The Man Who Had Everything

She grunted. “Oh, very funny.”

The Christmas she was seven, five years before their dads were killed, her mom had tried to talk her into asking Santa for one of those fancy American Girl dolls, the kind that came with a whole perfect miniature wardrobe—and a doll-size trunk to put all those fine clothes in.

Steph had sworn that a doll was the last thing she needed. She wanted a pony more than anything. She knew she was old enough for a horse of her own.

Grant, a high-school senior that year, had been over at the house, for some reason long lost to her now. She’d been following her mom around the kitchen, arguing endlessly, “I mean it, Mama. Don’t you get me any doll. I don’t want a doll and if you get me one I’ll rip its head off. I need my own horse. I got work to do. Just ask Daddy. He’ll tell you I’m his best helper and his best helper needs a horse.”

Grant had stuck his head in from the living room to tease, “Oh, come on, Steffie, you know you want a pretty little doll.”

She still remembered whipping around to glare at him, shaking a finger as she lectured him, “Do not call me Steffie. And I don’t want any doll.”

“You sure?”

“I am positive, Grant Clifton,” she’d smartly informed him. “Positive to the millionth degree.”

Now, he lifted his drumstick to her in a salute. “You were one feisty kid.”

She faked a groan. “Oh, please. Feisty? Not me. I was a practical kid. And I got my first horse that Christmas, if you recall.”

Malomar, her sweet-natured bay mare, had ended up sold at auction with the rest of the Triple J stock. It was one of her saddest memories: her mare being led into that horse trailer, the trailer kicking up dust as it rolled away.

That memory, somehow, was almost as bad as seeing her dad’s lifeless body with that big red hole in the side of his head on the day that he died. The death of a parent was an enormous and terrible thing—too terrible in some ways for a young mind to comprehend. But the end of her life as she’d known and loved it?

That had been horrible, too. And by then, three years after her dad died, she’d been old enough to understand what was happening when she watched Malomar being taken away.

But she wasn’t dwelling on any sad memories today. Uh-uh. She had the man she loved sitting right beside her, and he was finally seeing her as a woman grown. She fully intended to enjoy every minute of this afternoon.

They ate in silence for a little while, finishing off their drumsticks and potato salad, sipping their lemonade.

Finally Grant said, “I remember that you got your horse that Christmas, just like you wanted—and promptly fell off her and broke your collarbone.”

She confessed, “It’s true. I was never what you’d call a cautious kid.”

“Uh-uh. You were brave and bold and nobody ever told you what to do.” Those sky-blue eyes of his gleamed at her. She saw admiration in them.

For the fearless kid she’d once been? Or the woman she was now?

Or maybe…both? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

And then he was frowning again. “Look. Steph. There’s something I really have to—”

“Oh, don’t,” she cried before he could finish.

Now he seemed puzzled. “Don’t?”

“That’s right. Don’t. I know just what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

He actually gulped. “Er, you know?”

She set her plate aside and wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Of course, I know. How could I not? Something like this, a woman always knows. I admit, you had me wondering at first. But I got the message eventually. Really, it’s all just so…perfectly obvious.”

“Obvious.” He gaped at her.

“Yes.”

He set his own plate down. And he knocked back the rest of his lemonade, crushing the paper cup in his big fist when he finished. And he swore under his breath. “Steph.”

“Yeah?”

“What, exactly, are you talking about?”

Should she say it right out? Probably not. Her mom always used to tell her that men didn’t like it when a woman got too direct, when a woman dared to take the lead in an obvious way.

But her mom was from a different generation, after all. From a time when women were expected to wait around for men to make the first move.

Thank God it wasn’t like that anymore.

But still, what if she spooked him by laying it right out there, bold as you please? She didn’t want to scare him off.

A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees around them and tried to blow the paper plates away, with only chicken bones to hold them down.

“Oops.” Swiftly she gathered up the remains of their meal, stuffed it in the trash bag she’d brought and weighted the bag down with a rock. “There,” she said unnecessarily when that job was done. He was sitting so still, watching her, kind of narrow-eyed, waiting for her to explain herself.

She stalled some more. “Hey. Want a beer?” She started to rise.

“Stay here.” He reached for his boots. “I can get it.” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the trash bag from under the rock. “You want one?”

She didn’t much care for beer. “No.”

She watched him go to the horses, something inside her kind of aching in a joyous way. His shoulders were so broad, his waist so hard and narrow. And he truly did have one fine butt.

And how could she tell him—that she knew he wanted her though he didn’t want to want her? How could she make him understand that she didn’t expect anything from him?

Except maybe his kisses and his eager embrace. Just this…wonder. And this joy.

And as for the rest? Well, why not just let the rest take care of itself?

He stuffed the trash in the saddlebags, got a beer and returned to her. She stewed some more over what to say to him as he set the can on one of the rocks and pulled off his boots all over again. He popped the tab and took a long drink. She watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down and continued her internal debate: What to say?

How to say it?

Finally he set down what was left of the beer. “Well?”

“Um. Yeah. Okay. I…” The words were right there, inside her mind, so clear. I know that you’re attracted to me, but you’re thinking it’s not right because you’re not looking for anything permanent. You’re telling yourself you won’t take advantage of me. But oh, please. Take advantage. Take advantage right now….

So clear. And so much easier to think than to actually say.

“What?” His gaze locked on hers. “Say it.”