Temptation Ridge (3 page)

The horse danced and pawed at the ground, snorted and reared his head, but this little girl in the saddle didn’t even notice. She handled him with ease and finesse.

“I just had to see this for myself,” she said. “You’re doing it. You’re at work on this mess. Wow,” she laughed. “Looks like you’re going to be busy.”

He tossed the chair in the back of the truck and took a rag out of his pocket to mop his sweating face. “Maybe you can’t see the potential here,” he said. “I’m going to impress you, in that case.”

“I’m already impressed,” she said. “It looks like a monumental job. Where I grew up, there were a bunch of old cabins just like this, out on the beach. I was a teenager. They were almost never in use and the local kids used to sneak in. To smoke pot and…other stuff. Then one day they were gone. Razed.”

“When you were a teenager,” he said, shoving the rag back into his pocket. “Last week?”

“Hey,” she laughed. “I’m talking ten years ago.”

“In which case, you don’t age.”

“Why don’t you just ask?” she challenged him.

“Okay. How old are you? Exactly?”

“Twenty-five. And you?”

“One hundred and ten.”

She laughed again. When she did, she threw her head back and that braid rippled down her back. “Yeah, I thought you were probably really old. How old?”

“Thirty-eight. Pretty well out of your range.”

“That depends,” she said with a shrug.

“On?”

“On whether I have a range.”

Oh God, he thought weakly. She liked him. Not a little teasing, but private flirting, just between the two of them. Luke was a man with few scruples and even less control. It wasn’t a good idea for her to do this. She was too alluring for her own good. “You’re pretty good with that horse. He’s a beautiful paint.”

“Chico,” she told him. “All little boy. Uncle Walt adopted him as colt—you’d think he’d be better behaved. You know your horses.”

“I’ve flown over a lot of horses running wild in the desert. Incredible creatures.”

“You ride?” she asked.

“Haven’t been on a horse in years.”

“You fish?” she asked.

“When I get a chance. You hunt?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d never shoot anything. But I shoot skeet, and I’m good, too. Lately I garden and babysit. And I read a lot.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping toward her.

“In Virgin River? I came to spend some time with my family for a while before going back to school. Uncle Walt, Vanessa and Paul, my cousin Tom—he’s at basic training, soon to have leave—they’re my family.”

“No,” he said, smiling. “Here. Checking me out.”

“Get over yourself, I’m checking out the cabins,” she said, returning the smile. “I rode here a few times last summer. I really thought these cabins would disappear someday. Wouldn’t it be easier to build new ones?”

“It might be easier, but it wouldn’t be cheaper. And I was looking for something to do.”

“Why? You get fired from your job or something?”

“I retired from the army.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Like my uncle!”

“No, not like your uncle. Like a warrant officer, helicopter pilot. Jack said your uncle is a retired three-star. A whole different thing, kid.”

She grinned at him, but her cheeks took on a little flush. “Just remember, he’s retired. He really isn’t in charge anymore.”

He took note of the pinkened cheeks. She wanted to do this, obviously, this flirting. But it wasn’t natural for her, he could see that. He could make it easier for her. He knew how to calm a woman down, put her at ease. In fact, he enjoyed it.

He was having an attack of pure lust and he told himself to nip it in the bud. She said twenty-five, but he thought there was a good chance in any bar other than Jack’s, she’d be carded. He grabbed his shirt off the porch railing to shrug into it.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Not for me—I’m not staying. Just dropping by to see your project, that’s all. I was in the neighborhood.”

He chuckled and pulled on the shirt, but he left it unbuttoned. “Yeah. We’re neighbors,” he said, smiling up at her. “I should be getting back to work, unless there’s something you need.”

“Nah,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at Jack’s.”

“Only place in town to get a beer, so I’m sure you will.”

“Well then. Good luck here,” she said, lifting the reins. Chico reared, ready to be set free. “Later,” she yelled, leading her gelding away and out of the clearing to the river’s edge. Luke watched the sight of her departure. Once she was through the trees, she kicked her horse into a run. She got low in the saddle and made that braid ride out behind her, she went so hard and fast. I’m in for it now, Luke thought.

He watched her tiny, young butt move with the horse, con
fident in the saddle. Sweet heaven, what am I thinking? he asked himself. What am I feeling? She couldn’t possibly know what a trim little beauty on a big horse did to him! This was almost the hugest mistake he’d ever considered. But he couldn’t escape the fact that he’d like to get his hands all over her. He began to pray that he’d have both intelligence and restraint where this one was concerned. But it would be a first.

Shelby rode back to her Uncle Walt’s and all the way she was thinking how Luke might think she’d been flirting, but he was absolutely
not
her type.

Shelby was totally focused on her plans. While waiting for acceptance to a school, she’d travel some. Alone. She remembered the exhilaration of flying off to the East Coast or Europe to spend a couple of months with her cousins during summer. But she’d never seen the Caribbean islands, Mexico, Italy, France or Japan. She’d like to take a cruise, then a vacation—maybe in Italy, the south of France or Cabo San Lucas. After she’d had a nice little break to recharge, she would get herself set up at school, find a part-time job and take a few classes before her degree program officially began in the fall. Just to get herself back in the study groove.

But maybe she’d have herself a little adventure in there somewhere. Maybe on her cruise, on one of her trips.

Not with this kind of man, of course. He was too mature, for one thing. One look convinced her—he knew everything about men and women, while she knew very little. He looked a little dangerous and very, very physical. Scary. He had that warrior appearance, complete with tattoos.

The sight of him bare-chested had rattled her, but the big horse beneath her had given her plenty of confidence. His shoulders were so large, strong and muscular, and he had a barbed-wire armband tattooed on his rippling left
biceps. His belly was flat and hard with a trail of chest hair that disappeared into his jeans. The stubble along his jaw made his grin a little taunting and definitely naughty; it had made her shiver. And he had an aura of carelessness. He would take a bite of her, then pitch her out, forgetting her before morning.

But while Shelby had looked him over, everything inside her had grown warm. Something about him, a forbidden quality, was absolutely delicious. Even the damn dirt looked good on him. Despite her common sense, she wondered, wouldn’t that be interesting? And her very next thought was, no, no, no, not him! My adventure will come in a polo shirt, cheeks as smooth as a baby’s butt, styled hair, no tattoos and hopefully an advanced degree. Not some scary Black Hawk pilot who has a Ph.D. in one-night stands!

Mel stormed right into the bar’s kitchen. Preacher had his hands in the sink, his back to her. “Hey, Preach,” she said. But he didn’t turn around. “Preach?” she asked again. Nothing. “John!” she yelled.

He jumped in surprise, turned toward her and pulled earplugs out of his ears. “Whoa, Mel,” he said. “You snuck up on me.”

“Well, not exactly,” she said. “I yelled.”

“Yeah, well, after a while all that noise makes my head pound. I’d just go fishin’, but I have things to do here.”

“Listen,” she said, sitting on the stool at his work island. “We have to talk, you and me.”

“Sure.”

She took a breath. “I’ve gained twenty pounds since I came here. Almost ten pounds a year. By the time I’m forty, I’ll weigh two hundred pounds.”

He frowned. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
Finally he smiled a small smile and said, “Well, good for you.”

“This is not good!”

He almost jumped at the angry tone in her voice. Then he frowned.

“Listen,” she said, “you have to start doing some cooking that isn’t so fattening. Understand?”

“No one’s ever complained about the cooking before, Mel. It tastes good…”

“I know, I know—but you’re cooking for men with real physical lives. Except you—you stand in the kitchen all day and I know you sample everything. I don’t know how you keep from getting fat.”

“I clean a lot,” he said. “I lift weights—but not as much with two kids.”

“Yeah, well, you have a lot of muscle, and that eats up calories. Women don’t have that kind of muscle, John. You have to stop using so much cream and butter, that sort of thing. It’s unhealthy anyway—not good for weight, cholesterol and blood pressure, not good for the heart. Make some salads, more vegetables not swimming in butter. I can’t be the only person in this town who’s getting fat on your food.”

“Salads?” he said. “I don’t usually make a lot of salads.”

“I know this,” she said wearily. “But we need to make a couple of changes. Just minor changes. Buy some low-fat, whole-wheat bread for sandwiches. Don’t do pastas, breads and potatoes at every meal. Make salads, stock fresh fruit.”

“There’s plenty of fruit around here,” he said.

“Yeah, and it’s all in the pies.”

“You have pie almost every day,” he pointed out. “You love my pies. You more than anyone, I think.”

She scowled, then grimaced. “I’m going to stop doing
that. Listen, can you make some lighter meals available, please? Or else I’m not going to be able to eat here all the time. I’ll have to pack a lunch, make my own dinner at home. This madness has to stop. I can’t keep gaining weight like this. I am not going to be fat!”

Preacher tilted his head. “Jack complaining about the way you look?” he asked cautiously.

“Of course not,” she said in frustration. “He thinks I’m perfect.”

“Well, there you go.”

“John, I don’t think you’re paying attention here. I have to go on a diet. You want me to write down what I need?”

“No,” he said unhappily. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Thanks. That’s all I wanted. I need a little help here, that’s all.”

“We want you happy,” he said, caution in every word.

“It would make me happy.” She slipped off the stool. “Thanks, that’s all I wanted to talk to you about.”

After she left, Preacher stood in his kitchen for a long time, thinking. Then he went out back where the men were at work. He spotted Jack standing in what used to be his bedroom, talking with Paul. They both wore hard hats while Preacher’s head was bare. He waited. Finally Paul and Jack turned to look at him and Paul sighed and shook his head dismally; he took two giant steps away, grabbing a hard hat and handing it to Preacher.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Paul said. “You don’t come out here without protection for your head.”

“Yeah, right,” Preacher said, putting it on. Too small, it sat high on his head.

“You have the biggest head out here,” Paul said. “We’re framing the second story. You’re an accident waiting to happen.”

“Yeah, I get it. Listen,” Preacher said, turning his attention on Jack, “Mel was just here. She’s complaining about the food.”

“Huh?” Jack answered. “Mel?”

“Yeah. She says my food is making her fat.”

Jack chuckled. “Oh, that. Yeah, she’s making noises about that. Don’t worry about it.”

“She didn’t make it sound like I shouldn’t worry about it. She was pretty much loaded for bear.”

“She had two babies in fourteen months, plus a hysterectomy. And—she doesn’t like to be reminded about this—she’s getting older in spite of herself. Women get a little thicker. You know.”

“How do you know that?”

“Four sisters,” Jack said. “It’s all women ever worry about—the size of their butts and boobs. And thighs—thighs come up a lot.”

“She yelled at me,” he said, still kind of startled. Paul laughed and Jack just shook his head. “Did you tell her that?” Preacher asked. “About women getting thicker with age?”

“Do I look like I have a death wish? Besides, I don’t think she’s getting fat—but my opinion about that doesn’t count for much.”

“She wants salads. And fresh fruit.”

“How hard is that?” Jack asked.

“Not hard,” Preacher said with a shrug. “But I don’t stuff that pie down her neck every day.”

A sputter of laughter escaped Paul, and Jack said, “You’re gonna want to watch that, Preach.”

“She wants me to use less butter and cream, take a few calories out of my food. Jack, it isn’t going to taste as good that way. You can’t make sauces and gravies without cream, butter, fat, flour. People love that stuff, salmon in
dill sauce, fettuccine Alfredo, stuffed trout, brisket and garlic mash. Stews with thick gravy. People come a long way for my food.”

“Yeah, I know, Preach. You don’t have to change everything—but make Mel a little something, huh? A salad, a broiled chicken breast, fish without the cream sauce, that kind of thing. You know what to do. Right?”

“Of course. You don’t think she wants everyone in this town on a diet? Because she says it’s not healthy, the way I cook.”

“Nah. This is a phase, I think. But if you don’t want to hear any more about it, just give her lettuce.” He grinned. “And an apple instead of the pie.”

Preacher shook his head. “See, I think no matter what she says, that’s going to make her pissy.”

“She said it’s what she wants, right?”

“Right.”

“May the force be with you,” Jack said with a grin.

T
he first couple of weeks in Virgin River, Shelby had to make some adjustments she hadn’t expected. At the Booth household she was part of a family—an active, busy, very present family in which she was the fifth member. It was a new experience.

When Tom came home from boot camp shortly after her arrival, for ten days of leave before going to West Point, the family grew again. Vanni and Paul brought the baby into their room and Shelby took the combination guest room/nursery so Tom could have his room back. And, if Tom wasn’t missing from the household, his girlfriend, Brenda, was present with him—they were inseparable. The Booth house was spacious, but Shelby felt they were packed in like sardines. She was used to having a lot of space in her tiny Bodega Bay house with just her mother. Periods of solitude. Quiet. There was no solitude now unless she went for a ride. And invariably, someone wanted to go with her.

There was a new development that took Shelby by complete surprise; she never even smelled it in the wind. Vanni whispered it to Shelby one night when Tommy was
with Brenda and Walt was heading out the door. He said he was going for a beer, but Vanni said, “Beer, my eye. I’ll bet he’s going over to see Muriel and that beer takes a long time to drink. We won’t see him for dinner.” Then she winked. “Daddy’s got a woman.”

“No way!” Shelby said.

“Believe me,” Vanni grinned. “I suspected they were getting to be more than just neighbors, but then you arrived and Tom came home on leave, and he’s been sticking around a lot.”

“Do you know her?”

Vanni smiled. “Ever see that movie
Never Too Late?
”

“Yeah,” Shelby said, perplexed. “I
loved
that movie.”

“Muriel St. Claire. She played the new divorcée.”

Shelby gasped. “She’s
here?
”

“She bought the ranch downriver a little over a mile. She retired to Virgin River, is done making movies and is restoring the house herself. I’ve only seen Muriel and Dad in the same room three times—they’re playing it real cool. But let me tell you—their eyes twinkle when they’re together. I’ve asked Dad if we can have her to dinner soon and he says he doesn’t mind an evening away from the house now and then. He also says there’s plenty of time for that. I think he’s trying to keep her to himself. I’d bet my life something hot’s going on there, but neither of them will fess up. The second I ask questions, he clams right up.”

“Uncle Walt has a
woman?
” Shelby asked in shock. “A famous
actress?
”

“Well, it took him a long enough. I don’t think it even crossed his mind after my mother died, five years ago. It’s high time. Everyone needs someone. Age certainly has nothing to do with it. But I wish they’d loosen up. I’d like to hear about all the famous people she knows.”

Now they all had a special someone, her young cousin, even her Uncle Walt.

As a teenager, Shelby had been in most ways a typical girl, if a little on the shy side. She got good grades, had girlfriends, was active in school activities. She’d had a nice little part-time job at the library after school and had even gone through a few boyfriends. She went to games, slumber parties, dances. Her friends tended to run in a pack more often than as dating couples; some had high-school boyfriends who were serious, but most of them, including Shelby, were damn happy if they had dates to the homecoming dance or the prom.

She might’ve been a little more cautious than the average teenage girl—her mom had been very honest about her accidental pregnancy at the age of eighteen, her short marriage that had become a nonevent as she was divorced when Shelby was just a baby. No way Shelby was letting something like that happen to her. She knew she’d be a late bloomer.

She hadn’t thought it would be quite this late….

Shelby was only nineteen when the life typical of a girl her age halted and a whole new set of responsibilities took over. Uncle Walt had been more than willing to cover the cost of nursing-home care for his sister, but Shelby had said, “This isn’t going to be an issue for long. In fact, much sooner than I like to think about, she’ll be gone. She gave me her whole adult life, always putting me first. If I don’t give her a few years of mine, the rest of my life won’t matter a damn.”

Then it was over and time to think about what was ahead for her. Before Vanni had even uttered those words about Uncle Walt, Shelby had been thinking, I want to join the ranks of women my age, women who are my friends, both old and new, and have what they have—the relation
ship building, romantic and physical love, idealism and passion and even the struggles. She wanted all of it. She was due. She wanted to be
whole.

She wanted a
man.

Walt gave a couple of taps on Muriel’s guesthouse door, then pushed it open. Muriel had fixed up the old bunkhouse to live in while she worked on the larger house. Unlike most of the times he called on her, finding her in her work clothes and waiting for him to arrive before cleaning up, she was not only showered and changed, but had set a small table with plates and utensils and a candle in the middle. He smiled and handed her a sack of takeout from Jack’s bar, then bent to scratch behind the ears of two excited Labs, Luce and Buff. “Looks like a celebration,” he said, indicating the table.

“It is. I finished the floors upstairs. One coat of paint in the bedroom and hall and I could live there if I wanted to. And yesterday I bought a pie safe for the dining room. I found it up near Arcata at this little antique shop. It’s big—I can’t get it out of the truck bed, so I parked it in the barn. Maybe you’ll help me tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

She looked in the sack. “What is it?”

“Brisket, steamed red potatoes, green and wax beans.”

She inhaled. “Pie?”

“Of course pie.”

“Where did you tell your daughter and your niece you were going?” she asked, tilting her head and smiling at him.

“I told them I was going out for a beer,” he answered. And grinned.

“Walt,” she admonished. “Don’t you think you’re hav
ing a little too much fun with this? I bet you’re not fooling anyone. Besides, I’m not sure how I feel about being hidden like this.”

He got a startled expression on his face. “Muriel, I’m not hiding you. Not at all! And I did have a beer, while I waited for the food.”

“Then why haven’t you invited me to dinner with the family?”

“You want to come over for dinner?”

“Walt, I’m not going to let you get away with this. Remember, I know what I’m doing, I know about men. You’re not moving forward, you’re not backing off. I’m more than happy to be your good friend, as long as nothing’s wrong.”

He looked down briefly. “All right,” he said uneasily. “You caught me. I’m enjoying the hell out of this, Muriel. The riding, the dinners here with you, even when I’m helping you paint or sand or move furniture. But…I’m waiting for you to say something very Hollywood to me, like, I find romantic relationships pedestrian and beneath me. And I’m dreading it.”

She laughed at him. “What’s this? Isn’t this a relationship? And I’m enjoying it, too. Besides, that’s not what they say in Hollywood.”

“What do they say?”

“Well, it’s almost always in newsprint, right near the grocery checkout stand, and it usually sounds something like, St. Claire Caught In Sordid Affair. Or, St. Claire’s Husband Seen With Swimsuit Model. Or hooker.” She shrugged. “Or something equally gauche.” But he had such a soft expression on his hard, handsome face, it startled her eyes open wide. She put the take-out sack on the table and her hands on her hips. “Oh Jesus, you think
I’m letting you come over and pester me all the time because you’re the only available man in my age group!”

He lifted one black bushy brow. “But am I?”

“That’s so irrelevant! Chasing a good-looking thirty-year-old was
never
beneath me!”

She made him laugh. That was the linchpin—she always made him laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me. Not that there are many of those, either.”

“Walt, for God’s sake, I have my own transportation if Virgin River isn’t amusing enough for me.” She stalked over to him, put her arms on his shoulders, got up on her toes and laid a lip-lock on him that shocked his eyebrows up high and his eyes round. But she kept at him until he finally put his big arms around her slim body, pulled her hard against him, let his lips open, opened hers and experienced, for the first time since they met almost three months ago, a wholly passionate, wet, deep kiss. It was
fantastic.
Delicious. And long. When he finally relaxed his arms a bit, she pulled back and gave him a whack in the chest. “Now stop being a fool or you’re going to mess this up. I’ll come to dinner Friday night. You cook. I’ll bring wine.”

“Okay, fine,” he said a little breathlessly. “Dinner. With the family.”

“
Not
because I’m getting ready to propose, but because I’d like to know your family. And more to the point, they’d like to know me, to be sure you’re in no danger.” She went to the sack and began removing cartons, placing them on the table.

“Do you suppose we’ll be doing that again?” he asked. “That kind of kissing?”

“Beats the hell out of those little pecks and pats, don’t you think?” she asked.

“I have to agree with that, yes,” he answered. Leave it
to some aging starlet to bring a tough old general to his knees. In fact, he thought he felt his knees wobbling and a slight vibration under his skin. Given a little more time, he was going to feel something else; something he didn’t feel all that often, but often enough to know it still worked.

“Maybe after brisket. I’m a little annoyed with you at the moment.”

“Shame,” he said. “I’m completely happy with you.”

“I shouldn’t have to make the first move,” she complained. “Jesus. Men. They’re either too ambitious or not ambitious enough.” Her phone rang and she said, “Excuse me one second.”

He listened to her side of the conversation. “Hmm…Well, much as I appreciate you keeping me in mind, it would take something monumental to pull me back into films…. A year from now? We’ll see what you have a year from now, Mason. But really, I’m not going back to Los Angeles for some shitty little supporting role in a B movie—I’m having too much fun. And I have horses and dogs—they don’t transport all that easily. No, it’s not about the horses and dogs, it’s about being
retired
from acting, and not convinced you have a worthwhile project where I’m concerned. Fine, fine—send the script and I’ll look at it, but I highly doubt it’s going to change my mind, so be prepared for that. Yes, Mason—you, too.” She hung up.

Walt had an unpleasant look on his face. “You mind if I ask…”

“Mason. My agent.”

“And ex-husband? Fifteen years older than you? Isn’t he getting close to retirement himself…at seventy-one?”

“You’d never know it. The man’s going to be dancing on my grave.”

“Trying to get you to come back?” Walt asked.

“Trying to get me to
work.
And I’m not inclined to do that….” She looked at Walt and for just a second frowned at his frown. Then she laughed. “Oh, Walt, are you worried? Relax. He calls almost every day. He sends scripts sometimes—nothing but junk. But Mason has always been one to throw everything he has at the wall to see what sticks.” She walked up against him and rubbed her hands over his chest. “Really, he’d have to come at me with something as good as
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
or
Gone with the Wind
to even get my attention.” She smiled at him. “Now, can we please have some of Preacher’s brisket? You’ve been a little high maintenance tonight. Not like you. And I’m starving!”

He ran his big rough hands through her soft blond hair. “You’re starving? When we met, you didn’t eat anything but celery and hummus.”

“Yeah, I know. And hanging out with you is starting to show on my rump.”

“Looks damn fine to me, Muriel. Light the candle and load up your plate.” And he smiled.

A few days later, Vanessa and Shelby were in a fever of excitement as they tidied the house for their famous dinner guest. They would have her captive, to ask all the movie-star questions they were kicking around, trying them out on each other. They wanted the scoop, but didn’t want to be a tabloidlike invasive. Of course, they wanted to know things like, who was the sexiest man you ever slept with?

“You can’t ask that!” Shelby said with a gasp.

“Of course not,” Vanessa agreed. “Try to think if there’s a way to ask her which big Hollywood hunk turned out to be the biggest dud?”

Giggles erupted from both of them.

Walt listened to a lot of this from the kitchen. He had insisted he was cooking—it was what he had promised Muriel. And he found himself wondering about the answer to those questions, himself. Vanessa and Shelby shouldn’t ask, but given time, he might.

Tom, who had only a couple more days of leave before West Point, brought Brenda. They arrived just minutes before Muriel, and once Brenda got with Vanni and Shelby, the level of excitement rose again.

When Muriel stepped into his house, she handed over two bottles of wine. Then she turned to find herself being stared down by three very expectant, excited, flushed female faces. She laughed. “Well, now, before you get started, I don’t kiss and tell.”

Three pair of cheeks flamed, but they also melted into laughter.

Things went easy after that. They sat together at the big dining-room table and had wine and hors d’oeuvres and Hollywood questions. Vanni, Brenda and Shelby could give as good as they got—they shared all the Virgin River gossip from as far back as they could remember or had heard. The thing was, if these young women had been true stargazers, they would know that Muriel only told stories that had already been reported and were common knowledge. She was crafty—she’d been down this road before. Her lifestyle was fantasy for the civilians. But she was being completely honest, she didn’t kiss and tell. She knew things the
Enquirer
would pay good money for. It was in the vault of her memory.