on board. And one shot at this kind of humiliation was all he was going to get at her.
“Get. Out,” she ordered, walked to the door on shaky legs and opened it wide.
“Oh, now, bear,” he began in that condescending, cajoling voice that made her want to grind her teeth…preferably into some very tender part of his body that created immeasurable pain. “Don’t get all huffy. You know this was for your own good.”
“I do know,” she said with all the sweetness of vinegar and the sincerity of Jerry Springer, as he stepped out the doorway and onto her front stoop, “and I thank you so very much for presuming to know what’s best for me.”
She watched his face as tolerance transitioned to suspicion. “That was um…sarcasm, right?”
“So you do have some functioning brain cells,” she ground out through a nasty smile, then whipped the door shut in his face.
Ry heard her throw the dead bolt. Heard her snarl of rage. Heard her give in to the tears.
He hung his head, closed his eyes, laid his closed fist against the door…and almost begged her to let him back in.
He wanted to hold her…to tell her the truth. That he was stupid crazy about her. That he hadn’t meant to hurt her…that he actually had damn few functioning brain cells left when it came to her or he never would have kissed her in the first place then bumbled out that lamebrain, dull-witted excuse to cover up his mistake.
“Hell, Shamu could have come up with a better story to make sure she didn’t read the truth in that kiss. No offense, buddy,” he told the dog, who gave him a soulful look when he climbed behind the wheel.
And what was the truth in that kiss? The honest truth, he asked himself grimly.
He slumped back in the driver’s seat. The truth was that the moment he’d touched his lips to hers he’d stopped thinking of her as little Carrie-bear. She’d become a woman in his arms. A woman whose response had sizzled with instant arousal…and fueled his libido to flash point.
Hell. He was still aroused…his damn hands were shaking.
He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel to steady them, then stared through the windshield at…nothing.
And came up with nothing.
There was no good answer to the what-ifs that, despite the futility of the situation, had been rattling around in his head since he’d kissed her. Yet they were still forming. What if he had made love to her? What if she wasn’t Trav’s sister? What if she wasn’t off-limits because of it…because of a hundred other reasons that didn’t add up to what she needed him to be?
He felt as low as the cracked asphalt beneath the wheels of his four-by-four as he turned the key, shifted into Drive and pulled slowly away from her house. Damn Trav for putting him in this position. Damn Beldon for putting the moves on her. And damn the sleepless nights he’d spent agonizing about the possibility of another man making love to her for the first time. And all the times after that.
A fist curled in his gut at the thought. He knew he couldn’t be that man. He’d known it for years. Carrie had always had a crush on him. For her sake he’d always done his darnedest to discourage it. Truthfully, he’d figured she would grow out of it…eventually. Her response just now said she hadn’t.
He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as he headed across town for the Cattleman’s Club and the bar, where a tall cold one wouldn’t substitute for what he wanted but would give him something to do with his hands—and his mouth—other than kiss the one woman he had no business kissing.
He’d never quite understood why she was attracted to him anyway…had always assumed it might have had something to do with his rodeo background. Women seemed to go for rodeo riders, and Lord knew he’d had his share of fun with the ladies over the years. But he didn’t see himself as any prime catch—certainly, he wasn’t good enough for Carrie.
Yeah, he could take care of her financially. He was loaded, but that was an accident of heritage, not any great doing on his part. His granddaddy had struck it rich in oil and his daddy had kept up the tradition in real estate. But she didn’t need his money, anyway. Trav had seen to it that she’d never want for anything.
Besides, he’d learned a long time ago that money didn’t make a man…not the kind of man Carrie needed to make her happy. She needed someone who wanted to settle down. And that just wasn’t him. He wasn’t cut out for home and hearth and sharing at the end of the day.
At least he didn’t think he was, but he figured it was telling that he’d never held on to a relationship with a woman long enough to find out. And that was telling in itself. If he was into commitment, it seemed he’d have tried it on for size by now. He wasn’t sure he’d be any good at it…or answering to anyone but himself.
He was content alone, if not darn right hunkered in on the Dusty E since his folks had retired from ranching and resettled in Palm Beach. He was happy raising cattle and riding the range with Shamu and setting off on sporadic TCC missions. He liked the solitude—along with the occasional night with a pretty, attentive woman. Although, lately the only pretty woman who came to mind was the woman he’d just left crying.
He’d probably make her cry a lot if he gave in and made love to her. And that was something he just didn’t want to do. Carrie deserved an anchor she could stake a future on…and he was still floating with the currents.
Bottom line, she needed someone better than a busted-up former rodeo star who had tried to get into the marines when Travis had but couldn’t pass the physical because of all the injuries he’d gotten riding broncs on the high school rodeo circuit.
She needed a guy who would take care of her and protect her from the trouble she was bound to get into if left to her own devices. Beldon being a case in point.
And then there was Trav. Trav was Ry’s best friend. If he started something with Carrie, he’d end up losing Trav’s friendship—not to mention there was the possibility of getting his block knocked off, and he liked it fine where it was, thank you very much.
He pulled into the TCC parking lot, resolved, if not enthusiastic, about why their first kiss had to be their last.
But damn, did he hate hurting her.
And damn, did he still want that woman.
Six
Carrie stared at her tear-swollen face in her bathroom mirror. Considered writing a big red L for loser in the middle of her forehead in lipstick.
But then she got mad.
She did not cry. She was not a weeping Wilda, and hated that she’d been reduced to tears by Ryan Evans.
Well, she’d shed her last tear over him.
And she was finished letting him interfere with her life and her plans… on any level.
So what if his kiss had melted her bones.
And, oh, Lord above, had it melted them.
Her knees got weak and she got a muzzy feeling in her tummy all over again just thinking about it.
And
