Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2) (12 page)

He took another long drink. “My grandparents were fighters, but they were worn out. And old. He died of a heart attack when he was out riding. Grandma died in her sleep a couple weeks later. The next year, my parents surrendered. The only way to dig themselves out from under the mountain of debt was to sell off.”

She heard guilt in Ty’s voice and knew he must beat himself up over not having tried to help. Not that he’d likely have been able to save the ranch, but he could have been there. Her parents would blame him, but she didn’t. It was hard to balance your family’s needs and your own desires. “How sad. What did they do then?”

“Got jobs in town. She did bookkeeping and he worked in the feedstore. They hated it. I came home and saw that. Guess that’s when I grew up.”

Sipping coffee, she studied his expressive face. “What d’you mean?”

“I was in my early twenties. I’d been having fun at college, traveling around to rodeos, hanging out with guys like Blake, enjoying the buckle bunnies—”

She wrinkled her nose.

He grinned and went on. “Building a name for myself. Don’t get me wrong; rodeo’s hard work. But I love it, and I’d been working hard since I was a toddler, so that part didn’t bother me one bit. Anyhow, I got to thinking about the future, and how long I’d keep rodeoing.”

“And?” Kim took another small bite of cake, savoring the chocolaty richness.

“I saw my folks, aging and unhappy. And I remembered how great it had been, growing up at Ronan Ranch, the whole family working together. I thought maybe that would be a better way to live than traveling from rodeo to rodeo, motel to motel. So I started saving money. I made a fair bit, those years. When I traveled I checked out the opportunities for ranching, thought about where I’d like to live. Where my folks might be happy as well.”

Now she realized where this was heading. “Are you saying
you
bought the ranch in the Valley?”

A satisfied smile spread across his face. “Three years ago. Saw land for sale, halfway to Hope—”

“Hope? Is that a town?”

“Yeah. Cool, eh? Called it Ronan Ranch, of course. Mom and Dad moved out and we’ve got us a nice little spread.”

Her heart warmed. Ty was a lot more than the admittedly gorgeous picture that met the eye. What woman could resist a man like this? “That name, Hope, it was symbolic.”

Twelve

G
uess so,” Ty said. “A second chance for Ronan Ranch. For my family.”

A chance to heal, she figured. “How wonderful.” His parents probably felt abandoned when he chose rodeo over the ranch, then like failures when they lost the ranch. And Ty felt guilty, partly responsible. She doubted he would come out and say any of that, or if he even totally realized it. Yes, she was learning a lot about this man tonight. He was human, flawed, and incredibly appealing.

“The new place is way different from the Alberta one, but times change.”

“Different?” She nodded. “I guess it would have to be, if the old one couldn’t survive.”

“Yeah. I put my education to use, did more research, a lot of thinking. Talked to my folks.” He made a face. “That was a challenge. Dad and I butt heads; Mom tries to mediate. A traditionalist would say the new place isn’t really a ranch, but we hung on to the name. Dad’s a cattle guy, and we’ve got purebred Angus. That’s his baby. Mom handles the other specialty stock: ostrich for meat; llamas, alpacas, and angora goats for wool.”

Fascinated, Kim leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And you rodeo and train horses?”

“Yeah, and a lot of my time goes to management, with input from Mom and Dad and our workers. I only hit a few rodeos now, mostly in BC where the travel time’s shorter. Don’t see myself giving up rodeo for a while yet. Besides, it’s promotion for the ranch.” He gave a boyish grin. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

That grin gave her a hint of the kid he’d been: hardworking yes, but with a touch of the devil. The little girls had no doubt been as crazy about him as adult women were.

“I’ve always been a horse guy,” he went on. “I have a way with them, so I’ve set up a training business.”

“You break broncs?”

His laugh rang out, rich and infections. “Hell, no. I gentle them rather than break them.”

“Gentle them? You mean like horse whispering?”

“That’s what some folks call it.”

“But . . .” She tilted her head, puzzled. “How do those go together? Bronc riding and horse whispering? They seem like opposites.”

“In the old days, yeah. Back when rodeo had its roots, cowboys who needed horses would capture wild ones, climb aboard, and stay on until the horse gave up. They called it breaking, which, you’re right, is the opposite approach to gentling. But the bronc riding you see in rodeos now, that’s a different thing. Those horses are bred and trained to buck. It’s their job. The ones that do it well—”

“The rank ones?”

“Yeah, the rank ones. They’re worth a lot and they’re treated great. Bronc riding’s not about trying to break a horse’s spirit and make it submit. The horse would be worthless then. It’s more like—have you ever gone surfing?”

“Surfing?” She gave a startled laugh. “No. Have you, cowboy?”

“Matter of fact, yes. It’s not like the big wave’s your enemy; it’s a challenge. It’ll do what it does, it’s a force of nature, and you have to read it, feel it, go with it. And when you connect with it that way, when you ride it all the way, man is it a thrill.”

Spellbound, she read all of that on his face. She could also imagine him, bronzed body almost naked, powerful and graceful as he rode a board along a curling wave. “You, Ty Ronan, are a man of surprises.”

He shrugged. “I’m a straightforward guy. But hey, enough about me. Tell me about you. How does a Hong Kong girl with a business degree decide to study art in Vancouver?”

Flattered that he remembered what she’d told him Saturday, she said, “I’ve been coming to Vancouver since I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to study art, and I didn’t want to do it in Hong Kong. I wanted fresh influences.”

“You’ve enjoyed your studies and living in Vancouver?”

“Oh, yes, so much! I almost hate to go home.”

“Then don’t.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know my parents.”

“Meaning?”

How could she possibly explain her parents and their expectations? With Henry, she hadn’t even had to try; he understood because his parents were the same. Searching for common ground, she said, “Your grandparents started a ranch? Well, my parents came to Hong Kong and started a business. Theirs is property management. They do it very well and keep expanding the properties they manage and also the ones they own. Chang Property Management is the family business, like Ronan Ranch. And when I say
family
, even the ancestors get dragged into it, though they’d never even been to Hong Kong. But the business is a matter of family pride, honor, and, according to my parents, destiny. If they had their way, there’d be no escape.”

“Escape? You mean they want you to go into the business?”

Why had she raised this subject? It always brought her down. “I’m an only child. It’s not
want
, it’s expect and demand.”

He frowned. “I’m an only too, but parents don’t own their kids.”

“Try telling them that.” How to explain this? “Your family has rodeo and ranching in their blood. What if you’d said you wanted to be—oh, I don’t know—a surfer?”

He gave a startled laugh. “A surfer?”

“You know. Something completely different. Something they don’t think is a serious way to make a living. It’s an okay hobby, but not a job. But, even more important, it means rejecting the family business. Rejecting the family, destroying their honor, shaming your ancestors.”

“Jesus.” He stared at her disbelievingly. “Really?”

“Culture shock, right? I know Western people have trouble relating to it.”

“You have to live your own life,” he said firmly.

Sadly, she shook her head. “That’s the last thing you’re supposed to do. It’s not your life. It’s your family’s.”

“Family’s important and you should respect them, but that’s crazy.”

When she didn’t answer, he reached across to take her hand. “Kim, do you believe all of that?”

His hand, the hand of a near-stranger, felt like the only steady, secure thing she knew. She intertwined her fingers with his, wishing for a moment that she never had to let go. “Yes and no,” she answered softly. “It’s what I grew up with. Most of my friends from Hong Kong have the same kind of pressure. And yes, I believe in respect, loyalty, and honor. I love my parents. They’re wonderful and they’ve always been so good to me. And yet . . .” She glanced down, biting her lip.

“Yet?” He squeezed her hand.

She studied their linked hands, his so brown, so big and strong, hers so delicate. How could they fit together so perfectly and the bond feel so real? “Saturday night, we talked about how some people feel as if they’re born to do something. It’s in their blood, it’s the one right thing. Hockey, for George’s fiancé. Horses for you. For me, it’s art.”

He frowned. “They want to take that away from you?”

“No, but they treat it as a hobby. They want me to join the company, work the same long hours they do, invest all my energy in CPM. Mom’s sixty-four and Dad’s almost seventy. They want me to take over the company one day. There’d be no spare time for art. More than that, I think it’d kill the creative part of me.”

“Like caging a butterfly.”

Surprised at his insight, she lifted her gaze from their clasped hands to his face. “Yes.”

“That would be a real pity.”

Somehow, those words meant even more than when he’d called her sexy and fascinating. “Thank you.”

“So what’re you going to do? How are you going to keep the butterfly flying?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Make a living from my art.”

“Good for you.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“You’re talking to a guy who rides in rodeos. What’s wrong with a little crazy?”

“Not a damn thing. So you don’t think it’s impossible?”

He shrugged. “Some people must make a living from art. Like with rodeo. It’s tough and not everyone’s going to do it, but if you have talent, determination, a pinch of luck, why not?”

“Exactly!” She beamed at him. “And I shouldn’t whine so much about my parents. I got them to agree—probably mostly because they don’t think I’ll ever actually do it—that if I come up with a solid business plan for how to make a living from my art, they won’t make me join CPM.”

He frowned slightly, maybe because she’d used the word “make,” then said, “A business plan. For designing clothes like those tops of yours?”

She sighed. “I guess. That’s what I’ve been working on.”

“I don’t get it. You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“I enjoy designing clothes, but so many people do it.”

“You’re afraid of the competition?”

“It’s not that as much as it’s just not quite, you know, the thing. The thing that really excites me.”

A slow smile curved his sensual lips. “It’s like raising cattle.”

“Uh . . .” It was pretty much the opposite, in her opinion.

“I mean, for me. Raising cattle’s okay. It’s outdoors, on the land, working with my family. All good stuff that’s important to me.”

Now grasping his point, she nodded eagerly. “But you want to work with horses.”

“That’s it. So, Kim”—his hazel eyes, looking almost gold in the restaurant’s dim lighting, studied her intently—“what’s it for you? What’s your thing?”

“That’s just it.” She shook her head, frustrated with herself. “I don’t know. It’s like there’s something I’m reaching for, but it’s just out of sight. It’s nothing that my fellow students are doing, it’s something that’s mine. Just specially mine.” Then she shook her head quickly. What an ego. “But really, who am I to think I deserve something unique? That’s not how I was brought up—to be self-centered.”

“It’s not self-centered to want your own special thing. You’re a special person, Kim.” He said those words as if he really meant them.

Gazing across the table at Ty Ronan, she realized something. In almost two years of dating Henry, he had never understood or supported her dreams the way this cowboy did. No, Ty couldn’t possibly relate to her family issues and how difficult it was to go against her parents, but he saw her, Kim, as someone special who was entitled to follow her passion.

Her small hand felt so good wrapped up in his big callused one. That same strong hand had clung to the grip on Dirt Devil’s bare back; it had deftly flung a rope over the head of a calf. It had caressed her cheek, her breasts, her most intimate spots.

She wanted him to do it again.

He made her feel tingly and moist and sexy and needy. She wanted to run her own small, soft hands over his hard body, to touch and taste and tease. Saturday night she’d done that, and he’d caressed her inner thighs, circled her clit with his tongue, thrust deep inside her. But she didn’t remember all the details; she’d been tipsy from too much lager. Now, if she was intoxicated, it was by him, not alcohol. This time she’d savor every exquisite detail.

If she was entitled to follow her passion, why shouldn’t she have another night with Ty? Or at least be alone with him, kiss and explore, decide how far she wanted things to go.

“Jesus,” he said roughly, “I told you not to do that.”

“What?”

“Moan like that.”

Had she moaned?

“You give me dirty thoughts, dragonfly girl.” His eyes glittered and she read in them the same need, the same passion she felt.

Kim made up her mind. “That’s because I’m thinking dirty thoughts. I think it’s time we got out of here, cowboy.”

His eyes widened and so did the grin that took over his face. “Hell, yeah.”

He turned to locate their waitress and asked for the bill.

The waitress glanced at Kim’s half-eaten dessert. “Oh, you didn’t like the cake?”

“I did.” A mischievous imp made Kim say, “I just got a better offer for dessert.”

The waitress winked. “The one thing that’s better than chocolate.”

Sex. The waitress assumed they’d be having sex. Probably so did Ty. And maybe—okay, probably—they would, but Kim didn’t want him taking that for granted.

Ty paid the bill, stood, and held his hand out to Kim.

She took it and came to her feet, hooking her purse off the back of her chair.

He bent and retrieved her umbrella. “Don’t forget this.” He handed it to her then collected his hat.

“I’ve lost a lot of umbrellas in Vancouver. I come in with one, then it’s sunny when I leave and I forget it. But I’d hate to lose this one. It’s the nicest I’ve found.”

“It suits you.” He guided her toward the door, his hand on her lower back, a tantalizing hint of what was to come when they were both naked. “When I saw that umbrella coming down the street, I knew it was you.”

Body humming with anticipation, finding it hard to think of anything except sex with this man, she said absentmindedly, “Umbrellas are so boring. Most are black, and the others are plain solid colors. If you have to carry an umbrella on a gray, drizzly day, I like something more cheerful.” An idea teased at the back of her mind. What had Ty said when he’d seen her?
Don’t fly away, dragonfly girl.

Umbrellas were kind of like wings. Clumsy, boring wings. But did they have to be?

“When I first saw you tonight,” he said, and her attention refocused on him, “I wanted to kiss you. But I figured you might not like it.”

They were on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. All signs of rain had disappeared, and it was a warm, almost balmy, evening. “I’d have liked it, but I wasn’t ready.”

* * *

N
o, Kim hadn’t been ready for a kiss when they’d first met tonight. But now . . . Yeah, dinner had been fun. Talking to her, feeling like they connected, getting turned on by her. Seeing her get turned on too—and tonight it wasn’t booze talking.

Ty put on his hat so both hands were free, then he used those hands to capture her head. That soft, spiky hair tickled his palms as he tilted her face up toward him. When he bent down, she came up on her toes to meet him, her dark eyes sparkly and welcoming.

Pent-up need surged through him, but this wasn’t the place for a down and dirty kiss. He fought to restrain himself. A brush of his lips against hers, the same with his hips. He could be patient. Especially when he was pretty sure where all of this was leading.

“Oh,” she sighed, a warm chocolate breath against his lips.