She’s my best friend’s little sister, he reminded himself.
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
Straight to hell, he thought. He cleared his throat. “This is my destination.”
“Oh.”
“I thought I’d bunk with the men,” he said so that she wouldn’t suspect that he wanted her.
“No, you can’t. You’d better stay up here.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and he knew it was because she was planning on making up some story about where the cowpokes were who used to live there.
“I’ve been to the bunkhouse, Lynn. What happened?”
“Oh, we don’t have such a great need for overnight staff anymore.” Her hair fell to the middle of her back in tousled waves and the light reflected in it. He’d always loved her hair. Even as a tomboy teenager she’d had miles of hair. After she turned sixteen it had played into more than one of his fantasies while he’d slept under this roof.
“Why not?” he asked, trying to focus on anything but her body.
She sighed. “It’s the middle of the night and you must be tired.”
Seth knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to get in his car and drive back down the highway until he found a place to stay, but he was tired.
“Can I stay here tonight? I’ll head back to Chicago in the morning.” He’d been turned out of better places and for less reason than Lynn had.
She touched his arm, and though he knew it was impossible, he seemed to feel her heat through the layers of his jacket and shirt. “Of course you can. I didn’t mean you should leave.”
“Thank you. I’ll grab my overnight bag and bunk down here,” he said. She’d tilted her head back to look him in the eye now that they were standing so close, and he realized she had a long, graceful neck. Her skin looked as pale as the moonbeams, and he wondered if it would taste as sweet as it looked.
“Do you really want to sleep on the sofa?”
“No. But I don’t want to disturb you.”
“You won’t. I didn’t even hear you enter the house.”
“I can be very quiet.”
“And then really noisy. What happened?”
“The ottoman.”
She chuckled. “Are you okay? I’ve hit that thing a time or two myself.”
The piece was old and heavy, made of solid oak with a pretty, embroidered covering that he knew Mrs. McCoy had made during her first year of marriage. It was a tradition in the McCoy family that the newlyweds made a piece of furniture for their new life together.
“Go get your bag. You can sleep in Matt’s room. I’ll change the sheets for you.”
“Thanks, Lynn.”
“No problem, Seth.”
The way she said his name made him wonder if she wasn’t remembering what it had been like to kiss him. And though he knew that would be a big mistake, it was all he could think of as he retrieved his overnight bag from the car. Think of her as your own sister, he cautioned himself. He tried to imagine one of his half sisters in those long johns waiting upstairs for him. But as he entered the house and climbed the stairs, he knew it wasn’t Alexandra, Tara or Maggie up there.
Even an image of Matt’s glowering face couldn’t keep his blood from flowing heavier or his loins from tightening. The only one who could do that was he. And the one thing Seth had always been able to do was keep his cool and his control. Why, then, did it feel as if he was barely hanging on?
Lynn turned off the shower at nine the next morning. She’d been up since dawn feeding Thor and the other horses that she boarded for the townsfolk. She’d slept better last night than she’d expected to. The security of knowing she wasn’t alone on the ranch should have been enough to ensure she didn’t spend the night twisting and turning in her bed. But Seth’s icy gaze and warm touch had haunted her dreams.
She’d hurried out of bed and refused to dwell on those thoughts. Seth was nothing more to her than an old family friend, and she didn’t have too many of them left. Most had died or moved on, leaving her alone for almost five years. Longer than she’d ever expected. Perhaps that loneliness was why she was so willing to latch on to Seth.
She had an appointment at the bank this morning and needed to get dressed. Her closet was a fashion nightmare, dominated by faded jeans and western shirts. In the back, in a plastic dry-cleaning bag, was her one suit, some designer label that she’d bought to wear to her mother’s funeral.
She dressed in it quickly but with care. If she had a chance of persuading Mr. Cochran at the bank to extend the loan, she needed to exude success. But how did success look? Seth would know, she thought.
It was too bad she couldn’t tell him the truth, because she could use his advice. He knew about making money. Heck, he came from one of the wealthiest families in Chicago. But he’d tell Matt and she wasn’t going to ask her big brother to bail her out of another mess.
She twisted her long hair into a chignon and applied the light makeup that she wore to church. The suit was cut with classic lines that flattered her lean frame. For a minute she glimpsed who she might have been if her family had lived in a city instead of this small rural town.
She didn’t hear any signs of life from Matt’s room as she walked down the stairs. Maybe she could sneak out before Seth woke. He’d be gone when she returned and she wouldn’t have to see him again.
The smell of coffee warned her that her luck was running par. She entered the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. At the breakfast table Seth had set up a laptop computer attached to her phone jack.
He made a few keystrokes on the computer and then turned to smile at her. For a minute she forgot why she thought she couldn’t trust him.
“Good morning.” His voice was low and husky, masculine in the early morning. She wasn’t used to a man’s voice and it startled her. Seth had obviously taken a shower before coming downstairs and was dressed again in casual elegance.
“Morning,” she said, gulping her coffee and scalding her tongue. She hated it when she did that. Damn, if she was this rattled on her home turf, how was she going to handle the bank?
“Sleep well?” he asked, eyeing her. She wondered if she’d smudged her lipstick on her teeth. Surreptitiously she rubbed her tongue over her front teeth.
“Yes.” She sat down across from him.
“Good, because I have some questions.”
“About?” Not now, she thought.
“The ranch, Lynn. What the hell happened?”
She knew he’d ask. Anyone with eyes would wonder the same thing. But her answers were hard to come by. She was a proud woman—always had been—and telling this smart, handsome man that she’d fallen for a con was not in the game plan.
“Times are tough. NAFTA didn’t do ranchers a favor.”
“Most of the ranches aren’t this bad.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the wallpaper that had once been a bright spring floral print but had faded with time. She had a moment’s fear that she was glimpsing the future. That someday she’d be as old and faded as the wallpaper and have seen just as little of life.
Carefully she considered her words. “True, but most of them aren’t run by one person.”
“The McCoy ranch never has been in the past.”
“Well, it is now.”
“Lynn,