Return to Oak Valley (16 page)

Her purse taken care of, she took the mug from him. They sipped in silence a moment, then, indicating the outside with her hand, she said, “You have a great view. I'd like to paint it in winter. Would you mind?”

“Be my guest.” He cocked a brow. “You planning on staying here that long? Until winter?”

Shelly nodded, taking another sip of her coffee. “Yes. I'm home for good.” There was one thing about repeating a phrase often enough, she decided—after a while you could say it without thinking about it or giving it too much emphasis.

Sloan showed no reaction, his features just as unreadable as they had always been to her…except when he'd been furious or sexually aroused—
then
she'd had no trouble reading what was on his mind.

“Different sort of life in Oak Valley than you'd find in New Orleans—are you sure you won't get bored?” he asked quietly, his eyes on the view outside the window.

Shelly shrugged. “I know it'll be different, but I doubt I'll have time to be bored. In fact, I worry that running the ranch is going to take away time from my painting, and painting is my bread and butter.”

He glanced at her, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “Run the ranch? The way I hear it, there isn't any ranch to run.”

“There will be,” she said stoutly. “Nick Rios and I are combining our operations. We're expecting a shipment of cattle in next week from Texas. There's a breeder out there who has many of the old Granger bloodlines. Most of Nick's stock is a couple of generations away from Granger stock, but we have Beau—the lone survivor of a long line of Granger bulls that we'll use—on his cows and these new ones. We figure if we can find one more bull with a different strain of Granger blood in it, we'll be on our way. Acey's offered to help me with the breeding program—and Acey knows his cattle. It'll take us a few years, but in time, we should have the operation up and running strong again.”

It was the longest conversation they'd had in years, and while he was paying attention to what she was saying, his gaze was fixed on her soft mouth, and his thoughts strayed. He'd have liked it a whole lot more, if those sweet, tempting lips were saying something else, such as, “I've missed you. It was all a mistake. Let's start over again.” Or better yet, “Make love to me.”

Her scent, something light and flowery, drifted to him, and standing this close to her, he could feel the warmth of her slender body…a slender body he'd held in his arms and felt tremble and shake with passion. Passion that he evoked. And that mouth of hers, the things it had done to him….

What had been a pleasant ache in his groin became urgent, and he didn't need to look down to see that he was hard as a rock and straining against the front of his jeans. Ah hell.

She was talking about breeding cattle, and all he could think of was breeding her.

Shelly knew she was babbling. She couldn't help it. She was enthusiastic about the cattle operation, and it was also a safe topic. Talking about the cattle prevented those uneasy silences and put off the moment she had to explain her reason for being here. Except she was too aware of him to think clearly, too aware of his eyes locked on her mouth, too aware of the heat of his body and that they were all alone. Together. In his cabin. In the middle of nowhere.

She swallowed. “Listen to me,” she said nervously. “You should never have got me started on the cattle. I get carried away.”

“That's OK. Get me started on horses, and you're liable to be here until you're old and gray.” He took another sip of his coffee, cursing his inane tongue. But he'd rather have her think him inane than to realize how difficult it was for him not to give into the caveman urge to sling her over his shoulder and climb upstairs to the loft and make love to her for the rest of the day. And maybe the night. And the next day.

“Horses? Isn't Ballinger Inc. still raising cattle?”

Sloan shrugged. “My dad runs a few head, but we've pretty much gotten out of the cattle business.” He smiled faintly. “We're fast leaving our country roots behind us and becoming big business.”

“Oh. I thought….” She groped for words.

“That things never change?”

She flashed him an uncertain look. “Yes. I guess so. Josh never said much, and I just assumed that your family was still raising cattle.”

“We were already starting to get out of it when you left, remember? My degree, if you'll recall, was in architecture, and there sure as hell wasn't much of a future for me as an architect in Oak Valley.” He put down his mug on the win-dowsill and took hers from her and set it next to his.

Shelly's heart was hammering when his hands closed around her shoulders and he gently turned her to face him. “Don't you remember, we talked about it,” he said levelly. “We argued about it. Once we married you wanted to stay in the valley and I wanted to move away. Remember?”

Shelly nodded, not trusting her voice. She didn't want to remember, but she did. Especially that last terrible argument just before she'd found him in another woman's arms and heard him admit that he'd only been playing with her, that she meant nothing to him. Absolutely nothing at all.

She stirred in his grasp. “Look, I don't want to start arguing with you. The past is the past, and I'd just as soon forget the mistakes I made when I was eighteen. I was young and, I'll say it to you, an emotional little fool.” She met his gaze. “I've grown up, Sloan, and hopefully learned from my mistakes. I've moved on, put the past behind me. What happened between us seventeen years ago is old history…and I don't want to rehash it. That's not why I came here today.”

“Old history, huh?” he murmured, his eyes on her mouth. “Let's just see how old it really is, shall we?”

Before she could guess his intent, he pulled her against him and his mouth caught hers.

The instant his lips claimed hers, seventeen years vanished as if by magic, and she was eighteen years old again, her body clamoring for the touch, for the caress of this one man. She'd been mesmerized by him then, and she was terrified to discover that it wouldn't take much for her to fall into that same trap again. She tried to ignore the sensations flooding through her, tried to resist the lure of those knowing lips, but it was impossible. His mouth possessed hers, allowing her no escape, and the seductive sensation of his warm lips caressing and teasing hers made her brain go fuzzy, and every nerve in her body came singing to life. Her breasts ached and passion, a primitive passion she'd sworn she'd put behind her, twined and twisted low in her belly. His body was pressed against hers, and she could feel the hard wall of his chest against her breasts, could feel the blunt pressure of his erection pushing against her. But it was his mouth, the soft slide of his lips against hers, the hungry nip of his teeth on her bottom lip and the stark demand she sensed behind his kiss that sent her emotions spiraling out of control. He bit gently again and, shuddering with desire, she surrendered her mouth to him and her lips parted, giving him what he wanted.

But it wasn't enough. He kissed her deeply, his hand cupping her chin, holding her just where he wanted as he drank deep of the wine-dark sweetness of her mouth. Again and again he kissed her, each kiss more demanding, more explicit than the last. She was drowning in sensation, unaware of anything but Sloan, and the pleasure that plundering mouth of his was giving her. It had always been this way between them, she thought hazily. Always. He'd only had to touch her and she'd go up in flames. It seemed some things never did change….

Suddenly conscious of where this would lead, she jerked out of his arms. Her eyes dark with passion, her swollen nipples peaking against her blouse, she stared at him.

It gave her small satisfaction to see that he was as aroused as she was. His face had that hungry, intent look she remembered so well, the glitter in the golden eyes making her heart pound frantically. As for his body…she'd already felt his readiness. Knew that all she had to do was lift a finger and that he'd make love to her. Right here. Right now.

Feeling as if she were fighting herself as much as him, she said, “I didn't come out here for this.”

“Then why the hell did you?” he snapped, furious for his own loss of control, enraged to discover that she still had the power to arouse him more than any other woman he'd ever known. If he weren't a civilized man, he told himself, and this wasn't the twenty-first century, he'd grab her, tear off those tight little jeans of hers, and take her right then and there—on the floor, the couch, hell, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he lose himself in that soft flesh of hers once more, and if he couldn't get them to his loft and the bed, the floor would do just fine. To his horror he discovered that a part of him was considering doing it.

He spun away and, staring grimly out the window, he growled, “Well? What was it that brought you here, if it wasn't for that?”

“You arrogant bastard! Do you really think I drove out here so we could take up where we left off? Are you crazy?”

He ran a hand through his hair and swung back to face her. “Yeah. Where you're concerned I've always been a little crazy.” Cutting her off, he put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Forget it. I was out of line. Let's just bury this little incident with the past.” He grinned crookedly. “Put it down to cabin fever. You're the first attractive female who's been out here in a while. Guess I got all excited and forgot my manners. Now drink your coffee and tell me why you're here.”

“I don't want your damned coffee,” Shelly said, her eyes bright and angry. She glanced over her shoulder, found her purse, and pounced on it. Opening it, she dug around and came out with a cashier's check. “Here, take this,” she muttered, almost throwing it at him.

Frowning, he stared down at the check. It was made out to him in the amount of forty-eight thousand dollars. Puzzled, he looked over at her. “What is this for? You don't owe me any money.”

Shelly's chin came up. “The Granger family does. That right-of-way isn't worth more than a few thousand dollars. Josh overcharged you. I'm correcting the error.”

Sloan stared at her, stunned. He'd been prepared for her anger over the sale of the right-of-way, but he'd never considered that she'd try to refund part of the money. What game, he wondered, was she playing? Was she trying to renege on the deal? His face darkened. She couldn't do that. It was a done deal. And money, whatever her motives, was the last damned thing he wanted from Shelly Granger.

“By God, you're not!” he said, insulted. “My deal was with Josh. It had nothing to do with you. Take your money back.”

He thrust the check back to her, but Shelly, her purse in her hand, had already turned on her heel and was heading toward the door. “No thank you. It's yours. Do what you want with it.”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute—”

She spun around to glare at him, her eyes gleaming like emeralds. “No, you wait a goddamn minute! You overpaid for the right-of-way, and you know it. I'll say it for you: Josh screwed you. You know it, and I know it. All I'm doing is making things right and making certain that you damned Ballingers don't go around proclaiming what a tricky bastard he was.” Her voice shook as she added, “I'm sick of this whole Ballinger/Granger feud. It's stupid and silly. Take the money and admit for once that all the Grangers aren't crooks or thieves.”

“I never said that all the Grangers were crooks or thieves. Just some of them,” Sloan said evenly, his temper cooling. She was upset, he could see that, and he could see that this was, for reasons that totally escaped him, important to her. “Look,” he said, “why don't you sit down, I'll fix us a fresh cup of coffee and we can discuss this like adults.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Shelly said from between clenched teeth. “The money is yours.”

“And I don't want it,” he growled, his jaw set.

“Too bad. It's yours, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?”

And before her astonished gaze, he took the cashier's check and ripped it into confetti. He smiled, not a nice smile. “You lose.”

Chapter Eight

T
he door slammed behind Shelly, and Sloan couldn't decide from the expression on her face as she'd run away if she had been astonished, appalled, or just plain furious with his treatment of the check. Probably all three, he thought with a shrug, letting the torn paper fall to the floor at his feet.

A nudge from a cold little nose on his ankle had him glancing down at Pandora. She regarded him unblinkingly. “What?” he asked. “You don't approve of my treatment of the lady? Let me tell you, kid,” he said as he picked her up and suffered a wet kiss on his cheek, “that there aren't many men who throw away that kind of money.” He looked down at the scraps of paper littering the floor and shook his head. “I can't believe I did that.” He grinned at Pandora. “Hope it impressed the hell out of her—it sure did me.”

Shelly was not impressed. She was furious.
Leave it to a Ballinger
, she thought,
to turn a perfectly honest, sincere gesture into a farce.
She could strangle Sloan. Why couldn't he have been a gentleman and just taken the money? Even if he hadn't intended to keep it, he could have given it to a charity or set up a scholarship with it, or done
something
with it! He didn't have to rip it up.

She bit her lip. Now what did she do? She'd have to talk to the bank. A cashier's check wasn't like a regular check; she doubted she could blithely just go ask for another one. Her face burned. And explaining what happened to the first one was going to be almost as embarrassing as standing up naked on a Sunday morning in a packed church.

Shelly didn't let herself think about those moments in Sloan's arms. Didn't dare think about how right it had felt to be pressed against his big frame, didn't want to remember the sweet wildness in her blood, or the way her traitorous body had responded to his kiss. She forced herself instead to brood on the check and wonder what she was going to do next. Approaching the road to home, she decided that she wasn't going to go back to the house. She'd only wander around and dwell on Sloan…and the check.