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For a moment Chase looked down at the blotter on his desk, smiled wryly, and exhaled an amused breath, then lifted his head to meet Max’s puzzled glaze. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
“What for?” Max frowned in genuine bewilderment.
“When you offered to buy the C Bar, I assumed it was the abundant water resources on it that you wanted. I didn’t realize your motive was something more personal. For that, I apologize, Mr. Rutledge.”
“Call me Max,” Rutledge insisted. “After all, it’s likely we will be related one day soon.”
It was a thought that didn’t please Chase one bit.
Brushstrokes of crimson and orange streaked the western horizon and tinted the undersides of the scattered clouds. A soft breeze drifted off the river, the coolness of its breath wafting across Laura’s face as she strolled arm in arm with Boone toward the white-painted gazebo near the riverbank.
His glance wandered over the collection of picnic tables. “What’s this? Your own private park?”
“Something like that,” she admitted. “Situated the way we are, miles from anything that even remotely resembles civilization, there is little in the way of entertainment available. And what there is tends to be rustic.” Releasing his arm, she caught hold of an upright post and stepped onto the gazebo. “This is about the only place on the Triple C that is even slightly romantic.”
“And private.” Boone caught her wrist and bent her arm behind her back to draw her against him. “Do you realize this is the first time I’ve been alone with you since I arrived?”
Smiling, Laura gazed at him through the tops of her lashes. “Don’t count on it lasting,” she warned. “Any second kids can show up—to play hide-and-seek or hunt frogs.”
“They have to go to bed sometime, though.” He bent his head and nibbled on her neck.
The heavy scent of his cologne swirled around her, strong and citrusy. Unbidden came the memory of how quickly Sebastian had identified it on her skin. And Laura knew it wasn’t wise to have thoughts of Sebastian in her mind when she was in Boone’s arms. There was no choice; Boone would have to change colognes. Laura smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be all that difficult to accomplish. She would simply enlist Tara’s aid to arrange for his current bottle to be accidentally broken and a different one offered in its place.
“Personally,” she moved sinuously against him and let one hand glide up to his shoulder, then slipped the other one free from his loose grip, and curled it around his neck, “I think we should make good use of the little bit of privacy we have now. By tomorrow afternoon the ranch will be packed with people. Between the party tomorrow night and the auction the day after, it isn’t likely we’ll have a moment to ourselves.”
He raised his head, his dark eyes like a black fire as he pushed his hands into her hair and framed her face with them. “We’ll make time,” he told her with a kind of savage insistency in his voice.
But Laura knew it wouldn’t happen; she would see to that. “Let’s make use of this time instead.” She applied pressure to the back of his head, urging his mouth down to hers.
The rough hunger in his kiss was exhilarating. Laura gave herself up to it without inhibition, letting her body come awake to the arousing caress of his hands on her hips and back, molding her ever more firmly against him. She felt the rigid outline of him pressed against her stomach, the hardness of it leaving her in little doubt of his desire. But it had to be more than just sexual desire, something any woman could satisfy. It had to be more personal than that.
Instinctively she knew that marriage to Boone would never work if it came about solely through Max’s force of will. Such an event would result in Boone’s eventual resentment of her, possibly even hatred. She had to be the trophy he brought home, not the woman he’d married merely to satisfy his father.
As much as she might want to let him take her where he wanted to go, Laura knew she had to hold back, for a while longer anyway. His big hand molded itself over her breast, and she trembled with the longing she felt. It was almost with relief that she heard boyish tittering coming from somewhere close by.
With a reluctance that wasn’t feigned, she pulled away from his kiss and said huskily, “We have company.”
Boone threw an irritated glance at the two boys, dressed in straw cowboy hats and boots and clutching fishing poles and a worm can in their hands.
The distraction allowed her the opportunity to create a little more space between them. “We might as well walk back to the house,” she told him. “As long as we stay here, they’ll be stealing peeks.” When he looked at her with a kind of angry impatience, she reminded him, “I did warn you.”
In response, his fingers dug into her elbow. “Let’s go,” he muttered and propelled her out of the gazebo.
Chapter Eleven
Private aircraft, everything from turboprops to executive jets, were parked wingtip to wingtip, taking up every available inch of apron area next to the Calder airstrip. In addition, much of the ranch yard had been turned into a parking lot to accommodate the host of Mercedes, BMWs, Jaguars, and other vehicles, proof, if any was needed, that the June sale had drawn a record attendance.
The well-heeled crowd drifted between the salering area inside the massive old barn and the shimmering white refreshment tent located just outside it, equipped with closed-circuit television to keep prospective buyers abreast of the latest horse coming up for bid. Max Rutledge had his wheelchair parked in front of the big screen, ash building up on the smoldering cigar between his fingers as he stared intently at the rider of the horse currently on the block.
It was a tradition that any horse deemed to be exceptional was shown by a member of the Calder family. It was Laura who rode the horse in the ring. They made an eye-catching pair, the horse’s coat a gleaming black and Laura dressed from head to toe in an off-white outfit studded with silver and turquoise.
Max was struck again by the class and elegance she exuded even in those rodeo queen clothes. He couldn’t look at her without thinking of the grandsons she could give him. Boone shifted in place beside him and tossed back a swallow of watered-down bourbon.
Max threw him a half-irritated look, started to speak, then hastily checked to make sure there was no one within close earshot.
“Are you making any progress with her?” he grumbled out of one side of his mouth.
“When have I had the chance?” Boone muttered back at him. “I haven’t had more than five minutes alone with her since we got here.”
