Cowboys are Forever (3 page)

Although looking back on it now, he realized that what he’d mostly suffered was wounded pride. He’d been infatuated with Lisette, fascinated by her bright worldliness and brittle charm. But he’d discovered something during that long, bleak winter too. He’d found out that he never wanted to live with someone again whom he had nothing in common with, who couldn’t share his love for the ranch.

It had been a bitter lesson, but he’d learned it well. The Lisettes and Marielles of this world were not for him. He couldn’t understand why old Dan’s niece thought she wanted to settle here. It was ludicrous! She was as out of place here as a glass of chardonnay at Smokey’s Bar & Grill on penny beer night. These yuppie types could get some strange ideas into their cultured heads, he thought wryly.

Trey checked his watch again. He’d left Marielle an hour ago. That was plenty of time for her to have discovered that there wasn’t any water. He’d tried to tell her and had fully intended to fix it for her before he left. But she hadn’t given him a chance. Trey was tempted to leave her over there until tomorrow morning without water. It would serve her right. She might not be so high-and-mighty the next time he tried to tell her something.

He saw her again in his mind’s eye; her cool, willowy beauty and graceful movements … and the unmistakable look of strain and weariness on her face. Aw, hell. He couldn’t do it, he decided. Whether she deserved it or not, he didn’t have the heart to leave her there all night without any water.

Trey strode purposefully toward his truck. His foreman, Bandy, hailed him from the shadows of the bunkhouse where he was sitting outside smoking one of his vile-smelling cigars.

Trey knew that the other hands had all joined together in the protest against Bandy’s choice of tobacco, threatening to skin him alive if he lit another cigar in the bunkhouse.

“Hey, boss, where ya goin’?” he called out.

“I’m going to rescue a damsel in distress.” Trey replied, and drove off laughing, knowing that he’d left his foreman consumed with curiosity.

Marielle sponged herself with some of her pricey raspberry-scented body splash. She might not look good or feel good, but by gosh, she’d smell good, she thought grimly. It was wet, anyway, and mildly refreshing. She thought longingly again of a nice hot bath, then resolutely banished the thought. It wouldn’t be happening tonight. Opening a suitcase, she selected a short satin chemise and put it on. Then she removed the pins from her hair and bent over to brush it vigorously, which alleviated her headache to some extent.

She slipped into a pair of sandals, not wanting to go barefoot until the floors were mopped, and headed for the kitchen, a bottle of aspirin in hand. Damn! She’d forgotten that the soft drinks she’d placed in the refrigerator hadn’t had time to get cold yet. She didn’t relish the prospect of slugging down a hot soda with her aspirin. Remembering the cooler with ice and drinks still out in the Jeep, she went outside to get a cold cola. Marielle fished around in the cooler and came up with a bottle of Perrier. That would work, she decided. As nervous as she was, she really didn’t need any more caffeine today.

The night air felt wonderful. She gazed skyward, awed at the display of twinkling stars, like loose diamonds carelessly strewn across a black velvet cloth. This place was so beautiful. Even the heavens looked closer, clearer than back in the city. She went in reluctantly. Then after swallowing two aspirin and washing them down with a swig of Perrier, she decided to go back outside and enjoy the night for a little while until she unwound enough to feel sleepy.

Marielle pulled a small woven throw from the couch, and took it outside. She laid it on the edge of the porch and sat down, sipping in the refreshing bottled water. Mmm … this was heaven. Quiet and peaceful. No traffic sounds, no sirens screaming, no loud music blaring from open car windows. Nothing to shatter the soothing stillness of the night.

She leaned back against a porch post and let her thoughts drift pleasurable to the future. She truly believed that this was her destiny. That she was meant to find her happiness here in these mountains. And she would, she told herself defiantly, regardless of what Peter J. Masterson III thought about it!

She pictured the man in her mind: tall, dark, and handsome. Trey
was
attractive. With his rugged good looks, masculine physique and slightly arrogant self-assurance—he could have any woman he wanted. And those eyes! So dark brown that they were nearly black and framed by extravagantly long, thick lashes. Although his cool appraisal had seemed subtly insulting. It was as though he was taking her measure and found her somehow lacking. And that cheeky remark about her legs! She grinned. At least there was something about her that he liked.

Well, she’d show him! Marielle was well aware that despite her lifelong desire to get back to basics, she had a lot to learn about actually doing it. She wasn’t naïve or foolish enough to think that she could move out here and instantly succeed at ranching. But she did have the desire and the determination. In her experience, those two things could take a person a long way. Nearly anywhere, in fact, that she wanted to go. Trey Masterson’s assumption that she’d give up and sell out—and go running back to New York—was way off the mark. It might happen. But not until she’d given it everything she had.

Marielle’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a vehicle approaching down the dirt drive. Startled, she watched as headlights came closer and she could hear gravel crunching under tires. Speak of the devil, she thought, recognizing Trey’s truck. What on earth was he doing back over here this late at night? Her temper flared. She’d already told him that she didn’t want to discuss any more business tonight.

Trey stopped the truck and got out, walking toward her. Marielle noticed that he moved with a lithe, fluid indolence; unhurried, but still conveying a potent masculinity. He stopped a few feet from the porch.

“Uh, Miss Stevens—Marielle,” He said, “I guess you’ve found out by now that there’s no water. I tried to tell you before I left, but….” He Shrugged. “You wouldn’t let me. I can have it going in a few minutes if you’d like.” He seemed to be addressing his remarks to some point above her head instead of looking directly at her.

“Yes, of course,” Marielle replied eagerly, spring to her feet. “Please, go right ahead. Can I help?” she queried, relieve to have her water problem solved so easily.

He shifted his stance, turning away from her and averting his eyes. “Uh, no. I can do it by myself. But thanks anyway,” he told her. “I’ll just screw—er, put the fuse back in and prime the pump. I brought my tool—I mean tools.” He seemed to be acutely uncomfortable. Marielle wondered what was wrong with him. His strange, almost nervous behavior was completely different from his cool self-assurance earlier. She felt contrite about rushing him off without letting him explain about the water.

“I’m really sorry that I wouldn’t let you explain. You had to make an extra trip over here and I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” she told him, smiling. Maybe if she was friendlier toward him, he’d be more at ease, she thought.

Trey suddenly whirled around to look at her. His dark eyes met hers and she wondered why that made her feel so edgy. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked. His gaze moved downward to her chest. Horrified, Marielle belatedly remembered that she was wearing nothing but a skimpy chemise. She was so tired and so surprised to see him that she’d forgotten her inappropriate attire.

She groaned inwardly, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. She crossed her arms protectively over her bosom.

“No, I’m not cold,” she said, her voice quavering slightly. “I got ready for bed and then came out here … and then you pulled up … and, well, I forgot I wasn’t dressed.” She tried to laugh casually but only managed a weak giggle. “I’ll just go and put some clothes on.”

She turned quickly to go in the house, hoping to end this mortifying encounter, when she heard the sound of splintering wood. In the next moment her foot went through a rotten board on the porch and she fell heavily.

Trey was beside her in an instant. She felt his hands on her bare shoulders and shivered at his touch as he helped her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He stooped and ran a hand down her legs, lingering on her scratched ankle. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said. Leaning on his arm, Marielle hobbled into the living room and sank down on the couch.

“I’m fine, I think,” she told him. “I guess I’d better fix the porch first, huh?” She pulled one of the blankets from the back of the couch, throwing it over herself in a belated attempt to cover her near-nakedness.

Trey stood before her, eyes narrowed as he watched her adjust the blanket. “A little late for modesty, isn’t it?” he drawled.

Marielle felt the blood rush to her face again, clear to the roots of her hair. One thing about being a fair-skinned redhead, she thought—her face turned as red as her hair when she was embarrassed … like now, for instance.

She gazed back at him with as much dignity as she could muster. “I suppose so. But better late than never. I’m okay,” she assured him. “Just, um, go ahead and fix the water.” Marielle was relieved when he nodded assent.

As soon as the front door closed behind him, she leapt from the couch and half –walked, half-hopped down the hall to her bedroom. She winced with each step. Ouch! Her ankle might not be broken—she’d take his word for that since he seemed to know what he was talking about—but it hurt like hell. She rummaged quickly through her suitcase. Once she’d donned a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-style shorts, she felt better. Not good, but better.

Back on the couch, Marielle heard Trey in the kitchen and realized that he’d come back inside while she’d been getting dressed. She was grateful for his help. But she really wished he’d finish up and leave, for several reasons. She was exhausted and ready to put this grueling day behind her. And she was thoroughly humiliated by being caught in her nightie and then taking a pratfall right in front of him. But the main reason, she acknowledged ruefully, was because she found him entirely too attractive for her peace of mind.

His nearness sent alarm bells clanging wildly. Marielle had never met a man who made her as aware of her own sexuality as Trey Masterson. His touch, the smoldering look in his dark-as-night eyes, his pure, unadulterated masculinity—it all added up to a potentially dangerous combination. She had no intention of getting involved with him or any other man. Not any time soon, anyway. She’d come here with specific goals in mind and she didn’t intend to get sidetracked by romance, or sex, or whatever.

Marielle heard the back door open, the close again. Trey came back into the room and stood looking down at her.

“Okay, you’re all set,” he said. A smile played around the corners of his sensuous mouth. Marielle stared, fascinated by the wonderfully sexy things that smile did for his already gorgeous face. She swallowed, trying to curb her lustful thoughts and strove to speak normally.

“Thanks.” She faltered. “I really wanted to take a bath before I —before I —”

“Went to bed?” he interrupted, quirking an eyebrow.

For some reason, Marielle found his words strangely suggestive. She gazed up into his deep brown eyes and felt a thrill course thought her veins. The innocent phrase sounded so intimate coming from his lips. “Uh, yeah,” she stammered. This was ridiculous, she berated herself silently. She was acting like some tongue-tied teenager with a crush. She got up from the couch and faced him. “Thank you again, Trey. I’m glad you came back.” She smiled. “I wasn’t looking forward to being deprived of my coffee in the morning. I can barely function without it.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said. “But I guess you could have used Perrier.” He rocked back on his heels and grinned broadly. “It would be a mighty expensive pot of coffee but if that’s what you’re used to, you probably won’t like the water up here much, anyway.”

Marielle felt her smile fade. “I’m not in the habit of making coffee with Perrier. And as a matter of fact, I’ve tasted the water up here before and I liked it.”

He heaved a sigh. “Look. I know you came for a visit years ago when your grandmother was still living. She was a great person … one of the hardest-working women I’ve ever know. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore. It probably seemed like a lot more fun to you back then. But”—he paused to emphasize his next words—” there’s a lot more to life up here than fun. It’s mostly hard work.”

Marielle tilted her chin. “I know that. I’m not afraid of hard work.”