Grace Under Fire, page 13
“I should be leaving.” He poured himself a thimbleful more wine. “Any decision on my offer?”
“Why did Bill treat you as if you were something stuck to the bottom of his shoe when he first arrived?” She was procrastinating, delaying Ryan’s departure when she should have been saying, “See you later.”
“You noticed.” He leaned back in the chair.
“Hard to miss.” She allowed herself another small sip of her half-glass of his very fine wine.
“I asked my question first.”
“What exactly is your offer?”
“This is your decision, Grace.” He held his hands up in surrender. “You have control.” A generous assessment when he knew the contours of her dilemma.
“Control within an increasingly smaller square, where every day my options are more limited.” She voiced her frustration because any deal would only work if there was truth between them. “It’s like severing a limb, to think of the farm being subdivided. It’s not just land for me.”
“I can walk away.” He swirled the remaining wine in his glass, his gaze on her. “Or you can nominate a different piece of land.”
Terrifying to discover she didn’t want him to walk away, that she’d miss the friendship they were starting to establish as well as the buzz. Yet leaving was his long-term plan. “That’s the most logical acreage for you to buy.”
“Is that a no?” he asked quietly.
Their voices had dropped, the dark crowded the windows, although stars would light the sky, and the moon would rise later in the evening. A confidential conversation with the potential to change her world.
“I won’t lose this farm, Ryan, even if I need to sell part of it to keep it.” She took the biggest risk of her life. “I’d rather do business with you than anyone else in the offing.”
“Are you sure your nose didn’t grow when you said that?”
She kicked him under the table.
“Ah, a genuine compliment, Ms. Anderson.” He pressed both hands to his chest. “Be still, my beating heart.”
“Put your offer in writing, and I’ll consider it.” She was ninety percent sure she’d accept his offer. He was teasing rather than triumphant, but she’d read every word.
“Back to the hard-headed businesswoman.” There was no sting in his comment.
“Once bitten, twice shy. Now, spill it,” she said.
He didn’t pretend not to understand. “I’ll make it short and take no questions. Bill found me and his very luscious daughter in a compromising position in his Ute in their backyard one night.”
His unexpected confession made her giggle. “Define compromising.”
* * *
Ryan let the carefree sound trickle down his spine. “I’ll leave it to your imagination. Unless you’d prefer a demonstration.”
Her gaze softened, and a blush heated her cheeks—tell-tale signs she was recalling their kisses—the brutal intimacy of them, the tingling awareness sparking between them whenever he touched her.
“The buzzing’s getting awfully loud.” Ryan reached for her hand.
“That means it’s time to go.”
“Spoilsport.” When he wanted to sink into her, let himself be seduced by her scent so there was only her. “I want more of you.” And knew she was as curious as he was. That behind the curiosity was affection and respect, which sharpened the edge of his need.
“Definitely time to go.” She pushed back from the table.
“Let me help you clean up.”
“You’ve already stacked the dishwasher.” She held up a hand as Ryan came around to her side of the table.
“I didn’t get to interview you the other night. I’ll pay you for advice on land management. Wasn’t that your offer?” And for Ryan, an excuse to see more of her. To help her, to check she wasn’t working herself to the bone. Updates from Bluey weren’t enough. Repaying her father wasn’t enough. It wasn’t personal. Well, only a bit personal in that it saved her work and money. And his interest in Grace was becoming very personal.
“You were right. I gave the information to Mr. Donovan for free.”
“But you liked Mr. Donovan.” Provoking her now that they were on kissing terms was more fun than he’d imagined.
“If you’re angling for me to say I like you ...”
“I’ll settle for the buzz at this stage.” He enjoyed the flush turning her throat a soft pink. “Although we could celebrate reaching a deal.” He drew her to her feet and nibbled her fingers.
* * *
“Not there yet.” Grace led the way back through the house, stopping at the back door, her hand on the doorknob.
His eyes gleamed with a question Grace recognised, an invitation to mate. She’d enjoyed his banter at dinner, the sensation of him dancing around her without touching, of touching with a look, a caress as real as if his blunt fingers had traced her cheek. He made anticipation exciting, but she wanted more of his kisses before he left tonight. Wanted to test if she could control her runaway attraction to him.
“I like what happens when we get close.” He stepped closer until their clothes brushed against each other, and the knowledge there was flesh and blood beneath the fabric incited a riot of sensations. She wanted to grab and hold.
Her heart pounded. “The alley was adrenalin, a whiff of danger.”
The memory remained vivid, and Grace couldn’t blame it all on the wave of hot air buffeting her as the car sped past, the roar of engine and screech of brakes as the car spun, releasing the acrid smoke of burning rubber. Her face had been buried in his chest. Solid, unmoving, a shield between her and danger. His scent had surrounded her then, woven into the memory along with the pounding of his heart, then the smooth skin of his cheek.
What had made him escalate that kiss?
Then the taste of him. Not a man who fumbled with anything. His kiss had been as confident and as elusive as the man himself.
“And the kitchen?” he growled.
“Pent-up lust,” she confessed. If the stove timer hadn’t shrieked incessantly, they might be in her bed now. Her cautious soul was a few steps behind.
“Works for me.” He placed his hands on either side of her, caging her against the door. “You’re a dangerous woman.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Been talking to Billy Brown?” When he stared at her mouth as if he’d like a bite, her knees buckled. “Kneed him in the groin when he tried to help himself without invitation.”
“Invite me.” He angled his head and leaned closer until his mouth was a whisper from hers. “Invite me.”
“What the hell!” She reached a hand behind his head and closed the gap, making her answer clear. Better again this time. A different whip of danger. The taste of him was sharp and mysterious, like the man. A hum started low in her belly. She’d like hours to unravel the mystery and the man. Maybe days. She lifted her other arm to cup his face. “Yes.”
Settling her more firmly against his body, he deepened the kiss, his hands holding her face, his fingertips pressed lightly against her cheeks. A gentle touch she hadn’t anticipated from him, and more compelling than if he’d pounced. She liked his taste. A complex man, and she’d always liked riddles. He drew back first. She stayed at the back door until he drove away.
Grace sipped her second cup of coffee the following morning. A personal indulgence—fifteen minutes and a long black after milking, cleaning and breakfast to order her thoughts and mentally review her list of the day’s activities. The first hit of caffeine was necessary to get her brain and her body moving when she rolled out of bed at four; a chemical prod to keep her eyes open and her wits about her around large, unpredictable bovines.
Now, she closed them, letting the aromatic scent and roasty-sweet flavour of her preferred blend roll through her system, concentrating her energy. Mrs. Wilson had baked raisin bread this morning. Grace and Danny had stuffed themselves on it from the time Grace had been old enough to sit at a table. They’d picked out the raisins and eaten them first, reaching for the next slice.
She could picture Ryan’s reaction even now. When Danny had reached for Ryan’s slice, Ryan had bent over the table, elbows wide, protecting his property. “Picking at your food is gross.” His grin had been evil, splitting his face from ear to ear. A laugh bubbled in her throat. She’d coaxed a few half grins from him recently. She’d developed a taste for more.
With the ping of incoming mail, her focus shifted from being a farmer to cheese-maker and businesswoman. The address was unfamiliar, leinadfarms. It tugged on some half-remembered story. Ryan opened with a brief greeting. The attachment contained the detail of his offer along with his lawyer’s contact details and the insistence she pass it to Jake for closer analysis. On a first read, Ryan’s offer was clear, simple and the answer to her prayers. Could buying the farm really be this simple? Stunned, she slumped back in her chair.
The landline trilled loudly enough to be heard two paddocks away. “Dad, I was planning to call you.”
“When?” His purring-engine voice, scepticism wrapped in care, had always been able to get her to confess.
“When I had better news.” She glanced at the open screen, where the numbers danced with possibilities. Ryan’s offer made it hard to deny her family’s collective judgement he was a straight shooter. She liked his directness. In business. When he had his hands on her. Her tongue traced her lower lip, searching to see if Ryan’s taste lingered. “Sorry, I missed that.”
“I called Officer Bill earlier. He’s got some ideas, but he’s not sharing. What does Ryan think?”
That I need more sleep.
That the buzz between us is getting louder.
That I’m a dangerous woman. He made her feel like a sexy, powerful and dangerous woman. She sighed.
“Did you say something, Grace?” Her father’s hearing was acute, his perception even sharper.
She dragged her attention back to her problem. “Ryan agrees someone is trying to price me out of the market.” Outside the kitchen window, the farm buildings gave way to open fields. Gentle hills flanked her western side, rolling down to the river and shrouded in trees. Contamination was another kind of swindle. Never again! “We won’t sell this farm to a cheat or a thief.”
Her father let her outburst crackle across the distance between them, then settle. “Anything else?” Her father’s support hummed through the line. Brian Anderson could almost be in the room with her, savouring his second cup of coffee, letting long silences bleed into plans. “Spit it out.”
“You’re drinking coffee.” A lump rose in her throat.
“Aren’t you?” His mug thumped on a table hundreds of kilometres away.
“Ryan’s offering to buy a stretch of land, bounded by the river at the north end and the town road at the south—”
“Where the spill is?” her father interrupted. He’d worked it out. “That’s why he was with you yesterday.”
“Yes.” She waited for his verdict.
“Has he put a dollar price on the offer?”
She named the generous price. “His offer will cover the deposit without exhausting all my savings.” A lifeline given no amount of creative accounting could lift her savings from ten to twenty-five percent of the farm’s value.
He whistled. “What do you think?”
“It’s your land, Dad.” Tears stung her eyes. She missed working alongside him, ached to turn back time.
“We’re selling to you.” Relief was woven through his gruff response. “What you do is your decision. Jake can look at the legals for you if you’re concerned.”
“Ryan’s already told me to send the offer to Jake and given me his lawyer’s name.” She’d asked for his offer in writing. His response was an invitation for her to have it sliced and diced by her highly competent lawyer brother-in-law to check for flaws.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” her father nudged. “What are you thinking?”
“That my options are limited.” Her options were vanishingly small. “The extra cash will guarantee the bank approves the loan.”
“Ryan knows you’re considering it?”
She nodded, then remembered her father couldn’t see her. “He knows.”
“Your mother will be thrilled. Keep in touch.” Her father’s voice was lighter than it had been at the start of the call. She owed Ryan for easing her father’s anxieties.
She stared out the window. Ryan was an unlikely fairy godmother, but her body felt looser this morning than yesterday. Muscles, tight as steel ropes since her parents’ announcement, slackened. A lightness of being. She’d heard the same edge of hope in her father’s voice. She pressed her hands to her mouth to hold back the shout of relief. She could dream again. Not over, but possible. A shiver of excitement rippled from head to toe, and she laughed in growing delight.
On the point of closing and forwarding the document to Jake, her eyes were drawn back to the heading at the top of the page. The email address leinadfarms@ appeared under the business name Leinad Enterprises. The words danced on the page. Danny had shared her love of word games, and they’d played with their own names.
They made race, ace, ear, crag from the letters in Grace.
Nail, dean and lead from Daniel.
Leinad was Daniel spelled backwards. “I’ll be damned!”
Leinad Enterprises wasn’t a coincidence. Ryan had named his business after his brother, and no one had told her. Or more probably, no one had twigged to the trick Ryan had played. He’d channelled his ferocious grief for his brother into a business bearing his brother’s name.
“He won’t thank you for bringing it up,” she said to herself.
A private man. A private grief. He’d always hated the stares and whispers so common to small country towns. He’d especially hated the viciousness reserved for anyone who was different—like his brother. He’d cut all ties. She understood better now the different shades of grief, the different ways people dealt with it. None better, none worse, just different. Ryan had had to lock his down to survive.
The last time she’d seen the brothers together, they’d been walking away from her. Ryan had reached out and wrapped an arm around his brother’s neck and hauled him close. Danny was dancing around, swinging his fists and trying to break away. Ryan was stronger. Then Ryan had leaned across and kissed his brother on the top of the head.
She’d forgotten that. More likely buried it in the turbulent sea of emotions and memories she’d been drowning in. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Ryan kiss his younger brother. In the roughhouse, adolescent world they’d shared it was unusual. Most parents stopped kissing their sons when they graduated primary school, and kissing teenage brothers was unheard of.
No, he wouldn’t thank her for bringing it up. His loyalty shifted something in her. She had no future with Ryan, but they could have now. A buzz, he called the spark between them. She’d claimed it was an itch. Describing this sensation as a physical compulsion diminished it. For her, it was a brightness, a shine to the day. She’d catch herself grinning at the cows for no reason, giggling when she unloaded the van and laughing like a loon when she chased those dammed chickens into their roost. Thinking of Ryan made her pulse quicken and her breathing come in short bursts. When she was in his arms, her mind overflowed with him.
Like the slow reveal in a striptease, Ryan had given her pieces of the story about why he’d left after Danny died. This puzzle piece told her more about who Ryan was. Forced to be a loner. He’d opened the door a crack for her. She was giddy knowing he was within reach. Knowing she could make the first move.
A secret smile made her mouth curve. He wouldn’t say no.
His masculinity was too ingrained, his confidence in the man he’d become too unshakeable to be threatened by her making the first move—touching him before he touched her—because she’d only be a split second ahead of him. She liked the smell of him, the feel of his big body against hers, the hum of his presence. She’d raise his buzz to a roar and to hell with the consequences. Skin to skin, flesh sliding over flesh, they didn’t need words to communicate.
The day dragged. Grace went through the motions of checking on orders, preparing the makings for her soft cheeses and checking and dispatching stock. The sun bled into the clouds, the orangey-pink light streaking across the sky promised another sparkling spring day on the morrow. Waving to Bluey from the doorway, she’d turned for the bathroom before the farmhand was out of sight, kicking off her boots, shucking clothes as she made her way down the hall to the shower.
Time to stop lying to herself. She climbed into her Ute, her nerves a mass of popping corn, a cascade of tiny joyful explosions. His proposition was a no-holds-barred, all-out affair. He rejected the ties that bound you—to people and places. She’d found her centre in this land.
He was leaving town. She was staying. No strings attached. No crying foul when he walked away. Knowing the rules, she’d handle his leaving better this time—she was sure of it. Besides, she had the power to walk away first.
CHAPTER TEN
Liquid pooled in Grace’s pelvis when he opened the door. She’d had to wait a few minutes, and his arrival explained why. Faded jeans—hastily pulled on—were slung low on his hips with the top button undone. Drops of water beaded his chest, drawing her eyes to his impressive pecs. His feet were bare. He was rubbing a towel over his head. Wet—his hair was darker than usual and clustered with curls. A rough-towelled Satan shadowed him.
She pointed at the dog. “Does he shower with you?”
“He needs a bath every so often.” He shrugged, and she stifled a groan seeing his shoulder muscles ripple. “The kitchen’s warm. I’ll get a shirt.” He turned to walk away.
Reaching out a hand, she touched his shoulder. He stilled on an indrawn breath. Damp, but warm, firm, but supple under her fingers. “You don’t need a shirt,” she whispered, tracing an S-shape down his spine, the pads of her fingers skimming his skin, flipping her from tormentor to tormented.
He spun around, caging her between him and the wall, his hands hauling her closer while his mouth devoured her. No hesitation. A demand and a response. Excitement streaked through her and a burst of power at the speed with which she’d flicked the switch to passion. Her hands moved into his hair, dragging him closer, her body moving into his because any space between them was sheer hell. Letting her head fall back, she opened her mouth to his. Their tongues danced in a game as old as time and as new as their mating.
