Welcome to Paradise (3 page)

“Ask her what she does. Make sure she didn't quit her job to come out here. Otherwise...”

“Otherwise what, you won't go along with it?”

Zeb asked incredulously. Was this the same guy who ruthlessly cleaned out his friends at poker on Friday nights and never felt a pang of remorse?

“I don't know what it is,” he said, exasperated. “Maybe she's a lawyer or maybe she's a waitress in a topless bar.” He didn't mean to raise his voice, but the sun was rising from behind the purple mountains and valuable time was passing.

“Now we're getting someplace,” his brother said. “What makes you think she's a topless waitress?”

“I don't,” Zeb said. “It's just an idea.” But the image of Chloe topless in a tight little miniskirt, with her beautiful breasts bared, sent a shaft of desire rocketing straight to his groin. Now, at seven-twenty in the morning, for God's sake. “I don't know why we're discussing this. We have a plan.”

“That was when she was just a name on a piece of paper. I didn't know she was gonna come out here. Now she's a real woman with hopes and dreams.”

“You're getting carried away. I asked her what she was going to do with the property and she said she didn't know. Does that sound like a woman with hopes and dreams? This is not some helpless field mouse like the ones you used to rescue from the claws of the cat. This is a grown-up woman who's come out here on a whim. Who didn't realize hot-springs resorts went out in the twenties and aren't going to come back.”

Zeb hung up, yanked his jeans on and hoped his brother wouldn't be back in time to catch a glimpse of the city woman. It was just possible she'd appeal to his soft heart and he'd blurt out the truth about the property. Zeb put his checkbook in his pocket and rode his horse down the hill to Paradise Hot Springs.

She was trying to get a fire going. He'd give her points for that. She was bent over a pile of smoldering twigs and all he could see was her firm, round bottom, wrapped in snug blue jeans like a second skin. The throbbing in his groin started again. He cleared his throat.

“Good morning.”

Startled, she jumped, turned and faced him. Her face was smudged with smoke, her hair was a tangle of curls. There were circles under her eyes. An unwanted pang of sympathy struck him between the shoulder blades.

“Thanks.” He took the square of oats and nuts, crammed it in his mouth and chewed. Did she have to look so pathetic this morning, just when he was ready to con her out of her inheritance? Did she have to share her meager breakfast with him and make him feel like a bastard? He hardened his heart and slapped his hands together.

“Now that we've got breakfast out of the way, feel like talking?”

“I was going to walk around.” Gingerly, carefully, Chloe stretched, then winced as the pain traveled down her spine and lodged in her hip. She was glad he didn't ask where she'd slept. She wanted this rough, tough cowboy to think she'd slept out under the trees on the hard ground. Though how anything could be harder than a porcelain bathtub, she didn't know.

“I'll come with you,” he said. “We can walk and talk.”

She slanted a look in his direction. What was he doing here, the all-American cowboy in his chambray shirt and low-slung jeans? So damnably comfortable and at ease, as if he belonged here and she didn't. Oozing with vitality and sexy good looks that ought to be outlawed this early in the morning. A decent night's sleep hadn't hurt him one bit. Just rumpled his hair.

She shivered in the early-morning air. Longing for a cup of good, hot coffee, a jolt of caffeine to get her through the morning, she was almost desperate enough. She took a deep breath and swallowed her pride.

She swept her gaze over the rusty, drained pool, the peeling paint on the cabins and the bathhouse leaning at a rakish angle on its foundations and she felt like crying. Then she thought of her great-grandfather, pioneering out here in the wilderness, building this place from scratch.

“There are supposed to be forty acres. I want to see the other thirty-nine,” she said firmly.

“All forty acres? Whatever you say. We'll take my horse, Jenny.”

His horse whinnied loudly and pawed the ground as if she'd understood. A cold shiver of fear crept up Chloe's spine. The horse looked enormous, with hooves that could crush a rider should she fall or be thrown off.

Chloe put her hands on her hips and surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “Why do you want it so badly? Is there gold buried under the ground? Valuable Indian relics? What?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of. But come and see for yourself. Don't worry, I'll hold on to you.”

He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the wild, fire-breathing animal he called Jenny. She stumbled and her breath came in short gasps as she stared up at the beast.

“You're not afraid, are you?” he asked, still holding her hand. “Men have been riding horses for five thousand years. Women, too. Joan of Arc rode a horse.”

“Good for her,” she said biting her lip. “It's those teeth,” she muttered, hardly aware she was digging her nails into his hand

“Jenny's not going to eat you. No offense, but she'd rather have a bucket of hay or oats.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. He was laughing at her fears.

She was just going to ask why they needed those huge powerful teeth if all they ate was hay when Zeb abruptly lifted Chloe by the elbows and turned her toward the horse.

“Left foot through the stirrup,” he ordered. “Now swing into the saddle.” With one large hand molded to her bottom, he shoved her up and placed her left foot into the stirrup. As she swung her right leg over the horse, she hit its side with her knee. Jenny shook her head and reared up on her hind legs.

Panicked, Chloe fell back against Zeb and knocked him backwards. They staggered across the dirt together until he dug his heels in and wrapped his arms around her so tightly she couldn't move. The seductive scent of her hair and her skin filled his senses. With her back wedged against his chest, his arms under her breasts, she fit perfectly, as if she belonged there. But she didn't. She belonged in San Francisco.

“I can't do it” she said, panting loudly, rubbing damp palms against the sides of her blue jeans.

“Yes, you can,” Zeb insisted through clenched teeth. “If you don't get on the horse, then you won't see the rest of the property. And if you don't see it you'll think I'm trying to hide something from you.”

Quickly, so she wouldn't have another chance to protest he unwrapped his arms and pushed her back toward the horse.

“Okay, old girl, calm down,” he said. “There's nothing to be afraid of. I got somebody I want you to meet. Reminds me of you. High spirits, long legs, big feet and well-bred.”

“Are you talking to me or your horse?” Chloe demanded, twisting her head in Zeb's direction.

“Her,” he answered tightening his grip on her shoulders. “This time give her a minute to get used to you. Let her sniff you. She's easily frightened of strange objects.”

“She's easily frightened? What about me?”

“That's what I mean. You have a lot in common.” He put one hand on the horse's flank, the other he kept clamped on Chloe's shoulder.

“I guess that's a compliment.”

“Damn right. This time, swing your leg high above her. Grab the front of the saddle and hang on.” Before she could protest, he put his hands on her hips and lifted her up. Cupping her round firm bottom with his palms, he paused to consider how fit and trim she was. Probably got that way at her health club. She sure didn't stay in shape by climbing mountains or riding horses.

She landed with a resounding smack into the saddle. Zeb mounted and swung into the saddle right behind her.

He ran his hands down her arms, feeling her muscles tense under his hands. “Relax,” he told her. “Back erect.” With one finger he drew a straight line down the middle of her back. His hand lingered along the warmth of her backside. She gave a little shiver and sat up straight.

“Very good,” he said. She leaned back against him, her seductive rear nestled against his crotch, causing an arousal of unexpected strength. Damn. She noticed, he thought as she scooted forward and looked down at the ground. And gulped.

“Never mind.” Zeb put his arms around Chloe to grasp the reins, not as an excuse to touch her smooth skin, or graze the swell of her breasts with his hands. Those were fringe benefits. His horse moved briskly forward. “Look straight ahead,” he told Chloe. “If you keep your heels down and head up, you won't fall off.”

Chloe shook her head and her red-gold curls brushed his cheek and enveloped him in her fragrance. What was it, lavender, lilac? While he fought the urge to lift the hair from her nape and nibble the soft skin behind her ears, Jenny turned up the hill to the old orchard. Not a bad place to start. A grove of gnarled old fruit trees that hadn't produced for years.

“This is your inheritance,” he said, waving his hand at the trees. “There are the hot springs and the cold springs. There's this orchard. And a meadow. And that's it. It's not livable. Especially not for someone like you.”

Once she realized that, she'd give in. She had to.

“Ooh,” Chloe exclaimed as a flock of orioles and waxwings sailed out of the bare branches. “It's a bird sanctuary.” As the horse meandered through the apple trees, she sniffed the few fragrant blossoms still lying beneath the trees. “Are these really mine?”

“They're yours, but they don't bear much fruit,” he warned. “Haven't been pruned for years.”

“But if they were pruned...” she mused as the birds chirped and sang overhead.

He shouldn't have let her see the orchard. Hear the birds. Feel the sun on her face. How was he to know she'd find beauty in a group of stunted trees and a flock of noisy birds? He tightened his legs around Jenny's sides and pulled on the reins with his right hand. It was time to stop being so damned nice. Time to show her the real Paradise Springs.

The sun turned hot as they plowed through knee-high brush. Low-hanging branches from spruce trees tore at their clothes. She ducked and drew a ragged breath. This was more like it. Sheep Mountain loomed in the distance. Snow-capped, forbidding, at twelve-thousand feet.

“Doubtful. But there are a few arrowheads. If you're willing to dig for them. We'll stop along the creek and you can try the water from the spring. Old Horatio claimed it kept him young and...vigorous.”