The Cowboy's Twins. Tara Quinn Taylor
eye made her heart twitch again.
SPENCER STILL WASN’T sure how it happened, but he ended up staying at the studio, eating the best chocolate chip cookies he’d ever had and watching while his children continued to help Natasha Stevens with the independent sound check she’d been running.
She’d explained that her crew ran the official checks. And that since the very beginning, she had run one of her own, as well. Because it set her mind at ease to know firsthand that everything was running properly.
Tabitha had been the one to explain that she and Justin were working for her for free as punishment for trespassing and stealing cookies.
And then he’d been hoodwinked into inviting her to share their dinner with them. He’d promised them hamburgers, camp potatoes and grilled corn because it was Friday night and they didn’t have school the next day. He’d also promised roasted marshmallows over the fire pit.
With her crew gone for the night, it had seemed churlish to make a big deal out of his kids’ invitation to her to their Friday soiree.
He just hadn’t expected her to hang around after the kids went to bed.
He’d left the fire burning, because it was a nice night, and he’d intended to come back out with his tablet and get some work done.
The kids had said good-night to her. He’d nodded his goodbye.
And yet when, fifteen minutes later, tablet in hand, he’d carried a cup of coffee out to the fire pit, there she was, still sitting in the sling chair she’d occupied during dinner. Elbows on her knees, she was leaning forward, her hands folded, and dangling by the warmth of the fire. The formfitting, long-sleeve black shirt she was wearing outlined a perfect female form.
Attraction flared for the instant it took him to clamp down hard on it.
“I didn’t expect you still to be here.” He tried to come off as cordial, enough so that she could think he was pleasantly surprised to find himself still in possession of her company.
But even to his own ears, he sounded surly.
“I was enjoying the fire,” she told him. “I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to sit by a campfire.”
“People don’t have fire pits in Palm Desert?” He knew they did. A buddy he’d graduated with had one in his backyard, right next to his pool. Spencer had taken the kids there for a Fourth of July party the year before. Justin had put his hot dog in the pool to see if it would float...
“I don’t have one,” she said.
Taking a seat, he set his tablet on his knee. Tapped it. Waited for her to go. He watched stock prices every day. Wanted to see what the farm markets were doing. And then place a couple of orders.
He purposely did not make conversation. Enough was enough.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
He’d just spent the evening with her. Was it wrong to need a little time to himself?
“I don’t know you.” Yet he recognized the way her eyes glistened in the firelight. They’d had that same glint the night before, under the light in Ellie’s stall, just after Natasha had witnessed her first calf birth.
He could have sworn, that night, that the sheen was due to tears she was refusing to shed.
But tonight?
“You say that like you don’t want to get to know me.”
Apparently he was easy to read. But, hey, he lived a simple life—a cowboy on a ranch. He didn’t need subterfuge. Or societal graces.
It wasn’t like his cattle were going to get an edge on him because they could tell what he was thinking.
“I could pretend otherwise. Our business arrangement, you here on my ranch, I probably should pretend. But no, I don’t.”
She gave a soft chuckle. And he started to relax. At least she wasn’t overly sensitive. Not that it would really matter to her if a country boy ranch owner didn’t like her.
“Mind my asking why?”
He minded that her smile made her look even more beautiful—softer—in the night air. And he minded that she wasn’t leaving him to enjoy the rare moment of solace in his day.
“It’s nothing against you,” he quickly assured her. He needed her money. And because of that, truly wanted her experience on his ranch to be a good one.
He just didn’t want to be the one to show her a good time.
There were plenty of others who’d jump at the job.
“I didn’t think it was.”
She picked up a bottle of water at her feet—which was when he noticed she’d helped herself to a fresh one—uncapped it, took a sip and, slowly, with fingers that were long and slim, turned the cap back into place.
He wanted to kiss those fingers. Heat rose up his neck. How could a guy be embarrassed when he was the only one who knew of his humiliating thoughts?
He had to get rid of her. In a way that let her know, quite clearly, that she shouldn’t come back. He’d designated the part of his property that was temporarily hers. She had plenty of room. She needed to stay there. In spite of whatever else his kids might pull.
“You’re a city woman,” he said now, feeling stronger already as it occurred to him that if he was boorish, she’d have no way of knowing it wasn’t his norm. Seemed an easy enough way to ensure that she’d stay clear of him.
And what better way of convincing her than a version of the truth?
“You don’t like me because I carry my New York upbringing with me?”
“What?” He frowned. What had he missed?
“You said city woman. I thought you were referring to the fact that I grew up in New York City.”
“How would I possibly know that?”
She shrugged. And chuckled again. A nice sound. Not a derisive or sarcastic one. “My bio is public knowledge,” she told him. “I just assumed, since the show was going to be filmed here, that you’d read up on it.”
He’d read about the show’s success. Had purposely shied away from any personal information about the show’s founder, producer and on-air host.
Thankful for the darkness, he sat back from the firelight, hiding his expression from her gaze.
“So, what do you have against city women?”
“Nothing.”
“You just dislike them all? For no reason?”
His version of boorish was clearly not working.
Maybe honesty would do it. Changing tactics, he said, “I don’t dislike city women. I just don’t get friendly with them.”
Eventually, after more than a couple of minutes passed without a response, and without her leaving, Spencer looked away from the fire to see her studying him.
“What?”
She shook her head. “I’m just trying to figure you out,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You seem like such a smart—and, judging by the way you deal with your kids, fair—man. Yet you’d have me believe that you arbitrarily disregard much of the female population simply because they live in the city.”
“What’s with you?” He leaned forward now, too, exposing his face to the firelight. “You get some perverse delight putting a damper on my evening?”
“No.”