A Cowboy Under Her Tree. Allison Leigh
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forward, the edges of her fine white teeth meeting in a smile that seemed remarkably close to a clench. “I am not looking for a real husband,” she assured under her breath.
He leaned closer, too, mostly to see how quick she’d back away.
Only they ended up nose to nose, because the infernal woman didn’t retreat.
“I’m not looking for a real wife, either,” he murmured. Her skin was just as fine this close as his imagination suspected. And her lashes were long. Not the clumped-up, mucked-up kind of long that came out of some tube. He didn’t kid himself that she went without cosmetics. Life with Nola had shown him just how effective that particular art could be. But he’d bet his favorite saddle that those lashes of Melanie’s didn’t have any need for artifice.
And those lashes suddenly flickered, dropping down to shield her dark eyes. “People are staring. Just give me the napkin and I’ll go.”
“Sugar, if you give up this easy, you might as well pack it in and move back to Boston.” His fingers covered hers, stilling her tug on the napkin.
“I told you. I’m not from Boston and I’m not giving up.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“Knowing enough not to beat a dead horse,” she returned.
“Why don’t you just sell me the H now, and cut your losses? Go back and run one of those towering hotels your family’s famous for?”
“Why don’t you just take a flying leap? Did you not just hear what I said? A McFarlane doesn’t quit.”
He smiled faintly. “Right. So if you don’t want to fail, it’s like I said. We get hitched for real. Then we’ll have something to talk about.”
“A person might think your virtue were at stake.” Her voice was low and the smile on her lips didn’t extend to her eyes.
His fingers itched to wrap around another beer. At least that was an easier explanation than thinking that his fingers itched to wrap around something much more warm and animated.
With hair the color of mahogany set on fire.
He curled the itchy fingers into a fist. “I gave up on virtue years ago. But I want to make damn sure you can’t finagle your way out of giving me my cut when our little association ends.”
“Aren’t you two looking cozy?” The deep voice interrupted them.
Melanie’s head whipped up, but Russ had to give her credit for her quick recovery. “Hello, Grant. Stephanie.” Her smile for the couple was friendly. Warm. “Thank you again for inviting me to your party. It’s a lovely way to kick off the season.”
“We’re glad you could make it,” Steph assured. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a sparkly clip and her green eyes shined almost as much. “You, too, Russ.”
Russ was watching the expression on Grant’s face. Things had smoothed a lot between him and Grant in the past months, but they still hadn’t quite gotten back to being as tight as they’d once been. Grant was Russ’s oldest friend, but since Thunder Canyon had made the leap from being a bump in the road to the flavor of the year for the jet-setting crowd, they’d had more than a few differences.
Grant embraced the progress. He’d found a brand-new niche, managing the Thunder Canyon Resort. He fit in.
Russ didn’t.
But at least Grant hadn’t sold his family’s ranch, Clifton’s Pride, to the redhead, though. Of course, that had meant Russ lost out on the Hopping H when Melanie snapped it out from under his nose, instead.
“Yeah. Looks like you’re doing plenty of celebrating.” Grant’s sharp blue eyes took in the collection of empty glasses and bottles on the table that the busy cocktail waitresses hadn’t yet cleared away. “Why don’t I set you both up with rooms tonight? We’re almost at capacity, but there are a few cabins left.”
“Worried about keeping the roads safe?” Russ drawled.
Grant smiled faintly. “Something like that. Cab service isn’t exactly running swiftly tonight.”
Russ eyed Melanie. “One room will do, won’t it, darlin’?” No time like the present to start the townsfolk thinking that there was some hanky-panky going on between him and the Easterner.
He wasn’t so far gone that he could turn down a piece of the Hopping H. Business was business. She’d said so, herself.
Melanie swallowed again and slowly gave up her tug-of-war on the napkin. Her gaze—wide, brown, deep—focused on him. Her lips—soft, full, pink—parted softly. “One room is fine,” she finally agreed, sounding oddly shy.
And just that quickly, Russ’s damned imagination sidled into action again. His declaration had been pragmatic. His imagination was not.
Steph was doing a fair to middling job of hiding her shock. On the other hand, Grant didn’t look all that shocked. Just knowing.
After all. He and Russ did go a long way back.
“I’ve already alerted the desk,” his old friend said smoothly, proving one of the reasons why he was good at what he did. He anticipated things before they actually occurred. “You can pick up your key whenever you’re ready.”
Russ didn’t look at Grant. He ran his fingertips deliberately over the back of Melanie’s slender hand. Felt the tremble she couldn’t hide. “Appreciate that.”
“We’d better say good night to the Stevensons,” Steph murmured to Grant. “Looks like they’re getting ready to head out.”
“Right.” Grant covered the hand she tucked beneath his arm as if they’d been doing that all of their lives. “Catch you later.” His lips twitched. “Enjoy yourselves, now.”
“We plan to.” Russ watched the color rise in Melanie’s cheeks. “Supposed to snow sometime tonight, and the rooms here have outdoor hot tubs.”
“You know what they’re thinking,” Melanie said under her breath once Grant and Steph moved off to intercept the departing couple.
“Exactly what you’re wanting them to think,” he returned. He lifted the beer bottle. Found it empty. Eyed her empty cocktail. “Want another round?”
“I think I’ve had plenty.”
“Then we should hit the room. That is, if we’ve got a deal. A real deal.”
She seemed to steel herself a little as she rose to her feet. She swept a shaking hand down the side of her dress and turned toward the door. “Bring the napkin.”
“What for?” He caught her elbow in his hand, keeping her from sailing ahead of him as she looked prepared to do.
Her gaze swept down him from head to toe. The color in her cheeks bloomed even brighter. “Consider it a prenuptial agreement.”
Chapter Three
Melanie simply had to shut off her brain as they went through the process of obtaining the offered room key and getting to their room, which was actually one of the cabins looking out over Thunder Canyon, rather than a single room in the lodge itself.
It felt as if she and the hunk of granite towering over her were the focus of every pair of eyes they passed, first at the registration desk, then the coat check where Russ almost mockingly tucked her into her calf-length fur. Nor was her ego healthy enough to believe that she would be the subject of any particular gossip. After six months, she was still a newcomer in Thunder Canyon.
A curiosity.
An oddity.
Russ, however, was as much a part of the town as the foundation on which the charmingly Old West buildings were built. And it seemed very clear to her that he was definitely the focus of those