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He smiled, then, a secret, caring smile. “I live in a house near the ocean, Tessa, in Venice—and a lot of my work can be done at home. I drive an old Jeep and avoid the freeways when I can. This is the first vacation I’ve had in years, and I wouldn’t know an Italian suit if it reached up and said, “Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”
One of her blond eyebrows raised quizzically. “It said what?”
“Literally translated, ‘Abandon hope all ye who are foolish enough to plunge your arms down the sleeves of this overpriced imported jacket.’”
“No!” she whispered, but laughed.
“Well, not really. It means ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here,’ but it’s the only Italian phras
e I know.”
“So what’s your point?”
“That I’m the same man no matter where I live. And you’re the same woman whether you live in Three Falls, Montana, L.A. or New York City. You’ll find out soon,” he said, grinning. “And I can’t wait.”
“Why?”
“I think you’ll love Rodeo Drive, Melrose Avenue and Wilshire Boulevard. I’ll get you on one of those buses that tours through Beverly Hills and shows you the homes of the stars, and then we’ll check out the movie studios—”
“Oh, save me,” she whispered, groaning and trying to hide a smile.
“You’ll love it. I promise.”
She shook her head. “Maybe for you it works,” she said.
“It does.”
“But for me”—she glanced to the lake, where a wood duck was landing on the glasslike surface—“this is where I belong.”
“I can change your mind,” he whispered, his mouth pressing against her parted lips.
“Never,” she replied, her voice caught somewhere between her throat and lungs. A voice inside her mind nagged at her, reminding her that Denver believed that she’d had an affair with his uncle—that her family had been involved in the fire. That the last time he’d been with her at the creek, he’d humiliated her. His words were as false as his love had been all those years before.
With all the strength she could scrape together, Tessa shoved him away and scrambled hastily to her feet. “It won’t work, Denver,” she said, breathing hard, seeing his expression turning from surprise to anger.
“What are you talking about?” he rasped.
Her eyes narrowed, though her heart was still beating traitorously. “I’m not about to give you the opportunity to humiliate me again.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said slowly, standing.
“You’re right,” she said quickly. “Because I won’t let you!” Then, before she could change her mind, she ran back to the house and took the steps two at a time.
Chapter Seven
She didn’t see Denver until the next day at dinner. Seated across the table from Tessa and wedged between her father and Len Derricks, a ranch hand who had stayed with John after the fire, Denver did his best to appear amiable and relaxed. He complimented Milly on the meal and made small talk as if he’d never set one foot off the ranch—as if he’d never accused Tessa or her father of starting the blaze in which his parents had died.
His shirt was open at the throat, his jeans faded but clean, the worn denim hugging his hips. Black hair curled enticingly from beneath his collar. A dark shadow covered his jaw, making his smile, a rakish slash of white, brighter in contrast. His clear blue eyes had lost their hostile shadows, and his thick eyebrows moved expressively as he spoke.
Tessa felt foolish and cowardly. She should never have run from him, and she vowed that she wouldn’t again. Unfortunately, she could barely drag her gaze away from the sensual curve of his lips, or the arch of a skeptical eyebrow.
“Delicious,” Denver pronounced to a beaming Milly.
“It’s only stew,” she replied, blushing in pleasure.
“The best stew I’ve ever eaten.”
Tessa’s eyes narrowed on him as he placed his elbows on the table and turned to Len, asking his advice on purchasing more cattle for the ranch.
