Suzannah Davis - The Rancher And The Redhead

“I don’t know what to say.” He shook his head, dazed. “You’d do that for Jessie?”

“I’d do it for me. I’m sick of living alone.”

Sam heard the plaintiveness in her tone and realized he’d been too caught up in his own concerns to see that his ever-upbeat pal was struggling with her own brand of loneliness. Straddling a kitchen chair, he took a drink of his beer and stared down at the bottle. “I’ll admit it’s no picnic for me, either.”

“I’ve always wanted a home and a family, and I know you have, too. But things just haven’t worked out as either of us planned.” Sighing, she leaned her trim hips against the kitchen counter and warmed her hands around her mug as though fighting off a chill. She was silent a long moment, gazing down into the steaming liquid. “I suppose in a way I’ll always love Jackson, but he couldn’t give me what I truly wanted and needed.”

“I know that.”

“But you can, Sam.” She lifted her eyes, and her words were earnest. “If Jessie is your second chance at that kind of life, she’s my first and last chance. I want her, more than anything I’ve ever wanted. I know we could be the kind of parents she needs and bring her up right with love and security.”

“You wouldn’t be getting much out of the deal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We’d be a family. That’s more than enough.” Catching his skeptical glance, she set her mug aside and persisted. “Neither of us is getting any younger, Sam. Just think of it as a practical solution to the problem. We both work at home, with flexible schedules, so Jessie’s needs could come first, without having to depend on housekeepers and day care. And you’ve been too damn proud to accept my offer to use my daddy’s pastureland. Married, we can combine our assets and build something permanent together for Jessie on the Lazy Diamond. It’s perfect. We’d all benefit.”

“I think you’re forgetting something.” Deliberately, he drained his beer, set the bottle down on the table, then rose and came to stand in front of her. “What about sex?”

She swallowed. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb, Curly.” He cupped her shoulders and let his thumbs trace the delicate line of her collarbone. “You know what I mean.”

“Can’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?”

Catching her around the waist, he jerked her up against him, bending to nuzzle the flower-fragrant crook of her neck. His unexpected touch evoked a shiver and a gasp from her, and he bared his teeth in a wolfish grin, muttering, “I think we just did.”

Her fingers grasped his forearms for balance. “You’re not going to scare me off, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

He drew back, giving her a hard look, then pressed himself suggestively against her middle in blatant mimicry of the act they were discussing. “A man wants a willing woman in his bed, Veronica Jean, not a martyr.”

Her breathing accelerated, and she hesitated, licking her lips. “I—I’m not unwilling.”

That set him aback. Sam admitted to himself that he’d crowded her to show her just how asinine this idea of hers was, that he was no sexless eunuch to be dismissed out of hand, but her response was forcing him to see her in a new light. Damn, he knew she was a beautiful, desirable woman, but he’d never allowed himself to think of her like that. Those had been the unspoken rules. She was just Curly, who’d always been there for him. Anything else felt strange and unnatural, didn’t it?

Releasing her, he stepped back a pace, rubbing his hand over his nape in consternation. “We’ve never had those feelings toward each other, Curly.”

“Perhaps not. But we’ve got a lot more going for us than most couples—trust, dependability, a wealth of knowledge and history together. The other could evolve naturally, if we wanted it to.”

“And if it doesn’t?” he challenged.

“Companionship and mutual respect are important, too.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “And we’re both adults with no illusions about love left to shatter. As long as we’re both discreet, outside, er—friendships shouldn’t be a problem, if it came to that.”

He laughed harshly. “How very modern of you.”

She flushed again. “Look, making a stable family environment for Jessie is the prime consideration here, isn’t it? What’s to keep us from going on just as we’ve been doing the last few days?”

“You think keeping things platonic would work?”

“It has so far,” she pointed out with irrefutable logic. Then she smiled, a little tender, a little bemused, cajoling him into temptation. “Come on, Sam. Let’s do it for Jessie. We’re comfortable together, like a favorite pair of old boots. It wouldn’t be that hard. In some ways, we’re already like an old married couple.”

“You mean passion on the back burner, constant bickering and taking each other for granted?”

She chuckled. “Something like that.”

Sam’s lips twitched in an answering grin. She never fails to make me smile.

For an instant he resisted acknowledging a decision that he’d already made deep down inside. The alternative—giving up the baby girl who’d stolen his heart, and losing Roni’s respect—was unthinkable. And a part of him yearned for the connection and continuity of a family just as fiercely as Roni did.

Hell, she knew what she was getting into. Knew him for the lunkheaded cowpuncher and struggling rancher he was, knew small-town life and all that came with it. She’d taken her knocks, too, and wouldn’t expect rainbows and miracles every minute, nor would she light out at the first hint of rough going.

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