Debbi Rawlins - The Swinging R Ranch

“I’ll answer that question, Herbert.” Abby gave the older man a tight smile. “My grandmother is trying to get away from me.”

“Oh, hogwash.” Mona shook her head. “That’s not true. She wants to give you some breathing room.”

“Of course it’s true. She thinks I’m too overbearing just because I’m concerned about her welfare. But this isn’t the time or place to discuss it.” Abby took a step toward the door. “So please tell her to give me a call when she gets in.”

Max straightened. To his amazement, he didn’t want her to leave. “You running away from a fight?” he asked, and she glanced at him, looking a little startled, as though she’d forgotten he was there. “I never knew a successful politician who tucked their tail between their legs and ran.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” She made a face. “Mona and I aren’t fighting.”

“Now you sound like a politician—evading the question.”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “I think you’ve been out in the heat too long.”

“You boldly tell me you’re going to shut me down, then without a word of explanation you’re running off.” Max shook his head. “When you take a stand, you’d better be prepared to back it up if you want to be taken seriously.”

She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him with tolerant amusement. “Really? And you know all about this sort of thing?”

“More than I care to,” he said, and when she raised her brows, waiting for him to explain, he shrugged. “Let’s just say my family has some history in the political arena.” A small understatement, considering he came from several generations of senators. But he didn’t like to think about that.

“Oh? And what do they think of you owning a brothel?” she asked, her tone so sticky sweet he was surprised she wasn’t swarmed by flies. “One that’s made money off of helpless women.”

Max kept as straight a face as he could. From the looks of things, it had been a long time since this place had turned so much as a dime. And helpless? Mona looked like she was ready to take a switch to somebody’s behind.

“What’s the deal, Abby? You sound like a disgruntled ex-employee or something,” he said seriously. At her wide-eyed indignation, he started to crack, but his poker face lasted long enough for him to add, “Or maybe you were turned down? If that’s the case, I’m sure we can reevaluate your application.”

Abby obviously had a temper. He could see she was trying to squelch it by pressing her lips together and taking deep breaths, but her eyes had that unmistakable glint of malice.

“How generous of you, Mr. Bennett,” she said with remarkable aplomb. “But I assure you that had I chosen to seek employment here, I would have had no trouble whatsoever.”

Herbert chuckled.

Mona gave him a warning look and placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, you two. That’s enough.”

“He started it,” Abby blurted, and promptly turned red again.

A grin tugged at Max’s lips. She really was cute. Refreshing, too. The women in his circle never blushed. In fact, a few of their ribald comments had made him squirm a time or two.

“Okay, this is last call for lemonade,” Mona said, motioning Herbert to usher Max into the kitchen. “You’re still welcome, Abigail, if you promise not to bring up any more sore subjects.” She slid a glance to the door. “Otherwise I’ll have your gramma ring you later.”

Abby gave the older woman a conciliatory smile. “I’m going to pass on the lemonade, but I would like a few minutes alone with Mr. Bennett.”

Mona chortled. “When pigs fly.”

Max held up a hand. “It’s okay, Mona. I think I can handle her.”

Before Mona could voice another protest, Herbert slipped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the kitchen.

“We’ll be lapping up some of Rosie’s lemonade while you two are pow-wowing,” he said. “Come join us when you’re done.”

They waited until the other couple disappeared, and then Max gestured toward the living room. “Why don’t we sit down?”

Abby smiled. “Didn’t take you long to make yourself at home, did it?”

“I do own the place.”

Rolling her eyes, she walked stiffly past him toward a frilly pink love seat beneath a velvet painting of Elvis Presley. So much for the room being furnished normally. Max didn’t follow her right away. He was too taken by her scent. It wasn’t anything immediately recognizable, not flowery exactly. Maybe a hint of cloves. Whatever it was, he liked it. Almost as much as he liked the gentle sway of her hips and the way her worn jeans hugged her fanny.

She sat down, crossed her legs and primly folded her hands on her lap. When he still hadn’t moved, she gave him an odd look and uncrossed, then recrossed her legs. He moved toward her, bypassing the couch and the antique Queen Anne chair. The only seat left in his path was beside her and her eyes rounded in disbelief.

When he settled in next to her on the love seat, she let out a sound of exasperation and shifted closer to her corner. “Don’t you understand the concept of personal space?”

He pursed his lips as if giving the question consideration. “This seat is built for two, right?”

She narrowed her gaze on him and he noticed how long her lashes were, yet there didn’t seem to be anything artificial about them. It was an odd thing for him to notice. Hell, choosing to sit here next to her was pretty damn odd. He had no idea where that idea had come from. It certainly hadn’t been conscious.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Their gazes made contact and she paused. Her tongue briefly darted out to moisten her lips and he realized this had been a bad idea. “But it’s not going to work.”

“What isn’t?”

“You’re trying to intimidate me. I don’t care if you’d sat on my lap, I’m not backing down.”

“Good. I like a woman with backbone.”

“That’s another thing. I don’t give a hoot about what you like or don’t like.”

“Don’t give a hoot,” he repeated, thoughtfully. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard before. Is that a local saying?”

Abby smiled. “Trying to provoke me won’t work either.”

“What? I’m serious.”

She stared at him for a long, silent moment, and he knew what it felt like to be a bug under a microscope. Her expression never wavered as she studied him, as though she were truly interested in what he was thinking. Her frankness surprised him and unnerved the hell out of him.

So did her mysterious feminine scent…the chocolate brown of her eyes…the crisp tart smell of green apple on her breath.

Abruptly he stood and glanced at his watch. “I haven’t got all day. What is it you want to talk about?”

She started a little at his sudden move. “I want to know what you intend to do with the Swinging R.”

Her question took him aback, although it really shouldn’t have. What else would she want from him? But he really had no clue how to answer her. Considering the circumstances, he’d probably sell it, if he could find a buyer. “I don’t know yet.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Trying to figure out how to generate some income.”

Her eyes widened and she stood, too. The top of her head didn’t even meet his chin, but that didn’t stop her from backing him up. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not? This is a business. Businesses are supposed to make money.” He stood his ground and she stopped two feet away, her eyes ablaze with outrage and disbelief.

And then she blinked, and a slow smile softened her expression. Damn, but she really was cute, pretty even. Nothing striking, but the kind of woman a man eventually wanted to come home to every night. Other men. Not him. Marriage was for guys with nothing better to do.