Pueblo’s shocked gasp behind the slightly opened door to the storage room said she’d scored a hit on at least one male. Rio’s cold, tight smile almost caused her to shiver. Almost. “I suppose you think that’s funny.”
“I’m staying, partner,” she said cheerfully and stood up. “See that those girly pictures get stripped from the bathroom, will you? And that it’s scrubbed down. Until we can remodel, adding another bathroom, layers of gray on the porcelain won’t suit my lady customers. Be seeing you. Hey, Pueblo,” she called. “I’m parking my bike in the storage shed. I’ll be down from the mountain when I’m ready.”
Rio caught her arm as she passed him and Paloma resented those four inches up to his face. She wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. “What mountain?” he asked roughly. “There are avalanches up there, lady, and spring flooding. I wouldn’t want to have to pull you out from under a ton of snow.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Have I asked for your help?”
There was just that flick of temper, to show she’d scored a hit. He smelled of smoke and fire and leather and dangerous male, packed with enough exciting edges to make her feel alive, really alive. “Where are you staying?” he asked roughly.
“Boone’s mountain cabin. I know the way.” She’d been safe there, with Boone. Now, as an adult, she had to sift through her childhood memories and find peace. “Boone wouldn’t want me to sell. He gave me his half for a reason. I’m going to find out why.”
Rio’s dark eyes softened; “Spanish eyes” the locals called the Blaylocks’ expressive trademark. “I’ll take you to his grave—”
“No!” The answer came out too sharp, too fierce, and Paloma hated that Rio had seen inside her fears—the man saw too much. He was frowning slightly now and studying her face. He’d known Boone...was her likeness to him easily seen?
“I’ll take you to Llewlyn House. My brother and his wife have added on to it...their family is growing, but there’s plenty of room. You’d be welcome.”
“No...I’d...rather not.” A wave of panic smashed against her, all the old memories coming back, the old piano... Boone.... She wasn’t ready; she had to prepare, to protect herself before—
“When you’re ready, then,” Rio murmured as if understanding her fears. His tone was soft, gentling, and Paloma sucked air, fighting the panic. Rough warmth curled around her hand, and she looked down to see his larger hand holding hers. The sight terrified her, too intimate, too close, too warm.... She jerked her hand away and hurried out the door.
She heard his footsteps, then for a second time, Rio’s hard grasp caught her, spun her around. “Listen, you hardhead It’s dangerous up there—”
She managed to smile coolly, despite fears fluttering around her like vulture wings. She was good at that, managing to look cool and hard, when inside, she was in agony. She’d learned first under her mother’s cruelties, and then fighting stage fright in concerts. She knew how to shield herself. “Worried about little old me?” she taunted.
Pueblo came outside, peering up at her. “Rio is our local ranger, ma’am. He’s rescued plenty of people in his time. There was a forest fire a few years back and he almost killed himself, trying to rescue a little boy. The boy didn’t make it and—”
“That’s enough.” The quickly shielded look of pain etched in Rio’s face surprised Paloma.
“I’ll be all right,” she said quietly. “Your brother, Boone’s executor—Roman—said there’s plenty of wood and I’m welcome to use the cabin. Boone taught me how to live up there. A friend is helicoptering in food and supplies. I’m looking forward to being alone. You’re not stopping me. Now let go of my arm.”
She wished Rio weren’t looking at her so closely, that his hand hadn’t just reached to stroke her long, loose hair. She wished that she didn’t tremble when his fingertip brushed back a tendril from her cheek. She wished her heart hadn’t started racing at that close, intimate look as he bent slightly to brush his lips against hers. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he whispered in a deep, uneven smoky tone. Then he leaped off the platform and strode toward his pickup.
“I’m not looking for a cowboy like you, lady-killer,” she whispered when her breath returned to her body. She managed to pull her eyes away from that stalking symphony of broad shoulders and fine backside, cupped in worn denim, and placed a check-in call to Lou, her agent. To her disgust, Rio Blaylock’s backside and long legs fascinated her.
Rio slowed the horses, hushing the uneasy mare. Frisco, his saddlebred gelding, settled with the touch of Rio’s gloved hand and the Appaloosa mare quieted. He waited until the bear, awakened from his winter nap and foraging for food, crossed the path leading to Boone’s cabin. Rio pushed down the panic that the bear had already found Paloma, alone and unprotected. He’d given the stubborn woman two weeks, two long weeks of wondering if she were alive, if she needed him. He grimaced, unsettled by his admission that he needed her—his woman. Irritating, mule-headed woman...
May sunlight dappled the thick pines, and animals scampered in the forest’s thickets. The mountain blueberries would be thick and sweet this year. Waxy yellow buttercups would soon rise, and he hungered for her, this woman who softly haunted his sleepless nights, blending with the nightmares of the boy he couldn’t save....
“Perverse...contrary...maddening,” he muttered, beginning his journey again after glancing at the mare, packed with supplies. Why should he care if the obstinate woman had food? Would she be safe? Why did he care? Why had he promised himself after that first meeting that he’d come for her—if she didn’t return to Jasmine?
That shy dimple on her left cheek created the whole problem, he decided stormily. He couldn’t wait to see it again, that bit of magic on her smooth cheek.
It was her hands, he corrected as he watched deer move through the thicket, heading for lush summer grazing meadows on higher ground. He wanted those lovely, active, slender hands on him, touching his face, his hair, tethering him. He wanted that angular feminine body to be a part of his. He wanted to hold all that silky river of hair in his fists and kiss that—
He almost smiled. Paloma would bite.
Rio shook his head, not understanding his need for her, his need to keep her safe. She wouldn’t like his visit, of course, his checking up on her. He released his smile. Those sky-blue eyes would darken, slashing at him—His heart leaped at the thought, the excitement of seeing Paloma respond to him, almost vibrating under his touch, shocked as he’d kissed her palm, stunned as he’d touched her hair. Hell, he’d been stunned at the feel of her skin beneath his, the widening of her eyes, so blue a man would think he was floating in the sky.
He whipped the reins through his fingers. He should be at home, tending his Corriente and Hereford cattle, plowing and seeding and keeping his accounts. The beefy Herefords were a practical choice, but the contrary Corrientes matched Rio’s Spanish heritage—edgy, dark, dangerous. He smiled; the cattle reminded him of Paloma’s fire and the excitement she gave him; his heart raced just looking at her.
His remodeled house—an old barn—always needed work, and he was behind on his ranger and deputy rounds. He’d taken time away from his duties to see about Paloma, and to explore his shocking hunger for her. He scoffed at himself, now thirty-seven, desiring a woman who wasn’t sweet-natured, cuddly or curved. He recognized the age-old instinct to capture and claim her for his own-he’d known it the moment he’d seen her left hand, her third finger barren.
The Appaloosa mare was his first gift—she’d need the horse; that injured leg wouldn’t like the mountain hike. And Rio had just discovered that he liked the traditions of his Apache ancestors—like the bridal gift. A tracker and a hunter by nature and by Blaylock blood, Rio had followed Paloma to the