One Hot Cowboy (13 page)

would take to make Rose Jordan look at

him
that way. She’d let him love her last

night. Hell, she’d been a wildcat in his

arms. But she hadn’t given him any words

at all. Hadn’t really ever looked him in the

eye. She’d let him touch and taste her, and

now she was under his skin, all right. He

wanted
more
. He was, he realized, feeling

jealous of a rosebush and of a dead woman

Rose couldn’t, wouldn’t, forget.

Of course, Auntie Dee had been a good

woman.

Cabe wasn’t good.

“This is
mine,
” she said. “I’ve spent

months dreaming about it, drawing up

plans for the renovations. This is
my
home,

and I plan on hanging on to it. Even if it is

falling down around my ears,” she added

wryly.

Problem was, the place
wasn’t
hers. She

just didn’t know it yet.

“Start over,” he said quietly. “My offer

still stands. I’ll cut you a check, and you

can pick out a place that doesn’t come with

the largest colony of termites west of the

Sierras.”

She opened her mouth, and he could just

about see the refusal coming, when the

contractor banged open the screen door

and joined them on the porch.

“Christ,” the contractor said. “She’s a

tear-down, all right. Not sure why you’d

want to put her to rights.” He shook his

head. “Thought you were putting a well in

here, Cabe, not doing renos.”

Hell
. Cabe glared at the man, but the

damage was done.

“The house already has a well.” Rose

sounded confused. “It’s not dry.”

“We’re done here,” Cabe snapped.

The contractor nodded, glancing down

at the yellow legal pad where he’d been

jotting his endless notes.

“No, we’re not. You don’t call the shots

here,
Cabe. Not in my house.” Rose shot to

her feet, looking irritated. “Tell me why I

need a new well.”

The contractor looked at Cabe, because

the man wasn’t stupid. Cabe could make

damn sure he never worked in Northern

California again. Cabe’s mouth tightened.

The damage was done, and he wouldn’t lie

to Rose.
Overtly,
a little voice mocked. He

gestured for the other man to continue.

“You got plenty of water here. This

place is sitting on a real nice little aquifer.

Mr. Dawson had a drilling engineer out to

check the levels maybe seven, eight months

ago. We all figured he was waiting for the

old woman to pass on before he knocked

the house down and drilled for the water.”

Her face closed right up. “I see,” she

said, and he’d just bet she did. The

contractor must have smelled trouble

brewing, because he beat a retreat to his

pickup. Rose just watched him go.

“Rose,” he said carefully.

“Your offer to buy me out isn’t just a be-

nice favor, is it, Cabe?”

“No. This house is sitting on an aquifer.

Blackhawk Ranch is running dry on its

southern border. I drill here, that problem

goes away.”

“You want to turn my home into a cattle

yard.”

“Hell, Rose.” He scrubbed a hand over

his head, then jammed the Stetson back on.

“I want what’s best for both of us. My

ranch needs the water. You need a chance

to start over. Take the check, and you’ve

got that chance. What’s so hard about

doing that?”

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for

me.” She was standing chest to chest with

him now, eyes snapping. She was furious,

and she still didn’t know the half of it.

Goddamn it, why couldn’t she admit he

might be right? Maybe he did know what

was best. “You have no right.”

“Actually, I do, darlin’,” he drawled. “I

have every right in the world.”

Cabe Dawson was big and tough and

sexy. Part of her wanted to get her hands

on his belt buckle and undo him the way

he’d undone her. He was so gorgeous—she

tried the word out mentally, and it fit—but

he’d put that distance between them again.

He stood up there, leaning against the

pillar, while she sat lower on the steps.

Well, screw him. Screw his well-

intentioned plans for her life.

“No,” she countered. The problem with

Cabe was, the man didn’t move until he

was good and ready to move. “You have

no rights here at all. Just because we had

sex last night doesn’t mean you can come

in here today and tell me what’s what.”

Last night hadn’t been just sex, though,

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d

taken her into his arms, and she’d been

impossibly happy. He was a sensual,

dominating lover, and, for the first time,

she’d known he was
seeing
her. Not his

brothers’

friend

or

the

neighbor’s

wayward foster child.
Her
. Rose Jordan,

the woman. She wasn’t sure where they’d

been going, but someplace special, even if

feelings and words weren’t something

Cabe expressed easily. That was her

cowboy.

“I should have let the lawyer finish,” he

growled out. “Like ripping off a Band-Aid,

right? Maybe there’s a sting, but it’s over

quick, and you move on.”

Time seemed to slow down. That icy-

hot sensation hit her, the feeling you got

when you knew there was bad news

coming and there was no way to stop it.

“Auntie Dee left you this house,” he

continued. “But she had a reverse mortgage

on the place.”

The pieces were falling into place, and

she didn’t like the pattern. “You hold her

note. How much?” She fought the

temptation to close her eyes. There was no

hiding from this.

“Two hundred thousand dollars.”

She didn’t have that kind of money, and

if Cabe wanted that water, he wouldn’t

want money anyhow. She was going to

lose this place. She wasn’t coming home,

not to stay. She’d be saying good-bye. To

her heart and her home.

“You should have said something.”

Could he hear her heart breaking in the

quiet surrounding them? Goddamn it, she

wasn’t going to show him how this was

tearing her up inside.

He stared at her, and she couldn’t read

his face. Of course, she never had been

able to tell what he was thinking, had she?

“I should have,” he admitted.

Grabbing the tube of plans she’d brought

with her for the contractor to review, she

put some space between them and let her

feet take her out into the yard.

“Yes, you should have. Or maybe, Cabe,

you should have said something
before
you

took me to bed. Maybe I deserved to know

exactly what I was dealing with here.”

“You wanted me,” he said, and that

calm, logical voice of his made her want to

shriek. “This house doesn’t change that,

Rose. You kissed me. You let me put my

fingers and my tongue on that sweet little

pussy of yours, and you liked it. Money

owing doesn’t change that.”

She’d heard he was ruthless. She’d

known that his was the hard, predatory

gaze of a man who knew what he wanted

and took it. He’d wanted her, and she’d

made it so very easy for him to take her.

“Was I a pity fuck? I had no place to go,

so you took me in because you felt sorry

for me?”

“It wasn’t like that, Rose.” It sounded to

her as if it had been
precisely
like that.

“Then tell me what it
was
like,” she

demanded. “Make me understand that you

didn’t fuck me two ways to Sunday, Cabe.”

His silence was damning. That hat of his

came off his head, slapping slowly,

dangerously at his thigh. Cabe didn’t get

mad quickly or often, but once he was

worked up, a wise woman left him alone.

“I did what I thought was best, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me darling. Don’t call me

anything. Just don’t, Cabe.”

For the second time that week, she threw

what she was holding at him. The tube of

architectural drawings was an awkward

length, but he caught it, just as she’d known

he would. Cabe didn’t like loose ends, and

he never left things to chance. She stomped

to her car.

Slamming the door of the Honda, she

tore down the drive.

She’d left him.

Cabe had caught the roll of papers

instinctively. Other older, more primitive

instincts screamed for him to go after

Rose. His ancestors had been Californians

and Spanish aristos who knew how to rule.

How to carve out and hold territory in a

hostile, unfamiliar world. She was his.

She’d let him touch her, and she’d enjoyed

every moment.

She was his, and he always held on to

what was his.

So letting her go now was the hardest

damn thing he’d ever done. He wanted to

go after her, take her into his arms, and

make this all better. There was no getting

around the fact, however, that he needed

her water and had every intention of

drilling just as soon as he could get the

engineer back in here. He had a business to

run. A ranch to preserve. Blackhawk

Ranch was more than a legacy—it was a

way of life. A hell of a lot of people

depended on him. Cheap foreign beef had

put most of the California ranches out of

business, making it almost impossible for a

man to even sell his cattle for what it cost

to raise them. Cabe barely broke even on

his herd, but that herd mattered. He’d

inherited a ranch full of cowboys and a

disappearing way of life he wouldn’t let

die. Not on his watch.

So he watched her go and tried to work

it all out in his head. She drove that

battered Honda Civic of hers down the dirt

road, headed nowhere in particular as far

as he knew, and he wanted to be in the

front seat with her. It didn’t matter where

she was headed. For one insane moment,

he wished he could consign the ranch and

all his responsibility to hell.

She’d stormed off. He’d stayed put. And

wasn’t that the way it had always been?

He looked down at the plans in his

hands. When he looked at them, he realized

he was holding plans for a home, not a

house. She’d seen more than four walls

and a roof.

To hell with his plans and his heavy,

endless responsibilities.

Some

things—some
people
—were

worth fighting for.

He got his ass into his pickup and

followed her.

Chapter Six

R
ose didn’t stop driving until Cabe could

almost see Lonesome. Maybe she’d

stopped at the rest area on purpose, or

maybe she was just plain tired of his

following her ass so closely.

He just knew he wasn’t done with
them
.

He wouldn’t let her run from him this time.

Slamming the pickup’s door, Cabe strode

toward the picnic table where she was

waiting for him. Before she could move, he

slapped his hands down on either side of

her, caging her body between his arms and

the table. A distant part of his brain—the

logical
part that hadn’t been turned upside

down and inside out by this infuriating,

fascinating, wonderful woman—warned

him that this wasn’t his best idea.

Rose Jordan didn’t need or want a

Neanderthal cowboy. But to hell with that.

“I took that reverse mortgage,” he

growled, “because it was the only

goddamned way Auntie Dee would let me

give her money. She was proud, Rose. She

wanted to give me something back.”

“You should have told me right away,”

she accused. “Why offer to buy me out

when you already had that note? You know

I can’t repay it. My home is all yours.”

He leaned in further. “Because that

house
is
your home, Rose. I don’t want to

take that for you. I thought maybe that

check would let you start over. Pick some

other place.”

“Coming home doesn’t work that way,