The Rebel of Copper Creek (14 page)

Griff shrugged. “I'm sure the others will know where it is.”

Juliet lowered her voice. “There's something else.”

He paused.

“Mitch called. He didn't identify himself, but I recognized his voice. He called me…a few choice names before warning me that I'd pay for the trouble I was causing him.”

“Causing him?” Griff's voice was rough with anger. “What about what he'd planned on doing to you?”

“I guess that doesn't count in his mind. But he's furious that he barely evaded the state police before abandoning my truck.”

“Did you call Ira?”

She nodded.

Griff stowed his tools on a shelf and hung his tool belt on a hook. Using his discarded shirt to wipe sweat from his face and chest, he realized Juliet was watching each movement with a look he couldn't quite fathom.

“Is there more?”

She shook her head and turned away.

He caught her by the arm, stilling her movement. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She avoided his eyes.

His voice lowered. “Tell me, Juliet. Did Ira have bad news?”

She gave a sound that could have been a laugh or a sigh. “No news. Good or bad. He said he had every confidence that Mitch would be caught.” She sighed. “This isn't about Mitch. It's…you.”

“What about me?”

She turned to face him, and allowed her gaze to move slowly over him, from his sweat-slick torso to the damp denims molding muscular thighs. His hair was dark and wet and falling over one eye, adding to his look of a rugged, dangerous rogue.

“You're so gorgeous, with all that sweat and muscle. And I feel…safe when I look at you. I can't take my eyes off you.”

He went very still, his lips splitting into a wicked grin. “Wait a minute. Did you just call me gorgeous?”

“As if you don't know how sexy you look.”

He slowly shook his head before reaching out to bring her close. “I hope you don't mind being kissed by a hot, sweaty cowboy. 'Cause lady, there's just no way I can resist after all those pretty words.”

His arms closed around her and she was hauled against his chest.

He smelled of heat and sweat and sawdust, and she breathed him into her very soul as his mouth moved over hers. At the same time his hands moved up her sides, setting off little sparks wherever they touched. And they touched her everywhere, until her body was on fire.

She didn't know how her hands found their way around his neck, but there they were, clinging as if to a lifeline. She poured herself into the kiss, her tongue meeting his, her teeth scraping his, as she gave him everything he wanted and more.

Inside her mouth he managed to whisper, “Do you think the others will miss us if we sneak into one of the stalls?”

She laughed, but only for a moment, until he took the kiss deeper. Then her laughter turned into a soft sigh, and then a moan of pleasure as he dipped his head and took one of her erect nipples into his mouth. Despite the barrier of her shirt, it hardened instantly.

“Griff. We have to stop.”

“Can't.” His breathing was labored.

“Hey, Mama.” Casey's high-pitched voice was a dash of ice water.

Two heads came up sharply. In the instant before the little boy stepped into the barn, they managed to move apart, though their chests were heaving.

“Grandpa Mad says to come to supper.”

“Thanks, honey.” Juliet knew her voice sounded as out of breath as she felt.

“Come on then.” He stepped between them and took hold of his mother's hand.

Griff leaned close to whisper in her ear, “This isn't over, you know.”

She lifted a finger to his mouth. Just a touch, but she heard his quick intake of breath before she started toward the door.

As she walked away she could still taste him on her lips. Could still smell him in her lungs. The smell of a man. It was something she hadn't allowed herself to savor for such a very long time.

And though she was awash in guilt, it was absolutely intoxicating.

B
y the time Griff walked into the kitchen—his hair damp from the shower, and wearing a clean shirt and denims—the family had gathered around the far side of the huge kitchen, sipping cold longnecks and discussing their favorite topic: the weather and how it was affecting their herds and crops.

Whit handed Griff a frosty bottle of beer before adding, “If this continues, roundup is going to be a challenge.”

“Why?” Griff didn't really care at the moment. With Juliet smiling at him over the rim of her glass of ice water, all he could think about was that kiss in the barn. And how he wanted to get her alone and do it again.

“We'll have to hire on extra wranglers, for one thing.” Brady sipped his beer. “Thanks to a gentle spring, more calves survived than ever before. The herd is nearly double what it was just a year ago. And now that we're wrangling Brenna's herds, as well, we'll have our hands full come September.”

“So it's all good news.” Griff tore his gaze from Juliet long enough to watch her two boys kneeling beside a low table and helping themselves to finger-sized slivers of toasted rye bread slathered with a cheese dip.

“These are really good, Grandpa Mad.” Casey licked cheese from his thumb.

“I'm glad you like them, lad.” Mad winked at Ethan, nibbling in silence, and the boy's face was wreathed in smiles.

Griff raised a brow at Juliet, who looked as surprised as he was.

How, he wondered, had a grumpy old man like Mad managed to charm one sad, lonely little boy?

A half hour later, at Mad's command, they gathered around the big oval table. The wonderful smells of onions and steaks on the grill, garlic potatoes steaming, and apple pies, sprinkled with cinnamon cooling on the counter, had their mouths watering.

Like the food, the conversation was soul satisfying.

“Ash and I were in town today, and Orin Tamer just got in a slew of brand-new trucks.” Brenna's eyes danced with unconcealed excitement.

“And which one did my big brother pick out for you?” Whit's voice was a lazy drawl.

“Who says I'm buying my wife a truck?”

“Bro, the minute pretty little Brenna set her heart on a new truck, we all knew you were a goner.”

At Whit's words, the others burst into laughter.

Ash looked properly annoyed. “Just because somebody wants something doesn't mean they always get it.”

“They do if that someone is a brand-new bride married to a poor helpless lovesick cowboy who can't stop kissing her pretty little feet.”

“Knock it off, Whit.”

“The truth bites, doesn't it, bro?”

While the others laughed, little Casey asked innocently, “Do you let Ash kiss your feet, Brenna?”

Her eyes twinkled. “I do indeed, Casey. And do you know why?”

“So he'll buy you a truck?”

Above the laughter she said, “Well, there's that, of course. But the real reason is because it purely makes Ash so happy to kiss my dainty little feet.”

Casey looked from Brenna to Ash before turning to his mother. “Did Daddy ever kiss your feet, Mama?”

Poor Juliet was mortified.

Taking pity on her Griff managed to redirect the conversation. “So, Brenna. You haven't said. What color truck do you want?”

“Black. Shiny black.” She smiled. “At first I thought about a white truck, but we haul so many supplies that it would soon be black anyway.” She touched a hand to Ash's shoulder. “And I doubt my husband would be happy driving a white truck.”

“So you've picked out the color. When are you getting it?”

“Whenever Ash decides we need it.”

Whit's smile widened. “I'm putting all my money on soon, Brenna. Very soon.”

Everyone, even Ash, joined in the laughter. It was clear to all of them that he was so content with the new life he'd made with Brenna that even his younger brother's teasing couldn't dim the glow that seemed to radiate around both of them.

Griff sat back, wondering about that very thing.

Ash MacKenzie was a tough guy. No doubt about it. He'd left home after a bitter fight with his father and hadn't been seen for nearly ten years. He'd returned only after news of his father's death.

And yet here he was, reunited with Brenna, the love of his life, who had been on the verge of marrying someone else until Ash had walked back into her life.

Was love enough to change a person? Or were there other factors working in Ash's life that had brought him this much joy?

He stowed away the questions to mull when he had more time. For now, the family was thoroughly enjoying their excellent supper.

As they began passing around platters, Brady turned to Mad with a grin. “You sure know how to get a hungry cowboy's attention.”

“That's 'cause I was one, for more years than I can count.” Mad sat back, watching the others tuck into their steaks with enthusiasm.

“You were a cowboy, Grandpa Mad?” Casey's eyes were wide.

“That I was, lad. One of the best.” Mad smiled at the memory. “Before I was old enough to shave, I was doing the work of three men. Brute strength. That's what it took in those days to tame this wilderness.”

“And a healthy dose of hardheadedness,” Brady added dryly.

“Aye. That, too. That was my downfall.”

“You fell down?” Casey asked innocently.

“In a manner of speaking.” The old man turned to him. “We had a sudden spring blizzard, trapping my herd up in the highlands. Bear warned me about attempting to try going up to the hills in such weather. I knew I'd lose all those new mothers and their calves if I didn't get food to them. So against my better judgment, I was hauling a load of feed when the rig caught an icy patch and flipped, crushing the cab and pinning me inside. I was nearly blue with cold by the time Bear found me. He returned with all his wranglers and as many tools as they could carry. It took dozens of hands and plenty of blowtorches to free me.” He glanced down at his useless legs. “The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive. I'm afraid it took me a lot of years before I agreed. I thought, at first, I'd rather be dead than crippled.”

“And now?” It was Griff who asked the question they all wanted answered.

“Life is a precious thing. When given few choices, we'll take almost anything over death. And now—” the old man gave them a lopsided grin “—who knows? Maybe in a few years you'll see me on TV showing folks how to cook for cowboys.”

“You'd be good at it, Mad,” Brady said with a laugh. “You'd probably have folks lining up to learn to rope and ride just so they could eat your cooking.”

Mad joined in the laughter. “All I know is, on days like this, I'm happy I'm still here with all of you.”

When dinner was over, the family prepared to have dessert in the great room.

Griff watched little Casey and Ethan draw close to Mad, who was telling Myrna to be careful loading the apple pies onto the serving cart. A serving cart he'd invented out of an old cabinet and two pairs of castors he'd found in one of the closets.

“I spent a lot of time today slicing all those apples. They were shipped from Edie Martin's orchard in Michigan. The best tart-sweet apples in the country.” The old man looked around at the others for emphasis. “Only fresh apples for my pies.”

“I wouldn't expect otherwise from you,” Willow said with a smile.

“Exactly. So see that you treat them like gold, Myrna.” He patted his knees. “Hop aboard, lads. This train's heading out.”

Casey and Ethan eagerly climbed onto his lap before he turned his wheelchair toward the doorway.

The housekeeper glared at his retreating back. But Griff noticed that she did indeed handle the pies gingerly as she placed them, along with plates and forks and a large serving knife, on the rolling cart. After loading a carafe of coffee, along with cream and sugar and enough cups and saucers for everyone, she started toward the great room.

Griff stepped forward. “You go ahead, Myrna. I've got this.”

She shot him a grateful smile. “Bless you, Griff.” She turned. “I'll just fetch ice cream to go along with those pies.”

In the great room, Casey and Ethan migrated toward the fireplace, where a log blazed. Sitting on comfortable floor cushions, they watched as Myrna served slices of pie and ice cream.

“Would you lads care to try my pie?” Mad was admiring the way the delicate pastry held up under the apple slices, topped by a mound of apple-cinnamon ice cream.

Ethan shook his head, and Casey did the same, announcing, “Efan and me just want ice cream.”

“Ethan and I,” Juliet corrected gently.

“You, too, Mama?”

The others grinned at Casey's innocent question.

“I believe I'll have pie with my ice cream.” She decided the time wasn't right for a lesson on proper English.

Griff settled himself beside Juliet on one of the big sofas. When he stretched out his long legs, his thigh brushed hers, sending a surge of warmth through his veins.

To cover her sudden silence he said, “The medical supply company finally flew out their repairmen and spare parts, so Juliet now has her equipment up and running.”

“About time.” Whit dug into his pie, which was topped with a triple scoop of ice cream. “So the Romeos can get back to their therapy?”

“On top of that,” Juliet said shyly, “I got a call today from the mother of a ten-year-old girl who is interested in what I may have to offer her.”

“Are you a trained therapist?” Willow asked.

Juliet shook her head. “I received my training while Buddy was flying. I was about to receive my board certification when…” She paused, seeing the way her two sons were watching and listening. “I'll need to go back and be certified, but in the meantime, I'm not legally allowed to offer physical therapy. I'm merely offering a chance for the injured to get away from their wheelchairs for a little while and ride a horse.”

“So it's just for fun.”

Mad's tone got her to look at him. “I guess it would seem that way to some people. But riding a horse truly lifts the spirits more than anything I can think of. There's just something about sitting high in the saddle, and forgetting, for a little while, about all the things you can't do. It's therapy, but I don't need to be certified to offer it.”

“Do you ride?” Willow asked her.

“I do, though not as well as someone like you who was born to it. But I want my boys to be comfortable in the saddle. It was something their father asked me to do for them.”

Griff turned to Whit. “Maybe you'd like to give the boys some lessons. You're just about the best rider I've ever seen.”

Mad sat up straighter, filled with pride. “And who taught you, lad?”

“You did, Mad.” Whit turned to the others. “I was in the saddle even before I could walk. I used to spend all my time over at Mad's ranch, learning to ride and rope. My dad was too busy with ranch chores to have time for such things, but no matter how busy Mad was, he always had time for me.”

While the others were finishing their dessert and enjoying second cups of coffee, Brenna moved to a small side table, where she'd set out some modeling clay.

As she began to work it between her hands, Casey and Ethan moved closer to watch.

“What're you doing?” Casey asked.

“I thought I'd make something for you. What would you like?”

“Can you make anything?”

She smiled. “I can try.”

Casey glanced at his brother before saying, “Can you make a horse?”

She worked quickly, forming a ball of dark brown clay into one shape, and adding another smaller ball for the head. She added delicate ears, a tail, before handing it over to the two boys.

“Wow. Look, Mama.” Casey ran over to show it to his mother, and then to Griff and the others.

When they'd properly remarked on it, he hurried back to kneel beside Brenna. “How'd you learn to do that?”

“I've been doing it since I was your age. My mother bought me some modeling clay, and I discovered that I loved making things.”

“And now she's a famous sculptor.” Ash's voice was filled with pride.

“I wouldn't say famous,” Brenna said with a laugh. “But I do love sculpting.”

“Can you teach us?” Casey looked at his brother, who was fingering the horse with a look of reverence.

“Why don't you show me what you can do?” She spread out the various colored lumps of clay and watched as they began to roll them in their chubby little hands.

Brenna stopped Ethan. “Look. What do you see in that shape?”

He set the round ball down on the table and she pointed. “I see a bunny rabbit. See? There's his head and one ear. Add another ear, and then a bigger ball of clay for his body, a little round tail at the end, and you'll see a bunny, too.”

He did as she instructed, and soon, to his delight, the form of a rabbit began to take shape.

“Look, Casey.” She pointed to the long, thin piece of clay in his hands. “I believe I see a caterpillar.”

“You do?”

“Watch.” She handed him a bit of green, and showed him how to add it before holding out a small chunk of blue, a little purple. She showed him how to add yellow eyes and tiny black legs.

When it was finished, he squealed with delight and hurried over to show his mother. While Juliet was oohing and ahhing over it, Griff sat back, watching her reaction with avid interest. When she sat back he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she reacted with surprise.

When Casey rejoined Ethan and Brenna, Mad suddenly turned his wheelchair toward the doorway. Over his shoulder he called, “Griff, would you mind giving me a hand?”

Griff was on his feet and hurrying over as the old man's chair disappeared into the kitchen. “What do you need, Mad?” He paused just inside as Mad closed the door behind him.