Almost a Bravo Page 8

  “I do. Go on—you had a horse once, you said...”

  “Right. He was a sweet dappled gelding named Charlie Boy. My brother Daniel bought him for me, for my twelfth birthday. It was the year after our parents died. I’d been begging for a horse since I was eight. We boarded Charlie Boy at a local stable. Daniel got me riding lessons. I rode every chance I got.”

  He touched the side of her throat, a slow stroke that stirred every hungry nerve in her body. “You still have that horse? Bring him to Wild River.”

  She shook her head. “I sold him to a school friend of Gracie’s before I left for college in Portland. I was sad to part with him, but I knew I wouldn’t be around enough to spend much time with him.”

  Jaxon’s finger trailed upward again. He traced the curve of her jaw. “We’ll go riding, you and me. Later this week.”

  “I would like that. I...” She, what?

  She had no idea. Words had deserted her. There were better things to think about.

  Like the warm, surprising softness of his lips as he bent his head and kissed her.

  “Aislinn.” He whispered her name, his breath warm against her mouth.

  She made a low, throaty sound, accepting him, welcoming him. His hand curved around to cradle her nape and he pulled her closer, right up against him, her breasts pressing into the hard wall of muscle that was his chest. Lower down, she could feel him growing bigger, unfurling against her belly.

  It felt good. All of it—his mouth on hers, his fingers at her nape, his broad, strong body pressing all along the front of her. He smelled of soap and leather, hay and dust. He tasted salty and clean.

  This. Exactly. This was what she had burned for five years ago and finally run away from. A yearning so strong she’d known it was dangerous.

  And that was back then, when he’d paid no attention to her beyond the occasional vague, friendly smile.

  Too soon, he lifted his head. She gazed up at him, longing surging, a high tide within her, every molecule in her body eager to kiss him some more. He watched her, waiting. His eyes said it all.

  The next move was hers. He wouldn’t push her.

  And she wanted...everything. All of it. His touch and his kisses, his body above hers, filling her, holding her.

  A real marriage from this night forward.

  Except that it wasn’t. And she ought to have sense enough to remember that.

  “Good night, Jaxon,” she said and turned for the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  With Jax and Burt’s help, Aislinn got all of her stuff moved the next day.

  Burt was a jerk to her. He worked hard, though, helping her move and then giving her and Jax a hand to set up her workshop, grumbling under his breath the whole time.

  By Wednesday when she left for Sand & Sea, she had her studio ready to go in a large backyard shed—a much nicer one than the shed she used at her cottage. As for Luna and Bunbun, the rabbits were nice and comfy in their new home on the side porch.

  They had buyers joining them for dinner at the ranch that night, a couple who ran cattle in the Wallowa Valley and their two little girls. Jax had sold them a pretty pair of fillies and a gorgeous black gelding. Erma outdid herself with the meal and Jax brought out some really nice Oregon wine.

  Jax mentioned Aislinn’s rabbits and Burt, being Burt, grumbled something under his breath. Nobody asked him what he’d said. Apparently, the buyers were totally on to him and his grouchy ways.

  The little girls, who were six and eight, begged to pay the bunnies a visit. Aislinn took them out to the side porch. It was sweet to watch the two of them giggling and cooing over her babies. Luna and Bunbun, always ready for a little attention, loved every minute of that.

  The buyers and their children left around eight to spend the night in Astoria. They would return in the morning, load up their new horses and head home to eastern Oregon. Aislinn and Jax saw them off and then ended up sitting out on the front porch together under a cloudy sky watching the night come on.

  “Dinner was terrific,” she said. “That Erma. Can’t get two words out of her. But man, can she cook.”

  “Buyers love it—dinner at the ranch house, I mean.” He stared out at the sky. It was starting to rain, the air heavy with ozone, fat drops plopping on the steps, shining on the leaves of Erma’s purple hydrangeas that bloomed along the front of the porch. “After driving a good bargain, they enjoy a great meal and some nice wine.”

  “Well, you definitely deliver.”

  He turned to look at her. “The kids loved your rabbits.” He gave her a slow smile that sent happy little shivers skating down her spine.

  “Everybody loves my rabbits—well, except Burt.”

  His straight eyebrows bunched together. “He makes you crazy, you let me know.”

  “I can handle him,” she said, and they left it at that.

  * * *

  But dealing with Burt was a definite challenge. When Jax wasn’t near, he sometimes called her Judy, which angered her a lot more than she should have allowed it to.

  The first time he did it, she corrected him. But after that, she let it be. Why give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to her?

  As for Bunbun and Luna, he despised them. She knew that because he seemed to take evil pleasure in saying so under his breath. “Damn, idiot rabbits. All fur, no brains. What’s the point, I ask you?”

  His dog, Ace, seemed kind of freaked out by them.

  Friday morning, when Aislinn was on the side porch changing their feed and water and giving them a little love, Ace barked at them through the screen and then ran in circles on the lawn.

  Burt thought that was funny. She heard a cackling laugh and looked up to see him out there with the dog on the grass. He came closer and spoke through the screen. “You know what he sees when he looks at those furbags? Lunch, that’s what.”

  Aislinn couldn’t let that stand. “You’d better keep that dog away from them, Burt. Or you’ll be answering to me.”

  He gave her his best crotchety Clint Eastwood scowl. “Think you’re pretty scary, don’t you now, Judy?”

  She decided it was time to make a stand, which was a little discouraging, given that she was only four days into her three-month marriage. “I think we both know the situation here. You’re a loyal, longtime employee. I’m the wife Jax has to keep for three months or lose the ranch. If it comes right down to you or me, who do you think will be hitting the road?”

  “Got it all figured out, eh, Judy?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I do.” She gritted her teeth and tried for a friendlier tone. “And Ace seems like a nice dog.”

  “He’s a great dog.”

  “Terrific. Keep him away from my rabbits and we’ll all get along fine.”

  Burt put two fingers between his lips and let out an earsplitting whistle. Ace bounded over, stopped dead and sat at his feet. “C’mon, boy,” he muttered. “We ain’t wanted around here.” And off Burt went, grousing about “fool women” under his breath, Ace trotting behind him, feathery tail wagging happily.

  As for Erma, she continued to speak only when spoken to. It was like pulling teeth to try to get the woman to carry on a casual conversation. Already, Aislinn had pretty much given up hope that the two of them might somehow become BFFs.

  Jax was a sweetheart, though. Whatever she asked for, he made it happen. Wednesday, he’d put a window air conditioner in the shed to keep it cool and hung warehouse-style pendant lights from the ceiling so she could see to work at night. He’d pitched right in to help her bunny-proof the side porch.

  He hadn’t tried to kiss her again after that first night, though. She couldn’t help wishing he would, though she knew it was wiser that he didn’t. The chemistry felt achingly right, but sex with her hot temporary husband would only make everything exponentially more complicated.r />
  * * *

  Friday evening when Aislinn returned from the gallery, she spotted a strange car in front of the house. She put her CR-V in the garage and entered through the breezeway to find Erma at the stove. The housekeeper shot her a strange look over her shoulder.

  “Whose Lexus is that in the driveway?” Aislinn asked.

  “That lawyer’s.”

  “Kip Anders?”

  Erma nodded and Aislinn’s heart tripped into high gear, as though she’d done something wrong.

  Well, she hadn’t. She was living here with Jax just as Martin had demanded and it was a marriage “in more than name only,” whatever the heck that meant.

  So what if they weren’t sleeping together? Nowhere in Martin’s preposterous will had it said that she and Jax were required to have sex—and why was she even getting all worked up about this?

  Because the whole thing was infuriating, that’s why. A visit from Martin’s lawyer only served to remind her of the thousand and one ways the dead man had screwed with her life.

  “Is Jax back from the stables yet?”

  Erma nodded.

  “Where are they?”

  “Family room,” said the housekeeper, never one to utter a whole sentence when two words would do.

  Aislinn detoured into the powder room off the kitchen to wash her hands and comb her hair and give herself a little pep talk in the mirror.

  “It’s going to be fine, no problems, all good,” she said to her worried-looking reflection, adding a muttered, “Rot in hell, Martin,” as she turned for the door.

  In the family room, Kip Anders set down the drink Jax had poured for him and rose to take Aislinn’s hand. “How are you settling in?” he asked.

  She played her part, giving Kip her warmest smile. “It’s going beautifully. Jax has made sure I have everything I could possibly need for a successful and mutually profitable three-month marriage.”

  Anders laughed at that. “It is an unusual situation, I’ll give you that.”

  The lawyer stayed for dinner. He praised Erma’s pork roast and talked horses with Jax and Burt. After dessert and coffee, he left.

  Aislinn and Jax walked him out.

  As he drove away, Aislinn couldn’t resist asking, “Did he ask to see where we sleep?”

  He shook his head. “I took him out to your studio and then to the side porch, where I introduced him to your rabbits. Then I offered him a drink and he accepted. You came home about ten minutes later.”

  “So we’re off the hook on the whole question of sex, then?”

  “I’m pretty sure we always were.” He was smirking. “But feel free to have sex with me anyway, whenever the mood strikes.”

  She stifled a snort of laughter and fake-punched him in the arm.

  * * *

  Saturday afternoon when she returned from four hours at Sand & Sea, he met her in the driveway, looking all rugged and yummy in old jeans, a black T-shirt, lace-up work boots and a cowboy hat.

  She rolled her window down.

  He leaned in. “How about we tack up a couple of horses and go for that ride I promised you?”

  “Best offer I’ve had all day. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll meet you at the stables.”

  He had the horses all ready to go when she got there, two bays—a gelding named Saint John for her and a handsome mare, Lady Jane, for him.

  They rode out across the green rolling ranch land and up into the low hills to the east, coming out on a treeless promontory that looked down over the valley. Dismounting, they hobbled the horses and sat side by side on a big, flat-topped boulder.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. And it was, kind of misty in the low spots where the river gleamed, everything in varying shades of green—mossy to bright to almost-black. He didn’t say anything. She turned to find him watching her. “What?”

  He took off his hat, tapped it on his thigh and put it back on. “How’re you doing, really?”

  “All right. My rabbits are happy on their new porch and my studio is amazing. Thank you.”

  “Things with Burt?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Has he been complaining about me?”

  “Only under his breath.”

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t grin when you say that. I might be tempted to get annoyed at you.”

  His expression grew serious. “He’s getting on your nerves, then?”

  “Burt and I could come to blows, but so far we’ve kept violence at a minimum.”

  “Do you want me to—”

  “Stop. I’m exaggerating. I’ll work it out with him, one way or another.” She’d intended to leave it at that, but maybe a little information would help her to understand the crabby cowboy better. “What’s his story, anyway? I swear, he hates all women, except maybe Erma. But then, even a hard-core misogynist couldn’t hate Erma. She’s a great cook, she keeps the house neat as a pin and she never makes a peep unless you ask her a direct question—and even then, she’s just as likely to try to answer with a headshake or a nod.”

  “Erma’s shy.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “As for Burt, he’s been married three times. His first wife cleaned out their bank account and ran off with his cousin.”

  “Ouch.”

  “His second wife embezzled from the construction company she was working for—and tried to convince the authorities that Burt made her do it.”

  “Omigod.”

  “His third wife had a temper problem. She died in prison.”

  “She hurt someone?”

  “Yeah. Burt. She shot him three times. It’s a miracle he survived.”

  “You’re kidding about this, right? It’s not really true.”

  But Jax wasn’t laughing. “God’s truth. Burt has no right to blame all women because his three marriages ended in disaster.”

  “But he does.”

  “Pretty much. He also didn’t get along with Judy.”

  She couldn’t keep herself from asking “Why?”

  “Judy complained a lot—about how bored she was and how there was no one interesting to talk to, about how lonely she felt. Horses scared her and she didn’t like dogs. She ordered Burt to keep Ace away from the house. They had other points of contention. Lots of them. Burt talked back to her and one night at dinner, right there in front of him, she turned to me and said she wanted him fired.”

  Aislinn made a mental note not to threaten Burt with losing his job again. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah. And as you can see, nobody fired Burt, which made Judy unhappier than ever. As for Burt, well, Judy was just one more proof that he’s right about women.”

  “I’ll try to be patient with him.”

  Jax touched her hand. It seemed the most natural thing to weave her fingers with his. His palm was warm and broad. It felt good, sitting here beside him, the sun on her back, the horses chuffing softly as they cropped the short grass behind them. “Don’t be too patient,” he advised after a moment. “Burt can get a horse to do anything. But when it comes to other people, he really is a pain in the ass.”

  “I’ll manage, don’t worry.”

  “As for Judy, well, I know I’m making it sound like she was the bad guy. She wasn’t. Looking back, I can see that we were both talking and no one was listening. She said she loved me and she’d always had a fantasy of living on a ranch—all the while telling me how she missed her family and the city was her home. She never lied about what she really wanted. I heard what I wanted to hear, that’s all. And when it came down to it, she wanted to go home and I refused to go with her.”

  “Because you were already home.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I was.” He turned her hand over so her engagement ring caught the sunlight and sparkled. “I hope you like your rings.”

  “I
do. Thank you.” They were sweet and traditional, nothing like the bold, unusual pieces she created in her studio. She loved them because he’d given them to her—even if in three months, she would probably be giving them back.

  He said, “They were Aunt Claudia’s, these rings.”

  Had they been Judy’s rings, too? She pulled her hand free of his, wincing at the thought.

  “Hey.” He frowned at her in that attentive, focused way he had—until he got what was going on with her. “Hold on. Don’t even think it. Judy chose her own rings. She picked them out, told me her ring size and sent me to the jeweler to buy them.” He leaned her way enough to bump his arm against hers. “I’m a little thickheaded sometimes, but I like to think I’m not an idiot.”

  She felt the sweetest little zing in the vicinity of her heart—that he paid attention. That he always seemed to know when something wasn’t right with her. The man had clearly learned a lot from what had gone wrong in his first marriage. “You are not in any way an idiot. And I’m sorry to have doubted your good judgment on the subject of repurposing wedding rings.”

  “You are forgiven.” He held her gaze and they shared one of those moments, a moment brimming with promise somehow, a moment where anything seemed possible.

  She prompted, “So tell me more about your aunt and Martin.”

  He leaned back on his hands. “Martin started out on the ranch as a stable hand. He scrimped and saved to buy those rings.”

  “He really did love your aunt, then, like he said in his letter?” That made her feel hopeful, somehow. Even if he had betrayed Claudia with the foreman’s wife—who was probably her real mother.

  Seriously, could it get any more twisted?

  “He did love Aunt Claudia, yeah,” Jax said. “He’d come from back east, with nothing in his pockets. Like me, he never knew his father. His mom was a torch singer, Colette Durand. She played piano and performed in clubs and restaurants to make ends meet. He told me once that she was some kind of grifter, too, always working a con on the men who fell for her. Martin had that in him, too. He had a showman’s heart and a tendency to work the angles to get things his way. He was a charmer.”

  She thought of that grumpy old man during the summer five years ago, sitting on the front porch in his bathrobe, watching her with hard suspicion in his eyes. “A charmer? Please.”