Picking Up Cowboys Page 2

  “Making hot cocoa. Want some?”

  He shrugged and sauntered to the table, hooked his booted toe around the leg of a chair, pulled it out and lowered himself into it.

  Catherine watched with interest. How could he help but swagger in jeans so tight? Her eyes dropped to where the material stretched dangerously over his upper thighs.

  “They’re called Levi’s. Been around for years.”

  His green eyes twinkled with sensual amusement. Catherine felt her face grow warm again and hurried to get the cocoa on before he noticed.

  “What do your guests do for lunch around here?”

  “Normally, meals are provided, but we’re not really in season. I’m having chocolate for lunch. You’re welcome to join me.” She smiled brightly.

  “Chocolate?”

  “Yes. Hot cocoa. Oreos. Rocky Road ice cream. And a Hershey’s bar.”

  “What kind of lunch is that?”

  “A celebration.”

  His expression grew wistful. “Wouldn’t meat and potatoes do just as well?”

  Catherine shook her head. “Nope. Only chocolate can celebrate a new life.”

  ***

  Gage almost choked. A new life? Catherine was pregnant? He eyed her slender figure. How far along could she possibly be? And shouldn’t she be eating something better than chocolate? Didn’t babies need folic acid or some such thing?

  The house was in pretty bad shape. Maybe she couldn’t afford to eat right. But then wasn’t chocolate expensive? Perhaps she was more like her father then even he had suspected. She only cared for herself, even to the point of not caring how her actions might affect her unborn child.

  Why did that thought bring a sting of disappointment with it? No, it wasn’t disappointment. How could you be disappointed in someone you expected only the worst out of? It was sympathy for the baby. That’s what it was.

  Reaching into the freezer, Catherine pulled out a pint of gourmet ice cream. Gage gritted his teeth. It was none of his business if she didn’t take care of herself. It wasn’t his baby.

  “Why don’t we have milk instead of ice cream?” Gage wanted to slap his hand over his mouth. Despite his best intentions to not care about what she did, he seemed incapable of keeping his thoughts to himself.

  She wrinkled her pert nose. “Milk instead of ice cream? Who was your mother? Nancy Nutrition?”

  The mention of his mother brought him quickly back to reality. Gage felt the thick shield he’d built for his heart raise into battle position. Catherine flipped off the burner on the stove and poured the heated cocoa into a large coffee mug.

  “Never mind.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, trying to get comfortable.

  Gage heard the rustle of soft denim as she moved closer. The scent of wildflowers grew more prominent along with an underlying aroma of curiosity and vividness. Her hand was so soft on his forearm when she touched him he almost, almost thought it felt comforting. It would have, if he hadn’t know her better. Known the evil manipulator who lay beneath the beautiful facade. She’d been raised by the best manipulator in the state, why wouldn’t she be a master at manipulation as well?

  “I can fix you something else.”

  Gage opened his eyes to see her hovering over him like some sort of pseudo-angel. He stood up and moved to the stove…more to get away from the unwanted stirrings she created in him than anything.

  “I can cook my own food.” She smiled and two faint dimples appeared on either side of her mouth.

  “Why don’t I cook you an omelet?” He offered. Again, before he could stop himself. Okay, but it wasn’t for her, it was for an innocent, unborn child. He turned to the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of eggs.

  “No thanks. I’ll just stick with the chocolate. Besides, I need the magnesium from it.” Catherine handed him a bowl and fork.

  “Magnesium?” Gage wondered what magnesium did for the baby.

  “It helps my brain create serotonin and releases endorphins. The feel good hormone.”

  Gage laughed. Endorphins. The woman could rationalize wearing a bathing suit outside in this blizzard. But that was the talent of the Claibornes. They had magic tongues. The thought made him break the eggs a little more firmly against the side of the bowl than he might otherwise have. He had to stop and pick out a few pieces of brown shell.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you need endorphins?” He started folding the yolks and whites of the eggs together.

  “It seems I have a business partner.” Catherine picked up the mug of cocoa and blew into the rising steam.

  Gage’s hand stopped beating the eggs. He should tell her now. Let her know who he was. Just because she and her father played dirty didn’t mean he had to. Lying went against everything he stood for and was everything he despised. But before he could tell her, she was speaking. Her soft voice lulled him like the gentle jingle of sleigh bells. She set the cocoa back down; apparently deciding it was too hot to drink.

  “My father left half of this ranch to a man I have never met. And I’m not quite sure what to do about it.” She leaned her elbows on the white, Formica counter and watched him add salt, pepper, cheese and green peppers to the eggs.

  “What can you do about it? If the ranch is rightfully his…”

  Catherine pushed herself up and slammed both palms down on the counter. “That’s just it. It’s not rightfully his! It’s mine.”

  Gage felt his lips curl back in disgust. Like father like daughter. “Apparently your father felt differently.”

  “Apparently my father was a drunken moron who never worked an honest day in his life.” Catherine’s hands came up and covered her mouth and she moaned as though in pain.

  Gage dropped the fork and reached out his arms almost instinctively, but she backed away, still holding her hands over her mouth and shaking her head in denial.

  After a couple of minutes, she lowered her hands, and whispered, “I didn’t mean that. I should never have said it.”

  The change in her was extraordinary. She’d gone from lively curiosity to defeated resignation. Is this what the thought of her father did to her?

  “I won’t let some flunky friend of my father’s have half this ranch.” Her chin came up and her eyes sparkled. “No matter what I have to do to prevent it.”

  “Typical,” Gage muttered.

  “What?” Her pale eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Just like your father, you think you can take what you want and anyone who gets hurt can just deal with it.”

  Catherine held her lips so tight together a white ring etched around her mouth. “What do you know of my father?”

  Gage cursed himself. He should have kept his mouth shut. “Nothing. I’m just guessing from what you’ve said.”

  Gage wouldn’t have thought it possible but her face blanched an even paler shade. A heartbeat later, her cheeks flushed a dull red and her hands rested as fists on her hips.

  “My father was a good man who had a tendency to drink a little too much.” Her eyes dared him to contradict her. “The real question here is: Just who are you?”

  “Gage Maddock.” He dipped his head out of courteous habit and lifted her hand, holding it gently in his. She didn’t relax her fist and the backside of her hand was icy.

  She jerked out of his grip, rubbing her palm up and down the material on her hip as though to remove the feel of him. Gage’s eyes dropped to where the dark blue fabric was stretched snugly over slender hips. He closed his eyes. He was not attracted to Catherine Claiborne. Okay, he was attracted. But that was as far as it would go.

  “You are the man who stole half my ranch.” She raised the hand now and pointed an accusing finger at his chest.

  “I stole it?” Gage laughed deep in his throat as he slid the fluffy omelet onto a plate. “Last I recall a will was legal and binding.”

  Gage shrugged, watching her eyes glaze over with intense emotion, wondering what it would feel like to have those beautiful blue eyes gl
aze over with a different kind of emotion.

  “I want to know how you swindled my father into leaving you half of this ranch.” Catherine watched him expectantly, her arms now crossed over her chest, which was heaving from her rapid breaths.

  Catherine Claiborne was about to get her first lesson in what went around coming around. He’d spent the last fourteen years building his business, investing his money until he had enough to buy this ranch hundreds of times over. Gage Maddock had every intention of taking back what was rightfully his.

  *

  Catherine waited for his response, her stomach twisting. It was bad enough her father had left half this ranch to someone she’d never heard of much less met, but to be tricked into giving him a lift here was unbearable. His unassuming cowboy hat and tight jeans were the Trojan horse and she’d pulled it right into her fort without realizing the war that lay in wait on the inside. Now the enemy was emerging and she felt as helpless as the people of Troy must have felt! She was the one who’d made sure the ranch stayed afloat for the last eight years. She’d even given up college and the world she might have discovered. A lump worked itself into her throat. She’d invested her soul in this ranch. She’d let a slick, city-cowboy would come in and take over when she started wearing high heels horseback riding.

  “Your father left me what was rightfully mine, minus fifty percent.” Gage’s green eyes were as cold as the Rocky Road ice cream she’d planned to dig out of the deep freeze.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. How can something you’ve never seen be half yours? Did my father gamble with you? Is that what happened?” It wouldn’t be the first time. “Well, shame on you for taking advantage of an obviously unwell man.”

  “Unwell?” Gage snorted. “You mean drunk.”

  Catherine glared at him, unable to deny it. “How much do you want?” she gritted between clenched teeth. Her jaw ached from holding her mouth so tightly closed.

  “How much?” He threw back his head and laughed and Catherine felt her gaze slip to the sensual length of his throat. An unfamiliar wooziness struck her legs and she clamped her palm over the counter to keep from falling. Too much stress. It was making her dizzy.

  “How much money to buy you out?” Catherine gazed at him steadily. She was completely serious. If she had to take on a full-time job outside of the ranch, she would. But she would not share this place. It was hers.

  “I think you misunderstand.” His voice was as rough as dried leather. “I intend to buy you out.”

  chapter three

  Catherine couldn’t speak for several minutes. Was he crazy? This was her home.

  Gage grabbed the magnetic pad of paper stuck to the fridge with the matching pen, scribbled a figure on it and pressed it into her palm. “I think you’ll find that offer hard to refuse.”

  Catherine stared numbly at the slip of paper, considered shoving it down his throat, before curiosity got the better of her and she nudged it open. She couldn’t prevent the gasp as it slipped past her lips. It was enough money to do anything she wanted. She could go see the Taj Mahal, visit Loch Ness, do all the things she’d dreamed of during the years she’d been forced to help her father instead of following her own dreams.

  She actually considered it for a heartbeat. The money would give her the freedom she’d been seeking for what seemed an eternity. She could become the Catherine she’d once thought she’d be. The new Catherine. But deep in her heart she truly loved the ranch. The land. It was her father’s legacy to her. The ranch was all she had left of him.

  She straightened her shoulders and raised her eyes to catch a smug smile on Gage Maddock’s face. So, he thought she was going to accept his offer. He didn’t have a clue about what was really important. She would never give it up. She must keep her father’s dream and memory alive. She would never sell it for any amount.

  Catherine slid the scrap of paper onto the counter and smiled sweetly. “No, thank you.”

  Gage’s smile faded inch by satisfying inch. Score one for Catherine. He had honestly thought she would accept his offer. How insulting. Money didn’t buy everything, and it certainly couldn’t buy her.

  He crossed his arms and rested a lean hip against the counter. “I’ll double it.”

  Unbelievable. He had enough gall to fill a stadium. Catherine blocked the amount from her mind. “The answer is still no.”

  “Greedy. Just like your father. Okay, I’ll triple my offer. That’s more money than you’ll ever need. You’ll never have to work again.”

  “Nope. The ranch is not for sell.” Catherine turned away and pried the lid off the slightly melted ice cream. She let her hair fall across her face and she grinned, the look on his face after her last denial had been worth giving up one hundred times the amount he offered.

  Gage was dumbfounded. What was the little con artist up to? Did she really think she could get more out of him? He’d offered her an extraordinary amount of money. Surely she had to realize the ranch could never be worth that much. He just didn’t understand why she wasn’t going for the high figure. He’d just have to find out what her price was. Everyone had a price, if you searched long enough. The ranch would be his again.

  Gage carried his plate to the slightly scarred, oak table and sat down. He sunk his fork into the feathery lightness of the omelet and chewed deliberately as he re-assessed his situation.

  He had too many plans to back away now. He’d put too much time and energy into the prospect of regaining his legacy. His eyes narrowed on Catherine as she ate the ice cream straight out of the carton. He would just have to figure out what her game was, and then learn to play it.

  She pulled her massive tumble of honey-blonde hair over one shoulder, exposing the long length of her slender neck on the side that faced him. He wondered if she would start shaking if he positioned himself behind her and nibbled it.

  She had a delectable little body but she was still a con artist. He didn’t want her, couldn’t want her, refused to want her. She was the enemy and he would be crazy to get involved with her in any way. It was out of the question. Although, since his money hadn’t interested her, maybe he could seduce her into selling him the ranch.

  Catherine returned to the still steaming cocoa and slowly lifted the cup to her mouth. After a tentative sip, she puckered her full lips and blew on the steamy concoction, trying to cool it. Never would he have credited drinking chocolate as a turn-on, but Ms. Catherine Claiborne had just proven it to be so. When her tongue darted out to capture a stray droplet, his blood pressure soared off the chart. He shoved back from the table and bolted to his feet. The chair clattered noisily as it hit the hard floor. A shower. He needed a shower. A cold one.

  “I’d like to take a shower and make an early night of it, if you don’t mind.” He kept his voice polite.

  “Upstairs, first door on the left.” Catherine blew on the cocoa again.

  Gage’s voice came out sharper than he intended. “I know.”

  Catherine blinked her long, dark lashes in surprise and Gage thought how dark they seemed compared to her fair coloring and pale hair. “How would you know that?”

  Because I used to live here. Gage kept the thought to himself and offered her a noncommittal shrug.

  Catherine gazed at him for a long, curious moment. Then she seemed to make up her mind about something and her expression changed. “I’ll make up the guest bedroom for you while you’re in the shower.”

  Gage took the wooden stairs two at a time, stopping on the third down from the top when its familiar creak echoed down the upstairs hallway. An unexpected and unwanted lump of emotion clogged his throat and made his eyes moist.

  When he was a boy, every night his mother would hit the squeaky stair when she checked on him. He would usually be reading with a flashlight under the covers. That stair saved him many times because it gave him the time to shut off the light and compose himself into angelic mock-sleep.

  The Claibornes would pay for what they’d done to his family. Gage w
ould see to it. Mustang had taken away everything he held dear and Gage intended to have it restored, and Mustang’s beautiful, stubborn daughter was not going to stop him.

  *

  Catherine heard the pipes warble and rumble as Gage turned on the taps. She jogged up the stairs and paused at the linen closet in the hallway to gather some sheets and blankets. The sound of the clanky pipes being shifted to shower mode made her throat go suddenly dry.

  No more than twenty feet away, separated by a pathetic wood door was a lean, sexy cowboy. Catherine swallowed several times. A naked cowboy. Warmth started in the tip of her big toe and worked itself up her body.

  Stop it, Catherine! The man was taking a shower. It wasn’t right to feel this way about a perfect stranger; she’d never been one of those women who fell over herself with passion. Besides, all the man wanted to do was buy her out, he wasn’t interested in her as a woman. She marched into the guest room and slung the sheets into an armchair. She jammed the soft, flannel fitted sheet over the bottom corner of the bed and threw the loose, matching, top sheet over it.

  Why had her father saddled her with a partner anyway? Why did the partner have to be so sexy? She closed her eyes as the image of his broad hands manipulating the soap into frothy suds intruded. He would rub the suds over his broad chest. She wondered if he had a sparse scattering of hair. The thought made her shiver.

  She had to stop this. Gage thought money was the answer to everything; she shouldn’t be having these thoughts. She had to get away from the sound of the running water; it was causing her to have traitorous thoughts. Throwing a panicked glance at the still closed door across the hall, she arranged the comforter hastily, tossed a pillow on top and clambered down the stairs.

  His overnight bag rested against the far wall. She should probably take it upstairs before someone, probably her, tripped on it and fell. She shot another glance upward. The water was still running. But she really didn’t owe it to him to be a good host.

  He’d looked so tired though. Okay, just this once, she would be helpful. Grasping one of the worn, leather handles she tugged on the bag. It was heavier than she thought and threw her off balance. She landed on the rough, wood floor on her right hip.