Still Irresistible

That was a pure trap. The grass always seemed greener in the next pasture, until you got there and found the same goat heads and dry patches you’d thought you’d escaped.

The truth was that he and Callie plain rubbed each other the wrong way.

They sure as hell used to rub each other right.

“Yes? Is something funny?” Dahlia asked.

“Uh, no.” He didn’t expect to be laughing anytime soon.

“Maybe I’ll go up and see what’s keeping them.” Before she left, she poured him more tea.

What could Deck do but drink it?

2

STARTING DOWN THE HALL of the owner’s quarters, Callie noticed her father’s bedroom door ajar, so she set down her bag and the basket and tapped before leaning in. “Dad?”

“Huh?” Her father sat up on the bed. “Uh…Oh, sweetheart, you’re here…good deal.” He sounded groggy.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“Just waking up.” He pushed out of bed to hug her, then regarded her warmly. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Seeing you in the doorway, you looked just like Colleen when we first met.”

“I’m glad,” she said, happy to resemble her mother, though the reminder made her ache. “I miss her, too, Dad.” Tears made her nose sting. How stupid.

“What you resist persists.” The school counselor kept saying that whenever Callie tried to escape her probing questions. She’d itched to get away. Run, run, get out was her mantra. Leaving for college had been the first moment of true relief.

She lunged in for another hug, noticing that instead of the usual Old Spice, her father smelled of eucalyptus and menthol. “Are you wearing liniment?”

“It’s an ointment for arthritis Dahlia cooked up.”

“You have arthritis?”

“I’m a little stiff in the mornings is all. It’s nothing. I think herbs are fine for teas and face goop, but for curing you? Not so much. It makes Dahlia happy, so I use it.”

“That’s kind of you.” She felt the same way he did about herbal remedies.

“It’s so good to have you back,” he said, looking her over tenderly. “When you’re here, the place feels right again.”

She stiffened. What an odd thing to say. He never talked like that. Five months after her mother’s death, he’d insisted Callie go to New York University as planned, even when she claimed she wasn’t ready, which was a lie. She’d been worried about him living all alone. Her father would not hear of it. It was her mother’s dream for her daughter, and he would be busy working the ranch. She belonged in college, period. She had her own life, and her independence made him proud.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” she asked gently.

“Not at all. I’m just sentimental these days.” He waved away her concern. “I hate to drag you away from your business, but I really appreciate your taking the place to hand.”

“I’m happy to do it, Dad. My partner can pick up the slack while I’m gone.” Stefan owed her the favor, after all.

For being a cheating rat.

But that was another story.

“I’ll expand my expertise, too, so that’s good for my career. I’m anxious to dig in. I’ve got two contractors giving bids—tomorrow and the day after.”

“Whoa, now. Give yourself some time to relax, huh?”

“I saw the spreadsheets, Dad,” she gently reminded him. “We’re drowning in debt. Valhalla Investments expects quick action, too. We have to watch the timing for travel calendars for our launch. The pieces are like dominoes. Everything has to click into place. No time to lay back or slow down.”

She was armed with research, a plan, funding and a consultant known worldwide for her resort makeovers. She’d declared the ranch makeover “cookbook”—mostly marketing and promotion, which Callie knew cold—and would be a phone call away. What Callie couldn’t learn, she’d hire experts to do.

“We’ll see how it goes, huh?” her father said. “Maybe you’ll stay to run the place.”

She caught her breath. He had to be joking. “Very funny, Dad.” Not in a million years. Her plan was to get in, get out, not get tangled up in memory and emotion. This was like any assignment, just longer range. She’d be here four to six months, but she’d keep her head and be fine.

“I know you have a lot going on in New York.” This new wistfulness tugged at Callie. He always swore he was busy and happy. She tracked him closely, but she had the feeling he sometimes put on a show for her benefit.

“Come on, you two! Tea’s getting cold!” Dahlia sang to them from the base of the stairs.

“Be right down,” her father called, then spoke to Callie. “She’s worried you won’t like her. She’s been reading books about stepkids and losing a parent and what all.”

“She doesn’t need to do that. If you like her, I’ll like her.” She was determined to.

“I’m sure it’s tough to see me with another woman.”

“You’re forgetting I was the one who got you dating.”

“But now it’s real. That’s got to feel strange. You know that no one could replace your mother, right?”

“Of course not.”

“I love her, Callie. I was asleep and Dahlia woke me up. Thank God you both hounded me.”

“She hounded you?”

“After our date, she kept calling until I answered the phone to get it over with. And here I am. I’m so glad she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Sounds like she stalked you.” She laughed, but the idea gave her a twinge of worry.

“That’s what it took to shake me out of my trance. I had to see that I wouldn’t find another Colleen, but that I didn’t have to be alone, either.” He did look happy, if a little bewildered.

Her father led her down the stairs toward Dahlia, who waited with a huge and nervous smile. “Here they come, father and daughter. Just look at the two of you, together at last.”

The woman was enthusiastic. Callie had to give her that, though Callie felt worn out and they’d barely met.

“You look so much alike,” Dahlia said, looking from one to the other. “You have your father’s eyes, Calissa.”

Calissa. Only her mother called her by her full name. It hit her ear all wrong. “Thank you. And I go by Callie,” she said gently. Besides, everyone said Callie was the spitting image of her mother, not her father.

She did not need to be so effusive. Callie was grateful Dahlia had rescued her father from a loneliness he hadn’t admitted to himself, let alone to Callie. Thanks to Dahlia, once the ranch was back on track, Callie could return to New York without the constant worry that her father was sad and alone.

Dahlia led them to the kitchen where Callie was startled to see Deck rise from the table. What was he doing here? She wasn’t ready for another encounter.

“I wanted to fill you in on Brandy, Cal.”

Her father turned to Callie. “I thought we’d all go for a trail ride before supper. She good for the ride?” he asked Deck.

“Afraid not. Not for a new rider, anyway.”

“That’s a shame.” Her father turned to Dahlia. “I guess you’ll have to ride another horse tonight, darlin’.”

“Why don’t you three go ahead? I don’t have the right clothes here and I have dinner to prepare.”

“Your lentil soup just needs to simmer, doesn’t it?”

“There are side dishes. Lots and lots to do. You three go on and have fun.” She sounded nervous.

“I’ll stay and help you,” her father said. “Guess it’s just you two this time.” He nodded from Deck to Callie.

“You game?” Deck asked her with a smart-ass grin. “Or have you been in the city too long?”

“I can ride a horse, Deck,” she said, rising to his bait. She hadn’t ridden since seventh grade and wasn’t interested in starting up again. Certainly not with Deck, not as sexually jumpy as he made her feel. “I need a tour of the ranch. It might as well be on horseback.”

“Will an hour give you enough time to get grimy and start smelling like manure?”

“What?” Cal asked. Dahlia laughed uneasily.

“A half hour is more than enough, Deck.”

Mischief gleamed in the man’s eyes, as if he’d won a battle she hadn’t known she was in.

“Maybe you can help Callie take it down a notch,” her father said. “She’s still got that horns-down, mad-charge New York way about her.”

“I don’t think Callie wants to take it down a notch,” Deck replied.

“Would you two please not talk like I’m not here,” she said, trying to act amused instead of annoyed. “I know exactly what notch I’m on and how long I want to be there.” What the hell was she saying?

“I’ll meet you in the corral in an hour.” Deck tipped his hat to her. “Cal, we need you at the zoning meeting tonight. The vote will be tight.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be there.”

“’Night then,” Deck said and turned to leave.

Callie took in his departing backside, the jeans molded to his ass, one pocket worn from his wallet. His boots made his walk loose and slow and he’d grown broader. Eleven years ago, he’d been a boy. Now he was all man.

“Callie?”

“Huh?” She jerked her head to Dahlia, who must have said something to her she missed.

“I said, honey in your tea?”

“Sure, sure,” she said, sitting down, gathering her wits.

Dahlia handed her a mug and Callie caught a whiff of peppermint. The good tea, according to Deck. With honey, it wasn’t half-bad. He’d been right about that.

“Anyway, I’m so glad you’re taking this pressure from your father’s shoulders,” Dahlia said to Callie. She squeezed Callie’s father’s hand on the table. “This place has aged him.”

“Is that true, Dad?” Callie asked. “Is the ranch too much for you?” Had he hidden that from her, too?

“The Triple C will always be home. I need time for more now, that’s all.” He patted Dahlia’s hand and the woman blushed. “Dahlia’s getting me out and about. We’d like to travel—see Europe and India. I’ve been stuck in a rut.” He looked into Dahlia’s eyes and she looked back in an equally moony way.

Callie glanced down, embarrassed. She sipped her tea, aware of the tingle of alarm fighting to get through the syrupy sweetness of the scene. Was she just a cynical New Yorker? She so wanted her father to be happy and well. She set her mug down with a clunk. The love birds startled and looked her way.

“So…” Dahlia said brightly, “Rancho de Descanso…what a great concept. As soon as you have your logo, we can make up labels with ‘Exclusive from Dahlia’s Desert Delights’ for the products. Do you have the design yet?”

“A graphics team is working on it right now, but—”

“Just let me know. We’ll want compatible designs and—”

“Let’s not overwhelm her, Dahlia,” her father said, putting his arm around Dahlia’s shoulder. “She barely got here.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so thrilled.”

“Did you put in the flower pots outside?” Callie said to shift topics before the woman offered her a facial. “They really brighten up the entrance.”

“Yes. Some herbs I need for my tinctures and teas. My own garden is jammed to the netting.”

“What are the purple and pink flowers shaped like bells?”

“Those are foxglove. The small white ones are sweet woodruff. Both have healing uses. Western medicine relies on synthetic compounds to an alarming degree. It’s such a shame to ignore nature’s bounty.”

“I suppose it can seem that way.” She smiled, then caught her father’s gaze. They were both humoring Dahlia. “I should get upstairs and unpack and change, I guess, since I’m going for a ride.” She sighed.

“Rosalie put extra towels in your bathroom and a blanket for your bed,” her father said. “Holler if you need anything.”

At the second-floor landing, she paused to look down at the spectacular great room, where a middle-aged man read a paperback novel from the small ranch library.

Her mother’s classic taste stood the test of time. Raw beams and stone fireplaces were popular in the newer guest ranches. Callie would replace the worn furniture and add some contemporary art, but her mother’s choice of Navajo rugs, Tohono O’odham baskets and exquisite wood pieces still looked great. She’d keep the kerosene lighting, too, as a rustic touch.

Upstairs, Callie entered the pink-princess glory of her room with the usual knot in her chest. Her mother had been happy to create the girlie oasis of canopy bed and French provincial furniture Callie wanted. She never let Callie suffer for their choice to live in the boondocks.

The room was full of mementos—riding trophies, dried corsages, cheerleading photos and awards. The bureau still held the prom shot of her and Taylor—who’d recently gotten divorced, her father had mentioned. She could turn the room into a true guest room, but she knew her father would be upset by the change.

She picked up the candid of her mother and her at that last Halloween party. They were dressed as witches and they had their heads together laughing.

A bottomless ache came over Callie, making her sink to the bed. She hated this. It had been eleven years. Get over it.

Her mother could always find a reason to celebrate. She hosted parties and town events like crazy. Until the last one. Her mother had been returning from Phoenix, her car jammed with stuff for Callie’s eighteenth birthday bash, when she fell asleep on a lonely stretch of I-10.

As if that horror hadn’t been enough, Callie had read the newspaper story, where a witness vividly described the highway littered with foil banners, crepe paper, appetizers and paper plates. “It looked like a party had exploded on the road.” The words and the picture they drew remained branded in Callie’s brain.

To spare Callie’s feelings, they’d held the funeral two days after her birthday, but it hadn’t helped. She’d ignored her birthday ever after, avoided the subject with friends. No one knew, and she liked it that way.

Callie slipped the photo into the drawer—no point torturing herself—and opened her suitcase on the bed. Throwing open her closet door, she surveyed the fashion mistakes she’d left when she headed for college, including the ridiculously slutty dress Taylor had bought—sequined fake snakeskin she’d managed to only wear once. Her old jeans were there and the never-worn Stetson her dad had bought her to try to coax her back into riding.

Glancing at her watch, she decided to unpack later. Instead, she’d make a couple of quick calls. The first was to touch base with Finn Markham, head of Valhalla Investments, the company funding the resort, pinning down his visit to the property. She wanted to talk to him about possibly buying the riverside acres. The proceeds would offer a financial margin in case they took too long to turn the revenue corner. Raw land wasn’t as valuable as developed land, but it was an option worth considering.

Getting voice mail, she left a message, then took a calming breath before punching in the number to Be There Events, the company she and Stefan had built together.

“Hello, Callie,” he answered gravely. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Ready to dig in,” she said cheerfully, irritated by the drama in his tone. “How’s it going there?”

“The usual craziness. We miss you.”

Oh, lighten up. She was the injured party, but Stefan was the one who’d been moping around ever since. So much for easy, simple sex. They both lived for their work, so hooking up had been easy. But not simple three years later, when she learned Stefan was sleeping with a model from one of their events.

“Do you have questions?” she asked. “Everything clear?”

“Your notes are great. An idiot could handle this. And I sure qualify as one of those.”

“Don’t, Stefan. It’s over and done. I told you no hard feelings.” Not many feelings at all, she’d realized, which appalled her. When he’d confessed the affair, she’d been…numb.

Her pride was wounded, sure, but her heart was undamaged. It reminded her of the time she fell off Lucky when she was ten. She’d hit the ground and braced for agonizing pain. It never came. She’d been jarred, slightly bruised, but otherwise fine. She got up and rode off, virtually unscathed.

“It means nothing,” Stefan had said of the affair.

Then why do it? She knew why. What they had together wasn’t enough. For either of them, it turned out. She’d initiated the breakup. Stefan protested, but hollowly. He seemed to be reading the lines from the script for Cheating Lover, the Play.

She’d been too troubled to act her part. Even before Stefan, she’d been a no-strings girl, but now she feared she’d been protecting her heart so long, it had lost function. The heart was a muscle, after all. Without proper use, it could atrophy, become crippled.

She’d realized to her shock that she might not have the capacity for a lifelong love.

“What else can I do to help you?” Stefan said.

“Hold down the fort. That’s plenty for now.” When she got back they would talk. Before the breakup, she’d decided it was time to move on. She loved events, but Stefan wanted more publicity and marketing projects. She’d decided to follow up on the open invitation from Ogden, Rush & Tillman, a high-profile PR firm, to launch their special-events division, handily bounding several rungs up the success ladder.

She was finished with Be There Events. When a thing was over, you left. That was her philosophy. Never get stale, never get stuck. Done is done.

That was why she loved New York. There was always a place to go, a leap to risk, a challenge to meet. The affair had come at a good time, all things considered. Though she would have rather not discovered the crippled-heart part.

Finished with the phone, she saw she had time for a quick shower. She tied her hair back to keep it dry and stepped under the hot stream, letting the water uncoil her tension. Too bad she had to gear up for the horseback ride with Deck. She pictured his flashing grin, the knowing light in his blue eyes, the perfect curve of his ass, his big hands and where they might wander if he were here right now…mmmm.

Later, girl. She’d brought her ultrafancy vibrator—a gift from her girlfriends after the breakup—to handle her carnal needs for the next few months. If only she and Deck didn’t have a history. A mindless affair would be the perfect relief from the stress of the monumental work ahead.

Nothing with Deck could ever be mindless, she knew, though her body kept insisting she give it a try.

Forget it. Her focus was on the ranch. The construction intimidated her, but her consultant had pointed out it was like any project. You made a plan, hired good people, watched the dollars and the details and it all worked out. Tomorrow she’d begin with a meeting with the first contractor.

Tonight she had to get through a sunset ride with Deck.

3

THE SUN HAD STREAKED the sky with color when Callie marched down the porch, her red leather boots clicking sharply against the wooden steps, the fringe on her matching jacket swinging free. She’d only worn this once to a Western-themed client event and wanted to get some use out of it. She’d dressed for wow factor, wanting to off-balance Deck a bit.

Beneath the jacket, she wore a white scoop-necked stretch top. On her head was her Stetson, bright white, spanking new.

Her stone-washed jeans hugged her hips and legs so tightly she could barely draw breath.

A mistake, she realized, standing on the porch. She had to get her legs up and over the barrel of a horse’s rib cage. Bad move. She turned to go change, but Deck called her name.

She’d just make these jeans work like the rest of her plan. She would ease into the ranch changes, break the news about selling off the livestock, and hope she could keep Deck on the team through the changeover.

When she got close enough, Deck deliberately thumbed his hat high up his forehead and whistled. “Niiice,” he said, “though I wouldn’t waltz in front of any bulls in all that red if I were you.”

Terrific. He was making fun of her.

“Those pants look downright painful.” He ran his eyes down her length, making her aware that he was a man and she was in skintight jeans that hugged her ass and pinched her sex—which got worse the longer he looked her over. “How do you even move?”

“I manage,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining,” Deck said, his low tone and lazy gaze telling her the answer to her earlier question. Yeah, he still found her attractive. Arousal rolled through her. At least she wasn’t alone.

She climbed stiffly up the fence to sit on the top slat, acting as casually as she could manage. She’d have to drop onto her horse from up here. Throwing a leg up and over would snap a femur, she was sure. Deck tracked her every move.

Brandy gave an irritated snort. “Easy, girl.” Deck ran a hand down the horse’s neck. “I’ll ride Brandy, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” She was glad not to have to manage a horse so fresh to the saddle until she saw the horse Deck had chosen for her. Gray and swaybacked, with a low-hanging head and white hairs around its eyes and lips, the poor beast looked dead on its hooves. “This is my horse? He’s ancient.”

“Wiley’s older, but he’s steady and even tempered, which is what we need.”

“You think I need an old, slow horse?” she said testily.

“Brandy needs an old, slow horse.” He shook his head, smiling. Gotcha. Why was she like this around him? “Now if you want more of a challenge, be my guest…” He gestured at Brandy.

“I don’t want to interfere with your training.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” he said, not fooled by her fib. She hated that he saw right through her. Mostly because she couldn’t return the favor.

She scooted along the fence closer to the sagging spine of her horse. Reading her movements, Deck steered Wiley nearer. She dropped into the saddle, her jeans straining as her legs spread over Wiley’s ribs. She accepted the reins from Deck, then urged Wiley into a walk to get back her seat.

Deck opened the gate, then untied Brandy. “You ready for a ride, girl?” he murmured in a hypnotic tone, smoothing the horse with his broad palm, masterful and gentle, as if he understood each twitch of muscle, twist of tendon. “You are ready, aren’t you, girl?” He was wooing the horse. “You want a ride, don’t you? You want it, huh? Yeah, you do.”

Please stop. The words were making her hot. Any second, she’d blurt, “Yes! Yes I want it. I want it bad.”

Finally Deck swung smoothly onto Brandy’s back. The horse went still, reared, staggered backward, then lurched around the corral.

Callie tried to turn Wiley out of the way, but Brandy was too fast and banged into her horse’s rump. Wiley lunged forward, throwing Callie onto his neck. Her hat flew off and her pubic bone slammed into the saddle pommel. She yelped as pain burned through her.

“You okay?” Deck called, more worried about her than the rearing, spinning beast beneath him.

“I’m fine,” she choked out, needing to rub her bruised spot, but not wanting to do it in front of Deck.

“Hold tight. We’ll be back after we burn off some energy.” Deck leaned over Brandy’s neck and she took off out of the gate in a streak of shining muscle. Deck gave the horse her head, and they flew west across the field, making Callie’s heart lift at the beauty of horse and rider silhouetted against the changing colors of the sunset sky.

A horse running full out was an amazing sight. It was the fire, the energy, the way the creature’s whole being seemed focused on the run, like its heart would burst with the joy of it. Callie’s chest tightened. How had she forgotten this wonder?

Horse and rider were small in the distance when they finally swung back her way. By the time they reached the gate, Deck had Brandy in a relaxed lope and guided her effortlessly into the corral. Near the far fence, he leaned down to scoop up Callie’s Stetson, easy as a rodeo star. He returned to settle it on her head. His gaze took a lazy trip down her body, making her want to wiggle in the saddle. “You all set?”

She nodded. Soon they were on their way, riding in silence at first. Clouds to the west glowed pink, orange and purple. The air held a slight chill, and a light breeze carried the green scent of the Rio Feliz their way.