Only Hers (13 page)

Determined to apologize, she plunged on. “I worked very hard in the barn. It was childish of me to expect praise, but I did, and when you didn’t give it, like a spoiled child, I struck back.” Her shoulders squared. “Please accept my apology.”

Matt moved, but it was to screw on another bolt. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Her hand braced against the warm belly of the tractor to push to her feet.

“Come down here.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Shannon stuck her head underneath the tractor. It was as much of a concession as she was going to get from Matt. “Yes?”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Down here, Shannon. With me. Go on the other side and scoot under beside me.”

When she had ensconced herself under the tractor beside Matt on the well-worn blanket she asked, “What should I do?”

Unceremoniously, he dumped a handful of nuts and washers on her stomach. “Put those on all the bolts on both sides and I’ll tighten them.”

It sounded easy and it would have been if she hadn’t kept brushing against Matt. Working in the small space together, it was impossible not to.

His hip bumped hers, her shoulders touched his, their thighs brushed together as one or the other turned. His touch inflamed her senses. With each contact, Shannon fought the temptation to conjure up what it would be like to leisurely explore the hard, muscled warmth of the man
next to her, what it would feel like for him to explore her in return.

Hot.
She was hot everywhere and it had nothing to do with her sticky clothes or the temperature outside and everything to do with the man next to her.

“You’re hot?”

“W-what?” Her gaze jerked to his.

“Is the heat getting to you? You haven’t moved in the last minute,” he explained. “Your cheeks look flushed.”

If she could have sunk through the ground, she would have gladly done so. “I’m finished. I was waiting for you to tell me what to do next.” Great. Now she could add lying to the list of uncharacteristic things she had started doing since she came to the Circle T.

“Right behind you,” Matt said. He tightened the last nut. “Now to adjust it.”

Matt stood before she did, then helped her up. His hand only touched her arm for a second, then it was gone. The warm imprint, however, lasted. “Start it up and hold down on the clutch.” He dove back under the hood.

Shannon didn’t move. She didn’t know what the clutch was.

Matt’s dark head popped up. “What’s the matter?”

“My car is an automatic.”

His eyes rolled heavenward. “Climb on and I’ll show you. Pay attention because you may have to drive it before you leave.”

“I . . . I don’t think I could. I have problems with judging distances,” she confessed, climbing onto the tractor.

“Since you’ll be in a field, that won’t be a problem.” He started the engine and pointed to the clutch. “Keep your foot on that and let me know how the tension feels.”

She didn’t know about the tension in the clutch, but hers was wound pretty tight. But slowly she relaxed as they worked.

“That should do it. Cut the engine,” Matt told her.

Shannon climbed down. “It’s fixed?”

“It’s fixed.” He began picking up tools and putting them away.

“I guess I better get cleaned up. Any suggestions about these?” She held up her grease-stained hands.

He started to lift his hand toward her face, then glanced at hands that were greasier than hers. “You also have it on your nose.”

She rubbed the sleeve of her shirt across her nose and tried to ignore the stab of disappointment that he hadn’t touched her. “There’s probably not an inch of my body that doesn’t crave a hot, soapy bath. So could yours,” she suggested with an impish smile.

“You’re offering to wash my back?”

Frantically Shannon tried to vanquish the images of her doing that and more to his body. “T-that’s not in my job description.”

Black eyes narrowed, and for a wild moment she thought he might tell her it was. “Ready to quit and head back to St. Louis?”

“And leave you short-handed? No way.”

“The green bar of soap in the utility bathroom will cut through the grease. Under the sink in a pink jar is some cream for your hands.”

Surprise and pleasure swept through her. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “No sense getting the grease all over the place for Octavia to clean up, and I don’t want to hear you complaining because your soft hands are becoming as tough as mine.”

She smiled and his jaw clenched. Imagine.
Matt had noticed her hands.

“The ranch comes first,” he said tightly.

“I quite agree. Never crossed my mind otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think that water is calling my name.” Turning, she started for the house.

Halfway there she yelled, “Anytime you need an extra pair of hands, holler. That’s what partners are for.”

This time when she imagined Matt’s scowl, she smiled instead of worrying. Every muscle in her body might
ache, but she had showed him she wasn’t a cream puff. She was going to make a believer out of him. Her smile faded as she recalled his irritation after he mentioned her soft hands. The mysterious woman must have really done a number on him if he had to rationalize being thoughtful to a woman. Deep in thought, Shannon entered the house.

“If I have to reheat this food again it won’t be worth eating,” Octavia warned from the stove.

“Sorry, but I had to help Matt fix the clutch.” She held out her grease-smeared shirt. “Matt told me about the special soap. There’s no way I can sit, let alone eat, until I get cleaned up all over.”

“Hurry up then.”

Upstairs in her room, Shannon resisted the urge to linger in the scented water. Instead, she quickly finished her bath, then washed and blew dry her hair. After liberally using the pink hand cream, she dressed in shorts and a blouse, then gingerly picked up her dirty clothes and went downstairs. Returning from putting them in the washing machine, she saw the place setting for one.

Her happy spirits faltered. “Did Matt already eat?”

“No. He went to the field,” Octavia replied as she lifted boiled cabbage onto a plate.

“It’s after eight. It’ll be dark in less than an hour.” Shannon looked out the window, frowning.

“The tractor has lights and he lost a lot of time today.”

“He can’t make it up by killing himself.”

“I’ve been trying to tell him that for years. He won’t listen.”

“Did he at least come in for a sandwich or something to drink?” Concern laced Shannon’s words.

“He wouldn’t have eaten at all if I hadn’t taken some food to him.” The stoneware plate hit the table with a soft thud.

“Why don’t you go catch up on your reading?” Shannon suggested. “I’ll clean up after I finish.”

Octavia smiled in appreciation. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer. Good night.”

“Good night.” Shannon took her seat, but she made no move to eat. Her mind was still on Matt.

Men and women pushed themselves past the limits for different reasons. Her parents and brothers for the sheer exuberance of winning, and the glory. The financial reward was icing on the cake.

None of them knew how to relax and enjoy themselves. Enjoyment for her family was zeroing in on a witness for the opposition and making them sweat. Relaxation was a breakneck-paced game of racquetball.

Her mother despised idleness as much as preachers despised sin. More than once, her grandfather had to rescue Shannon from some “project” her mother had assigned her. The two of them would escape and enjoy their time with each other. What they did didn’t matter as long as they did it together. She’d miss him forever, but they had built some good memories. Her thoughts skidded to a halt.

How had she forgotten that?

Good memories lingered. She leaned back in the chair and remembered the happy times. The long talks, baking cookies, helping her study for a test, playing a game of chess. She smiled. He hated losing and hated it worse if she let him win. He was a special man.

It had been so very hard letting him go. Letting him know that it was okay to stop fighting, that it was okay to seek a place without pain. She had fought against it at first, begging him to fight although his body was racked with pain.

It wasn’t until one night he had looked at her and said, “I’m ready to go, Shan girl,” that she realized he was trying to hold on for her. And her alone. She was the one selfishly keeping him in pain. So she had taken his hand and told him it was all right. She’d swallowed tears, railed against life and told him how much she loved him, and then she’d let him go.

He had taken part of her with him. But he had also left a part of himself with her. Tears rolled down her cheek and she made no move to stop them.

The healing process had finally begun.

A long time later she looked out the window. Darkness had descended. Maybe that’s what Matt needed, to create some good memories to overshadow the bad ones.

But first she had to find out what drove him past the limits of other men. She had to admit she hadn’t had much down time herself lately. When your mind was busy you didn’t have time to think about yourself. That was the reason she pulled double shifts, to keep her mind occupied. And it hadn’t done a bit of good. Her mind would drift: tears would fall.

She glanced out the window again and wondered at the reason behind Matt’s long grueling hours of work. She knew somehow that she was going to find the answer.

It was after ten-thirty when Matt made his way toward the stairs. He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. He had managed to plow a large section of the young corn, and the way he figured it, he was only a couple of days behind schedule. Everything would be going well if he didn’t have to worry about Shannon.

He had to admit, she hadn’t backed away from hard work or from getting herself dirty. After putting the tractor up he stopped by the barn to see the stalls. She had done a surprisingly good job.

Just as she had done a good job helping him with the tractor. He thought to push her a little further by getting her to help with the greasy, tedious clutch job and miscalculated badly. Instead of quitting, she stayed and put him through sheer torture squirming and rubbing against him.

Determined not to let her see how much she affected him, he had ordered her to stay and help him adjust the tension on the clutch. By the time she’d left, his body had ached for release.

He saw her as soon as he turned down the hallway. Dressed in a silky-looking pale-blue pants outfit, she leaned sideways against the wall facing him, her slim arms crossed beneath her generous breasts. If not for the
pensive look on her face he would have thought she had seduction on her mind.

“Why do you do it?”

“What?” he asked, surprised at the slight edge to her voice.

She pushed away from the door and met him halfway. “Why do you work through meals and push yourself so hard? Is the ranch in some financial trouble?”

Now he understood the reason for her concern. “Worried about your profit margin?”

“Should I be?”

“This may come as a surprise, but I like what I do. I like pitting myself against all the capriciousness of Mother Nature and whatever else tries to take this place from me.”

Her shoulders snapped back, her lips pressed together. Obviously she had caught his meaning. “If you keep on working these hours you won’t be healthy enough to fight anything.”

“Why should you care?”

“I asked myself the same thing.”

“Care to share the answer you came up with?”

“Because Wade loved you.”

The smug smile left his face.

“Good night and thanks for the hand cream.”

She walked away leaving behind her a whiff of her exotic perfume and a burning ache in his body.

“I can make my own coffee,” Matt announced without preamble as he entered the kitchen the next morning and saw Shannon standing by the counter.

“But can you make this?” she asked, and turned with a cherry-topped coffee cake in her hands.

So that was the mouth-watering smell he’d inhaled the moment his boot struck the bottom step of the stairs. She didn’t give up easily, he’d admit that much. But to get his land away from him she’d have to do more than show him her skills in the kitchen.

Unbidden came the thought of other skills she knew all too well, skills more suited to scented sheets and long hot nights. Unbridled need rushed through him. With an iron will, he brought his desire under control.

“Coffee will be fine until breakfast.”

She shrugged slim shoulders beneath another oversize shirt, this one yellow and white, and set the pastry next to the coffeepot.

“Suit yourself, I’m a sucker for sweets.” Leaning back against the counter, she picked up a slice of coffee cake and took a bite. Bread flakes clung to her lips. A pink tongue flicked them away.

Matt watched in hungry fascination as her tongue disappeared inside her mouth and yanked hard on his slipping control. Lifting the cup, he took a drink. “Ohhh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was paying more attention to her mouth than the hot coffee.

Her elbow propped on her bent arm, she took another bite. Crumbs fell. She lapped them up. “Are you sure you won’t have a slice?”

He picked up a wedge to stall for time until his coffee cooled and to get his mind off her lush lips. The pastry had barely settled on his tongue before he realized Shannon could be a rich man’s dream or a poor man’s nightmare.

So far hard work hadn’t scared her and she cooked as mouth-watering delicious as she looked. His ex-wife hadn’t cooked half this well or worked as hard, and she had put his life into a tailspin. Shannon was in a class by herself.

It would take a rich man to keep her happy. A poor man would try and end up feeling less than a man because he couldn’t.

“Do you like eggs rancheros?” She handed him a napkin.

He wiped his mouth and wished she’d stop looking at his lips. “Why?”

“Since I’m already up, I thought I’d give Octavia a break and cook breakfast.”

Black eyes narrowed. He put the pastry down. “Why?”