Barbara McCauley - Taming Blackhawk

The genuine concern in Mary’s eyes, the sadness, made it impossible for Grace to say no. Since Rand had turned her down, Grace had nowhere to go, no one else to turn to, anyway. So why not stay a few hours if Mary wanted her to? Grace could only imagine how devastated her own mother would be if anything happened to her father. If Mary Sloan wanted female companionship, then it was the least Grace could do for the woman.

She looked up when Rand opened the door and stepped inside. He’d obviously showered and shaved since she’d seen him last. He now wore black dress jeans, a white shirt and shiny black boots. He glanced at her, unsmiling. Obviously, Rand did not approve of his mother’s request that Grace stay.

Well, the hell with him. The man was just going to have to deal with it.

Their eyes locked for one long moment, then he boldly slid that dark, intense gaze of his all the way down her body, then slowly back up again. It annoyed Grace when her breasts tightened and, dammit, her nipples hardened. She pressed her lips firmly together. She decided he was crude and coarse and…just about the sexiest man she’d ever met.

“I heard you’re staying for dinner,” he said at last, bringing his gaze back to hers.

“Your mother—”

“Mind your manners, Rand Sloan.” Mary swept in the house behind her son and moved past him. “I asked Grace to stay. A woman needs a breather with all that testosterone that’ll be filling this house tonight. I need some feminine balance.”

“Matt and Sam will be here,” Rand called after Mary, then turned and looked at his brothers as they strode through the front door. “That should balance the femininity about right.”

Surprised, Grace glanced at Rand. The man had actually made a joke, she realized. A sarcastic one, true, but a joke nonetheless. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.

“I’ll give you feminine when I’m picking your teeth out of my knuckles.” One of the brothers walked toward Grace and stuck out his hand. “I’m Matthew Sloan,” he said with a smile. “This is Sam.”

Heavens, but the Sloan men were a handsome lot. Though Rand had darker hair and eyes than his brothers and his face was more sculpted, they were all rugged and tall, with killer smiles. Not that she’d seen Rand smile, she thought dryly.

“Grace Sullivan.” She shook each of their hands. “I’m sorry about your father.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, as there always was with condolences, then Matt said, “Thanks for staying. After looking at Rand’s ugly mug all day, my eyes could use a break.”

Rand frowned at his brother, but there was no malice in the look. If anything, Grace thought, it was the first sign of affection Rand had displayed.

“Matthew and Samuel,” Mary called from the kitchen. “Get your butts in here now. I need help.”

Matt and Sam excused themselves, leaving Grace alone with Rand. “I…I should go help, too,” she said.

He took her arm when she started toward the kitchen. “In all the years I’ve known her, my mother hasn’t asked for help in the kitchen once.”

Confused, she simply looked at him.

“She’s thinking we need a minute alone.”

“Oh, I see,” Grace said, then gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I’m sure the last thing you want is to be alone with me.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Grace felt her throat go dry at the flare of interest in his black eyes. She looked down at the hand he’d laid on her forearm. A working man’s hand. Large, with long fingers and tanned, rough skin. Against her smooth, cream-colored silk jacket, the contrast was amazingly sensual. The heat of his fingers burned all the way through the fabric.

She really needed to get a grip on her hormones.

“Rand,” she said carefully, “your mother asked me to stay, but I have no intention of intruding on your grief. Just forget why I came here and think of me as you would any other guest in your mother’s house.”

It might be hard to explain to the woman that his mother rarely had guests in her house, Rand thought. But it really wasn’t anything that Miss Grace Sullivan needed to know, anyway.

“Samuel Sloan, you get your fingers out of that potato salad right now!”

Rand watched Grace’s head snap toward the kitchen. At the sound of a loud thwap, those deep-green eyes of hers went wide.

“Shoot, Mom, someone’s gotta make sure it tastes right,” Sam told his mother.

“You saying I don’t know how to make potato salad?”

Another loud thwap!

Rand heard the sound of Matt’s laugh, then again, thwap!

“Hey! What’d I do?” Matt complained.

“It’s for what you’re gonna do,” Mary said. “I saw you eyeing that cake.”

“You hold her, Matt,” Sam said. “I’ll grab the cake.”

“You so much as—” Mary’s reprimand was cut off abruptly and there was a lot of hollering.

A good sound, Rand thought. When Edward Sloan had been around, the family rarely joked. The best times in this house had been when the old man was gone, either on a business trip or one of his hunting and fishing excursions. Fortunately for everyone, Edward took those trips often. It was the only time they ever really relaxed, the only time they could have fun like this without Edward hollering they were all making too much noise.

“Matthew Richard Sloan,” Mary yelled from the kitchen. “Get your fingers out of that frosting right this minute!”

Grace looked at Rand, her brow furrowed with concern. “Shouldn’t you go help?”

“Why would I do that?” Rand shrugged. “Unless you want some cake. I could probably grab it while they’re all busy and be out the back door before they even noticed. My mom bakes a chocolate cake that could make a grown man cry.”

“Chocolate cake, you say?” Grace lifted a brow and glanced at the kitchen. “With chocolate frosting?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“I suppose I could start my car and you could jump in,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d expect a fifty-fifty split, though.”

Rand felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. It felt strange to joke with a woman, especially a beautiful one. His entire adult life, when there’d been interest between himself and a woman, there’d been few preliminaries. There’d been the usual amount of flirting and silly banter, he supposed. But there’d been no pretenses, no long courtships. If he wanted a woman, he simply said so. If she wanted him back, then fine. If she didn’t, then that was fine, too. He respected a woman’s right to say no. There were always more women in the next town he’d drift to.

Not to say that he slept with every pretty female that came along. In spite of the rumors, Rand had always considered himself a man of discriminating—and careful—tastes. He was no fool, and he wasn’t stupid when it came to sex.

He looked at Grace, watched those big, green eyes of hers widen at the sound of a crash from the kitchen. She wasn’t going to be around long enough for him to give it a lot of thought one way or the other, Rand knew. She’d be gone after dinner, and he would never see her again.

And that, he thought as he looked at those gorgeous lips of hers and killer body, was a damn shame.

Unlike the worn and neglected exterior, the inside of the Sloan house was neat and tidy and clean. The furniture was utilitarian: a plain brown sofa and chair in the living room, maple coffee and end tables. A bookcase filled mostly with history and ranching books. No TV, no DVD or video equipment, not even a stereo, that Grace could see. Simple and practical and down to the basics, would best describe the Sloan residence.

It wasn’t a cold house, but it wasn’t exactly a warm one, either. Except for the dining room, Grace thought, where the family had gathered around an oval pine table to eat. She felt comfortable here, relaxed. Well, not completely relaxed. It was pretty difficult to truly relax with Rand sitting across from her, those incredible black eyes of his watching her. Not that he was staring. In fact, it seemed that every time she’d looked at him, he was intentionally not looking at her.