Chapter Eight
Cade slept fitfully, aware that Rachel was in his house, beneath his roof. He wanted her so much that when he woke yet again, this time at five-thirty, he climbed out of bed and stepped into jeans, snapping the fly front over his boxers, despite the fact that it was pitch-dark outside and would be for at least another hour. Cade tugged an old black thermal shirt over his head, the material shrunk and faded from repeated washings, before adding a flannel shirt over that for warmth, but this, too, was soft and comfortable, something he needed after a night without rest.
Grooming was easy. After combing his hair and brushing his teeth, Cade skipped the shave. He didn’t have the patience to do a decent job and wasn’t in the mood to nick his chin.
Grimly, Cade stared at his reflection, focusing on the fine wrinkles fanning from his eyes and the deep lines etched on either side of his mouth. He looked about as old as he felt this morning. A hell of a lot older than thirty-three. But older was good, he reminded himself. Older meant wiser.
Downstairs Cade let out Lacey, made a pot of coffee, put out fresh water and food for Lacey, then stared out the window at the morning waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. He drank a cup scalding hot and black before heading to his barn and grabbing supplies to mend a fence he should have fixed a week ago but hadn’t.
Now parking at the top of a hill a few miles from the ranch house, the sun was just flirting with the morning, turning a slice of sky pale yellow with light. Tugging on his work gloves, Cade cast the dawn one last glance, wondering what the day would bring, before slinging a big ball of barbwire out of the back of the truck and carrying the wire to the fence. He’d left his truck’s headlights on to give him light to work by, but even with the dark and the frigid temperature, this was work he could practically do in his sleep.
As the sky lightened, turning pale blue with a few wispy pink clouds, Cade paused to rub at his hands, which ached from the chill, and found himself thinking of Rachel yet again, and didn’t she just tangle him up even more than this bundle of barbwire?
Rachel and Tommy had only been here a day but he liked having them here. Liked it a lot. It felt right to climb from bed and go to work, knowing they were still in their beds, sleeping. Somehow in just one day they’d taken his big empty house and made it feel like a home. The kind of home he’d always wanted as a kid. Now he just needed to figure out how to convince Rachel that she and Tommy belonged here, too. Permanently.
He pulled out a nail from his pocket and, slamming the hammer down, attached the corner of the wire to the top of the post, before working his way down the post, nail by nail, until the entire length was secure.
Beads of perspiration formed on his brow, dampening the brim of his hat. He welcomed the work and the burn in his muscles, welcomed the distraction. He’d rather wrestle the fence than his emotions, especially this ache of desire. He wanted to make love to her, yes, but this need he felt was more than sex, it was about holding her, loving her, letting her know he’d changed.
And he had changed. She just didn’t know it yet.
Another truck bounced up the rough dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust. The truck parked and a grizzled old cowboy swung out of the cab, walking toward Cade with the bowlegged gait of a man who’d spent his life in the saddle.
“Need a hand, boss?” the cowboy asked, putting on his own leather gloves.
“Morning, Bill,” Cade grunted around the three nails in his teeth as his ranch foreman straightened out the length of wire and tugged it tight so Cade could hammer this next section down.
“Stopped by the house,” the foreman said.
Cade hammered the top down. “Uh-huh.”
“Met Rachel.”
“Yeah,” Cade said, knowing that Bill had heard him talk about Rachel plenty of times over the years.
“Is that her boy?”
“Yeah.”
Bill hesitated, and Cade glanced up at him from beneath the brim of his hat, holding his foreman’s gaze. Bill van Zandt had been the first person Cade had hired after buying Sweetwater three years ago with his saved rodeo winnings, and the best person he’d ever hired, but Cade wouldn’t tolerate disrespect from Bill or anyone else who worked for him. “You got any other questions, van Zandt?”
“Is he yours?” Bill asked bluntly.
“No.”
“Who is the dad?”
“Some loser who walked away from Rachel when she needed him most,” Cade said tersely, tugging on the fence, checking to see if the section was attached securely, before heading to the next post.
Bill wisely dropped the questions as they finished repairing the fence in silence, but Cade couldn’t quiet the taunting voice in his head, the one that was saying he and Rachel’s loser boyfriend had a lot in common. They’d both walked away from Rachel, choosing to take the easy way out instead of doing the right thing. Fortunately, there was one huge difference—Cade loved Rachel, and this time he was fighting for her. And not just Rachel, but Tommy, too.
Returning to the ranch house, Cade headed to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee and warm up his frozen hands. He stomped his feet on the mat outside the mudroom door and peeled off his sheepskin jacket, hanging it on a hook by the back door.
Entering the kitchen, he discovered Rachel already there, standing at the counter in front of the coffeepot. She jumped and turned to face him, her expression almost guilty. “I just started a fresh pot. Hope that’s okay.”
He drank her in, thinking she looked almost as pretty as she had that first day in her yellow sundress. “That’s great,” he said, smiling, knowing he was smiling and unable to help it. She was wearing the big flannel robe he’d given her last night before she’d turned in, and she’d twisted her dark hair into a loose knot on top of her head, the dark heavy mass anchored by a yellow pencil, but already tendrils were falling out, tumbling around her pink cheeks. What he wouldn’t give to pick her up and carry her into his bedroom right now.
Her cheeks turned a darker pink and she tugged the edges of the robe closer together, making the shapeless, sacklike robe even more modest, and he grinned. “You’re gorgeous, Rachel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look better,” he said, going to the sink to wash his hands, letting the hot water warm his stiff joints and fingers.
She rolled her eyes and tucked one of those sexy tendrils of hair behind her ear. “Nonsense.”
“I’m serious.” He turned the water off and grabbed a towel to dry his hands before facing her. “You’ve got to be the prettiest girl in all of Texas.”
“Now you’re just talking to hear yourself talk.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Then maybe it’s time I stopped talking and showed you what I’m feeling.”
Her gray eyes warmed, sparking with a fire he didn’t think he’d ever see again, before she smashed it down, hiding her emotions and passion behind that wall of cordiality she maintained around him. “I don’t think so,” she said primly, firmly, and he was amused.
He liked challenges. He was a professional cowboy for Pete’s sake. He had no problem proving himself over and over and over. It’s who he was. It’s what he did.
“Why are you smiling?” she demanded, pressing the flannel robe to her breast.
He tried so hard not to look at that lucky breast. He remembered how soft she was and sweet and lovely—
“Cade,” she said, calling him back to t
he moment.
“Yes, darlin’?”
“I’m not your darling.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I bet you call every girl ‘darlin’.’”
“No, ma’am.” He shook his head and walked toward her slowly, his arms relaxed at his sides. It was the same way he approached skittish mares, showing them he had nothing in his hands, nothing to frighten them. Rachel’s eyes widened, watching him approach, and she would have backed up if she could, but there was nowhere for her to go. She was stuck in a corner between counters and that coffee machine puffing away as it brewed a delicious-smelling pot of coffee.
“You should stop right there,” she said breathlessly.
“Right where?” he asked innocently, taking another step toward her, perfectly aware that he’d already covered the floor and if he reached out now, he’d have no problem touching her.
She tipped her head back to look up into his eyes. Damn, but she was just a little thing, just reaching his shoulder in bare feet. He’d forgotten how small she was, how delicate and lovely, and gazing down into her wide eyes, he saw that they had darkened, the gray irises reminding him of storm clouds. Gray eyes with flecks of sea-green and black...
Rachel held her breath, lost in Cade’s eyes. His eyes weren’t just blue, they were electric-blue and full of fire, and she knew what he was thinking, knew he wanted to kiss her.
Her skin prickled, the hair on her nape rising as he slowly leaned in to her, slowly enough to give her every chance to stop him. He was making it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t kiss her if she didn’t want him to. He wouldn’t force a kiss on her. He wanted her willing, and she was willing. And so she didn’t stop him. Instead she waited, hands balled in the pockets of his robe, heart thumping, blood racing in her veins.
She wanted this kiss. Needed this kiss. Needed to know if she’d imagined how good it’d felt being kissed by Cade King...