than just another one of his younger
brothers’ friends. He might yell, but he
wouldn’t hurt her. Anger and relief—and
some other unwelcome emotion—flooded
her. Before she could think it through, she
wound up and chucked the shampoo bottle
at him.
“You scared me half to death, Cabe!”
she yelled.
He fixed her with a hard stare as one
hand shot up effortlessly and caught the
plastic bottle, setting it down carefully by
her things.
She was different now, she reminded
herself. She didn’t need or want his
attention. Not anymore.
“Hell, Rose,” he drawled. “This is my
land. I’d ask what you’re doing here,
except it’s obvious. You shouldn’t be out
here, swimming all by yourself,” he
pointed out calmly. That calm voice was
the voice of reason. Logical. So damned
right
when she was always wrong. “It’s
dark. You’re alone. Does anyone know
you’re here?”
“I’m perfectly safe, Cabe.” She could
hear the tightness in her own voice, but the
adrenaline was subsiding, and no way
she’d admit he was right. She never had
before, and she sure as hell wasn’t starting
now. Let a man like Cabe Dawson know
he had the upper hand, and he’d walk all
over you. “I practically grew up here. Only
people likely to be out here are you and
your brothers.”
He shook his head. “
Likely
doesn’t
mean
certain,
Rose. Shit happens all the time.”
“Yeah.” She carefully slipped her head
backward, keeping her chest underwater.
There were stars overhead—how long had
it been since she’d watched the impossible
crispness of this black sky with its
countless pinpricks of light? Her fingers
worked through her hair, washing out the
last remnants of shampoo. “I know all
about shit happening, Cabe. I don’t need a
lesson from you there.”
He just kept on eyeing her, and she
would have paid the fortune she didn’t
have to know what the man was thinking,
because there was a hot lick of
something
in those dark eyes of his. The Dawson
brothers were all big, dark men with a
family tree rooted on their mother’s side in
the Spanish conquistadors who had
claimed vast swaths of California for their
own. There was an almost possessive
gleam in his eyes as he stood there.
Watching her.
She couldn’t be sure how much of her
was actually on display in the dark, but he
was standing next to her underwear. He
knew damned well that she was swimming
naked. Worse, her awareness of him
created, as it often had, a sweet, hot ache
in her that she knew she shouldn’t
welcome. The sensation had her pressing
her thighs together; thankfully, even
he
couldn’t see that well.
So, she still wanted Cabe Dawson.
Despite herself, then and now. She still
wanted a cowboy who’d often infuriated
her but never shown the slightest interest in
her. Had probably barely even noticed her
except as a neighboring nuisance. She’d
done her best to forget him, had stayed
away for years hoping to do so. Letting him
know she still wanted him would be a
mistake of monumental proportions.
He hadn’t wanted her eight years ago.
He wouldn’t want her now.
And yet, he leaned forward, hands
resting on his knees, and the sheer male
power of him stole her breath away.
Problem was, she’d always had a good
imagination. She’d imagined all too
clearly, before she left Lonesome the last
time, what it might be like to teach Cabe
Dawson a thing or two. On
her
terms.
“If you don’t want me to teach you a
lesson,” he said, as if reading her mind,
reaching down a hand to haul her out,
“don’t make me come in there after you,
Rose.”
She ignored that hand and got on with
washing the rest of the suds out of her hair.
“I mean it.” That rough growl of his
made her wetter than she already was, and
that just made her mad.
Yes, the Dawson brothers were all big
men, and she recognized the protective,
overbearing stance Cabe was taking now.
This man didn’t think she needed to be
where she was, and he’d decided to help
her out with a little redirect. His intentions
might be sweet, but she’d left “sweet”
behind her in the town where she’d grown
up.
“I know you won’t come in after me,
Cabe.” If he did, he’d lower himself to her
level, and that wasn’t like Cabe Dawson at
all. She’d never once seen him yield when
he’d decided to make a stand.
“You sure?” He tossed that hat of his
aside. For a moment, she thought she had
him.
“I’m naked,” she pointed out. Just in
case he’d missed that little fact.
She still couldn’t read him, but she’d
learned years ago how to rile him up. That
knowledge was bittersweet. She wasn’t the
same girl she’d been all those years ago,
but he hadn’t liked that girl anyhow.
“What you are is late,” he growled.
“You were supposed to be in that lawyer’s
office months ago to sign the papers to
settle Auntie Dee’s estate. And you never
showed for the appointment we finally
rescheduled for last week.”
Damn it, she didn’t want to have this
conversation. Not right now, not while she
was naked and he wasn’t. Cabe Dawson
didn’t need that kind of advantage.
“I . . . had things to do.” The excuse
sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Right.” He stared at her. “What kind of
things did you have to do, Rose, that were
more important than coming up here and
settling the estate of the woman who all but
raised you?”
She didn’t like the guilt or panic that
shot through her, an itchy, sickening coil of
unwelcome emotions. She couldn’t explain
why she hadn’t come, why she hadn’t been
ready. Why she couldn’t face the empty
house or Cabe Dawson or any of the
pieces of the life she’d had in Lonesome.
Fighting back a shiver, she crossed her
arms over her breasts as her legs treaded
water. If she’d started any one of those
tasks, she’d have been that much closer to
failing. To not getting it right. So she’d
waited. And then waited some more, until
she’d failed anyhow and could stop
worrying.
“Maybe I just wasn’t ready until now,”
she suggested, as if she hadn’t had lists of
tasks to check off and a timeline for doing
so. As if she hadn’t frozen in panic and
done nothing.
Sweet procrastinator,
she
could almost hear Auntie Dee whisper.
Someday, you’ll figure it out, get yourself
started
.
Cabe didn’t move from his crouch by the
side of the swimming hole, but that big
body of his screamed frustration. He
wasn’t buying the line she was selling.
Cabe Dawson always had been good at
recognizing bullshit.
“Not ready.” His voice was too quiet.
“Well, that’s a hell of a thing, Rose, when
you’ve been asked repeatedly to come on
up here, and you’ve never said why you
couldn’t. What did you think was going to
happen? We’ve all been cooling our heels
waiting for you.”
She stared straight ahead. There was the
quiet disappointment, the disapproval
she’d expected. She’d never pleased him,
had she?
“I should have explained,” she agreed.
She should have. Of course she should
have—and, instead, she’d procrastinated.
Waited, like always, until the last possible
moment.
When she didn’t explain now, he waited
her out, letting the silence stretch between
them.
“But I wasn’t ready, okay, Cabe?” She
wasn’t going to cry. Instead, she blinked
furiously, wanting to curse him while she
just kept right on bobbing in place.
“Hell, Rose.” His hand came up, then
fell back to his thigh. “We would have
been happy to wait for you to be ‘ready’—
you know that. But, darlin’, you have to
either show up or call.”
“You just want to tear down the house
and use the land,” she accused.
“I do.”
He didn’t bother sugarcoating his
intentions, just hit her low and hard with
the truth. A truth that wasn’t going to
become reality if she had her way.
“What if I don’t want to sell it?”
“Hell, what else are you going to do
with that piece of property? You’re
obviously not the settling-down type, Rose,
and it takes cash to run a place like that. A
steady income.”
“You don’t think I could do it? What if I
want to fix the place up, make a home for
myself here?” she said, her heart beating a
little faster at her own audacity.
He didn’t point out that she’d never
before showed any inclination to do so.
Then again, he’d had no way of knowing
that she’d been hoping to make a success
of herself, then come home to care for
Auntie Dee and carve out a better life for
both of them in Lonesome.
She’d just expected to do so before she
lost Auntie Dee.
“Time to get out, Rose.” He reached out
to her again, ignoring her question. For a
moment, temptation beckoned. One good
tug—he wouldn’t be expecting that—and
she’d have him in the water. He simply
waited there, so big and tough and
confident; she wanted to take him down a
notch or two. Put
him
at a disadvantage.
Before she could overthink it, she put
her hand into his. His fingers wrapped
around hers, the muscles tensing to pull her
out. Instead, she pulled, hard.
That large, hard, clothed body hit hers,
his rough curse filling her ears as they both
went under. The delicious coolness of the
water closed over her head, and she went
down, letting the weight of his body pull
her under.
Finally, she’d gotten to him. Same way
he always did to her.
Cabe hit the water hard, twisting to
spare Rose his full weight, because
damned if he had seen
this
coming. He
wasn’t a small man. And the impact had
her slender frame beneath his, both of them
going down deep beneath the surface.
The cold shock of the water felt good,
even if he hadn’t planned on swimming in
his clothes. Or his boots. Rose bucked,
pushing away from him instinctively,
fighting to come back up to the surface, and
his hands brushed her soft skin. It would be
so simple to let his fingers move of their
own accord, trace that slick channel
between her legs. Her body was warm and
supple, despite the chill of the water, and
he wanted to pull her close.
But she wasn’t his to touch. She wasn’t
a woman flirting with her lover. She
thought he was her former best friends’
older brother. Fuck. He didn’t feel the
least bit avuncular. Despite the cold water,
he was rock hard. If he was being honest
with himself, he had been since the moment
he’d seen Rose swimming nude.
Getting an arm beneath her breasts, he
kicked upward with powerful strokes,
bringing her with him toward the surface.
He wasn’t leaving her behind. Rose had
always been resilient, but this wasn’t a
thing to chance. Not in the dark, where it
would be impossible to find her
underwater if something went wrong.
Three hard kicks, and he broke the
surface, her back pressed to his front. She
squirmed desperately, her hands coming up
to push at the arm locking her against him.
“Be still,” he ordered. Damned if he
was going back under until they had a few
things straight, he and Rose. “Did you think
this one through, Rose?”
Her soft laughter was an unexpected
answer. He never had been able to read
her. “No, but you think too much, Cabe.”