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Any hesitation seemed overridden by her sense of hospitality because she gripped his wrist and drew him indoors.
“I insist.” She let go of him once he was safely inside. After closing the door behind him, she passed him a white towel from a fluffy stack on a nearby deacon’s bench with a tall mirror behind it. “At least dry off and wait for the worst of it to pass over. I appreciate you helping me with the goats.”
She sounded breathless from running around in the rain. She’d discarded her shoes and now stood in bare feet on the gray ceramic tile floor. Water pooled at her feet, but she grabbed a towel off the tall pile and dropped it onto the floor. Her slender curves were outlined thanks to the soaked skirt and tank top; the picture she made burning itself onto the backs of his eyelids forever. She grabbed yet another towel, wrapping it around herself, but it wasn’t fast enough for his liking. He forced his gaze away.
They stood in a dimly lit mudroom that he hadn’t been in for many years. His younger brother and sister had spent more time than him playing with the neighbor’s granddaughters in the summers that Lark, Jessamyn and Fleur had been in residence. As the oldest of his siblings, he’d been expected to learn the ranch business at an early age. Since his father was a self-made man, he’d wanted Drake to understand what it was like to work all the jobs on the ranch, from stable hand to foreman and—eventually—ranch manager—before taking over one day. Drake had chafed at pouring every available moment into the ranch during his senior year of high school, resenting that he never had a free weekend to do anything besides work. Now he would give anything for the chance to spend another day with his father.
But Drake shook off the unhappy thoughts as he mopped off the worst of the water on his face and arms. Beyond the darkened mudroom, Drake saw the bright yellow kitchen with mosaic tile countertops and an old fireplace built into the far wall.
“Is the fireplace safe to use?” he asked, seeing the log holder full of split wood. “I could start us a fire while you...dry off.”
He needed her to change clothes. If not for her sake, for his.
She bit her lip, her face washed clean of any makeup, if she’d even been wearing any in the first place. Her eyelashes were spiky with water. The natural pink tint of her mouth turned a deeper shade of rose where her teeth stabbed the plump lower lip.
His focus lasered in on that spot, and he could almost imagine what she tasted like there.
“It’s no trouble,” he urged her, voice raking over his throat that seemed the only dry place on his body right now. “And we never finished talking about the land management issues you asked about. I’ve got a change of clothes in the truck, too. I’ll just—”
His words dried up when Fleur bent forward to wring out the worst of the water from her skirt. Between the quick flash of thigh she bared and the soft bounce of her breasts while she worked, he wasn’t sure how he’d make it through the evening. Not waiting for her to reply either way, he grabbed one of the overcoats he’d spotted on the rack full of pegs by the back door, and threw it over himself.
“Be right back,” he barked over his shoulder, lurching toward the door.
But he already knew the cold rain wouldn’t put a dent in the heat building inside him, all of it for Fleur.
An hour later, seated beside Drake on the long, traditional sofa upholstered in the same dark blue wool-blend fabric of her childhood, Fleur congratulated herself on successfully navigating the land mines of the evening with him.
He sat forward on the couch, explaining the cheapest ways to remedy the local waterway, his finger tracing an old map of the property. Once they’d both changed—her into a simple cotton knit dress that fell to her knees and him into dry, faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt that he’d had stashed in his truck—they’d moved to the living area to enjoy the fire more comfortably. The hearth was open on both sides so the kitchen and living room both received the heat.
Fleur had made hot cocoa and brought out almond croissants to nosh on, determined to keep her hands busy and her brain off the tempting man in her house. She’d spent the last hour peppering him with questions about potential issues with the rangelands that could impede the sale of Crooked Elm. Drake had been knowledgeable and helpful, explaining the problems with degraded water quality due to heavy grazing and concentration of livestock.
The map of the property had come in handy as he showed her the borders of where Josiah Cranston was supposed to graze his cattle versus the land he actually used.
Shoving aside her empty stoneware plate dotted with a few leftover almond slivers, Fleur edged closer to Drake to see where he pointed.
“You mean to tell me that Cranston is using more of the land than he’s renting?” Indignation swelled inside her as she recalled the man’s face as he’d scowled and spit that day he came to the ranch house. “Effectively violating the lease?”
The fire snapped and popped in the hearth, spitting a red spark against the screen.
Drake nodded. “He convinced Antonia to lease it for a reduced price with the understanding that he’d install an irrigation system to fill that dry pond basin up here.” He tapped his finger against the spot, and Fleur’s cheek grazed his shoulder as she tracked the place.
Lightning crackled through her, making the storm outside feel like an afterthought. The scent of him—pine and leather, a hint of musk—made her want to bury her face in his shirt and inhale deeply. The low rumble of his voice in the quiet room vibrated along her senses, making her shiver. She repressed the need to scramble away from him, trying to downplay the jolt she felt from the contact. Instead, she tilted her head, keeping focused on the dried pond.
The broken lease agreement.
Right.
“He told me there was no irrigation on the land.” She latched on to the memory of that conversation, knowing it was important. Critical to readying the Crooked Elm for sale. She should be thinking about that instead of all the ways she found Drake appealing now. “Do you think that means he never installed the system he promised?”
Indignation on her grandmother’s behalf speared through her, along with a wave of guilt that she hadn’t been around more to help. To see if Gran needed her. Instead, her grandmother had been trying to manage on her own with a swindler whose word she trusted.
Fleur cursed her pride for not returning sooner. She’d allowed her hurt and anger about the past to keep her far from Catamount, where she was needed.
“He definitely didn’t install a system. And I’ve seen his cattle at the creek illegally. There is access to another reservoir up here.” Drake wrapped a knuckle on another spot, far from the main ranch house. “But I’ve seen that system recently, and I know it’s dangerously low.”
“Did Gran know about all of this?” And if so, why hadn’t she confided in Fleur? If she’d known, she would have returned to Catamount no matter how things stood with the Alexander men.
“I know she did. I spoke to her about it last fall to make sure she knew Cranston wasn’t keeping his end of the bargain.” Sliding the map onto the heavy oak coffee table, Drake picked up his gray stoneware mug and drained the remains of his hot cocoa.
