Taming Blackhawk. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      Nevertheless, she felt his eyes on her, felt the intensity of that dark gaze. No man had ever made her so…aware. Of him, of herself, of everything around them. The feeling confused her, made her unsteady. It also annoyed her that she was being such a nervous Nelly. Such a scaredy-cat. A big, fat—

      “Chicken?”

      Startled, she snapped her gaze to Rand. “What?”

      “Would you like a piece of chicken?” He held a large platter of fried chicken in front of her.

      “Oh. Yes, of course.” She helped herself to a leg and smiled at Mary. “This all looks wonderful.”

      A person would have thought that an entire football team was coming to dinner instead of three men, Grace thought. Mile-high, fluffy mashed potatoes beside a tureen of velvety brown gravy; a heaping bowl of baby peas; golden, steaming biscuits with a tub of honey-sweetened butter. The smell alone was enough to make Grace’s mouth water.

      And when she took a bite of the chicken, it was all she could do not to groan. Mary’s sons, on the other hand, were not subject to the same restraint. Every one of them, including Rand, expressed their pleasure with sighs and groans and enough compliments to make Mary beam with delight.

      “Lord, I’ve missed your cooking,” Matt said around a bite of biscuit. “When you sell this place СКАЧАТЬ