Sunrise Crossing (16 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Scarlet Mars rising

P
ARKER
WALKED
ALONG
the lane where the oak tree spread its long shadows. She couldn't help wondering why she was taking a chance with a cowboy at this stage in her life. If she were healthy, if she had years to live, it would be one thing, but Laceys never lived past forty and she was now less than three years away.

She'd told Tori about the doctor in Dallas. Tori suggested she might be overreacting. Maybe it wasn't as bad as Parker thought. After all, she hadn't given him time to say much. But Parker knew the signs. She wouldn't waste her time on false hope like her parents had.

Parker breathed in the pure air, loving the silence around her. In this place she could hear herself think. She wouldn't worry about what waited for her in Dallas. For once, she'd run toward life. Toward Clint, no matter how short the time was that they had. She'd make a memory she could hold on to.

If it didn't turn out for the better, it was just a fling she might regret, but it wouldn't matter in the overall canvas of her life. If the time they spent together meant something, then that would be nice for her to remember.

But what if she left him hurting?

The memory of Clint Montgomery ten years ago flashed in her mind. He'd been young, barely in his thirties, and still had a wildness about him that said he'd never settled for anything.

Only that day, he'd been a broken man when he'd sold her the little slice of land next to his place. She remembered he didn't even seem to see her in the room. His eyes were as dead as coal. He looked like a man bucked off his only dream.

Would those brown eyes go dead again if she led him into love and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared? The thought of hurting him tore at her heart. No one could kiss like he did and not feel deeply. She'd tasted wild passion in the man, and if she left, he might suffer loss again.

Parker told herself she was overthinking the whole thing. All he'd offered was a one-night stand.
Love
probably wasn't a word Clint knew how to use. She'd made a habit of never using it. Love wasn't something she'd had time for. Or sex, for that matter. Of course, she liked sex. It just wasn't worth the emotional tumble she had to take when the skydive into love was over.

Some people were wired to love someone till-death-do-us-part, but not her. Not Clint. She wasn't sure he even had enough heart left in him to break.

Looking up, she saw him at the end of her lane waiting and remembered him saying that he was waiting for her to run to him. Well, she wouldn't run; she'd never run after a man. When she got in his truck, she'd set the rules this time. She'd let him know just what she wanted out of this affair. An affair. Short. Passionate. And over when she went back to Dallas.

If there was going to be an affair. The thought of being nude in front of a man who didn't seem to listen to a word she said wasn't all that appealing. All she wanted was a memory. If that was all he wanted, then maybe they'd talk. If not, she'd get out of the pickup and forget all about the cowboy.

When she walked up, his head was down, his elbow out the open window and a book propped on his steering wheel.

“It's too dark to read,” she said.

He didn't answer. He simply closed the book, climbed out of the truck, held the door open and said, “Get in, Parker.”

She huffed, starting a new mental list of things that needed to be discussed. No one ordered her to do anything. He needed to start listening to her now and then. Maybe talking to her more. No, wait. Maybe she'd like him better if he just kept quiet.

Climbing into the cab, she tried to think of where to begin. The man had so many things wrong with him that he'd need a team of specialists to figure him out.

He folded in beside her and closed the door, then leaned toward her and kissed her on the mouth. From her reaction it might as well have been a slap, but he didn't seem to notice.

When he pulled back smiling, he said, “I missed you, pretty lady.”

“I don't even know who you are.” She frowned. How could she think of being attracted to a man who had no idea how to read her?

“I plan to end that problem right now.” He circled the pickup around and headed toward his place. A few minutes later they passed his little brown house and drove toward an old wooden windmill. From there they turned left and went over a rise in the ground so gentle she'd never even noticed it. The brown house disappeared behind the rolling landscape.

She saw fences and watering troughs and an old tractor that looked like it had got stuck in the mud thirty years ago and no one had bothered to dig it out.

Parker was beginning to feel as lost as Hansel and Gretel. She wouldn't have been surprised to pass the gingerbread house with a witch at the door, waving them in.

Finally, just as full dark settled over the valley, they pulled up to a barn painted the same blue as his pickup.

“You brought me to see a barn?” she whispered to herself more than him. At this point, she didn't even want to talk to him. Any man who thought she liked looking at farm animals was so far off the mark she considered him hopeless.

He jumped out of the pickup and held the door for her. “I brought you to see where I live, Parker.”

She climbed out. “But you live in that mud-colored house at the turnoff by the main gate. Right?” It was stucco, so close enough to mud, and whoever decorated it twenty years ago must have got all the furniture wholesale because dull brown had gone out of style.

“No, you
thought
I lived there. If I hadn't had to take my horse back to the corral that night, I might not have seen the door open and known you were in the old place. I only stop by there a few times a week to collect my mail and do the ranch office work.”

He tugged her toward the barn. “Come on. You need to see where I live.”

She might have dug in her heels in protest, but now she was interested. She'd thought the little dull house was bad. How much worse could his life get? He lived with the pigs and cows?

He pulled a wide, sliding barn door open. “This is where I store stuff. You know, like a garage? Folks do still have them in Dallas, right?”

Now he was talking down to her, and she felt like decking him.

In the dim light she noticed a couple of pickups parked. One was an old piece of junk with the paint all scratched off. The other looked like it was from the forties and in mint condition. Several other cars were lined up, each looking like it was being repainted or restored. Workbenches lined the space between each vehicle, forming individual stalls. Toward the back was a Mustang in good condition and a Jeep that looked new.

“You restore cars for a living?” She thought of asking if maybe this was one of those chop shops where people steal cars and take them apart to sell, but not even a thief would drag a car all the way out here to take it apart.

“No. It's just a hobby. I live upstairs, and I come down here when I can't sleep.” He took her hand and led her up a long line of stairs made with unfinished wood. The open trapdoor rested against the wall.

When he reached the top, he flipped a light and the loft came into full view. One huge room with an area for living space, bedroom and kitchen. The walls, which held what looked like framed ranching magazines, were polished oak, and the floor had been stained darker, giving the space a welcoming warmth. All the furniture was fine quality and circled around a fireplace in the middle of the room. A huge desk faced one window to the east that stood ten feet high and almost twice as wide.

In a way, the space—cozy and welcoming—reminded her of a loft apartment in the warehouse district in New York. The kind a rich artist would kill to have.

“You want to know me, Parker. This is me. I'm not a rancher or a farmer, though I play around with both.”

“You're a writer,” she whispered as she moved along the wall, seeing his name on every cover of the framed magazines.

“Not exactly. Mostly it's research I write about. My own research as well as others, some schools like A&M and Tech and companies that work in the ranching industry. They're usually inventing or improving products and want me to have a look. The business of raising cattle isn't as simple as it used to be.”

“But what about the mud house?”

“It was on the land when I bought this place. My wife and I lived in it right after we got married and planned to redo your house as our residence. But she got sick, and she couldn't handle the stairs at your place. I had just an office here then, not much of a quarters.”

He moved to the big window and stared out into a starless night. “So we settled in the stucco house. We knew she didn't have long. I haven't slept a night in it since she died. She wanted us to farm. She never thought I'd make any money writing articles.”

“But you do?”

“Thanks to the internet, I do. I started out with a blog, then an online journal, then the
Montgomery Report
, a daily news blast for farmers and ranchers. Turned out it pays well.”

Parker calmed. She could handle a writer. A cowboy, she wasn't sure of, but a writer couldn't be that difficult.

“So, what do you think, lady?” He pushed his hat back and stared at her. “You still afraid of me?”

“I wasn't afraid of you,” she lied, knowing she had to get the conversation away from her as fast as possible. “I'm sorry about your wife.”

He nodded once and looked away.

Parker guessed the pain of her loss still haunted him even after ten years.

“Ask whatever you want, lady. If you're set on talking, then we'll talk.”

She knew she had to step on safe ground. He was making an effort and she wouldn't torture him. “Don't folks think it's a little strange that you live and work in one big room, in a barn, in the middle of nowhere?”

“No one's ever been here. If I have to meet with someone on the ranch, I do it at the stucco house. It's closer to the road.”

“No one?”

“No one,” he repeated.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“So we could talk and get to know each other.” He watched as she crossed the room, touching the soft leather of the couch and the warm wool of a blanket folded over the back. “You know enough yet, Parker? I'm about talked out.”

She moved to the other side of the window. “I guess. You're an interesting man, Clint Montgomery, and it doesn't take much to see we have little in common. It's like we live on two different planets. You in this silent, beautiful world of nature and me in busy, noisy Dallas. I appreciate your bringing me here, showing me your place, but I don't understand much about what you do.”

Looking up, she realized he probably wasn't listening again. He was paying far too much attention to the dark roll of his land beyond the window.

“You haven't even offered me a glass of wine.” Parker had no idea why she said that except that a glass of wine would really be nice right now.

“All I have is beer,” he muttered, still not looking at her.

Parker wasted a dirty look on the back of his head. “Of course. One more way we don't—”

Clint swung around so fast she jumped.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “And stay away from the window. Once I'm down, lower the trapdoor and throw the bolt. Don't open it until you hear my voice.”

“You're leaving? You can't do that. I don't even know the way home.” She followed him toward the stairs. “If you're going after wine, it's not necessary. I really don't drink that much.”

He reached inside a cabinet by the steps. “Someone's on my land. I'll be back as soon as I can. Remember, drop the trap and bolt it.”

Parker stared at the rifle he pulled out of what looked like a coat closet. “What if you don't come back?”

He was taking the stairs two at a time when he yelled back, “Take the Jeep. Keys are in it. Head north. You'll find your way to the main road.”

“North?” She heard the barn door close. “North? Which way is north?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

C
LINT
DIALED
THE
sheriff's office as he ran to his truck. By the time he started the engine, Deputy Weathers had picked up.

“Fifth,” Clint snapped. “They're back on my land.”

“I'm on my way.”

Clint dropped the phone in the cup holder and gunned the engine. He'd seen tracks of someone on his land twice before, but none of the hands working for him had seen any strangers. No one had any business stepping one foot on his property without his permission.

He'd mentioned it to the deputy when he'd eaten breakfast with him the other day. Fifth went through all the possible reasons and Clint hadn't liked any of them. Someone might be stealing cattle. They might be messing with a few of his tests on new feeders. They might even be hunting, which Clint never allowed on his land. Too many drunken hunters couldn't tell the difference between cattle and deer. If they were on his land they'd already broken the law. Every gate leading onto his land had signs posted.

One other possibility occurred to him. He knew that Parker was protecting a girl at her place. Maybe some ex-husband or abusive boyfriend was looking for the houseguest. If so, the two women wouldn't have a chance. They had no car and probably no gun.

Parker had had art supplies shipped to him in those first few days. Maybe whoever was looking for the woman had come across Clint's address when he was trying to locate Parker and her friend.

Deputy Weathers met him at the main road.

“I called in backup.” Weathers pulled close to the pickup. “In ten minutes we'll have someone watching the back road going into your place.”

Clint nodded. “Climb in, Deputy, and I'll show you where I saw someone moving across the land. He was on foot. Looked like a soldier, armed and on full alert. I'd bet my boots it's not some guy hunting deer at night.”

Weathers parked and joined Clint in the cab. “What's your best guess?”

“Maybe someone who's been hired to destroy an experiment going on in the pasture. It's just a new piece of equipment, but there might be someone who doesn't want it on the market.” Clint had heard of rival companies corrupting research, but he'd never seen any proof of it.

“I'm thinking the stranger isn't alone. They're probably cattle thieves. They could pick up a few calves and haul them off in the back of a one-ton truck on a night like this.”

Clint shook his head. “The man I saw was carrying a rifle. He wouldn't need that to rustle beef.”

They drove awhile, crossing over pastures, without seeing any sign of hunters or rustlers.

“We're wasting time,” Clint finally admitted. “Whoever he was, he's gone now. If he came on foot, he could follow the creek bed and be off my land without making a sound.” Clint didn't add that the creek ran behind Parker's place, as well. He didn't want to get her involved if he didn't have to, but the need to protect her was strong.

“I'll come back in the morning and we'll start again,” the deputy agreed. “Who knows—it might be some guy training for jungle survival or a nut running across open land with a weapon, trying to get in shape.”

Clint grinned. “You think we got nuts like that running around here?”

Weathers swore. “I know we do. I'm related to some of them.” The deputy used his cell to report in to his backup stationed at the south gate.

Clint relaxed. Weathers was right—there was nothing more they could do tonight.

“Speaking of nuts, I once saw a man with a pie plate taped to his head,” Weathers commented as Clint drove toward the deputy's car. “He said that it kept Martians from reading his mind.”

“What did you do?” Clint asked.

“Nothing. I figured if the Martians were dumb enough to choose
his
brain to explore, I wanted to stay out of the fight. As far as I know, it's not illegal to wear a pie plate or talk to aliens.”

“You're a logical man, Fifth.”

“I used to think so, but lately I don't know.”

Clint laughed. “Madison O'Grady driving you crazy?”

Fifth turned toward Clint. “Does everyone in the county know I'm seeing her?”

“Sure. Rumor is they're taking bets at the volunteer fire department on how many inches long your first baby will be at birth.”

The deputy climbed out of Clint's truck. “Tell them not to bother. She doesn't even like me, thinks I'm an idiot, and claims she wouldn't go out with me even if I drove to Wichita Falls and asked her.”

Clint laughed. “Keep trying, Deputy. Sounds like you're making progress.”

Weathers was shaking his head as he climbed into his cruiser.

Clint turned the truck around and drove back home. Parker was waiting. Part of him wanted to be with her so badly that he thought of yelling for whoever was out there to keep roaming. He didn't plan on wasting any more time looking.

When he got back to his barn, all seemed quiet, and his Jeep was still parked in the first spot. She hadn't given up and gone home. He guessed that was a positive sign.

When he tried to lift the trapdoor, it was bolted. “Parker, let me in.” She couldn't have missed the noise of him driving up or opening the sliding barn door.

“Who is it?” she yelled back.

“It's me—Clint. Don't you recognize my voice?”

“No,” she answered. “I really haven't heard it all that much.”

“Parker, throw the bolt so I can lift this door.”

After a long pause, he heard the bolt slip. He shoved and was in his room before she changed her mind.

Parker must have jumped back because she looked startled. Then she tried to act calm, as if nothing ever got to her. As though nothing he could do or say would ever matter to her.

He fought the urge to grab her and kiss her. Damn, she was the most kissable woman he'd ever met. He even wanted to kiss her when she was complaining about him not listening to her.

“Did you find your intruder?” She folded her arms over breasts he'd already touched lightly and was looking forward to exploring a great deal more.

“No.” He moved to the sink and washed his hands, just for something to do. The sight of a stranger on his land had made adrenaline dance in his blood. He needed to calm down before he touched her.

She sat on a stool and watched him. So much for talking. He had no idea what to say to her. She probably wouldn't be interested in watching a movie or reading. And right now, she looked like she wasn't interested in touching him either.

He was about to ask if she was ready to go home, when she said, “I read some of your articles. I found them interesting. You're a good writer.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You're obviously well respected in your field. One magazine was honored to have you weigh in on their new research. In one of the bio lead-ins, I saw that you have master's degrees in both business and ranch management. I didn't even know there was a degree in that.”

He got it. He wasn't as dumb as she'd thought he was but she still didn't look interested. He was learning her finally. Parker wouldn't allow any of her emotions to show even if she was feeling something. She had to be in control.

Only he'd seen fire in her eyes when he'd touched her. A hunger when she looked at him, a need she was trying to hold back. Her battle wasn't with him; it was with herself. Even now, when he'd opened up to her, shown her his place, she was doing her best to push him away. She seemed to want to stay as frozen as one of those people in the paintings at her gallery he'd visited once.

Clint had seen her clearly that night he'd stepped into her world. The paper had announced the gallery party like it was a big event, so he figured he was invited. People were everywhere, but he'd watched only her. She moved like a queen among the artists and patrons. Her perfect white suit. Her high heels tapping across the cold marble floors. A woman in total control of her environment. A woman made of ice. He'd seen how beautiful she was that night. He'd also seen how totally alone she seemed, even in the crowd.

He'd come to offer to buy back the little sliver of land he'd sold her, but when he saw her, he'd changed his mind. He had a feeling that if she ever shattered, she'd need the little house in the middle of nowhere to run to.

Clint had left her pricey Dallas gallery without ever speaking to her. A month later, he'd offered to lease her plot in exchange for upkeep on the house. If, or when, she shattered, when she ran, he wanted to make sure she had a place to escape to.

That night Clint had seen her, really seen her. Her little farmhouse had become a project for him. She'd become a part of his silent life.

Even tonight, Parker Lacey had no idea how completely he saw her as she sat staring out the window into darkness. She seemed like she was waiting, but she wasn't sure for what.

She couldn't know that she was about to learn to breathe.

He flipped the light off and moved in front of her. The moon shone through the window, outlining them. “We've talked enough,” he whispered, as he raised his knuckles to brush her cheek. “I'll take you home when you say it's time, but right now, I think we should communicate in another way.”

She'd opened her mouth to question him, but he covered her lips with his. The kiss was soft, careful, hesitant, and she reacted as he hoped she would.

Her arms circled his neck and he pulled her off the stool and against him. Her whole body seemed to melt over him.

The kiss deepened, and her grip grew tighter. She was starving, and so was Clint. The time for talk or games or indecision was over. His lady of ice was melting.

He could feel her heart pounding against his chest as he let her know just how much he wanted her. Without breaking the kiss, he moved his hands over her and felt hunger growing inside her. He could sense that she needed to be held and touched and loved so passionately that she forgot that there were differences in their worlds.

When he finally pulled away, he took her hand and led her to the long couch. Without a word, he pulled her down with him. “I want to take my time touching you. I want to taste every part of you. That's as far as I'm going tonight, Parker.” He moved his hand down her throat all the way to between her breasts. Then he pressed firmly with his palm so he could feel the rise and fall of both her breasts against his hand.

Her breathing quickened.

“You all right with this?”

She closed her eyes and leaned back. He was offering what she hadn't known to ask for.

He leaned closer, brushing her ear with his words. “Are you all right with this, Parker? You have to answer.”

“Yes,” she said, then didn't breathe at all as his hand caressed her breast.

“Yes,” she whispered again.

There was no more need for words. He did exactly what he said he'd do. He took his time, undressing her slowly, learning every line of her slender body. She leaned into the soft leather of the sofa, raising her arms above her head, letting him prove he knew how to please a woman. Then he stood and removed his shirt and boots.

He covered her gently, letting her body take his weight. He kissed her so deeply she cried softly with pleasure as his bare chest moved over hers.

When she tugged at his belt, he laughed. “No, not yet. Not until you know exactly how I feel about you.”

When she cried out his name, he kissed her tenderly, shifted and let her cuddle into him as her breathing slowed. Then he began again, building passion one touch at a time.

The second time she lost control, letting a desire it seemed she'd never known take her, and tears ran down her cheeks.

He held her tightly, feeling so close to her that their breathing matched. Then, as he had before, he touched her lightly, letting her settle. Her skin cooled and she relaxed against him, only this time, she didn't stop holding on to him.

When she was completely relaxed, he began building a fire inside her once more. His kisses grew deeper, his touch bold. She pushed him away sleepily, but he didn't stop. All she had to say was one word and he would have taken her home, but after a moment she responded, silently telling him she wanted more.

The third time, he whispered, “Run to me, Parker. Come to me without hesitation.”

And she did, holding nothing back. He felt her passion build as though she were starving for more, demanding, needing him. She made love to him fully and he was lost.

When they finally drifted down to earth, she lay in his arms, soft and relaxed. He kept touching her, loving the dampness of her skin and the way she moved into his touch.

Without a word, he lifted her up and took her to his bed. He planned to make love to her again before dawn but now he needed to hold her.

As she drifted to sleep, his hands kept stroking her. “Spend the night with me, pretty lady,” he whispered. “Spend the rest of your life.”