He shrugged.
She clasped his hand in an attempted handshake. Her fingers were like ice. “I’m Gabriella Rousseau. Everybody calls me Gabby.”
The name suited her. “Zach Sheffield,” he said.
“I wish we were meeting in different circumstances. I mean, here we are in the middle of the night. In the middle of nowhere.” She winced. “Sorry, I’m not putting down this, um, countryside. I’m sure that in daylight, it’s lovely, and—”
He tapped the stirrup. “Put your foot in here, and I’ll hoist you up.”
“Oh, no, that’s not going to happen.” She took a backward step. “I don’t know how to ride.”
He wasn’t asking her to perform in a barrel race. “You don’t have to do anything. Just sit on the horse.”
“Why are you people trying to kill me?” She stormed around in a tight little circle. “First, the crazy girl shoots at me. Then, you want me to deal with a gigantic animal. That thing must weigh two tons.”
“About eleven hundred pounds,” he said.
“What if it steps on me? It’s not safe.”
Zach had neither the time nor the inclination to stand in the rain, listening to a tirade from a woman who didn’t have the sense to realize that he was helping her. He stuck his foot into the stirrup and swung back into the saddle. “Suit yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You can walk. It’s about a mile to the house. The ground in this field is kind of uneven, so watch your step. And mind the rattlesnakes.”
“Snakes?” She staggered toward him with both arms raised. “I think I’ll take that ride, after all.”
He reached down, wrapped his arm around her and yanked her off her feet. It took all his strength to lift her onto the horse, especially when her long legs got tangled the wrong way around. When his horse snorted, she yelped and flailed as though she was atop a bucking bronco. He wrestled her around until she was settled into the saddle in front of him.
Exhaling a sigh, she leaned against him. The back of his jacket was wet against his flannel shirt, but when he slipped his arm around her slender body, he liked the way they fit together. It had been a while since he’d been this close to a woman. As his hand molded against her bare midriff, her stomach muscles quivered. A vision of her leopard-patterned bra popped into his head as he urged his horse into a walk toward his ranch house.
“Slow down,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“We’re really high up. If I fall from here, I could break an ankle.”
“It’s hard to believe you’ve never been on a horse before.”
“I’m from Brooklyn,” she said as though that statement should clarify everything. “I’m not into animals.”
“Except for leopards,” he murmured.
“I guess I owe you an explanation for why I was half-naked when you found me. It’s simple, okay? My clothes got caught on your nasty fence and I didn’t want to rip them to shreds.”
Her body jostled against him. In spite of the cold rain, a pleasant feeling of warmth radiated from his chest to the rest of his body. When he leaned forward in the saddle, he could smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo.
“I bet you’ve got other questions for me,” she said.
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She wriggled around in front of him. “Did you just ma’am me?”
“Seems appropriate for a lady such as yourself who’s never rode a horse.”
“And that makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What’s a city girl like me doing here?”
Zach already knew the short answer. Gabby was here to claim her inheritance—Rousseau’s Roost. That information was enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who needed to rake through other people’s business. “I’m sure you’ve got your reasons.”
“Colorado isn’t where I’d choose to live,” she said. “I’m into fashion and I specialize in original designs, not haute couture gowns but upscale ready-to-wear. You know what I mean?”
“Yep.” Zach didn’t have a clue and couldn’t care less.
“Anyway,” she continued, “my work means I need to be in New York or L.A. or some other major fashion mecca. When the lawyer called and told me about Rousseau’s Roost, he said it was near Aspen. Is that true?”
“Yep.”
“Aspen means glitz and glamor. I thought that movie stars and European royalty would be my next-door neighbors. Do you know a lot of famous people?”
“Nope.”
They were coming closer to his long, low, ranch house. On the porch, he saw his housekeeper with a striped Indian blanket in her hands. As soon as they got there, he’d turn Gabby over to the care of Rhoda Phillips, who would give her something warm to drink and something dry to wear. That was the neighborly thing to do. Though he enjoyed the way this woman from Brooklyn felt in his arms, they had nothing in common. He wasn’t looking to start up any kind of friendship.
“Did you know my great-aunt?” she asked.
“Yep.”
She waited for five seconds, and then twisted her neck around. “What can you tell me about her?”
“I liked her.”
Michelle Rousseau was a good neighbor, sociable when she needed to be and not a pest. She’d traveled a lot and was well-read. Zach had spent many pleasant evenings drinking coffee on her front porch and listening to her stories about faraway places and unusual ideas. He’d been glad when Charlotte moved into the Roost a few years ago to help out with the chores when the work got to be too much for Michelle to handle on her own.
“What else?” Gabby asked. “Did she ever talk about family? Did she mention me?”
“Yep.”
He was saved from further conversation when they reached the covered porch where Rhoda stood with her blanket. He swung his leg over the rump of his horse and dismounted. Then he held his arms up to help her.
After the clumsy way she’d gotten on the horse, he expected a struggle, but she surprised him by getting both legs on the same side of the saddle. As she slipped down into his arms, her long, lean body slid against his, descending slowly, until her feet touched the ground. The warm sensations he’d been feeling translated into a sensual heat that didn’t bode well for keeping things neighborly and distant.
“Do you want your jacket?” she asked.
The last thing he needed right now was another view of her leopard brassiere. “Keep it.”
He turned Gabby by the shoulders and pointed her toward the porch. “This is Rhoda Phillips. She’ll look after you.”
Zach took the reins of his horse and walked toward the barn. With each step, he told himself not to get attached to Gabby Rousseau. This woman was nothing but trouble.
* * *
ON THE PORCH, Gabby gratefully accepted the warm, dry blanket that was being held toward her by a round-faced little woman with her gray hair sticking out from her head like a cap of feathers. On short legs, she bustled like a pigeon, and her long plaid bathrobe was belted beneath her full breasts.
“Come inside,” Rhoda said. “We’ll have some nice, hot, chamomile tea.”
“That sounds great.” She glanced toward Zach as he and