MATCH MADE IN WYOMING Page 4

  "I tell you what, if you really think the puppy can't stay with Cal, Baby Dog can stay here with us until I can talk sense into Cal."

  "What about Dave's allergy?"

  "Aller—? Oh! Of course! What was I thinking? That just shows how upset this has me. I better go, Taylor. You do what you think best, but give Cal the benefit of the doubt, okay?"

  Halfway from town to the turnoff to the Flying W, snow had started. By the time Taylor had followed the ranch road around the front pasture and past the main house to the cluster of barns, sheds and utility buildings on one side and the foreman's house on the other, it was coming down thick enough to keep the windshield wipers fully occupied.

  She could almost imagine that their rhythm sounded out the word "doubt," over and over.

  Give Cal the benefit of the doubt.

  Well, she sure had plenty of doubt. She wasn't so sure about the benefit

  She climbed out of the car, slung her large bag over her shoulder and pushed the car door to close it. The wind caught it and made it slam. Over the sound, she heard a high-pitched bark from the old, often-patched barn.

  If Cal Ruskoff had left that poor puppy alone in the drafty, cold barn during this weather…

  Potential outrage drove her across the open ground to the single human-sized door set in the barn's wall to the left of the main double doors that could let in wagons and tractors. Inside, the gloom stopped her progress completely and abruptly.

  The strong scent of hay hit her. Another scent reached her, of animals' bodies enclosed in the building.

  Sounds separated into identifiable shiftings of animals, a hoof thudded against wood, a creaking of leather, a rustling among hay, a jangle of harness. And then a short, high yip of greeting.

  She turned toward the yip. Her eyes had adjusted enough that the puppy's white markings were like a beacon from an open stall across the aisle. It took another heartbeat to realize the puppy stood beside Cal Ruskoff, who was adjusting a strap around a horse's head, while he stared right at her.

  He'd obviously seen her the moment she stepped into the barn, but hadn't bothered to acknowledge or greet her.

  "Sin. Sit."

  And the dog did, though only after first yawning hugely and then heaving a theatrical sigh. Sort of obedience on a time delay.

  "Good dog."

  Taylor would have thought she'd heard a thin undercurrent of pride in Cal's voice if she hadn't known better. And then something else he'd said snagged her attention.

  "What did you call him?"

  "Sin." He laid a pad over the horse's back, smoothing it carefully with his palms. He glanced up from his chore and for an instant she thought humor glittered in his eyes.

  "Sin? You named a puppy Sin?"

  She had the niggling feeling she should be defending the animal's innate innocence, but at that moment, the puppy shifted to sitting on one hip, with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, his eyes nearly shut and one ear standing straight up. He looked like the canine version of a loafer lounging outside a pool hall with a cigarette dangling from his lips and squinting against the smoke.

  She choked on a laugh that turned into a cough, and Cal reached out to thump her on the back, while he answered in an aggrieved tone, "Actually, you named him. You're the one who said it fit him."

  "I did?" Her voice reached an octave closer to the rafters as she twisted around to look at him, or maybe to avoid the contact of his broad palm against her back, even through her jacket, sweater, blouse and bra.

  That was a mistake, because it brought their faces close. Too close. His blue eyes were alight with a glint that it took her a moment to recognize as mischief. His mouth – his wonderful mouth with that shadowed spot under his lower lip – quirked up at the corners. He hadn't lowered his back-patting hand, so her pivot had brought it to rest high on her arm. He stroked slowly up over the point of her shoulder and back.

  "Yeah, you said he looked sincere."

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. She sucked in air that suddenly felt as heated as the summer sun. In fact, all around her and even inside her the winter freeze had given way to a sultry warmth.

  She stepped back, two hurried, awkward steps. Reaction flashed across his face, too fast to categorize, then his expression shut down. For another heartbeat and a half he stood still, with his hand suspended in air where her shoulder had been, then he deliberately turned away, reaching for a saddle resting atop the open stall door.

  "Sincere," she repeated, trying to recapture the thread of conversation. "Sin is short for Sincere?"

  "Yup. And now that we've settled the name issue—" he swung the large saddle up and settled its weight with surprising gentleness onto the horse's back "—tell me why you're here."

  "When I heard the puppy bark, I, uh…" It was hard to finish that sentence by saying she'd been worried about the animal's welfare, since he was wagging his tail and practically grinning at her. "Wouldn't he be better off in the house where it's warm. You know he still doesn't have much coat to protect him from the weather."

  "Tell Sin that. Okay," he added to the dog, and the puppy jumped up and made a beeline for her. "He wouldn't stay in the house. Insisted on tagging along."

  The notion that the gangly pup could insist to Cal almost surprised another laugh out of her. She stifled it as she bent down to pet Sincere. Considering what the last laugh had triggered, a second would definitely be ill-advised.

  "But I didn't mean why you're here in the barn," Cal said. "I meant on the Flying W."

  Too late to do much good, she saw with absolute clarity that she was here on a fool's errand. He wasn't fed up with this dog. He wasn't demanding they take the puppy away.

  How on earth has she fallen for Matty's rigmarole? Because she'd been concerned about the puppy, of course. Because part of her wanted to see the man, too? She just hoped that part of her was taking notes on this humiliating lesson so it would mind its own darn business next time.

  "I came to, uh, talk to you."

  He stopped adjusting the saddle and swung his head around to face her. "You chose today to come out here for a chat? Did you happen to notice the weather? I already sent the other hands home."

  "I'm from Ohio. I know how to drive in snow."

  He snorted and resumed his task.

  She clenched her mouth closed to keep from arguing with that snort. The more she tried to defend herself the worse she'd sound. She'd used that tactic in deposing witnesses for the opposition – she wasn't going to be caught in it now.

  She was rewarded when he finally broke the silence. "What's so important that you had to come out here in a snowstorm to talk about?"

  That was the flaw in her case. She wasn't going to tell him Matty's fib – not so much because she didn't want to expose Matty as she feared what believing it might expose about herself.

  And then she remembered the last thing she'd snatched up from her desk and put in her bag as she'd headed out the office door.

  "Snow's not a big deal to me. I thought you should have this information."

  She drew out the folder Lisa had given her and extended it toward him without closing the gap between them. He seemed to consider whether it was worth stopping his tightening of straps to take it, but at last he did.

  He skimmed the papers. "Sin's medical records. Okay. You've officially handed them over."

  "No. wait. There's one more thing – in the envelope. Read it."

  He gave her a look that said he'd do this one more thing, but no more, then he tucked his right hand between his body and his left arm to pull off his work glove so he could draw out the single sheet.

  From where she stood she couldn't make out the specific words in the childish scrawl. She didn't need to. She had it memorized.

  Please take care of Buster. Dad says we can't be feeding him anymore, even though he doesn't eat much. Mom says we don't have room in the car with all our other things. He was the best Christmas present I got ever. I taught Buster to sit
. He likes to be petted and hugged.

  Tommy R.

  Just watching Cal read the simple words that carried a world of heartbreak along with them brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She blinked them back.

  His expression never changing, Cal slowly folded the paper. His hands were big and work roughened, but while one held the folder, be used the other to slide the paper back into the envelope without a hitch.

  He'd fastened the equipment on this horse with the same dexterity. And she knew the power of his hands from New Year's Eve when they'd held her.

  She jerked her mind away from contemplating the skill of Cal Ruskoff's hands.

  "Well?" she prodded when he made no comment on the letter.

  "I thought the dog learned Sit awfully fast."

  No one could be that immune to the child's pain that came through so clearly in that sad note. "Is that all you have to say?"

  "I'm not calling him Buster."

  "That's not the issue. Haven't you known times when money was so tight that you had to give up something you loved, maybe a lot of things you loved?"

  "Can't say I have. You know the phrase 'filthy rich'? It was meant for my family. Rich. And filthy."

  For an instant she was simply stunned that he'd told her something about himself – he'd volunteered it. Adding to her shock was the fact that what he'd volunteered contradicted what she'd supposed was a deprived background for him.

  The next instant she realized he'd sacrificed that bit of information about himself to throw her off the topic of the emotions of the boy Tommy. The realization pushed her to bluntness.

  "Being brought up filthy rich doesn't exempt you from saying something about this note."

  "What do you want me to say?"

  Not even a crack showed in his indifference. She wished she could shake him.

  "You've got the puppy that a little boy loved, even though you tried your best to avoid it. If we could reunite Tommy and his Buster that would be one thing, but we can't. Sheriff Kuerton said he'd put out a call, but he doubted the family could be found with the little we know. Even if the family wasn't just passing through and is long gone, the way the sheriff thinks, I don't know what kind of work we could find the family, or if even having a job would be enough to let Tommy keep his puppy."

  With regret and realism, she shrugged away all the half-formed ideas she'd hatched for finding and helping Tommy, along with the reasons that had forced her at last to see they were impractical.

  "And now, this puppy is getting attached to you. So you've got a responsibility, a duty – a moral obligation – to love this puppy as much as that little boy did. If you don't, you're taking away one more thing from Tommy, even though he'll never know it. The love a child has for a dog is – oh, hell!"

  She spun away, pressing her fingertips to her eyes in vain hopes of holding in the tears before they could trickle down her cheeks where he would see them.

  "Hey … hey…" The soft words were almost a croon as he circled around her, and Cal's hands were gentle as they kneaded her shoulders. They exerted only enough pressure to start her turning toward him. She continued the motion on her own, dropping her hands to her sides.

  But she squeezed her eyelids tight, partly to hold back any more tears, mostly to avoid looking temptation in the face.

  It didn't matter. Temptation whispered to her in the continued kneading of his hands, in the deepening unevenness of his breathing.

  Temptation urged her to draw in smells of hay and horse and dog forming a warm island within the ocean of cold outside, then to breathe in even deeper to capture the scent of the man who brought the warmth closer. Right inside her.

  Temptation stroked her skin as his lips touched her eyelids, first one, then the other, absorbing her tears into his heat.

  She opened her eyes – slowly, because her lashes fluttered against his lingering mouth. Temptation added another sound to the array of assaults on her senses when Cal groaned, low in his throat

  He shifted, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into him and bringing his mouth down on hers with power. Temptation won the battle.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Wishing the bulky coats could melt away, Taylor slid her arms around his neck. At least she could thread her fingers into his hair, find with her fingertips the narrow, vulnerable strip of skin below his hair and above his collar and imprint the texture of his skin on her nerve endings.

  She knew it wasn't wise. She knew the regrets and doubts that had followed her since New Year's would surely gain bigger and badder siblings. But for this one slice of time she didn't care. Temptation had won and it deserved the spoils of battle.

  Deserved the thrust of his tongue into her mouth, its message clearer than words… He changed the angle of the kiss, stroking, seeking. Her tongue met his, a friction glide of desire.

  Deserved the pleasurable bind of being caught between his unyielding chest and his insistent arms… He advanced one leg between hers, pressing her back, slow and relentless. Once, twice, three times. Until her back connected with something even more solid than his arms. This time when he pressed his thigh high between hers there was no way to retreat from the pleasure.

  Deserved the frustration, torment and joy of his unmistakable arousal… He rocked against her. Somehow her coat had come open, and the side of his duster, designed to swing wide, over a horse and saddle, more than accommodated his motion as he fit his hips against her, their bodies straining for what should have been impossible, considering the circumstances and layers of clothes.

  Cal rested his forehead against hers. His chest rose and fell against her breasts and his breath puffed across her wet lips. The twin sensations spotlighted the yawning need he'd stirred in her.

  Temptation dug another barb into her: if circumstances had been a shade less impossible, or even if there had been a layer or two less of clothes, would she be feeling something entirely different, her need filled to completion? The barb wrung another tear from her.

  He straightened, cursed, then gruffly ordered, "Don't cry, Taylor."

  For a second she thought he was going to kiss this moisture away, too. Instead he wiped it away with the side of his thumb.

  "Don't cry."

  She fought against the weighted sensation of her eyelids to lift them. She saw heat in his eyes, and something gentler. She touched the grooves in his cheek, drawing her fingertips down from the smoothness to the bristle of whiskers.

  The heat leaped to a flame. And just as quickly it was masked. Coated over and pushed down by the same expression she'd seen New Year's Eve – indifference honed to a painful edge.

  She tried to reach past it.

  "You can be so kind, Cal. I know you care."

  "Goes against common sense to cry over a kid you'll never know, Taylor. Anyway, it's better for him to learn now that love—" his mouth twisted with the word "—doesn't do him any good."

  His words were like being plunged into an ice bath, and she surfaced from it sputtering angry.

  With both hands to his chest, she shoved. Aided by the element of surprise, she made him stumble back several steps. Which would have been more satisfying if he'd released his hold on her. Instead, she was forced to stumble along with him.

  "What was that for?"

  "Just trying to make things easier for you, Ruskoff. If you're going to retreat into your shell again, you might as well have some breathing room to do it."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." But his arms dropped from around her.

  "I'm talking about that hard shell of yours. The one you construct of cynicism and rudeness and distance. The one you retreated to at Matty and Dave's party New Year's Eve – then and any other time you've come anywhere close to me."

  "That's something you'll have to blame on biology. Or yourself. Holding you like that, hard's just a fact of nature."

  He gave her a lopsided grin that was part leer and part endearing. She
didn't doubt for a second that he'd intended the leer and that the endearing was entirely accidental, which was all the more infuriating.

  "You know damn right well that's not the hard I'm talking about. It's that damn shell of yours."

  He threw up his hands and gave a snort of disgust, turning away. Every atom of his stiff posture proclaimed that his protective covering had snapped firmly back in place. And even though she knew it was not only futile, but could ricochet back to hurt her in the end, she couldn't stop herself from pounding on it with balled-up fists of words.

  "You carry it around all the time, and the rare times you come out, it's not for long. The real man behind that shell is like the pea in the shell game hustlers play on city streets. Now you see him, now you don't. And with Cal Ruskoff, it's mostly now you don't."

  Something had flickered across his face, but it was safely hidden once more.

  "Shell game? Hustler?" His low voice was mocking. "Sounds like a dangerous kind of person to be around. If that's the way you see me, you better run, lady lawyer. Run fast."

  He was right. He was dangerous – to the curb on her tongue. And maybe to something else in her. He could only hurt her. And she couldn't help him. Because he didn't want to be helped. He wanted to stay inside that shell. And he wouldn't come out, not all the way, not even for the fierce desire she'd felt so strongly from him.

  "I'm going, Cal." She had her control back, and her voice steadied. "I won't bother you again. It's obvious Sin – Sincere – will get plenty of food and water. I only hope you can shed that shell enough to give him some love. Goodbye."

  As she walked to her car without looking back, she tried to decide if it had been her imagination or if she really had heard Cal Ruskoff say softly, "Run fast. And run far."

  * * *

  Operating on automatic pilot, she brushed the accumulated snow off the car and started slowly down the drift-covered gravel road that led to the county highway.

  Only when the car's rear end slid unexpectedly to the right did her full attention shift from the exasperating man she'd left behind to the road conditions she faced ahead.