she’d be back at her desk at work, with only memories.
* * *
The next morning, something woke her before daylight. A sound. A movement. She got up, feeling bright eyed because she was accustomed to rising early when she had to work. She dressed in jeans and a pullover gray jersey, pausing to run a brush through her hair before she tiptoed down the hall to Blake’s room and peeked in.
He was still sound asleep. She smiled, closing the door, and went into the kitchen in search of coffee. Only to find somebody else bent on the same course.
Tate was there, in his stocking feet wearing nothing but his blue jeans. She stopped dead in the doorway, her eyes helplessly drawn to a body that would have made a male centerfold look anemic. Muscles rippled under darkly tanned skin as he rose from peeking into the oven, and when he turned toward her, she wondered if it was permissible for a modern woman to swoon.
His chest was completely obscured by thick black curling hair. Muscles rippled in his big arms, down his flat stomach, and she knew there wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on him. She’d never liked hairy men, but this one was a work of art. He didn’t have tufts of hair on his arms and shoulders as some men did. No, it was all on that broad chest, thick and gleaming with faint moisture, as if he’d just come from a shower. Probably he had, because his shaggy head was a bit damp as well, his straight hair falling roguishly over his forehead.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his eyes running over her face with blatant interest. “No makeup?”
“I hate the stuff,” she blurted out.
He laughed. “So do I. Get some cream out of the refrigerator and I’ll pour you some coffee.”
“I didn’t think you were so handy in the kitchen,” she remarked as he took up the toast he’d been watching under the broiler and added it to a platter of thick bacon and scrambled eggs.
“Oh, Jeffries used to tell a story about one of my hands quitting because I fed him, but I’m handy enough, I guess. I was a marine, honey,” he added with a quick glance as he filled two thick white mugs with coffee. “Cooking is one of the easy things you get taught.”
She opened her mouth to make a comment but thought better of it. He put the coffee on the table and sat down.
“I didn’t expect you to be up and about this early,” he said as he filled his plate.
“I like to watch the sun come up,” she confessed. “It’s magic in Tucson, when dawn hits the Santa Catalina mountains. They change color. Sometimes they’re red, sometimes black, then they turn pink and rust…they haunt me.”
“I’ve seen my own mountains change, but from blue to purple,” he told her. “And dead white in winter. Have some eggs. You need feeding up.”
“I never gain weight,” she confessed as she reached for a piece of toast to go with her slice of bacon. She watched as he dumped eggs on her plate. “That’s too much,” she told him.
“If you’re going to live on a ranch, you have to keep up your strength. Blake will tell you that.” He was through his eggs already and working on homemade jam and toast.
“I won’t be out pitching hay and fixing fences and checking on cattle,” she reminded him.
“What did you plan to do?” he asked curiously.
“I thought I’d clean the house, if you don’t mind—not that it needs it, but the beds will have to be made.” She dropped her gaze. The sight of his bare chest at close range was making her weak in the knees. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your cleaning lady, of course.”
“You won’t interfere. Do whatever you like. Within reason, of course. I get funny about lace on my undershirts.”
“Do you wear one?” she blurted out, and blushed as she realized how intimate the question sounded.
He was watching the way her eyes glanced off his chest, and she couldn’t know how much a man her shy appreciation made him feel. His dark eyes narrowed on her face. “No, I
* * *
The next morning, something woke her before daylight. A sound. A movement. She got up, feeling bright eyed because she was accustomed to rising early when she had to work. She dressed in jeans and a pullover gray jersey, pausing to run a brush through her hair before she tiptoed down the hall to Blake’s room and peeked in.
He was still sound asleep. She smiled, closing the door, and went into the kitchen in search of coffee. Only to find somebody else bent on the same course.
Tate was there, in his stocking feet wearing nothing but his blue jeans. She stopped dead in the doorway, her eyes helplessly drawn to a body that would have made a male centerfold look anemic. Muscles rippled under darkly tanned skin as he rose from peeking into the oven, and when he turned toward her, she wondered if it was permissible for a modern woman to swoon.
His chest was completely obscured by thick black curling hair. Muscles rippled in his big arms, down his flat stomach, and she knew there wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on him. She’d never liked hairy men, but this one was a work of art. He didn’t have tufts of hair on his arms and shoulders as some men did. No, it was all on that broad chest, thick and gleaming with faint moisture, as if he’d just come from a shower. Probably he had, because his shaggy head was a bit damp as well, his straight hair falling roguishly over his forehead.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his eyes running over her face with blatant interest. “No makeup?”
“I hate the stuff,” she blurted out.
He laughed. “So do I. Get some cream out of the refrigerator and I’ll pour you some coffee.”
“I didn’t think you were so handy in the kitchen,” she remarked as he took up the toast he’d been watching under the broiler and added it to a platter of thick bacon and scrambled eggs.
“Oh, Jeffries used to tell a story about one of my hands quitting because I fed him, but I’m handy enough, I guess. I was a marine, honey,” he added with a quick glance as he filled two thick white mugs with coffee. “Cooking is one of the easy things you get taught.”
She opened her mouth to make a comment but thought better of it. He put the coffee on the table and sat down.
“I didn’t expect you to be up and about this early,” he said as he filled his plate.
“I like to watch the sun come up,” she confessed. “It’s magic in Tucson, when dawn hits the Santa Catalina mountains. They change color. Sometimes they’re red, sometimes black, then they turn pink and rust…they haunt me.”
“I’ve seen my own mountains change, but from blue to purple,” he told her. “And dead white in winter. Have some eggs. You need feeding up.”
“I never gain weight,” she confessed as she reached for a piece of toast to go with her slice of bacon. She watched as he dumped eggs on her plate. “That’s too much,” she told him.
“If you’re going to live on a ranch, you have to keep up your strength. Blake will tell you that.” He was through his eggs already and working on homemade jam and toast.
“I won’t be out pitching hay and fixing fences and checking on cattle,” she reminded him.
“What did you plan to do?” he asked curiously.
“I thought I’d clean the house, if you don’t mind—not that it needs it, but the beds will have to be made.” She dropped her gaze. The sight of his bare chest at close range was making her weak in the knees. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your cleaning lady, of course.”
“You won’t interfere. Do whatever you like. Within reason, of course. I get funny about lace on my undershirts.”
“Do you wear one?” she blurted out, and blushed as she realized how intimate the question sounded.
He was watching the way her eyes glanced off his chest, and she couldn’t know how much a man her shy appreciation made him feel. His dark eyes narrowed on her face. “No, I
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