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Caitlin tossed the damp towel aside and ran her fingers through her hair.
But Jonas had been the real reason the week had been so awful. He’d been as snappish as a bear with a thorn in its paw ever since he’d had that meeting with Tyler Kincaid.
“Is something wrong?” Marta had asked him gently, just last night.
“Wrong?” he’d snarled. “Why do women plague a man with questions? Why should anything be wrong?”
And that, Caitlin thought as she opened her closet, that was a question in itself.
The things that had gone wrong this week were minor, when you came down to it. On a spread the size of this one, accidents were bound to happen. In fact, now that she reconsidered, it hadn’t been such a bad week at all, except for Jonas’s sour disposition.
Actually the week had been pretty good.
Tyler Kincaid was gone. Really gone. No last-minute attempts to confront Jonas again, or to see her. Well, why would he try to see her?
No reason. None at all. A good thing he hadn’t, because she’d have refused to see him. The nerve of the man, to have sneaked himself into a job at Espada, just so he could try to sell Jonas some snake-oil proposition.
“Man wanted me to buy into a deal so full of holes I just laughed in his face, when he told me about it,” was all Jonas would say, but it was enough.
Caitlin blew a curl off her forehead, pulled on a pale yellow sundress with skinny little straps and a full skirt. It was too hot to wear sweats, too hot to get her dander up, thinking about Kincaid and how he’d tried to make fools of her and her stepfather, too hot to do anything except go downstairs, pour herself a tall glass of iced tea, go out on the deck with the tea and her book and take it nice and easy for the rest of the evening.
She’d never have been able to do that if Kincaid was still here.
With him gone, she could sit outside without wondering if he was watching her. She could walk down to the stables without feeling the sudden rush of heat that meant his eyes were on her. She could forget about catching a glimpse of him gentling a horse, his voice as soft and husky as it had been when he was holding her, his hands as gentle…
“Oh, stop it,” Caitlin said in disgust.
What was this nonsense? She was a woman, not a child. And a woman didn’t fantasize over a man just because he’d kissed her, especially when the memory of that kiss sent a hot lick of embarrassment rolling through her blood.
Caitlin picked up her comb and yanked it, hard, through her hair, wincing as she drove the teeth through the still-damp tangles. Then she stared at herself in the mirror.
She wasn’t a pretty sight. No makeup. Hair that looked as if it had been arranged by Little Orphan Annie’s stylist. Well, so what? She didn’t have to worry about how she looked.
There was nobody here to see her. Nobody who mattered, now that Tyler Kincaid was—
Caitlin swore, tossed the comb aside, pulled her hair back low on her neck and secured it with a rubber band. Carmen would be wondering what was taking her so long. She’d asked her to fix her something to eat more than an hour ago.
“Enchiladas, maybe,” she’d said hopefully, and Carmen had said, sí, enchiladas it would be…
“But a young woman should not spend Saturday night by herself.”
It was an old speech, abbreviated over the years to that one pithy line. Caitlin’s response varied, depending on the circumstances. This time she’d fallen back on an old standard.
“Esme should hear you say that,” she’d said, and smiled teasingly.
Carmen had not smiled in return. “Just because my daughter is foolish enough to be a women’s lubber is no reason for you to be the same,” she’d grumbled, and Caitlin had laughed and hugged her.
“It’s women’s lib, not lub. And Esme isn’t one, she’s just smart enough to know a bright woman can be perfectly happy without a man to mess things up.”
“Exactly,” Caitlin said to her reflected image.
Then she opened the bedroom door and clattered down the stairs, to the kitchen.
The house was quiet.
Caitlin paused at the foot of the steps. Well, no. It wasn’t.
She could hear sounds. Voices, coming from the kitchen. The TV set? No. She recognized Carmen’s laugh, sliding over the deeper laughter of a man.
A man, huh?
Caitlin grinned, tucked her hands into her pockets and headed toward the back of the house.
Another peal of laughter rang out. “Oh, señor,” Carmen said. The words held a girlish lilt belying Carmen’s years.
Caitlin’s grin broadened. She’d stroll in, hang around just long enough to collect her supper and give Carmen’s suitor the once-over, and then she’d make a fast exit.
“You are too kind, señor,” Carmen said, just as Caitlin stepped into the room.
“Carmen,” she said gently, “I can see that you’re definitely not a women’s lub…” The teasing words died as the housekeeper swung toward her—the housekeeper, and Tyler Kincaid.
“Good evening, Ms. McCord.”
Answer him, Caitlin told herself. Say “good evening,” or “hello,” or, better still, say, “Mr. Kincaid, you just get your tail out of this house.” But she couldn’t seem to get herself together long enough to manage anything that might even approximate a logical sentence because the sight of him simply stole her breath away.
If he’d been gorgeous before, in faded jeans and a T-shirt, he was spectacular in light tan chinos, an open-necked white dress shirt and a tweed sports jacket. She’d thought of him a thousand times during the week—what was the harm in admitting it, so long as she admitted it only to herself? She’d even dreamed about him, dreams that she didn’t like to think about once daylight came. And yet, even in those dreams, she’d somehow managed to forget that Tyler wasn’t just handsome, he was gorgeous.
The line from a country and western ballad whispered in her ear. Tyler Kincaid was as easy on the eyes as he’d be hard on the heart…
“Cat got your tongue, Ms. McCord?”
He was laughing at her. She could see the little glints of amusement in his eyes. Even Carmen, the traitor, was smiling, as if Caitlin had stumbled on some wonderful prize hidden inside a piñata.
“Mr. Kincaid.” Caitlin drew herself up. “Mr. Kincaid, at the risk of sounding like a bad cliché, what are you doing here?”
“Why, Ms. McCord, I’m disappointed.” He regarded her steadily, his expression polite. “Have you forgotten our date?”
“Our…?” Caitlin put her hands on her hips. Really, the man was impossible. “We have no date.”
“Of course we do. Saturday night? Dinner?” He frowned, glanced at his watch, which was either the real thing or the best Rolex imitation she’d ever seen. “I have to admit, I couldn’t recall whether we’d agreed on a time but I figured, well, seven-thirty would be just about right.” He raised his eyes to hers. “You look beautiful.”
The compliment was the kind a man like him would toss out all the time, but it made her feel giddy. And that, in turn, made her angry.
“Do you really think you can—you can just march in here and get your own way?”
He grinned. “She’s not very hospitable,” he said to Carmen, “is she?”
“She is surprised, señor,” Carmen said politely, “that is all.”
It wasn’t all, not by a long shot. The housekeeper flashed Caitlin a look and reminded her, in a staccato burst of Spanish, that she had been raised to have better manners. Caitlin thought about pointing out that Tyler Kincaid, for all his good looks, didn’t seem to let a thing like good manners stop him from going after what he wanted, but the smile on his face told her he was enjoying the performance and she wasn’t about to prolong it for his benefit.
“I can see you’ve made a convert of Carmen, Mr. Kincaid, but that’s just because she doesn’t know you as well as I do.”
The housekeeper threw up her hands and stalked from the room. Caitlin headed in the opposite d
irection.
“I’ll see you out.”
She heard his footsteps as he fell in behind her. Was it really going to be this easy? she thought…and got her answer when she opened the front door and he reached out and shut it.
“Dammit,” she said, swinging toward him, “must I draw you a picture? My stepfather will have you drawn and quartered, if he finds you here.”
Tyler grinned. “Really.”
“Yes, really. Honestly, Kincaid—”
“Honestly, McCord, it’s getting late. Do you need a wrap? If you do, get it, please, and let’s go.”
“Do you have a hearing problem, Kincaid? We are not having dinner. Not together, anyway.”
“You disappoint me,” he said softly. “I didn’t think you were afraid to cross your stepfather.”
“Afraid? Me?” She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You want to talk about being afraid of Jonas, mister, let’s talk about you.”
Tyler laughed. Well, why wouldn’t he? What a dumb thing to have said, she told herself furiously. He’d never be afraid of any man, or of anything.
“I guess you can hear my knees knocking, huh?”
“Go ahead, laugh. You won’t be laughing when I call down to the bunkhouse and have some of the men throw you out.”
“Don’t,” he said. He was still smiling, but his eyes had turned cool. “They’re a nice bunch of guys. I’d hate to have to hurt any of them.”
Caitlin opened her mouth, then shut it. She’d been on the verge of telling him how conceited that sounded, but he was probably right. No one would be able to stop him, if he set his mind to something.
“Look,” she said, “this is silly. You were told to pack your gear and go.”
“I left because there was no further reason for me to stay.”
