The Texas Rancher's Vow

Lazily, he appraised her pretty dress and sandals. Everything about her was feminine and enticing, from her dainty feet and stunning legs to her slender waist and round, perfect breasts. Nothing about her said ranch-ready. “I think the better question is what part of living out in the wilds of rural Texas could you handle?” he drawled.

She scowled. “Hey. Just because I grew up in the city—”

“And live in Austin now, where the population is a million plus.”

Appearing irritated, she shrugged. “So?”

“Laramie County is thirty-five square miles with one small town and wide-open spaces—”

“Spaces,” Jen interrupted, “peppered with ranches and horses and cattle, and even, from what I saw on my way over here, the occasional donkeys, sheep and alpacas.”

No doubt this area of West Texas had its share of rugged individualists, Matt acknowledged silently. And like it or not, her work as a sculptress put her in that category, too.

The problem, he thought, as he let his gaze roam her once again, was that Jen was incredibly feminine and unconsciously sexy in a way that drove men wild. Every glance, every movement of her hands, every touch of her fingers, was innately artistic, unbearably gentle and sensual.

Matt had noticed this on sight. And that was something they couldn’t have. Not when it made him continually wonder how that overt sensuality would manifest in lovemaking.

Oblivious to the direction of his thoughts, she argued, “Being out here in the Texas countryside is going to help, not hurt, my art.”

He would concede to that. “Even so…the ranch can be a lonely place.” Which made it all too easy to establish intimacy with someone.

His observation earned him nothing but a smile. “Lucky for me, I work best when I’m not interrupted. Although all the bronzes will have to be finished back in Austin, where the foundry and my studio are located.”

Sounded good, to have her back in central Texas where she belonged. Especially since he couldn’t talk his dad out of this.

Helpfully, Matt suggested, “Why not just negotiate that it all be done there—except the initial consultation?”

“Wow,” Jen taunted softly. “You genuinely want me off the Triple B.”

Her voice seemed to ripple over him like velvet. He folded his arms defensively. No need to mince words now. “I think it would be best for everyone,” he stated flatly.

“In your view,” she corrected without hesitation. “Not Emmett’s. Or mine.”

With effort, Matt kept his distance. “You’re really planning to accept my dad’s offer and stay here?”

“I really am.” Jen sashayed out of the dining room and into the corridor that led past the pantry to the kitchen. “So cowboy up, fella.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. “And get used to it.”

* * *

“JEN,” CELIA WAILED, when told of the plan in a conference call one hour later. “This is such a bad idea.”

“I agree,” Cy added vehemently.

“Driving all the way out there in that wreck of a van was bad enough,” Celia fretted, “but to stay for the next however many months…”

Jen was used to holding the hands of very wealthy, incredibly egotistical clients who were seeking to immortalize themselves for posterity. This, she told herself firmly, would be no different. Even if there was a handsome, sexy, difficult son on the premises. She could handle Matt. She’d just avoid him.

She ran her palm over the silk fabric of the comforter on her bed. “Actually, I’m hoping it will just be for one month.”

“The time it will take you to complete the first statue,” Celia affirmed.

Jen got up and walked to the guest-room window, overlooking the courtyard. “I think once Emmett understands my process and sees the quality of my work, he’ll be amenable to granting me whatever I need to finish.” Which was an environment far, far away from his maddeningly handsome, wickedly provoking son.

“And if he doesn’t? If he plays the rich man card and says you have to stay and do everything his way,” Celia countered, her voice rising with concern. “Then what? It’s obvious father and son have issues. The last thing you need is to put yourself in a situation where you try to fix other people’s problems—again.”

Jen wasn’t going to do that. Once had been more than enough. “Look, it’s obvious Matt and his dad don’t see eye to eye on hiring me to commemorate Emmett’s life. But that’s for the two of them to sort out. I’m concerned about the business.” Not to mention the fact that Cy and Celia were about to have a baby, and Jen’s van needed substantial repair. “The profit from this job will allow me to expand into the next storefront, showcase other artists and hire another employee.” Which meant all their schedules would be a lot more flexible.

“Assuming it goes as planned,” Cy groused, reminding Jen that he and Celia had a financial stake in this.

“It will,” she promised. “You’ll see.” And when it did, the rent for the gallery would be paid for an entire year, and they wouldn’t be living paycheck to paycheck any longer.

She looked up to see Matt looming in the guest room’s open doorway, a thick accordion file in hand.

She turned away to finish her conversation. “In the meantime, I’m emailing you a list of things I’ll need overnighted to me….”

After Cy and Celia promised they would get right on it, Jen ended the call and put her phone back in her bag.

“Obviously, you have been invited to stay for dinner, regardless of your decision about the offer my father made.”

Jen wondered what Matt thought could have possibly changed in the last fifteen minutes, since she had already told Emmett her decision and he’d asked Matt to show her to the guest room. “You just won’t give up, will you?”

He came closer, his expression grim. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this.”

His words had an ominous ring. Jen felt her stomach clench. For the first time since she had arrived at the ranch, she felt she was out of her league as she stared into his implacable blue eyes.

Wordlessly, he handed over the file he held. “You have a very interesting past.”

His statement delivered a punch a hundred times more powerful than she had anticipated. “You had me investigated?”

He let out a breath. “I checked into the backgrounds of all the artists my father was interested in.” Moving closer, he looked at her for a long minute. “Curiously enough, you were the only one who had married for cash. I guess my dad really does have a radar for fortune hunters.”

Jen’s temper rose. “I did not marry for money, Matt. I married for love.” Which, unfortunately, had turned out to be one-sided.

His eyes dipped down to her mouth, then back up again. “His family says otherwise. They say you led their son down the garden path, and had they not intervened, you would have gone through his entire trust fund in a matter of years.”

Jen knew how it looked. But how it looked and how it was were two entirely different things.

Sensing Matt Briscoe wouldn’t believe her even if she did tell him everything that had transpired during the two unhappiest years of her life, she focused on the facts that would vindicate her. At least in Emmett Briscoe’s eyes. She tilted her head and murmured, “Then you also must have uncovered the fact that I left the marriage exactly as I entered it. With five hundred dollars in my savings account. The clothes on my back. An armful of possessions. And the same van I’m driving now.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “A smart move, if you were looking for another rich man to bamboozle.”

“But what if I wasn’t?” Jen swallowed hard. “What if, at the end of the day, all I wanted was my freedom? My self-respect intact?”

A devastating silence fell.

Matt didn’t believe her.

He was never going to believe her.