The Man Who Had Everything

Chapter Two

Stephanie entered the barn, the bright sun outside lighting her gold hair from behind, creating a halo around her suddenly shadowed face. Grant, his senses spinning, somehow managed to get his boots under him and rise from the bale.

She came right for them. “Hey, you two. Mom said I’d find you out here.” She reached him, slid her warm, callused hand into his and flashed him a smile. “C’mon. Got some things I want to show you.”

Prickles of awareness seemed to shoot up his arm from the hand she was clutching. Her scent taunted him: shampoo, sunshine and sweetness. It took a serious effort of will not to yank her close and slam his mouth down on hers—with Rufus sitting right there, fingering that cigarette he hadn’t quite gotten around to lighting yet.

This is bad. This is…not like me, Grant reminded himself.

And it wasn’t. Not like him in the least.

Yeah. All right. He knew that in town, folks considered him something of a ladies’ man.

And he did like a pretty woman. What man didn’t? But he never obsessed over any of them, never got tongue-tied as a green kid in their presence.

Not until today, anyway.

Stephanie. Of all the women in the world…

By some minor miracle, he found his voice. “Show me what?”

“You’ll see.” She beamed up at him, those shining eyes green as a matched pair of four-leaf clovers. “Come on.” She tugged on his hand.

He let her pull him along, vaguely aware of a chuckle from Rufus behind them and the hissing snap as the cowboy struck a match.

Inside, she led him to the office, which was off the entry hall, not far from the front door. She tugged him over to the desk and pushed him down into the worn leather swivel chair that used to be his dad’s.

He sent her a wary glance. “What’s this about?”

“You’ll see.” She turned on the new computer she’d asked him to buy for her when she started in as top hand.

“What?” he demanded, his senses so full of her, he thought he’d explode.

“Don’t be so impatient. Give it a chance to boot up.” She leaned over his chair, her gaze on the computer screen, that fragrant hair swinging forward. He watched, transfixed, as she tucked that golden hank of loose hair back behind her ear. He stared at her profile and longed to reach up and run the back of his hand down the smooth golden skin of her throat, to get a fistful of that shining hair and bring it to his mouth so he could feel the silkiness against his lips. “There,” she announced. By then, she had her hand on the mouse. She started clicking. “Look at that.” She beamed with pride.

He tore his hungry gaze from her face and made himself look at the monitor. “Okay. A spreadsheet.”

She laughed. The musical sound seemed to shiver all through him. “Oh, come on. Who’s got the fancy business degree from UM? Not me, that’s for sure.” She pointed. “Look. That’s a lot of calves, wouldn’t you say? And look at the totals in the yearling column. They’re high. I think it’s going to be a fine year.”

He peered closer at the spreadsheet, frowning. She was right. The yearling count was pretty high. He muttered gruffly, “Not bad…”

“I’m working on making sure they’re all nice and fat come shipping day. And as far as the calves? I think the total is high there because of that new feed mixture I gave their mamas before calving time. Healthy cows make healthy calves.” She laughed again. “Well, duh.

As if you didn’t know. And you just watch. Next year, when those calves are ready for market, they’ll be weighing in at close to seven hundred pounds each—which is really what I’m leading up to here. Yeah, my new feed mixture is looking like a real success. But bottom line? Winter feeding is expensive. Not only because of all the hay we have to put up, but also in the labor-intensive work of caring for and feeding our pregnant cows in the winter months when the feed has got be brought to them. If you really stop and think about it, we work for the cows. My idea is to start letting our cows work for us, letting them find their own feed, which they would do, if there was any available during the winter months…”

He watched her mouth move and kept thinking about what it might feel like under his. What it might taste like…

She gave him a big smile. “There are changes going on in the industry, Grant. Ranchers are learning that just because a thing has always been done a certain way doesn’t automatically mean it’s the best, most efficient and profitable way. What I’m getting to here is that lots of ranchers now are switching from spring to summer calving. And you know what?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh. What?”

“It’s working for them, Grant. Matching the nutritional needs of the herd to the forage available can cut production costs and improve profitabil…” Her sweet, husky voice trialed off. “Grant? You with me here?”

“Yeah.”

“You seem…distracted.”

“No. Really. I’m not.”

She leaned in a little closer to him, a tiny frown forming between her smooth brows, the amazing scent of her taunting him even more cruelly that a moment before. “Is it…” She spoke so softly, almost shyly, the savvy ranch foreman suddenly replaced by a nervous young girl. “…about earlier?”

He flat out could not think. His mind was one big ball of mush. “Uh. Earlier?”

A flush swept up her satiny throat and stained her cheeks a tempting pink. “Um. You know. At the creek…” Her gold-tipped lashes swept down. And she swore. A very bad word.

It shocked him enough that he let out a laugh. “Steph. Shame on you.”

With a low, frustrated sound, she straightened and stepped back. He felt equal parts relief and despair—relief that she was far enough away he wasn’t quite so tempted to grab her. Despair that the delicious smell of her no longer swam all around him.

“Damn it,” she said—a much milder oath that time. “I am so…dumb. Just…really, completely childish and dumb.”

“Uh. Steph.”

“What?” She glared at him.

“What are you talking about?”

She flung out a hand. “Oh, please. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Er. I do?”

“I keep…beating this silly dead horse to death over and over again. It’s just not that huge a deal that you saw me naked, right?” She looked at him pleadingly.

For her sake—and his—he told a whopper of a lie. “No. Not at all. Not a huge deal at all.”

“Exactly. It’s no big deal and I need to act like a grown-up and let it go. But no. Every time you look at me funny, I’m just sure you’re thinking how annoyed or amused or…whatever you are at me and it gets me all…flustered and I instantly start babbling away about the whole stupid thing all over again. Oh, I just… Will somebody shoot me? Please. Will somebody just put me clean out of my misery?”

He rose. “Steph.”

She put up a hand. “Oh, wait. I know you’re going to say something nice. That’s how you are. Always so good. So understanding. So…um…” Her eyes widened as he did exactly what he shouldn’t do and closed the distance between them. “Wonderful…” she whispered. “Just a wonderful man.”

Getting close again was bad enough. But the last thing he ought to do was to put his hands on her. He knew that. He did.

So why the hell was he reaching out and clasping her shoulders?

Damn. Her bones felt so delicate. And the warm silk of her skin where the red shirt ended and her flesh began…

There were no words for that, for the miracle of her skin under his hands. There was nothing.

But the scent of her, the feel of her…

She swallowed. “Grant?”

He remembered to speak. “I’m not that wonderful. Take my word for it.”

“Oh, Grant…”

“And I want you to know…” The thing was, he could stand here holding her shoulders and looking in her shining eyes for the next decade or so. Just stand here and stare at that dimple in her chin, at her slightly parted lips, her clover-green eyes…

“What?” she asked.

He frowned and, like an idiot, he parroted, “What?”

“You want me to know, what?” Wildly she scanned his face.

And he had no idea what. Not a hint. Not a clue.

And something was happening. Something was changing.

Something about Steph. She was…suddenly different. All at once her nervousness, her girlish embarrassment, had vanished.

Now, he looked down at a woman, a beautiful woman, a woman sure of what she wanted.

“Oh, Grant…” They were the same words she’d said not a minute before.

The same.

And yet totally different.

She lifted her hands and rested them on his chest and before he could remember that he should stop her, she slid them up to encircle his neck.

He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be standing here way too close to her, shouldn’t be looking down at that mouth of hers, thinking how he’d like nothing better than to cover it with his own.

He shouldn’t…

“Oh, Grant. Oh, yeah.” And she lifted up on tiptoe and pressed that soft, wide mouth to his.

Chapter Three

More things he shouldn’t be doing…

He shouldn’t be wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, shouldn’t be easing his tongue between those softly parted lips of hers. Shouldn’t be sweeping his tongue over the eager surface of hers. Shouldn’t be finding the taste of her even sweeter than he’d dared to imagine.

Shouldn’t be.

But he was.

He ran an eager hand down the curve of her back and cupped her firm, sleek bottom, pulling her up and into him, nice and tight. So she could feel exactly how she affected him…

Wrong, he thought.

Shouldn’t…

But that didn’t stop him. He kissed those soft-sighing lips of hers and when she sighed again, he kissed her some more.

She didn’t seem to mind.

Far from it. She kissed him right back.

It was good. The best. Better than the best. He didn’t want it ever to end.

But he knew that it had to. Exerting a superhuman effort of will, he lifted his mouth from hers.

There was a moment. Breath held. They stared at each other. Her eyes were greener than ever, her lips slightly swollen from that kiss he shouldn’t have shared with her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and clasped her shoulders again to put her gently away from him. “I don’t know what the hell my problem is. I shouldn’t have done that.”

And she smiled, a smile that trembled a little at first, and then grew wider. A smile that became so bright, it blinded him. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You should have. And I’m real glad you did.”

For the first time ever, Marie’s famous pot roast had no taste.

Not to Grant, anyway. The last thing he could think about that evening was food.

In his mind, there was only Steph: her smile, her laughter, the memory of her kiss, the look in her eyes across the table whenever their glances happened to meet.

He had a really big problem here and he knew it. He kept almost forgetting who she was, kept losing sight of the fact that he was sworn to look out for her, that he could never, ever hurt her, that the last thing he would ever do was to take her to bed.

He was all wrong for her and he knew it. She was a find-the-right-guy-and-marry-him kind of girl. An innocent in her heart. Hell. He was reasonably sure she was still a virgin.

A virgin. Oh God.

Grant didn’t go out with virgins.

And wasn’t up for the whole marriage-and-family deal. Not now. Not ever.

And even if she didn’t expect him to marry her, a girl like Steph would at least want something approximating what women liked to call a relationship. Grant didn’t have relationships.

When it came to women, he liked things free and easy, fun and open-ended.

And sitting at the dinner table that evening, he felt trapped. Boxed in by his own burning lust for sweet little Stephanie Julen.

He needed to stay away from her. Oh, yeah. Since he couldn’t keep his hands off her once he got close, the solution was simple: He would keep his distance. Yeah. That should work. If he just stayed away…

He poked more food he didn’t taste into his mouth and resolutely chewed.

Marie asked, “Grant, are you feeling all right?”

He swallowed. Hard. “Uh, yeah. I’m just fine.”

“You’re looking a little strange. Is the pot roast okay?”

“The best. As always.”

Rufus let loose with one of those low, knowing chortles of his. Grant sent him a dark look.

The old cowboy shrugged. “Hell, Marie. This is the best you ever made. Nothin’ wrong with this here pot roast, nosirree. It’s tender and juicy. Perfect in every way. Just like the potatoes and the carrots and these rolls of yours that are fluffy as little pillows. Uh-uh. If the boss has got a problem, it’s not with the food.” He forked up a big bite and stuffed it into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. I’ve got no problem at all.” Grant scowled at Rufus for all he was worth.

“Hear that?” Rufus grinned good and wide. “Boss says he ain’t got a problem.” He raised his beer. “I’ll drink to that.”

Grant looked away from the old man—and saw that Jim, the new hand, was staring at Steph. Grant resisted the urge to tell the fool to get his eyes back in his head where they belonged.

After all, who was he to tell Jim not to look at Steph? The cowhand seemed like a nice enough guy. Steph had mentioned after she hired him that he was a good worker. Rufus said he kept his area of the bunkhouse clean and in order. Maybe Jim was hoping to settle down, find himself a suitable woman and ask her to be his wife. If so, he’d be a lot better match for Steph than Grant ever would.

But Steph wasn’t looking at the hired hand. Steph was looking at him. And every time she looked at him, he wanted to jump up and grab her and carry her off someplace nice and private, someplace where he could peel off that red shirt and those snug jeans and have another long look at what he’d seen down by the creek.

He covered pretty well, he thought. Except for Rufus’s sly remarks and the occasional shining glance from Steph, they all kind of carried on as usual.

There was pie and ice cream after the meal. Grant dutifully packed it away. And then, at last, Marie started clearing off.

“It was great, Marie. Thanks.” He slid his napkin in at the side of his plate and pushed back his chair. “And it’s an hour’s ride back to the resort. I think I’d better get moving.”

Rufus grunted. “Your horse is ready to go. Tacked him up before I came in to eat.”

“’Preciate that.” He pushed his chair under the table, and turned for the entry hall. The hat he’d borrowed waited on the peg by the front door. He grabbed it, yanked the door back and fled.

Too bad Steph was right behind him.

She caught up with him out on the porch. He didn’t know what the hell to say to her. So he said nothing. She didn’t seem to mind, just strolled along at his side across the yard to the post beside the barn where Rufus had hitched Titan.

As they reached the big gelding, she spoke. “Nice out now. Cooling off a little…”

The sun was just sliding behind the mountains, but it would be a while yet till dark. “Yeah,” he said, without actually looking at her. “Nice.” He took the reins and mounted. Then he made the mistake of glancing down at her.

She smiled. That wide, glowing, happy smile. Something tightened in his chest.

“How about a picnic?” she asked. “I can’t tomorrow. We’ve got too many fences that need fixing around here—not to mention a couple of ditches that have to be burned out so those fat yearlings I’ve been bragging on won’t die of thirst. But I could get away Tuesday. Say, noon? I’ll meet you out by that big, dead cottonwood over in the Danvers pasture.” He’d ridden by that tree earlier on his way to the ranch. Once, it had been on Triple J land. She asked, “You know where I mean?”

Tell her how you just can’t make it. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s about midway between here and the resort, so it won’t take you all that long to get there. Over the fence from that pasture is Parks Service land and some nice shade trees. I’ll bring the blanket and Mom’s cold chicken. And the beer.”

Tell her no, you can’t make it. Tell her it’s just not possible. Tell her now.

“All right. Noon on Tuesday,” he heard himself say.

“Good night, Grant.” She stepped back.

He tipped his hat and turned his horse to go.

The whole ride back, he called himself a hundred kinds of damn fool. Now, he’d have to call her. Tell her how something had come up and he just couldn’t make it on Tuesday, no way.

He was so busy stewing over how he shouldn’t have kissed her, shouldn’t have agreed to any damn picnic, that he didn’t even think about what he’d forgotten to do until he was back in his suite at the resort, changing his clothes. He stopped with one leg out of his Wranglers and gaped at his image in the wall-to-wall mirror of his dressing area.

He’d never told them he was selling the ranch.

“Mom?” Steph leaned in the archway from the front hall.

Marie looked up from her mending and smiled a tired smile. She took off the dimestore glasses she wore for close work and rubbed the bridge of her nose. In the pool of light cast by the lamp, her round face looked shadowed and lined, older than her forty-nine years. “Off to bed?”

“Mmm-hmm.” It wasn’t quite nine yet, but Steph—and her mother, too—would be up and working long before first light. “Just wanted to say good-night.”

Marie set her mending in her lap and reached to pat the arm of the sofa a few feet from her favorite chair. “Sit a minute.”

Something in her mother’s tone alerted Steph. “What’s wrong?”

“Come on. Just sit with me. Not for long…”

Reluctantly, sensing she wasn’t going to like what her mother had to say, Steph left the archway. She took the spot at the end of the sofa. “What is it?”

Suddenly Marie just had to take a couple more stitches in the sock she was mending. Steph stared at her bent head, feeling fondness mixed with apprehension. She loved and respected her mother. Most of the time, the two of them saw eye to eye.

But tonight, Steph had a feeling they were about to disagree.

At last, Marie looked up again. “You and Grant got something going on between you?”

Steph couldn’t hide her trembling smile. “Oh, I hope so.”

Marie stitched some more. Then, abruptly, she lowered her work to her lap again. “He’s far from ready to settle down.”

“I know, Mom.”

“You two want different things from life.”

“True. But…you never know how things might turn out.”

Her mother shook her head. “You should see yourself. Pink cheeks and stars in your eyes…”

“Is that so bad?”

“You watch your heart, honey.”

“Oh, Mom. There’s nothing to watch. My heart belongs to him and it always has.”

Grant had meetings all day Monday. From concierge to housekeeping to the AspenGlow Spa to food service to sales to public relations—and more—Grant was responsible for overseeing it all.

The longest meeting was first thing. From nine until eleven-thirty, he pored over plans for the projected 18-hole, par seventy-two championship golf course, which was still in the early stages of development, with construction scheduled to begin next summer.

At eleven forty-five, he met with his assistant to go over the calendar for the week. After that, he could have stolen a few minutes to call the ranch and tell them about the sale.

But no. It really wasn’t the kind of news he wanted to deliver in a phone call. He felt he owed it to the hands and Steph and her mom to give it to them face-to-face. And there was just no opportunity for that, not that day.

True, he had no appointments that evening. He could make the time to drive out there after six. And maybe he should…

But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed best to clear his calendar for a few hours Tuesday afternoon and meet Steph for that picnic as planned. He could tell her then. And after he told her, he could ride back to the ranch with her and share the news with the rest of them.

In the meantime, he needed to prove to himself that what had happened the day before was not going to happen again. He needed to be sure that yesterday was just…some kind of fluke. A strange, over-the-top reaction to seeing Steph naked down by the creek, an offshoot of the sudden realization that she wasn’t a kid anymore.

Now that he had some distance from the situation, he knew there was really nothing to worry about. Steph might be all grown-up, but she was still like a sister to him. A sister. Nothing more.

And there were a whole lot of pretty women in the world. A nice romantic evening with a fun, friendly gorgeous female would do the trick, put things firmly back into perspective for him.

As luck would have it, just such a woman called while he was in the first of his afternoon meetings. She left him a message in voice mail. She lived in San Diego and had come for the skiing in January when they’d hooked up. He’d enjoyed every moment he’d spent with her.

“I had such a great time last winter,” her recorded voice teased, “I decided to try my luck over the Fourth. I’m up in the Thunder Ridge condos with a girlfriend. Give me a buzz when you get in. I can’t wait to see you. All of you…”

He returned her call and set up a date for that night. His receptionist beeped him just as he was saying goodbye.

He hung up and punched the other line. “What?”

“Eva Post’s on two.”

Eva was his realtor. “Eva. Hey.”

“Grant. I’ve got the offer. It’s exactly as promised. The acceptance deadline is tomorrow at five, so we need to get together. We’ll go over all the points in detail, as a matter of course, before you sign. But I guarantee you’re going to be very happy. They’re giving you everything you asked for.”

“What about the closing date?”

“September first. The buyer was hoping we could make it sooner, but I explained that you needed time to shut your operation down.”

“September first…” It was a reasonable date and he knew it. But still, it seemed like no time at all.

“No worries, I promise,” Eva coaxed. “It’s in the contract that you can take whatever time you need over the next six months to sell off the stock and equipment. As long as the main house, the bunkhouse and the foreman’s cottage are ready for the buyer to move in by nine-one, she’s happy.”

She was Melanie McFarlane, an Easterner who’d shown up in town a few weeks ago and was staying in the main lodge at the resort. Melanie came from money. She had a degree in hotel management and she was buying Clifton’s Pride as an “investment,” she said. She planned to make the place into a guest ranch.

Grant’s father would never have allowed such a thing. But John Clifton was dead. The price was more than right and Melanie’s financing was rock-solid.

The only problem: Grant’s concern for his people. Damn it, he should have carried through yesterday as planned, not let himself get side-tracked by the new, grown-up Steph. It was plain wrong for him to sell Clifton’s Pride out from under them before he’d even told them he was doing it. And as things stood now, he wouldn’t be telling them until tomorrow afternoon.

Eva asked, “How about four o’clock? You can come out to my office, or I can come to you.”

“Four o’clock…today?”

“Not working for you?”

“How about tomorrow? Late afternoon. Say, four-thirty?”

“That’s cutting it right down to the wire,” the realtor warned. He said nothing. After a moment, she let it go. “My office?” she suggested.

“No. Mine.”

The realtor agreed and said goodbye.

It would work out fine, Grant promised himself. He’d tell Steph and the others the news tomorrow—and return to the office to sign the papers afterward.

Grant’s date sent him a sultry look from under her thick black lashes. They stood at the door to her friend’s condo. From her expression, he had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

And it was.

“My roommate’s away for the night,” she said. “Come in for a drink? Just so happens I’ve got a magnum of Cristal chilling.” He saw her expectations in her dark eyes. They’d had one fine time last January. Lots of laughs and some good, hot sex. She had every reason to assume it would be the same tonight.

He’d planned for it to be the same tonight.

But since yesterday, nothing seemed to be going as he planned.

Through drinks in the resort’s lounge and dinner in the Gallatin Room, he kept wondering what the hell he was doing there. Wondering made him distracted and that caused long, awkward lags in the conversation. She’d asked him three or four times if he was all right.

He’d sworn he was fine, but they both knew the night was one big loser. Surprising, now he thought about it, that she’d even bothered to invite him in. He wished she hadn’t—not now that he realized he just couldn’t give her what she wanted from him.

So much for putting things back in perspective with the help of a fun, friendly, gorgeous gal.

“Thanks,” he said. “But I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

She blinked. But she recovered quickly. He knew what she was thinking: If he was fool enough to turn her down, it was his loss. She moved close and he got a whiff of her perfume. Musky. Exotic. A scent he’d found damn sexy last winter.

Hell. He still found it sexy. Just…not for him.

She touched his cheek, her hand smooth and cool. He thought of Steph’s hand—sun-warmed, rough with calluses—and it hit him like a mule kick to the gut.

All his denials meant exactly nothing.

He wanted Steph so bad, it was causing him to do the strangest things—like forgetting to tell her he was selling the ranch she loved so damn much. Like turning down a hot night with a fine, sexy woman, an experienced woman who knew a lot of really impressive, inventive ways to please a man…

He was in big trouble and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“’Night, then,” his date said, and went in.

He returned to his offices in the resort’s corporate headquarters down the hill from main lodge. There was always plenty of work to catch up on and he didn’t feel a whole lot like sleeping anyway.

By the next morning, Grant had himself convinced all over again that he really had no problem when it came to Stephanie. No problem at all.

He would meet her at noon, as agreed. He’d feel what he’d always felt toward her before Sunday: fondness and protectiveness—along with some serious apprehension, which was only natural since she was bound to be upset when she learned about the sale of Clifton’s Pride.

Riley Douglas, who was technically comanager of the resort, but who had a lot of irons in the fire and pretty much left the job to Grant, came by at nine. Grant brought him up to speed on the progress with the golf course. Then they discussed the pros and cons of opening a third full-service restaurant at the main lodge. They already had the upscale Gallatin Room and the Grubstake, where you could get a great burger and all-day breakfast. Grant thought they needed something in the middle range.

Riley agreed. “Come up with a few specifics—like who, what, how and how much. Then we’ll bring it before the board.”

Grant asked after Caleb, Riley’s dad. The resort had been Caleb’s brainchild. The wealthy rancher had provided the land, put together the investor group and overseen the original project’s development. Without the drive and influence of Caleb Douglas, the resort wouldn’t exist—let alone been a raging success from the day it opened for business last November.

Riley shook his head. “Sad to say my dad is gettin’ old, slowing down a little…”

“Give him my best, will you—and your mom, too?”

Riley promised that he would.

After Riley took off, there were a couple of food service issues to settle and some calls to return. Grant had the decks more or less cleared by eleven and at eleven-twenty he was mounted on Titan and headed for the Danvers pasture.

Once he left the stable yard behind, he urged the horse to a gallop, all too aware of a certain rising feeling in his chest, an eagerness in his blood.

Steph was there, waiting on Trixiebelle, beside the twisted old cottonwood in the pasture that had once been part of her father’s land. He saw her and his heart started pounding hard and deep and needful. Heat streaked through him, searing as it went.

Trixiebelle danced to the side as he rode up. With a horsewoman’s sure skill, Steph calmed the mare. Her strong, capable hand on the horse’s neck, she beamed him a wide, happy smile—a smile that made his head spin and his blood race even faster through his veins.

Damn. She was beautiful. So beautiful, it hurt. Her hat hung down her back and her hair, pulled loosely into a single braid, caught the sun in golden gleams. And those eyes…

Green as spring grass.

“Come on,” she said, and pointed to a stand of birch trees maybe a quarter of a mile away. “Over there.” She turned the horse and took off.

Hopelessly ensnared, forgetting everything but the color of her eyes and the way her hair shone like a handful of nuggets in the sunlight, he followed.