The Man Who Had Everything
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Now that he had some distance from the situation, he knew there was really nothing to worry about. Steph might be all grown-up, but she was still like a sister to him. A sister. Nothing more.
And there were a whole lot of pretty women in the world. A nice romantic evening with a fun, friendly gorgeous female would do the trick, put things firmly back into perspective for him.
As luck would have it, just such a woman called while he was in the first of his afternoon meetings. She left him a message in voice mail. She lived in San Diego and had come for the skiing in January when they’d hooked up. He’d enjoyed every moment he’d spent with her.
“I had such a great time last winter,” her recorded voice teased, “I decided to try my luck over the Fourth. I’m up in the Thunder Ridge condos with a girlfriend. Give me a buzz when you get in. I can’t wait to see you. All of you…”
He returned her call and set up a date for that night. His receptionist beeped him just as he was saying goodbye.
He hung up and punched the other line. “What?”
“Eva Post’s on two.”
Eva was his realtor. “Eva. Hey.”
“Grant. I’ve got the offer. It’s exactly as promised. The acceptance deadline is tomorrow at five, so we need to get together. We’ll go over all the points in detail, as a matter of course, before you sign. But I guarantee you’re going to be very happy. They’re giving you everything you asked for.”
“What about the closing date?”
“September first. The buyer was hoping we could make it sooner, but I explained that you needed time to shut your operation down.”
“September first…” It was a reasonable date and he knew it. But still, it seemed like no time at all.
“No worries, I promise,” Eva coaxed. “It’s in the contract that you can take whatever time you need over the next six months to sell off the stock and equipment. As long as the main house, the bunkhouse and the foreman’s cottage are ready for the buyer to move in by nine-one, she’s happy.”
She was Melanie McFarlane, an Easterner who’d shown up in town a few weeks ago and was staying in the main lodge at the resort. Melanie came from money. She had a degree in hotel management and she was buying Clifton’s Pride as an “investment,” she said. She planned to make the place into a guest ranch.
Grant’s father would never have allowed such a thing. But John Clifton was dead. The price was more than right and Melanie’s financing was rock-solid.
The only problem: Grant’s concern for his people. Damn it, he should have carried through yesterday as planned, not let himself get side-tracked by the new, grown-up Steph. It was plain wrong for him to sell Clifton’s Pride out from under them before he’d even told them he was doing it. And as things stood now, he wouldn’t be telling them until tomorrow afternoon.
Eva asked, “How about four o’clock? You can come out to my office, or I can come to you.”
“Four o’clock…today?”
“Not working for you?”
“How about tomorrow? Late afternoon. Say, four-thirty?”
“That’s cutting it right down to the wire,” the realtor warned. He said nothing. After a moment, she let it go. “My office?” she suggested.
“No. Mine.”
The realtor agreed and said goodbye.
It would work out fine, Grant promised himself. He’d tell Steph and the others the news tomorrow—and return to the office to sign the papers afterward.
Grant’s date sent him a sultry look from under her thick black lashes. They stood at the door to her friend’s condo. From her expression, he had a pretty good idea what was coming next.
And it was.
“My roommate’s away for the night,” she said. “Come in for a drink? Just so happens I’ve got a magnum of Cristal chilling.” He saw her expectations in her dark eyes. They’d had one fine time last January. Lots of laughs and some good, hot sex. She had every reason to assume it would be the same tonight.
He’d planned for it to be the same tonight.
But since yesterday, nothing seemed to be going as he planned.
Through drinks in the resort’s lounge and dinner in the Gallatin Room, he kept wondering what the hell he was doing there. Wondering made him distracted and that caused long, awkward lags in the conversation. She’d asked him three or four times if he was all right.
He’d sworn he was fine, but they both knew the night was one big loser. Surprising, now he thought about it, that she’d even bothered to invite him in. He wished she hadn’t—not now that he realized he just couldn’t give her what she wanted from him.
So much for putting things back in perspective with the help of a fun, friendly, gorgeous gal.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”
She blinked. But she recovered quickly. He knew what she was thinking: If he was fool enough to turn her down, it was his loss. She moved close and he got a whiff of her perfume. Musky. Exotic. A scent he’d found damn sexy last winter.
Hell. He still found it sexy. Just…not for him.
She touched his cheek, her hand smooth and cool. He thought of Steph’s hand—sun-warmed, rough with calluses—and it hit him like a mule kick to the gut.
All his denials meant exactly nothing.
He wanted Steph so bad, it was causing him to do the strangest things—like forgetting to tell her he was selling the ranch she loved so damn much. Like turning down a hot night with a fine, sexy woman, an experienced woman who knew a lot of really impressive, inventive ways to please a man…
He was in big trouble and he didn’t know what to do about it.
“’Night, then,” his date said, and went in.
He returned to his offices in the resort’s corporate headquarters down the hill from main lodge. There was always plenty of work to catch up on and he didn’t feel a whole lot like sleeping anyway.
By the next morning, Grant had himself convinced all over again that he really had no problem when it came to Stephanie. No problem at all.
He would meet her at noon, as agreed. He’d feel what he’d always felt toward her before Sunday: fondness and protectiveness—along with some serious apprehension, which was only natural since she was bound to be upset when she learned about the sale of Clifton’s Pride.
Riley Douglas, who was technically comanager of the resort, but who had a lot of irons in the fire and pretty much left the job to Grant, came by at nine. Grant brought him up to speed on the progress with the golf course. Then they discussed the pros and cons of opening a third full-service restaurant at the main lodge. They already had the upscale Gallatin Room and the Grubstake, where you could get a great burger and all-day breakfast. Grant thought they needed something in the middle range.
Riley agreed. “Come up with a few specifics—like who, what, how and how much. Then we’ll bring it before the board.”
Grant asked after Caleb, Riley’s dad. The resort had been Caleb’s brainchild. The wealthy rancher had provided the land, put together the investor group and overseen the original project’s development. Without the drive and influence of Caleb Douglas, the resort wouldn’t exist—let alone been a raging success from the day it opened for business last November.
Riley shook his head. “Sad to say my dad is gettin’ old, slowing down a little…”
“Give him my best, will you—and your mom, too?”
Riley promised that he would.
After Riley took off, there were a couple of food service issues to settle and some calls to return. Grant had the decks more or less cleared by eleven and at eleven-twenty he was mounted on Titan and headed for the Danvers pasture.
Once he left the stable yard behind, he urged the horse to a gallop, all too aware of a certain rising feeling in his chest, an eagerness in his blood.
Steph was there, waiting on Trixiebelle, beside the twisted old cottonwood in the pasture that had once been part of her father’s land. He saw her and his heart started pounding hard and deep and needful. Heat streaked through him, searing as it went.
Trixiebelle danced to the side as he rode up. With a horsewoman’s sure skill, Steph calmed the mare. Her strong, capable hand on the horse’s neck, she beamed him a wide, happy smile—a smile that made his head spin and his blood race even faster through his veins.
Damn. She was beautiful. So beautiful, it hurt. Her hat hung down her back and her hair, pulled loosely into a single braid, caught the sun in golden gleams. And those eyes…
Green as spring grass.
“Come on,” she said, and pointed to a stand of birch trees maybe a quarter of a mile away. “Over there.” She turned the horse and took off.
Hopelessly ensnared, forgetting everything but the color of her eyes and the way her hair shone like a handful of nuggets in the sunlight, he followed.
Chapter Four
Steph spread the blanket in the dappled shade of the trees.
She had plans for today. Big ones. Romantic ones. Plans that involved slow, lazy kisses and tender, arousing caresses.
And, just maybe, even more.
Funny, but she wasn’t the least bit nervous. She was excited. Kind of tingly all over. Her heart felt full to bursting.
At last. After all these years of loving Grant Clifton and knowing his feelings for her were strictly the brotherly kind, she saw her chance with him.
And she was taking that chance, going all the way with it. No matter what anyone thought. No matter what her mother said.
“Here we go.” He was back with the rocks she’d sent him to find. He knelt and placed four nice, big flat ones, each on a corner of the blanket to hold it in place against the ever-present wind.
“Great.” She sent him a glance that lingered a little too long. Heat arced between them. He was the one who looked away, rising again and stepping back.
Oh, yes. She was certain. He wanted her and she did have a chance with him.
No, she wasn’t quite so naive as her mom seemed to think. She didn’t imagine that Grant loved her. Uh-uh. He did not. And as dewy-eyed as she was feeling, she intended to remember that. He thought she was innocent. But she wasn’t—not in her heart. Not in her tough and pragmatic rancher’s mind.
Stephanie Julen was a realist and she knew what Grant felt for her: He wanted her. A lot. He wanted her—and he didn’t want to want her. He’d always considered it his job to protect her.
And now he intended to protect her from himself.
She was a whole lot more woman than he realized, however. And as a woman, she would do all in her power to see that he put those noble intentions aside and got what he wanted. After all, it was only what she wanted, too.
It had taken her a while to catch on, painful hours on Sunday—between the time he found her at the creek and the kiss they shared in the office. She’d been so sure he was mad at her or shocked or disgusted or something else equally upsetting.
But eventually, she’d figured it out. That strange look in his eyes every time he glanced her way…why, it was a hungry look.
And if she’d had a single doubt that he desired her, the kiss had burned all uncertainty clean away.
Oh, that kiss. He’d kissed her as if he wanted to gobble her right up.
And, well, Steph wouldn’t mind at all being gobbled. Not as long as it was Grant doing the gobbling. Oh, my, yes. She got chills all through her every time she thought about that kiss, about the hard, strong feel of his body pressed close to hers, about the way he’d swept his big hand down and cupped her bottom and pressed her closer still.
She’d felt what she did to him then, oh, yes, she had. She’d felt what he wanted to do to her. She’d felt it and known that she was getting her chance with him. At last.
No regrets, she promised herself. She would take things with Grant as they came. Ride this wild horse and just hope against hope that maybe she’d manage to stay on.
He was a good man. And a generous one. A protector of the weak and the needy. A man you could count on when you were down.
But he was not looking for a wife. What did he need with a lifetime commitment, or even a steady girl? The women flocked to him and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy his bachelor lifestyle.
Stephanie really hoped she could make him see that even a man who had everything needed the right woman to stand by his side. But she wasn’t counting on anything. She had no expectations of how it would all work out.
He stood back, watching from under the brim of his hat, as she went to where they’d hobbled the horses and began taking their lunch from the insulated saddlebags. She glanced over her shoulder, sent him another smile and thrilled to the lovely flare of heat that sparked in his eyes.
“I couldn’t resist the urge to race you over here,” she said. “And that means the beer is nothing but foam about now. You’ll have to wait for it.”
“It’s fine,” he said, his voice low and a little bit ragged.
“I’ve got lemonade, though.”
“I love lemonade.”
She laughed. “No, you don’t. But until the beer settles, lemonade is what you’re getting.” She unloaded the plastic jar of lemonade, the food and the forks and paper goods, taking way too much pleasure out of knowing that he watched every move she made—hungrily, like some big mountain lion stretched out on a tree limb, his tail flicking lazily, eyeing his dinner. She loved knowing it wasn’t just her mom’s cold chicken he was hungry for.
Once she had all the food out, she dropped to the blanket and took off her boots.
“What are you doing?” he growled.
She had to cover a laugh. For a ladies’ man, he sure was acting edgy and nervous today. She wiggled her stocking foot at him and answered in an easy tone. “Just getting comfortable.” She set her boots in the grass, tucked her legs to the side and patted the empty space next to her. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
He approached with caution and again, she had to hide a smile. But when he reached her, he turned, dropped to the edge of the blanket—and took off his own boots. She watched the muscles in his back bunch and stretch beneath the worn fabric of his old Western shirt and felt a heat down low in her belly, a sort of melting, lazy sensation. She wanted…
His mouth on hers. His knowing hands stroking her body.
Whoa, girl. Slow down a little. All in good time.
He set the boots away from the blanket, set his hat on them and faced her, drawing his long legs up, sitting cross-legged. She served him: a paper cup of lemonade, a breast and a drumstick, a mound of potato salad, a buttered roll and some carrot sticks. Over the years, she’d watched him eat hundreds of times. She knew how much food he liked, what parts of the chicken he preferred.
“It’s good,” he said, as he dug in.
She was filling her own plate from the plastic containers. “Oh, yeah.” She tasted the potato salad. “Mmm. My mom. She sure can cook.”
He waved the drumstick at her. “You mean you didn’t fry this chicken yourself?”
She laughed, glad that he seemed to be relaxing a little. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She knew how to cook. Marie had insisted on teaching her the basics, at least. But she was always much too impatient to hang around the kitchen. She wanted to be out the door and on the back of a horse. So her biscuits ended up gooey in the center and half the time her chicken got charred. “I know my limitations. I’m a rancher, not a ranch wife.”
He set the chicken leg back on his plate. Suddenly he seemed kind of thoughtful. “You’re happy, huh? Working cattle? Up before dawn to get the chores done, freezing your butt off all winter, dripping sweat while you fix fences and burn out ditches in the blazing summer sun?”
She tipped her head to the side and studied his face. “What kind of question is that? You know me. Does a dog have fleas? Do bats fly?”
He frowned. But when he spoke, his voice sounded offhand. “Just making sure you remember there are other options for you.”
“Too bad there’s nothing else I want to do.”
“But there are other things you could do. As I recall, you got As and Bs in high school.”
“I’ll have you know I got straight As.”
“I’m impressed.” “I did my best in school. That doesn’t mean I enjoyed being there.” She wouldn’t have gone past the eighth grade if her mom and Grant hadn’t insisted she get her diploma. And she still believed she could have held on to the Triple J, if only she’d been able to work full-time, instead of spending five days out of seven at Thunder Canyon High.
He advised in a weary tone, “You scrunch up your face like that, it might get stuck.”
“Hah,” she said. “You sound like Mom.”
He chuckled. “Just don’t be bitter. Believe me, it was the best thing. You’d have regretted not finishing high school.”
“No. I wouldn’t have. But it’s okay—and I’m not bitter.” She wrinkled her nose at him again. “Well, not much, anyway…”
He ate half of his flaky, perfect dinner roll. She chomped a carrot stick and got to work on a tender, crispy-skinned thigh. Eventually he said, “What I was trying to tell you is that I’m doin’ pretty well now. I could help you out, if you decided you might want to give college a try…”
Emotion tightened her throat. Not because she felt she’d missed out on college, not because she wanted it. She didn’t. Not in the least.
It was just that he was always so good to her, so generous. “Oh, Grant. Thank you. But no. I’m pretty much a self-starter. If I need to know something, I find a way to learn it. I never had a yen for any formal higher education. All I’ve ever wanted was a chance to do exactly what I’m doing now.” “I see.” His voice was flat. He set his plate down beside him, only half-finished.
Distress made a leaden sensation in her stomach. “Okay. I don’t get it. What did I say?”
He stared at her for a long, strange moment. And then he shrugged and picked up his plate again. “It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you—”
“No buts, Steph. I am positive to the millionth degree.” He grinned as he said it.
She grunted. “Oh, very funny.”
The Christmas she was seven, five years before their dads were killed, her mom had tried to talk her into asking Santa for one of those fancy American Girl dolls, the kind that came with a whole perfect miniature wardrobe—and a doll-size trunk to put all those fine clothes in.
Steph had sworn that a doll was the last thing she needed. She wanted a pony more than anything. She knew she was old enough for a horse of her own.
Grant, a high-school senior that year, had been over at the house, for some reason long lost to her now. She’d been following her mom around the kitchen, arguing endlessly, “I mean it, Mama. Don’t you get me any doll. I don’t want a doll and if you get me one I’ll rip its head off. I need my own horse. I got work to do. Just ask Daddy. He’ll tell you I’m his best helper and his best helper needs a horse.”
Grant had stuck his head in from the living room to tease, “Oh, come on, Steffie, you know you want a pretty little doll.”
She still remembered whipping around to glare at him, shaking a finger as she lectured him, “Do not call me Steffie. And I don’t want any doll.”
“You sure?”
“I am positive, Grant Clifton,” she’d smartly informed him. “Positive to the millionth degree.”
Now, he lifted his drumstick to her in a salute. “You were one feisty kid.”
She faked a groan. “Oh, please. Feisty? Not me. I was a practical kid. And I got my first horse that Christmas, if you recall.”
Malomar, her sweet-natured bay mare, had ended up sold at auction with the rest of the Triple J stock. It was one of her saddest memories: her mare being led into that horse trailer, the trailer kicking up dust as it rolled away.
That memory, somehow, was almost as bad as seeing her dad’s lifeless body with that big red hole in the side of his head on the day that he died. The death of a parent was an enormous and terrible thing—too terrible in some ways for a young mind to comprehend. But the end of her life as she’d known and loved it?
That had been horrible, too. And by then, three years after her dad died, she’d been old enough to understand what was happening when she watched Malomar being taken away.
But she wasn’t dwelling on any sad memories today. Uh-uh. She had the man she loved sitting right beside her, and he was finally seeing her as a woman grown. She fully intended to enjoy every minute of this afternoon.
They ate in silence for a little while, finishing off their drumsticks and potato salad, sipping their lemonade.
Finally Grant said, “I remember that you got your horse that Christmas, just like you wanted—and promptly fell off her and broke your collarbone.”
She confessed, “It’s true. I was never what you’d call a cautious kid.”
“Uh-uh. You were brave and bold and nobody ever told you what to do.” Those sky-blue eyes of his gleamed at her. She saw admiration in them.
For the fearless kid she’d once been? Or the woman she was now?
Or maybe…both? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.
And then he was frowning again. “Look. Steph. There’s something I really have to—”
“Oh, don’t,” she cried before he could finish.
Now he seemed puzzled. “Don’t?”
“That’s right. Don’t. I know just what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it, okay?”
He actually gulped. “Er, you know?”
She set her plate aside and wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Of course, I know. How could I not? Something like this, a woman always knows. I admit, you had me wondering at first. But I got the message eventually. Really, it’s all just so…perfectly obvious.”
“Obvious.” He gaped at her.
“Yes.”
He set his own plate down. And he knocked back the rest of his lemonade, crushing the paper cup in his big fist when he finished. And he swore under his breath. “Steph.”
“Yeah?”
“What, exactly, are you talking about?”
Should she say it right out? Probably not. Her mom always used to tell her that men didn’t like it when a woman got too direct, when a woman dared to take the lead in an obvious way.
But her mom was from a different generation, after all. From a time when women were expected to wait around for men to make the first move.
Thank God it wasn’t like that anymore.
But still, what if she spooked him by laying it right out there, bold as you please? She didn’t want to scare him off.
A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees around them and tried to blow the paper plates away, with only chicken bones to hold them down.
“Oops.” Swiftly she gathered up the remains of their meal, stuffed it in the trash bag she’d brought and weighted the bag down with a rock. “There,” she said unnecessarily when that job was done. He was sitting so still, watching her, kind of narrow-eyed, waiting for her to explain herself.
She stalled some more. “Hey. Want a beer?” She started to rise.
“Stay here.” He reached for his boots. “I can get it.” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the trash bag from under the rock. “You want one?”
She didn’t much care for beer. “No.”
She watched him go to the horses, something inside her kind of aching in a joyous way. His shoulders were so broad, his waist so hard and narrow. And he truly did have one fine butt.
And how could she tell him—that she knew he wanted her though he didn’t want to want her? How could she make him understand that she didn’t expect anything from him?
Except maybe his kisses and his eager embrace. Just this…wonder. And this joy.
And as for the rest? Well, why not just let the rest take care of itself?
He stuffed the trash in the saddlebags, got a beer and returned to her. She stewed some more over what to say to him as he set the can on one of the rocks and pulled off his boots all over again. He popped the tab and took a long drink. She watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down and continued her internal debate: What to say?