Wild About the Wrangler (23 page)

This offer from Kathryn validated her using family resources to go to art school because she might have a chance to help Georgie. She'd thought settling down in Bickford would satisfy her, but now that something spectacular had been dangled in front of her, she wasn't sure anymore. She hadn't acknowledged that she craved a bigger canvas, but there it was. She had ambition, after all.

Yet every time she thought about explaining that to Mac, her chest ached. She wanted to talk to Georgie and get her opinion, but a stream of people wanting portraits prevented her from escaping to make a phone call. Before she knew it, Mac walked into Sadie's and straight over to her table.

His smile was tender. “How's it going?”

“Busy.” She looked into his warm gaze and couldn't imagine ever leaving. “And we have to talk.”

Instantly his expression grew alert. “Okay. Ready to go?”

“Sure.” She quickly packed up her things and walked out with him as curious stares followed their progress. She could feel it. But that wasn't her biggest concern now. She had more to worry about than public opinion.

He helped her into his truck and started the engine. “What's up?”

“Let's get my suitcase and head to your house first.”

“You still want to do that?”

“Yes, I do.” She wanted his counsel and his strong arms. Ironically, she was thinking of giving up both, so he had a right to know that before they fell into bed again.

When she went in to get her suitcase, she stopped in the doorway to the parlor.

As usual, her mother was watching the big-screen TV and eating her microwaved dinner, but she glanced up at Anastasia. “Where are you going?”

“I'm spending the weekend with Mac Foster.”

Her mother frowned in disapproval. “From what I gather, he doesn't have much to offer.”

“As a matter of fact, he has a whole lot to offer, but for now we're just enjoying each other's company. Nothing serious.”

“Let's hope not.” And her mother returned her attention to the television.

At one time Anastasia would have challenged that dismissive statement, but these days she realized how deep her mother's prejudices ran. For whatever reason, Evelyn Bickford was extremely damaged and narcissistic, and nothing would change her at this stage. “See you later, then.”

Her mother waved absently.

Nothing to lose there if she moved to California, she thought as she rolled the suitcase out the doorway. Mac had climbed the porch steps and took it from her. She hoped he hadn't heard that interchange.

He stowed the suitcase behind her seat and helped her back in. “Your mother doesn't approve of me.”

So he'd heard it. “She doesn't approve of anyone who doesn't earn seven figures.”

He paused before closing the door. “That doesn't bother me in the least, but just so you know, I've never considered myself your ideal match. Earning seven figures has nothing to do with that, though. Buckle up.” He swung the door closed.

After he climbed into the driver's seat, she turned to him. “Why don't you consider yourself my ideal match? Ida does.”

“She does, huh?” Smiling, he started the engine and pulled away from the house. “When did she make this particular statement?”

“This afternoon. Word leaked out, as we both knew it would, that I was staying with you this weekend, so she had to let me know what a great idea that was. Disloyal as this may seem, I put more faith in Ida's opinion than in my mother's.”

He laughed. “Thanks, but Ida's a starry-eyed idealist. Your mother is right. You can do a lot better than me.”

“I disagree.”

“Is that what we need to talk about? Ida's opinion versus your mother's? Because I can think of better ways to spend our time.”

Heat surged through her. “So can I, and, no, that's not the issue on the table.”

“How long do I have to wait for this discussion?”

“I figured we could talk about it over dinner.”

“The meal's in the oven but it won't be done for a little bit. How about if we grab a couple of beers and sit on the porch swing for a while?”

“That sounds great.” As she glanced over at his strong profile, she realized how tough this decision was going to be. Sitting on the porch swing with Mac on a fall evening sounded cozy. She couldn't expect porch swings if she moved to L.A. Maybe it wouldn't matter. She wouldn't have Mac to share them with, either.

M
ac had an uneasy feeling about this news of Anastasia's, but he told himself he was being paranoid as they settled into the porch swing with their beers. He wrapped his free arm around her to pull her close against his hip, and she nestled against him. “I'd kiss you hello,” he said, “except I know where that would lead. We'd never get around to this thing we need to talk about.”

“Probably not.” She sighed. “So here's what happened. A woman came into Sadie's today. She works for Ryan Nesbitt, the one who borrowed Travis's hat to have his portrait done. She offered me a job as an artist with their production company. In Hollywood.”

The bottom dropped out of his world. And damn it, he couldn't,
wouldn't
let on. “That's fantastic!” He turned so he was facing her. “What an opportunity! You're taking it, right?”

She met his gaze, her expression solemn. “I don't know.”

“Sure you do. This is your big chance and you'll set that town on its ear. I'll have to start going to the movies more often so I can see your name scroll past in the credits.” He'd known this moment would come. He just hadn't expected it to happen the very day they'd made love for the first time, the day he'd discovered he was
in
love.

“I know it's a great opportunity and I knew you'd react this way because you've always been so supportive of me and my career. But . . . I don't know if I can give up my peaceful life here. I don't know if I can give up . . .” She swallowed. “You.”

“Anastasia.” Taking her beer and his, he set them on the porch floor. Then he took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “You have an incredible talent and this is added proof. My God, Hollywood came to your door.”

“I know, but—”

“That's huge. We both know you're not destined to hide away in Bickford while you sketch portraits in the corner of a saloon and draw posters for your sister's trail-riding business. Over there you'll make so many good contacts. You'll be hanging out with people like you—well, in your league, anyway. There is no one
like
you.”

She took another breath. “I do feel kind of excited when I think about working over there, but there's Georgie, who's going to have a baby, and you and I . . . We just got started.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “It's so wonderful being with you.” She laced her fingers through his and looked up at him. “I don't want to go to L.A. if it means you and I . . . that we . . .”

Misery created by selfish emotions squeezed his chest, but he refused to give in to them. “I'm flattered more than I can say, but let's put this into perspective. When I showed up, datable guys weren't thick on the ground, so I probably looked pretty good to you, but I've never kidded myself that I'm your be-all and end-all. Your future isn't in Bickford.”

“If you asked me to stay, I would.”

She'd never know how tempting that was. “I won't ask. It wouldn't be fair to you.” And he wouldn't try to hold on to her through some kind of long-distance relationship, either. She could meet her artistic soul mate in L.A. and he didn't want her to turn away from anybody because she'd made a commitment to him.

Her gaze searched his. “So you really think I should take the job?”

“Of course. Have you told Georgie?”

“Not yet. There really wasn't time to call her.”

“I know you want to be around when her baby's born, but I can guarantee she'll be eager for you to accept the offer. How soon would you start?” He braced himself for the answer.

“First I need to visit, get a feel for the place, and meet the people I'd be working with. Obviously I can't go this week because of all the preparations for Vince and Georgie's wedding. Kathryn offered to fly me over next Sunday and then fly me back here Wednesday night so I'll be here when the film crew arrives. After that's over . . . I'd leave for L.A.”

Theoretically he had mere days left with her. “That's her name? Kathryn?”

“Kathryn Abernathy. She arrived in Texas early this morning and is leaving tonight on the red-eye.”

“All so she could make you a job offer.” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “I'll bet they don't usually take that much trouble.”

“I don't know. Apparently she and Ryan were impressed with my
nimble talent
, whatever that means.”

“I know exactly what it means. You're like a sunbeam that dances around and makes everything you touch look brighter and more beautiful.”

She smiled. “That's very poetic.”

“Nah. Just the truth.”

“I don't know how a girl's supposed to walk away from a guy who describes her as a sunbeam. Nobody's ever said something like that to me before.”

He couldn't let her go down that road. “That's because you've spent most of your time in Bickford. See what happens when you get to Tinsel Town. Guys will come up with way better compliments than that.”

“But they might not mean them as sincerely as you do.” Warmth shone in her eyes.

“Oh, I think they will. You're a charmer, Anastasia Bickford.” He looked at her in the soft glow of twilight and knew he was going to remember this bittersweet moment for a long time. “And the world's waiting for you.”

“Why do you have to be so noble?”

Because I love you.
“It's not noble. It's realistic. If I tried to keep you from leaving, you'd eventually get restless and might resent the fact I'd encouraged you to stay. There's not enough of a challenge for you here.”

“Mac, I—”

“I think the food's ready.” Another few seconds and he was liable to kiss her, which wouldn't help the situation. Giving her hand a squeeze, he released it so he could pick up their beer bottles. “We might as well take these in and drink them with dinner.” He ushered her back into the house.

“I'm trying to remember if a man has ever made me dinner.” She walked into the living room. “I mean, besides Henry, and that's his job. I think this is a first.”

“But no pressure, right?”

“None. I'm not a picky eater.”

“Good thing. Go straight ahead and you'll end up in my kitchen. I don't have a dining room.”

“You don't need one. I like this house, Mac. It has good bones, as they say.”

“I'll like it better once the carpet's gone.” He'd be working a
lot
on his house this winter. It could well be his saving grace after she left town.

She gestured around the living room. “Just look at this! You have a great rock fireplace and awesome beamed ceilings. Your house has an Old West feel that speaks to me.”

“Me, too.” He realized that she was his first official guest, and she was reacting exactly the way he had to the house when he'd first looked at it. “I'm a cowboy, after all.”

“Yes, you are, and I like that in a guy.” She walked into his kitchen and sniffed. “Lasagna?”

“Bingo.”

She turned to him. “You must have noticed me ordering it a lot at Sadie's.”

Of course he had. He'd noticed everything about her. “Fortunately it's something I know how to fix and I could put it in the oven before picking you up.” It was one of his favorite meals.

As closely as he'd observed her over the past few months, he'd never admitted to himself how often they agreed on things. He had to encourage her to take that job, but damn, she was everything he'd ever dreamed of. He couldn't assume that he was everything she'd ever dreamed of, though. Some guy in L.A. might be perfect for her.

“Can I do anything?”

“Nope. Just take a seat.” He brought over the lasagna pan and a bowl of tossed salad with bottled dressing and set them on the small wooden table. He only had two chairs, but that was enough. “Want some water?”

“No, this is great. Sit down.” She took a deep breath. “The food smells delicious and I'm starving.”

The simple act of breathing, which lifted her breasts and made him aware of her cleavage, was all it took. He was ready to abandon the meal and drag her into his bedroom. He would not. As she'd instructed, he sat down and picked up his beer. “We should toast your job offer.”

“Maybe I'll hate L.A. and come straight home.”

“No, you won't.” He lifted his bottle. “To doors opening.”

She touched her bottle to his. “To everything that's made that possible.” She drank and put down her beer. “If you three hadn't come to town last spring, we wouldn't have a revitalized economy, and I wouldn't have started drawing again. You were my first inspiration, the portrait I simply had to get down on paper.”

He sipped his beer. “Right place, right time.”

“You think I'll go off to Hollywood and forget all about you, but I won't.”

“Okay.”

“You don't believe me, but it's the truth. I won't forget you.” Breaking eye contact, she tucked into the lasagna and moaned in appreciation.

Predictably, that moan had an effect on him, so he concentrated on his meal and controlled his reaction. “We should probably talk about our planned ride into the canyon Sunday afternoon. Do you still want to? Is it important anymore?”

She swallowed quickly. “Damn right it is. Do you think this changes my focus?”

“Of course it does. Georgie's wedding is a priority, but maybe going out to see a wild stallion doesn't make so much sense now.”

“Are you kidding? I've changed my sleep patterns and fought my demons so that I can ride Jasper into the canyon to see the Ghost. Hollywood or no Hollywood, I'll by God have a personal sighting with the sketches to prove it!”

He smiled. “Good to know.”

“In fact, if I take this job, I don't want to abandon Wild Horse Canyon Adventures. I won't be able to do the portraits in Sadie's anymore, but I'd like to keep supplying sketches of the Ghost if I have time.”

“You might not have time. How about signed and numbered prints?”

She paused, her fork in midair. “Prints. That's the obvious answer, and I didn't think of it because only well-known artists sell numbered prints. I didn't put myself in that category.”

“You'd better start putting yourself there.” Her comment told him what he'd suspected all along. She didn't yet grasp how her life had changed. She definitely needed to go into this job with nothing and nobody tying her down.

“If I'm going to consider doing prints, the trip to see the Ghost is even more important. I'm not making multiple copies of work I consider fraudulent. But the sketch I do after I've seen him—that one will be worth making into a numbered print.”

“Then I'm glad we're going out there on Sunday.” He glanced at her empty plate. “More lasagna?”

“It was delicious, but I'm saving room for dessert.”

He groaned. “That's what I forgot. I'm sorry, but I don't have anything for dessert.”

She gave him the smoldering look she'd promised earlier in the day. “That's what you think, cowboy.”

Good thing he could take a hint. He left the dishes on the table. He'd deal with them later. Right now he had the great privilege of sharing his bed with Anastasia and that took precedence over everything else.

In the soft light of his bedside lamps, they undressed each other eagerly. They'd made love only hours ago, and yet it seemed so much longer than that. This morning he'd thought they were beginning something special. Now he had to face an ending that was already in sight.

He'd imagined they'd take it slower tonight, but after her announcement about the job, slow wasn't working for him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and he was hot and tight with desire. As the last articles of clothing hit the floor, he pulled her into his arms. “Forgive me, but I just need—”

“Me, too.” Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed against him. “You get the condom. I'll pull back the covers.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

“And a man after mine.” She kissed him hard on the mouth before wiggling out of his arms.

He wasn't after her heart, not really. He didn't want her to fall in love with him because that would make her life more difficult. But as he finished rolling on the condom and climbed into bed with her, he looked into her eyes and discovered an emotion that made his breath hitch.

She didn't try to hide it, either. Apparently she didn't care if he knew. By all rights he should glance away. A smart man would break the connection before she caught on that he was in the same boat. But he couldn't seem to do that.

Instead he held her gaze as he moved over her and nestled between her thighs. Poised for that first thrust, he took a steadying breath. Her expression grew even more radiant and her smile trembled as she caressed the tense muscles of his back.

Somehow he knew she wouldn't say the words, just as he wouldn't. But they were there in her eyes and surely in his, too. Slowly he eased forward, saying with his body what he dared not speak out loud.

She rose to meet him in a gesture of sweet welcome. Dear God, how he loved her. The words pushed at his throat, but he swallowed them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

At least he was here, moving in tandem with her as they created a rhythm that was ageless yet uniquely theirs. It had to be enough. He watched her eyes darken and heard her breathing change. Her fingertips flexed against his skin and deep within her moist body, her muscles clenched.

Taking his cue, he stroked faster. Her lips parted and she began to pant, yet her gaze never left his. Another spasm rippled over his cock. She was about to come. And so . . . ah, yes . . . so was he.

“Mac!”

“I'm here.” He pumped faster. “I'm here!”

Arching against him, she came in a glorious rush. He pushed deeper, bellowing in triumph as he surrendered to the pulsing heat, the incredible joy . . . and the love.