Every Breath She Takes (15 page)

Marlena strode off. Cal grabbed Lauren’s arm before she could follow suit.

“Don’t go. I’ve got an hour before I have to start tacking up horses.” He relaxed his grip to caress the sensitive skin at the crook of her elbow. “Maybe we could put it to good use?”

Lauren suppressed a groan at the leap of need. It wasn’t fair that he could call up so much desire in her with that tiny stroke of a thumb. And it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t stay here and luxuriate in it. Their time would be so short…

“I’m sorry, Cal, I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” He pulled her around to face him, toe to toe. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. About us.”

She trembled. “Me too.”

“I want to peel your clothes off real slow, in the full light of day. And every inch I uncover, I want to taste.” He leaned his forehead on hers, as shaky as she was.

“Oh God, that sounds good.” She sagged against him, inhaling the clean scent of aftershave and man, knowing suddenly that she’d remember the smell of him as long as she lived. Then she remembered Marlena and jerked away. “But it’ll have to wait. Come see me after supper.”

With that, she spun and hurried off toward the stables before she—or
he
—could change her mind.

She passed a miserable afternoon. True to her promise, Marlena rode hard. It was all Lauren could do to keep up, even with the faster mount, a blue roan gelding named Prince.

Then they began to encounter streams crisscrossing the grassland, and the pace slowed, giving Lauren more time to think. She’d overheard the tail end of Cal and Marlena’s conversation as she’d stood outside the shed, eavesdropping guiltily. Cal had asked Marlena to take it easy on Brady. Was there any particular reason he’d made that request? Was it just because Brady was young and potentially more likely to confuse lust with love than an older man might? Or was there some other reason? Was there something about young Brady that made him…fragile? Did he have a history of mental health issues?

The thought sent a chill through her.

As did the realization that she was having a hard time getting a bead on Brady. From the start, she’d had a pronounced physiological reaction to seeing him with Marlena, but she’d attributed that completely to the way he’d been introduced to her the morning that the four of them had headed off into the bush. The shock of seeing Marlena for the first time and realizing that she was Cal’s ex-wife, and then immediately realizing Brady was Marlena’s lover and thinking about all the potential for jealousy…Since then, though, every interaction she’d had with Brady had persuaded her that he was a harmless, nice boy. And yet some hangover from the emotion of that first day continued to color her reaction to him. Or at least that’s what she’d assumed her disquiet stemmed from.

And now, after Cal’s warning to Marlena…well, she’d really have to try to separate herself from that memory and analyze her reactions to Brady in his own right.

She chewed her lip. She could always ask Cal what he’d meant. Of course, then she’d have to admit that she’d been listening in on his conversation with Marlena, which she didn’t really relish doing. No one liked an eavesdropper.

Maybe Delia could fill her in on Brady. Except it seemed Delia headed the other way these days when she saw her coming.
Lauren grimaced. She couldn’t blame her. She’d probably had it up to here with the twenty questions about everyone who set foot on the guest ranch. Nobody liked a gossip either.

Okay, she could fire up her laptop again and try her hand at online research. Her cottage was equipped with Internet, but it was the rural satellite variety. Basically not dial-up slow but pretty excruciatingly sluggish when you were used to fiber-op.

She knew that because she’d used her computer this morning to Google Cal. After he’d told her about his rodeo success, she couldn’t resist. And she’d been blown away by what she’d found. He’d had fan sites, for God’s sake! And short videos on YouTube. After the first one, she couldn’t bear to look at the others, even if she could have borne how slowly they loaded.

She’d Googled Zane Taggart too, but all she’d found was a genealogy chart someone had done about fifteen years ago, with a short branch for Zane Edward Taggart and Julia Elizabeth (nee Pringle) Taggart, and terminating with Callum Edward Taggart.

She’d checked in on her e-mail while she was at it. Peter was managing her practice just fine, according to Heather. And yes, her dogs, Gabe and Cissy, were doing great in the kennel. Her clinic was boarding a black lab that got along well with the both of them, and Heather was personally walking them every day. On the home front, her mother sent news that one of Lauren’s high school friends was getting married (her mother’s wistful tone had given her a pang). Lauren’s best friend Kaylee DeGrace sent her hot pictures of Alex O’Laughlin and commanded her to get her butt home soon because she missed their Friday night happy hours at the pub. And from Danielle, of course, icy silence. Lauren still hadn’t called her, so she couldn’t blame her sister.

Yes, that’s what she’d do. Research Brady on the Internet. And while she was at it, now that she knew most of the ranch hands by name, she’d research them as well. There must be a local paper. Maybe she could get into the archives and see if anyone had been in the court briefs. And yes, she’d check on Harvey
McLeod. Something told her there’d be lots on Harvey, but she suspected it would be a carefully managed public persona. Money had a way of ensuring that.

Yes, she’d research them all the best she could, as well as any guests that seemed likely candidates in terms of height and carriage or who registered on her gut instinct meter. But frankly, the surest method was probably to do just as she was doing right now—dogging Marlena’s steps to make sure she didn’t wind up at Sunset Ridge alone come sundown.

Lauren was hauled out of her reverie when the other riders stopped shortly after they’d forded another small stream. She reined in Prince.

“There’s a swimming hole just around that bend,” Marlena announced. “Could you stay here and keep an eye on the horses while Brady and I go for a swim?”

Lauren had a good idea what “swimming” meant, particularly as neither of them had a bathing suit on them. “Of course.”

Though neither Marlena nor Brady had complained, Lauren knew she was very much a fifth wheel. Lauren rewarded their civility by pretending to doze under a tree while the horses grazed.

Being an unwelcome chaperone wasn’t the biggest of her miseries. No, her biggest preoccupation was the frustration that pulsed in her blood. She could be in Cal’s arms right now, making slow, soul-stirring love with him. She’d felt like she was being torn in two back there when he’d implored her to stay.

This is why you were supposed to steer clear of him
. How could she protect Marlena when her senses were filled with Cal?

With discipline
, she answered her own question.
Just like you showed today.

A less manic Marlena led the trek back to the ranch. By the time they got there, the sun was already riding the horizon. Marlena was safe for another day. Cal would be steering the guests back right about now, which meant he was almost home.
She’d have time while the guests rubbed down their mounts to squeeze in a bath before slipping into one of the dresses she’d brought with her. A simple black wraparound affair, it looked great on her. It also had the added advantage of being easy to get out of.

Twenty minutes later, freshly bathed and moisturized, hair dried and awesome black dress on, Lauren was still waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Eventually hunger drove her up to the house, where Delia made her some sandwiches and a carafe of tea to take back to her cabin. She pecked at her food, her nerves jumping with excitement. Cal would be along any time. Any minute she’d hear his boots on the wooden porch, his soft knock at her door. Any minute she’d be hurling herself into his arms.

Except the minutes turned into hours, the anticipation into crushing disappointment. When the hands on the old clock showed nine, she accepted the inconceivable. He wasn’t coming.

After all that passed between them last night, he wasn’t coming.
She leapt to her feet. How could he do this to her?

That’s probably what he thought when you went after Marlena.

The thought had her sinking back on the sofa. Is this how he’d felt? Deflated? Confused? Hurt?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

She marched up the path to the main house and found Delia.

“I need to talk to Cal. Where can I find him?”

“Try downstairs. I think he’s in the bar with the boys.”

Lauren had no trouble finding the place; once she got downstairs, she just followed the mournful voice of The Cowboy Junkies’ Margo Timmins caressing an old Hank Williams tune. The “bar” was neither dark nor overly smoky, but she supposed it approximated a honky-tonk. A young woman Lauren recognized as a sometime waitress from the dining room stood behind the small bar reading. A handful of men sat on stools watching
football on a wall-mounted TV. A glance told her Cal wasn’t among them. She eyed the other end of the room where a group of men and women crowded around a pool table. She didn’t see him there either.

Then she heard the unmistakable sharp crack of the cue ball breaking racked balls. When the shooter straightened so she could see him over the heads of the small crowd, Lauren’s jaw dropped.
Cal
.

A lit cigarette dangled from his lips as he contemplated his next shot with narrowed eyes. He looked so…different. Yet hadn’t she pictured him like this the first time she’d laid eyes on him? Tonight he exuded a sort of restless, ragged cool that stole her breath away. Whatever it was, it was sexy as hell.

He leaned down to bridge his shot, black shirt stretching taut along his back. Lauren had to crane her neck so as not to lose sight of him. He made the shot. Moving quickly now, he chalked his cue and lined up the next ball. It dropped too. And the next and the next until he’d cleaned the table.

Cheering erupted among the few onlookers. Cal spread his arms, palms up, in a mocking show of acceptance, then removed his cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out. A woman touched his arm and spoke directly into his ear. White hot jealousy shot through Lauren as she watched the other woman with her head so close to Cal’s. Laughing, he pulled away from the woman, tossed his drink back, then headed for the bar. Lauren intersected him.

“Cal.”

“Lauren.” He sidestepped her without missing a beat and spoke to the woman behind the bar. “Another one, Katie.”

The barkeep’s eyes widened, but she took his glass.

“And one for the lady too.” Cal turned to her. “What’ll it be?”

Lauren’s skin chilled as he turned his gaze on her. She’d forgotten how glacial those silver eyes could look.

“I don’t want a drink.”

Katie slipped an old-fashioned glass in front of Cal, who picked it up. It looked like straight whiskey, but he tipped the glass and took a swallow without grimacing.

“So what did you come here for then, if not for a drink?”

His breath fanned her forehead. Yep. Whiskey, all right. Rye whiskey, specifically. “I thought you might come by tonight.”

“I wanted to come by
this afternoon
.” For just a moment, his disaffected air slipped enough to give her a glimpse of the hurt beneath. Then the mask was back in place. He pushed away from the bar to leave, and she clutched his sleeve.

“You’re angry with me.”

He pulled his arm free but didn’t walk away. Neither would he look at her. “I’m angry with myself for getting tied up in knots over something that doesn’t have
you
tied up the same way.”

A savage surge of elation shot through her at his admission. Hard on its heels came confusion. She shouldn’t want him to care so much. But she did. And she owed him similar honesty.

“You don’t think I was torn over this?”

“Torn, yeah. I could tell by the set of your back as you rode away.” He angled a look at Katie, who’d been watching the exchange, and she quickly retreated to the other end of the bar.

Lauren chewed her lip. “I don’t know if I can make you understand…”

“Tell you what. I’ll save you some time and awkwardness. You regret it already. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment, and you don’t want to repeat it but you’re not sure how to tell me.” He swallowed the last of the whiskey and placed the glass on the bar. “Consider me told.”

“No! That’s not it at all.” She laid a hand on his chest to prevent him leaving. “I don’t regret a minute of last night. Maybe I should, but I don’t.”

His heart raced under her palm, disproving his detachment.

“You needed some space, then? That it? I’m crowding you?”

“Of course not.”

He passed a hand over his eyes. “Okay, then it must be that you don’t want anyone to know that we’re involved. You want to keep this strictly an after-dark activity.”

She could have screamed. “I didn’t say any of that. Stop putting words in my mouth. Can’t you just accept that I had to go?”