Chapter Eleven
When Grace got back to the ranch—well after lunch—Noah was wrestling with fence posts. Ripped jeans and ripped abs topped with a cowboy hat. Did he know that he belonged on the cover of a Reno’s Sexiest Non-Cowboy Cowboys calendar? She’d thought her tastes had matured since leaving. Though there was nothing immature or under-developed about the man building that fence. Grace shook her head. Those were some of the thoughts she’d just spent two hours driving out of her brain.
She needed to stay away from that man, or at least not be alone with him. He made her feel things she’d thought were buried so deep they’d never get out. But every time he came close, every time he looked at her, those feelings resurfaced. She wanted to hate him. But the look in his eyes almost made her forget the pain he’d caused seven years ago. The look in his eyes—anticipation mixed with determination—scared her.
Yes, she needed to stay far, far away from Noah. And right now, that was utterly impossible. She’d asked for help, and he was going to give it. This togetherness thing was going to kill her.
She slid in next to him, handing him tools and holding up posts to replace the broken ones, like she’d never left. She waited for him to ask where she’d gone, but he didn’t. He just accepted her back into the fold. Slowly, she relaxed and fell into an almost comfortable work rhythm.
There were a thousand other things she should be doing right now. Figuring out Italy topped the list, and so did going through the junk in the attic and packing things up. But she couldn’t pull herself away. The country air, fresh and pure, not heavy with car fumes and other city smells, filled her lungs. She’d forgotten how tranquil it could be, away from the hustle and bustle, and the crowds and the chaos.
She looked out into the wide-open fields that stretched up to the foothills. The horses had moved closer to the ranch. Her eyes immediately searched for Socks. He was there, at least twenty feet away from the rest of the horses. JJ sat in the tall grass, watching the band.
“Is Socks always off by himself?”
Noah followed her gaze. “You know bands only have one stallion.”
Horse harems. Yes, she remembered.
“Socks hasn’t figured out a way to maneuver away his mare,” Noah said. “But it’s more than that. The animal can’t seem to break the horse code. He’s socially inept, and he keeps getting turned away. I think that’s why JJ follows him. Kindred spirits.” Noah stood up, whipped off his hat, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweaty and still sexy. Grace focused on the horses instead.
She’d have to remember to ask JJ more about Socks and about his drawings, once he was talking to her again. Grace stood and shook off the dirt from her jeans. “I’ll make dinner tonight. It’s my turn. And I want to, you know, for JJ.” She needed to reach that kid, form a relationship. But first, she had to get him speaking to her.
“JJ’s not big on frozen pizza.”
She fake punched Noah’s shoulder. “I can cook. A little.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I picked up everything I needed at the store earlier.”
Noah’s lips melted into a grin at the admission. She turned away before he could see her blush and started toward the house. Why did she care what he thought? She didn’t need his permission to cook dinner. It was her house. She quickened her pace. She could make frozen pizza every night of the week if she wanted. But tonight, she felt like making meatloaf. It didn’t mean anything more than she was hungry for it.
“Meatloaf it is,” he called after her.
…
“Excellent meatloaf, Gracie.”
Noah watched her purse her lips as she tried not to smile or show she cared what he thought. A sliver of hope wormed its way into his chest. He couldn’t help but feel it nestle in and expand as he breathed. He’d been working hard to keep it casual. He hadn’t meant to scare her off this morning. But he also hadn’t expected what he’d seen in her eyes—questions, uncertainty, vulnerability. But mostly desire. And it rocked his world.
His Gracie was there, underneath that hard shell. Now he just had to prove it to her.
“What’d you think, JJ?” Noah asked.
JJ grabbed the used cloth napkins and started folding them. “It was okay.”
Gracie reached across the table and put her hand over his pile.
JJ froze.
She didn’t pull back. “Hey, kiddo. I saw Socks today. He looked so majestic. I bet you capture that in your drawings. I’d love to see them. Would you show me?”
With his head totally immobile, JJ’s eyes moved from Gracie to Noah and back to Gracie. Noah held his breath, waiting for an explosion. He’d warned her not to touch him or his stuff. Not to invade his space. Pull back, pull back. Still Gracie didn’t move away.
“I’m sorry, JJ,” she whispered.
The seconds ticked, ticked, ticked into eternity.
Slowly JJ sat back from the table. “Sure. Maybe tomorrow.” He slid out of his chair, eyes cast downward, and slinked out of the room.
“I expected an eruption,” Noah said cautiously.
Gracie turned, eyes wide, to Noah. “So did I.”
Noah wracked his brain for an explanation for JJ’s turnaround. The kid saw life differently. He studied Socks, rooted for him. Maybe he’d studied Gracie today, working the fence with Noah, and decided to root for her, too. Noah shook his head. “I’m not sure what that was, but it might have worked.”
“You told me to be honest with him. That was me listening.” She gathered up the dishes from the table.
“Oh, that’s why I didn’t recognize it.”
She laughed. “Smart-ass.”
“Well, I softened him up.”
“How so?”
He grinned, enjoying the banter. “I told him he didn’t have to go back to school. Hey, you cooked.” He nodded at the dishes in her hands. “I’ll clean up. Go take a break; relax.”
“If you insist. I’ve got to figure out some work schedule stuff. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” She passed the dishes to him. Their fingers brushed, and electricity zapped him. He almost dropped the plate.
“Uh, tomorrow?” He forced his brain to focus. “First thing in the morning, I have a conference call. Then I was going to clean out the goat stalls.”
She paused, resting a hand on the wall leading into the hallway. “After we’re done with that, how about we start going through the attic?”
Her use of “we” wasn’t lost on him. She was trying to hold up her end of the bargain, to do things together. Sure, she needed him to help. But there something more to it, as well. He was sure. He’d get her used to working together. Maybe his desire to buy this place at the auction wasn’t that crazy. That sliver of hope expanded in his chest. “Sounds like a plan.”
…
Noah’s silhouette, standing on the porch with a beer in hand a couple hours later, was billboard-worthy. Did that man ever look bad? Grace stepped outside.
He turned to face her. “Thought you had work to do.”
“I did enough for tonight.” She’d listed her to-dos, researched flights, and played around with the calendar for everything that could be moved. But she couldn’t see how she’d swing Milan, not with everything else she had to get done. Dang it. This was her opportunity to show what she could do. Instead she was stuck here, packing up stuff that wasn’t hers, taking care of a kid that wasn’t hers—and doing it all with Noah, who was no longer hers. And Noah accused her of not being able to step up.
She’d call Claire first thing in the morning and tell her the bad news. Simon wasn’t going to like it, but of course he’d understand that the circumstances were well beyond her control.
“Figured you’d be gone already,” she said. And that I could sit on the porch swing in peace.
Noah’s eyes glinted in the dark. Grace could feel them tug at her, stronger than gravity. Definitely stronger than her willpower. She stepped toward him.
“I saw Nessie at the store the other day. She hasn’t changed much.”
“She’s…matured. We all have.” He took a swig of beer.
“She asked about you.” Sort of. She couldn’t tell by his noncommittal grunt if he was surprised, if he cared. “You see her often?”
“We hang out sometimes.”
Nessie hadn’t been lying. Not that it mattered. “She mentioned that.” Grace tried to keep her voice light, nonchalant. Instead it came out hard, tight.
The sound of crickets filled the air.
“You’re jealous,” Noah finally said.
She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Heat swathed her cheeks, then spread to her ears. Thank goodness it was dark.
He downed the rest of his beer. “You’re jealous of Vanessa.” He tossed the bottle in the recycle bin on the side of the porch and came toward her with an I’ve-got-this-all-figured-out saunter. “Just admit it. And admit why. You still feel something for me.”
His sheer cockiness pissed her off. Grace straightened her shoulders, ready to object, but found herself backing up as he continued to approach. She opened her mouth to protest, to stop him from coming at her. Her back hit the porch post, and she pressed against it, watching his gait. It was more of a prowl, his body fluid, determined, like a cougar with prey in its sight. Her mind went blank.
“You feel something for me,” he repeated. “You don’t want to, I got that. You think I was an ass seven years ago. I was. And I’m sorry.”
Her body stiffened at his words, but he kept coming at her, kept talking.
“But that something that used to be between us, Gracie, it’s still there. You’re pretending you don’t feel it.” He reached her, trailed a finger up her left arm. She shivered. “Don’t fight it.”
They were inches apart. Her chest ached. Her entire body was on alert.
No, she couldn’t let this happen. She’d barely survived his rejection the first time. She wasn’t strong enough to wade through that pool of pain again.
Was he getting closer? How was that even possible?
“I’m not fighting anything.” Feeble. She had to do better than that.
“Are you sure?” Heat from his breath tickled her ear, burned a fire trail down to her stomach, then lower. Yes, he was definitely closer. Noah’s scent was everywhere, surrounding her, invading her, paralyzing her.
“I like New York.” More weak words to match her tone. Her mind was mushier than tonight’s potatoes. She placed a hand on his chest to push him away. But without the necessary strength or will, it sat there, the beat of his heart vibrating against her palm, warmth radiating into her fingertips.
He took that hand in his and pinned it above her head against the porch post. “You like other things, too.” His teeth grazed her left earlobe.
God help her. “No, not any—”
Noah’s lips pressed against hers, and his tongue pushed through her teeth, assaulting her mouth. This wasn’t the tentative tasting of a first kiss. This was an it’s-about-time kiss, a where-the-hell’ve-you-been kiss. This kiss urged, demanded. Claimed.
And he was right. She liked it.
Her free hand slid up the curves of his hard chest. His muscles rippled—no, shook—in response, surprising her and egging her on. Her hand reached the back of his neck and locked him in.
She wanted more.
He pushed into her. Closer. His free hand glided up the side of her body, stopping at her rib cage. His thumb feathered below her bra, and he deepened his kiss. He drank her in.
Her skin tingled, waiting, knowing what was coming. Her body arched into him, rubbed against him. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t get close enough.
She inhaled sharply, waiting, aching for more.
He brought his lips to nip her earlobe again, feeding the fire inside her. “You like this. Say it.”
Grace wove her fingers through his thick hair and tried to bring his lips to hers. He held back. She moaned, frustrated. Still he resisted.
“Say it,” he said.
No, this wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t do this. Not with Noah. He hadn’t wanted her then and wouldn’t get her now. She pushed at his shoulders, and he stumbled back. A dazed look filled his eyes. The same one, no doubt, was mirrored in hers. She struggled to breathe, to think, to form a coherent response.
“Damn you,” she muttered and darted back into the house.