The Rancher's Surrender Read online

  Everyone stared at her and Zoe gritted her teeth. Oh, he was smooth. "No problem," she said sweetly, adding a sticky smile to the words as she swished by him and out the door.

  But it was a problem, a big one. She'd have to work all day with the street-smart, smart-ass, gorgeous cowboy she'd been trying not to think about for days.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Zoe stalked into the dark, dingy barn. Energy pulsed through her, as did the need to do something—anything—to put Ty out of her head. He was like a drug in her bloodstream and she didn't understand the addiction. It had been a good choice to come here, the place was a disaster and it cleared her head.

  "The logical choice is to just give up." Zoe told this to the wood she started methodically stacking. She wore her surprise gloves, intending to clear out the piles of debris.

  Deserted.

  God, how she knew that feeling, and slowly she straightened, her troubles with Ty forgotten as she took a good look around her. Deserted. Yeah, she knew the feeling alright. Her animosity toward the barn faded at that thought. So it had seen better days, so what? With considerably more warmth now, she sighed fondly.

  It might be dirty and in need of help, but it was theirs.

  "I'll never leave you," she whispered to the empty building, meaning it with all her heart. She'd been fighting all her life, and she wouldn't stop now. "I'm not a quitter."

  It was her one strength, she allowed in a rare moment of self-discovery. Around her, the barn creaked, as if acknowledging her promise.

  "We'll be fine." With or without money, yet another worry. There wasn't enough room in her brain for it all. "I've gone hungry before," she huffed as she struggled with a heavy scrap of wood. She paused and blew hair out of her face. "And there's certainly nothing new about being the underdog."

  Watching her from the door, Ty felt his heart constrict painfully. "I hear you on that one," he said softly.

  She whipped around to face him. "I hate when you do that."

  What she hated, he thought, was the fact that he'd caught her in a moment of extreme vulnerability.

  He sympathized, but was thankful.

  Without these little moments of watching her unguarded, he might not understand her nearly so well. And he did understand her, whether she wanted to believe that or not. They were very much alike in many ways.

  "I've been fighting all my life, too," he said, stepping farther into the barn. "And I've been hungry more times than I care to remember."

  "A child should never be hungry," she said, her voice sad. "Or afraid."

  "Or alone," he agreed easily. "But we both know it's not that simple."

  "Is that why you want this land so badly?" she asked. "So that you will never be hungry or in need again?"

  "I'm not hungry or in need now."

  "So why, then? Why does the land mean so much to you?"

  He couldn't talk about Ben, he'd never been able to. But for a moment, he wished he could. Wished he could unburden his very real fear that he'd failed his brother. "It's complicated."

  She made a discouraged noise. "Everything is when it comes to you."

  "It doesn't have to be complicated between us."

  "Complicated seems to suit me." In an unusually nervous gesture, she shifted her weight back and forth. "Ty … we need to talk."

  "About?"

  "Us."

  That shocked him. "Don't tell me you've decided to admit the truth. You're crazy about me."

  Her face was comical. "Ah … not quite."

  "You're telling me you feel nothing?"

  "I'm telling you I didn't mean that kind of us."

  He sighed. "Zoe, then just say whatever the hell's on your mind. I'm tired of guessing."

  "Well…" She bit her lip, glanced at him from beneath her out-of-control hair, then took off her gloves and shoved them in her back pocket. Then she pulled them out of her pocket and put them back on. "It's about the ranch."

  She was nervous, he realized. "It's not a ranch yet."

  "I know. It's that…" A muffled oath escaped her as she turned in a slow circle, encompassing the bedraggled barn. "I really want it to be."

  "You have your loan yet?"

  "I'm getting to that." Misery spilled over her expression. "That's one of those complicated things."

  And he suddenly understood her misery. "You want to borrow the money from me."

  "Yes," she whispered, her eyes filled with uncertainty and defiance and hope and dread all at once, and they were sparkling with unshed tears, which she blinked furiously at. "The bank wasn't very interested."

  Hell, he thought as his heart constricted. He could only imagine what she'd been through that she'd admit to having trouble. "I'm sorry. Can't you try another bank?"

  "Ah … no." Her head bowed. "I tried every bank, around. I'm a bad investment." Her voice broke and so did his heart.

  "God, don't cry. It's okay, the money is yours."

  "We'll pay you back, you know." Her voice wobbled.

  "I know," he said quickly, slapping his pockets for a damn handkerchief, which of course he didn't have.

  "With interest." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "We always pay our debts." Her breath hitched funny, sounding like a hiccuping sob.

  Damn. "It's no problem." He stepped toward her, dying to ease her pain, but she backed away, hand up to hold him off.

  "I want to draw that up in a contract," she insisted. "We won't screw you, Ty."

  He stood an inch from her, watching her struggle with pride and dignity. He'd never felt so helpless in his life. "I never thought you would," he said quietly. "I trust you, all of you."

  "Still, it's important to us that we do this legally. On the record." Her eyes went hot and filled again. "This is not charity."

  His helplessness doubled. Tripled. "Of course it's not."

  "Well, okay, then," she whispered.

  Afraid to come within ten feet of her substantially aching pride when she'd made it clear his comfort wouldn't be welcome, he slammed his hands in his pockets, but he really wanted them on her, pulling her close, holding her against him. While he was dealing with those shocking possessive thoughts, she turned on her heels and walked over to yet another pile of long-forgotten debris.

  "Let's get to work," she called out, voice gruff. "There's a lot of it."

  "Yeah." He heard her sniff and his heart squeezed again. "Let's get to work."

  * * *

  One week later, with summer in full bloom, Zoe was poring over the financial records for Triple M.

  Maddie and Delia were painting the inside of the house, and she was putting her business degree to good use after all. A burst of uncontainable excitement hit her.

  Yes, her calculator was small and ineffectual and there was too much to do. Yes, she still thought of her mother's abandonment far too often. And yes, she still dwelled every second or so on one Ty Jackson, but other than that, things were looking pretty darn good.

  "Daydreaming, Slim?"

  "Go away," she said, keeping her eyes glued to her work, because if she looked at him she might make a fool out of herself and throw herself in those capable arms.

  "You say the nicest things."

  She'd like to stop thinking about him, dwelling over the strange but unaccountable attraction that wouldn't go away. But he was around, nearly every day, and it was hard to forget someone whose face she had to constantly see. More than that, it was getting hard to forget the man who'd done nothing but help her.

  He walked into the room and around her desk. He was behind her now, she could feel him with every ounce of her being. His body heat seeped into her back, and before she could stop herself, she peeked at him over her shoulder.

  A corner of his mouth curved. "Well, hello."

  He hadn't said a word about the loan, for which she was both grateful and suspicious. He hadn't said a thing about their last conversation before that, either, the one where he'd had the nerve to demand she admit she felt somet