it now dangled like a dark curtain over the blossoms. She straightened briefly to swing that glorious length behind her back, then bent again to empty a metal pail of water near the base of the flowers.
She finished and turned to look in his direction about the time he pulled his pickup to a halt in the drive. If she was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it. Of course, she had to have heard the truck engine as he’d driven closer. Plenty of time to conceal her reaction.
As he got out and started across the grass that was more brown than green, Nick wasn’t able to keep from ogling Corrie’s beautiful hair. But that only lasted a second or so before his gaze moved over the rest of her.
He didn’t see Corrie often, and usually only at a distance. Seeing her now, dressed in an old white T-shirt that had shrunk enough to cling a little, and cut-off jeans that ended high enough to show most of the length of her sleekly muscled legs, was very nearly a shock. And she was barefoot. She’d been dressed for ranch work almost every time he’d ever seen her, so to see her like this with a good half mile of leg showing, hit him like a two-by-four across the chest.
Hadn’t Shane just come from here? Was he the reason her hair was down and looked fresh-washed, and she was dressed in a way that, on her, was decidedly provocative compared to her usual wholesome appearance? And yet, she still looked wholesome. Wholesome, but appealing as all get out.
Corrie hadn’t thought Nick Merrick would show up, much less this soon, so she steeled herself. And wished to heaven she’d dressed in something more appropriate for company than a T-shirt and cutoffs after her shower. Since it was late enough in the afternoon, she’d thought it was a good time to water her flowers before she forgot, never dreaming someone would see her.
As she watched Nick Merrick stride toward her, she saw the bold sweep of his male gaze go over her, and she tried to look unaffected. Trying to appear unaffected by Nick Merrick’s nearness was a pretense she’d mastered long ago, but no man—much less Nick—had ever had an opportunity to see her bare legs, so it was a little harder to appear indifferent this time.
Desperate to distract herself from the way his gaze felt as it skimmed then lingered then skimmed again, she began to catalog the similarities and contrasts between the brothers.
Shane was the more handsome of the two, though they both had similar features and coloring. The difference between the brothers was amplified by the eight years that separated them. Shane’s handsomeness was smoother and a little boyish, but Nick’s had been seasoned by sun and weather and experience into a rugged toughness that made him look hard and forbidding. And worlds more compelling.
His black hair and black brows emphasized the piercing blackness of his gaze, while Shane’s eyes were an electric blue. Both men were the same six foot plus height, but Nick was more heavily muscled, despite Shane’s competitive fitness as a world champion bronc rider.
And Nick didn’t have the cowboy swagger Shane often showed, as if he was too purposeful and sure of himself to move in the cocky way some men did when they had something to prove.
Maybe that was because Nick had proved himself long ago, after his father had been crippled by a riding accident and confined to a wheelchair. Nick had left college to take over Merrick Ranch and take up the reins to everything else until he’d delegated enough to managers to concentrate most of his day-to-day energies on the massive chunk of Texas the Merricks owned.
The result was this harsh-looking, rawhide tough, formidable man, who wore authority as if he’d been born with it. He certainly had been born to it, and Corrie doubted he’d ever had a chance to be a lesser man. Not because a man like him would ever leave himself without a choice, but because it wasn’t in his nature to be less than he was.
He was a man who gave his best and expected the best in return. The woman he picked to marry would also be the best. She’d be beautiful and sophisticated and rich, with a pedigree as impressive as his.
Which had shut Corrie out of consideration at eighteen, and still did. A female like her had about as much chance of attracting a man like Nick Merrick as she had of jumping off the barn roof and flying to San Antonio.
That unhappy reality had no impact whatsoever on the odd, inner twang she’d felt every time Nick had ever come in close range. As he crossed those few remaining feet between them, the twang began to quiver and hum. When he halted in front of her and lifted his hand to briefly pinch the brim of his hat in a cowboy signal of politeness, she felt a dismaying heat go over her from head to toe…
Wary blue eyes, with feathery black lashes that any number of his old girlfriends would have killed to have, had watched him, searching his face as he’d walked closer, dropping to his shoulders then his chest before they’d shot back up, as if she didn’t want to be caught looking him over like women usually did. Nick couldn’t help liking that. Corrie Davis had never seemed to have a sexually forward or flirty bone in her body, and she apparently still didn’t.
But now that he was looking at her this close, he wondered why he’d ever thought her face was unremarkable. Her blue eyes had always been her best feature, but now the rest of her face had caught up. She had fine, lightly tanned skin, facial features that had evened out and matured into simple beauty, and a mouth that looked soft and vulnerable and intriguing.
Whatever his brother had seen in Corrie before had obviously blossomed, and Nick suddenly realized he might be in the fight of his life if he tried to come between Shane and this…lovely young woman. Was every man in this part of Texas as blind as he’d been?
He was surprised to hear the gravely burr in his voice as he nodded to her and said, “Miss Davis.”
She nodded back but didn’t speak right away. In that little pulse of time she managed to blank the wariness from her gaze. “If you’re looking for Shane, he left quite a while ago. Maybe three hours.”
“I’ll catch up with him later then.” Belatedly, he realized he ought to compliment her on the flowers. But when he looked at them to make the compliment credible, her bare legs came into sharp focus again and the only compliments he could think of for a second or two were a half dozen variations that included the words “long stems.”
“You’ve got some beautiful flowers, Ms. Davis.” He lifted his gaze—a surprisingly difficult task—to her face.
He’d hesitated slightly before he’d said the word flowers to convey his other meaning. The color that surged into her cheeks told him she’d caught it.
He smiled, satisfied by that, and nodded toward the metal pail. “Can I give you a hand?”
Nick would have offered to do the same for any female, but he’d be willing to bet money that most men wouldn’t have asked the very capable and self-sufficient Corrie Davis. But women were women, and he sensed she was pleased with the offer. He sensed just as strongly that she’d decline.
“Thanks, but that was the last of it.”
He could tell she felt awkward with the silence that came next, but he waited her out. Better to keep her a little on edge so she’d get the idea that he wasn’t someone she wanted to tangle with.
And yet during that scattering of seconds as he looked over at her, something shifted in his attitude. His brother could do worse than Corrie Davis, far worse. What was actually wrong with the woman herself? She was decent, hardworking, and honest.
As he allowed those first inklings of change, he tried to tell himself that it had nothing to do with seeing Corrie
