hair, he didn’t want her there.
He just wanted to be left alone in his own home. To be able to fall into bed at the end of a long, hard day and actually fall asleep instead of lying there half the night, staring at the ceiling and fighting the seductive allure of that damn scent of hers. And when he finally did sleep, to be able to control the hot, erotic dreams he had of the woman. Was that too damn much to ask?
Images from last night’s dream swirled before his mind’s eye, teasing him, tempting him, driving him crazy. Grinding a curse between his clenched teeth, he started to signal Tiny for another beer. But he hadn’t gotten drunk over a woman since Belinda had walked out on him, and he wasn’t about to start now. Throwing down a generous tip on the table, he pushed to his feet and walked out, the hard don’t-mess-with-me glint in his eyes just daring anyone to get in his way. No one did.
When he got back to the ranch and saw that the light in Angel’s bedroom was still on, he didn’t even turn into his driveway, but continued on past it and drove straight to his brother’s. It wasn’t until he braked to a stop in Zeke’s driveway and saw that the house was shrouded in darkness that he glanced at his watch and realized it was nearly twelve. Damn! He should have known Zeke and Elizabeth would be asleep. With a two-year-old in the house, their day started early.
Which left him with nowhere to go but home. And it was a sorry state of affairs when a man didn’t want to go home.
Scowling at the thought, he just sat there with the motor running and never noticed a light flare on in the living room or Zeke step out onto the porch. Dressed in nothing but jeans, he called out teasingly, “Are you going to sit there all night or come inside?”
He swore softly. “I just wanted to talk, but I didn’t realize it was so late. Go on back to bed before Elizabeth wakes up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
If it had been anyone but his brother sitting in his driveway wanting