The Rancher's Dream

“I’m not sure I can offer excitement this early in the morning,” Grant said, appearing suddenly from the shadows of the dining room, where it led into the kitchen. “Frankly, it took me half an hour to manage coffee. Want some?”

“Grant!” Crimson frowned. “What on earth are you doing awake?”

He couldn’t have slept more than two hours. If that. They’d decided not to leave Molly with Marianne, who had the restaurant to handle and needed rest. But by the time they’d picked up the baby, and stopped by Crimson’s apartment to grab a toothbrush and a change of clothes, and driven back to Grant’s place, it had been nearly 3:00 a.m.

“Did Molly wake you? I tried to keep her quiet, but—”

“No. I haven’t even been upstairs.” He turned and led the way into the kitchen, talking as he walked. “Too much to do.”

She watched him move away. He was limping more than he had last night. Shifting Molly to her other shoulder, she followed him into the kitchen.

“Tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll take care of it. You need to get off that foot, and you need sleep. You look awful.”

He turned, raising one eyebrow and giving her a small smile. “Gee. Thanks.”

She refused to smile back. He’d been born gorgeous, and he knew it, but she wasn’t kidding. He looked done in. His thick, brown hair fell onto his forehead in unkempt waves. Dark blue shadows sat like bruises below his heavy-lidded eyes. His skin, which ordinarily glowed, bronzed by the hours outside, looked oddly sallow. His full lips seemed to have thinned from pain.

“You look terrible,” she repeated.

“Oh, well.” Tilting his head, he let his gaze quickly scan her from head to toe. He brought his coffee mug up for a quick sip to hide his smile. “Obviously we can’t all be as splendid first thing in the morning as you are.”

Aw, crud. Belatedly, she remembered she hadn’t even run her fingers through her hair when she got up with the baby. Last year, she’d cut her hair in edgy, red-tipped spikes, and growing that stupid style out was an ordeal. If she didn’t slick it down, it stuck out all over like a sick peacock in molting season.

And then there was the sexless gray bathrobe, which still hung over one shoulder, half on, half off, and dragged on the ground behind her.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to find anyone down here,” she said brusquely. It annoyed her to realize she was embarrassed. What did she care how bad she looked? If he’d wanted eye candy, he should have stuck with Ginny, whose magic mascara probably never gave her raccoon eyes if she forgot to take it off.

She felt around behind her, blindly rooting for the other side of the robe so she could at least cover herself up. It was probably obvious she wasn’t wearing anything underneath this ugly cotton nightshirt.

With a small chuckle, Grant set down his coffee cup. Reaching his good hand around to help her, he lifted the terry cloth and guided the opening of the sleeve toward her fingers. When that was on, he tugged the robe up over her shoulders and tucked the edge under the other side, while she held Molly out of the way.

He grabbed the short end of the fuzzy belt and slid it through its loopholes to pull it even.

“You’ll have to tie it, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “I’m already discovering how many things I can’t do with one hand. Making a bow is one of them.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. He was still holding the edge of the sash, and Crimson’s skin prickled with an odd awareness. When he’d brushed her breast, she’d felt it like a burn. She needed to remember not to come down half-dressed ever again. Clearly it made her way too sensitized and silly.

As if he understood, he dropped the sash and instead put his palm over the crown of the baby’s head and softly stroked the carroty hair.

“Hey, cutie,” he said. “You look sleepy, too. How about a nap, so Auntie Red can get a little more shut-eye?”

Molly seemed to love the touch of his big, gentle hand, and she clearly recognized the name “Auntie Red.” Kevin had given it to her when they first started dating.

The baby sank against Crimson’s shoulder with a contented chirp. She nuzzled her collarbone for a second or two, and then she shut her eyes and went instantly limp with sleep.

Grant smiled, and their gazes met over the baby’s head. Crimson shook her head slightly, a mute acknowledgment of the irony. She’d tried for an hour to accomplish what he’d been able to do with one touch.

“It’s a guy thing,” he whispered, but his eyes were teasing.

She ought to take Molly upstairs right now, ease her into the crib and grab a little more sleep. And yet she felt oddly fixed in place.

After the hell of yesterday, there was something so intensely intimate and good about this moment. The kitchen was fresh and pink with dawn light. The coffee gave the rain-freshened air a homey flavor. The warm infant in her arms smelled like baby powder, soap and everything simple and sweet.

“Thank you, Crimson,” Grant said, his voice quietly solemn. He rarely used her real name, which he knew she didn’t like. But it sounded oddly feminine and lovely now. “Thank you for being here. For being willing to help.”

Crimson started to protest automatically—it was nothing, she was glad to do it, she adored Molly, she’d do anything for Grant...

But as she gazed into his eyes, she felt a strange shift, as if she’d momentarily lost her balance. When she centered herself again, she felt different. The whole room felt different.

He blinked and frowned slightly, as if the same tremor had just run through him, too. His beautiful brown eyes, flecked with gold, were just as shadowed and tired as ever, but they suddenly held a new gleam. When he gazed down at her, it was as if he could see beyond the surface, beneath the skin, down to something very private. Something no one else could see.

She’d do anything for Grant...

Heat shot to her cheeks as a jolt of electricity moved through her midsection. Confused and deeply embarrassed, she fought the feeling. This was ridiculous. She must be imagining it. She and Grant...they weren’t like this. They weren’t lovers. They hadn’t ever even considered it. They didn’t even flirt.

They were just friends.

And yet, she didn’t seem to be able to pull her gaze from his, and she was tingling all over...

“It’s nothing,” she said, desperately clutching at the pat phrases. “Really. I’m glad to help. It’s nothing.”

She backed off a clumsy step or two, ignoring the way her robe slid open again, exposing her bare legs and the outline of her breast. If he dropped his gaze, he would see what these invisible shivers had done to her...

But he didn’t look down. The minute she began to move, he turned away.

“Better get some sleep while you can,” he said briskly. “I’m trying to line up more help. I’ll let you know what I can get.”

And then, as if the electricity that arced between them had never happened, as if she had imagined it, he turned back to the counter where the coffee was brewing. He was pouring himself another cup when his cell phone rang.

“Get some sleep, Red,” he said again. He smiled casually at her over his shoulder as he answered his phone. “Olson...thank God. Did you catch up with Barley? I’m going to be useless for weeks. Can he be here by ten?”

* * *

THESE DAYS, WHEN the alarm on Rory’s cell phone went off at 6:00 a.m., Becky pretended to sleep through it. She used to get up with him, eager to be supportive and “wifely.” But she’d quickly learned he wasn’t a morning person. He didn’t eat breakfast, hated to make small talk before the coffee kicked in and was always running late, anyway.

Besides, their apartment was too small, and no matter how careful she was, she always seemed to be standing right where he needed to be. If she asked him questions like “When do you think you’ll be home?” he’d get that cold, contemptuous look. He’d sigh and repeat very slowly, “What did I tell you the last ten times you asked?”

I don’t know when I’ll be home, Becky. Remember? It depended on how many cars there were to fix, and how hard the problems were to diagnose, how long the supplier took to deliver the parts, how obnoxious the customers acted or how lazy the other mechanics were when it came time to clean up the bays.

Of course she remembered all that. She was just making conversation. It felt weird to watch him shave and gargle, drag on his underwear, guzzle milk from the carton and pee with the bathroom door open...all without saying a word.

It hadn’t always been like this. When she’d first moved in, he’d usually been horny in the mornings. When his alarm went off, he’d hit the snooze button, and then he’d reach over and shove her nightgown up around her waist with a quick jerk that was supposed to be a joke. She slept on her side, so he’d angle her hips and take her in a spoon position, sometimes before she was even fully awake.

He’d always be finished long before the alarm went off again.

Funny. She could remember when she’d found that kind of primitive dominance weirdly thrilling. It had seemed manly. Simple, earthy and real. Maybe it wasn’t technically satisfying, in that she never...well, it never made her...

But it had turned her on, even so. It made her feel female and desirable. It had made her feel alive, as she had never felt alive in the mansion on Callahan Circle.