Riding Home. Vicki Lewis ThompsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
on her hands and knees and cleaned it up herself. But the chocolate had been gone—no doubt someone had seen the chaos she’d left in her wake and reported it to Cassidy.
Jeannette didn’t want to think about the comments that must have flown around as the floor was cleaned. Yet when she’d come back into the kitchen, everyone had been perfectly nice to her, including Cassidy. She gave them all credit for that.
But there hadn’t been a lot of warmth coming her way, and she’d caught a few exchanged glances that had made her stomach twist. Maybe if she’d gotten to know them prior to the Christmas Eve drama, this situation wouldn’t be so awkward. But during her engagement to Regan, she’d only met his parents. There hadn’t been time to fly out to Jackson Hole to see his sisters.
Now they were obviously only being nice for Regan’s sake, which was admirable. But if they could somehow manage to see past her awful mistake and get to know and like her as a person... No, that was probably asking way too much under the circumstances. She couldn’t help longing for it, though.
Before she’d left the kitchen, she’d mentioned the clothes issue and had acknowledged that hers weren’t suited to the weekend’s activities. She’d told them about the planned shopping trip with Zach, which had caused a few more exchanged glances.
She hoped that eighteen-year-old Cassidy didn’t have a crush on Zach. Jeannette didn’t want her to be jealous on top of everything else. Cassidy was the only single woman on the ranch, but Zach was too old for her. Jeannette wasn’t good with ages, but the crinkles at the corners of his amazing eyes put him at somewhere past thirty.
And that made him the perfect age for her, since she’d just hit the big three-oh this year. Not that she had any business comparing ages as if they had a future together. He seemed very happy to be a ranch hand in Wyoming living in his Airstream. She was very happy as an attorney in Virginia.
But that hadn’t kept her from fantasizing about him taking his solar shower in front of God and everybody. Or replaying his kind words to her right before she’d left the barn. In her fantasy they ended the moment with a kiss instead of a civilized handshake.
She was intensely grateful for his encouragement and help, and their relationship would probably only be a platonic one, but he was very handsome. She’d been doing penance for her sins ever since she and Drake had admitted they weren’t right for each other. She hadn’t gone on a date since, which had been almost eight months.
Maybe she could be forgiven for having inappropriate thoughts about Zach. She wondered if his sensitive behavior had nudged her libido because it telegraphed his potential as a wonderful lover. It was a logical conclusion.
Any man who’d take the time to listen to a woman’s troubles and offer to help her solve them would likely also be committed to giving his sexual partner pleasure. He would employ all the skills he possessed in that endeavor. He wouldn’t rest until she was utterly and completely satisfied.
Oh, Lord. That concept made her hot. She got up from the sofa and began to pace the small parlor. She’d better rein in her fantasies before he arrived because a man like him would sense her reaction. That would be plain embarrassing.
The receptionist, a slim brunette, left her desk and walked into the parlor. “Happy hour is about to start,” she said. “Would you like a glass of wine while you wait? I can bring it to you.”
“No, thanks. But that’s very sweet.” Jeannette estimated the girl was about Cassidy’s age and conscientious about her job.
“I like your outfit.”
“Thank you.” Jeannette had chosen the least dressy combination she’d brought, but even so the ankle pants were beige linen and the black blouse was silk. At least she’d tied the shirttails at the waist in a faux casual way. Her black Ferragamo mules added a good three inches to her height. She’d left off the bangle bracelets and wore the smallest gold hoops she owned. “I’m afraid my clothes don’t fit in very well, though.”
“They would if you were staying in Jackson. It’s more cosmopolitan there. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine? When Pam’s not here, it’s my job to make sure the guests are happy.”
“She’s not?” Jeannette had thought the B and B owner would be on the back porch serving drinks as she had the night before.
“She’s spending the night with her husband. Good thing I’m over twenty-one so I can serve liquor.” The girl smiled.
“Where’s her husband?” Vaguely Jeannette remembered a ring on Pam Mulholland’s left hand, but she hadn’t seen a husband around.
“Over at the Last Chance. He’s the foreman there. Emmett Sterling.”
“I did not know about that.”
“Some people think it’s strange because she didn’t take his name and they each kept their own place, but I think it’s cool. Well, I’d better head back there before they get restless.” With a grin, she whirled around and left the parlor.
No sooner had she disappeared than Zach walked in the front door. For a brief moment he paused to gaze at her, and the air between them seemed to crackle. Damn, he looked good—clean white Western shirt, snug jeans, polished boots and a light gray Stetson pulled low over his eyes.
She took a deep breath and drew in the spicy scent of his cologne. A little spot of dried blood on his chin indicated that he’d nicked himself while shaving. How endearing. Maybe he was a little bit excited about this shopping excursion, too.
He cleared his throat. “You look great.”
“For a greenhorn.” She picked up her black cloth shoulder bag from the sofa.
“No, just plain great.” He walked into the parlor. “I almost hate to take you shopping for jeans when what you have on suits you so well.”
“But as we discussed, it’s impractical for a ranch barbeque. And although no one’s offered to take me out on a horse, I couldn’t ride like this, either. Besides...I want to fit in.”
“Then let’s go.” He ushered her through the front door and down the sidewalk to his truck, which turned out to be muscular, black and dusty. “I would apologize for the state of my truck, but it’s always like this. Black is the wrong color if you live at the end of a dirt road.”
“But aren’t dirt roads inevitable if you work on a ranch?”
“As it turns out, yes. I didn’t take that into consideration when I bought this baby.” He walked with her to the passenger side and opened the door. “At least the inside’s clean.”
“Nice.” The smell of new leather greeted her as she climbed in and buckled up. The seat rivaled the comfort of her Mercedes back home. He’d splurged on this vehicle, and recently, too. She didn’t know how much ranch hands made these days, but the job must pay better than she thought or maybe he’d come in to some money. Or he could be up to his ears in debt.
He settled himself behind the wheel, closed his door and started the engine. The truck’s deep-throated rumble was decidedly masculine. So was the man sitting next to her, and his cologne tantalized her even more in the enclosed space of the air-conditioned cab.
She tried to remember the last time she’d ridden in a truck. Even though her parents raised horses, the valuable Thoroughbreds were always transported by professionals in semis. Her family drove luxury cars. Even if she had been a passenger in a pickup a time or two, she certainly hadn’t been chauffeured by a Stetson-wearing cowboy.
When she’d imagined this trip to Jackson, she hadn’t anticipated that Zach’s truck would provide a sensually rewarding experience. She’d assumed he’d have an ordinary truck, maybe one with some rattles and worn upholstery. Instead they cruised down the highway effortlessly.
He glanced at her. “How did things go in the house when you went back?”
“Fine. No one’s ever been rude to me, but