In Bed With The Wrangler

Four

Royce felt the burn in his shoulder muscles as he hefted another stack of two-by-fours from the flatbed to a waiting pickup truck. The two ranch hands assigned to the task had greeted him with obvious curiosity when he joined the work crew. Hauling lumber in the dark, with the smell of rain in the air, was hardly a choice assignment.

But Royce needed to work the frustration out of his system somehow. How had he so completely misjudged Amber’s signals? He could have sworn she was as into him as he was her.

He slid the heavy stack across the dropped tailgate and shifted it to the front of the box, admitting that he’d deluded himself the past few months in the hotel fitness rooms. High-tech exercise equipment was no match for the sweat of real work.

“Something wrong?” came Stephanie’s voice as she appeared beside him in the pool of the yard light. She tugged a pair of leather work gloves from the back pocket of her jeans. “You looked ticked off.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Royce denied, turning on the dirt track to retrace his steps to the flatbed, passing the two hands who were on the opposite cycle. “Where’d you come from?”

Stephanie slipped her hands into the gloves, lifting two boards to Royce’s five, balancing them on her right shoulder. “I drove down to join you for dinner. I wanted to see how Amber was doing.”

“She’s fine.

“She inside?”

He shrugged. “I assume so.”

“You have a fight?”

“No. We didn’t have a fight.” An argument, maybe. In fact, it was more of a misunderstanding. And it was none of his sister’s damn business.

“Something wrong with Bar-”

“No!” Royce practically shouted. Wait a minute. His sister might have changed topics. He forced himself to calm down. “What?”

“With Barry Brewster,” she enunciated. “Our VP of finance? I talked to him earlier, and he sounded weird.”

Royce slid his load into the pickup then lifted the boards from Stephanie’s shoulder and placed them in the box. “Weird how?”

It was Stephanie’s turn to shrug. “He yelled at me.”

Royce’s brow went up. “He what?”

They stepped out of the way of the two hands each carrying a load of lumber.

Stephanie lowered her voice. “With Jared gone. Well, Blanchard’s Sun, an offspring of Blanchard’s Run, took silver at Dannyville Downs, and-”

“S-o-n son?” Royce asked.

“S-u-n. It’s a mare.”

“You don’t think that will get confusing?”

Stephanie frowned at him. “I didn’t name her.”

“Still-”

“Try to stay on topic.”

“Right.”

The temperature dropped a few degrees. The wind picked up, and ozone snapped in the air. Royce went back to work, knowing the rain wasn’t far off.

Stephanie followed. “Blanchard’s Run is proving to be an incredible sire. With every week that passes, his price will go up. So I called Barry to talk about moving some funds to the stable account.”

“Did you really expect him to hand over a million?”

“Sure.” She paused, sucking in a breath as she hefted some more lumber. “Maybe. Okay, it was a long shot. But that’s not my point.”

“What is your point?”

The first, fat raindrops clanked on the truck’s roof, and one of the hands retrieved an orange tarp from the shed. Royce increased his pace to settle the last of the lumber on the pickup, then accepted the large square of plastic.

“You two get the flatbed,” he instructed, motioning for Stephanie to move to the other side of the pickup box.

“My point,” Stephanie called over the clatter from the tarp under the increasing rain, “is Barry’s reaction. He went off on me about cash flow and interest rates.”

“Over a million dollars?” Royce threaded a nylon rope through the corner grommet of the tarp and looped it around the tie-down on the running board. It was a lot to pay for a horse, sure. But there weren’t enough zeros in the equation to raise Barry’s blood pressure.

“I felt like a ten-year-old asking for her allowance.”

“That’s because you behave like a ten-year-old.” Royce tossed the rope over the load to his sister.

“It’s a great deal,” she insisted as lightning cracked the sky above them. “If we don’t move now, it’ll be gone forever.”

“Isn’t that what you said about Nare-Do-Elle?”

“That was three years ago.”

“He cost us a bundle.”

“This is a completely different circumstance. I’m right this time.” She tossed the rope back. “You don’t think I’ve learned anything in three years?”

Royce cinched down the tarp. He wasn’t touching that question with a ten-foot cattle prod. “What exactly do you want me to do?” he asked instead.

“Talk to Barry.”

“And say what?”

“Tell him to give me the money.”

Royce grinned.

“I’m serious.” The rain had soaked into her curly auburn hair, dampening her cheeks, streaking down her freckled nose.

“You’re always serious. You always need money. And half the time you’re wrong.”

She waggled her leather gloved finger at him. “And half the time I’m right.”

“So I’ll get you half a million.”

“And you’ll lose out on generations of champion jumpers.”

Royce walked the rope around the back of the pickup, tying it off on the fourth corner. “Sorry, Steph.”

Her hands went to her hips. “I own a third of this company.”

“And I have Jared’s power of attorney.”

“You two have always ganged up on me.”

“Now you’re sounding like a child.”

“I’m-”

“I’m not giving a million dollars to a child.”

Her chin tipped up. “You weren’t giving it to me anyway.”

“True,” Royce admitted. He couldn’t resist chucking her under that defiant chin. “You’ve got a perfectly adequate operating budget. Live within your means.”

“This is an extraordinary opportunity. I can’t begin to tell you-”

“There’ll be another one tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.” He’d known his sister far too long to fall for her impassioned plea.

“That’s not fair.”

“Life never is.”

Thunder clapped above them, and the heavens opened up, the deluge soaking everything in sight. The ranch hands ran for the cook shed, and Royce grabbed Stephanie’s hand, tugging her over the muddy ground toward the lights of the house.

Amber stood in the vast Ryder living room, rain pounding on the ceiling and clattering against the windows in the waning daylight as she stared at the cell phone in her hand. Royce had been a gentleman about it, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d put herself in a predicament and behaved less responsibly than she’d admitted to herself.

She really needed to let someone know where she was staying. She also needed to make sure her parents weren’t worrying about her. Her father tended to blow things out of proportion, and there was a real chance he was freeing up cash, waiting for a ransom note.

She pressed the on button with her thumb, deciding she’d keep it short and simple.

“Calling in the cavalry?” came Royce’s dry voice.

Amber glanced up to see him and Stephanie in the archway leading from the front foyer.

“Did you hear the thunder?” Stephanie grinned as she stepped forward, stripping off a pair of leather gloves and running spread fingers through her unruly, wet hair.

Amber nodded. The storm had heightened her sense of isolation and disquiet.

“I love storms,” Stephanie continued, dropping the gloves on an end table. “As long as I’m inside.” She frowned, glancing down at her wet clothes. “I’m going upstairs to find something dry. Is that lasagna I smell?” Her pert nose wrinkled.

Amber inhaled the aromas wafting from the kitchen. “I think so.”

“My fav.” Stephanie smiled. “See you in a few.” She skipped up the stairs.

As he stood there in the doorway, the planes and angles of Royce’s face were emphasized by the yellow lamplight reflecting off the wood grain walls.

An hour ago, she’d come to the conclusion that she couldn’t really blame him for thinking she was attracted to him. She imagined most women who requested a ride in his plane were coming on to him. Not that she blamed them. His shoulders were broad in his work clothes. His dark, wet hair glimmered, and those deep blue eyes seemed to stare right down into a woman’s soul.

“Did you decide to leave after all?” he asked, his deep voice reverberating through her body, igniting a fresh wave of desire.

She shook her head. “I’m just reassuring my parents.”

Royce moved into the room with an easy, rolling gait. He struck her as different than the man in the hotel lobby lounge. In just a couple of days, the wilds of Montana had somehow seeped into him.

“Not worried they’ll track you down?” His steps slowed as he stopped in front of her, slightly closer than socially acceptable, just a few inches into her personal space, and she felt her heartbeat deepen.

“I’m worried they might be raising the ransom.”

Royce quirked a brow. “Seriously?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“No kidding.”

“Royce.” She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him, or how she should say it.

But before she could formulate the words, his voice and expression went soft. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry. I gave you the wrong impression. It wasn’t on purpose, but I realize now that-”

“It was wishful thinking on my part.”

“You flat out told me you were hitting on me.”

“I was.”

She fought a reflexive smile. “And I’m honored.” She found herself joking.

“I don’t want you to be honored.” His expression said the rest.

“I know exactly what you want.”

He eased almost imperceptibly closer. “Yes, you do.”

They both went silent, sobering. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the moisture-laden air hung heavily in the room.

Stephanie’s light footsteps sounded on the landing above.

“You should make that call,” said Royce, stepping back.

Amber nodded, struggling to get her hormones under control. She’d never been pursued by such a rawly masculine man. Come to think of it, she’d never been pursued by any man.

Oh, she received her fair share of flirtatious overtures on a girls’ night at the clubs, but a flash of her engagement ring easily shut the guys down. Plus, usually she was out with Hargrove. And they generally attended functions where he was known. Nobody was about to hit on Hargrove Alston’s fiancée.

While Stephanie skipped down the stairs, Amber pressed the speed-dial button for her mother. It rang only once.

“Sweetheart!” came her mother’s voice. “What happened? Are you okay? Are you having a breakdown?”

Amber turned away from Royce, crossing the few steps to an alcove where she’d have a little privacy.

“I’m fine,” she answered, ignoring the part about a breakdown.

“Your father is beside himself.”

Royce’s and Stephanie’s footfalls faded toward the kitchen.

“And Hargrove,” her mother continued. “He came home a day early. Then he nearly missed the Chamber dinner tonight worrying about you. He was the keynote, you know.”

“He nearly missed it?” asked Amber, finding a hard tone in her voice. Hargrove hadn’t, in fact, missed his big speech while his beloved fiancée was missing, perhaps kidnapped, maybe dead.

As soon as the thoughts formed in her mind, she realized she was being unfair. She’d sent a text saying she was fine, and she had expected them to believe her. She wanted Hargrove to carry on with his life.

“The Governor was there,” her mother defended.

“I’m glad he went to the dinner,” said Amber.

“Where are you? I’ll send a car.”

“I’m not coming back yet.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t Dad tell you?”

“That nonsense about not marrying Hargrove? That’s crazy talk, darling. He wowed them last night.”

“He didn’t wow me.” As soon as the words slipped out, Amber clamped her lips shut.

“You weren’t there.” Her mother either missed or ignored the double entendre.

“I wanted to let you know I’m fine.” Amber got back on point.

“Where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. We need to get you-”

“Not yet.”

“Amber-”

“I’ll call again soon.” Amber didn’t know how long it took to trace a cell phone call, but she suspected she should hurry and hang up.

“What do you expect me to tell your father?”

“Tell him not to worry. I love you both, and I’ll call again. Bye, Mom.” She quickly disconnected.

A slightly plump, fiftyish woman, who Amber had earlier learned was Sasha, was pulling a large pan of lasagna from the stainless steel oven when Amber entered the kitchen. Stephanie was tossing a salad in a carved wooden bowl on the breakfast bar, while Royce transferred warm rolls into a linen-napkin-lined basket.

For the second time, she was struck by his domesticity. The men she knew didn’t help out in the kitchen. Come to think of it, the women she knew didn’t, either. And though Amber herself had taken French cooking lessons at her private school, the lessons had centered more on choosing a caterer than hands-on cooking.

“There’s a wine cooler around the corner.” Stephanie was looking to Amber as she indicated the direction with a toss of her auburn head. “Italian wines are on the third tier, left-hand side.”

Royce didn’t turn as Amber made her way to a small alcove between the kitchen and the back entryway. The cooler was set in a stone wall, reds in one glass-fronted compartment, whites in the other.

“See if there’s a Redigaffi.” Royce’s voice was so close behind her that it gave her a start.

She took a bracing breath and opened the glass door, turning a couple of bottles on the third shelf so that she could see their labels.

“How’d the call go?” he asked.

“Fine.”

There was a silence.

“That’s it?” he asked. “Fine?”

“I talked to my mother. She wants me to come home.” Amber found the right bottle of wine and slid it out of the holder, straightening and turning to discover Royce was closer than she’d expected. She pushed the glass door closed behind her.

“And?” he asked.

“And what?” She reflexively clutched the bottle.

“Are you going home?”

Though they’d agreed she’d merely be a houseguest, the question seemed loaded with meaning as his eyes thoroughly searched her expression.

“Not yet,” she answered.

“Good.”

She felt the need to clarify. “It doesn’t mean-”

“I meant it’s good because you don’t love Hargrove, so it would be stupid to go back.”

She gave him a short nod.

“Not that the other’s gone away,” he clarified.

Amber didn’t know how to respond to that.

His gaze moved to the bottle. “Did you find one?”

She raised it, and he lifted it from her hands.

“Perfect,” he said.

“Move your butts,” called Stephanie from the kitchen, and Amber suddenly realized that her world had contracted to the tiny alcove, Royce and her wayward longings.

She gave herself a mental shake, while he took a step back and gestured for her to lead the way into the kitchen.

Stephanie was setting wineglasses at three places at the breakfast bar, while Sasha had disappeared. The Ryder family was a curious mix of informality and luxury. The glasses were fine, blown crystal. The wine was from an exquisite vineyard that Amber recognized. But they were hopping up on high chairs at the breakfast bar to a plain, white casserole pan of simple, beef lasagna.

“Did you talk to your mom?” asked Stephanie as she took the end seat.

Amber took the one around the corner, and Royce settled next to her. He was both too close and too far away. She could almost detect the heat of his body, felt the change in air currents while he moved, and she was overcome with a potent desire to touch him. Of course, touching him was out of the question.

“I talked to her,” she told Stephanie.

“What did she say?”

“She wants me to come home and, well, reconcile with Hargrove, of course.”

“And?” Stephanie pressed. “What did you tell her?”

“That I wasn’t ready.” Amber found herself deliberately not looking in Royce’s direction as she spoke.

“Good for you,” said Stephanie with a vigorous nod. “We girls, we have to stick to our guns. There are too many people in our lives trying to interfere with our decisions.” She cast a pointed gaze at her brother.

“Give it a rest,” Royce growled at his sister, twisting the corkscrew into the top of the wine. “You’re not getting a million dollars.”

“You’re such a hard-ass.”

“And you’re a spoiled brat.”

“You are spending an awful lot for vet supplies and lumber,” Amber put in. “Those are the bills I found stacked up on the office desk.”

Stephanie blinked at her. “Oh.”

Royce popped the cork and reached for Amber’s wineglass. “Amber has some questions about the accounts. Who does McQuestin deal with at head office?”

“I think he talks to Norma Braddock sometimes.”

Royce handed the wine bottle to his sister then whisked his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll go straight to Barry.”

“I’d watch out for him,” Stephanie advised, forehead wrinkling.

Royce rolled his eyes at the warning.

Amber decided to stay quiet.

“Barry?” said Royce, while Stephanie handed the salad bowl to Amber.

Amber served herself some of the freshest-looking lettuce and tomatoes she’d ever seen.

“Royce, here.”

Then she leaned toward Stephanie and whispered, “From your garden?”

Stephanie nodded, whispering in return. “You’ll want to get out of here before canning season.”

Amber grinned at the dire intonation.

“Sorry to bother you this late,” Royce continued. “We’ve hired someone on to take care of the office while Jared and McQuestin are away.” He gave Amber a wink, and something fluttered in her chest. She quickly picked up her wineglass to cover.

“She has some questions about the bank account. There have been a number of unpaid bills lately.” He paused for a moment. “Why don’t I let you talk to her directly?”

Amber hadn’t expected that. She quickly swallowed and set down the glass. Good thing her questions were straightforward. She tucked her hair out of the way behind her ears, accepting the phone from Royce, ignoring the tingle when his fingers brushed hers.

“Hello?” she opened.

“Who am I speaking to?” asked Barry from the other end of the line.

“This is Amber, I’m-”

“And you’re an employee at Ryder Ranch?” he asked directly.

She paused. “Uh, yes. That’s right.”

“Administrator? Bookkeeper?” There was an unexpected edge to the man’s tone.

“Something like that.” She gave Royce a confused look, and his eyes narrowed, crinkling slightly at the corners.

“Do you have a pen?” Barry asked, voice going even sharper.

“I-”

“Because you’d better write this down.”

Amber glanced around at the countertops. “Just-”

“Sally Nettleton.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sally Nettleton is the accounts supervisor. You can speak to her in the morning.”

“Sure. Do you happen to have her-”

“And a warning, young lady. Don’t you ever go above my head to Royce Ryder again.”

Amber froze, voice going hollow. “What?”

“Share this conversation with him at your own peril. I don’t tolerate insubordination, and he won’t always be there to protect you.”

Amber’s mouth worked but sounds weren’t coming out. Nobody had dared speak to her that way in her life.

“You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Don’t fool yourself into thinking anything different.” He stopped speaking, and the line fairly vibrated with tension.

She didn’t know what to say. She had absolutely no idea what to tell this obnoxious man. Imagine if she really was an employee, dependent on her job. It would be horrible.

She heard a click and knew he’d signed off.

“Goodbye,” she said weakly for the benefit of Royce and Stephanie.

“Told you he was feeling snarky today,” said Stephanie.

“What did he say?” asked Royce. “You okay?”

“She looks a little pale,” Stephanie put in.

“I’m fine,” said Amber, debating with herself about what to tell Royce as she shut down the phone and handed it back.

“You didn’t ask many questions,” Royce ventured.

“He gave me a name. Sally Nettleton.” She took a breath, framing her words carefully. “He was, well, annoyed that you’d put me in direct touch with him.”

Royce frowned.

“He seems to think I broke the chain of command.”

“So what?”

“I tell you, something’s wrong with that man,” Stephanie put in, dishing some of the crisp salad onto her plate.

Amber made up her mind, seeing little point in protecting Barry. In fact, she probably owed it to the rest of his staff to tell Royce the truth. “He seems to think I’m your lover.”

It was Royce’s turn to freeze. “He said that?”

“He said he didn’t tolerate insubordination, and you won’t always be around to protect me. That you’d lose interest.”

A ruddy flush crept up Royce’s neck, and he reached for his phone.

Amber put her hand over his. “Don’t,” she advised.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because he’ll think you are protecting your lover.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what-”

“Did I miss something?” asked Stephanie, glancing from one to the other, her tone laced with obvious anticipation and excitement. “Lovers?”

“No,” they both shouted simultaneously.

“Too bad.” She went back to her salad. “That would be cool.”

Amber turned to Stephanie. “That would be tacky. You can’t sleep with a man you’ve barely met.” She silently commanded herself to pay close attention to those words.

“Sure you can,” Stephanie chirped with a grin.

“No,” Royce boomed at her. “You can’t.”

Stephanie giggled. “Good grief, you’re an easy mark. There’s nobody around here for me to sleep with anyway.”

Some of the fight went out of Royce’s posture, but his hand still gripped his phone.

Amber rubbed the tense hand. “Let it go.”

“It’s a firing offence.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“At least give it some thought first.” Barry had been a jerk, but she didn’t want anyone getting fired on her account. “Maybe ask around. See if this was an isolated incident.”

“He was rude to me this morning,” said Stephanie.

“You’re not helping,” Amber warned.

Royce folded his arms across his chest. “It was my decision to call him directly. He doesn’t get to second-guess me.”

“Did you explain the circumstances?”

“I don’t have to.”

“So, he made an assumption. You can’t fire a man for making an assumption.”

He pasted her with a sharp look. “You like being spoken to that way.”

“Of course not.” But she’d like being Royce’s lover. Heaven help her, she was pretty sure she’d like being Royce’s lover.

Their gazes locked and held for a long moment, and she could have sworn he was reading her mind.

“The lasagna’s getting cold,” Stephanie pointed out conversationally.

Royce ended the moment with a sharp nod. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Sure,” Amber agreed, wondering if they were going to talk about Barry or about the energy that crackled between them like lightning.