Honeymoon With the Rancher

This formality was exactly what he’d wanted. So why did it feel so awkward?

After the meal he insisted on doing the cleaning up and sent Sophia to rest her hip. When the last dish was dry and back in the cupboard, he found her in the living room, curled into a corner of the sofa, sleeping.

She looked so innocent with her lashes on her cheeks and her lips relaxed in slumber. Her shoes were on the floor and her dress had slid up her thigh, revealing the soft skin to his gaze. Gently, so as not to wake her, he ran his finger up the smooth length, stopping at the hem and drawing back. He didn’t know what to make of her. One moment fragile, the next stubborn as a mule. Today he’d felt he’d let her down. He knew she could have been seriously injured, and he’d expected her to retreat to spoiled form. But instead she’d risen above it and had proved her mettle.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, and as her eyes opened and focused on his he felt the burning start, deep in his gut.

“It’s time for bed,” he said quietly.

For a few moments something hummed between them. The memory of the afternoon’s kiss seemed to sizzle in the air. Her eyes had the same hooded, dazed look now as they’d had then, and he swallowed, resisting the urge to reach out and run his thumb over her cheekbone.

He had the most irrational thought of taking her down the hall to the family quarters and tucking her beneath his sheets before crawling in beside her and holding her close. Her dark eyes showed the slightest hint of alarm as if she understood the direction of his thoughts even though no words had been spoken.

But that was wrong, and crazy, and definitely not what Maria had meant when she’d ordered him to look after their guest. He stepped back and cleared his throat.

“Sleep well, Sophia,” he said, and gathering all his will-power, walked down the hallway alone.

Sophia dug in her pitchfork, wrinkled her nose and, holding her breath, deposited the soiled straw in the wheelbarrow.

When she’d heard Tomas rise this morning, she’d hurriedly hopped out of bed and pulled on the bombachas of yesterday. She would not be late. She was determined not to lag. She put her hand on her still-aching hip. She’d show Tomas she was made of sterner stuff. Last night she’d been exhausted and still reeling from Tomas’s kiss. Putting on the dress and shoes and making dinner was the best way to keep her guard up, to show him a tumble from a horse would not defeat her. And neither would a most heavenly kiss from her sexy gaucho. What she wanted and how far she was prepared to go were two very different things.

The kiss had nearly been repeated before bed last night. She had seen it in his eyes, and for a few seconds she had leaned the slightest bit towards him, her nerve endings on high alert. In the end he’d backed away. She should have been relieved. Would he expect her to be a woman of the world? She knew she was an anomaly—a virgin at her age. The pull to him was undeniable, but her hesitancy was equally strong.

She’d lain awake a long time thinking about it, and this morning she’d awakened tired but more determined than ever to pull her weight. To prove that she was up to any challenge he could throw at her.

But that was before she’d realized that the first chores of the morning were mucking out stalls and feeding the horses. Now Tomas had turned the stock out into a nearby pasture to graze while they shoveled manure. There was no other polite way to put it. She put another forkful in the barrow as Tomas strode up the corridor whistling. It was obscenely early to sound so cheerful. When she saw his boots stop beside her, she turned with a scoop of dirty straw and was deliberately careless so that a bit fell on his boots with a plop.

Then, calm as you please, she deposited the rest in the wheelbarrow.

“Thank you for your help this morning,” Tomas said, shaking off his foot, unconcerned. “You’re really getting into the swing of things now, aren’t you?”

The sun was barely up and Sophia was dying for a first cup of coffee, and the sooner they finished the sooner she could have it. But despite the unpalatable chore, the dew on the grass and the early morning birdsong somehow made everything rosier. “It’s not so bad.”

He took the pitchfork from her hand. “I’ll get rid of this. There’s fresh straw over there to put in the stalls.”

Sophia spent the next fifteen minutes putting down the layer of straw, all the while listening to Tomas’s cheerful whistling. After the hours she’d spent puzzling out what exactly their kiss had meant, Tomas was acting as if nothing had happened at all. She shook out the last of the straw and dusted off her hands.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Tomas came back around the corner and Sophia straightened, bracing her lower back with both hands. There had been a communion to working with him this morning. A satisfaction of working together, much like that she’d felt yesterday as they’d painted the shed. Her stomach grumbled and Tomas smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She followed him back to the house as the sun peeked over the rolling hills, colouring the pampas with a fresh, warm glow. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the open space that was at once youthful and timeless. Each day started anew, with the flaws of yesterday behind it. As they reached the door she closed her eyes and let out a breath. Antoine, her mom, her friends—they would be appalled at the fact that she’d spent her first daylight hours cleaning a dirty horse barn. And yes, it had been an unusual experience. But not a bad one.

As she and Tomas pulled off their boots, Sophia realized she was perhaps made of more than she was given credit for. Perhaps she simply hadn’t tried because it had been safer that way. Secure. No risk, no loss.

“What’s so funny?” Tomas’s voice broke through her thoughts as he went to the sink to wash up. She joined him there, sharing the soap as they washed their hands beneath the running water.

“Two days ago when I arrived, I didn’t plan on shoveling…well, you know.”

“You did a fine job for a beginner.”

She dried her hands and gave him the towel. “Thank you, but now I want to know what’s to eat. All that fresh air has given me an appetite.” She would kill for bacon and eggs, the sort of breakfast that never passed her lips anymore. Perhaps it was the combination of hard work and fresh air. Perhaps it was knowing that she need not hold to the conventions of the past at Vista del Cielo. Either way, she was famished.

As if he read her mind, Tomas took eggs from the fridge. “I will fry some eggs and there is the bread from yesterday.”

Her mouth watered at the thought of a fried-egg sandwich. “That sounds perfect.”

They worked together to prepare the meal, and once they sat at the table Tomas asked, “How’s the hip?”

Sophia chewed and swallowed. It still pained, but she didn’t want it to keep her from whatever Tomas had planned for the day. Now that she had made a success of something, she wanted to build on the momentum. The sense of accomplishment was addictive. “It’s a little sore, but I’m no worse for the wear.”