Rocky Mountain Wife (2 page)

“Sure it is. I could make the back payments for you. The bank would have to stop the foreclosure. It would let you and your daughter stay in your home. It’s what Clay would have wanted me to do, I’m sure of it. I owe him that much.”

“Thank you, but I can’t accept charity like that.” Her gaze softened, regarding him kindly. “I have to decline your offer.”

“That’s just plain pride.” He shook his head. He couldn’t believe her. “You have a child to think of. I’m trying to do a good thing and help you out here.”

“Did I ask for your help? No, I need to learn to do this on my own. I’m the only one I can count on.”

“That’s just plain stubborn, ma’am.”

“That’s right. I am stubborn. But no good deed goes unpunished, and there’s no such thing as a free lunch. You want something, Mr. Reed.”

“Of course I do. I want to make sure Clay’s widow and child are provided for. Please, it will help me sleep at night.”

“Don’t think you are the first man who came here to proposition me.” Fury snapped in her eyes. “Let’s see. The moral degenerate down the road offered to keep me as his mistress in an old claim shanty at the back of his ranch. I’d get food and shelter for me and my daughter in exchange for services rendered.”

“Wait.” He held up his hands. “Hold on there.”

“Or there was the lumberyard owner who said he could give me some lumber so I could build a little shelter on some unclaimed land just north of here
if
I lifted my skirts for him right then and there.”

“Whoa.” He knocked away the rainwater dripping off his hat onto his nose. “I only meant—”

“Or there’s the respected bank president who tried to help himself, and I threatened to hit him upside his head with the broom I use to sweep off my porch.” Rage had turned her cheeks pink. She looked fighting mad. “But it did earn the sympathy of the bank manager, so I suppose that counts for something. Tell me, what’s your proposition? And look, there’s a pitchfork leaning up against the fence rails. Don’t think I won’t hurt you with it.”

He resisted the urge to reach out and push the rain-drenched locks of her hair out of her face. He liked her, not that he liked women capable of violence, but there was something about her fierceness and her vulnerability that drew him. He cleared his throat. “I was just going to ask if I could walk through the fields. Your crop looks like it has a good start, but it’s not getting any water.”

“Right now it is.” She held out one hand, palm up. “It’s raining.”

“Well, I can’t deny that. But this rain is bound to stop sometime. Then you’ll be left with a dry field. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a drought.”

“The crops aren’t my concern. I thought the bank might wait on their payment if there was a crop growing, but I was wrong.” A muscle jumped along the line of her delicate jaw. “So I don’t care if the plants dry up and die. It makes no difference to me, so your proposition is lacking. It hardly stacks up to the other ones I’ve received. At least they were useful. Not that I was interested, but they would have helped me out.”

“I’d like to save the crops if I can.” He bit the corners of his mouth to keep from smiling at her. He hadn’t expected a spunky woman. He liked to be surprised. “I want to take them over.”

“The crops? This will be the bank’s land in two weeks.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze forcefully. “You can take it up with them.”

“The crops might not be able to make it that long.” He tipped his hat upward, so he could get a good view of the rainy fields. “I can make it worth your while.”

“Oh? Is that so?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You have an awfully high opinion of your sexual prowess. Don’t think I haven’t heard
that one
a few times from other men during these last few weeks.”

“I wasn’t meaning my sexual prowess, ma’am. I was meaning that perhaps we could come to an agreement.” His cheeks heated. “I want to get my hands on more acreage. I’ve done all I can with the forty acres I own. This is prime ranching land and I’d love to own it. I’ve already got my house, so I don’t need this one. Like I said, you can live in your house rent free for as long as you like. No strings attached.”

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Reed. There are always strings.” She shook her head, scattering raindrops from her rich, honey-blond hair.

And that’s when he noticed what the pouring rain had done to her. His heart stalled in his chest. Air rushed out of his lungs. Jeez, she was a sight. Her cotton dress clung to her like a second skin, outlining her collarbones and, lower, the swell of her breasts. Wet calico molded to those perfect mounds, offering a tantalizing view of her dark, pebbled nipples.

He couldn’t stop looking. He tried to blink, honest he did, but his eyes refused to move. How could he blame them? It had been ages since he’d seen anything half as magnificent. Fire spit into his veins, and he took a step back. Lust burned through him, settling into his groin with a deep, rhythmic pulse. His cock jumped.

He still couldn’t look away.

“What do you really want, Mr. Reed?”

“Just the land. It would be a shame to let it go to the bank. They’ll put it up for auction and sell it to the highest bidder.” He backed away, fighting to keep his eyes on her face.

It was hard to think straight with blood beating thick and hot in his veins. He felt ashamed at the quick, animal attraction he felt for her, for his neighbor’s widow. Judging by the way she scowled at him, she didn’t think much of him at all. Not at all.

“I’d hate to see that happen to a place as nice as this,” he told her. “Clay put his blood and sweat into this land. He would want it going to someone who’d take good care of it.”

She opened her mouth as if she had something to say, but no words came out. A rivulet of rain trailed down her cheek, trickled over her soft skin and clung to the upper curve of her lush, full upper lip.

Don’t even think about kissing her.
He cleared his throat, pulled a thick fold of greenbacks from his right trouser pocket and held it out to her. “Do we have a deal on the horses?”

“Yes.” Her fingers brushed his as she took hold of the bills. She didn’t react in any way, as if nothing had happened when their skin had touched. She gripped the money so hard, her knuckles turned white. That’s how much she needed the cash.

He felt sorry for her, but it couldn’t outweigh the desire beating through him in rhythmic, hot bursts. He stalked away before he could lust any more for the woman.

“Just go ahead and take the horses,” she called out. “And the tack. Thank you, Mr. Reed.”

He didn’t trust his voice so he raised a hand, heading straight toward the barn. The wind blew cold against him. He shivered, but the heat in his blood remained. His cock quivered every time he thought of her standing there as good as naked in the rain.

Claire stirred the fire before adding more wood. The heat from the fireplace chased away the chills. She was wet clear through. She shook her head, hung up the iron poker and stepped out of the puddle of water that had dripped off her dress onto the floor. What a mess, but she didn’t feel inclined to wipe it up. It would dry, just like her dress. She hadn’t expected to feel hollow, thinking of all their horses gone. She should be relieved.

I must be losing my mind.
She rubbed her hands over her face. Hadn’t she been in knots worrying no one would pay her a fair price for the animals? And now that someone had, she felt, well, all tangled up. Mr. Reed had a strange effect on her, and she couldn’t say why, but she didn’t like him. Not at all.

A knock banged on the front door, breaking into her thoughts. That was probably him now with the horses tied to his wagon and ready to go. She rushed to the door and flung it open.

“Howdy there, Claire.” A lanky, graying man stood in the shelter of the porch, clothed in freshly ironed trousers and a sweat-stained gray shirt. Tobacco juice stained the edges of his gray mustache and beard. He held out a handful of wildflowers. “Hear you’re in tough straights. That you’re gonna be tossed out in two weeks.”

“That isn’t a secret, Mr. Sanders.” She squared her shoulders, fighting the sting behind her eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Thought I could sweeten you up with some flowers, and you’d let me take a look around? A
good
look.” He worked a wad of tobacco around in his mouth. His eyes gleamed darkly. “I’d sure like to get my hands on this place. I heard it from the bank president himself that he’d like to turn this piece of land around real fast. You wouldn’t mind letting me in, you pretty thing?”

Cold lust gleamed in his gaze, and her stomach turned. Just what did he want to get into—the house, or her? Her chin shot up. “I mind very much. This is still my place, Mr. Sanders.”

“Not for long, so what’s the use in being difficult?” He spit a stream of tobacco juice over her porch rail into the prized rose bushes her mother had given her. “It’s no secret how much you need cash. Why, you’ve got that little one to provide for. You don’t want her sleepin’ in a ditch at night, do you?”

When she saw the greenbacks he pulled out of his shirt pocket, she couldn’t have been angrier. Rage roared through her like a twister. “I don’t know what you’re offering, but be smart and get the hell off my porch.”

“Now, don’t get all worked up, little Claire.” Oliver Sanders narrowed his gaze, fastening on her breasts. “You shouldn’t be advertising what you don’t want men to look at. Now, if I apologize, will you still take the twenty and let me get a look at your bedroom? If you want to earn twenty more, I can think of a way. A widow like you has needs, ain’t that right?”

“No.” She reached to pull the screen door closed, glaring at him through the mesh. “Go away, Mr. Sanders.”

She slammed the door, pleased with herself for showing restraint. She hadn’t hit him with her porch broom, for instance. Men! She stormed into the parlor and caught her reflection in the beveled mirror on the opposite wall.

Oh my!
She gaped at her un-corseted figure. Her dress clung to every curve intimately.
Why, she might as well be standing here naked.
The wet fabric outlined her breasts and nipples, the flat of her waist and the flare of her hips.

Because of the extreme heat earlier in the day, she’d worn only a pair of drawers beneath her dress and even the faint outline of the hair at the apex of her thighs was visible beneath the pretty blue calico. Mortification blazed through her. Goodness, no wonder Mr. Sanders thought she might be offering him something. And as for Mr. Reed—

Oh, Mr. Reed.
He’d been such a perfect gentleman, and she’d been standing in front of him like this. He’d never even so much as blinked. She gasped in embarrassment. What must he think of her? She felt horrible. A thin, shaky feeling gripped her stomach. How was she ever going to look him in the eye again?

And what was that sound? She cocked her head, listening to the faint, rhythmic hammering that echoed through the house. What was Ivy up to now? She charged through the parlor and into the kitchen, following the noise. Rain smeared the kitchen windows as she lifted her shawl from the peg by the door. Squinting, she could just make out the shape of a man’s boot beneath the broken down wagon in front of the barn. She recognized that boot.

Steeling her spine, she charged into the downpour. She didn’t feel the wet nor the cold nor the drenching wind as she splashed across the back lawn, her skirts snapping. “Mr. Reed! What are you doing?”

“I thought that would be obvious.” He looked up over the top of the wagon bed and glared at her, as if he didn’t like her much. Rain dripped off his hat brim. “Get back inside.”

“I don’t take orders from you, sir.” Get back inside? That’s what he had to say for accosting her wagon? She gritted her teeth, holding back angry words. “Put down that hammer. The wagon isn’t part of our deal. I said you could take the tack, not the vehicles.”

“You think I’m stealing the wagon from you?” A muscle jumped along his strong jaw.

“That’s what it looks like to me.” Why else would he be fixing it? She swiped rainwater off her face, wishing a broom or a pitchfork was within easy reach. It had been like this since dear Clay had passed. “I thought you were better than this, but I was wrong. You’re just another man trying to take advantage of a woman.”

“Is that so?” He arched a brow. Anger marked his face, darkening his eyes and emphasizing the chiseled angles and planes. “You’re just another woman jumping to the wrong conclusion about me. There’s nothing new there.”

He stepped out from behind the wagon, and whatever she’d opened her mouth to say died on her tongue. Good God, he was remarkable. His wet shirt slicked against him, revealing a muscled, exquisite chest. She’d never seen such a sight. For a split second, her brain stalled as her eyes took in very ridge of muscle. Against her will, her fingers itched to touch him and see if he felt as hard as he looked.

“I’m fixing the wagon.
Fixing,
not stealing.” His deep voice rolled over her like thunder. “Most folks right about now would be saying thank you. But don’t worry about it. I don’t need thanks. I’m not fixing the wagon for you.”

She prickled, not liking the tone of his words. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

“It’s what Clay would want me to do.” Cords stood out in his neck as he studied her for a long, judgmental minute. He turned on his heels, splashed through a mud puddle and hunkered down behind the wagon. The hammering continued.

Now what did she do? The wind battered her, tangling her wet skirts. She hugged her shawl to her, remembering to keep her breasts well covered. As her anger wore off, her embarrassment returned. He clearly didn’t want her here, and after she’d practically shown him her nipples, she didn’t want to be here either. It would be easier to dash back to the house and stay there until he was gone.

But it wouldn’t be the right thing. She gulped in a bite of air, steeled her spine and wove around the deep puddles in the ground.

The instant she stepped around the wagon, her gaze zeroed in on him. He was crouched down, so his long, muscled legs looked longer and more muscled. Her throat went dry, and she felt a squeeze of sexual reaction deep in her pelvis. He set down his hammer and pulled out the broken wheel spoke. Lord, the man had huge hands.