Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Page 10

  He watched her with heavy-lidded, more-than-satisfied eyes. The arrogance in his expression slapped her across the face. She jolted herself to a self-sustained standing position and collected her breathing, willing her heart rate to calm-the-frick-down.

  She needed something to say or do… she had to resemble the dimwitted female from the dime novels pre-Kathleen E. Woodiwiss and she refused to tolerate it. “What is the big deal with Mr. James? He’s a nice guy.” She moved around the luggage with careful limps. “I get that he’s asking me to do something illegal, but I have a feeling he’s doing it out of love—”

  “The. Hell. He. Is!” Slate changed course from moving to the stairs and stalked her, his hands balled at his sides. His voice dropped into a growl. “The only thing Ronan James knows about love is how to manipulate it. He wants that sample of Mac’s to prove he’s a James. What he has that will damage my family the most? Is a damn wedding license that has a signature on it that may or may not be Robbie’s. I honestly don’t care what the outcome is, Mac isn’t leaving my place. I can’t live without that kid.”

  His voice lowered further. Becky stopped moving to hear him. “Amelia and I are not married. She’s not mine and neither is Mac. But Ronan wants to prove that I forged Robbie’s signature on the marriage certificate and create an illegitimate status for Mac. If he can do that, then Mac is no longer the heir to the ranch.”

  Becky got lost in the story and dimly noticed he’d reached her spot beside the brick flue. She nodded her head at him to continue and sat on her bed to rest her leg. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he knelt down beside her. Tenderness replaced the anger. “I’m not worried you will give it to him voluntarily. R.J. has a… well, a way with women. He always has.” The light in his eyes darkened. “I’m trying to protect you from him. Even if you tell him no, he could still come after you and say that you did it just to enact revenge.”

  His lips were inches from her. If she reached out, she’d be able to touch them with her fingers, her palm, her own lips… Better yet, if she went out to his house, who knew what could happen?

  Martyring herself was hard, but she’d do it. “Okay, if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay at your place tonight, but just one night. People still need to get a hold of me, if there’s an emergency.”

  His lips curved. Becky’s mouth dried up. If she didn’t look elsewhere, he’d catch on that she hadn’t been kissed in who knows how long. He swiveled as he stood and his rear-end faced her for the briefest moment. Taut with a slight rounding where her hands would fit – the perfect thing to train her focus on.

  She shook her head. Since when did her mind fall into the gutter so easily?

  Simple – when she’d been kissed so deep her legs had failed to exist let alone hurt.

  He offered his hands and she grasped them, the heat in his fingers sending a tingling to a spot she’d just as soon not identify. He pursed his lips. “What?”

  Becky pinched her eyebrows together. “What, what? I didn’t say anything.” Oh, crap, please, say she hadn’t said anything.

  “No, but you look like you wanted to.” Slate released her hands and wiped his palms on the front of his pants. “Sorry, revealing everything that’s going on in my life isn’t how I like to follow up a kiss with a beautiful woman.”

  “Oh?” Becky squeaked. What the hell – if he had a routine, then how many women did he kiss? And more importantly, had he just called her beautiful?

  He curled his fingers around the tops of her biceps and pulled her close to his chest. The pine and spice in his cologne washed over her. Slate offered a small smile. He spoke slow and deliberate, watching her react to each of his words. “Yeah, ‘oh’. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way, Doc. I like it. I… might… just… see… if…” His lips covered hers, a good thing considering she couldn’t keep her mind off what he was doing with his thumbs rubbing up and down the front of her arms and grazing the flesh millimeters above her breasts.

  And if he didn’t put an end to the teasing that night, Becky would hunt him down and do the job herself.

  Chapter 16

  Blood located in other parts of the body impeded a man’s thinking.

  Slate breathed in as deep as he could. He could still taste her, even with her inside his house and him in his barn.

  Poor Pig had to cope with Slate’s frustration. The horse munched on alfalfa while Slate dug out the mud and straw from the stallion’s hooves. Slate mucked the stall. And re-laid hay. And refilled the water. And the oats and barley. Then remucked the stall. Stalls could never be too clean. With the route his thoughts had taken, Slate might be sleeping in the barn that night. Distance was a good tool to cool a man’s ardor.

  The last thing he needed was another woman for Ronan to take away and ruin. For hell’s sake, he hadn’t forgotten Kelsey, but not because he pined for her. No, Kelsey and he hadn’t been right for each other. But Ronan had set his sights on that poor girl because she’d been with Slate. Plain and simple. And Ronan had tossed her on her ass the moment he realized Kelsey and Slate were nothing permanent.

  “How can I offer anything to any woman, Pig? I barely have my own life stapled in place.” Slate rubbed his forehead.

  Pig’s ears flicked his way, but his lower jaw chomped on a mouthful of food.

  “Yeah, I know you don’t really care, but if R.J. closes on this place, you’ll be dog food. I can’t keep you or even Ole Titsy over there.” Slate jerked his thumb toward the old milking cow that hadn’t produced milk in over a year. Mac didn’t want her to die, so Slate hung onto her, worthless as she was.

  But was anything worth the trouble, if Ronan was going to end up with the damn place anyway? He was fighting so hard to get it and Lonely River Ranch needed both its owners to maintain the business and push toward success. One brother wasn’t enough to keep everything afloat and fight off the bastards trying to sink it.

  “Aw, screw it. If I’m lucky, She-Doc is an heiress. She’ll fall in love with me, and I’ll get to keep the ranch.” He laughed and picked up a large wooden brush. Swiping Pig’s coat from top to bottom, he continued. “Yeah, that’d be a good one. My very own sugar momma. We could tell her we take any major credit cards.”

  A door creaked open. “I don’t have any credit cards. Sorry to disappoint.”

  Slate spun on his heel and dropped the brush. “Shit. You scared me.” Uh, crap. She’d heard the worst part. “I was just talking to my horse. We like to banter around about things. Make jokes.” Of course, she would come out and catch him talking to himself, about her. He held in his groan. Yep, he was the world’s manliest-man.

  She ignored his comments. “What if I was a rich woman? And I wanted a roll in the hay, right there.” The doctor pointed her delicate finger into the fresh-laid straw.

  Slate swallowed. He followed the direction of her hand and stared into the fresh yellow-gold hay. The light reflected off the clean rods and it shone like a throne – well her suggestion made it seem throne-like, anyway. He tilted his head where she pointed and swallowed again. “There?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She arched a brow. The slight angle of her lips both thrilled and terrified him. She was a slight thing, but as she stepped closer to him, he had the distinct impression she had flipped the tables and stalked him in his own barn.

  She moved smooth, her limp very subtle. And she closed in on him. “Yes. Right there. Right now. I could take off my clothes. You could take off yours. It’s warm enough in here. Amelia and Mac are resting. We could have the whole place to ourselves to…” The other side of her mouth moved to match the other and she licked her lower lip. “Do whatever.”

  What the hell was going on? She’d been skittish at the Roylance’s and now she was trying to rape him? Well, rape wasn’t exactly the right word, but propositioning him fit perfectly. Was she testing him? The mare had done that to Pig. She’d shaken at his advances in the beginning, then when Pig had backed off, she’d wriggled her rear at him and tossed her mane
and tail, dancing close and whinnying only to move away when he showed interest.

  Slate wasn’t Pig but he could spot a filly in need. As turned on as he was, something wasn’t right. He pressed his hand against her shoulder and leaned his head down. “Becky?”

  She raised unfocused eyes from his chest to his face. “What?”

  And the sweet scent of brandy hit him. “Have you been drinking?”

  Becky shrugged and offered a half-smirk. She held up her fingers and pinched at the air. “Maybe a little bit. Liquid courage, right?”

  No way would he accept her advances in that state, no matter how much his, er, lap ached. “Come over here. Tell me what you need courage for.” He steered her to the bench by the wall and sat beside her. “Come on. What’s with the alcohol?”

  With a small laugh, Becky wiped at her eye. She sniffed. “I don’t… I’m the smart girl. I started reading when I was three, writing at four, I moved into advanced classes before I was even in official school. I’m not the one that the boys hung out with, you know, like that. I did their homework. Even through medical school.” She rubbed her forehead, faint pinking in her cheeks.

  Slate sighed. “You needed courage for me? I’m not asking you to do homework, Becky. I just kissed you.” He tried to meet her gaze, but she cast her eyes downward. “Did you think I asked you to come out here to take advantage of the situation?” Okay, the thought had crossed his mind, but one-night stands weren’t his style. Robbie’s, sure, but not Slate’s.

  “No.” Her voice shrank.

  Slate wrapped his arm around her and pulled her along his side. “Even if you thought that, why would you come out here after drinking and try to take control? Did you think that would make it happen your way?” He squeezed her in a side hug. “’Cause, Doc, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “But I do want to. Bad.” Becky pushed from him. “It’s okay, if you don’t. I won’t be mad.” No, but the tears in her eyes said she’d be more than sad.

  Slate considered her stiff back. No way was he going to have sex with her now – at least right then. He would become her complex. “Let’s go inside and see what we can rustle up for dinner. Amelia’s cooking is mediocre at best. I’m the chef out here.” He helped her stand but didn’t linger at her side when he reached his full height. “Go ahead, I just need to check Pig’s water and set the thermostat.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Why do you call him Pig? Most of the horse owners around here have names like Sire’s Power and Master’s Gold. Yours is… Pig?”

  With careful movements, he wrapped a rope around his hand and elbow. “Well, you see, Pig is short for his real name which is a mouthful. If I called him Poseidon Isocrates Gurganus all the time, he’d have a pretty big head – even for a pig.” He winked.

  “Wow, that is a big name. I like it. Latin, right?” She teetered but steadied before he had to rush forward and catch her – damn.

  “Yeah. I guess you see a lot of Greek and Latin in medicine, too, right?” Impressed once more by the multi-faceted woman, Slate clenched the rope in his fingers. She wasn’t sober enough for the way he wanted to hold her.

  “More than I thought I would.” She fell silent, watching him with her large green eyes.

  He bit his inner cheek and continued wrapping the rope, waiting for the door to close behind her. After a moment of expectant silence, the click of her exit released him. He breathed out on a whoosh. And adjusted himself. Sassy woman.

  She’d bothered him more than he wanted her to know. His jeans had become uncomfortable. A few minutes face-down in the snow would help but he didn’t have time to strip down, freeze, dry off, and get re-dressed. Who knew if she’d come back out and think he was lying there waiting for her to do whatever it was she wanted. He shivered. Crap, that thought was going to delay him another few minutes.

  Chapter 17

  The night blurred between alcohol and need. Becky had smuggled a flask of brandy from her place just in case and look where that had gotten her. Embarrassed, rejected, and discouraged.

  Finally, the pain in her leg had abated along with the empty-aching-worry over her parents. Sometimes tingling paresthesias or numbness left behind by alcohol were more welcome than a roll in the hay.

  Walk became run and she crossed the drive in a gimpish trot. Cold wind froze the tears in tracks down her face. At the door, she chanced a look back. But he wasn’t there. She needed to escape. Somehow he’d talked her into coming out to his ranch and she wasn’t getting compensated the way she ought to be. Stupid man didn’t recognize brazen desire when he saw it. That was his fault.

  Another minute passed and still no sight of him. Fine. Whatever. She pushed through the door and headed to the plush guest room she’d been assigned – on the opposite end of the hall from his room. She should have taken it as a hint rather than a suggestion of romance – no more romanticisms. She was done. Do her job. Keep her eye on the boy and then get back to the clinic.

  Amelia leaned against the doorjamb, hands tucked behind the small of her back. Smooth blonde hair framed her elegant features and for a moment Becky felt like the mouse that dropped into the fairies grove. But Amelia wasn’t flitting around with fairy dust in a bag or a wand in her hand.

  A frown creased her forehead and made lines around her mouth. “Hey, Dr. O’Donald. Can I speak with you a moment?”

  Great, Amelia was going to want to talk to Becky about moving in on their relationship. Oh, well, Becky could take her. “Um, sure. Where do you want to go?” Please, not in the living room or somewhere else Slate can see me.

  Becky blinked her eyes with forced concentration a few times. A film from the brandy added a sepia tone to her vision. Amelia took on a splotched brown skin pigment that camouflaged with the same blemish on the wall behind her. Dang alcohol.

  “Mac’s sleeping. We can go to my rooms, if you’d like.” Amelia offered a slight smile and led the way through her door. After Becky passed, she closed the door softly and motioned to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”

  Becky followed instructions but was sure she tilted to the side or maybe the room did. One way or another she wasn’t going to make it far if she didn’t get off her feet. How in the heck had she made it to the barn and back?

  A wall on the clock or a wock on the clall – oh, whatever – showed she’d finished drinking her flask less than twenty minutes before. Twenty minutes? That was all? No wonder she’d only been buzzed around Slate.

  She leaned forward, elbows on her knees and trained her eyes on Amelia. A trick from college might enable her capability to hold onto an image of awareness – stare at a spot and imagine toothpicks propped her lids open. “What can I do for you, Amelia?”

  The blonde wrung her hands and glanced toward a closed door. Most likely Mac’s room. She started out with her voice low. “I’m not sure what Ronan told you about me…” Amelia avoided Becky’s eyes.

  Becky didn’t respond, waiting for the next part.

  Amelia didn’t disappoint. “And I’m sure you’re thinking the same thing everyone else in town does.”

  Maybe Becky was listening to the wrong gossip, because she hadn’t heard anything about Amelia James. Everyone spoke with such awe and amazement about Slate that everything else was shadowed by his excellence. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. No one has ever spoken of you to me. I’m kind of wishing that was different, at this point.” Crap. Had she just said that out loud? Filter, Becky. She blinked several more times and lifted her eyebrows to help her eyes.

  Amelia still hadn’t looked at her full on. “Look, I’m legally married. To Robbie. I am.” She twisted a thin band on her hand. “Mac is not a bastard.”

  Her words sobered Becky and the air stifled her, pushing the sickly sweet brandy on her breath back into her face. “Amelia, I never said he was.” Becky leaned down until she caught Amelia’s eye and she sat back up. “What happened to the woman who slapped me? It’s too late for
formalities now, girl. You need to lay it out there. What’s going on?”

  “Ronan might try to suggest that Mac isn’t Robbie’s. But he is. And Robbie is married to me. Well, I mean, yes, he is.” She punctuated her words with a nod.

  If she disclosed too much, Becky might drive the wedge between the James siblings further. But if she didn’t, she was setting herself up for worse. “Your brother suggested that I could make some money, if I collected a sample of your son’s blood. He wanted it for legal purposes. I suspect he’d also take the boy’s medical records.”

  Amelia gasped. “He’s trying to prove the dates don’t add up.”

  “What dates?” This was more than her inebriation could handle.

  “The dates of the marriage and when Robbie left town. But why would he want his medical records?” Amelia clenched her hands between her knees.

  Becky’s adrenaline had combated the alcohol for a spell, but fatigue allowed it in. And her leg hurt again. Great.

  She couldn’t think. Who cared what Ronan James wanted? Nobody cared what Becky wanted. In that moment, if Ronan showed up, she’d give him the sample. She’d get her money, go back home to her family, and live out the rest of her days doing menial surgery and collecting a nice fat paycheck.

  Becky glanced around the room, half-hoping Ronan would show up. He didn’t. Drat. “I’m not sure what he wants or even what it would do to help his purpose. Legitimacy is outdated and doesn’t usually stand up in court.” She should know.

  “No, it stands up out here. Montana is still very conservative. Besides, the trust locked with the land specifies that as long as there is a legitimate male heir, he stands to inherit the majority of the ranch including all of its substations and leased acres. If there isn’t an heir through the male lineage, Ronan in this case, then the lands transfer to the next male in line, which is Mac. Now, if R.J. has a son then it won’t be an issue and his sons will inherit the majority and my children will inherit my shares.”