Welcome to Paradise (15 page)
His chest was bare.
Her shirt was damp. She wanted to take it off. She wanted him to take it off. To feel the hair on his chest brush against her sensitive nipples. Just thinking about it made them bead and quiver. No. She couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't.
“This could get to be a habit,” she murmured, her hands on his bare shoulders.
“Sounds good to me,” he said with that sexy grin he did so well.
“Yes, but I don't want a summer romance.”
“What do you want? Winter, spring, fall? I can arrange that.” He traced one callused finger around her cheek and then brushed her lower hp with his thumb, with such tenderness she felt tears welling. Here she was, in danger of spending another afternoon making wild passionate love with a man she should definitely not fall in love with. Not if she valued her hard-won independence.
She took his hand away and took a deep breath. “What do I want? I want to be self-sufficient I don't want to depend on anyone and I don't want anyone to depend on me. I don't want anyone to have the power to walk out on me or tell me lies. I don't want to fall in love again. I'm not going to fall in love again. Do you understand that?”
He nodded, his arms at his sides. “Sweetheart, nobody understands better than me. But that has nothing to do with us. We've both been burned. We're not going to take any more chances. We're perfect for each other.”
Perfect for him, yes. Perfect for her, no. He'd take and she'd give. And at the end of the summer she'd leave. He'd have no regrets, just memories. Maybe. And she'd be in the same fix she was when Brandon left her. No, worse.
“No thanks,” she said.
“What?”
“I can't do this, this short-term stuff. I can't do long-term either. So that pretty much lets me out of the game,” she said with a small smile.
He shrugged and reached for his shirt, which he'd hung on a branch. Then he stuck out his hand. “Still friends?”
She smiled and shook his hand. “Friends.”
She watched him go as he whistled his way back down the trail, envying his carefree insouciance. His motto—Take Her or Leave Her. It was all the same to him. Thank God she'd put a stop to it. Otherwise, right now, they might be swinging in her hammock together, her wet shirt hanging next to his on that branch. Her lace bra draped over a wild rosebush, drying in the warm summer breeze, while she... while they... She wrapped her arms around her waist and stifled more than a trace of regret.
The next day they were back again, as if nothing had happened, as if they were her hired help, concentrating on clearing sites for the collection, purification and bottling of her spring water.
“How come you're doing this?” she asked, offering them each a cup of herb tea before they went back to their ranch that afternoon.
“You're our neighbor. We want to help you,” Sam said.
“Don't you have work to do at your own place?”
“Yep. But we owe it to you. You know, old Horatio, he helped us plenty of times, plowed our road for us one winter when we'd been snowbound for seven days. Won't ever forget that,” Sam said.
“What do you do in the winter?” she asked.
“Repair equipment. Take care of the livestock,” Sam said.
“What do you do in the winter?” Zeb asked.
“When I'm not on duty, I hang out at my neighborhood coffeehouse, drink lattes and watch the rain.” It sounded so urbane, so effete. She wondered for a moment if she could go back to her old life. What was wrong with her? Of course she could.
“She misses her coffee,” Zeb explained to Sam. “Wouldn't touch mine.”
“Someday, when I have my spa and electric power, I'll have espressos and lattes and... What about my water business? Will I need electricity?”
Zeb shook his head and took a notebook out of his pocket and made a note. “Gas-driven pump should work.”
“Pump? I thought I'd fill the bottles straight from the stream. Then drive them into town. Keep it simple, at least at first”
Zeb and Sam exchanged a look that contained pity for her naivete.
“Okay, what do I need besides a gas-driven pump?”
“Water tank to hold the water you pump out of your stream. Plastic pipe to carry the water from the stream to the tank. Plastic bottles.”
“Oh, but I thought I'd have glass with my Paradise Springs logo on them.”
“Too expensive and easy to break. You want plastic gallon jugs. And a filter.”
“Why do I need a filter? Isn't the water pure?”
“It may be pure, but there's bound to be sediment in it,” Sam said. “Nobody will buy your water if there's a bunch of crud at the bottom of the jug.”
“Or little things swimming in it,” Zeb said.
“Little things? What kind of little things, fish?”
“Amoebas, stuff like that.”
“I should have it tested first,” she said.
“Good thinking,” Zeb said, reaching over to take the bottle out of her hands. “We'll take it in for you and have it tested at the county. Wouldn't want to buy a whole lot of equipment if the water's no good.”
“Oh, but it's got to be good. Great-Grandpa drank it and hundreds of visitors to Paradise Springs drank it and I drink it.” She lifted her tin cup and took a large gulp just to prove it to them. “If you'll tell me where it is, I'll take the water in myself. You've already done more than enough for me. I can't ask you to do any more.”
“Sure you can,” Zeb said. “We're going that way anyway, so it's no trouble.”
“Then I'll go with you.”
Zeb and Sam exchanged glances. Her heart fell. They didn't want her along. They were going somewhere else along the way. Somewhere that she couldn't come.
“Never mind, I'll go by myself,” she said.
“No. We'll all go together,” Zeb said.
“Are you sure?” she asked. She didn't want them to think she didn't appreciate what they were doing for her. But she didn't want to be left out of the loop. It was her land, and her mineral springs and she was going to be a part of this business every step of the way.
After considerable discussion between the brothers, which seemed to go on for another half hour, it turned out Thursday was the best day for a trip to the county building in nearby McClure. They were back before that though, the next afternoon, tramping up and down, following the stream, trying to pick a spot for the tank, another for the pump.
“The tank should be downstream to take advantage of gravity,” Sam said, resting his shovel on his shoulder.
“Uh-uh. The obvious place for the tank is up there. As long as she's got a pump she doesn't need to rely on gravity, so that's the way to go.” Zeb pointed to a flat clearing on the top of a slope. “It's a perfect place to fill the bottles and load them into her truck.”
“She doesn't have a truck,” Sam protested.
“I could...” she said.
“She can borrow ours to start with, but eventually she'll have to get one,” Zeb said.
“I couldn't...” she said.
Zeb interrupted. “Eventually she'll need a conveyor belt and an assembly line, someone to fill, someone to cap, someone to...”
“Wait a second,” she said. “Can I say something? I don't want a big operation here. Or a big staff to supervise. You know, that's what happened to me in nursing. I was booted up to administration and then I didn't get to do any patient care any more. Here I have a chance to start small and stay small. Isn't that what you said the banker wanted?”
“Right,” Zeb said. “Sorry. I got carried away. I can't help myself. Your project is exciting. Has potential.”
“I'm surprised my great-grandfather didn't think of it.”
“Yeah, well he had his hands full just holding things together.” He stood his shovel against a tree. “We'll see you Thursday,” he said. Then they took off down the trail.
Chloe watched them go, knowing she was the one who'd put an end to her relationship with Zeb, if that's what you could call it. It was her idea to be friends with him. She just hadn't expected him to agree so fast To come every day and do some work and then leave. She was grateful for his help, even more grateful for his restraint, because heaven knew she didn't have any. So why was she standing there, feeling let down and left out? Missing his searing kisses, his strong arms around her, his eyes burning hot with desire. Wishing he'd at least kissed her goodbye. Or said something—anything—to make her think he cared.
* * *
On Thursday Zeb and Sam picked Chloe up, and soon she was wedged between the two brothers in the front seat of their truck, while her box of samples rattled against each other in the back. Zeb soon realized that putting Chloe between himself and Sam was not a good idea. Because at every curve in the road, she was pitched against him, her thigh meshed with his, her shoulder pressed against his, causing an instant reaction of hot, undeniable desire.
He'd been so proud of his abstinence, of his ability to walk away from her every day. Taking her at her word that she only wanted to be friends had been difficult, though not impossible. But not today. Today it seemed difficult and impossible. All he could think about was getting her alone, finding a meadow, a hill, in the sun or under the moon, and making mad, passionate love to her all over again.
But it wasn't going to happen. It wasn't fair to her and it wasn't fair to him. Neither one of them needed another rejection in their lives. Another breakup. Both of which were inevitable.
“I appreciate you guys not pressuring me to sell you the springs anymore,” she said, tightening her seat belt
“That's not our way,” Zeb said. “After all, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
He noticed that she gave him a puzzled look out of the corner of her eye. Probably wondering what he was talking about Why did he have to mention honey? It just made him remember that morning when she'd licked the honey off his lips. He shifted in the driver's seat, trying to get his mind off that incident at his ranch and back to the task at hand.
“I'm glad you finally realize that selling out is the last thing I'd ever do,” she continued. “Even if nothing comes of the spring water idea, I'll still have my spa. Some day. Somehow.”
Somewhere, he added fervently but silently. Somewhere else, anywhere but Paradise Springs.
“Did you ever buy that bull you were looking for?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Zeb said through clenched teeth, knowing only too well that it was her stubborn refusal to sell the land that prevented them from buying the bull.
“We're using studs from other ranches,” Sam explained. “It's expensive but not as expensive as buying a bull. See, we had a run of bad luck last year, an anthrax epidemic killed part of our herd along with our bull, and then there was the flood.”
Zeb shot Sam a murderous look. The word flood should not be mentioned in Chloe's presence. It might lead to talk of a dam. Fortunately, Sam got the message and didn't say anything else. But Chloe did.
“What flood was that?” she asked. “Did it affect my property?”
“Not really,” Zeb said briskly. “But we lost a whole crop. Had to buy feed for our cattle.”
“Set us back a few grand,” Sam added.
“I know you went to the bank for money,” she said, staring at the long road ahead, “and I know why you need the money. I also know you got turned down. So I don't see how you're going to get out of the hole. Enough to buy a bull. Let alone make me an offer on my property. Two things I don't understand. Why you want it and how you were going to pay for it.”
“I thought you didn't want to talk about selling us your property. If you do...” Zeb said.
“No, no, I'd rather not I just wondered, that's all.”
Zeb heaved a silent sigh of relief and changed the subject to discuss the virtues of shorthorn cattie versus Hereford with his brother. They went on to the type of feed that was best for each. Chloe yawned, leaned back against the vinyl seat and closed her eyes. Her head drifted toward Zeb's shoulder and settled there so comfortably that he instantly lost his train of thought.
Her hair brushed his collar, her scent threatened to overwhelm him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly so he wouldn't be tempted to put his arm around her. For one thing, Sam would be shocked and for another, they were just friends. Just friends. Yeah, right.
Sam brought up the subject of what was more important in a stud, looks or family history. As usual, they debated this loudly.
“Short legs, a stumpy neck and a bulky body is worth all the pedigrees in the world,” Sam said.
“That's where you're wrong. Looks come and go. But breeding, breeding will always tell. Cream rises to the top,” Zeb said.
“What about character?” Chloe said, blinking and sitting up straight
Sam and Zeb stopped talking and looked at her.
“What does that mean?” Zeb asked warily.
“Character? Honesty, integrity and principle.”
“How do you judge character?” Zeb asked with a puzzled frown.
“I used to think you could use your instincts,” she said, staring out the window at the distant mountains. “But that doesn't always work. So now I don't know. Personally, I've lost my confidence in instinct That's why I'm never getting married again.”
“What are you talking about?” Zeb asked her.
“What are
you
talking about?” she returned, looking from one to the other.
“Bulls. They don't have any character, not so's you'd notice. They're all the same. They're bullies,” Sam said.
“Oh. I thought...never mind,” Chloe said, closing her eyes and resting her head lightly on the rear truck window.