Crazy for Lovin’ You (7 page)

“It hurt at the time, but I'm over him now,” she said, a little too brightly.

“You don't have to pretend with me.”

“I'm not. I don't say anything I don't mean.” She picked at a half-eaten biscuit. “Destiny is still a good place to settle,” she said quietly, then met his gaze.

“Maybe from where you're sitting. It never felt all that good to me.”

But he looked at her. She was sitting at a right angle to him, close enough that he could reach out and cover her hand with his. He found he liked talking to her. He must. He didn't just blurt out the unfortunate fact of
his engagement to just anyone. What would it be like to share breakfast with her every morning? To come home at night to a woman like Taylor? Have her kiss him hello and talk about his day with her and listen while she told the events of hers. And children.

Whoa. There must be something in the air or water in Destiny. He wasn't given to flights of fancy like this. At least not in a long time. Not about hearth, home, having someone. He wasn't the solid, steady, stable type. He
was
like a tumbleweed and he came by it naturally. It was in the genes and biology was tough to overcome.

He continued to eat in silence, putting away a fair amount of the food she'd cooked. Finally he put his fork down. “I'm stuffed. That was great. The best meal I've had in a long time.”

“Really?”

“You're not the only one who says what you mean, Taylor. I can't remember when I've tasted better.”

“Good,” she said, smiling shyly at his compliment.

“Now I need to get to work.” He stood up.

“My office is in the front of the house. You're welcome to use it,” she offered. “That's where technology central is located. I expect you'll need the squawk box and all the rest of the electronic gizmos.”

She smiled, but it didn't quite work and he wondered why.

He nodded. “Thanks. If you don't see the whites of my eyes by suppertime, take a peek to see if I'm still breathing.”

“No problem.”

 

Later that day, Taylor was still in the funk that had started when Mitch had told her about his engagement.
She couldn't shake the black mood and she'd finally figured out why.

“I feel more alive than I have in ten years and it's all because of him,” she muttered to herself.

She jammed the pitchfork into the hay, then brushed her forearm across her sweaty brow. She remembered Mitch talking about being number two. “He feels like number one to me,” she said to herself, letting out a long breath.

“He's been burned twice. Surely he won't want to try again. To go for number three, he'd have to be dumb as a wagonload of rocks. They say third time's the charm, but he's not the trusting sort.”

Did she even want to be his number three?

She'd been burned twice, too, and he'd been the first. She kicked at the hay with the toe of her boot. “I'd have to be an idiot.”

“Who's an idiot?”

She whirled around and saw a man silhouetted in the barn doorway. If the deep, sexy voice wasn't enough of a clue, she would know those broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs anywhere. “Mitch, you startled me.”

“And you're scaring me. Standing here talking to yourself.” He walked the length of the barn and stood just outside the stall where she was working.

“Occupational hazard,” she mumbled, her heart pounding. The devil of it was, the hammering wasn't because he'd surprised her. It was just that he was there dressed in jeans, with his long-sleeved shirt rolled to just below the elbows.

She took a deep breath. “I don't often have anyone else around to talk to. And as far as I'm concerned, it's always an intelligent conversation.”

Unless, of course, she was wasting her own time, talking to herself about Mitch Rafferty.

“Speaking of occupational hazards, I saw some of the bulls you're keeping for Dev.”

“How? Did they crash the computer room to access the Internet?”

He grinned. “I was looking for you. Ran into Jim Foster down in the pasture. He told me you were up here.”

“Did Jim remember you?”

He nodded. “I can't believe he's still here. He was foreman ten years ago.”

“He worked for my dad as far back as I can remember. He's like family. I don't know what I'd do without him. In fact, now he sees to most of the day-to-day running of the ranch. Did you meet Cal White?”

The teenager she'd hired reminded her of Mitch. He had the same intensity and ambition to succeed. One big difference was that he had supportive parents.

“Nice kid,” he said nodding. “The two of them were checking out the bulls.”

“So what does that have to do with me and occupational hazards?”

He leaned one broad shoulder against the stall doorway. “I'm glad it wasn't you working with animals big enough to crush you like a dried leaf.” The teasing note disappeared from his voice. He looked dead serious.

Was he worried? About her? The first thought that popped into her head was that she didn't know what to do with what he'd just said. Her second, she wasn't thinking at all, simply feeling a lovely, warm glow in the pit of her stomach. Followed quickly by annoyance
when his comment sank in. He was treating her like a little girl.

“I'm not a kid anymore,” she snapped. “Believe it or not, I've done ten years' worth of growing up while you've been gone.”

“I can see that.”

“Get used to it. I'm a grown woman, Mitch.”

“I know,” he answered, mumbling something that sounded like, “believe me.”

“I know what I'm doing. Dad taught me everything he knew and Jim took over where he left off. I wish you'd start taking me seriously—”

“Down, girl. At ease,” he said, holding his palms out in surrender. “I get the point.”

“I'm not so sure. You're acting like my big brother. And I don't need one. I can take care of myself.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked.

“You.” She walked out of the stall with the pitchfork in her hand.

He nodded at the sharp prongs. “Do you plan to use that on me?”

“If I have to.” But she couldn't prevent it when her mouth turned up at the corners. She'd run out of steam and couldn't resist his teasing. Lord knew she wished she could.

“So why aren't you taking care of the bulls?”

“Jim's showing Cal what to do and he said I was in the way.”

“There seems to be a lot of that around here,” he said wryly, referring to what she'd said while putting breakfast on the table. “And the general impression is that Texas is a big place. Who knew people could get underfoot on an annoyingly regular basis?”

“I needed to do some work here in the barn,” she added.

“Don't you have cheap labor for this?”

She nodded. “But they don't start till tomorrow. I'm saving the rest for the hired help from the high school rodeo team. But they're finishing up school finals.” She rested the pitchfork prongs on the ground and leaned on the handle. “I plan to give the kids lots to do when I fill the guest rooms. They can work with any greenhorn who wants to learn about horses, or ride, or rope.”

“Is that so?”

“You bet. The teenagers have a lot of knowledge to share. My clients will benefit and just think how good the kids will feel about themselves. I figure my busiest months will be summer when they're out of school so there should be a steady supply of labor.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I'm the brains of the outfit.”

“Chief cook and bottle washer?”

“Pretty much,” she confirmed. “I'll make sure everything runs smoothly at the house. Organize activities—hay rides, campfires, trail excursions. If we have a group of children, I figure I'll handle showing them around. Maybe I'll set up a petting corral where they can touch the animals and feed them.”

“Everything from creekside cookouts to cozy campfires,” he said.

“That about covers it. And I'll have to remember those words for the advertising brochure I'm putting together.” She closed the stall gate and started out of the barn, stopping in the toolroom to replace the pitchfork. Her breath caught when she came out and saw
that Mitch had waited for her, then fell into step beside her.

“You've thought of everything,” he commented.

Not quite. She'd never thought about what it would feel like to see him again. Let alone to have him under her roof.

That morning she'd awakened with a sense of anticipation she hadn't experienced in a long time. She'd had to keep reminding herself that she was practicing on Mitch. But she couldn't quite get her heart to buy the baloney. She'd been happy as a cat in a creamery. Right up until he'd told her about his engagement. It was like a dousing with ice-cold water and twice as bracing. He'd been in love with someone else.

Do not make the mistake of falling for Mitch Rafferty again, she warned herself. Her father's words came back: one mistake is acceptable. The same mistake is just plain stupid. She'd been a girl the first time, but she was a woman now. And the pain could be so much worse.

“Is there some reason you were looking for me?” she asked.

“I called a reporter friend of mine to set up a time for an interview. Publicity for the championships. She's going to bring a photographer along.”

“When?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

They walked out of the barn and Taylor stopped for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the sunlight.

“That will work,” she said nodding. “So when the reporter's here she can tie in the rodeo and my operation in the article.”

“Right.”

Suddenly the full impact of his words sank in.
“You're giving me the endorsement? So soon?” she asked. “You've only been here a day, and you're ready to sing my praises publicly?”

“Breakfast was really good,” he said with a grin.

She shot him a skeptical look. “You're not just feeling sorry for me? I don't want that—”

He shook his head. “I like what I see, Taylor. No kidding. And I think a lot of folks will, too. I meant it when I said yours is a good way of life. I consider it a civil service to give you a recommendation.”

Taylor believed him. Maybe it was just because she wanted to so badly, but she did.

She threw herself into his arms. “I can't believe it! A thumb's-up from the legendary Mitch Rafferty, bull rider extraordinaire.” She kissed his lean cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she savored the contact. It was risky, especially when he fell into that sweet and considerate category she was so leery of. But she couldn't help it.

Then she felt him tighten his grip, snuggling her more securely against him. Cold feet time.

“What will the neighbors say?” She wriggled out of his arms, a second after meeting his amused gaze.

“Probably nothing since the closest one is a left turn past yonder.”

“Yeah.” She backed away and stuck her fingertips into her pockets. “Anyway, I'm really grateful.”

“Glad to help,” he said simply.

In silence they started walking again. As they neared the pool area, she noticed that his limp was more pronounced than she'd seen before. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Just stiff. And part of the reason I came
looking for you to tell you about the reporter. I needed a walk to work the kinks out of it.”

She slipped off her boots so as not to track muck over the decking. Walking past the pool, she stopped just outside the sliding door that led into the kitchen eating area and set her boots beside the patio mat.

She glanced back at Mitch where he stood staring into the crystal-clear pool water. Something about his expression tugged at her heart. In her stocking feet, she walked back and stopped beside him.

She met his gaze. “That must have been a difficult time—the injury and everything. It must have been tough to make the decision to leave the pro circuit.”

“Considering the alternative, that part was easy. Surgery, pins, screws and plates in my leg was hard. Not to mention rehabilitation afterward.”

“Still, you were young. I hope what's her name at least hung around until you got out of the hospital.”

“I don't remember.”

The dark intensity in his eyes told her differently. “I know you'd never admit to it in a million years, but you were probably scared.”

“You're right.”

“You were scared?”

He shook his head. “I'd never admit to that in a million years.”

“You don't always have to be the strong, silent type, you know.”

“I'm not being any type. But I do believe that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.”

Taylor bent over to dip her hand in the water. “Nice.” She stood. “Not too cold. And the Jacuzzi might help the stiffness in your leg—”

Suddenly he scooped her into his arms, as easily as if she were a five-pound sack of potatoes.

“What are you doing?”

“I also believe in don't get mad, get even.”

She shook her head. “Haven't we been through this before? You didn't throw me in then, I don't believe you'll do it now. All talk and no action, Rafferty.”

“If you yank a rattler's tail, you best brace yourself for the bite.” There was a devilish grin on his face as he walked to the deep end of the pool.

“You wouldn't dare,” she warned him.

“I never could resist a dare.”

The next thing she knew, she hit the water fanny first.

M
itch watched for Taylor to surface. He wasn't quite sure why he'd thrown her in, except maybe to wash away the sadness in her eyes on account of his leg. Since he was a boy, folks had looked at him with the same expression she just had, because he was the kid no one wanted. But he was luckier than a whole lot of people and he didn't need anyone's pity.

Ever since he'd returned to Destiny, he'd had a nagging sense of putting away the past, making peace with it. On top of that, another feeling pestered him: that she worked too hard, and needed some fun in her life. He figured a mad-as-hell Taylor was better than the serious woman he'd just ambushed.

“You son of a rabid coyote,” she shouted. “Why did you do that?”

He shrugged as he stared down at her. “You looked hot.”

“I wasn't, but I am now,” she shot back, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. She stroked through the water
and reached the side of the pool where she hung on. “These jeans are heavy.”

“I seem to remember something about that.” He reached a hand down to her. “Unlike you, I'll help you out.”

“Because you're a nice guy.” She only hesitated a moment before grabbing on with both hands. “A true Texas gentleman,” she said wryly. There was a gleam in her eyes and saccharine dripped from the words. “How's your leg?”

“Fine,” he said, but her tone had warned him.

He was prepared when she braced her feet against the side of the pool, then yanked for all she was worth. He could have resisted easily, but he let her pull him in.

He surfaced almost instantly and saw her struggling to climb out. “No, you don't.”

He reached out with one arm and seized her around the waist, hauling her up against him. He settled her back to his front.

She tried unsuccessfully to break his grip. “Let me go. We're even now, Mitch.”

“Nope. You're still one up.”

“But you're a Texas gentleman,” she reminded him.

“I've been living in California. The West Coasters weirded it out of me,” he answered.

Looking over her shoulder, he was distracted by the sight of her breasts, just above where his arm encircled her waist. Her pink cotton blouse, so crisp and clean just that morning, was now wet and all but transparent. Her white bra was clearly visible beneath the soaked material. He could practically identify the brand, and it wasn't satin or lace. Just serviceable cotton, plain and practical. He swore he could see the dusky shadow
of her nipples. Water everywhere, but his mouth went dry.

Heat flashed through him in spite of the cool water. It didn't make any difference that a perfectly respectable tank suit would show more skin than she revealed in her drenched clothes. But Taylor Stevens wet and in his arms made him think about things he shouldn't—about how she would look
without
the layers of clothing.

He didn't know he'd loosened his grip until she suddenly turned in his arms and lunged halfway out of the water to get the leverage she needed to push on his shoulders and dunk him.

When he surfaced, she was trying to get away, stroking for the shallow end of the pool. “Not so fast,” he said, reaching after her. “Cheaters never prosper.”

“I didn't cheat. All's fair in love and war.” She glanced over her shoulder and squealed when he stretched out his arm and caught her slender ankle. Slowly he pulled her toward him. “This is war,” she said, trying to pull her foot away.

“Damn right it is.” He could stand on the bottom, giving him the advantage he needed. Gripping her waist, he lifted her and arced her body up and into the water with a splash.

She came up laughing and shrieked as he made a move toward where she was treading water. “You've got me on size and strength, Rafferty. But I'm not above using teeth and nails as weapons.”

“A true Texas lady,” he said, grinning.

“A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.”

“Okay. I give up,” he said. He held up his hands.

She blinked and pushed her dripping hair out of her
eyes. “Wow. If you'd been in command at the Alamo, Texas would still be part of Mexico.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

Her brown eyes flashed fire. “Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I'm tough.”

He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth and remembered a night ten years before when she hadn't been so tough. Since then, very few things had surprised him as much as what Taylor had done that night. She'd said she loved him, then kissed him—an innocent touch of her mouth to his. After leaving town, he'd put Destiny—and Taylor Stevens—out of his mind.

Coming home again resurrected all the memories. Now the only thing that amazed him more than Taylor's sweet kiss, was that he could still see the hurt in her eyes, the way her mouth had trembled. Just that morning, she'd confessed her busted engagement. He'd seen a familiar expression on her face, pain and betrayal mixed together. He didn't ever want to be responsible for hurting her again.

He swam to the side of the pool, his will to spar sputtering out. But she wasn't giving up. She followed and tried to dunk him, putting all her weight into pushing on his shoulders. He braced himself and she couldn't budge him.

“There's more than one way to skin a cat.” She cupped her palms just at water level and pushed a wave into his face.

Tossing his head to scatter the drops, he grinned. “Now you've done it.”

“Oh, yeah? I'm shaking in my boots.”

“You're not wearing boots.”

Then he started splashing, and his hands were twice as big as hers. She kept at him, though. She just
wouldn't give up. Definitely a tough cookie. He couldn't help admiring her for that. But he could see she was tiring and took pity on her.

He held his hand up and put the other on top forming a T for time out. “You win,” he said, knowing that was the only way to get her to stop.

“You give up?”

“Yeah.”

“It's a trick, right?” she asked. “A ploy? Playing possum? Lull me into a false sense of security so I'll let down my guard then you go in for the kill.”

“I wouldn't do that.”

He hung on to the side of the pool, and she glided next to him, laughing as she grabbed hold of the coping and faced him. She rested her elbow on the edge and dragged in several gulps of air as she concentrated on catching her breath.

Mitch looked at her mouth. He might go in for the kiss. In that instant he realized his mistake. But wild horses couldn't make him look away from her full lips. Their faces were barely an inch apart. He could feel soft puffs of her breath on his cheek. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, drawing his attention to her breasts. She was no longer off-limits. At least not because of her age. He remembered the little girl she'd been. He wanted to taste the woman she'd become, see how she would feel. Would she respond to him or had he destroyed that by pushing her away ten years ago?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he brushed strands of hair off her face, then threaded his fingers through the heavy mass. He encircled the slender column of her neck with his palm and gently urged her toward him.

Surprise and something else leaped into her big
brown eyes. She'd caught her breath from their tussle, but now her breathing was quick and unsteady. Again. He hoped she was winded for the same reason he was—an attraction he couldn't seem to ignore no matter how hard he tried or all the reasons he reminded himself it wouldn't work.

Before he could think it to death and stop himself, he captured her lips with his own.

Her mouth was cool, wet with droplets of pool water. More than that, she was soft and sweet. With his fingers threaded through her hair, he gently urged her forward to make the touch of their mouths more firm. She tipped her head sideways to deepen the contact.

His heart hammered in his chest. Liquid heat sluiced through him driven by the blood that raced through his veins, fueling his desire. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and instantly she opened to him. Dipping inside, he stroked the honeyed recesses of her mouth.

Just when he'd thought it was safe to go back in the water, he was in danger of going up in flames. Their wet shirts were practically nonexistent, and he could feel the heat of her skin when she pressed her softness to his hardness. Her honestly eager response delighted him. His will to hold back was just a microthread from snapping.

Taylor was consumed with desire at the first oh-so-tender touch of Mitch's fingers brushing the hair from her face. Why did he have to be sweet? She was powerless to resist that. She expected him to turn his back, ignore her, push her away. If he'd just followed his usual pattern and kept his distance, she'd have been okay. But the soft and gentle feel of his big hands in
her hair was her undoing. All her self-warnings became ashes in the wind.

Her skin felt hot and her heart pounded madly. He was so strong, so masculine, so sexy. And so achingly romantic. The feel of his mouth, the touch of his long, strong fingers, the wall of his chest against the softness of her breasts. It was every bit as wonderful as she'd dreamed. And she prayed he would never stop, but the prayer wasn't working for her.

Almost the next instant, he pulled back. His breathing was ragged and a perfect match for her own. His gaze burned into hers.

“You kiss like a woman,” he said.

The little pocket of hurt she'd carried around for ten years disappeared. There wasn't anything he could say that would have touched her more. “Thank you, Mitch. That's high praise coming from Texas's most eligible cowboy.”

“Not anymore,” he said. He let her go and hauled himself out of the pool, buckets of water pouring from his jeans onto the decking. “I took myself out of the running.”

He held a hand down to her and she grabbed on and held tight as he easily pulled her out of the pool. Her heart squeezed painfully at the words. They were a between-the-eyes reminder that he'd been hurt badly. She knew wounded animals were likely to strike back and it wasn't smart to get too close. She already knew how painful it was when Mitch had left her behind. To go through it again would be plain stupid.

She would take his words about her kissing technique, and his kiss, in the spirit he'd no doubt meant—a white flag to put the past to rest.

“Now I think we're even,” she said, hoping her voice was light and steady.

“Yup.” He ran a hand through his wet hair.

Were his fingers shaking? No. Not cool, calm, collected Mitch Rafferty. It must be her imagination. She stood in the puddle her sopping jeans had made and looked down at herself. Her blouse was practically see-through. Embarrassed, she felt the heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks. After pulling the tails of her shirt from her jeans, she tugged the material away from her chest, trying to salvage some modesty.

She wrung out the bottom of her blouse to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. “Playtime is over.”

“You're right about that.”

“I have a business to get off the ground. You have a rodeo to put on.”

“True enough.”

“We wouldn't be the brightest bulbs in the chandelier if we let ourselves get carried away.”

“Can't argue with you there,” he said. “We're not allowed to have too much fun.”

Anytime now he could stop agreeing with her, she thought crossly. “I think I'll go inside and get some towels. The laundry room is right there,” she said, pointing to the door on the left. At least she wouldn't trail water through the house.

“Thanks.”

Was that all he could say after that bone-melting kiss? Suddenly angry, she wondered what women saw in the strong silent type. The appeal was highly overrated. Give her a man in touch with his feminine side any day. Maybe a man like that would say what was on his mind and a woman would know what was going
on. She could do without the guessing games, thank you very much.

“Taylor?”

“What?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“I'm going into Destiny this afternoon.”

“I don't need to know your comings and goings.”

“I probably won't be back for dinner.”

“Oh.” The anger slid away in the wake of her disappointment. She needed to work on feeling nothing. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Without looking at him again, she walked toward the house, leaving him behind her by the pool, just like ten years ago. Unlike ten years ago, he'd initiated this kiss.

So why didn't she feel a whole lot better about it?

 

After cleaning up from his unscheduled dip in the pool, Mitch drove into Destiny. He told himself important rodeo business couldn't wait. He needed to see his old friend, Sheriff Grady O'Connor. But in his gut he knew this trip into town had everything to do with Taylor. More specifically, the way he'd felt after kissing her.

Right outside in front of God and everyone, he'd wanted to pull her back into his arms and pick up where they'd left off. Which would have been a big mistake. It was also his motivation for the decision to go into town. But he refused to believe he was behaving like an army in full retreat.

He parked his truck in front of the sheriff's office and went inside. The auburn-haired, female deputy at the front counter greeted him. The nameplate beside her said, Deputy Phoebe Johnson. Behind her were several metal desks holding computers and littered with
paperwork. File cabinets lined every spare inch of wall space. Overhead, fluorescent lights glared down.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I'm here to see Grady O'Connor.”

“Your name?”

“Mitch Rafferty.”

“I'll let him know you're here,” she said, picking up the phone beside her. “Mitch Rafferty to see you, Sheriff. Yes, sir, I'll send him right in.”

She met his gaze and Mitch touched the brim of his hat. “Thanks,” he said, pushing through the swinging door.