Crazy for Lovin’ You (4 page)

She touched his arm to draw his attention back to her. Unfortunately the warmth of his strong forearm heated the skin of her palm and got
her
attention in a big way. She pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned. In a way she had.

“If it doesn't happen this year, then next would work. Or the one after that,” he said.

She shook her head. “I've got a year. After that my capital is gone. The ranch has to be paying for itself by then. I have a limited publicity budget and this would be the best way to let people know about my operation.”

“I see.” He glanced over his shoulder at the water again, then back to her. “I don't remember the pool being here.”

She wanted to tell him to forget about it but she held back. She had a sneaking suspicion he'd just remembered everything. “It's new. Are you leaning toward giving me the contract?”

“The Circle S meets all the criteria.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “But I wouldn't want to plunge into anything. Before I have all the facts.”

She swallowed hard. “Facts are good.”

“Especially
all
the facts so you don't do something you'll regret. Not that I learned that from you.”

Without warning, he scooped her into his arms as easily as if she were a rag doll, and held her over the pool.

M
itch knew Taylor had been acting funny. Eventually he realized it was because she wasn't sure whether or not he remembered her pushing him into the motel pool ten years ago. Two could play that game. He bent his knees and lowered his arms in a sudden movement, as if he was going to drop her. She let out a high-pitched squeak and hung on to him.

He liked the way she threw her arms around his neck. But he especially liked the way she felt, pressed up against him, all sweet and feminine—with curves in all the right places, including the soft mounds molded to his chest. Her breasts. Those were definitely new, at least to him. The last time he'd seen her, when she'd plastered herself to his front and kissed him, she'd been flat as a panhandle prairie.

Not anymore.

He swallowed hard, locking his gaze onto her face, taking in her big, beautiful brown eyes. And her mouth—so close, so kissable. All he had to do was lean
forward just a bit and steal a taste. What the hell was he thinking? The answer was easy. He wasn't. At least not with his brain.

“Let me ask you something,” he finally said. He couldn't resist keeping her in suspense a little longer.

“What?” She glanced at the water below her before meeting his gaze again. “You've got me over a barrel, so to speak. Ask away.”

“If you'd known I found your sister and Zach together that night, would you still have pushed me into the pool?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Because you deserved it. You were so mean to me, you made a hornet look cuddly.”

He laughed, but it died quickly as memories washed over him—recollections of the one time in his life he was almost happy. His first love. Jen was the girl every guy wanted, and he'd thought she was his. Until the night he'd found her and Zach together. Mitch hadn't known about them, and finding them like that had sent him over the edge.

He'd lost it. Punched the guy until Jen managed to pull him off. After which she'd angrily told him she never wanted to see him again. They took off and he'd gone to brood by the pool, betrayed, angry and wanting someone else to hurt the way he was hurting. That's how Taylor had found him. She'd told him she loved him and innocently kissed him. And he'd lashed out at the one person who had given him nothing but friendship.

Only a long time later did he regret it and the fact that he hadn't had a chance to tell Jen the truth about Zach before she married him. After he'd died there was no point.

He met Taylor's gaze. “You're right. I wasn't fit company that night. But as I recall, I tried to warn you off.”

“We were friends. By definition friends try to help when there's a problem, even if it gets ugly. I don't run out on the people I care about.”

“Did you care about me?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged and the movement reminded him that her breasts were pressed against him. Her shapely thighs and trim waist nestled to his belly. Her soft, sweet breath fanned his face. The triple whammy sent what felt like all the blood in his body to points south. The acute awareness made him think of things he had no right to, especially about Taylor. Thinking was one thing; acting on it would be just plain stupid.

“Speaking of problems,” she said, tightening her hold around his neck, “would you mind putting me down?”

Mitch decided he would mind very much. Besides, no one had ever accused him of being too smart. When he looked into her eyes, he saw apprehension that he was sure had nothing to do with a dunking in the pool. What was she worried about? And why did it bother him that she was?

“I haven't decided where I'm going to put you,” he said honestly.

She tightened her hold. “Have you changed your mind about seeing or talking to anyone named Stevens?”

“What?” He had no idea what she meant.

“That night, when I pushed you in the pool. You flat out said you wanted nothing to do with Jen or me because—”

“Your last name is Stevens,” he finished.

He'd forgotten about that. Taylor hadn't. Obviously he'd hurt her a lot. She'd said she loved him, but she was only fourteen at the time. Had he been her first crush? He knew how long it had taken him to get over his first love. No doubt Taylor was over her first, too. Because a woman like her would have guys trailing after her like coyotes after a lost calf. But the idea wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

“To answer your question,” he said. “I don't mind being friends with anyone. Pure friendship is a beautiful thing.”

“Pure?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know. When a person likes you for yourself and not what you can do for them.”

Jen had been his first lesson. She'd wanted him because her father disapproved. On the rodeo circuit, women came on to him because he was earning the big bucks and that made him famous. He'd finally learned that they pretended to care about him because they wanted their ten minutes of fame by association and what that could net.

For Taylor, it was a thumbs-up on her ranch for the rodeo site and the subsequent publicity to kick off her dude ranch. The only thing that made her different from the others was that she was up-front about it. But he would be a fool to let any appeal she might have amount to a hill of beans. No one had ever cared about him for himself. Why should he believe that she was different?

“I know how the real world works.” He set her down. “I'm not a green kid anymore.”

“Neither am I,” she said, backing away. She pulled in a big breath and let it out.

“Do you have any idea how heavy soaking wet jeans are?” he asked. “And boots full of water? I could have drowned.”

“You deserved it. And more,” she said. “After what you said to me. There were kids around the pool. They laughed when—”

“What?” he prompted.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn't matter. I managed on my own.” He always had and always would.

“I knew that before I walked away.” She let out a long breath. “So I guess I don't have to wonder anymore whether or not you remember that pool moment,” she said, trying to smile. “The question is, do you really believe it's water under the bridge as you so eloquently put it? Or are you going to hold it against me?”

He would like to hold himself against her. She'd felt good in his arms and, in spite of his self-warning, he missed her warmth and softness and the way she'd clasped her arms around his neck. But if he told her as much, he'd best wait until the pool wasn't so close. If history repeated itself, she wouldn't hesitate to push him in. He grinned, realizing in addition to her other charms, he especially liked her flash and fire.

“You mean am I going to hold it against you by turning down your request to hold the rodeo on your ranch?”

“Don't play dumb, Mitch. Of course that's what I mean. I need a big event. I need the publicity and it has to be within my budget to make this place pay.”

“Got it,” he said, trying to ignore the way her earnestness brought a flush to her cheeks as if a man had just made love to her.

“And this is your chance, Mitch.”

“What?” he asked, pulling back from that sensual vision. “What are you talking about?”

“You can get even with both Stevens' sisters in one fell swoop.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her khakis. “In fact, this is the perfect way to get back at my father, too, for the way he treated you.”

“He's gone, Taylor. Why would I want to do that?”

She shrugged. “I just wanted to put it out there. It crossed my mind. I think we should put all our cards on the table.”

“But only now that you know I remember.”

Her mouth turned up slightly. “Yeah. I'm a lot of things. But no one ever accused me of being stupid. If that unfortunate incident by the pool had slipped your mind, it wouldn't be very bright to remind you, now would it?”

“I suppose not,” he agreed.

“So, what's your plan? Revenge or a single benevolent act to show that we've buried the hatchet?”

Hands on hips, Mitch stood by the pool, thinking. Her father was gone; he hadn't the will to speak ill of him. He had no feelings for Jen, so no wish to get even. But Taylor had never done anything to hurt him. He'd deserved that cooling off in the pool ten years ago. And he found the idea of doing anything that would harm her bothered him—a lot. She would be the one most affected by his decision.

With an effort, he pushed the thoughts away. No way was he going soft.

“I'm here to find a rodeo site. That's all. Your ranch meets the criteria. But I have one more place to check out. Grady O'Connor's spread.”

“But he's the sheriff. I didn't know he was interested.”

“Acting sheriff. He said he would agree to hold the event there. If necessary.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “If the Circle S is the best, you'll get the nod. If not—” He let the words hang between them.

“Fair and square?”

“Above reproach.”

“All I ask is an honest and objective evaluation as compared to the other choices.”

“That's what I'll give you,” he answered. “Because this event is important for the kids.”

She nodded. Then the corners of her mouth curved up and she smiled. “You're sure there's nothing I can do that might tip the scales in my favor?”

Uh-oh. Danger ahead. Her words were innocent teasing. He knew that, although he wasn't sure how. She wasn't being deliberately seductive, but damn it all, she was sexy as hell. He shot her a skeptical look, struggling for nonchalance even as his breathing quickened a notch at some ideas that popped into his mind. Top of the list: hot, slow kisses and tangled, scented sheets.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice going deeper than normal.

“They say the way to a man's heart—or in this case, his approval—is through his stomach. I could cook you dinner.”

“Oh.” Did he sound as disappointed as he felt?

He shouldn't even be thinking that way. For one thing, Taylor was nothing like the groupies on the rodeo circuit who had come on to him for their own agenda. For another, she was a member of Destiny's founding family. And he was Riffraff Rafferty. He always would be. That wasn't bitterness talking, just fact.
Time and experience had shown him why he and Jen hadn't worked out. Because he wouldn't work with any woman. Certainly not her little sister. No matter how much he was attracted to Taylor's curvy shape, big brown eyes, and hair he wanted to bury his hands in, he wasn't about to let this be anything more than business.

“I wish I could stay for dinner,” he said. “But I've got an appointment. Then I've got to get a place to stay and set up a base of operation to get things rolling.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Maybe another time.”

“Maybe,” he said.

But he would be a fool to close the distance between them. Because, as surely as death, taxes, and Texas, Taylor Stevens tripped his warning signals. She was trouble—with a capital T.

 

Two days after Mitch's visit, Taylor was in town at This 'n That, the shop owned by her high school friend Maggie Benson. The interior of the shop was filled with an eclectic assortment of antiques, gifts, crafts and hand-embroidered items. Maggie was an artist in her own right.

“So you're not going to tell me how it felt to see Mitch Rafferty again?” the petite redhead asked. She stood behind the high counter that held her cash register.

Taylor shook her head. “It didn't feel any way at all,” she lied. “And I have to see if my truck bed is full of oats now.”

“You can run, but you can't hide,” Maggie said.

“My priority is making a success of the dude ranch. I want Mitch—”

“I knew it,” the other woman said, her voice filled with triumph.

“You didn't let me finish, Mags. I want Mitch to pick the Circle S for the championships. Then I think I've got a shot at success.”

“Then I hope he does. Because you'll buy more stuff from me, and you can send customers my way. Everyone wins.”

“You're already doing a good steady business,” Taylor pointed out.

“You can't be too rich or too thin.”

“I'm not going to debate that with you. And first I have to get the okay from Mitch,” Taylor reminded her. She glanced across the street at the tractor supply. “I need to go get my oats.”

“So you can sow the wild ones?” Maggie asked, her green eyes sparkling.

“You're not funny.” Taylor opened the door making the bell above it tinkle.

“Yes, I am.”

Taylor laughed and waved just before she closed the door behind her. She stood on the wooden walkway and looked up and down Main Street, Destiny. Several years ago the town council had approved a plan to give the businesses a facelift—a Western motif. The wooden buildings had the look of the Old West made new again. As she left Maggie's, she passed Doc Holloway's office with his name etched into the front door's oval glass. Next door was The Road Kill Café with its wooden crossbar hitching post and metal rings for looping a horse's reins.

Across from it, standing all alone, was her destination. Charlie's Tractor Supply—a sort of one-stop shopping for ranchers. She'd left her truck by the dis
penser so the long hoses could fill the bed with oats, like a filling station for horse feed.

She walked across the street and Dev Hart joined her.

“Howdy neighbor,” he said. “Long time no see, little T.”

“Hi, yourself,” she said, smiling at the good-looking rancher as well as the nickname he always used.

He stood beside her and folded his arms across his chest as they watched the white bed of the truck disappear beneath the oats. Dev was at least six foot two and had the sexiest indentation in his chin. His brown eyes and hair were nothing to write home about, but as a whole, he made female hearts under the age of sixty beat fast and furious.