Cowboy's Kiss (2 page)

“I told you, the only thing I give a damn about is the ranch. You're welcome to the rest. Hell, you're even welcome to stay in town if that's what you want to do—”

“Oh, thank you so much for your permission!”

“But you're not welcome on my ranch!”

“It's
our
ranch and I don't have to be welcome to be here.”

They'd both been shouting and now he stopped. But the quiet, barely suppressed rage in his voice was somehow worse. “I made an offer to buy you out through all those lawyers a few months back. I'll up it by five thousand dollars right now.”

“I'll make you the same offer and you can go,” she bluffed.

He saw it. “Don't make me think you're a fool.”

No, for some reason she didn't want this man, of all men, to think of her that way. Though she didn't understand why it should matter. It did, however, change her tone to one more reasonable. “Look, I came here to live for a reason that doesn't have anything to do with money. I'm not leaving.”

“Ten thousand more.”

“A hundred thousand more, a million more—it wouldn't matter. Meggie and I are staying.”

Oh, what an ugly look he gave her!

“Let me guess,” he said with a sneer. “You have some damn television idea of what it's like to live on a ranch and you thought you'd come up here and have a little Western adventure. Or you've had a falling out with some desk jockey in Denver and you thought you'd show him, you'd just pack up and move. Or—”

“Don't make me think
you're
a fool to believe drivel like that,” she countered.

Again their eyes locked in a stare-down.

“Fifteen thousand.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Unless of course he picked her up bodily and threw her out, which at that moment Ally thought was a possibility from the look of utter contempt he had on that incredible face of his. But incredible face—and body—or not, he was still the most disagreeable man she'd ever encountered and she didn't like him any better than he liked her.

Then, through clenched teeth, he said, “Why would you stay somewhere you're not wanted?”

“I have my reasons,” she answered just as dourly, having no intention of confiding any more than that.

“There are no free rides with me,” he threatened. “If you live here, you work here.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” she claimed, hoping she wasn't biting off more than she could chew. “And before you go around smearing verbal mud on my mother's good name again, you also had better know that
she
didn't
sleep
her way into my inheritance, either. Originally Shag had wanted her to be left the quarter share, because he genuinely loved her and wanted to provide for her should he die before she did. But she wouldn't hear of him leaving her anything at all. She didn't know until after his death, when the lawyer contacted me about the will, that he'd honored her wishes about herself and given it to me instead.”

“And you're going to earn it,” he said, the threat in his voice again. “Tomorrow I have to take some oilmen out to the wells on the farthest end of the ranch and I'll be gone until suppertime, so you have until the next day to rest up. And then—if you don't get smart and leave—you're mine.”

Okay, so he did manage to send a shiver up her spine.

Still, Ally toughed it out, raising her chin to him as if accepting any challenge he could toss her way. “Fine,” she said. “But there's one stipulation I have, too.”

This time he lifted his chin at her, daring her to venture it.

“No matter what your feelings about me or my being here or your father's will, my daughter is not to be burdened by it. I was hoping to find that you were like Shag—kind, patient—”

“Shag, kind and patient? You must be out of your mind.”

Ally had no intention of arguing that with him, too, though she was curious as to why he seemed to dislike his father so much. She went on as if he hadn't interrupted her. “My daughter has been through a lot in the last few years and I won't have any more inflicted on her. So I'm telling you here and now that you'd better watch your step around her.”

“Who the hell do you think you're talkin' to, lady?” he shouted again.

“You,” she shouted back. “Just keep your bad attitude clear of my daughter.”

He let out a sound that was equal parts disgusted sigh, mirthless laugh, and disbelief at her audacity. But Ally wasn't going to let it bother her. Too much. Instead she turned and hit the swinging door she'd come through and left the kitchen in what she hoped was a blaze of righteous indignation, feeling those blue eyes on her the whole way.

Jerk!
she thought.
Insufferable, rude, insulting, hotheaded jerk!
No wonder Shag had kept his connection with her mother and her and Meggie so completely separate from his life and family in Wyoming. He'd probably been embarrassed to let anyone know he was related to a person like that!

Yet Ally remembered Shag suggesting that she and Meggie might benefit from some time up here, so he couldn't have been hiding his oldest son. And in spite of him, he must have thought the good outweighed the bad.

Which was what Ally had to hope for. Because now that she had Meggie here, now that she'd talked herself blue in the face about how great this new beginning was for them, she couldn't just turn tail and run before giving it a chance. Regardless of Jackson Heller the Jerk.

She'd just have to comply with whatever he wanted her to do to
earn
their right to be here and hope he steered clear of Meggie.

No, she wouldn't
hope
he'd steer clear of Meggie. He'd
better
steer clear of her. Because if he so much as looked cross-eyed at her daughter, he might find himself with a rolling pin stuck up that romance-novel nose of his.

Ally climbed the steps and stormed into the room across the hall from where Meggie was, wondering what she'd gotten them into, praying that it wasn't yet another wrong turn she was taking with both their lives.

But even as she worried about it and cursed Jackson Heller for making this as difficult as he possibly could, she also wondered why it was that her recalcitrant mind kept flashing a mental picture of the to-die-for handsome face of that very same man.

With whom she now shared a home.

J
ackson was in no better temper when he got up the next morning just before dawn than he had been when he had gone to bed the night before. In fact, after spending more hours mentally rehashing his argument with Ally Brooks than sleeping, he was madder still as he stood in the spray of a steamy shower.

He had half a mind to post Lady, Go Home signs all through the house.
His
house. And Linc's and Beth's if they ever wanted to come back to live in it. But not some damn Denver woman's house.

About two in the morning he had conceded a couple of things. He believed she hadn't been Shag's lady friend, because his father just wasn't the type to play footsy with a woman young enough to be his daughter.

Which led to Jackson's second concession—that he might have been out of line to accuse Ally Brooks—or anyone else—of sleeping their way into the old man's will. Jackson of all people knew that Shag Heller had never in his life done a single thing he hadn't wanted to do, regardless of what anyone else tried to maneuver or finagle, and no matter what the relationship.

But it did sound like Shag to try to provide for the woman he'd been involved with for ten years, a woman he'd clearly had feelings for. And barring that, to leave what he had been determined to give her to her daughter.

Jackson turned off the water, yanked his towel from where it was slung over the shower door and dried off with punishingly angry strokes, too aggravated to feel any pain. Then he threw his towel into the hamper with a vengeance and went into his pitch-dark bedroom, turning on the light near the closet that held his clean shirts.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told Ally Brooks he didn't care that she'd inherited what she had—excluding the ranch. What Shag owned was Shag's to do with as he pleased, and not Jackson, Linc or Beth had been financially hurt by that fourth piece of the pie being served outside of the family.

But the ranch, that was something else again.

It was Jackson's whole life.

Linc and Beth had grown to hate the place, probably because of old Shag's harsh methods when it came to chores. To say he'd been a taskmaster was to soft-soap the reality of it. He'd worked all three of his children twice as hard as any of the ranch hands he was paying for the job, and often in the form of some pretty unreasonable punishments.

But for some reason Jackson didn't quite understand, the more he'd worked the place, the more he'd loved it.

Linc said he had mile-deep roots here and his brother was right. Deeper roots even than old Shag had had.

Their father had tired of the life. By the time he got Beth off to college, he'd been ready to wheel and deal and concentrate on the business end of things, so he'd turned the place over to Jackson.

Jackson had been twenty-two then and more than willing to take the reins. And for the past fifteen years there hadn't been a day he'd regretted it. Not a day he'd been sorry to rise with the sun, work in the heat or the cold, dirty his hands or break his back.

Beth thought he loved the ranch like a man loved a woman, but he thought it was more the way a man loved his only child. He fed it. He groomed it. He tended to its every need. He put his blood and sweat into it. He sacrificed for it. And never once had he resented it.

Not even when that sacrifice had nearly ripped his heart out....

He pulled on his boots, pushing away old memories as he did.

The point was, this place belonged to him and he belonged to it.

And no damn woman from Denver had any business walking in and claiming any part of it.

He was dressed by then and turned off the light to leave. As he did he was tempted to slam the bedroom door closed after himself, just for the sake of disturbing Ally Brooks. She'd disturbed him enough to have it coming, that was for damn sure.

A man needed a decent night's sleep when his day started before sunrise. He didn't need to be all riled up, tossing and turning, telling off a blasted woman in his mind. Plotting how the hell he was going to get rid of her. Devising jobs for her that were bad enough to match the worst old Shag had ever come up with.

Wondering if those crazy wild curls of her hair were as soft as they looked....

Damn, but she'd made him mad. First at her. Then at himself for thinking ridiculous things like that.

But he closed the door quietly rather than slamming it. Unlike his father, he wasn't usually given to fits of rage and he didn't like the way it felt. Didn't like giving in to it, and that's what slamming the door would have been.

Still, though, as he passed by Ally's room he muttered, “Take the money and get out of here,” wishing she'd do just that.

His offer to buy her share of the ranch had been more than fair. That, on top of the rest of what she'd inherited could keep her in a Denver penthouse—or wherever else she wanted to be—for the rest of her life without her ever lifting a finger. So what was she doing here?

No doubt she had a fantasy of the place as some sort of dude ranch. Jackson could just imagine the brochure—
Life on the range. Horseback riding. Swimming. Napping in the shade of an old oak tree. Barbecuing under the stars of a Wyoming sky....

Ha!

He supposed he'd given her credit for better sense than to think the ranch was like that. But why else would she have come here? Surely if she had had any idea of the reality of it, it would have been the last place on earth she'd have ever shown up.

And that's what he'd been counting on. Not in a million years had he thought the mystery woman in the will would actually take that part of the inheritance seriously enough to move here.

He'd figured on buying her out and never having to set eyes on her. Even when she'd turned down his offer through the lawyers, he'd thought it was just a ploy to raise the price—the way he'd done the night before, trying to get her out.

But no, here she was, moved in as if she belonged.

And giving orders!

Jackson was in the kitchen by then and he poured water into the coffeemaker with such disgust at that very thought that he splashed more on the counter than he got in the reservoir.

Damn woman had a lot of nerve to get on his back about how he was to treat her daughter. Where did she come off jumping on him about being mean to that child before he'd so much as spoken to the girl?

And she thought he had a bad attitude, did she? Well, by God, he had a right to his attitude. How would she like some stranger prancing into her life, her house? Uninvited. Unwanted. Just showing up and announcing she was there to live. And not only her, but her and
a child.
Lock, stock and barrel.

And fiery hair. And sparkling Irish eyes. And one of the sweetest little behinds...

Jackson shook himself out of
that
bit of mind wandering, wondering what was getting into him. It had been happening ever since she'd walked into the honky-tonk. Right in the middle of a full head of steam his crazy brain would flash a picture of her. A picture that was all too vivid and in more detail than he had any business having noticed. Or remembering.

Damn her all to hell.

Well, he'd meant what he'd said about there not being any free rides around here. He'd give her a taste of what old Shag had dished out so heartily. Shag nice? Shag had been as ornery as a grizzly bear. By the time he'd finished with Linc, Beth and Jackson, any one of them could run the ranch single-handedly. And if this blasted woman wanted to live here, she was going to learn what it was all about, too. From the ground up.

As Jackson watched coffee as black as coal tar drip into the pot, he realized that the more he thought about putting that mouthy little woman to work, the more the idea appealed to him. Dirt and grime and dust. Manure and chicken droppings. Sweat and blisters and backaches to beat the band.

Oh, she was in for it. If he had to have her here, he was going to have some fun with it.

“We'll just see how long you want to stay when you find out it's no picnic.”

No sirree. Sweet little behind or no sweet little behind, he was going to work it right off and relish every minute of it.

Every single, solitary minute of it.

And in the meantime, he'd just have to find a way to get the image of that particular backside out of his mind....

* * *

After traveling, getting in late, arguing with Jackson Heller and then stewing about it until the wee hours of the morning, Ally slept late. Luckily, so did Meggie, who slipped into her bedroom at eleven and finally woke her.

“I don't hear anybody else in the house,” the little girl whispered as she climbed onto Ally's bed.

“Jackson had to go somewhere,” Ally told her in a normal voice. “We'll have the place to ourselves for the day. I thought we could explore, get to know our way around, and then maybe swim after a while.”

“Did you ask if it was okay?”

“Of course it's okay. We aren't going to do anything but look around and swim,” Ally answered with a laugh, although she was beginning to wonder if being here at all was okay. Still, she couldn't show that concern to her daughter. “Go get dressed. I need to call your grandmother and give her the phone number up here. Then we'll see about something to eat.”

“Remind Grandma to give the number to Daddy if he calls.”

“I will,” Ally assured, biting back the urge to warn her daughter not to get her hopes up. Again. Instead she said, “Make your bed,” and sent Meggie back across the hall.

Twenty minutes later Ally had left the message on her mother's answering machine, dressed in her swimming suit, a pair of tennis shorts and a big shirt that covered it all, and had made her own bed.

Breakfast was just cereal and milk, and while Meggie dawdled over hers, Ally checked out the kitchen.

Like every room in the house, it was huge, open, airy and more functional than fashionable.

Navy blue tile made up the countertops and back splashes. White cupboards lined three of the four walls; the matching appliances were all commercial size, though not industrial looking. Only the eight-burner stove and two ovens were stainless steel, but the mammoth cooking center was recessed in a cove all its own and was hardly unsightly.

In the center of the room was a butcher block large enough to hold a side of beef, and off to one end was a breakfast nook that would easily seat twelve.

To Ally's chef's eye, the place was a dream. Until she opened the cupboards and discovered only rudimentary pots, pans and utensils, and nary a Cuisinart to be found.

If she stayed she'd have to send for hers.

If?

That thought surprised her, for it was the first time she'd seriously doubted that she would make her home here. She'd considered this move permanent. The new beginning she'd promised Meggie and herself. She'd thought it only a matter of time and seeing what she needed and didn't need up here before she definitely sent for her things.

The fact that she was hedging now made her realize just how intimidated she'd actually been by Jackson Heller. This was not something she was happy to acknowledge even to herself. And certainly not something she'd give in to.

“Let's take a look outside,” she suggested to Meggie then, as if familiarizing themselves with the place would remind her that she'd come here intent on making this more than just a lark she could be scared away from.

The house itself was a two-story H-shaped structure built like a mountain cabin of split logs and mortar. Within the rear arms of that H began what yawned into four hundred square feet of brick-paved patio with enough tables, lawn chairs and loungers to service a large garden party.

There was also a net hammock to one side and an enormous bricked-in barbecue with a pit next to it that Ally warned Meggie to stay away from when she suffered a mother's paranoid vision of her child falling into it.

Beyond the patio was the pool, predictably as large as any public one around. To the east was the former bunkhouse Beth had pointed out the night before from the sliding doors off the kitchen. She'd explained that after some quick and extensive remodeling, it had been turned into the home she and her Native American husband had moved into only in the past few days.

Beside that was a much smaller house Ally imagined was a guest cottage, and—at some distance farther out—there was a barn, a pigsty, an extensive chicken coop, several paddocks where a number of horses grazed peacefully, and a windmill that turned eagerly against the hot breeze that was blowing as Ally and Meggie headed in that direction.

The main house, the cottage, the patio and pool and even the renovated bunkhouse could have been on any highbrow estate playing at being rustic without actually accomplishing it. But the barn and everything around it, though well tended, left no doubt that this was a working ranch. And in the temperatures of that late August day, the smells that greeted them let them know it for sure.

“P-yew,” Meggie said as they approached the barn, its great doors open wide.

“Animals and the scents that go with them on a sweltering summer day,” Ally informed.

“Camp wasn't like this.”

The camp her daughter referred to was one they'd just spent two months at before coming here—another of Ally's attempts to raise Meggie's spirits. Ally had accepted a job as the camp cook in order for Meggie to be able to go while Shag's will was in probate.

“We were in the mountains where it was a whole lot cooler and we never really got near the stables. The horses were always brought to us, remember?”

But before they headed into the barn where a long center separated a dozen stalls on either side, Meggie spotted a filly in the adjoining paddock and veered off in that direction, apparently forgetting her complaint about nature's odors.

They spent nearly two hours on that area of the property, going from horses to cows to pigs to chickens to goats, as if they were at the zoo. When they finally did check out the barn, they even happened upon a box in one corner where a mother cat and four kittens had residence.