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Instead of trying to contact Hugh, Emma spent the next morning in bed at the ranch making long, lazy love with Kenny. She couldn’t imagine any woman having a more thrilling, more considerate lover, but she wished it weren’t so important for him to stay in control. Not that she wanted to take over all the time—it was lovely having someone so blissfully competent in charge—but occasionally she’d like to have the upper hand, if only so she could experiment on that lovely body of his. It was a problem she was certain they could have worked out over time, but there was so little left.
After a leisurely breakfast, they headed for the stable, and, for the next few hours, rode through the woods, then along the Pedernales. Kenny, mounted on Shadow, slouched comfortably into a western saddle, while she rode China on an English one.
“Kenny, have you noticed . . . ? It’s probably just wishful thinking on my part, but my tattoo seems to be fading a little.”
“Just settling deeper into your skin, is all.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She heard a rustling in the woods and saw an armadillo rooting near a fallen tree trunk. Imagine being so close to such a curious animal. Her thighs ached pleasantly from being on horseback, or maybe she was still experiencing the aftereffects of their lovemaking.
He tilted his Stetson lower over his eyes. “I’ve been thinking . . . your next term doesn’t start for another week, and the Antichrist doesn’t seem to be in any rush to lift my suspension, so there’s no need for you to hurry back. Why not stay a little longer?”
She straightened, then shot him a quick glance. “I have nonrefundable airline tickets.”
“I’ll take care of the tickets. Don’t you worry about it.”
At least he was no longer in a hurry to get rid of her. The idea should have made her happy, but she felt depressed instead. If they hadn’t been sleeping together, Kenny wouldn’t have wanted her to stay. “I’m an administrator. Classes might not start right away, but my job does. Two weeks is the longest holiday I can take.”
“I don’t get it. You already told me the duke’s going to fire you. What difference does it make if you don’t show up?”
“He hasn’t fired me yet, and until he does, I’m responsible for St. Gert’s.” She worried her bottom lip. “I still have another twenty-four hours or so. Maybe something will come to me.”
They rounded a bend, and, as she saw the house in the distance, she thought how much she loved it. She loved this ranch, this state. She felt like a different person here, one who wasn’t so lonely.
He frowned. “It just doesn’t seem like you need to rush off right now when we’re having such a good time.”
They were having a good time—the best time of her life—and she couldn’t repress a certain wistfulness. “Better to end it on a positive note, don’t you think?”
It took a moment for him to respond. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” she said briskly, concealing the ache she felt.
Anything else he might have wanted to add was lost as the stable came into view. He straightened in the saddle and uttered a particularly foul obscenity, the same one that sent St. Gert’s girls to Emma’s office for a poin
ted discussion of appropriate language.
She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a group of men standing next to a paneled white van. One held a professional-quality video camera on his shoulder and was filming them as they approached. Another stood slightly off to the side looking down at the notebook in his hand. He was shorter than the others and more formally dressed in a dark brown sports coat, tan slacks, and a pale green sport shirt. As they drew nearer, she spotted gold snaffles glimmering on the vamps of an expensive pair of loafers.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Kenny growled. “I mean it.”
“Who are they?”
“Trouble, that’s who.”
As they rode closer, Emma noted that it was the man with the notebook who held Kenny’s attention. Of medium build, he had a square-jawed face, small nose, and a brush haircut. A pair of high-fashion sunglasses hung by a cord around a muscular neck.
The cameraman moved closer, pointing his lens directly at Kenny as he reined in his horse. “This is private property, Sturgis.”
“I’ve never seen your ranch, Kenny. I heard it was nice. How about taking me on a tour?” The man had the deep, well-modulated tones of a professional broadcaster. His smile was oily, and Emma detested him immediately.
“I don’t think so.” Kenny dismounted, passed the reins over to his stable boy, then helped Emma down.
“This is business, Kenny, and I want an interview.”
“You’re the last reporter I’d give an interview to. By the way, how’s that eye healing up? Who’d have figured you’d turn out to be a bleeder?”
The man shot Kenny a look of undiluted hostility, then turned to Emma. “Sturgis Randall. I’m with World Sports Today on the International Sports Channel.”
“This is Emma,” Kenny said before she could respond.
