Cowboy to the Rescue. Stella Bagwell
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week Christina rarely saw Geraldine Saddler. The ranching matriarch was an extremely busy woman, spending most of her waking hours working on some sort of charity project or overseeing the actual running of the ranch’s daily activities. It was as common to see her dressed in jeans and chaps, driving around in her old Ford truck, as it was to glimpse her leaving for San Antonio in a sequin and satin cocktail dress. She was a woman to be admired, and Christina envied her children for having such a strong, respected mother, a mother who viewed loving a man and raising his children as the most ultimate blessings and responsibilities in her life.
As for Lex, she’d been meeting with him in the evenings, after supper, to go over details of the investigation. So far she couldn’t have asked for him to be a more perfect gentleman. And he’d even helped her begin to see inside the person who’d died in the gulf waters off Corpus Christi. She had to admit that Lex wasn’t the problem that she’d first expected him to be. But her reaction to him was definitely a problem. A huge one.
She’d hoped that the more she was around the man, the more she’d be able to control her racing heart and quell the ridiculous heat that colored her cheeks and warmed every inch of her body whenever she was near him. Trouble was, the more she tried to fight the attraction she had for the rawhide-tough rancher, the stronger it seemed to grow.
That fact hit harder than ever later that evening, as she left her room to go to dinner. Halfway down the staircase, she met Lex coming up. He was dressed very casually in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. The moss-green color set off the tawny-blond streaks in his hair and the dark tan of his arms. She drank in the sight of him like a parched flower soaking up raindrops.
“There you are,” he said, with an easy smile. “I was just coming up to fetch you.”
“Oh. Have you been waiting?”
“No. Mom is away for the evening, and I wanted to see if it was okay with you if we had our meal in the kitchen. I hope you’re going to say yes, because I’ve already sent Cook home.”
“Of course it’s okay with me.” In fact, Christina was happy about the change. Even though the dining room of the Saddler hacienda was very beautiful, she preferred a smaller, cozier setting to eat her meals, especially when there were only two people present.
“Good.” He wrapped an arm through hers and began to escort her down the remaining stairs and in the general direction of the kitchen. “Would you like a drink first? Since Mom’s not here, Cook didn’t make margaritas, but I can shake something up.”
Just the scent of him, the touch of his hand and the smile on his face were shaking her up. Much more than a splash of tequila. She wondered what he would think if he knew that. “Actually, I don’t normally drink anything alcoholic.”
He glanced her way. “If having it around bothers you, you should have told us.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t expect people around me to be prudes, and I even drink spirits occasionally—you saw me drink a margarita the first evening I was here. But my father is a recovering alcoholic. Each time I take a sip, I think of what he’s gone through.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How is your father doing now?”
She gave him a tentative smile. Talking honestly about Delbert Logan was something new for her. As a young girl, she’d often lied to her friends so they wouldn’t know about her father’s condition. Later on, as she’d grown into womanhood, she’d avoided talking about him altogether. Now, she sometimes had to remind herself that her father was becoming a different person. For the first time in her life, she could speak proudly of him. “He’s not had a drink in over five years, and he’s working at a good job. I never thought he’d find the determination to turn his life around, but he has. And that makes me very happy.”
By now they were in a hallway that led to the kitchen, and when he paused and turned to her, she was suddenly reminded that the two of them were entirely alone in the big house.
“I’m glad for you, Christina,” he said, with a gentle smile. “And I apologize if I was prying. You didn’t have to tell me all that about your father. You could have told me to mind my own business.”
The idea that he understood how difficult it was for her to talk about her father’s problem suddenly made it all very easy, and she gave his arm a grateful squeeze.
“It’s all right,” she quietly assured him. “It’s nice to be able to say good things about my father. I only wish my mother could get herself on a better track.”
“What does that mean?”
She urged him to keep walking toward the kitchen, and as the two of them strolled along, she said, “It means that my mother is nothing like yours. She’s been married six times. Who knows? The next time I call her, it might be seven.”
“Whew! And I was concerned about Mom marrying a second time.”
She sighed. “Your mother is a steadfast saint compared to mine.”
“What’s up with your mother and all the marriages?”
Christina shrugged. “She’s looking for something to make her happy,” she said wearily. “Unfortunately, she believes she’ll find it in a man.”
“Ouch. You sound very cynical. Do I need to apologize for being male?” he teased.
She tried to laugh. “No. Just never compare me to my mother. I’m not a man hunter.”
“That’s not true,” he countered as they reached the swinging doors of the kitchen.
Halting in her tracks, she turned an offended frown on him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are hunting a man,” he explained. “Your brother.”
She visibly relaxed. “Oh. Yes. But that’s different.”
Taking hold of her hand, he passed his thumb softly, sensuously over the back of it. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re not looking for a husband?”
Her head bobbed jerkily up and down as a nervous lump thickened her throat. They were walking on treacherous ground, and the fact that there was no one around to interrupt them made her even more wary. “That’s right. Setting out to deliberately find a spouse is…well—”
“Unromantic?”
“Yes. Love doesn’t happen by design.”
The dimples in his cheeks made Christina wonder if he was finding her attitude very amusing, or if he was simply enjoying this intimate exchange with her. Either way, her heart was fluttering so madly, she wondered what was keeping her from fainting.
“And you think love is an important ingredient for marriage?” he asked.
Just hearing him say the word “love” was enough to steal Christina’s breath. Which made her feel like even more of an idiot for reacting so strongly to this man. “It’s the essential ingredient. Now, do you think we can go in to our supper? This conversation is ridiculous.”
His smile slowly turned suggestive. “The conversation might be senseless, but this isn’t.”
Christina was trying to make sense of his words when she suddenly found his hands on her shoulders and his head lowering to hers. Stunned by the idea that he was about to kiss her, she mentally shouted a warning to herself to turn her head, to step back and away from him. Yet her body refused to obey the signals of her brain. Instead, she felt her chin lift and her lips part before the totally male taste of him shattered her senses.
Like a merry-go-round moving ever so slowly, Christina stood stock-still, her breath stuck somewhere in the middle of her chest as his lips made a soft, thorough foray of hers.
Heat rushed through her body, setting off tingling explosions along her skin, behind her eyes, even in the tips of her fingers. Mindlessly, she began to kiss him back, began to want and need the connection to continue.
She