The Texas Rancher's Vow

“Maybe’s she grabbing a late dinner.”

Or avoiding an early return by taking in a movie or hanging out at the Lone Star Dance Hall in Laramie. Both were pleasant ways to while away a stiflingly hot summer evening. The latter, especially, if Jen was looking for a little action….

Emmett took his car keys out of his pocket with a hand that shook slightly. “I’m going to go out and drive the road to town, anyway,” he announced with typical gallantry.

Matt didn’t want to think about his dad driving in the rain, with the moon all but obscured by the heavy cloud cover. The faint but distinct rumble of thunder was now audible. He shoved his own reluctance aside. “I’ll go. You stay here and man the phones in case Jen is in some kind of trouble.”

“Drive the entire route,” Emmett ordered. “Both of them!”

Matt nodded. He would, if only to keep his dad from getting further entangled.

* * *

I SHOULD HAVE checked the radiator before I left. At the very least refilled all the water bottles, Jen thought.

But she hadn’t.

She had simply hopped in her van and driven thirty minutes into Laramie, in the scorching hundred and ten degree heat. Her carelessness, coupled with the evaporation in a van that had been sitting in the full sun all day, with a growing leak in the radiator, had triggered the Check Engine light.

Halfway back to the Triple B, Jen had been forced to pull over into the nearest safe place—the middle of a field, just off the highway—and lift the hood, lest the van catch fire.

It was as she feared. The radiator had been bone-dry, the engine sizzling hot. Jen had poured the half bottle of water she had with her over both, then tried to call for help.

Only to find she was too far from a cell tower to get a signal.

Because it was already getting dark, and she could see storm clouds gathering in the distance, she had decided to climb back in the van and wait for help.

Only help hadn’t come.

And now, at nearly 10:00 p.m., with the wind blowing fiercely, Jen began to think she was going to have to spend the entire night out here. The notion of being stranded inside this stifling hot van, surrounded by whatever critters lurked in the deserted Texas countryside, didn’t bode well.

Worse, what had at first looked like heat lightning now appeared to be the real thing. She could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, and that made her nervous, too. In the middle of a flat field, she felt like a sitting duck.

She had read that rubber tires would absorb a lightning strike. She’d also seen Austin news reports of lightning going right through the hood of a running vehicle, decimating the motor.

Which made sense. The exterior was metal, after all.

Metal attracted lightning.

But she would be no safer outside the vehicle, because then she would have no protection whatsoever. So, heaven help her, she had to stay inside and try not to be scared witless. Wait…was that a truck going down the road?

Jen hit the horn—hard—but it wasn’t necessary. The pickup had already swerved around, and the headlamps swept the van.

The truck accelerated, coming right for her.

That quickly, the lightning—which had seemed so far away—lit up the dark sky with a bright yellow flash and a simultaneous clap of thunder that was so darn loud it had Jen nearly jumping out of her skin.

Tears sprang into her eyes as it was followed by a second lightning bolt and even louder rumble of thunder. Not that it seemed to bother the driver. The pickup circled around as the sky opened up and the rain poured down in fierce sheets. The vehicle did a U-turn and came back, stopping alongside her van. The passenger door swung open.

Matt Briscoe was clearly illuminated.

Jen had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Or embarrassed. Of all the people to rescue her…

He leaned over. “Get in!”

That would mean hopping across six feet of field, exposed to the storm. “I…” Am scared witless!

Too scared, in fact, to move.

Matt’s glance cut to the lifted hood on her van—the age-old sign of a vehicle in trouble. “Don’t argue!” he commanded, even more fiercely. “Just do it!”

Another bolt of lightning slashed down, striking a distant fence post. Fire flashed, splinters flew. A split second later, the thunder was deafening.

Jen didn’t have to be told twice. She wanted out of there. Now! After shoving her keys and phone into her purse, she jumped out of the van, slammed the driver’s door shut behind her and then dashed through the pouring rain to his vehicle.

Matt reached out and helped pull her inside the truck as yet another bolt of lightning struck the ground, an even shorter distance away.

Jen slammed the door.

“Hold on!” he said, shifting the truck into Drive.

Seconds later, they were bumping across the field toward the rural highway. While Jen scrambled to put on her safety belt, Matt drove through the pouring rain with a sure, steady hand.

Eventually, the worst of the lightning and thunder was behind them. He slowed.

“Might help to breathe,” he said.

He was right, Jen realized belatedly. She had been holding her breath. She let it out, then sucked in a rush of air that did little to dispel the tension coiled inside her.

She blotted the rain from her face with the backs of her hands. Pretty sure her mascara was running, she reached into her handbag for a tissue and dabbed it beneath her eyes. Feeling marginally better, she dropped the soiled tissue back in her purse, then cleared her throat, still trying to calm down. “How did you know where to find me?”

Matt shrugged, his broad shoulders straining against the soft cotton of his shirt. “If you were coming back from town, I figured you’d be on this road.” He paused to send her a brief, probing glance. “The question is, what were you doing parked in that field?” He turned his attention back to the road. “If you were broken down, why didn’t you call for help?”

I wished I could have called you.

Aware that she felt safer than she had in a long while, being here with him, she gestured out the window. “No cell phone reception.”

Matt’s lips compressed. “Yeah, coverage is spotty this far out of town.” His strong, capable hands clasped the wheel. “We have it on the ranch because we put up our own tower. Most don’t.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

He looked her over, taking in her windswept hair and rain-splattered skirt and blouse. “What was wrong with your van?”

There was concern in his eyes. A protectiveness that shouldn’t mean anything to her.

She feigned indifference—to both the situation and his gallantry—while she rubbed at the splatters of mud on her bare calves. “The radiator has a leak.” Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat again. “I didn’t check it before I left because I had just filled it yesterday afternoon, when I got here. But what was in there must have mostly evaporated.”

He scowled. “It’ll do that in this kind of weather, when there’s a leak.”

“Yeah, well, now I know that.” Jen sighed, her emotions roiling.

She squared her shoulders and tugged her skirt down, trying to prove to him that she was one hundred percent in charge of the situation, when of course she wasn’t. She didn’t seem to be in charge of anything when it came to Matt Briscoe.

Swallowing, she continued weakly, “I have no idea whose property I pulled off on….”

He shot her an evocative look. “The Armstrong ranch.”

Jen shivered in the cool air blowing out of the vents. Her blouse was damp, her arms bare. She ran her palms over her skin in an effort to warm herself. “I hope they don’t mind.”

Matt leaned forward to adjust the controls. Then his gaze drifted over her again. “I’m sure they won’t.”

Jen looked away from his handsome profile, the masculine set of his jaw. Aware that her nipples had pebbled—and he had definitely noticed—she crossed her arms in front of her and did her best to discreetly pluck the fabric away from her breasts. “How old is this pickup?”

Matt slowed as they neared the iron gate of the Triple B. “Sixteen years, give or take.”

Jen drew a shuddering breath. “It’s in really nice condition.” The bench seat seemed to have new leather. The dash and doors were equally pristine. Unfortunately, she had tracked mud onto the floor mat.

His large capable hands circling the wheel, he turned effortlessly into the lane. “Thanks.”

They traveled up the driveway in silence. “So it’s yours?” she asked when they finally reached the house, aware that—rational or not—she didn’t want this time with him to end.

“Yep.” Matt parked close to the porch and cut the motor. He eyed the pouring rain with a frown.

In no hurry to emerge from the cab and get soaked again, either, Jen relaxed in her seat and flashed a small smile. “How long have you had it?”

Matt released the buckle on his safety belt. “Since I got my learner’s permit.” With a sentimental gleam in his eyes, he admitted, “I learned to drive in it.”

Made sense, Jen mused. Years ago, this sturdy Ford 250 would have been the perfect vehicle for him. Now, when he could afford whatever he wanted…

Curiously, she asked, “What else do you drive?” She tried to picture him in a small, trendy sports car, and just couldn’t see it.

One hand resting on the steering wheel, Matt turned toward her. His knee nudged hers, sending another thrill pulsing through her still chilled, overstimulated body. “This is it. Unless it’s in the shop, and then I drive one of the other ranch vehicles. Whatever’s available. Doesn’t matter.”

Jen turned toward him, too.

The porch lights bathed the truck in a circle of warm yellow light, but the windows had already begun to steam up again, giving them a measure of warmth and privacy.

“I can’t believe we have that in common.”

He studied her, interest lighting his eyes. “You learned to drive in that van?”

“Yes.” Needing something to hold on to, Jen curled her fingers around the strap of her shoulder bag. “It belonged to my dad.” She struggled against the poignancy of the moment. “He used it for his housepainting business. I inherited it when he died. And now I use it for the gallery.”

Matt didn’t touch her, but something in the way he looked at her was at least that intimate.

“So it’s sentiment rather than finances that prompts you to keep it,” he guessed finally. “Even though it’s clearly on its last however many miles.”

“Three hundred thousand,” Jen informed him ruefully, glad Matt seemed to understand what few others did about her attachment to the vehicle. “But…yes.”

Another silence fell.

She noted his bemused expression and realized it would be so easy to take this to the next level and succumb to a kiss. For their mutual protection, she drew on formality to douse the spark of attraction between them.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She released a shaky breath, and couldn’t help but add honestly, “I wouldn’t have expected it.” Any more than I would have expected this flood of desire rushing through me.

“Don’t go thanking me too much.” His response was polite enough, but she heard the steel undertone. “It wasn’t my idea. It was my dad’s.” Matt grimaced. “I just didn’t want him out on the roads.”

If Matt meant to push her away, after just drawing her close, he had succeeded.

“Well, thanks for clearing that up,” Jen said wryly as she picked up her bag and reached for the door handle. She planned to make her escape—even if it was still pouring rain. Of course, as luck would have it, the door was locked. And the button that would open it not all that easy to find. Especially in the semidarkness.

Not done with her yet, Matt caught her hand and pulled her around to face him again. His mouth quirked.

“At least that’s what I told myself initially,” he said softly, resting his right arm on the seat behind her. “But it wasn’t the truth.” His other hand came up to cup her face. “I was worried about you, too.”

Jen’s heart took a little leap as his words sank in.

Matt threaded his hand through her hair, and this time his gaze met hers without hesitation or resignation. “I’m glad I found you.”

Chapter Five

Matt wasn’t a guy who’d ever really been in touch with his emotional side. Probably had something to do with the toughness required of him as a kid, when he’d been dealing with his mom’s illness. All he knew for certain was that when it came time to feel something, he usually shut down, dealt with the practical aspect, and then moved on.

That attitude had served him well. Kept him from getting entangled. Until now. Jen made him want to stick around. At least long enough to kiss her again, find out if the chemistry was as potent as the first time they’d locked lips. To see if she felt as good pressed up against him.

Because if she did—if it hadn’t been his imagination—then they were both in a whole heck of a lot of trouble. The kind that could make their lives damn complicated….

Jen knew Matt was going to kiss her. Knew that if she had a lick of sense she would put a hand against his chest; shove him away. After all, it was imperative that she stick every barrier she could find between them.

Instead, she splayed her fingers across his hard pecs and sighed as he came even closer. Head tilted, eyes at half-mast, lips parting, she was already giving in.

And then it was too late. His mouth was on hers, and her fingers were curling into the fabric of his shirt as he took her to her own little corner of heaven and kept her there.

With a low murmur of acquiescence, she slid across the bench seat. Arms clasped around her, he tugged her closer, anchoring her hard against him. Together, they deepened the kiss, tongues tangling, thighs bumping, breaths meshing. He slanted his mouth over hers and took everything she had to give, and she demanded everything he had in return. He was more than happy to comply. One hand in her hair, the other brushing the swell of her breast, he kissed her deep and slow. Bringing forth all the emotions she never knew existed, the emotions that told her it wasn’t too late, for her to be wanted, loved, needed. Just like this. She could be so turned on that nothing mattered but this instant in time…. And that was when the cell phone rang.

Jarring them right back to reality.

The fantasy of the moment broken, Matt swore under his breath.

Knowing this was crazy, that they were way too different…and no good would come of it, Jen tensed and pulled away.

Feeling flustered, she shoved her hands through her hair then pressed a palm to her trembling lips. What was she thinking?

They were parked in front of the Triple B ranch house! The home of one of her patrons. They’d been kissing and groping and on the verge of recklessly doing more for heaven only knew how long!

It had felt like too short a time. And yet, judging by the thudding of her heart and the way the truck windows were steamed up, that kiss they had just shared had gone on for way, way too long.

She was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of his incessantly ringing phone.

Grimacing, Matt unhooked the device from his belt, punched a button on the lit screen and lifted it to his ear. “Yeah, Dad. No. Everything is fine. I found her. We were just waiting until the rain died down a minute before coming in.” He winced. “Yeah, I can see that it has. Be right there.”

Matt ended the call.

Jen hadn’t felt this embarrassed since she was a teenager. She summed up their predicament with one word. “Busted.” Then bit down on an oath.

Matt shrugged off her concern. “He’s not going to know.”

“Really.” Jen felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. She slid her gaze from the implacable expression on his face to the front of his jeans.

This time Matt flushed, too.

Suddenly looking as sheepish as she felt, he adjusted his jeans. “Give me a minute.”

The front door opened. Emmett stepped out on the front porch. It was all Jen could do not to groan out loud.

“We don’t have a minute!” Jen muttered.

Emmett Briscoe might be Matt’s dad, but he was her client, so she took the lead.

She grabbed her handbag and the things she’d picked up in town, and vaulted from the truck. Fortunately, the rain had started to let up. “Sorry if you were worried about me.”

Matt rounded the front of the pickup and mounted the steps beside her.

To cover her embarrassment, Jen kept right on babbling. “My radiator quit working. I had to pull off the road…. There was no cell phone reception. Then the storm came, and there was lightning all over the field I was parked in….”

Matt stood beside her, hands braced on his waist. His expression as implacable as ever, he picked up where she left off, in an enviably calm tone. “Luckily, I found her and got her out of there.”

“We drove back here,” Jen continued, modestly holding her damp blouse away from her breasts. “And here we are.” Fighting to cover up what we just felt. Which was all-out passion and lust, and a compelling need to be closer, that had stunned both of them.

Emmett was studying her face. Then Matt’s. Then hers again.

“No need to pretend with me,” he said finally. “I don’t mind if you two feel a few sparks. In fact—” he grinned “—I’d like nothing more than to see my son get involved with a woman I know his mother would approve of.”

Matt cleared his throat and slanted Jen a protective look that was oddly thrilling. “Dad!”

“It’s true, son. Your mother—who I firmly believe is looking down at us from heaven—would love it if you were to marry an artist.”

Jen was so startled by the suggestion that she dropped everything in her hands. The bag from the drugstore split, and the necessary toiletries went all over the porch, along with most of the items in her handbag. “Marry!” she rasped. She knelt down to collect everything.

Matt waved off his father’s aid and hunkered down, too, his denim-clad knee brushing her bare one.

His glance slid to the hem of her skirt, which, thanks to the way she was positioned, hovered at midthigh.

Lazily, he picked up lipstick, perfume, van keys and her cell phone. Jen collected the hand cream and sunscreen.

“Obviously, Dad’s been hitting the whiskey,” Matt drawled.

Still in matchmaking mode, Emmett chuckled. “You only wish.”

“Then you should.” Finished, Matt stood and offered Jen a hand up. “Because you’re talking crazy,” he told his father.

Emmett shrugged off the observation, then turned and walked inside the house, his gait unusually slow. But he looked, Jen thought, absolutely sober.

He tossed a look at them over his shoulder as he headed through the living room to the bar. “Anyone care to join me?”

Jen shivered in the air-conditioning as she entered.

Matt looked at her, saw what she’d been trying to hide earlier. His manner matter-of-fact, he grabbed a soft cashmere throw off the leather sofa and draped it chivalrously over her shoulders.

Only the heat in his gaze told of his continuing awareness.

Jen knew exactly how he felt.

She wanted to kiss him again, too.

Matt headed toward his dad. “Whiskey sounds good,” he told him, then turned back to her. “Jen?”

Maybe a drink would help ease the pounding of her heart. She nodded. “Yes, please.”

Emmett got down three glasses and poured an inch of whiskey in each.

Matt brought Jen’s to her.

Outside, the storm intensified, lightning and thunder coming near once more.

Inside, silence fell, more awkward than ever.

Nervously, Jen jumped in to fill the void. “So your wife was a patron of the arts, I gather?” she asked Emmett.

The silence became poignant. The older man moved to study the photos of his late wife gracing the mantel. “She was an artist herself. Most of her paintings were western landscapes, although she did some of Matt and me, when he was a baby.”

Aware that she hadn’t noticed any paintings when she was touring the house, Jen asked, “Do you have any of her work here?”

Emmett returned to the bar and poured himself another two fingers of whiskey. “All her paintings are here.”

Matt slouched on the sofa. The worry on his face made Jen want to reassure him. “She never showed her work,” he interjected, looking a little heartbroken, too.

Jen understood. Grief was a hard thing to master. It came and went in waves, often at the most unexpected times.

Emmett sipped his drink slowly. “Margarite wasn’t interested in what the critics said.”

“Nor did she want to put a price on her art,” Matt murmured, setting his empty tumbler on his denim-clad thigh.

“I can understand that,” Jen replied, cupping her glass in her hands.

There was something about bringing someone else in to judge what you had done. It could change the way you felt about your art—when it shouldn’t. And Margarite hadn’t needed the money to live, the way Jen did.

Still, she knew that beautiful art was meant to be shared.

It was part of the legacy Margarite had left behind.

Something else her family could treasure.

Jen sent a hopeful glance in Emmett’s direction. “I’d like to see them.”

He assented with a nod. “Tomorrow morning,” he promised. “Now, if the two of you don’t mind, I’m going to call it a night.”

“Did I upset him?” Jen asked Matt, after his dad had ambled off, second glass of whiskey in hand.

Matt studied the bottom of his glass. “Talking about Mom always makes him sad. He misses her.”

The whiskey that warmed her inside also loosened her mountain of inhibitions, making Jen bold enough to sink down next to Matt, still clutching the ivory cashmere throw around her shoulders. “What about you? Do you miss her, too?”

He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “I try not to think about it.”

The burn of the alcohol was nothing compared to the fire in his eyes, when he finally lifted his head.

Jen sighed. “That’s not an answer.”

Annoyance flickered across his face. Cocking his head, he studied her for a long moment. “Do you miss your dad?”

Jen shrugged, aware that the mixture of curiosity and pique between them seemed to go both ways. “I miss the good things,” she admitted finally, aware that her grief was a lot more complicated than his.

She swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat. “I don’t miss the intermittent chaos my dad’s alcoholism created in our lives.” She was glad that was gone.

Matt raised a brow and waited for her gaze to meet his. “That was honest.”

She compressed her lips. “It is what it is.” Once she had started accepting the bad with the good, and lowered her expectations accordingly, life had become a lot easier.

She wanted it to stay easy.

Unfortunately, there was nothing about Matt—except his propensity for kissing her like there was no tomorrow—that was anything near easy.

He was complicated.

Maybe the most complicated man she had ever met.

But, intuition told her, worth knowing. And knowing well.

A small smile curved his sexy mouth. His gaze roved over her mussed, rain-dampened hair. He looked at her as if he knew of her inner battle. “I like your candor.”

“When it’s about me.” Feeling a little empowered, and a lot feistier, Jen turned toward him, her blanket-draped knee brushing his thigh. “Not,” she stated bluntly, “when it’s about you.”

Matt chuckled and set both their glasses aside. Still grinning, he reached inside the throw to capture one of her hands. “That’s because you don’t know as much as you think you do.”

The warmth of his touch sent a thrill rippling through her. “Then tell me something I don’t know.” And need to know to understand you.

He shrugged. “I’ve never been in love.”

Jen couldn’t say she was surprised about that. Love would have left him vulnerable. “Me, either.”