Play It Safe (36 page)

For some bizarre reason, I liked that too.

I hurried down the hall and found my boxes in the guest bedroom. Then I found the box I wanted. As quietly as I could, I opened it. Then I dug through it until I found what I was looking for.

Then I did what I had to do and walked back to Gray’s room.

The sheets were up to his waist, he was still on his side, his exposed back to me.

I put a knee to the bed and trailed the tips of my red, feathered fan down his back.

Immediately, he rolled to that back and just as swiftly, in my shocking pink sequined panties and nothing else, I flipped a fan open to cover my top and I threw a leg over him to straddle his hips.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice already thick.

I grinned, not outside. Inside.

“You wanna turn on the light and make this multisensory?” I asked quietly.

“Darlin’, only person in this room who’s gonna move for the next half hour is you. I’d like to see you try to turn on the light and hide from me.”

I could do that, totally. I was a master of the feathered fan. It had been years since I danced but you didn’t forget that kind of thing.

“Half an hour?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Gray, my dances lasted five minutes.”

“Private ones go on awhile.”

He had an answer for everything.

He also wasn’t done.

“And, five minutes in, you lose the fans.”

That time I grinned on the outside.

Then I moved and turned on the light.

Gray moved too, to wrap his fingers around the sequined panties at my ass.

I bent toward him, fan spread wide between us and whispered, “You’re not allowed to touch the talent, baby.”

His fingers dug in as he did an ab curl and went up to sitting. I moved back with him and held the fan between us.

But I got a good look at his face and, getting it, I also got a good quiver somewhere on me.

His hands moved up my back and he answered, “Fuck that.”

“I thought you said I was the only one going to move,” I reminded him.

“Changed my mind,” he muttered, one hand still sliding up my back, one hand going back down to slide in my panties.

Oh yes.

“Honey, I can’t move my fan, there isn’t enough room,” I pointed out.

The hand heading up disappeared then the fan did when he jerked it out from between us.

“Gray!” I snapped but it came out breathy.

Then he moved and I was on my back on the fan spread out under me on Gray’s bed and Gray was on me.

“You’re ruining my performance, you know,” I informed him.

“Now, why don’t I believe that?” he asked me but didn’t wait for me to answer.

He kissed me.

Then he did other stuff to me. Then I did stuff to him. Then we did stuff together.

Incidentally, for Gray, it wasn’t about the fans.

It was about the panties.

Important information to have.

An hour later, my fans and panties on the floor, my body tucked back into Gray, I didn’t have even a little trouble falling asleep.

Green Acres

Three days later…

“Gray –”

“Ivey.”

“Gray!”

“Ivey.”

We were having our first fight. Our first fight
ever.

Three days I was in Mustang living with Gray and we were fighting.

This sucked and it sucked mostly because Gray was being proud and stubborn and wouldn’t
listen to me.

* * * * *

I learned a lot about Gray in the last three days mainly that I didn’t pay much attention to Gray in the two and a half months I had him before. I was so engrossed in starting my new life I didn’t pay any mind to his.

And there was a reason he started his day at six thirty. In actuality, he got up at five thirty which was pure
hell
and totally
insane
. But he was so used to it “sleeping in” (which he did on Sunday) meant he rolled us (yes, I said
us
) out of bed at seven and this was
after
we made love.

And the reason Gray started his day so early was that, apparently, being a macho man rancher cowboy that had a huge amount of land, horses and peach trees was a lot of work.

For instance, the horses needed to be fed, watered and exercised and their stalls mucked out. This would be a lot, actually too much, for the twelve horses he had when I knew him seven years ago. But in an attempt to cover the loan which he got to cover Grandma Miriam’s stay in a swanky retirement home, he adopted more horses three years running.

Now he had twenty.

That was a lot of horses.

Mostly they just stood there blinking but they did require water and sustenance to survive and didn’t have the means to feed themselves and no one deserved to hang out in a space covered in excrement so they also required a lot of work.

And so did the land.

I would come to understand that peach trees didn’t just bear fruit you picked come peach season and a big old ranch couldn’t just sit there and look pretty. All of this took maintenance.

The grasses had to be mowed and this wasn’t just the patch of lawn around the house, this included the area by the lane running up to the house (which was a long way); the area by the road to Mustang (which was a long way); the area around the peach trees and outbuildings (which were big areas); then, of course, there was the patch of lawn around the house.

Then there were fences that needed to be run to make sure they were in good repair seeing as Jeb Sharp owned livestock and, although he had fences too, Gray told me, “Shit happens and it’s happened.” Gray didn’t want any of Jeb’s cattle on his land so both tended their own fences. Not to mention, Gray rode the land and inspected the trees often in order to exercise the horses, make sure there were no poachers or squatters and that the peach trees were doing whatever they had to do.

Then the outbuildings needed to be kept in good repair, so did the tractors and mowers.

Then you had to go into town and buy and haul back feed and hay for the horses, stuff for the trees, shit like that.

Some of this he told me, some of it I saw him do. Although it was a lot of work, one could not say that watching Gray on a horse or driving the ginormous tractor with the thingie on the back that cut grass, the back of his tee stained with sweat, a tattered baseball cap on his head and his tanned-brown arms glistening in the sun was not engrossing.

It was.

Very.

As I knew years ago I would never get used to his beauty I knew then I would never get tired of watching Gray work his land.

Ever.

That said, it was clearly a lot of work.

So much Gray worked part of the day Saturday but he took off Sunday then worked all day Monday from six thirty to quitting at five.

Flat out (except for lunch).

Ten hours.

Jeez.

Even before I knew this, we talked on Saturday morning as I’d broached the subject that I was there, unemployed and I could help. Unfortunately, I had suitcases and boxes full of designer clothes and high-heeled shoes and you couldn’t muck out a horse stall in Christian Louboutins. Or you could but you’d be an idiot. So I missed helping out on Saturday seeing as I didn’t have the proper gear. Though Gray did teach me how to feed and water the horses which wasn’t very taxing except you had to remember which horse was which since he had eight mares in foal and they needed different food than the others.

But you still couldn’t do it in high heels.

Therefore we took a trip to Hayes department store in town on Saturday afternoon so I could stock up on durable western wear. Then we moved onto a big, somewhat frightening and rickety tin building on the outskirts of Mustang so Gray could stock up on horse food.

Then Monday morning, wearing my new duds, I gamely followed Gray to the barn, mucked out one stall and decided it was definitely
not
for me. Serious visions of
Green Acres
except Gray was never an attorney who gave up the big city to force me into a life of torture on the farm.

Luckily, Gray thought this was funny and I knew this when he roared with laughter like I was hilarious before his gloved hand hooked me around the neck and he tugged me to him for a hard kiss which was still hard even though he laughed through it. Then he let me off the hook. His roar of laughter had some to do with me clearly not wishing to spend my days shoveling horseshit but it had more to do with me faking being taken over by the spirit of Eva Gabor.

So I went into the house, cleaned it, did laundry, unpacked the rest of my stuff and made sure he had a good lunch and dinner, activities which took most of the day.

Lash took over my cooking lessons so now I had a full repertoire though Lash didn’t make casseroles and I wasn’t sure how Gray would feel about me making lobster thermidor. But I could do a sandwich and I did, a big, grilled, delicious one at that. After lunch, Gray went out to do macho man rancher cowboy things and I did a quick inspection of the cupboards then took a not-so-quick trip into town to buy groceries and I made him my fabulous, homemade beef stroganoff for dinner.

Dirty plates still on the table and us sitting around it finishing our beers, Gray complimented me on the culinary strides I’d made since he last ate my food and then I decided we needed to get down to the nitty gritty of life.

So we started talking about money.

This was a bad idea. Very, very bad.

Not, surprisingly, when I told Gray that I was living with him and I wanted to kick in, not only finding something that didn’t involve horseshit to help out but also financially. I didn’t entirely wipe out my savings (though it was vastly depleted) and I had a healthy checking account so I wasn’t destitute. I could help and I could also find a job. Gray easily agreed to me being responsible for getting and paying for food and household items. I agreed he’d pay household bills. And the ranch account would pay for things for the ranch (like horse food).

That part was easy.

No, what got us into a sticky situation was Gray being honest about his finances in so far as telling me when he recently was looking to raise money to keep afloat, he sold four horses (that meant he’d had twenty-four!) but that was not what riled me.

He told me he also sold some furniture from the house and was looking to sell more.

Now that…

That semi-riled me.

And it got worse because somehow we veered from talking about him selling stuff in the house to his uncles and they…

Well, they would rile anyone.

It was just that they
really
riled me.

* * * * *

It went like this.

“You sold stuff from the house?”

That was me sounding horrified and mentally inventorying my memory of the place from seven years ago to see if I could figure out what might be missing.

“Yeah.”

That was Gray, nonchalant like everything in his house wasn’t a treasure which it
was.

“Why did you do that?” I asked gently and his head tipped slightly to the side.

“Uh…because I was flat broke, losing my land and my Gran was being moved to a state-funded nursing home.”

These were all good reasons that in my horror at learning this news I didn’t consider.

But still.

“Gray, this house it’s like, like…a museum of Cody history,” I told him quietly and carefully.

“Ivey, this house was on the verge of not being Cody anything.”

Another good point.

Gray kept going.

“I had a foreclosure notice. I was goin’ down. If I sold the horses, all of them, I’d significantly decrease my ability to make money should I save the land. But it didn’t look like I was going to be able to save the land and I still needed money to survive, to eat, to put a roof over my head while I figured out what I was gonna do with the rest of my life so shit had to go. This place is full of junk. I sold three pieces, they made me seven grand. Three fuckin’ pieces and I got seven grand. And I never liked the look of ‘em anyway. Those pieces and those four horses, with you paying the loan current and beyond for a year and lookin’ after Gran, I’m liquid again. Money in the bank and I can build on our future. So, when you were back in Vegas, I had the guys at the auction house take a walk through and they think they can find private buyers for five more pieces.”

Oh dear Lord.

My eyes got big. “
Five?
”

“Yeah,” Gray replied, entirely unaffected about selling off Cody history. “And they think they can take other shit off my hands. They say the private sales could be fifteen or twenty K and if they auction the stuff they’re eyeballin’, I could get another three to five more.”

Oh God.

If he kept going, the house would be barren and not charming anymore.

On that thought, I muttered, “Maybe I should take that job with Janie.”

“No,” Gray returned firmly. “Maybe you should do what you said you were gonna do. Settle. Get used to a new life and take your time to land where you wanna land.”

“I liked working there,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, seven years ago before you became a Vegas showgirl then ended up the fake girlfriend of a millionaire,” he reminded me. “Ivey, honey, three days ago, you didn’t even own a pair of tennis shoes. Now you’re sayin’ you’re gonna shuffle drinks for below minimum wage and small town tips?”

Yet another good point which I was beginning to find annoying.

I decided to be calm, rational and slightly emotionally manipulative.

“Honey,” I said softly, “I like the house the way it is.”

“Baby,” Gray said softly back, “I’m glad but that shit’s gonna go and, trust me, you won’t miss it.”

There you go, emotional manipulation didn’t work with a cowboy.

“Do you need money that badly?” I asked cautiously.

“We’re good for awhile but there’s nothin’ more comin’ in until the crop comes in and those mares drop their foals and they can be sold, which is near to a year away. So, yeah. I sell seventeen thousand dollars worth of crap, no. I do that, we breathe easy.”