Rio: Man of Destiny Page 8

  “You’re not changing anything. I’m half owner in this—” Rio began.

  “You have your half and I have mine,” Paloma finished firmly. She was beginning to enjoy the wary-male look; she had Rio off balance. She really appreciated Hannah’s, Kallista’s, Bernadette’s, and Else’s grins.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Kallista said cheerfully. “I inherited half of my business from Boone and I really enjoyed the change of pace. Traveling all over the world and living out of a suitcase gets old fast.”

  “Honey,” Roman informed her solemnly, “your shop wasn’t a monument to all the men who ever lived in Jasmine.”

  - “There’s always room for a woman’s monument,” Else stated firmly.

  “If you want to clean up a bit, that’s fine,” Rio said, wincing as James’s you’d-better-do-something-fast elbow jabbed his side. “But a boutique is something else. And there is something else that sure as hell is certain—” Then he bent to brush his mouth across hers. “Saturday night.”

  Instantly the other Blaylock men hooted, grabbed their wives and kissed them soundly. When they finished, the women looked flustered, warm and weak-kneed. Cindi gave her reaction in a glower and a flat “Yuek.”

  “Let’s try that again,” Rio drawled as if he’d found a new yummy dessert he wanted to sample again.

  “May I see you alone?” she managed to say as she braced both hands on his chest, stopping him. Rio nodded and she didn’t trust the dark humor in his eyes. She turned to walk . into the room stacked high with feed and fertilizer, expecting him to follow. “Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” she asked and turned to see his gaze locked on her hips.

  That heated look was enough to cause her to throw out a hand and latch onto the nearest stack of bags. Rio took a step closer to her, his dark eyes intent, then Pueblo hurried out of the shadows. “Now, Rio. It ain’t right, making this into a boutique. What about Dusty and Titus and the old boys who need somewheres to—” He took one look at Rio’s scowl and hurried away.

  Rio placed his hands on either side of Paloma’s head, and leaned closer, scanning her face intently. “I missed you. You’ve got circles under your eyes...you need to rest, not make some half-baked plan for a boutique.”

  “Now listen. You can’t just waltz in here and—” Paloma closed her lips as Rio’s mouth settled butterfly-light on hers. The long sweet kiss spoke of secrets she wanted to know, of a future she wanted to open, of past dreams leaping to life. Then the heat changed and she opened her lips to Rio’s tempting tongue, allowing him to taste her. She couldn’t—She did. She arched her body to his hard one, lifted her hands to his sleek black hair and locked her fists in it, keeping the heat of his hungry mouth close and intimate—just where she wanted him.

  The tempo of her heart leaped, raged, gentled, and when she opened her lids, Rio’s dark look told her that he wanted more. Unable to understand that racing tempo of her heart, the softness within her, unfamiliar with the need to lock herself to him, Paloma looked away.

  The soft brush of his finger slid beneath her chin, lifting it. “Everything will be just fine. You’ll find what you want,” he murmured, before brushing one last kiss on her lips and walking out the doorway. “Else,” he called. “I’ll be over to get Mother’s shawl.”

  “It’s been waiting a long time for the right woman,” she returned while Paloma sagged back against the stack of feed sacks.

  “You’d better do something,” Dan snarled, snagging Rio’s arm and pushing him against the building, away from the sight of the women.

  Rio studied Dan, James, Roman and Logan, who had circled him. They scowled at him and Rio tensed, getting ready for a brawl. He smiled tightly at his brothers. “Try anything now and Else will pin your ears to the wall.”

  “Sissy. There’s always a next time,” Logan growled, but he rubbed the ear that Else had pulled the last time there was a Blaylock brawl.

  James shoved Rio’s shoulder, none too gently. “Get her interested in something else. If she wants to ruin something, it better not be the feed and seed store.”

  “She needs a place to stay. Let her ruin your barn. That should keep her busy for a while,” Roman said between his teeth. “There’s nothing in it but a bed and Dad’s chair.”

  Rio showed his teeth. Paloma, on his bed, suited him just fine. His heart had flip-flopped this morning, just looking at her long, lean body, those slightly curved hips. He remembered her soft and warm in his arms, soothing him, taking and giving. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking the same thing. I’ve got plans for that woman. I’m going to make a home for her. She could use a good home and a good man.”

  Roman closed his eyes and shook his head. “Boone loved her enough to give her half this place. As his executor, I feel obligated to take care of her. If I have to pull you off her, I will.”

  “You and who else?” Rio snapped back as the four brothers parted to make way for Kallista.

  Shorter than the tall Blaylock men, Kallista eyed them. “Just what I thought. The Blaylocks are having a powwow to protect their lair. What part did I miss?”

  “He’s after Paloma,” Roman brooded. “Rio has been storing up for years, not dating, and now he’s ripe and hot enough to heat a brand. He’s got that pointy-ear look he used to have as a teenager, and he’s been howling at the moon for a week. She won’t have a chance. Then I’ll have to remind him how to behave. She’s not his usual and—”

  Kallista laughed outright. “I’d say she can hold her own.”

  “She’s his problem,” Dan grumbled darkly. “The men of Jasmine stand to lose a heritage. We’ve only got Mamie’s Café, and that isn’t the best place to hold a crop discussion. Not with women around. Rio better handle her.”

  “The way you handle Hannah?” Kallista asked sweetly. When set on her course, Hannah was a strong-minded woman, and Dan didn’t always get his way.

  Dan glared at Kallista, who wasn’t afraid to step into the Blaylock male powwows. “You’re not such a sweetheart, yourself.”

  “I vote she stays at Rio’s place and out of our hair,” James stated and turned to glance up at Paloma, who had just stepped onto the loading platform above them. He nudged Logan, who nudged James, who nudged Dan, and the brothers leveled dark do-something-quick stares at Rio.

  “This looks good,” Paloma said, viewing Rio backed against the wall by his brothers.

  “He’s a troublemaker,” Dan said mildly. “He hasn’t gotten plowed for a good long time. Used to happen all the time before we got married and he started using our wives for protection .”

  Paloma studied Rio intently. “How good is he?”

  The four brothers snorted in chorus and studied Rio, gauging him. “Not bad,” Dan stated finally. “For a weakling. But then we’ve been holding back our punches on him because he’s such a pretty sweetheart.”

  This time, Paloma snorted delicately. She eyed Rio. “You just plain like to start trouble, don’t you?”

  “Why don’t you come down here and we’ll see who starts what, slim?” Rio challenged, wanting to drag her into his arms and feast upon that saucy, torrid mouth.

  “You’d go down first, bud.”

  “Maybe I’d like that,” he returned smoothly with a silky, I’ve-got-you grin.

  Without missing a beat, Paloma turned, hefted a filled burlap feed sack and tossed it down into Rio’s arms. “Hold that for me, will you? Maybe an hour or two?” she asked sweetly.

  “Oh, man,” Dan murmured. “Fireworks. Stand back”

  James chuckled. “Look at him. That’s steam shooting out of his ears.”

  Rio tossed the sack aside. “Slim is a contrary woman, but she’s after me,” he said loud enough for her to hear. He grinned at his brothers’ roaring guffaws.

  “You pick any of Else’s posies for her and you’re a goner,” James managed when he stopped laughing.

  A pearl-pink car purred by, and when the window rolled down, Lettie Coleman’s blond cu
rly head pushed out Her lowcut bosom followed, bulging in the sunlight. Lettie’s reputation ran to a body that wouldn’t quit and a brain that had. A divorced mother with two small daughters, she was fatherhunting. “Oh, Rio,” she singsonged in a honeyed tone. “I’ll save a dance for you tomorrow night. I don’t have a date. ’Course for you, I’m free anytime.”

  Rio glanced at Paloma and grinned. “Sorry, Lettie. I’m taken. But I hear that Tyrell might be coming home. He’s free—all busted up with that fancy New York fiancée of his.”

  “Tyrell Blaylock? That delicious maverick? Oooh,” Lettie cooed, instantly on the scent. “Tell him to call me when he comes in. Ah...who’s taken you, Rio?”

  Rio swept off his hat in a bow and lifted it to indicate Paloma. There in the May sunlight, glaring at him, her hands braced on her waist, she looked magnificent With the crates of flower seedlings at her feet, she was prime, and pure, hot steamy woman; she looked as if she’d like to jump down and take his scalp. He’d enjoy the tussle and the making up. Because he intended to do both with Paloma. “Why, the light of my life, the lady on the loading platform.”

  Lettie gaped. She stared at Paloma, sizing up the lanky competition, dressed in dirty tight black sweater and jeans and glowering hard enough at Rio to start a fire. “Well,” Lettie said finally. “Hmm. What do you know about that Hmm. Not your usual, is she, honey?”

  Rio dismissed his brothers’ snickers and put his hat over his chest. “Oh, I think she’ll do fine, Lettie.”

  He leaped aside as the next feed sack plummeted toward him. “Why don’t you just come down here, too?” he invited silkily. He opened his arms and grinned; Paloma shot him an if-looks-could-kill stare, her hands on her hips.

  Rio glanced at Neil Morris, Jasmine’s bachelor veterinarian, who had just strolled up beside him. Wearing a clean shirt, a fresh shave and a toothy bachelor-hunting-woman smile, Neil returned the narrowed, appraising male-hunting-for-female look.

  “Roman got the last good one,” Neil said in a low tone laced with his usual competing male insinuation.

  “You’re out of luck this tune, too, old man,” Rio returned, answering in the same low tone. They’d been friends for a lifetime, flirting with girls together, but Paloma wasn’t up for Neil’s taking.

  “Think so?” Neil asked with a lifted eyebrow. “I’m appealing, you know. Women can’t resist me. I hear Paloma is sweet and fine. Classy.”

  “Did you hear that I’m taking her to the dance?” Rio asked, just loud enough to push Paloma. He danced aside as another feed sack sailed past him and hit the dirt.

  “That is a strong woman,” Neil said thoughtfully, in an appreciative tone. “I’d like that, a woman who can hold her own. Watch those eyes flash blue lightning. Looks like you’ve got her riled. She might want a man who has manners. That would be me.”

  Rio ignored his brothers’ chuckles. “I’ve been waiting for a woman like that all my life, Neil,” he said firmly, meaning it. “You’re invited to the wedding.”

  “You’ll have to mind your manners or you’ll be a goner,” Neil noted as another feed sack hit the dirt between them. “That’s a strong woman when she’s riled,” he repeated thoughtfully.

  “She’ll do,” Rio agreed firmly. He’d found what he’d been searching for all his life.

  Five

  “Tourists,” Rio found himself muttering as he crossed the pasture on his way to his house. “It’s been quite a day—Paloma this morning and tourists this afternoon.” Improperly dressed for mountain hiking, a city couple with two small children had decided to “rough it.” Despite designer gear and a clearly defined mountain trail, they’d promptly gotten lost, and had shot a flare into the clear blue sky. Mort Raznick, Jasmine’s biggest gossip, heard the two resulting booms and had called Rio with news of an alien invasion. When pinpointing the mountain area, Rio had discovered that the couple had registered at the small ranger station, a necessity for campers in the restricted, primitive mountain area. He’d saddled Frisco and instantly set off before the Rocky Mountain thundetstorm terrified the inexperienced hikers. After finding and taking the campers to the closest hotel, Rio had helped Mrs. Mayfield shoo deer from her new garden sprouts and helped Link West get his daughter’s frightened cat out of the grain bin. Now he was tired, and the day was gone; he’d had other plans for tonight, and they all involved Paloma.

  Rio rubbed his hand across the stubble covering his jaw. Taking the slow route to romance a stubborn woman was certain to age him, but worth every minute.

  Mad Mose, Rio’s Corriente bull, tore out of the shadows, defending his pasture and his cows. Rio jerked Frisco’s reins, and the gelding leaped out of the way of the charging bull. Rio glanced at the night sky; he didn’t need his watch to know that it was eight o’clock and Paloma was spending the night without him. Rio shivered against the cool night air, and smiled, remembering her that morning at the feed store—all stormy and revved at him.

  Roman hadn’t been sweet later, calling upon Rio to set up the rules. Rio sensed that his brother knew more about Paloma than the obvious—her inheritance of Boone’s partnership in the feed store. “Don’t hurt her, Rio,” Roman had warned darkly, as if Rio could hurt the other half of his heart. “If you’re serious, take it easy. You’ve got that hunter look and she isn’t a woman who can be pushed.” As if Rio could forget the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms, the way his heart leaped at the sight of her. As if he could forget the soft sound of her breathing as she slept by his side.

  In a mood, drained and dreading his empty house, Rio cursed the man who had hurt her. Paloma would take her time trusting another lover, and Rio intended to be her husband and her lover—for life.

  Mad Mose charged again and Rio damned himself for loving the contrary bull and the contrary woman. On a Friday night, Neil would have already asked her to dinner at Mamie’s Café—or Neil would have asked to see her back to the cabin. Paloma’s innocence wouldn’t stand a chance against Neil’s polished technique. Rio sucked in the cold night air and darkly wondered if Neil had learned to block a left jab.

  With a spring storm brewing in the night sky, his home, the remodeled barn, looked as lonely as he felt He felt every year of his age, of the years in the saddle and working the fields. One glance at the lightning streak across the sky and he knew that he’d have nightmares of the little ten-year-old boy, lying still and pale in the mud. Automatically dismounting and removing Frisco’s bridle and saddle before turning him into the field, Rio brooded about the poachers he’d just arrested; they’d killed a mother bear. The orphaned cub had been safely delivered to old Marcus Livingston, who had adopted more than one cub until it could survive alone in the wilderness.

  Rio glanced at another lightning bolt tearing across the night sky. The air was damp with the scent of rain—Rain Woman. He’d given his heart that night to the woman with rain glittering in her hair and compassion shadowing her blue eyes. He glanced at the tops of the quaking aspens, slightly bent by the wind. He missed Paloma and knew it would be a long night wishing for her.

  In the barn reserved for animals, tools and hay, Rio noted Mai-Ling in the stall. He inhaled and grimly unsaddled the mare. Paloma must have returned his gift while he was shepherding tourists to safety; she was probably enjoying Neil’s easy charm. Rio stiffened, aching for her. He’d moved too fast, wanting her too much and his emotions had been too raw. A woman like Paloma needed tenderness and time, but oh, how he needed to hold her safe and warm against him—

  He glanced at his empty, lonely home and frowned at the light in the window. He’d left at three o’clock this morning, answering a call of illegal hunting on the old Blevins farm; he’d probably forgotten to turn off the lights. He rubbed the slight burning sensation on his arm; the cub’s claws had left scratches and torn his jacket. Experienced with orphaned cubs, Marcus had cleaned and bandaged the wounds. Rio smiled; the cub was a fighter like Paloma and would survive. He hitched his saddlebags over his shoulder and began
to run to the house as the storm broke full force.

  Paloma flattened back into the shadows; she gripped the kitchen counter with both hands as Rio hurled through the door in a burst of wind and rain. He slammed it, ripped away his coat and slapped his Western hat against his chaps; droplets arced and sprayed upon the beautiful hardwood floor. In the lamplight, he looked unshaven, weary, and hard as he unbuttoned his shirt and sprawled into the only chair in the huge, empty remodeled barn.

  The bandage on his forearm was spotted with blood, and Paloma fought the urge to cry out to him, run to him. She shivered and settled back into the shadows, her heart racing, fear squeezing her throat. She gripped the counter tighter, just as she gripped her control. He’d terrorized her, escaping the bull’s charge in the field, and she wasn’t certain how to deal with fear for another person; she’d spent a lifetime concerned with her own survival. She’d been out the door, ready to run to Rio, before she’d realized that she’d moved—

  Upon arriving to find his home empty and unlocked, Paloma couldn’t resist exploring the remodeled, barren barn. The scent of new lumber mixed with that of varnish and of rain. An entertainment center, hidden by gleaming panels, snuggled in a corner, and bookshelves filled a corner behind a cluttered, battered desk. A high-powered computer sat on the desk, which was littered with files. French doors opened onto a oricked patio, and the large windows were made to open, allowing the air to flow through. A natural stone fireplace visually warmed the wood panels at another end. The bathroom downstairs was large and the shelves empty; the bathroom upstairs in the spacious loft was unfinished. Rio lived with mcomplicated convenience, a washer, dryer and ceiling-high shelving concealed by louvered doors next to the kitchen area. Off the kitchen, a pantry was lined with stark, empty shelves. The supporting beams—varnished and seasoned stripped trees—spread their shadows across the gleaming floor.

  The image of Rio the Westerner, raindrops gleaming on his shaggy hair, contrasted with the smooth modern interior, the gleaming wood stairway leading up to the loft, laden with carpenter tools and electric saws. Paloma couldn’t move, gripped by the injured, weary man she’d come to slice from her life.