Chapter Six
It was still raining when they arrived back in Valentine Valley late that afternoon. The windshield wipers seemed to have lulled Whitney into some kind of trance, for she found herself listening to the soft country music rather than doing much talking. She kept glancing at Josh, only to find him glancing at her. They were like teenagers on a first date.
But it was not a date—it was a business lunch.
Yet she’d agreed to a date and found she couldn’t regret it. Josh was right—why shouldn’t she have fun while she was in Valentine? Maybe there was a bowling alley; she’d never bowled in her life!
“Your smile is wicked,” Josh said.
He pulled up in front of the Queen-Anne-style B&B with its single tower and steep, pointed roof. Trees shaded the road and surrounded the house, hiding the intricate gardens Debbie took such pride in.
He turned off the pickup, unbuckled, and twisted to face her, knee up on the bench. She leaned back against the door and studied him, while rain drummed softly on the roof, and the fog began a slow climb up the windshield.
“I was wondering if, on our big date, you were going to take me bowling,” she said.
“Bowling? What made you think about that?”
She shrugged. “I think I’ve always linked bowling and small towns.”
“No bowling lanes in San Francisco?”
“There must be—somewhere.”
His smile was sexy as he studied her. “What else do you think of when you think of small towns?”
And then, without planning it, she whispered, “Kissing in pickup trucks.”
His smile faded and was replaced by a tension that made her shiver. When he leaned forward, she put up a hand.
With a husky laugh, she said, “I didn’t say who was kissing whom.”
He froze, then tried to appear casual as he leaned back again.
She unbuckled the seat belt and pulled her legs beneath her to face him on the bench. Slowly she leaned forward, bracing her hands on the leather, watching his eyes dip to her breasts, where her blouse gaped away to reveal the valley between. She was a woman who knew men, who knew how to make them desire her and ensure that they didn’t regret it.
After crawling toward him, she braced her hands on his hard thighs and felt them tense. His narrowed gaze moved back to her face, and she saw the way his jaw clenched beneath his lean cheeks. Slowly, oh so slowly, she leaned closer and closer, until she could smell the faint scent of his aftershave, hear the way his breath came quickly, matching her own.
She touched his lips with her own, gentle kisses that lured with promise. She took his broad shoulders in her hands, let her torso slide up against his until he groaned against her mouth.
But he played by her rules and didn’t take over.
Most men liked being under the control of a strong woman who knew her own sexiness, knew what she wanted. Wasn’t it their fantasy, a dominant woman in the bedroom?
She deepened the kiss, flicking her tongue against his, feeling the languidness of heat and desire steal over her.
“Hold me,” she whispered against his lips.
His hands slid up her back, pulling her even more firmly against his chest. She felt his heart thump against her ribs, knew hers answered. The windows steamed from the heat of their kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers, then held her head in his big hands to keep her there.
When she sensed he wanted to turn her in his arms, she realized the steering wheel was in the way. She broke the kiss and smiled up into his eyes, trying to catch her breath.
“Wow,” she said softly, then groaned as he leaned forward to nip at her lower lip.
He kept going, arching her back so that he could bury his face against her neck and inhale.
“You smell fine,” he murmured, taking little nips with his teeth.
She shuddered, then at last pressed herself upright. As she slowly pulled away, his hands only very reluctantly released her. They faced each other across the bench, still breathing heavily.
“You were going to take me to your studio,” she reminded him, “but I think it’s too late today. What about tomorrow morning?”
“Sure, stop by whenever you’d like.”
“No one will mind?”
“We’re pretty casual out on the ranch,” he said, those hazel eyes twinkling. “I know the boss.” He paused. “Wait, I am one of the bosses. My dad’s been sort of retired since winter, and it’s still strange.”
“Why?” She made herself more comfortable, reluctant to leave the cozy cab.
“Because he’s still around, of course, and helps at the big events, like branding or calving. He wanted to spend more time with Mom, but since she’s recovered, she’s gotten herself elected to the school board and still tackles the rest of her commitments. I was hoping they’d travel, but so far, they’ve stayed put.”
“Then they must love it there. I’m looking forward to visiting.” She reached for her purse, but before she could open the door, he touched her arm.
“Thanks, Whitney. I really appreciated your help today.” His voice suddenly grew huskier. “And you were my inspiration during that photo shoot.”
She smiled. “You sure it wasn’t all those women taking surreptitious pictures?”
He blinked at her. “Other people were taking pictures?”
“You’re easy to look at, Josh, and their interest only proves that those photos will be a success. You mark my words.”
She opened the door, climbed down, and gave him another smile before slamming it shut. She entered the iron gate and walked up the path, knowing he watched her, and barely resisting the urge to exaggerate the swing of her hips.
At ten the next morning, Whitney drove onto the dirt roads of the Silver Creek Ranch beneath a bright blue sky. The Elk Mountains formed the backdrop as the pastures and fields stretched away. To her surprise, she didn’t see any cows, just endless grass as far as the eye could see—or was that hay?—and fences separating fields.
The newest building was Brooke’s indoor riding arena, a square metal structure with windows along the sides and huge double doors open at each end. She glimpsed dirt floors inside, but no one was riding there—who would, in this beautiful weather? She bet it had proved useful the day before during all that rain.
The main house, two stories tall, was made of logs, with wraparound porches on both floors. The red roof matched the one on the barn just across the yard. Pickup trucks and Brooke’s Jeep were parked nearby. Across another field was the old log cabin, now a bunkhouse that Adam and Brooke occasionally used as their own. A half dozen horses grazed in a pasture beyond the barn.
Whitney parked her SUV and stepped out of it onto wet earth, regretting wearing her favorite sandals. She’d been so focused on how to appear her best, she hadn’t considered where she was actually going. This was a working ranch, with equipment that muddied up meadows. Sighing, she walked gingerly, looking for patches of grass to hop between.
Both doors of the big barn were open wide, and Whitney stepped inside, smelling hay and manure, calling, “Josh?”
There was no answer, not even a horse looking over its stall door. But then she’d seen them out in the pasture. She heard the sound of barking coming closer, and before she knew it, two dogs rounded the corner of the barn and came at her, barking furiously. But their tails were wagging, and she let them sniff her hands. Soon they were taking turns leaning against her legs while she petted them. One tossed up her skirt with his nose to walk between her legs, and with a little gasp, she rubbed his hips as he passed on through.
She heard the sound of a gasoline-powered engine from somewhere behind the barn. Walking back outside, she circled it and found Josh. He didn’t notice her, and she stayed in the shade of the building and ogled him.
He was wearing a gray, sleeveless t-shirt, smudged with dirt, and worn jeans that hid most of his broken-in cowboy boots. He was maneuvering a two-foot circumference of tree trunk into what must be a gasoline-powered wood splitter, using all his strength to hold the wood in place, while gripping the handle to bring the splitter down. Then he worked to turn the log a fraction, and split another line down, then tossed out the triangular piece.
The sun shone on his damp arms, and more than once, he took off his hat and swiped the back of his glove across his forehead.
Whitney didn’t think she’d made a sound, but suddenly he turned his head and saw her. That moment of connection was so powerful, it was a little unnerving. He waved, then turned off the machine. She almost regretted that his manly display was finished.
And though she was already warm, she felt another surge of heat watching him stroll toward her, so tall and long-limbed. She flashed back to their kiss and enjoyed the moment.
“Whew, glad to have a reason to rest,” he said, picking up a can of soda and guzzling.
She couldn’t stop staring as his Adam’s apple bobbed, and perspiration slid down the cords of his neck toward his collar.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
She swallowed and tried to get ahold of herself. “Not now, thanks. I haven’t been working as hard as you.”
He glanced down her body. “I can see that. You look so fancy, I’ll have to work hard to keep you clean.”
“Fancy?” She looked down at her short skirt and sleeveless, v-neck top. “This is dressing down for me.” She’d always been very conscious of her clothes, of course, and presenting a professional appearance. She’d had to separate herself from her party-girl days.
“Then I’d like to see what you’d wear if you were working outdoors. No wading in the creek for you.”
“And was that on the agenda? No one told me.”
He smiled and finished his soda. “Anything’s on the agenda.”
“But aren’t you busy, cutting wood and… whatever cowboy stuff you have to do?”
He shrugged. “Brooke and Adam have gone up to our grazing allotment in the mountains to check out the herd. Nate’s down valley talking bull genetics, and my parents are in town. Who’s going to know what I do? I promised you a tour, and the logs’ll wait. Don’t need ’em until winter anyway.”
As they circled the barn again, Whitney noticed that several of the horses came closer, and she said, “Quarter horses?”
He gave her a surprised glance. “You know horseflesh?”
“Boarding school, remember? Riding is considered a gym class.”
“Nice. Same out here, I guess. I’ll have to get you up on a horse one of these days.”
“Will that be our date?”
“Naw, too predictable that a cowboy would want to ride.”
She grinned. “It’s been a while for me. I might fall off.”
He looked down her body again, making her feel that little flush of pleasure. “That skirt might prove interesting up on a horse.”
Laughing, she pushed at his bare arm. “Like I’d wear this if we were riding.”
They walked into the cool shade of the barn, where at the far end, he opened a door. The room was dim, with only a single window surrounded by several stands of floor-to-ceiling shelves.
“My workshop used to be one of the tack rooms until I converted it,” he explained, turning on the light switch.
Whitney walked in behind him, looking at several benches with leather goods in various stages, movable lamps clamped nearby. His tools were neatly stored in trays. The shelves bore supplies.
She moved closer to the first bench, where he’d set down some kind of chisel. She peered at the small piece of leather, and he turned on the light of a magnifier so she could see it better. The letter D was prominent, the leather depressed all around it.
“I’m making a wallet for my dad,” he explained.
She smiled up at him. “Not shoulder bags?”
“Christmas is only four months away. I have to work on gifts when I can.”
She strolled through the shelves, swept up by the beauty of his work, excited at the possibilities for his future. She saw leather being glued together to form an even thicker surface that he could cut shapes out of and not go all the way through.
“You’re so talented, Josh,” she said quietly, starting to touch a piece of darkened leather.
“That was just stained yesterday. Should be dry…”
She quickly pulled back her hand. “I know you enjoy ranch work, but when I see what you can create—and only you can do it—I’m surprised you don’t hire someone to do things like split wood.”
He studied her, his expression unreadable. “I’m sure it seems menial to you, but this is my home, and I’m glad to help provide for it. We all do our fair share of the basic chores, along with the more challenging work of dealing with the herd. My family has been here for five generations, since the late nineteenth century. There’s history and expectations and pride. When it looked like we might lose it all ten or so years ago? Watching my father almost shrink with the realization that the economy and ranching had changed so much, we might not be able to survive in it? I never want to experience that again.”
She hadn’t imagined him so serious and saw a new depth to him. “I hope you don’t think I meant any disrespect.”
“No, but you haven’t been around this sort of business before. I know your family has an international company. Did you ever want to be a part of that?”
She hesitated. “I… I don’t talk much about it.” And she wasn’t going to start now. She barely knew Josh. “Suffice it to say, I couldn’t be a part of the business, so I was determined to make my own way, my own success. I never even used my trust fund for Leather and Lace. Every dime I earned, it was by myself.”
“Your family must be really proud of you,” he said gently.
Were her eyes actually stinging? How did he see through to the heart of her problems, the fact that she was pretty certain they weren’t proud of her, that they didn’t care at all? She had to get past this. “Regardless, I do understand the generational thing. Winslow Enterprises started out in manufacturing late in the nineteenth century. Sewing machines, of all things.”
He grinned.
“Those did so well, my great-grandfather was able to expand, getting into shipping his products, then eventually importing materials other manufacturers needed. Now… now we own so many varied businesses, from diapers to airplane parts. And it’s important to me, it always has been. So I understand you.”
He took her hand then, rubbing her knuckles under his thumb, giving her a little shiver.
“See, we have stuff in common,” he said. “You know what else we have in common? Hard work. When you were here last winter, and now here again, your cell phone was ringing all the time, or you closet yourself at The Adelaide immersed in your work. That’s why you need to have fun—why both of us need that escape.”
She deliberately fluttered her lashes up at him. “You haven’t told me about our date.”
“I prefer to remain mysterious, so that you can’t help but be drawn to me.”
She laughed. “You are one of the least mysterious men I know, Josh Thalberg.”
“Some men wouldn’t think that a compliment; I do.” His smile faded. “I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not, Whitney. I’m just a cowboy who has a hobby, and I’m trying to figure out how to make it all work.”
Was it all really that simple? she wondered. Everybody had a part of themselves they hid, a past they wanted to forget.
“I guess I am thirsty after all,” she said, looking around.
“Then come with me.”
She followed him out of his workshop, and, to her surprise, he opened the next door to reveal a set of stairs, which looked far more recent than the rest of the barn. At the top, he opened another door and stepped aside so she could walk ahead of him into a beautifully renovated loft, air-conditioned, with windows looking out on the ranch from all sides. On the walls, Colorado landscapes were mounted in the most beautiful leather frames, different shades of brown to emphasize the painting. There were no walls separating any part of his life, and it sort of made sense—it seemed there was nothing separating her from the real Josh.
But she couldn’t believe that.
“So this is your place?” she asked, moving past the gleaming silver-and-black kitchen. “Wow! When did you have this done?”
“Last winter. I did most of it myself, and occasionally Nate and Brooke helped me.”
“Yourself?” she echoed, eyes widening as she stared at him. “Is there nothing you can’t do, Josh Thalberg?”
His gaze dropped as if he were embarrassed, an “aw shucks” cowboy move that would seem fake on anyone else.
“I’m sure there’s lots I can’t do. But when you work on a ranch, you have to fix all kinds of things, so I picked up the skills along the way. And plus, I was tired of worrying about waking up my parents at all hours. When I have an inspiration, I tend to work the leather until I can’t see straight.”
She shook her head, smiling. “I thought you were going to say you snuck home late from dates.”
“Well, that, too,” he said blandly. “But I thought that dedication to my craft sounded more impressive.”
“Of course you need your space with women,” she said. “And was a drink really the motivation to get me up here?”
“During an unusually hot August day? You bet it was.” He looked so totally innocent, but she still didn’t know if she believed him.
“All right, so serve me a drink.”
To her surprise, after pouring them each a soda, he led her onto a tiny balcony that looked over their land where it stretched all the way to the mountains.
“See that?” he pointed to the west.
“A mountain?” she said hesitantly.
“No, at the base of it. It’s the Valentine Valley cemetery, on our side of the Silver Creek. All of my ancestors are buried there. Most of the time I think they watch over us with pride. But on a bad day, I’m thinking not so much.”
“That’s ridiculous, of course they’re proud of you. Your ranch is a success, and your family is happy.”
“Some people have started to point out that both Nate and Brooke have found their partners, that it’s my turn to make myself perfectly happy.”
She frowned. “I don’t believe people have to find ‘true love’ ”—she air-quoted the last two words—“to consider their lives successful. Everyone has a different path to happiness. Right now, yours is making your leatherwork a success. Speaking of which, when are you going to ship those bags to Geneva?”
“Already did, first thing this morning.”
“You’re an easy man to represent,” she said with satisfaction. “That’ll be a nice check.”
“Wonder how I’ll spend it?” he mused.
“You could take a trip.”
“This winter, maybe. I don’t have time to travel more than that.”
She blinked at him, unable to imagine not traveling as she wanted to. But, of course, she’d had a wealthy childhood, and it made her different than most people. But she was beginning to realize she’d spent much of the last ten years among people who’d been raised just like herself. Friends from boarding school, then college. It was an insular world. Being in Valentine Valley had reminded her of how special her upbringing was.
She thought of Josh, and his devotion to his family, and had to consider that maybe she wasn’t the lucky one after all.
But no one would believe that.