Swordsman's Legacy. Alex Archer

need to protect the ranch, to protect the childhood she’d loved by staving off this big city buyer until a better one came along—a buyer like Gordie McConnell would have been, if he’d had the money, or the right claim on her heart.

      She had wanted a buyer who would come into the steakhouse every night, regular as clockwork, tell her how the place was going and listen to everything she said about keeping it the same.

      Today, everything was different.

      Gordie was the only lover she’d ever had. He’d been in her life too long, and had stopped her from seeing her future clearly. That was her fault as much as his, and she had to do something about it. Lucas Halliday seemed like part of the answer. She knew he wouldn’t be looking for anything beyond a short-lived flirtation. Why not respond, just a little, just to see how it felt?

      It needn’t go very far.

      And yet if it did…

      She’d never felt this way about a near-stranger before—this awareness that he wanted her and she wanted him, on a raw, physical level, immune to any other considerations. It made her dizzy, hungry, exultant, scared. The right kind of scared. Full of adrenaline and courage. She found that she liked it.

      Back at the ranch after their long morning of touring in the car, he was ready to get on horseback right away, so she changed into jeans and her scuffed riding boots and took him out to the stable. She gave him her own mare, Ruby, while she took her father’s gelding, Moe. Lucas hadn’t big-noted his riding skills, but he found his way around the tack room without asking dumb questions, and mounted the sixteen-hand animal with ease. He’d be all right.

      Reba loved this ride up to the cabin, and they couldn’t have picked a better day for it. The fields shimmered in the heat and the air was scratchy with dust. However, once the horses had splashed through a shallow section of the stream to reach the forested mountain slopes beyond, the shade beneath the ponderosas struck cool on her hot body.

      Neither she nor Lucas spoke very much as they rode. Saddles creaked, insects buzzed, horse shoes clapped like scattered applause on earth and grass and rock. Knowing the route, Reba led the way. She only turned back once in a while, to warn Lucas about a tricky section or point out something of interest.

      It must have been around three in the afternoon, or a little later, when they reached the cabin, but she hadn’t worn a watch, so she didn’t know for sure. Dismounting, she looped Moe’s reins around an old-fashioned hitching post, and Lucas did the same. She swung her day pack clear of her shoulders and brought out some carrots and apples as treats for the horses. They began to crunch on the offerings loudly.

      Pretending to be absorbed in feeding them, and chewing on one of the two apples she’d saved, she watched Lucas covertly. He shaded his amber eyes with his hand and looked back the way they’d come. He had a folded crease in one leg of his bone-colored pants, after their ride, echoing the softer, darker crease he’d have in his skin, at just about the same point, where his thigh met his backside.

      His back had to be hot under his black T-shirt, and he should be wearing a hat. The tan on that curve of neck would turn red, soon. Reba had sunblock in her day pack. She could offer him some. He would stretch his jaw and smooth the white liquid around that long, brown column, before handing the fragrant plastic bottle back to her. She could watch every movement.

      She didn’t make the offer.

      What had captured his interest, down below, anyhow? You couldn’t see the house or the outbuildings from here, but you could see the Bailey field and the Upper Creek field and a section of the road leading into Biggins. Felt as if they had to be a good two miles or more from the nearest human being.

      Her heart shifted and sank. Maybe that was his exact thought. He’d probably consider it way too isolated, up here. His interest in the ranch, on his father’s behalf, would turn out to be a frivolous city slicker impulse, and wouldn’t survive this afternoon of reality.

      “This place have electricity?” he asked, confirming her fear as he turned and came toward her again.

      “Generator.”

      “And tanked roof runoff for water.” He’d obviously seen the galvanized piping, and the tank that stood behind the cabin.

      “It’s not meant for year-round living.” She heard defensiveness raising the pitch of her voice. “If you want your stepmother to have her white Christmas here, you’ll need to haul some firewood. See, here’s where the vehicle track comes out. We didn’t take that, because it’s longer, but you can get a pickup along it, or snowmobiles in winter. Easy.”

      He only nodded, walked over and stood at the head of the track, looking down it as far as the first bend. Turning again, he said, “Shall we take a look inside?”

      “Sure.”

      Lucas let Reba go ahead of him, watching the tight way she held her body, the tight way she walked. He wanted to tell her it was okay, he wasn’t going to get put off a major purchase because of one outdated hunting shack.

      And even if he did decide against the place, on his father’s behalf, Jim Broadbent was right. A buyer would show up soon. She could relax. Meanwhile, whatever happened with the sale, he had no intention of riding rough-shod over her feelings.

      He almost reached out to her with the same touch of support and understanding that she’d rejected yesterday when they’d spotted the dead beast, but she was too far in front, and the chance was lost.

      For the moment.

      But after the way she’d flirted with him in the car, his whole body was primed by the physical stretch of the recent ride and ached for its next opportunity.

      The cabin wasn’t locked, of course. The porch floorboards resonated beneath her feet, and by the time he’d stepped onto it behind her, she’d rattled the old door handle and swung the door open. He’d expected a dusty, musty interior, with dirt-misted window panes, uneven floors and shabby furnishings, but it wasn’t like that at all.

      “I came up here two days ago, cleaned it and aired it out,” she explained. She’d even put fresh flowers in a couple of vases. There was the smell of lavender in the air. The furniture was old, true, but of good quality, and there were new throw pillows and slipcovers on the couch and two armchairs. The kitchen, also, must have been modernized only about ten years ago.

      The old fireplace had been replaced with a modern, glass-fronted wood-burning stove. It was fan-forced, and would give out fantastic heat. You could slide the Persian-style rug closer, arrange the throw pillows in a heap on top, and sit here in front of it.

      Toasting marshmallows.

      Baking potatoes wrapped in foil.

      Making love.

      Hard to imagine, on an eighty-five-degree day, that such heat could be needed, but Lucas knew that temperatures could drop to thirty below, up here. Raine’s white Christmas was a pretty safe bet.

      The rooms were way too cramped for Raine’s taste, though. He and Reba stood within touching distance because they had little choice. The windows were too small and the ceilings were too low. His stepmother would claim claustrophobia and boredom within a day.

      Bulldoze the log cabin, too?

      Absolutely not! Raine could build a new one, open plan, with twenty-foot ceilings, acres of glass and satellite TV, in some ostentatious location. Lucas would lay claim to this place for himself—his cut of the purchase, his finder’s fee. It was an irrational, emotional impulse, and he wasn’t sure why he felt it so strongly. He knew it didn’t make sense. He knew it wasn’t even his decision to make.

      What was happening, here?

      Too much.

      More than flirtation.

      Already, he understood more than he wanted to about why Reba’s roots ran so deep into this soil.

      “Do you want to see upstairs?” she asked him.

      “Please.”