The Rancher She Loved. Ann Roth
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“You haven’t been up there?” When Clay shook his head, she said, “Could I take a peek?”
“Some other time.” His mouth settled into a grim line.
He wanted her gone. Sarah understood—she was uncomfortable around him, too. Yet some sixth sense told her that she might find something important in the attic. If only she could talk with Mr. Phillips...
“I’d like to ask Mr. Phillips about the Beckers,” she said. “Would you mind giving me his number?”
Clay shrugged one shoulder and supplied it as she input the information into her phone. “You won’t be able to reach him, though,” he said. “He doesn’t own a cell, and right now he and his wife are someplace in Europe.”
That explained why he hadn’t answered her letters. “Does he have an email address?”
“Nope.”
“When will he be back?”
“In the fall.”
Her hopes plummeted. “If he contacts you, will you let him know I’d like to talk? Here’s my contact information.” She handed Clay her card.
Without a glance, he slid it into his hip pocket. “How long are you in town?”
“Two weeks.”
“That’s a long time to search for your biological mom who probably lives someplace else. Besides ranching, there isn’t much to do around here. If I were you, I’d leave a lot sooner.”
He really wanted her gone.
Not about to let him intimidate her, she pulled herself up tall. “Actually, I’m also here to research and write an article on ranching life in Montana. I only hope two weeks is enough.”
Clay’s face was unreadable. “Interviewing anyone in particular? I’ll warn them to watch out for you.”
“What does that mean?” Sarah asked, though she knew.
“It means that you act all sweet and caring about a guy and then you trash him in a magazine story.”
She had cared, and thought he cared, too. Especially when, a few days before she was leaving, he’d kissed her. Not just a little peck, but a long, heady kiss filled with feeling and promise. Even now she remembered the hot flare of desire inside her, and the certainty that standing in the warmth of his arms was exactly where she belonged.
Some scant hours later, while sitting in the bleachers, watching a crew set up for an upcoming rodeo, she’d overheard two buckle bunnies nearby.
“I had sex with Clay last night,” said the one with the fake red hair and size double-D breasts.
“Way to go.” Her friend had high-fived her. “Is he as good as they say?”
“The best I’ve ever had. But don’t trust me, knock on his door tonight and find out for yourself.”
Sarah raised her chin. “Everything in that article was true.”
Clay’s expression darkened, and he swore. “I’m not shallow and my ego isn’t that big. You spent ten whole days with me, Sarah. You know that.”
He was and it was, but she wasn’t going to stand there and argue. She wanted to get far, far away from Clay, and forget all about him. If he would just let her look around the attic...
She glanced up. “Let me see what’s up there, and then I promise I’ll go.”
Clay checked his watch. “We agreed that you’d leave after ten minutes, yet you’ve been here for over thirty.”
That long? “I can’t shake the feeling that there might be something up there of Tammy’s,” she said. “Please.”
Clay blew out an exasperated breath. “Don’t tell me you’re going to pull that again.”
Having no idea what he meant, she frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Making your eyes extra big and biting your bottom lip.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. One look around the attic is all I ask. Then I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again.”
“Is that a promise?”
Sarah bit back a retort, which wouldn’t help. “You won’t have to do a thing. Just point me to a stepladder and I’ll take care of the rest.”
He muttered something about her stubbornness.
“You’re right,” she said. “When I want something, I am stubborn.”
“Will you quit doing that?”
She was biting her bottom lip again, she realized. She rolled her eyes and forced a smile. “Is this better?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
He advanced toward her with an intent expression she felt clear to her toes.
Swallowing, she stepped back. “The stepladder?”
“I think there’s one in the utility room,” Clay said, moving closer still.
Her heart pounding, Sarah retreated another step, but the wall stopped her. “I-is it off the kitchen?”
“You’re driving me crazy,” he said in a low voice, and leaned in even closer.
“Clay, I don’t—”
He silenced her with a kiss.
* * *
CLAY DIDN’T TRUST Sarah, didn’t want her there and sure as hell shouldn’t go near her. But there was something about her he couldn’t resist.
Her eyes were huge and a little scared, but as soon as he brushed his mouth over hers, the look in them softened and her eyelids drifted closed.
Clay also closed his eyes. Her perfume, flowery and as fresh as a spring day, was different from before, but every bit as seductive. She’d cut her hair short, but it felt just as silky as when it had reached her shoulders.
If there were other differences, he didn’t sense them. She felt good in his arms, tasted sweet.
Just as he remembered.
With the little sigh he’d been waiting for without realizing it, she gave in and kissed him back. Her hands slid up his arms and wrapped around his neck, bringing her soft breasts tight against his chest.
Wanting to get closer, he shifted his weight. Wrong move. His leg screamed, snapping him out of his haze of desire.
What was he doing? Was he nuts? He dropped his hands and stepped back.
Looking slightly unfocused, Sarah tugged at her blouse. “Why did you do that?”
Because he hadn’t been able to stop himself. “I wanted to find out if you tasted as good as I remember,” he drawled. “And you do.”
Good enough that for a brief time he’d forgotten the searing pain in his knee. He needed to pop four extra-strength aspirin now, and then prop up his leg.
Not in front of Sarah. It was only out of sheer willpower that he managed to stay on his feet.
She as good as ran for the door.
Gritting his teeth, he strode after her and banged it open in time to let her out. “Goodbye, Sarah Tigarden.”
She left without a backward glance.
* * *
MRS. YANCY, THE sixty-something grandmotherly widow Sarah had rented a room from, seemed glad for the company. When Sarah returned from putting her things in the bedroom up a narrow set of stairs, her temporary landlady showed her around her colorful house, pointing out treasures she’d collected. She liked primary colors and