The Rancher's Surrender Read online

  She was cold and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

  Another drop fell, and another.

  "Look, we're here to get this list made," she said with a shiver, and looked uneasily into the sky as yet another bolt of lightning streaked across it. More thunder and the air echoed like a drum, so loud that they could no longer hear the river. "So stop dawdling," she complained.

  "I can't say Delia didn't warn me," Ty said dryly. "But man, was she right."

  "Delia's never right, she just thinks she is."

  "She was right about this, believe me. You're grumpy as hell in the mornings, aren't you?"

  Her hand, the one that held the pen, fell to her side. The furrow between her brows deepened as she frowned. "I'm grumpy as hell all the time, you already knew that. And why were you talking about me to Delia?"

  "Because Delia likes to talk. And you know what? I don't think you're always grumpy at all. I think you just like to hide behind it." He stepped closer, his boots crunching in the dirt that was pitted with the sparse but huge drops coming down.

  Zoe lifted her chin, too stubborn to suggest they move into the barn, even as the sky let loose, dropping what seemed like gallons of water right out of the sky.

  They were drenched within seconds.

  Grabbing her hand, Ty yanked her inside the dark, musty barn just as thunder roared again, so loud his ears rung. Rain pounded the roof like a drumbeat.

  She ignored the fact that water ran down her face in rivulets, disappearing into the neck of her shirt, which was equally wet. She ignored the fact that he was wet, too. And that they were nose to nose, breathing hard as if they'd run a mile.

  "Why do you do that?" he demanded.

  "Do what?"

  His body was nearly flush with hers, so close he could see the pulse at the base of her neck as it went wild. Yet her face remained cool, and between them she crossed her arms, putting that barrier between their drenched bodies.

  It was frustrating as hell. "That," he accused, slipping his hand up, spreading it lightly on her throat and neck. Her skin was wet and unbelievably soft. Her hair had rioted, the dripping curls everywhere. "You pretend you don't feel anything, when I know you do. It drives me crazy."

  His touch drove her crazy, but he didn't have to know that. Talking was difficult with his hand on her, with his fingers flirting softly with her skin. Skin that had gone hot and itchy for more.

  Her heart thundered in tune to the driving rain. She dropped her arms to her sides and shivered as he brought his deliciously warm body closer. "I'm n-not cold," she said, stuttering as her teeth chattered. "You don't have to keep me warm."

  "If you're not cold, why are you shivering?" he asked. "For me?"

  "No."

  A lie and they both knew it. "If I kiss you," he murmured huskily, leaning close, his eyes sleepy and sexy, "are you going to hit me again?"

  "I didn't hit you last time, did I?" His fingers were moving on her now, flirting with the neck of her shirt, doing a little circle near her collarbone that had her legs feeling rubbery and weak.

  God. Why couldn't he just accept the unfeeling facade she was trying to give him? Why couldn't he just leave her alone? But no, he wanted her. He wanted Zoe, the real Zoe, the one she couldn't give him because she had buried that woman too deep.

  Outside the barn, the storm raged. Rain hit the roof like a herd of wild horses, pounding, drumming. It matched her pulse as she stared wide-eyed at the man holding her a willing captive.

  She thought she just might forever associate the sound of the rain with how she felt right now, as if she were on the edge of a huge abyss, waiting to fall, fall, fall … for a man.

  Not just any man, but this one. Ty Jackson. "I don't think kissing is a great idea," she said.

  He was as wet as she was. His clothes clung to every tough inch of his big body as he continued to invade her space with more than six feet of aroused male. "I do," he said.

  "Back up." She straightened her knocking knees ruthlessly. "You're crowding me." Because her voice sounded whispery and weak, she licked her lips and cleared her throat. "We have a list to make, and if you're not up for it, just say so."

  "Oh, I'm up for it."

  Her gaze jerked to his, but she hadn't been mistaken on the content of that comment, not with his eyes so hot. His hand stroked upward, cupping her jaw; his thumb rasped over her lower lip, which opened slightly as she fought the urge to suck it into her mouth. It was such a shocking yearning, she couldn't believe it. So she bit him instead.

  "Ouch!" He stared at her in injured shock.

  "The list," she reminded him breathlessly, when he'd yanked his hand back.

  "You bit me!" He sucked the finger into his own mouth and the strangest thing happened to her tummy. It got all tight and bouncy as if full of butterflies. Her thighs quivered. "I'm sorry." She laughed a little shakily. "I'm not sure what happened to me."

  His stare turned from hot to thoughtful, then speculative. "You're nervous," he decided.

  "No."

  "Yes, you are." His voice softened so that she had to strain to hear him over the noise of the thunder and driving rain. "I would never hurt you, Zoe."

  Feeling like a jerk because she had hurt him, she backed up a step.

  "No, don't go yet," he murmured, reaching for her. "It's still pouring." His hands slid slowly up and down her arms, warming her. "I've got an idea. Let's see where this attraction leads."

  She knew where it would lead, straight to bed, if they even got as far as a bedroom. "No." But because it sounded weak and maybe like she wanted to be convinced, she said it again, stronger. "No." Since she wanted to mean it, she stepped back, crossed her arms over her chest and added a glare for good measure. She had to because he was a man who attracted her in a way she hadn't been attracted before.

  He sighed but let her go. And go she did, turning and running out into the storm as if an entire family of wild bears were on her heels.

  It wasn't a bear. Just a man. One tough, intelligent, passionate man who had the unique ability to hurt her.

  She couldn't allow it.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The chores were easily divided. Zoe handled the business aspect and most outdoor duties, negligible as they were until they got stock. Maddie handled all meals and worked with Delia on the inside of the ranch house, trying to repair and clean up all the damage from neglect, which was extensive. And expensive.

  Zoe reconciled the ranch's bank statements. They'd opened a new bank account to keep track of finances. Then she divided the bills into two: the pile that could wait a little bit longer, and the pile that could wait a lot longer.

  She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

  "That bad?" Delia came into the room, or rather flowed into it, looking beautiful and serene in a long silk pantsuit the color of a fresh, blooming lilac, despite how hard she'd worked all day removing ancient wallpaper, which had been rough, relentless, messy work.

  Zoe could ignore the fact that her own T-shirt was wrinkled and her jeans ripped at the knee, because how often had Delia offered—begged, actually—to make her some new clothes? But it was hard to ignore how tired and discouraged she felt. "Not too bad," she lied, hesitant to say more.

  Relations between her sisters never changed. They loved and supported one another through thick and thin, no holds barred. But Delia and Maddie didn't quite understand her obsession with being the true owner of Triple M and she knew it. She knew, too, that they would bury their hurt rather than press her about it.

  It was a disgusting little truth about herself that shamed Zoe. It was wrong, this burning need to belong above all else, including her sisters' happiness. She hated that about herself.

  Delia's mouth tightened, even as her eyes warmed. "Don't lie to protect me, hon. I know how tight the money situation is. Just tell me." Gracefully she sank onto the only other chair in the bedroom they'd converted to an office. "Are we going to make it?"