Tyler gave a last wrench and the drapes fell to the floor in an undulating sea of crimson.
“I asked for your opinion,” he said innocently, “and you gave it. Goodbye, drapes.”
Caitlin grinned and reached for a cherub. “Goodbye, cherub?” she asked, nodding toward the enormous fieldstone fireplace that ran half the length of one wall.
Tyler folded his arms. “By all means.”
He watched as her hand closed around the ugly little figure’s fat bottom. She turned toward the fireplace and looked at it. The tip of her tongue—such a pink, delicate tongue—stuck out between her teeth.
“Really?” she said, glancing at him again.
“Really.”
Caitlin drew back her arm and hurled the cupid onto the hearth.
“Wow,” she said, whirling toward him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her so badly that he felt the ache right through his bones.
But he didn’t move, didn’t touch her. Instead he smiled and brought his hand to his forehead in a lazy salute.
“Nice throw.”
She smiled. “I was taught by the best.”
Tyler lifted an eyebrow. “Nolan Ryan?”
Her smiled broadened. “Gage Baron. My middle stepbrother. I was ten when I came to live on Espada, and the last thing Gage or Travis or Slade wanted was a girl underfoot.”
“But they got to know you, and to like you?”
“What they got was tired to death of seeing my face. I guess they decided the only way to handle me was to take me into Los Lobos.”
“Their baseball team?”
“Their gang. The Los Lobos pack. They made me a member after my mother took off for New York—” She broke off, looked at him and flushed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you the story of my life,” she said stiffly, “when what you asked for was my opinion of those drapes.”
“I’m glad you are,” he said softly. “I want to know more about you.”
And I want to know everything about you.
The words were so clear in her mind that for a second, she thought she’d spoken them aloud. But she hadn’t. Of course, she hadn’t. She’d never say anything so foolish to any man.
“And I,” she said, with a quick little smile, “want to know more about this house. Why did you decide to buy it?”
Tyler’s smile tilted. “Land is a good investment.”
“Ranching can be a lousy investment. You’re at the mercy of the weather, the market—”
“I can afford it.”
She liked the way he said it, with no false modesty and no arrogance. “I figured that. And that makes it all the harder to understand why you came to Espada the way you did.”
“I wanted to talk to your stepfather, and to check on some things.”
“Things you thought you’d learn more about if nobody knew you were rich?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Something like that.”
Caitlin nodded. “You play things close to the vest, Mr. Kincaid.”
“As do you, Ms. McCord.”
They smiled at each other, and then his smile slipped. “Caitlin…”
“Show me the rest of the house,” she said quickly, and before he could answer, she walked rapidly around the living room, pausing to shake her head over a china figure or to roll her eyes at a painting.
“The second Mrs. Wilson seems to have had a thing for, ah, for plump naked ladies and big horses.”
Tyler laughed. “I said something like that to Ms. Barnes.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
Caitlin grinned. “Better watch out, Kincaid. Pru will take her commission, then come after you and try and wash out your mouth with a bar of soap.” She moved on, her smile fading, and paused at a bronze sculpture of a man mounted on a horse. “Oh, this is beautiful,” she said softly.
Tyler watched her run her hand over the bronze. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I have the next piece in the series in my house in Atlanta.”
“A Remington?” Caitlin looked at him and smiled. “A real one, numbered and signed like this?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders, foolishly pleased she should recognize the piece that was, in fact, the pride and joy of his Georgia collection. “So, what do you think? Do you like the house?”
Caitlin laughed and whirled in a circle. The skirt of her yellow sundress flared around her knees. She was more beautiful than the bronze, Tyler thought, and felt his belly tighten.
“I love it! It’s a wonderful house, or it will be, after you get rid of all the froufrou. Can’t you see this place done in pale oak?” She swung toward him. “In soft southwestern col—”
“What’s the matter?”
Tyler was what was the matter. While she’d been talking, he’d slipped off his jacket and rolled back his cuffs. And oh, he was so beautiful. She’d never imagined using that word to describe a man, but what other word was there that would work? That strong-boned face. The thick, dark hair, and the little whorl of it visible in the hollow of his throat. Those powerful wrists and muscled forearms…
Yes, he was beautiful, far more beautiful than the Remington. And he wasn’t unyielding bronze, either. He was muscle and bone, warm skin and hot mouth…
“So,” she said brightly, as she turned her back to his suddenly knowing eyes, “you bought the Wilson place, Remington and all.”
“Yes.” His voice was low. The rough sound of it kicked her pulse into overdrive.
“Well.” She gave a tinkling laugh, the sound painfully artificial even to her own ears. “I guess this makes it definite. You’re not a drifter, are you, Mr. Kincaid?”
“Caitlin.”
She closed her eyes as he came up behind her. She could feel the heat of his body and when he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her back against him, she knew she couldn’t go on hiding behind bad jokes, or cold words, or an anger she no longer felt.
“Don’t,” she said, in a shaky whisper. “Please, don’t. I’m not—I’m not ready to deal with this, Tyler.”
His fingers pressed into her naked flesh as he turned her toward him. She looked into his eyes and it was like standing at the edge of a precipice, when logic assures you that you’re not going to fall but something dark and deep within urges you to jump.
He put his hand under her
chin and she lifted her head. Don’t, she thought, but her lips parted…
Tyler brushed his mouth gently over hers.
“I’ll go see to dinner,” he whispered.
“Dinner,” she said, with a quick smile. “Don’t tell me you hired a cook.”
“‘Billy’s Bar-B-Que Take-Out,’” he replied, smiling back at her. “‘You Call, We Haul.’”
She laughed, grateful for the reprieve…and caught her breath as Tyler pulled her into his arms and kissed her, not gently, not as if she were made of glass, but as if he were going to take her, right here, right now, and heaven help her, she wanted him to, wanted him to…
“Find us some wineglasses,” he said softly, as he put her from him. “And then why don’t you come and join me in the kitchen?”
“Sure,” she said brightly.
Just as soon as she was sure she could walk on legs that had the consistency of jelly.
They dined on the patio, at a candlelit table with the starry sky for a canopy.
They ate their barbecued beef on translucent china, buttered ears of corn with sterling silver butter knives, drank a soft, wonderful red wine from plastic glasses.
“Plastic glasses?” Tyler said, when Caitlin produced them, and she laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Maybe Mrs. Wilson thought they went with the cupids and the drapes.”
Plastic or no, the wine was wonderful. So was the barbecued beef.
“Wonderful,” Caitlin said, smiling at Tyler over the last of the wine.
He grinned. “I’ll be sure and tell Billy you said so.”
Caitlin touched her fingertip to a drop of barbecue sauce left in her plate, then licked it off. Tyler’s smile tilted as he followed the simple action.
“So, what do you do? In Atlanta, I mean.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “This and that.”
“Ever the mystery man, huh?”
“I’m no mystery man, Cait. You can look me up in Dun and Bradstreet anytime you like.”
“Will Dun and Bradstreet tell me why you sneaked onto Espada?”
The smile fell from his lips. “I thought we settled that. I told you, I wanted to talk to Jonas. And—”
“And check things out. Yes, so you said. That still doesn’t explain why you showed up on our land, looking like a drifter.”