The Man Who Had Everything

She swallowed, caught her upper lip between her teeth, worried it, let it go. “Today.”

“That’s right.”

“When…do we have to be out?”

“By the end of August. The new owner wants to take possession September first.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment. “Not quite two months, then… Who?”

“What?”

“Who will be the new owner?”

“Her name’s Melanie McFarlane. From out of town. She wants to make it a guest ranch.”

“A guest ranch,” she repeated as if the very words made her sick.

Grant felt like something squirming and loathsome, something you’d find buried in sour soil under a giant rock. He made himself confess the rest. “I meant to tell you Sunday,” he said, as if that mattered. As if that made any difference at all.

“Oh,” she said. “You meant to tell us. But you… forgot?”

“I was…distracted.”

Color stained her cheeks again and he knew that she knew why he hadn’t. Because he’d seen her down by the creek, seen her as a woman for the first time. Because his senses, his mind, all of him, had been filled with her. No room left to remember what he should have done.

She hitched in a hard breath. “Distracted. By me?”

“Yeah.”

“And again, today, right? It’s all my fault…”

“I didn’t say that. Of course, it’s not your fault.”

“You met me here to tell me you were selling the ranch. And I distracted you again.”

“No. Wait. You’re getting it all wrong. There’s no excuse for my not telling you. I know there’s not. I’m not blaming you.”

She only stared at him. And he saw it all, his own complete culpability, right there in her upturned face, in those amazing leaf-green eyes of hers: the kiss on Sunday. And worse than that, what he’d almost done just now, out in the open beneath birches, where anyone might ride by and see them. He’d been too busy kissing her to tell her the thing she most needed to know, too absorbed in the feel and the taste of her, too stupefied by his own lust for her, to be straight with her.

His throat felt like two angry hands were squeezing it. Still, roughly, he made himself say the things he’d planned to say before he made such a complete mockery of her innocent trust in him. “It’s time to move on. To let go of the past. The world is changing, Steph. The day of the small, family ranch is over. Thunder Canyon isn’t the sleepy mountain town it once was. Growth and change are inevitable and we all need to get with the program, we need to—”

She put up a hand. “Wait.”

“Uh. What?”

“Don’t give me a load of that progress crap, please. The last couple of years, it’s about all I’ve heard. I don’t need to hear anymore. Bottom line is you’re selling Clifton’s Pride. I get it. It’s your ranch, after all, and your choice to make. You can let that buyer of yours turn a fine working ranch into some silly showplace where city people can play at being cowboys if you want to.”

He winced. “Look. What matters is, you’re going to be okay. I’ll see to it, I swear to you, we’ll get you a good job. Your mom, too…and I meant what I said about college. If you think you might change your mind, now you’ll be leaving the ranch, I’ll be glad to foot the bill…”

She just sat there, staring up at him. It was damned unnerving. He couldn’t tell what she might be thinking—he only knew it wasn’t good.

After the silence stretched out for way too long, she finally asked, “Well. Are you done?”

“I…” Hell. What more was there to say? “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Great.” She grabbed her boots from the edge of the blanket and yanked them on. Then she settled her hat on her head, gathered her legs under her and stood.

“Put your boots on,” she said in a voice so controlled it made him want to grab her and shake her and beg her to yell at him, to go ahead and get it out, tell him exactly what she thought of him. After all, it couldn’t be worse than what he thought of himself.

But he didn’t grab her. He knew if he did, he’d only try to kiss her again.

God. He was low. Lower than low.

He sat, put his hat on and then his boots.

She asked in a tone that was heartbreakingly civil, “Now, would you please get off the blanket so I can roll it up?”

He glanced at his Rolex. There was time—to ride to the ranch, say what needed saying—and get back to his office by four-thirty to meet Eva. He grabbed his beer and gulped the rest of it down, then shook out the can and crushed it.

She took it from him and put it in her saddlebags. He rolled the blanket. She took that from him, too, and tied it behind her saddle.

They mounted up.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, her clean-scrubbed, beautiful face absolutely expressionless.

“Uh. Tomorrow?”

She looked at him as if she wondered where he’d put his brains. “It’s the Fourth, remember? The parade?”

That’s right. Every year, the town put on an Independence Day parade. They’d both agreed to ride the resort’s float. Terrific. Another opportunity for her to treat him like the pond scum he was. “Of course, I remember.”

Something flashed in her eyes. He couldn’t read the emotion. Anger? Hurt? Some bleak combination of both? He didn’t know.

He felt like a stranger, an interloper, someone evil and cruel. And still, even now, when she looked at him as if she didn’t know him, didn’t want to know him, he only wanted to drag her right off that mare of hers and into his hungry arms. He wanted to touch her all over, to take off her shirt and her jeans and her boots, to strip her naked and finish what they’d started a little while ago.

She tightened her knees on Trixiebelle and off she went. Grant shook himself and urged Titan to follow.

Steph reined in and leveled a far too patient look at him. “In case you’ve forgotten, the resort’s that way.”

“I’m going with you.”

She blew out a hard breath. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I have to tell them.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll do it.”

“No. That wouldn’t be right.”