The Diva Diaries (2 page)

That was some lucky lady he was waiting for. For a moment, just a moment, Jenna felt envy that she wouldn't have a man like this waiting at JFK for her when she returned home.

The flight was announced again and the man's head jerked up as if he'd been studying the paper so hard he hadn't heard the flight information the first time. Jenna's lungs seized. He had an arresting face, a face that made several women behind her sigh in appreciation. Dark hair had escaped the hat and lay across his wide forehead above dark brows. His gaze collided with hers—his eyes were a clear, heartbreak
ingly deep blue, made all the more intense by his tanned face and the black hat he wore.

His surprised look had a glint of wariness, which put her a little on her guard. But then he smiled and pushed off the wall. His smile slammed into her with rock-hard force—it was filled with sin and danger.

He walked straight toward her with the cocky swagger of a man who looked as though he enjoyed living on the edge. Jenna couldn't take her eyes off him to see who the lucky woman was that had this cowboy focused with such intensity. When he stopped in front of her, it took Jenna a moment to realize she needed to step aside. But then she saw the picture in his hand. He thrust the flowers out to her and said, “Welcome to Texas, Miss Sinclair. It's nice to have you visiting. We appreciate all your help.”

His voice was deep and resonated inside her like a pure, sweet sound—almost too beautiful to be true. For a moment, she couldn't speak as she hastily took the flowers he offered, juggling her briefcase and violin case. Her heart lurched into her throat and her pulse skipped a beat. Surely this must be some ranch hand that Sam Winchester had sent to pick her up. Perhaps he was busy, or sick.

“Mr. Winchester couldn't make it?”

“I'm Sam Winchester, but since we'll be living together, you can call me Sam.” He offered his hand and Jenna awkwardly transferred the flowers into the crook of her left arm. She slid her palm over his work-roughened hand, the abrasion of his skin making her insides jolt and spin. His skin was warm,
sending prickles of electric sensation up her arm to hum through her blood. She let go hastily.

“You're Sam Winchester?”

He removed the Stetson and twirled it in his hands, giving her a cute aw-shucks look. “Sure am. Who were you expecting?”

His hair was midnight-black, short on the top but longer in the back, curling around the collar of the jacket. “You, but you're not exactly what I imagined.”

His voice was teasing and easy as he drawled, “A dusty cowboy with hay in his hair?”

“No. An aging sheriff with a big gut.”

He laughed, flashing that oh-so-dangerous smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am.”

“Who said I was disappointed?” The comment came out of her mouth before she engaged her brain. He sent her another smile and tilted his head as if he wasn't quite sure about her.

Clearly, from the twinkle in his eye, flirting was fine with him. He put the hat back on his head. “We'd better pick up your bags and get going.”

He reached for her briefcase and violin case, and Jenna recoiled from his touch.

“Pardon me.”

“No. I'm sorry. Please, take the briefcase, but I am very protective of my instrument. I think I'll hold on to the flowers, too.” She smiled, trying to alleviate the sudden tension between them.

“My apologies. I should have realized that musicians and their instruments are as inseparable as a cowboy and his horse.”

He was far too charming, with his easy manner and his soft voice; she immediately relaxed and returned his smile.

At the luggage carousel, they waited side by side until her bags came whirling around. He plucked them off without any effort and indicated she should follow him.

“So why are you willing to come all the way to the wilds of Texas and perform for free?”

Jenna had already worked out an answer to this question. “I've been around the world to many glamorous places and have seen what every cosmopolitan city has to offer. So, when my agent told me about the article she'd read in
Entrepreneur Magazine,
about your effort to raise money to modernize the hospital, I couldn't resist. I think it's time I saw something of small-town life. Besides, yours is a good cause.”

He nodded and they exited the airport. After a few minutes of navigating through parked cars, Sam stopped in front of a black-and-chrome truck. He set the bags down, and inserted a key in the passenger door lock. “So how did you know I was a lawman?”

Oops—that was in the report. She thought quickly. “I think someone at the college told me you used to be a Texas Ranger.”

“I see.” He opened her door for her, then placed her bags and briefcase into the back seat.

“Why did you stop being a lawman?” She set her violin on the floor just behind the seat and placed the roses on top of her suitcases. Then she eyed the truck. Because the vehicle sat quite a way off the ground,
Jenna had to lift her leg up and onto the running board. It wouldn't have been a problem if she'd worn a pair of slacks, but the pencil-thin black skirt didn't allow any leeway.

“My father got…ill and I came back to run the ranch. He died about a year ago,” Sam answered, watching her with interest.

“Why did you leave the ranch in the first place?” she asked as if undaunted by the height and his obvious skepticism. She raised her leg, revealing a swath of thigh and immediately put her foot down. She tried different ways for a full minute, but she couldn't get up high enough to slide easily into her seat.

Amusement filled Sam's eyes as she struggled to figure out how to get in. “When I was eighteen, my father and I had a parting of the ways. I joined the Texas Highway Patrol right out of high school.”

“I thought you were a Ranger.” Jenna lifted her leg again, and again had to put it down.

“All Rangers are chosen from the ranks of the Texas Highway Patrol. So, once I did my eight years, I applied to the Texas Rangers, was accepted and served for two years, then I took over the ranch.”

One moment she was standing in the Texas heat, trying to figure out how she was going to get into the truck and carrying on a conversation with him, and the next she was in his arms. The heat of his big body ran like electricity down her form from one end to the other.

“Is this considered truck-side service?” she asked, her eyes connecting with his.

She was very close to his face and for a moment he stared into her eyes. The mischief she had seen in them only moments ago intensified, deepened and coalesced into something so intriguing she couldn't look away. Like a new piece of music when played, it gave such an exquisite sound that the listener had to pause, close one's eyes and savor the sound.

“As much as I enjoyed watching you try to maneuver into my truck in your tight, fancy skirt, I hadn't figured on spending the whole day here.”

The thrilling sensation of his hands on her body and her breast against his hard pectoral muscle moved through her blood, and along her flesh in sharp waves. Right at that moment, lust, too deep and strong for her to deny, and more overwhelming than she'd ever experienced, made her want to lean in and taste his full mouth to see if it was as delicious as it looked.

He placed her in the cab of the truck, his hands lingering on her shoulder and thigh. When he slowly removed them, she wanted to reach out and capture his face in her hands and give in to the need swirling in her blood.

She settled in the seat as he came around the hood of the truck and climbed in. The space in the cab seemed to shrink with his presence.

She was here on a mission to retrieve the diary and jewelry, she reminded herself. With scepticism, she thought of her gran's words chronicled in the diary she'd read on the plane. Was there something that could be defined as perfect physical pleasure? Did she dare think that she could let herself go? No. It wouldn't be ethical to look for the diary while giving
in to her baser needs. Would it? Trying to get back to some normalcy and defuse the suddenly tense atmosphere in the cab, Jenna murmured, “I'm sorry about your father, I just lost my gran.”

He glanced at her, releasing a breath. Something tangible seemed to hover around them still. “I'm sorry, too. It's hard to lose someone you love. I didn't realize how much I missed the town and the ranch until my father died.”

“We take a lot for granted, especially people we love and who love us. We don't realize how important they are, until we lose them.” She looked out of the window at the magnificent skyline of Houston. “Do you miss being a Ranger?”

“Sometimes, but I love ranching. The place—the Wildcatter—has been in my family for generations. I couldn't sell it or trust anyone else to run it, so here I am.”

The obvious pride in his voice was the same kind of pride that Jenna heard in her own voice when she talked about her music. “And your involvement with the modernization of the hospital? I find that intriguing.”

“Every town needs a facility that can handle trauma emergencies and difficult medical situations. Although I had no idea that I was going to be dragged into policy matters and such.”

“It sounds like you've gone above and beyond what any citizen would do.”

“Well, I'm also the founding father's direct ancestor. In fact, the town is named after my great-
grandmother, Savannah. The politicking that goes on keeps me knee-deep in cow…manure.”

“And you do that from the sidelines? You're not exactly the politician type.” Too rugged, too outdoorsy—she had trouble imagining him in a suit sitting around a conference table discussing municipal problems.

He smiled and glanced at her. “First, I'm not what you expected a former Ranger to look like. Now, Miss Sinclair, are you saying that I'm not smooth enough to be a politician?”

Unable to help herself, she smiled back. “Please call me Jenna, and not exactly.” She studied his face, couldn't stop her eyes from gazing at his body. He looked like he'd go down real smooth and have her begging for more. The words came out before she could stop them. “You look too honest to me.”

Sam laughed and said, “Ah, a burden I have to carry and one virtue the mayor agrees I have too much of.”

Right. He looked honest, but so had her uncle, a man who hadn't waited until her gran, his sister, was cold in the ground before he was trying to profit from her death. “Something required in a lawman, but not necessarily valued in a public servant?” She gave him a quick smile.

“So it would seem.”

“Part of the charm?”

The sparkle in his eyes turned into a wicked glitter. “Aw shucks, ma'am.”

“Make that cowboy charm.”

He smiled. “I'd say that honesty in any relationship is important.”

With a twinge, Jenna nodded her head. If only she could trust him. Sam didn't look like the kind of man who would cheat her out of her gran's mementos, but she couldn't take that chance.

“I'm looking forward to staying on your ranch.”

He looked at her warily as they left the city and merged into highway traffic.

“What would you expect for your
ranch experience.
”

“Everything. I want to see what you do every day.”

“You want to pay bills?”

“Well, maybe not that, but I want to get a feel for the cowboy life. I've always been fascinated with the Wild West concept,” she improvised.

“My ranch is not like any TV show or movie if that's what you think. It's nice, but it's not glamorous.”

Without thinking, she reached out and put her hand on his arm in a companionable gesture. “So no melodrama around the campfire?” Her mouth went dry at the feel of the corded muscles in his forearm and, for a moment, she couldn't remove her hand.

S
AM
W
INCHESTER FELT
heat swell inside him at the touch of her hand and the thought of this beautiful, sophisticated woman in his house. He wasn't a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. Yet he'd been down the city slicker path before with his ex-wife. Tiffany had been all excited to see his ranch, saying it would be a wonderful experience, but had then decided she couldn't stand it: the noise, the smelly cows, horses and, of course, him. She'd found many reasons to get off the ranch and away from him. Shopping sprees, trips to visit her upscale friends and snooty family, until there was nothing left between them but two gold rings and a lot of bitterness.

Jenna still hadn't removed her hand and it was beginning to distract him, along the lines of watching her try to find a ladylike way to get into his truck. “No, no melodrama. A lot of people think that ranching is romantic and exciting, but it's dirty, sweaty and hard work.” This hothouse flower would probably take one look at the longhorns, pinch her nose and go running for the house. And she'd be dodging cow paddies in those out-of-place expensive heels along the way. The things on her feet were fine for Park
Avenue, but as useless, on a working ranch, as tits on a bull.

However, he couldn't think of anything wrong with the way she smelled. Her expensive, heady fragrance lodged in his brain, setting his senses on fire.

“I don't have any fancy expectations.”

There was something about her answer that put his Ranger instincts on alert. Was it her tone that didn't ring true or the way her eyes slid away from his, as if she had something to hide? Suspects did that when they were lying.

He shrugged off his suspicions, realizing how silly they must be. He didn't believe that she wouldn't expect total pampering. He knew the type very well. Regardless, he didn't have the staff for that. Well, if she wanted the
ranch experience,
she could just take everything else that went with it. She'd be begging him to take her to a hotel within a day.

She was a fine little package all buttoned down and swept up. Shortly after he'd lifted her into the cab of the truck, she'd removed the black jacket that matched the narrow skirt she wore. Underneath the jacket, she revealed a tight white shirt that looked as soft as her skin. He'd almost driven off the road when he'd glanced at the blouse and seen the distinct outline of the lacy bra she wore beneath it, as if it offered him a peek at the forbidden.

Her shining coffee-colored hair, shot through with gold, was situated on top of her head in an elaborate, stylish twist. Her stark hairdo showed off the perfect, delicate features of her face. Wide, almond-shaped cinnamon-brown eyes, framed with dark brown
lashes, hid treasures a man wanted to mine. Not with picks and shovels, but with hands, mouth and body until all her riches became his.

Sam turned down the dusty road that led to his ranch, and looked for her reaction, but she seemed enthralled with the countryside.

The sleek black truck topped the rise in the driveway. They passed through the wrought-iron arch with elaborate curlicues from which hung a sign that read The Wildcatter—Home of World-Class Cutters. She asked, “Why is your ranch named the Wildcatter?”

“My great-granddad, Silas Winchester, was a wildcatter.” At her confused look, he sighed. “Men who search for oil are called wildcatters. Good ol' Silas struck it rich, sold his claim, came here and built this ranch.”

When the ranch came into view, Sam pointed out a newly built arena. It was situated below an assortment of outbuildings and a big, elongated structure with corrals near a barn. Paddocks were visible in the distance—some filled with longhorns, others with horses. Beyond the arena was the big house. The foreman's cottage had been built in a beautiful wooded lot of pine and elm. The fencing showed off fresh paint, as did the barn. Everything gleamed.

Sam pulled up to the cedar-and-glass house and shut off the engine.

“This is a really modern outfit you have here.”

Annoyance flashed through Sam. “Yes, ma'am, we update the buildings every hundred years or so, whether they need it or not.”

She glanced at him, perhaps picking up the under
tone of irritation in his voice, but he pretended not to notice and left the truck. He realized, as he walked around the vehicle, that he would also have to lift her out. That ridiculous skirt would force her to do a very unladylike slide off the seat to the ground and he guessed she wasn't even going to attempt that. Against his will, anticipation grew at the thought of touching her again.

He opened the passenger door and stood there for a moment as if waiting for permission to assist her. She reached behind her and snagged her violin case. “I would appreciate it if you could help me down.”

Her prim and proper voice sent another shot of irritation through him. Honestly, he didn't have time to squire some city slicker gal around his ranch. But he had to remember this was for a good cause. “Yes, ma'am, we aim to please.”

He slid his hand under her legs and he had to stifle a gasp at the heat of her skin through the nylon of her hose. He moved in closer and encircled her back with his other arm and, as easily as before, lifted her into his arms and started to walk. Her body was tight and hot against his. He wondered how her skin would feel. He wanted to get closer to have more than a tease of that compelling fragrance.

“Is this considered a neighborly gesture?”

“Huh?”

She smiled and he liked the way her dark brown eyes filled with light. “You carried me all the way to the porch. Did you think I might not be able to walk on my own?”

He suddenly realized that he had carried her to the
wraparound porch complete with rocking chairs. He'd gotten lost in her eyes, the feel of her body against him. A commotion at one of the corrals close to the house caught her attention and gave him a moment to gather his composure and set her down.

“What are those men doing?” She walked to the very edge of the porch and peered in the direction of the noise, shielding her eyes.

“Breaking a stallion. I raise championship roping horses, but they have to be broken to the saddle. That one in the corral was neglected and is half-wild. I've been contracted to train him.”

“How exciting.”

He shrugged. “Not my usual method of handling a stallion with that kind of innate ability. But sometimes, when they reach this age, a man on his back is all he understands.”

“You're going to ride him into submission?”

“I'm going to have to.”

“And you're skilled at this?”

“Ask me that when I get thrown and end up eating dirt. I need to join them as soon as I get you and your bags in the house.” The devil gripped him and he thought that maybe this would be all it would take to get her off his ranch and into a hotel. His ex-wife had thought breaking a horse was exciting until she'd had to breathe the dust and sweat of a horse and man. “Why don't you watch? Part of the working-ranch experience.”

Her chin lifted. “I'm a bit tired.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “I'll be breaking other broncs while you're here.”

“It's not that I'm not interested.”

“I understand. Not all cowboy things are appealing.” It was true. She had said she wanted the full package, but he was also convinced she wouldn't like half the things she saw.

“Are you saying that because I'm from the city? That I wouldn't be able to handle seeing a cowboy break a horse or be able to keep up with you?”

“If the glass shoe fits.”

Her features tightened and she looked up at him. “Are you challenging me?”

He tilted his head, hooked his thumbs in his jeans and slid out his hip. “Sure am.”

“Lead the way.”

“Not in those clothes. Do you have something else?”

“I have a pair of black slacks.”

“More serviceable shoes? Could I hope for boots?”

“No. I'm afraid not. Loafers.”

“Didn't you think to pack more practical clothing?”

“Slacks and loafers are my practical clothing.”

“I guess they would be. They'll have to do. Tomorrow you can buy some ranch duds in Savannah.”

He showed her into the house.

He entered an octagon-shaped foyer with gleaming hardwood floors and stained clerestory windows on six sides of the circular ceiling. A chandelier, which reflected a glorious rainbow of light throughout the entrance, was breathtaking. A glass-and-crystal table with delicate legs sat on a gilt pedestal. Large creamy-
white orchids graced the table in an exquisite array, the scent of the exotic flowers floating on the sun-drenched air.

She looked up into his face. “I thought you said ranching wasn't glamorous. This looks pretty glamorous to me.”

“Remnants of the influence of my ex-wife, Tiffany.”

“Oh. It's beautiful.”

“That's Tiffany. She liked beautiful things.” He took her elbow and the heat of her was like the feel of flame against skin as he guided her into the living room.

A young man came out of a swinging door, revealing a glimpse of a gleaming kitchen and an older rotund woman standing at a counter.

Sam said, “This is Cal. He's Red and Maria Sparks's son and she is my housekeeper. Cal does odd jobs for me and also helps his mother with jobs in the house.”

“Hi, Cal. I'm pleased to meet you.” She shook the boy's hand.

“Pleased to meet you, ma'am.”

“Cal, could you get Miss Sinclair's bags? She'll be staying with us for a little while.”

“Right away.”

The boy disappeared out the front door and soon returned with her bags and briefcase as Sam headed toward an impressive wooden staircase.

He stopped on the second floor in front of a doorway, ushering Jenna inside. The room, decorated in a
charming Southwestern style, had a four-poster bed, hand-painted dresser and an adjacent bathroom.

“As soon as you're dressed, come downstairs and we'll go out to the corral.”

His hand lingered on her elbow and she turned to look up at him. Her eyes were such a beautiful enticing brown. Her chin raised, as if he expected her to try to get out of joining him.

“I would love to watch,” she said, her tone firm.

He liked the heightened color in her face, her snapping eyes. With a deliberate smile, he tipped his hat and backed out of the room. Cal passed him and deposited the bags on the beautiful lounge near the bed. He handed her the roses.

“Thank you, Cal,” she said in that proper voice.

“Could I get a vase for these flowers?” she asked.

He nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sam smiled to himself as he returned downstairs. Once she had a whiff of sweaty horse and got her expensive duds all dirty, she'd hightail it into Savannah and out of his way.

He didn't like his reaction to her on a purely physical level and he was not the kind of man who refused sex or the attentions of a beautiful woman. But Jenna was in a different league and he'd ridden that horse and been thrown. It was a good thing that she was going to be here for only a couple of weeks. The chemistry between them was irresistible. He could envision himself between her creamy thighs, his mouth moving over her body, taking what he wanted. Per
haps sheathing himself into her luscious body would take the edge off his libido.

But his Ranger instincts told him that he'd better slow that horse down.

 

W
HEN
S
AM WALKED UP
to the corral fifteen minutes later, his foreman, Tooter Dobson, stood at the fence and eyed him as he approached. The old man was dusty, his face streaked with dirt. His eyes shifted to Jenna and his brows rose as he took in her attire, his gaze stopped at her sleek upswept hairdo.

“Howdy, boss. Is this the fiddler?”

Sam could almost hear the censure in his simple words.
Another city slicker, Sam. Are you plumb crazy?
Tooter should know by now that Sam wasn't crazy enough to take up with Jenna for anything as serious as a real relationship.

“Tooter Dobson, my foreman.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Sam situated Jenna at the fence so she could see. The other hands eyed one another and he knew they were all thinking that their boss shouldn't ever get involved with a fancy piece again.

When Tooter didn't move, Sam ducked under the fence and said, “Are we going to stand here all day, or break that stallion to the saddle.” Sam threw black chaps over the split-rail fence.

Tooter turned, barely hiding his grin. “Breaking a horse is not usually your way, Sam.” He pulled the worn, much abused hat off his head and sent his hand through a curly mass of sandy hair. “I know you like to sweet-talk 'em, but I have to tell you, he's about
the orneriest, most stubborn horse I've come into contact with.” He paused for a moment, eyeing the horse as he pranced around the arena while three ranch hands tried to corner and catch him. “He don't like the saddle or the weight of a man on his back.”

Jenna gripped the rough wood of the fence beneath her hands. Despite the fact that she'd wanted to use this moment as an opportunity to search for the diary, Jenna was intrigued. Sam watched as the ranch hands finally succeeded in catching the elusive animal. They led the seemingly complacent horse back over to Tooter. Sam snagged the chaps off the fence. He fit them to his waist and slipped the buckle into place. He tightened the belt on the chaps, which clung to his hips like a second skin. Oh my, could the man get any sexier? Pulling the gloves free from his waistband, he said, “Then let's try it the hard way.”

“Sam, don't be too cocky. He's a tough feller,” Tooter warned.

“I'm not cocky, just more stubborn than he is. Sometimes teaching humility hurts.”

Tooter laughed. “Darn right. What I want to know is who's doing the teaching and who's doing the learning?”