Still Irresistible

“We can go faster if you want,” she said. “I’m okay.”

“Slow and easy is fine.” He looked at her. “You were never much for taking your time.”

Her mind flashed on their frantic nights in each other’s arms. She swallowed hard. “Not usually, no.”

“If you rush, you miss things.”

“If you don’t rush, you miss things.”

He chuckled. “Ah, but when you slow down you catch all the details. You take it all in, enjoy every second, every inch.”

God, was he talking about sex? Or was she just fixated? She got that shivery feeling again. It didn’t help that the seam of her jeans rubbed her crotch with each roll of Wiley’s hindquarters. She shifted her weight to ease the itch.

“You okay?” Deck asked.

“I’m fine. Why?” She jerked her gaze to his.

“You seem…wiggly.” He swallowed and she realized her movements had aroused him. Good. It was no fun suffering alone.

“Just adjusting so I won’t be sore later.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he said, pushing his hat harder onto his head. “Maybe hit the hot springs after. Good for sore muscles.”

And making love, she remembered. They’d been together at the springs and it had been warm and intimate and healing. “I’ll have to try that.” Her voice came out so husky she had to clear her throat. “Brandy seems more settled.”

“Getting there.”

“Dahlia sure was relieved not to have to ride with us.”

“True.” Deck chuckled. “She’s not much on the ranch.”

“What do you think of her?”

He shot his gaze to hers. “Cal’s fond of her.”

“And…”

“I don’t know her well,” he said, clearly choosing his words with care. “She keeps him…busy.”

“I found her kind of overwhelming, but she was nervous about meeting me. You were right about the peppermint tea, by the way. Her other teas are nasty?”

“Oh, yeah. She gave me one that was supposed to be good for my organs. Shriveled my tongue and I couldn’t taste for a day.”

“But did it help your organs?” Too late, she realized how he might take that.

“They survived.” He shot her that wicked half smile again. “I’m sure she means well. Cal seems happy enough.”

“He does. And kind of…dazed.”

“Maybe that’s how love works. Like a punch in the solar plexus you never catch your breath from. What do I know?”

Did that mean he’d never been in love, either?

They’d reached a barbed wire fence, beyond which she saw dozens of cattle, brown and black, most bent to chew the grass. Several rested under the roof of a ramada, others drank from a water trough beneath a slowly turning windmill. She used to ride out to check the herd with her father. She’d loved the huge eyes, the patient faces, the slow grind of their jaws on grass.

Tell him you’re selling them all. She opened her mouth to break the news, but an animal bellowed loudly. They both looked over to see a bull mount a cow, which staggered under the weight, but didn’t move away.

“Ah, romance,” Deck said.

“Is that what you call it?”

“No?” he asked. “Maybe that’s my problem with women.”

She laughed. “You have problems? I find that hard to believe.”

“I do all right, I guess.”

“No one special?” None of her business, but she had to ask.

“Not really. How about you?”

“We broke up a couple months back. He’s my business partner, actually.”

“Ouch. That’s got to be awkward.”

“Not as much as you’d think.” And that still bothered her. “So how many head do we have?”

“Couple hundred, mostly black Angus, a few red. A decent number of wild Corriente from Mexico. They do well with drought. Not nearly enough cow-calf pairs, though.”

“The supplemental feed costs are through the roof, Deck.”

“That’ll be offset by the alfalfa we’ll plant. The real problem is the herd is down. Like I said, your dad’s been hard to pin down. We had a chance at a bunch of steers and some pairs, but I couldn’t get his okay on the buy.”

Just as well, since we’ll be selling….

Deck dismounted to open the gate and she saw they’d be heading to the top of the hill over the river. She’d tell him there, when they stopped.

As they climbed, Brandy bucked and lunged and backtracked, though Deck patiently worked with her, training her as they traveled. Wiley conserved his energy with a slow, steady pace. She’d missed this, Callie realized, enjoying the slow roll of the horse beneath her. She’d loved even more the wind in her face on a full run, riding the surge of the horse’s lope. She used to feel part of Lucky, running free and feeling so alive.

They’d reached a wider section of trail so they could be side by side. “You enjoying yourself?” Deck asked.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“You look good on a horse.”

“I can’t believe how long it’s been.”

“You stopped after Lucky died.”

“It was middle school and there was too much happening in school and with my friends in town. I got bored.”

“You rode that horse everywhere,” Deck mused. “I couldn’t believe you painted his hoofs pink with little daisies. And put glitter on his hide. Talk about humiliation.”

“Come on. Lucky didn’t mind.”

“You charmed him. But then you charmed everyone.” He smiled at her the way he had, as if he’d never met anyone like her, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course.” He held her gaze, telling her he remembered that and a whole lot more.

She shivered, feeling a rush of memory herself. Deck had made her feel special. And safe. Something she’d needed after her mother’s death, when the world seemed an unpredictable and dangerous place. She’d depended on Deck, on his arms, his kisses, his comfort.

Until he decided it was over. That had stung. She’d bounced back a bit and suggested they hang out in town, get a Coke at Ruby’s with her friends a few times. He’d declined, saying he had chores. A few days later he said they should end it. She was back to normal and it was time. He acted like he’d been doing her a favor.

Hurt and angry, she went back to her friends, to Taylor, who’d missed her terribly, and Deck went back to managing the ranch, and that was that. She’d be off to college soon anyway, what was the point in dragging it out?

All the same, the memories stuck. To this day, the smell of cedar blocks in her sweater drawer made her miss him.

Now they reached the top of the hill and she saw the Triple C spread out at her feet. Ahead lay the river, a lazy S curve lined by cottonwoods. Her heart lifted with pride. “It’s so beautiful,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

Her father had worked and loved every acre for thirty years. She would make sure he kept it if it killed her. “I hope we don’t have to sell off this section,” she said, speaking before she’d thought through her words.

“What?” Deck turned to her abruptly. Brandy snorted.

“The river makes these acres attractive to developers. They’d be perfect for ranchettes.”

“We need these acres for grazing, not to mention deed and density restrictions and water rights. This is a desert, Callie.”

“I don’t want to sell if we don’t have to, but it’s an option. This is the future, Deck. In the last decade, half the guest ranches in the country have been sold off and developed. The land’s too valuable to leave raw.”

He looked at her, his cheek muscle ticking like a bomb about to blow. “We’d have to cut the herd.”

“About that…” She took a deep breath. “I plan to sell the livestock as soon as it’s feasible. I’ll need you to track the sales so we can maximize our profit.”

“You’re selling the cattle.” The words hung dead in the air.

“We’ve been losing money, especially with the drought. Our only hope is turning the ranch into a resort.”

He stared at her, so she kept talking. “I know you took the foreman job to help Dad and I’m very grateful to you for that.”

Supposedly, he’d been at loose ends after selling his family’s horse ranch after his mother remarried and moved to California, but she knew he’d acted out of kindness.

“If you wanted to leave, I wouldn’t blame you.” She stopped. “Of course, we’d love to keep you through the changeover. If you wanted to become the field manager after that, that would be wonderful. We’ll add trail horses, of course. You’d work more with guests and manage more staff, coordinate the recreational activities and things like that.”

“I’m a rancher, Callie, not some guy with a whistle and a volleyball net.” His voice was low.

“It’s totally up to you. If you decide to leave, just give us time to find and train your replacement.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

He looked out toward the horizon for a long silent moment. Finally he turned to her, Brandy shifting impatiently beneath him. “It’s your land. Cal’s and yours. You can do with it what you want. As to my plans, I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” That was that. The worst was over. Deck wasn’t happy, but now he knew the situation and could make his decision.

She took him in. Silhouetted by the glowing sunset sky, he looked like a painting of the last cowboy—noble, proud, connected to the land, full of dignity and strength.

And so sexy. She shivered.

“You cold?” he asked.

“Not really. No.” She wasn’t about to explain. “But the light’s fading. We should get back.”

Without another word, they turned their horses and headed downhill. Poor Wiley snorted and sagged as his tired knees took on the gentle slope. In the distance the ranch house glowed a golden welcome from the big picture windows. Smaller lights lit the few guest rooms in use.

That would all change. She’d build a new two-story wing of guest rooms and five new casitas. Besides updating the ranch house and old casitas, she’d landscape ten more acres around the ranch, put in a pool and a tennis court, not to mention the four-star spa. She would work her magic as quickly as she could, then escape.

At the base of the hill, Deck turned to the east, taking a different trail back—the one to the hot springs. She wanted to say Not now, not with you, but what excuse could she give?

Soon they rounded the bend to the main pool, five feet across, edged by large stones. Farther on, there were two smaller pools, one set away from the others, marked as private for the family’s use. In the summer, the entire area was bright with the red, orange and yellow of desert wildflowers.

“Remember this?” he asked her.

“Of course,” she said, meeting his gaze, heat like a hot wire between them. She looked down to the water, settling herself. Wiley shifted beneath her, reacting to her tension. “Is the water level constant? The heat? Is it mucky at all?”

“It’s the same, Callie,” he said. “Still deep, still nature’s hot surprise.”

“That’s good to hear.”

She was flooded with the memory of stripping in the night chill of early spring, slipping through the steam to meet Deck, naked and waiting for her. Sheltered by the rough stones, up to their necks in the water, breathing in the earthy smell, they’d seemed like the first man and woman in the garden.

That was so long ago. Wiley side-stepped, picking up her distress. “We’ll improve this, of course.” She had to stick to the task before her, not get lost in nostalgia or regret.

“Huh?”

“We need concrete steps and a handrail, for one thing. For safety and convenience.”

“You want to turn it into some Holiday Inn hot tub?”

“I’ve studied hot springs all over the Southwest. This is the norm, Deck.”

“It’s fine the way it is. Natural and beautiful.”

“It’ll be that, but better. I want to dig out the smaller pools. Maybe open up a fourth where the water slides down the rocks?” She pointed. “Fence it off so guests can reserve it for clothing-optional soaks.”

His expression made her decide not to mention the massage ramada, changing room and meditation garden she planned.

“They’re your springs,” Deck said wearily.

She could explain her reasoning, but what was the point? Deck loved the ranch as it was. She wouldn’t change his mind any more than he could change hers.

So, she simply turned Wiley toward home.

Catching sight of the barn, the tired horse lunged into a lope. Callie tightened her body and leaned forward, enjoying the free feeling and the speed for a few lovely moments.

Making the corral a few yards before Deck, Callie started to dismount to open the gate, praying her jeans had stretched out enough to allow her to do so with dignity. She was halfway down when Brandy arrived. She must have nipped Wiley’s hindquarters, because her horse whinnied and barreled forward. Callie landed on her butt in the dirt, biting her tongue and bruising her rear.

Deck was off Brandy in an instant to help her. “You okay?”

“I’b vine,” she managed, over her burning tongue. She grabbed her hat, pushed to her feet, then shoved the hat down hard, not allowing herself even a grimace from the pain. She moved for the gate, but her legs had that first-ride stiffness and she stumbled a bit.

Deck caught her arm, then brushed the dust from the back of her jeans. It was an innocent Eagle Scout gesture, but his hand was on her and he stood so close that the cedar, leather, sunshine smell of him made her go weak in the knees.

She stepped back to collect herself. “Thanks. I’m fine. Really.” She moved as if to loosen the saddle.

“I’ll put up the horses. Go on to supper,” Deck said, his voice rough, telling her he’d been affected, too.

“Okay, then. Thanks. Again.” She backed up, then bumped into the fence, flustered by the moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his gaze not letting go.

“Tomorrow. Sure.” She turned to walk away. Was he watching her? What was he thinking? And why did it matter?

He thought her plan was nuts. He was wrong and she intended to prove it to him. If he would just stop being so damned sexy all the time. And smelling so good. And the touching had to stop. Absolutely.

In fact, if she didn’t need his ranch expertise, she’d be half-glad if he decided not to stay at all.

4

DECK SLAPPED his gesso-loaded brush in big aimless strokes across the solitary rider he’d painted, covering it up for good. The piece was as wrong as Callie was about the ranch. She planned to turn the Triple C into a place where the guests bitched if the ice came cubed instead of crushed.

Deck itched to take the place in hand, fine tune the operation, start raising certified organic beef, despite the tough requirements. The challenge appealed to him.

He could buy a spread elsewhere, but Deck loved the Triple C, knew every acre of it like home. He might still have a crack at it—if Callie and Cal decided they’d had enough.

Tastes change, she’d said, like he was some rube lost in the past. He knew all about change. People left, they died, they disappeared behind their eyes, as his mother had done for months after his pop passed. Deck stuck with what he could count on.

If Callie went through with her scheme, Deck had to leave. He wouldn’t strand her or Cal, of course, but as soon as he could see his way clear, he was out of there. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe every man nearing thirty needed a shakeup, regardless of how well situated he was.

Deck finished the primer coat on the canvas, then left the brush to soak. He scrubbed his hands, his thick ranch calluses stained with a rainbow of acrylic colors. The same hands that dug post holes and wrestled steers to the ground could dab a hair’s width of light on a saguaro spine. He liked that.

He’d been painting more lately, getting lost in the work until his shoulders ached and his vision blurred. He had the urge to stay busy. He wasn’t sure why.

Painting had been a refuge since that terrible time when his dad died and Callie had gone and he’d taken that curve too fast, saw how easy it would be to end it all, be done. Only the thought of his mother made him yank the car back from the rail.

Since then painting kept him sane. It felt like his heart on the canvas, bad or good, but not to be denied.

Drying his hands on a paint-stained towel, he looked over the pieces he’d hung in the old Airstream he used as a studio. Most of his work fell short—too much paint, bad use of light, out of proportion, overpainted. Sometimes he wasn’t good enough to paint bar scenes on velvet. The triumphs were his private joys.

He didn’t have the focus to paint tonight. The planning and zoning meeting hadn’t helped. As chair, he’d had to cancel for lack of a quorum. Banging the gavel, he’d noticed the triumphant smirk on Taylor Loft’s face from his seat in the audience. He’d definitely had something to do with three commissioners who’d unexpectedly no-showed.

Loft was wearing them all down on the tax exemption. Go-along-to-get-along was too often the way in small towns, where you had to work, play, love and live with the people in power. Loft was the law in Abrazo and no one wanted him as an enemy.

But right was right and Deck expected people to stand up for it. Tax money was life blood to the small town. Why should Loft be exempt? Because his ancestor had founded the place? Named it Harriet, after his wife. He’d been cheated out of his holdings, according to Loft legend—and when the town incorporated they changed the name to Abrazo, Spanish for “hug.”

Insult to injury to Harriet’s progeny, in Taylor’s mind, and he wore that chip on his shoulder with the same authority he wore his badge.

The man was trouble. A friend of Deck’s, a county supervisor, had told him stories. Loft had been a security guard in Phoenix before he became sheriff. Working a convention for state officials, he’d covered up career-killing indiscretions for some pretty important people. As a result he had his hands in so many pies his fingers were permanently stained. “He’s a malevolent little shit,” Deck’s friend had said.

Deck had to stop thinking about Loft. And Callie, for that matter. The burning in his gut had started up again.

Get over it.

Deck closed the studio and started for the trailer he called home, then stopped. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He needed a couple of beers and a soak in the springs.

Callie would be long gone, if she’d taken his advice, which was doubtful. She didn’t give a damn what he thought. He’d better get all the use out of the springs he could before she turned it into a tiled hot tub. Dammit to hell.

He grabbed two Coronas, a towel and his bedroll and set off for the springs. The ranch house lights were mostly out. He zeroed in on Callie’s window. Still lit. She was reading, no doubt. She’d been a big reader in high school. What did she sleep in? Something lacey and small, he’d bet.

These days women were too obsessed with their underwear. Those thongs had to be irritating. Naked was just fine with him.

Back then, Callie had worn bras that matched her panties. His favorites were white with hearts. She’d worn them the first time they’d made love in the springs and slept under the stars together. He could still picture her breasts spilling out of the half cup of that heart-dotted bra, innocent and brazen at once.

Deck took the turn through the rock formation. The springs steamed in the moonlight. He kept going to the private spring, where he laid out his bedroll and towel, cracked one of the Coronas, stripped to the skin and slid into the water.

The heat felt good. He lay back and let out a long, slow breath. Sipping cold beer, he let his mind go.

It snagged immediately on the sight of Callie loping toward the barn on Wiley. This was the Callie he remembered as a kid, racing on Lucky, hair flying, a little scared but pushing on. He’d loved her determination, her energy. She’d been so lively, so full of fun. She just made him grin.

He missed her. Maybe she was still there under the big city act, the rush and self-importance. She said she’d missed riding. Probably missed the ranch, too. Would she stay?

Never. She needed more. That was why he’d let her go once she’d gotten through the worst of her sadness. She’d been bored. She wanted to be in town, hanging at the diner with the cheerleaders and football players.

He had better things to do than watch guys fling French fries down girls’ blouses or race each other in their tricked-out trucks. He’d let ranch chores slide to be with her, blown his grades.

Callie had gotten what she needed from him, so he sent her back to her life. It hurt like hell, but he’d done the right thing. She’d seemed stung. He didn’t get that. What was the point of dragging it out?

He pictured her in that goofy cowgirl outfit, the jeans so tight that Deck could hardly mount Brandy without causing himself injury. Holding her, brushing the dust from her ass, he felt the old hunger times ten. In fact, if she were here right now, he’d—

“Deck?”

He popped up, startled to find his fleeting fantasy standing there at the edge of the spring in a silky-looking black robe and flip-flops. She held towels and champagne in a bucket, a mason jar over the neck.

“I didn’t think anyone would be here this late,” she said, her gaze jerking around, telling him she was embarrassed.

“You took my advice,” he said, surprised by that fact.

“I don’t suppose you’re wearing a suit…?”

He shook his head, grateful the water was opaque with minerals. “You?” He nodded at her robe, so thin he could make out her nipples. She was naked under there, all right.

She shook her head.

Great. Just that slight bit of cloth between him and her bare beauty. He had a hard-on so fierce he feared it might break the surface. “I’ll leave.” As soon as he lost his erection.

“No, no. You were here first.”

“It’s your springs.”

“Don’t be silly.” She bit her lip, uncertain as she often was around him. “You shouldn’t have to leave.”

“We could…share,” he said. “I’ll stay on my side.” He held up his hands. Like, what, he was going to jump her? His face felt hotter than the spring water, which hovered at one-oh-five.

“I…guess so.” She laughed nervously.

“I’ve got another beer….” He nodded toward it.

“I have a whole bottle of champagne we can share.” She bent to set down the bucket and her towels, the robe parting to show the curve of one breast, the top of a thigh.

She stood and started on the knot, then looked at him pointedly, circling a finger. Turn around.

“Oh. Yeah.” It was just that he wasn’t quite sure he hadn’t dreamed her. She seemed ethereal, like she could drift away like the mist of steam off the springs.

He pivoted to brace himself on the rough stones and waited, catching the quiet swish of fabric, the grind of her bare feet on the sand, then the small splash when she let herself into the water, her soft moan as the heat hit her.

God. He recognized that moan. He’d made her do that many times. Fighting to look neutral, he turned back. He had a great poker face, but with Callie all bets were off.

She’d filled out a little, her breasts were rounder and she was a half-inch taller, but her shape was the same.

Touching her had been heaven.

“This feels so good,” she said, leaning her head into the concave place in the rocks where they used to make love.

Don’t think about that….

He cleared his throat. “So, champagne…You’re celebrating.”

“Trying to.” A smile flitted across her face. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

“True,” he said. It was nuts, but he’d keep his asshole blurts to himself. Instead he reached across the water for her bottle. “Shall I open it?”

She removed the mason jar and let him take it. “We can share the glass or you can drink from the bottle.”

“The bottle’s fine for me.” Deck popped the cork, the sound sharp in the desert silence. He poured Callie a dose, then tapped the neck of the bottle against her glass.

“To old times,” he said.