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Still Irresistible
Dawn Atkins


Rescuing the family ranch is the only reason Callie Cummings is home.To do that she must face the most infuriating–yet irresistible–man on the planet! Years ago she had an unforgettable fling with Declan O'Neill. And, oh my, can he still fill out a pair of jeans. Watching him strut across a corral is like waving a red flag.With that kind of enticement, how can Callie not be head over heels in lust with Deck again? Steamy sex aside, Callie's visit is strictly temporary. Nothing–and no one–can keep her from her big-city life. But if that's really true, why are thoughts of her and Deck riding into the sunset so tempting?









They knew exactly what they wanted from each other


Deck pulled Callie close and kissed her. Heat and relief surged through him. It was the same and different at once. Familiar and new. Just as strong, but more certain.

How the hell had this happened? Deck was foggy on exactly what had led to him holding Callie in his arms, taking her soft mouth, but he wasn’t sorry. He’d started it. He knew that. Something about seeing her again, the past so fresh between them.

He’d meant to comfort her, but had lost control, and now her breasts were pressed against his chest, his cock was hard against her belly, and her sweet tongue was in hot pursuit of his own.

He took her ass in both hands, yanking her tight against him. She moaned, trembling as she had all those years ago, but she wrapped her legs around his waist, telling him what she wanted. He felt the hot drive to be inside her, making her come, coming himself.

“Deck,” she said, pulling back. “What are we doing?”

He tried to halt the free fall. “You want to stop?”

“Maybe we should.” She bit her lip, shivered. “But I don’t want to.”









Dear Reader,

This book means a lot to me. It’s about the healing power of love. Like Callie, I lost my mother at too young an age. Also like her, I tend to run from emotion, instead of facing it head-on. And, as Callie’s high school counselor wisely noted, what you resist, persists.

When she comes home to rescue her father’s guest ranch, Callie faces her fear that she’s guarded her heart so well she no longer has the capacity for deep love. With Deck’s help, she works through that and emerges more open and loving because of it.

Though Deck stayed in town, he, too, put his emotions on hold. Callie helps him open up and risk his heart for a great and healing love.

This book is also about coming home. A city girl who moved a lot, I’ve wondered what it would be like to return to the same small town you grew up in to see people who’ve known you forever. That could be as comforting as a warm fire in winter or as suffocating as a down pillow over the face. Callie feels a little of both.

I like the way Callie and Deck work their lives out in the story. I hope you do, too.

All my best,

Dawn

P.S. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Write me at dawn@dawnatkins.com. For news, visit www.dawnatkins.com.




Still Irresistible

DAWN ATKINS







TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


This is award-winning Harlequin Blaze author Dawn Atkins’s twenty-third published romance novel. Known for her funny, spicy romances with a touch of mystery, she’s won a Golden Quill Award for Best Sexy Romance and has been a several-times Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Award finalist for Best Blaze, as well as a finalist for a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Career Achievement Award for Best Love and Laughter. With her husband and son she lives in Arizona, where—like Callie Cummings, the heroine of this book—she loves the desert. Unlike Callie, she gets ve-r-r-ry nervous around horses.




Books by Dawn Atkins


HARLEQUIN BLAZE

93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION

155—VERY TRULY SEXY

176—GOING TO EXTREMES

205—SIMPLY SEX

214—TEASE ME

253—DON’T TEMPT ME



306—AT HER BECK AND CALL

318—AT HIS FINGERTIPS

348—SWEPT AWAY

391—NO STOPPING NOW


To my grandfather, who never wanted his illness

to keep me from my “book work,” and to the

Valley of the Sun Hospice, true angels, who

made his passing heaven.




Acknowledgments


Eternal gratitude to Joe Collins, paramedic, firefighter and all-around answer man, and to ranch woman and author Susan Yarina, who saved my writerly life. Any factual or procedural errors in their areas of expertise are completely my own.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16




1


AN IRRITATED WHINNY DREW Callie Cummings’s gaze to the barn, where a cowboy was backing a reluctant horse into the corral with a tight grip on its halter.

Callie caught her breath. It was Deck. She would have recognized that butt blindfolded.

Providing she could touch it.

Touch it. An automatic ping of lust passed through her. And why not? What woman with blood in her veins wouldn’t respond to Declan O’Neill and his fabulous behind?

But she wasn’t here to appreciate Deck’s backside. Or his front side, for that matter, which also delivered. She was here to turn her father’s failing dude ranch into a desert spa.

A daunting task for a Manhattan event planner, but Callie was determined to succeed.

She had no choice. Her father was counting on her. When he’d said he was afraid he’d have to sell, he’d sounded so heartbroken it had been like losing her mother all over again.

Callie stood poised on the bottom porch step with her bag. Eleven years hadn’t reduced the tension between her and Deck. By unspoken agreement, they avoided each other during her frequent trips home. She could pretend she hadn’t seen him and go in, but Deck was ranch foreman and they had to work together. Better to get the first awkward conversation over with.

Plunge into the hard part, that was Callie’s way.

Dropping her bag, Callie took a steadying breath and marched toward the corral, her heart as jumpy as the horse Deck was wrangling, her feet wobbly in the kitten heels perfect for travel, but dangerously flimsy for the rocky desert ground.

You’re not in Manhattan anymore.

For better or worse, she was home. The Arizona sun, warm enough that January was high season, toasted Callie’s scalp and arms. The familiar smells—horse and creosote, hay and wood—made her both homesick and miserable. She missed the place and she dreaded it, too. Mixed memories. Always.

Reaching the corral, she leaned on the fence, trying to look casual, taking Deck in. Tall and lanky with broad shoulders and long legs, he had an animal grace that used to make her melt just watching him walk.

He had all the good-cowboy traits—honor, loyalty, strength, stoicism, skill—and none of the bad. He didn’t chew tobacco or drink or cheat or gamble or act crudely or have bad hygiene. He smelled of Irish Spring and leather and cedar and sunshine. And the only thing ratty about him was his ancient Stetson, but that looked classy.

That was old news. Eleven years old.

Bound by the shared tragedy of losing a parent, they’d fallen into each other’s arms for six incredible weeks their senior year.

“Hey, Deck,” she called. Too late, she saw she’d snagged her silk sleeve on the rough wood and frowned.

“This is no place for silk, Callie. Or anything white.” The crinkles at the edges of his sky-blue eyes deepened with humor. He looked rugged and knowing. And he was laughing at her.

Her cheeks warmed. “I just got here. Give me a minute to get grimy and start smelling like manure.” She hoped she’d sounded amused, not snotty. She never got it right around him.

He just looked at her. What was in his eyes? Disapproval? Superiority? He hadn’t been that way back then. Maybe she’d only assumed she’d understood him. The one thing they’d had in common was grief and need, after all. Now Deck seemed more guarded. On the other hand, when you had history, everything could mean something or nothing at all.

Deck’s expression shifted like clouds in changeable weather, but remained unreadable. She felt another sexual zing.

Did he feel anything? Anything at all?

The horse whinnied and pulled back on the reins.

“You training a new horse?” she asked, glad for an excuse to break an eye lock that felt like arm wrestling.

“Yeah. This is Brandy. Cal bought her for his lady friend. I’ve been working her for a while.” He ran his hand down the neck of the restless horse, who gave a ferocious snort. “Brandy’s still too spirited for a beginner.”

Her father’s lady friend, his first since Callie’s mother died, was Dahlia Mitford, whom Callie would meet for the first time today. She felt responsible for the woman, since she’d paid for the dating service, then prodded her father into using it. He’d hit the jackpot right out of the chute.

“Spirited? She looks demon-eyed with rage.”

“She just needs a rider she can trust, don’t you, girl?” Deck’s voice seemed to send ripples of relaxation down the horse’s body. He’d had the same effect on Callie those first awful days when she’d been frantic with sorrow, wild to escape her own skin.

Deck had saved her. Deck understood her pain, accepted it, having lost his dad to a brain aneurysm after a fall from a horse six months before her own mother’s car wreck.

“So I hear you’re sprucing up the place,” Deck said, not looking at her, but slowing his hand on the horse, listening.

“That’s understating it a bit.”

“What do you mean?” His gaze lifted to hers.

“We’ll be making some changes.”

“Like what?”

“This and that.” She didn’t want to get into the details right off the bat, but he clearly wanted more. “Updating the ranch house, adding a room annex, more casitas, adding amenities—a pool, a spa, tennis courts. We’re renaming it Rancho de Descanso.”

“Rest Ranch? Is that a joke? The Triple C is a working cattle ranch.”

The ranch had been named for her and her parents—Calvin, Colleen and Calissa—but those days were done. “We’re capitalizing on the trend toward experiential vacations with luxury. Desert getaways are hot—the good kind of hot.”

“People come here to run cattle, to learn to rope and ride, to enjoy the desert, not to get facials and mud baths.”

“Tastes change. We can’t afford to get left behind.” Wait until he heard she would be selling off the cattle.

“Sure, the place needs paint,” he continued. “And I’ll rebuild the porch as soon as Cal signs off on the supplies. I’ve been after him to buy some ads, since we run empty some weeks, but there’s no need to turn the place inside out.”

“Paint and ads won’t cut it, Deck. This is high season and we’ve only got eight guests. We can handle thirty.”

“Cal know about this?” he demanded.

Anger stung her cheeks. How dare he talk to her as if she were a kid taking the pickup without permission?

“We haven’t gone over the details, but he trusts me. He asked for my help.”

Deck paused. When he spoke his voice was softer, oil on troubled water. “Sorry. It’s just that he’s been tough to pin down on ranch issues lately, so I’m not sure what he wants.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s gone a lot. Out of town. Not available. Frankly, if he’d been paying more attention, the ranch wouldn’t be in the shape it’s in and—” He stopped himself. “Sorry. I’m just the foreman, not the boss.”

“Exactly. And you haven’t seen the books.” The spreadsheet was a study in red. “The only place we haven’t lost money is on the guests. I’m doing what has to be done. Be assured of that.”

She’d sounded pompous and that wouldn’t improve their rapport. “We can talk about all this later, Deck. For now, I can sure use your help.” She managed a smile. The man knew the ranch as well as she knew her Brooklyn apartment. “I’ll talk to Dad.”

“That would be wise.”

If she’d had hackles, they’d be on end and she’d be growling. Deck was so damn sure he was right, as if he’d already separated the chaff from the wheat, the worthwhile from the waste, and she should bow before his wisdom.

She opened her mouth to say, And who named you the Great and Powerful Oz? but was saved from making things worse by someone calling her name.

She turned. From the porch, a thin woman in a tie-dyed dress motioned wildly for her to come. “You’re here! Come in!” Had to be Dahlia. Callie was startled to notice how young she looked. Her father hadn’t mentioned that. “Get out of the sun before you wrinkle!” she called.

Callie waved.

“Watch out for her teas,” Deck said. “If she gives you a choice, take peppermint. The rest are nasty.” His eyes lit with the mischief she’d loved back then, like he’d let her in on a great secret. He tilted his hat, dove gray and worn, but perfect on his head. “Good to have you back.”

Instantly, she remembered that August night, her last before leaving for college. “Don’t go, Callie.” His voice had been rough with emotion. “Stay with me.” He’d been drunk, but his words seemed dredged from somewhere deep.

Did he remember? Or had he washed it from his mind? Probably. You had to protect yourself. Certainly he’d learned that, too. They’d had the lesson young, after all.

“Thanks, Deck,” she said. “It’s good to be back.” Sort of. She turned to go, feeling his eyes on her as she walked away. She tried not to wiggle on her flimsy heels.

The man was still sexy as hell. He made her nervous. He made her mad. He made her want him.

She hated that.

She turned her attention to Dahlia, who was dragging Callie’s suitcase up the porch stairs, while two guests looked on from the porch.

Callie rushed over. “I’ve got it. Thank you.” She had to yank the bag free of Dahlia’s grip. At the top, Callie nodded at the man and woman playing cards and drinking lemonade in faded wicker chairs.

Those would have to go. Callie would replace all the furniture and redo the porch for sure. A glance at the log facade told her she was right. A new stain and fresh trim in something trendy—say, umber?—would do just fine.

The pots of flowers on either side of the door were new and bright. Dahlia’s touch, she’d bet. The woman created beauty products and ointments from desert plants. Callie had said she’d consider them for the ranch’s new spa.

Once they were inside, Dahlia yanked Callie into a bruising hug, then looked her over with bird-bright eyes. “I’m so, so glad to meet you.” She smelled pleasantly herbal. If that was a sample of her creams, Callie liked it so far.

“I’m glad to meet you, too, Dahlia.”

“You’re as lovely as your pictures.” Dahlia examined her face like an aesthetician with the blackhead remover. “I have the remedy for the bags under your eyes. In fact…” She hurried to the registration counter to grab a large cellophane-wrapped basket, which she thrust into Callie’s arms.

“My gift to you. One of everything. Face cream, body lotion, shampoo, conditioner, masque.” She tapped each jar or tube as she named it. “I can’t wait to work with you.”

“I’ll try them out and we’ll go from there. And my dad…?”

“Catching his siesta. He gets so weary.” Her father was a youthful fifty. She’d made him sound like a fragile old man. Close up, Dahlia looked midthirties, not that much younger. “I have tea steeping for us.” Dahlia gestured toward the tucked-away Cummings family kitchen.

“Let me put my things away and check on Dad,” Callie said, starting for the stairs with the overloaded basket of Dahlia’s Desert Delights. She shifted her suitcase to one side so a couple and their young daughter could head down the stairs. They were chatting happily. When Callie was finished, the place would be lively with guests year-round.



DECK HELD his shit-eating grin in case Callie glanced his way again. She thought he was a smug asshole. No point in disappointing her. She wiggled away in her all-wrong outfit, her heels so fragile they’d snap in a knothole. She was too busy wrestling Dahlia for her bag to look back.

No surprise.

Meanwhile, Deck still reeled from the brain buzz and flood of lust he got whenever he saw her. When the ranch house door closed, he rested his forehead against Brandy’s neck and blew out a breath.

What was it about her? No other woman gave him the thud in the chest, the hot knot in his gut, the below-belt ache. She was the first, the one that got away. Maybe that was it.

All she had to do was say his name, and his pulse kicked like a riled horse. Then he never failed to act like a dick. Which was why he avoided her when she was home. At least he hadn’t let on how much he still wanted her.

Did she still want him? Unlikely. She got nervous and defensive around him, but Callie never looked back. She’d left Abrazo for Manhattan like she’d staged a prison break.

Brandy whinnied, so he led her a few yards into the corral with a firm hand, talking low. “Easy, girl. Settle. Steady does it.” No way would the horse be ready for the sunset ride Cal had planned with Dahlia and Callie.

Deck usually bought all the horses for the Triple C, but Cal hadn’t asked his advice on this spirited filly, which would be perfect for Callie, if she hadn’t stopped riding back in seventh grade. Her horse, Lucky, died and broke her heart, though she would never admit that was the reason.

He trotted Brandy around the corral until she managed an easy lope, beginning to trust him. He led her out of the corral, closed the gate and took her for a quick ride across the rolling pasture before he brought her back to her stall and rewarded her with some oats. “Wish I could stay, but I have business inside,” he said with a sigh.

He had to tell Cal Brandy wasn’t ready, which meant another run-in with Callie. Deck needed to remind Cal of the planning and zoning hearing tonight, too—they both sat on the commission.

Taylor Loft, the police chief, was buttonholing commissioners to push through a tax exemption that coincidentally would save him thousands, since he’d started moonlighting as a developer. His father had been a decent chief, but Loft was a manipulative opportunist, who pissed Deck off every time he ran into him.

Because Callie went back to him? Could Deck be that small? With Callie around, he wasn’t sure of anything.

“Wish me luck, girl,” he said to Brandy, patting her rump before he headed toward the ranch house.

Instead of Callie and her dad, he found Dahlia alone in the Cummingses’ kitchen. “Cal around?” he asked.

“Callie went upstairs to get him. She just got here.”

“Yeah. I spoke to her. I can come back.” He turned away.

“No. No. Let me get you some tea.”

“No thanks, I’m just—” The woman looked so nervous and desperate, he said, “Sure. Half a cup, I guess.”

She handed it to him.

Praying for peppermint, he took a sip. Score. “Very nice.”

“Sit, sit,” she said, eager to entertain someone, it seemed. “So you saw Callie already? She’s such a pretty girl.”

“She is that,” he said, sitting across the table from her. Which only made her more annoying.

“Calvin is so happy to see her.”

“I imagine he would be.” Since his heart scare, Cal seemed to miss his daughter more. He should have told Callie he was in the hospital, Deck thought. She would have rushed out, screw the big party he claimed she had to manage. Callie was a good person at heart, despite her silly job. She called her father every week and visited every few months.

“I hope she’ll take the pressure off Calvin.”

“I’m sure she will.” Ironically enough, that had been Deck’s intention when he’d decided to buy the ranch. He’d figured Cal wanted out, and the Lazy J money was just gathering dust in the bank. The very afternoon he stepped into Cal’s office to make an offer, the man announced Callie was coming home to fix up the place, his grin as big as his face.

Too late. Deck had moved too late. Now Callie’s harebrained scheme could wreck the Triple C. Maybe if he treaded lightly, she’d figure that out and hightail her pretty ass back to New York where she belonged, and he could take over after all.

Deck was a patient man. He would wait and see. Animals took time. Crops, too. Biology didn’t turn on a dime. Every worthwhile thing took its own sweet time.

The clock ticked loudly in the silence. Deck sipped. Dahlia stared and fidgeted. Where the hell was Cal? “So, uh, I took Brandy out again, but I don’t think she’s quite ready for a new rider.”

“She’s not? Oh, that’s too bad. Thank you, anyway.” But the woman looked faint with relief. She had no interest in the ranch, from what Deck had seen. She’d distracted the hell out of Cal, dragging him to Tucson whenever a health-food restaurant invented something new with tofu. He’d been late with bills, slow on repairs and like molasses with decisions.

As a result, the Triple C was in trouble, according to Callie. Deck should have spoken up sooner. “I should be going.” He stood. “If you could just tell Cal about Brandy for me? And could you remind him of the meeting—”

“He’ll be here any second, I’m sure. So…you’ve known Callie a long time?” She must be nervous about whatever Callie and Cal were saying about her upstairs.

“Since we were kids, yeah. We went to school together.” But they ran in different circles. Callie had been a star in tiny Abrazo. He didn’t blame her for wanting to swim in a bigger pond. Once he’d gotten past the tequila-soaked shame of that August night, he’d wished her well.

Except for one thing. She’d felt sorry for him. That still burned. No one pitied Declan O’Neill. Losing his father had been hard, but he’d worked the ranch the way his dad would have and watched over his mother until she got her footing again. He’d gotten past that bad time when he’d almost cashed it in. He never thought about that. The memory froze him stiff.

“We’re lucky she could leave her company for so long to come out here. She does such exciting work. Parties with celebrities and socialites and big companies…”

“So I hear.” From what he could tell, Callie spent her days sampling cakes, choosing dance bands and turning goldfish bowls into centerpieces.

“She’s really made something of herself.” Dahlia beamed.

“Seems that way.” He had no doubt she was good. Callie was a sight to see on full throttle. But party planning?

Truth be told, Deck expected more of her. She’d been a firebrand in high school, smart and funny, full of ideas, impatient to fix any injustice. He figured she’d head a corporation, work for a cause. Hell, go into politics.

Maybe he’d just built her up in his mind.

She thought less of him, too, no doubt. To her, he’d gotten stuck in a hick town, spending his days babysitting cattle, his nights in a trailer, his life a pure waste.

She was wrong. There was solace in hard work and reward in the tangible outcomes of his efforts—a healthy herd, well-managed pastures, well-trained horses, spirited and smart.

Nothing wrong with that.

Still, Callie made him think of missed chances and open horizons. Seeing her made that sliver of restlessness he’d felt lately itch like a horsefly bite.

That was a pure trap. The grass always seemed greener in the next pasture, until you got there and found the same goat heads and dry patches you’d thought you’d escaped.

The truth was that he and Callie plain rubbed each other the wrong way.

They sure as hell used to rub each other right.

“Yes? Is something funny?” Dahlia asked.

“Uh, no.” He didn’t expect to be laughing anytime soon.

“Maybe I’ll go up and see what’s keeping them.” Before she left, she poured him more tea.

What could Deck do but drink it?




2


STARTING DOWN THE HALL of the owner’s quarters, Callie noticed her father’s bedroom door ajar, so she set down her bag and the basket and tapped before leaning in. “Dad?”

“Huh?” Her father sat up on the bed. “Uh…Oh, sweetheart, you’re here…good deal.” He sounded groggy.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“Just waking up.” He pushed out of bed to hug her, then regarded her warmly. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Seeing you in the doorway, you looked just like Colleen when we first met.”

“I’m glad,” she said, happy to resemble her mother, though the reminder made her ache. “I miss her, too, Dad.” Tears made her nose sting. How stupid.

“What you resist persists.” The school counselor kept saying that whenever Callie tried to escape her probing questions. She’d itched to get away. Run, run, get out was her mantra. Leaving for college had been the first moment of true relief.

She lunged in for another hug, noticing that instead of the usual Old Spice, her father smelled of eucalyptus and menthol. “Are you wearing liniment?”

“It’s an ointment for arthritis Dahlia cooked up.”

“You have arthritis?”

“I’m a little stiff in the mornings is all. It’s nothing. I think herbs are fine for teas and face goop, but for curing you? Not so much. It makes Dahlia happy, so I use it.”

“That’s kind of you.” She felt the same way he did about herbal remedies.

“It’s so good to have you back,” he said, looking her over tenderly. “When you’re here, the place feels right again.”

She stiffened. What an odd thing to say. He never talked like that. Five months after her mother’s death, he’d insisted Callie go to New York University as planned, even when she claimed she wasn’t ready, which was a lie. She’d been worried about him living all alone. Her father would not hear of it. It was her mother’s dream for her daughter, and he would be busy working the ranch. She belonged in college, period. She had her own life, and her independence made him proud.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” she asked gently.

“Not at all. I’m just sentimental these days.” He waved away her concern. “I hate to drag you away from your business, but I really appreciate your taking the place to hand.”

“I’m happy to do it, Dad. My partner can pick up the slack while I’m gone.” Stefan owed her the favor, after all.

For being a cheating rat.

But that was another story.

“I’ll expand my expertise, too, so that’s good for my career. I’m anxious to dig in. I’ve got two contractors giving bids—tomorrow and the day after.”

“Whoa, now. Give yourself some time to relax, huh?”

“I saw the spreadsheets, Dad,” she gently reminded him. “We’re drowning in debt. Valhalla Investments expects quick action, too. We have to watch the timing for travel calendars for our launch. The pieces are like dominoes. Everything has to click into place. No time to lay back or slow down.”

She was armed with research, a plan, funding and a consultant known worldwide for her resort makeovers. She’d declared the ranch makeover “cookbook”—mostly marketing and promotion, which Callie knew cold—and would be a phone call away. What Callie couldn’t learn, she’d hire experts to do.

“We’ll see how it goes, huh?” her father said. “Maybe you’ll stay to run the place.”

She caught her breath. He had to be joking. “Very funny, Dad.” Not in a million years. Her plan was to get in, get out, not get tangled up in memory and emotion. This was like any assignment, just longer range. She’d be here four to six months, but she’d keep her head and be fine.

“I know you have a lot going on in New York.” This new wistfulness tugged at Callie. He always swore he was busy and happy. She tracked him closely, but she had the feeling he sometimes put on a show for her benefit.

“Come on, you two! Tea’s getting cold!” Dahlia sang to them from the base of the stairs.

“Be right down,” her father called, then spoke to Callie. “She’s worried you won’t like her. She’s been reading books about stepkids and losing a parent and what all.”

“She doesn’t need to do that. If you like her, I’ll like her.” She was determined to.

“I’m sure it’s tough to see me with another woman.”

“You’re forgetting I was the one who got you dating.”

“But now it’s real. That’s got to feel strange. You know that no one could replace your mother, right?”

“Of course not.”

“I love her, Callie. I was asleep and Dahlia woke me up. Thank God you both hounded me.”

“She hounded you?”

“After our date, she kept calling until I answered the phone to get it over with. And here I am. I’m so glad she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Sounds like she stalked you.” She laughed, but the idea gave her a twinge of worry.

“That’s what it took to shake me out of my trance. I had to see that I wouldn’t find another Colleen, but that I didn’t have to be alone, either.” He did look happy, if a little bewildered.

Her father led her down the stairs toward Dahlia, who waited with a huge and nervous smile. “Here they come, father and daughter. Just look at the two of you, together at last.”

The woman was enthusiastic. Callie had to give her that, though Callie felt worn out and they’d barely met.

“You look so much alike,” Dahlia said, looking from one to the other. “You have your father’s eyes, Calissa.”

Calissa. Only her mother called her by her full name. It hit her ear all wrong. “Thank you. And I go by Callie,” she said gently. Besides, everyone said Callie was the spitting image of her mother, not her father.

She did not need to be so effusive. Callie was grateful Dahlia had rescued her father from a loneliness he hadn’t admitted to himself, let alone to Callie. Thanks to Dahlia, once the ranch was back on track, Callie could return to New York without the constant worry that her father was sad and alone.

Dahlia led them to the kitchen where Callie was startled to see Deck rise from the table. What was he doing here? She wasn’t ready for another encounter.

“I wanted to fill you in on Brandy, Cal.”

Her father turned to Callie. “I thought we’d all go for a trail ride before supper. She good for the ride?” he asked Deck.

“Afraid not. Not for a new rider, anyway.”

“That’s a shame.” Her father turned to Dahlia. “I guess you’ll have to ride another horse tonight, darlin’.”

“Why don’t you three go ahead? I don’t have the right clothes here and I have dinner to prepare.”

“Your lentil soup just needs to simmer, doesn’t it?”

“There are side dishes. Lots and lots to do. You three go on and have fun.” She sounded nervous.

“I’ll stay and help you,” her father said. “Guess it’s just you two this time.” He nodded from Deck to Callie.

“You game?” Deck asked her with a smart-ass grin. “Or have you been in the city too long?”

“I can ride a horse, Deck,” she said, rising to his bait. She hadn’t ridden since seventh grade and wasn’t interested in starting up again. Certainly not with Deck, not as sexually jumpy as he made her feel. “I need a tour of the ranch. It might as well be on horseback.”

“Will an hour give you enough time to get grimy and start smelling like manure?”

“What?” Cal asked. Dahlia laughed uneasily.

“A half hour is more than enough, Deck.”

Mischief gleamed in the man’s eyes, as if he’d won a battle she hadn’t known she was in.

“Maybe you can help Callie take it down a notch,” her father said. “She’s still got that horns-down, mad-charge New York way about her.”

“I don’t think Callie wants to take it down a notch,” Deck replied.

“Would you two please not talk like I’m not here,” she said, trying to act amused instead of annoyed. “I know exactly what notch I’m on and how long I want to be there.” What the hell was she saying?

“I’ll meet you in the corral in an hour.” Deck tipped his hat to her. “Cal, we need you at the zoning meeting tonight. The vote will be tight.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be there.”

“’Night then,” Deck said and turned to leave.

Callie took in his departing backside, the jeans molded to his ass, one pocket worn from his wallet. His boots made his walk loose and slow and he’d grown broader. Eleven years ago, he’d been a boy. Now he was all man.

“Callie?”

“Huh?” She jerked her head to Dahlia, who must have said something to her she missed.

“I said, honey in your tea?”

“Sure, sure,” she said, sitting down, gathering her wits.

Dahlia handed her a mug and Callie caught a whiff of peppermint. The good tea, according to Deck. With honey, it wasn’t half-bad. He’d been right about that.

“Anyway, I’m so glad you’re taking this pressure from your father’s shoulders,” Dahlia said to Callie. She squeezed Callie’s father’s hand on the table. “This place has aged him.”

“Is that true, Dad?” Callie asked. “Is the ranch too much for you?” Had he hidden that from her, too?

“The Triple C will always be home. I need time for more now, that’s all.” He patted Dahlia’s hand and the woman blushed. “Dahlia’s getting me out and about. We’d like to travel—see Europe and India. I’ve been stuck in a rut.” He looked into Dahlia’s eyes and she looked back in an equally moony way.

Callie glanced down, embarrassed. She sipped her tea, aware of the tingle of alarm fighting to get through the syrupy sweetness of the scene. Was she just a cynical New Yorker? She so wanted her father to be happy and well. She set her mug down with a clunk. The love birds startled and looked her way.

“So…” Dahlia said brightly, “Rancho de Descanso…what a great concept. As soon as you have your logo, we can make up labels with �Exclusive from Dahlia’s Desert Delights’ for the products. Do you have the design yet?”

“A graphics team is working on it right now, but—”

“Just let me know. We’ll want compatible designs and—”

“Let’s not overwhelm her, Dahlia,” her father said, putting his arm around Dahlia’s shoulder. “She barely got here.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so thrilled.”

“Did you put in the flower pots outside?” Callie said to shift topics before the woman offered her a facial. “They really brighten up the entrance.”

“Yes. Some herbs I need for my tinctures and teas. My own garden is jammed to the netting.”

“What are the purple and pink flowers shaped like bells?”

“Those are foxglove. The small white ones are sweet woodruff. Both have healing uses. Western medicine relies on synthetic compounds to an alarming degree. It’s such a shame to ignore nature’s bounty.”

“I suppose it can seem that way.” She smiled, then caught her father’s gaze. They were both humoring Dahlia. “I should get upstairs and unpack and change, I guess, since I’m going for a ride.” She sighed.

“Rosalie put extra towels in your bathroom and a blanket for your bed,” her father said. “Holler if you need anything.”

At the second-floor landing, she paused to look down at the spectacular great room, where a middle-aged man read a paperback novel from the small ranch library.

Her mother’s classic taste stood the test of time. Raw beams and stone fireplaces were popular in the newer guest ranches. Callie would replace the worn furniture and add some contemporary art, but her mother’s choice of Navajo rugs, Tohono O’odham baskets and exquisite wood pieces still looked great. She’d keep the kerosene lighting, too, as a rustic touch.

Upstairs, Callie entered the pink-princess glory of her room with the usual knot in her chest. Her mother had been happy to create the girlie oasis of canopy bed and French provincial furniture Callie wanted. She never let Callie suffer for their choice to live in the boondocks.

The room was full of mementos—riding trophies, dried corsages, cheerleading photos and awards. The bureau still held the prom shot of her and Taylor—who’d recently gotten divorced, her father had mentioned. She could turn the room into a true guest room, but she knew her father would be upset by the change.

She picked up the candid of her mother and her at that last Halloween party. They were dressed as witches and they had their heads together laughing.

A bottomless ache came over Callie, making her sink to the bed. She hated this. It had been eleven years. Get over it.

Her mother could always find a reason to celebrate. She hosted parties and town events like crazy. Until the last one. Her mother had been returning from Phoenix, her car jammed with stuff for Callie’s eighteenth birthday bash, when she fell asleep on a lonely stretch of I-10.

As if that horror hadn’t been enough, Callie had read the newspaper story, where a witness vividly described the highway littered with foil banners, crepe paper, appetizers and paper plates. “It looked like a party had exploded on the road.” The words and the picture they drew remained branded in Callie’s brain.

To spare Callie’s feelings, they’d held the funeral two days after her birthday, but it hadn’t helped. She’d ignored her birthday ever after, avoided the subject with friends. No one knew, and she liked it that way.

Callie slipped the photo into the drawer—no point torturing herself—and opened her suitcase on the bed. Throwing open her closet door, she surveyed the fashion mistakes she’d left when she headed for college, including the ridiculously slutty dress Taylor had bought—sequined fake snakeskin she’d managed to only wear once. Her old jeans were there and the never-worn Stetson her dad had bought her to try to coax her back into riding.

Glancing at her watch, she decided to unpack later. Instead, she’d make a couple of quick calls. The first was to touch base with Finn Markham, head of Valhalla Investments, the company funding the resort, pinning down his visit to the property. She wanted to talk to him about possibly buying the riverside acres. The proceeds would offer a financial margin in case they took too long to turn the revenue corner. Raw land wasn’t as valuable as developed land, but it was an option worth considering.

Getting voice mail, she left a message, then took a calming breath before punching in the number to Be There Events, the company she and Stefan had built together.

“Hello, Callie,” he answered gravely. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Ready to dig in,” she said cheerfully, irritated by the drama in his tone. “How’s it going there?”

“The usual craziness. We miss you.”

Oh, lighten up. She was the injured party, but Stefan was the one who’d been moping around ever since. So much for easy, simple sex. They both lived for their work, so hooking up had been easy. But not simple three years later, when she learned Stefan was sleeping with a model from one of their events.

“Do you have questions?” she asked. “Everything clear?”

“Your notes are great. An idiot could handle this. And I sure qualify as one of those.”

“Don’t, Stefan. It’s over and done. I told you no hard feelings.” Not many feelings at all, she’d realized, which appalled her. When he’d confessed the affair, she’d been…numb.

Her pride was wounded, sure, but her heart was undamaged. It reminded her of the time she fell off Lucky when she was ten. She’d hit the ground and braced for agonizing pain. It never came. She’d been jarred, slightly bruised, but otherwise fine. She got up and rode off, virtually unscathed.

“It means nothing,” Stefan had said of the affair.

Then why do it? She knew why. What they had together wasn’t enough. For either of them, it turned out. She’d initiated the breakup. Stefan protested, but hollowly. He seemed to be reading the lines from the script for Cheating Lover, the Play.

She’d been too troubled to act her part. Even before Stefan, she’d been a no-strings girl, but now she feared she’d been protecting her heart so long, it had lost function. The heart was a muscle, after all. Without proper use, it could atrophy, become crippled.

She’d realized to her shock that she might not have the capacity for a lifelong love.

“What else can I do to help you?” Stefan said.

“Hold down the fort. That’s plenty for now.” When she got back they would talk. Before the breakup, she’d decided it was time to move on. She loved events, but Stefan wanted more publicity and marketing projects. She’d decided to follow up on the open invitation from Ogden, Rush & Tillman, a high-profile PR firm, to launch their special-events division, handily bounding several rungs up the success ladder.

She was finished with Be There Events. When a thing was over, you left. That was her philosophy. Never get stale, never get stuck. Done is done.

That was why she loved New York. There was always a place to go, a leap to risk, a challenge to meet. The affair had come at a good time, all things considered. Though she would have rather not discovered the crippled-heart part.

Finished with the phone, she saw she had time for a quick shower. She tied her hair back to keep it dry and stepped under the hot stream, letting the water uncoil her tension. Too bad she had to gear up for the horseback ride with Deck. She pictured his flashing grin, the knowing light in his blue eyes, the perfect curve of his ass, his big hands and where they might wander if he were here right now…mmmm.

Later, girl. She’d brought her ultrafancy vibrator—a gift from her girlfriends after the breakup—to handle her carnal needs for the next few months. If only she and Deck didn’t have a history. A mindless affair would be the perfect relief from the stress of the monumental work ahead.

Nothing with Deck could ever be mindless, she knew, though her body kept insisting she give it a try.

Forget it. Her focus was on the ranch. The construction intimidated her, but her consultant had pointed out it was like any project. You made a plan, hired good people, watched the dollars and the details and it all worked out. Tomorrow she’d begin with a meeting with the first contractor.

Tonight she had to get through a sunset ride with Deck.




3


THE SUN HAD STREAKED the sky with color when Callie marched down the porch, her red leather boots clicking sharply against the wooden steps, the fringe on her matching jacket swinging free. She’d only worn this once to a Western-themed client event and wanted to get some use out of it. She’d dressed for wow factor, wanting to off-balance Deck a bit.

Beneath the jacket, she wore a white scoop-necked stretch top. On her head was her Stetson, bright white, spanking new.

Her stone-washed jeans hugged her hips and legs so tightly she could barely draw breath.

A mistake, she realized, standing on the porch. She had to get her legs up and over the barrel of a horse’s rib cage. Bad move. She turned to go change, but Deck called her name.

She’d just make these jeans work like the rest of her plan. She would ease into the ranch changes, break the news about selling off the livestock, and hope she could keep Deck on the team through the changeover.

When she got close enough, Deck deliberately thumbed his hat high up his forehead and whistled. “Niiice,” he said, “though I wouldn’t waltz in front of any bulls in all that red if I were you.”

Terrific. He was making fun of her.

“Those pants look downright painful.” He ran his eyes down her length, making her aware that he was a man and she was in skintight jeans that hugged her ass and pinched her sex—which got worse the longer he looked her over. “How do you even move?”

“I manage,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining,” Deck said, his low tone and lazy gaze telling her the answer to her earlier question. Yeah, he still found her attractive. Arousal rolled through her. At least she wasn’t alone.

She climbed stiffly up the fence to sit on the top slat, acting as casually as she could manage. She’d have to drop onto her horse from up here. Throwing a leg up and over would snap a femur, she was sure. Deck tracked her every move.

Brandy gave an irritated snort. “Easy, girl.” Deck ran a hand down the horse’s neck. “I’ll ride Brandy, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” She was glad not to have to manage a horse so fresh to the saddle until she saw the horse Deck had chosen for her. Gray and swaybacked, with a low-hanging head and white hairs around its eyes and lips, the poor beast looked dead on its hooves. “This is my horse? He’s ancient.”

“Wiley’s older, but he’s steady and even tempered, which is what we need.”

“You think I need an old, slow horse?” she said testily.

“Brandy needs an old, slow horse.” He shook his head, smiling. Gotcha. Why was she like this around him? “Now if you want more of a challenge, be my guest…” He gestured at Brandy.

“I don’t want to interfere with your training.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” he said, not fooled by her fib. She hated that he saw right through her. Mostly because she couldn’t return the favor.

She scooted along the fence closer to the sagging spine of her horse. Reading her movements, Deck steered Wiley nearer. She dropped into the saddle, her jeans straining as her legs spread over Wiley’s ribs. She accepted the reins from Deck, then urged Wiley into a walk to get back her seat.

Deck opened the gate, then untied Brandy. “You ready for a ride, girl?” he murmured in a hypnotic tone, smoothing the horse with his broad palm, masterful and gentle, as if he understood each twitch of muscle, twist of tendon. “You are ready, aren’t you, girl?” He was wooing the horse. “You want a ride, don’t you? You want it, huh? Yeah, you do.”

Please stop. The words were making her hot. Any second, she’d blurt, “Yes! Yes I want it. I want it bad.”

Finally Deck swung smoothly onto Brandy’s back. The horse went still, reared, staggered backward, then lurched around the corral.

Callie tried to turn Wiley out of the way, but Brandy was too fast and banged into her horse’s rump. Wiley lunged forward, throwing Callie onto his neck. Her hat flew off and her pubic bone slammed into the saddle pommel. She yelped as pain burned through her.

“You okay?” Deck called, more worried about her than the rearing, spinning beast beneath him.

“I’m fine,” she choked out, needing to rub her bruised spot, but not wanting to do it in front of Deck.

“Hold tight. We’ll be back after we burn off some energy.” Deck leaned over Brandy’s neck and she took off out of the gate in a streak of shining muscle. Deck gave the horse her head, and they flew west across the field, making Callie’s heart lift at the beauty of horse and rider silhouetted against the changing colors of the sunset sky.

A horse running full out was an amazing sight. It was the fire, the energy, the way the creature’s whole being seemed focused on the run, like its heart would burst with the joy of it. Callie’s chest tightened. How had she forgotten this wonder?

Horse and rider were small in the distance when they finally swung back her way. By the time they reached the gate, Deck had Brandy in a relaxed lope and guided her effortlessly into the corral. Near the far fence, he leaned down to scoop up Callie’s Stetson, easy as a rodeo star. He returned to settle it on her head. His gaze took a lazy trip down her body, making her want to wiggle in the saddle. “You all set?”

She nodded. Soon they were on their way, riding in silence at first. Clouds to the west glowed pink, orange and purple. The air held a slight chill, and a light breeze carried the green scent of the Rio Feliz their way.

“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.

Her eyes flared and she shivered. No way was she cold in this water. Something else was going on and when she echoed his toast, her voice shook.



SIPPING THE CHAMPAGNE Deck had poured, Callie felt hotter inside than the steaming water that lapped at her shoulders. Deck’s eyes locked on, gleaming in the moonlight. Startled, she backed into a hollow in the rocks, the perfect indentation…

Uh-oh. This was where they’d made love.

Did Deck remember? He was looking at her that way.

The last thing she needed with water wrapping her in warmth like the best of all hugs, was Deck naked, a mere arm’s length away. She gulped more champagne, realizing too late that its fizzy deliciousness would unravel her inhibitions, making things worse.

Deck gave her a slow, big-as-the-sky smile. “Very nice…”

It wasn’t until he lifted the bottle that she realized he’d meant the champagne, not her. Whew.

“I robbed the ranch’s supply. I’ll have to replace it. Ernie’s carries champagne, right?”

“Even hicks enjoy the finer things. We don’t all toss back a brew, then go shoot up highway signs for a good time.”

“Come on. You know I don’t think that.”

He shrugged. “You left.”

“And you stayed,” she snapped back, defensive suddenly.

“To each his own.” Was he jabbing at her, defending his choice, or being nice?

“As long as you’re happy.” Did that sound condescending?

“Exactly.” Picking up the tension, he softened his next words. “Cal says your company’s doing well. You set up parties for celebrities, right?” He lifted an eyebrow, like he couldn’t believe she did that for a living.

“I do events, not just parties. There’s more to it than cocktails and tenderloin satay.” She held out her glass for more champagne. In Manhattan, top event planners were movers and shakers. Out here, though, she could see how it might sound, well, silly. “Human culture is built around points of celebration.”

“Okay….” Another eyebrow shift.

“Events can make or break a new company, a product, hell, a relationship. In the right atmosphere, the right combination of people, food, setting and entertainment, deals can be cut, business ties forged, critical negotiations conducted. My mission is to bring people together for meaningful outcomes.”

“I didn’t realize parties could be so, uh—”

“Complex? Crucial?”

“Uh, sure.”

Was he laughing at her? Probably. They both drank more.

“Maybe you could explain that some,” Deck said, clearly trying to be polite.

“Okay,” she said, deciding to pretend he was honestly curious. “First we consider the client’s goals and determine the proper venue and approach. Sometimes direct mail, product placement, print and broadcast advertising will do. Other times, viral marketing works. Often, and this is where I come in, entertaining key clients, opinion leaders, media or city officials are a linchpin to the campaign.”

She realized Deck’s eyes had dipped to where the water met the top of her breasts. Caught, he yanked his gaze upward and cleared his throat. “Please go on,” he said, gulping champagne, then refilling her glass.

“There’s the budget,” she said, fighting her response to his roving eyes. “That’s huge for client satisfaction and my revenue stream. Clients want the world. You should try creating an elaborate, sumptuous reception for five hundred on a shoestring. It takes artistry, attention to detail and fierce negotiation skills.”

“I’m sure you’re good at what you do, Callie.” Deck leaned closer. “You wouldn’t take a job if it didn’t challenge you.”

“Thank you,” she said, distracted by the sexual sparks flying between them. Funny how the pale light of the moon was all she needed to read him now. In broad daylight he’d been a mystery to her.

“You’re only as good as your last event,” she said to distract herself. “There’s a lot of pressure, and word of screwups travels fast.”

Her mind wandered to Deck, naked beneath the water. Was he aroused? She’d begun to feel the champagne. She had to keep them talking. “How about you? What else do you do besides the ranch? Not that that’s not plenty.”

Deck chuckled. “It’s okay, Callie. You don’t have to watch every word. We got off on the wrong foot.”

He reached across and touched her arm, his fingers warm from the water. She couldn’t help but sink lower and suck in a breath. “Okay. That’s good.”

Deck withdrew his hand slowly. “I stay busy. Civic BS in town—chamber of commerce, planning and zoning. I also consult with horse breeders and buyers all over the West.”

“And in your free time…?”

“I hang with friends. If I want music, I go into Tucson or up to Phoenix. For that matter, New York’s just a couple bags of salted nuts away. I’ve been there.”

“You were in the city? You didn’t call.”

“It was a long time ago. I was with someone.” He shrugged.

“But I would have taken you to dinner. We’re friends…”

“It was last-minute.”

He was right. With their history, a double date over martinis and sushi would have been awkward.

“So is New York all you expected?” he asked.

“All that and more.” She stopped herself. Why cheerlead? Naked in the springs, here with Deck, who’d always accepted anything she said, she told him the truth. “Is anything ever what you expect?”

“Maybe not.”

“New York is indescribable. Intense. Vital. Important. The people are fascinating. There’s so much to do—theater, museums, clubs, any kind of food you can imagine. It’s the heartbeat, the pulse of the country. There’s so much I love there.”

“And…?”

She felt a twinge, like a new toothache, and took a big swallow of champagne before she answered. “It can wear you out. It’s crowded. It’s expensive. It’s noisy and complicated.”

“No place is perfect.”

She smiled. “True. And I wouldn’t live anywhere else.” For now. That thought surprised her. “Part of it’s my job. Especially after a twelve-hour day, when I have to schmooze the catering manager into one more round of appetizers, conjure a smile for the client from hell who’s underpaying me, or cough up a joke before two business partners launch a fist fight with each other.”

“Sounds like an ordeal.”

“Does it? I guess it is. And, sometimes I feel…” She paused, not willing to say lonely. Too weak. In the city, you kept your cards close and your deodorant fresh. One drop of blood in the water and you were sashimi on an enamel plate.

Lately, since the breakup, she’d felt kind of alone. Even with Stefan, really, but she’d stayed too busy to notice.

“Overwhelmed,” she finished. She’d love to ask Deck if he ever felt lonely, but they were too tentative with each other. “Your mom’s doing okay?” she asked instead.

“She’s happy. Harvey’s a good guy and she likes Modesto.”

“Do you miss the Lazy J?”

“Sometimes. Pop would never have sold. I’m sure he’d have hated that I was leasing the place. I had to hand off when I finally went for my degree.”

“In what? Agribusiness?”

He laughed. “No. I got a BA in humanities. That and three-fifty will get you a venti at Starbucks. And, yes, I’ve been to Starbucks, Callie.”

“I didn’t say a word.” At least they were joking. “Your dad wouldn’t have wanted you to be strapped to the ranch forever. He’d want you to be happy.”

“It wasn’t a burden.” He shrugged.

“You sacrificed so much for your mom, staying with her so long. Meanwhile, I left my dad all alone.”

“You’re out here a lot. You call all the time.”

“Yeah, but I never know what’s really going on. I think Dad puts on a happy face for me.”

“That’s probably true. You used to do that for him, too. You were a one-girl show. Housekeeper, therapist, entertainer.”

“I just did what had to be done.”

“Maybe Cal should have looked out for you more.”

“Cheering him up cheered me, too.” Look happy and you’ll be happy. That was what she tried with everyone but Deck. With him, the mask fell away. It was falling away right now.

“It’s hard for me to be here,” she said. “It’s like I get ambushed. I miss my mother so bad I feel sick. It’s ridiculous. Eleven years have passed. What’s my problem?”

“You left so soon after she died. Maybe that’s why.”

“I think losing our parents so young changed the course of our lives. I escaped to New York and you got trapped at the Lazy J.”

“That’s pretty dramatic. You were going to New York anyway. And I told you I liked working the ranch.”

“Still…”

“Hey, hey. No regrets, remember? Live life with relish…” He paused for her to finish the old joke.

“And mustard?”

They laughed, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing the warm memory. She felt close to him again.

“I think hard times make us stronger, Callie.”

“I don’t know about that. I was a mess.” Every day had been a fight to stay at the surface, a desperate dogpaddle or she’d drop to the bottom like a stone. “If it hadn’t been for you…” Deck had held her up. Deck and his warm arms and good heart.

“We were both in the same foxhole.”

“Not exactly the same.” The deeper pain rose like the hot steam around her. “You didn’t cause your dad’s death.” She swallowed, struggling with emotion. She usually danced away from this idea.

“Your mother fell asleep driving. You weren’t in the car.”

“It was for my party. She drove all the way to Phoenix to get the stuff. If I’d settled for pizza at Dino’s, she’d be alive today.” She swallowed and blinked, embarrassed.

“Hey…” Deck moved to hug her, keeping the embrace high on their bodies. “I hate to see you in pain.”

“I know.” He had always been there for her. His skin against hers felt so right. She rested her cheek on his chest. It felt so good, as calming as back then.

Just like that, the moment changed. The comfort hug turned into something else, something more intense. Callie became aware of a hitch in Deck’s breathing and her own. His arms around her were strong and sure, his fingers dug in.

She should push back. He should back off. Neither of them moved. She became aware of a tight ache between her legs.

They were inches apart. All either of them had to do was shift slightly forward and they’d be body to body, thigh to thigh, her breasts against his chest, her belly against his erection. It would feel so good. Like before, but new, too.

She ached to move closer.

“I remember how we were,” Deck said, his voice rough.

They had to stop. This was dangerous.

“Me, too.” She began to tremble. She wanted him so badly. She wanted to see how they would be together—without the grief and the frantic desperation. She’d been a girl, inexperienced in sex. Now she was a woman and knew exactly what to do and what she wanted. “I’d never felt like that before.”

Or since, for that matter. Deck hadn’t been her first, but sex with Taylor had been awkward and fast and all about him. Deck and she had moved together like two halves of a whole.

“We were young,” Deck said, shifting infinitesimally closer. His chest grazed her breasts.

The ache between her legs felt like an injury. She wanted to lunge at him.

“Sex was new.” Deck’s eyes burned at her.

“Does sex ever get old?” Never with Deck. She couldn’t imagine that happening. “It was more than that.” She had to say it. She’d loved his seriousness, his self-confidence. He’d seemed free and brave and adult.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was more.” They were in trouble now, lost in the past, in their soft words, their naked nearness. “Lots more.” With a decisive move, he pulled her against him, let her feel his hardness, took her backside in both his hands.

What are we doing? She couldn’t say the words. She could only melt against him, weak with relief.

Deck’s mouth found hers, his lips warm and giving, his tongue pressing gently, wanting in. She opened to him, welcomed his tongue, the slow slide of his lips on hers. The kiss was like water after a desperate thirst. She couldn’t get enough. She wrapped her arms around him, dug in with her fingers, pushed her own tongue into his mouth, tasting him again, remembering, but discovering, too. They’d been kids.

How had this happened?

It was the champagne, the moonlight, the hot springs and the memories. It was the way he smelled of cedar and sunshine. It was all that they’d meant to each other. And maybe more.




5


DECK WAS FOGGY on exactly how he’d ended up with Callie in his arms, her sweet tongue in hot pursuit of his own, but he wasn’t one bit sorry.

He’d started it, he knew that. He’d meant to comfort her, but the past had come rushing back and they were so close and so naked in the water that he couldn’t stop himself.

He gripped her backside with both hands. She moaned and trembled, wrapping her legs around his waist, locking on with her heels, as if for dear life.

He felt the hot drive to be inside her, making her come, coming himself, and fought to slow down, to manage this rush of need. He felt like a starving man dropped into a banquet.

Callie pulled back and looked at him, panting, her gaze flying across his face. “What are we doing?” She sounded scared.

“Acting crazy,” he said, taking her mouth again.

She pulled away and looked at him, her eyes dazed. “Completely crazy.” She blinked and shook her head, clearly fighting for control. “This would get complicated. We have to work together. Sex can make things weird. Plus…birth control…”

“True.” What was wrong with him? He hadn’t even paused to consider a condom. She was so beautiful, her eyes glittering, wanting him, her lips puffy from his assault. He wanted her so bad. He groaned. He couldn’t help it.




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