The Man Who Had Everything. Christine Rimmer
place to sell as you see fit, that you’ve always been so good to us and I should be more grateful.”
He shrugged, looking out at the night again, listening to the long, lost wail of a lone coyote somewhere out there in the dark. On his other side, Bart stirred, woofed softly, then dropped his head back on his paws again. “You tell her how I laid you down on that blanket and kissed you—how I almost did a whole lot more than just kissing?”
She made a sound that could only be called a snort. “Oh, please. She’s my mom. Some things a mom doesn’t need to know—and besides, Grant Clifton, you weren’t the only one doing the kissing. You weren’t the only one who wanted to do a whole lot more.”
He looked at her then. So beautiful, it pierced him right to the core, her gold hair tangled, eyes a little droopy from sleep, wearing an old sweater over a skimpy pajama top, and wrinkled pajama bottoms printed with sunflowers. “Feisty,” he said.
She snorted again. “I am not—and never have been—feisty.”
“Right.”
“Next you’ll be calling me spunky.”
“Never.”
“You call me spunky, I’m out of here.”
“I won’t call you spunky. Ever.” He raised a hand, palm out. “I swear it.”
“See that you don’t—and I guess I might as well tell you the rest of what Mom said.”
He looked out at the dark yard again. “Guess you might as well.”
“She said she can see how it would be hard for you to tell us how you’re selling the ranch, because you care about us and you don’t want us hurting and you know how much we’ve loved being here. Mom says I should look in my heart and find a little kindness and understanding there. And you know what?” She waited till he turned his gaze her way and arched a brow. “Now I’ve had a little time to stew over it, I think Mom’s right. I really hate when that happens.”
He wanted to touch her—to reach out and smooth her hair, maybe guide a few wild strands behind her ear, to brush her cheek with the back of his hand.
But he didn’t. He knew one touch would never be enough.
She said, “See, all I’ve ever wanted is my own ranch to run. I kind of let myself forget that this place isn’t mine, you know?”
“I know.”
“So…forgive me for being so thoughtless and cruel to you?” She stuck out a hand. “Shake on it.”
He took her hand. Mistake. Because then, he couldn’t stop himself from turning it over and pressing a kiss in the warm, callused heart of her palm.
“Oh, Grant…” she whispered on an indrawn breath.
He made himself release her. It was a real hard thing to do. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Oh. See, now. Of course, you would say that.”
“I’m not just saying it. It’s the truth.”
She started arguing. “But—”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Steph…” He sought the words—and found them, somehow. “I’m never going to be…the right guy for you. Whatever we might have together, it wouldn’t be a forever kind of thing. I just…don’t want that.”
“That?” She looked confused.
He elaborated, “I don’t want marriage. Kids. All that. I’m not…my dad, you know?”
“I never thought you were.”
“What I mean is, I’m not like him. I’m not…the salt of the earth. Not a family man. What I want, it’s not what you want. When I was a kid, I thought it was. I told myself all I needed in life was a chance to walk in my dad’s big, muddy boots. But that was a lie. A lie to please him—and to please me, too, I suppose. Because I loved him and wished I could be like him. Because the world is built on men like him.”
“He was a fine man.”
“Yeah. The best. But I’m not him and I never will be. I’m…restless inside, you know? I want to be out there, mixing it up, meeting new people, making things happen. I always knew, deep down, that I had more talent for business than for running cattle. I loved every minute of business school—the whole time telling myself and my dad that I planned to use what I’d learned to help keep Clifton’s Pride in the black. But what I really wanted, what I dreamed of, is what I have now. I like the fast life. I like the progress a few around these parts hate. I enjoy my designer suits and high-powered meetings. I like making money. I like being single. And I plan to stay that way.”
She considered his words, her elbow braced on her knee and her chin cradled on her hand. Then she nodded. “Okay.”
It was a damn sight removed from what he’d expected her to say. “Okay?” he demanded. “That’s all. Okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, with another strong nod. “Okay. I don’t want you to be anybody you don’t want to be. And don’t assume you know what I want. I might end up surprising you.”
He had a very scary feeling she just might. And he wanted to kiss her. Damned if he didn’t always want to kiss her lately. Kiss her, and a whole lot more.
“So we understand each other, then?” he asked, thinking that he didn’t understand a thing.
“You bet.”
“And I’ve got to go.” Because if I don’t, I’m going to lay you down right here on the front porch, take off that sweater and that tiny little top and those sunflower pj’s and finish what I started this afternoon…
“See you tomorrow, then,” she said, with just a hint of a smile in the corners of that mouth he was aching to kiss.
He stood and started walking, putting her behind him where she couldn’t see the bulge at the zipper of his jeans. He got in the Range Rover and started it up, leaning out the window before he drove away.
By then, she stood on the top step, arms wrapped around herself, looking so sweet and pretty, it took all the will he possessed not to jump down from the car again and grab her tight in his arms.
“I changed my mind,” he said over the low rumble of the engine.
She grinned wide. “What? You mean you’re going to come back here and kiss me, after all?”
Her words sent another bolt of heat straight to his groin. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, get over yourself.”
He told her then, flat out. “I turned down that offer. I’m not selling Clifton’s Pride.”
She gasped then. And she looked at him with such hope. With such gratitude and joy. Like he was Santa come with Christmas on the Fourth of July. “You’re serious.”
“As a bad case of hoof and mouth.”
“Oh, Grant. Are you sure?”
“I am.”
She shut her eyes, sucked in a long breath, and then asked, as if it pained her to do it, “It’s not… because of how mean I was to you, not because of the hard things I said about turning Clifton’s Pride into a dude ranch?”
He answered truthfully. “That was part of it, yeah. But not all. I don’t know exactly why I changed my mind. I just know that, when it came time to sign on the dotted line, I couldn’t do it.”
She hugged herself tighter, rubbing her arms against the nighttime chill. “I’m glad. It’s selfish and I know it. But, Grant, I’m so glad.”
He