A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing. Joan Johnston

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      “Look, Harry-et,” he said, “the reason I came here today is to offer to buy this place from you.”

      “It’s not for sale.”

      Nathan sighed. She’d said it as if she’d meant it. He had no choice except to try to convince her to change her mind. “Sheep ranching involves a whole lot more than lambing and shearing, Harry-et.” He was distracted from his train of thought by the way the flush on her cheeks made her freckles show up. He forced his attention back where it belonged and continued. “For instance, do you have any idea what wool pool you’re in?”

      She raised a blank face and stared at him.

      “Do you even know what a wool pool is?”

      She shook her head.

      “A wool pool enables small sheepmen like yourself to concentrate small clips of wool into carload lots so that they can get a better price on—” He cut himself off. He was supposed to be proving her ignorance to her, not educating it away. He ignored her increasingly distressed look and asked, “Do you have any idea what’s involved with docking and castrating lambs?”

      This time she nodded, but the flush on her face deepened.

      “What about keeping records? Do you have any accounting experience?”

      “A little,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

      He felt like a desperado in a black hat threatening the schoolmarm, but he told himself it was for her own good in the long run and continued, “Can you figure adjusted weaning weight ratios? Measure ram performance? Calculate shearing dates? Compute feed gain ratios?”

      By now she was violently shaking her head. A shiny tear streaked one cheek.

      He pushed himself up out of his chair. He braced one callused palm on the table and leaned across to cup her jaw in his other hand and lift her chin. He looked into her eyes, and it took every bit of determination he had not to succumb to the plea he saw there. “I can’t teach you to run this ranch. I have a business of my own that needs tending. You can’t make it on your own, Harry-et. Sell your land to me.”

      “No.”

      “I’ll give you a fair—a generous—price. Then you can go home where you belong.”

      She was out of his grasp and gone before he had time to stop her. She didn’t go far, just to the sink, where she stood in front of the stack of dirty dishes and stared out the dirt-clouded window at the ramshackle sheep pens and the derelict barn. “I will succeed. With or without your help.”

      She sounded so sure of herself, despite the fact that she was doomed to fail. Nathan refused to admire her. He chose to be furious with her instead. In three angry strides he was beside her. “You’re as stubborn as every other hard-nosed, ornery Alistair who ever lived on this land!” He snorted in disgust. “I can sure as hell see now why Hazards have been feuding with Alistairs for a hundred years.”

      She whirled to confront him. “And I can see why Alistairs chose to feud with Hazards,” she retorted. “How dare you pretend to be a friend!” She poked him in the chest with a stiff finger. “How dare you sneak in under my guard and pretend to help—”

      “I wasn’t pretending,” he said heatedly, grabbing her wrist to keep her from poking him again. “I did help. Admit it.”

      “Sure. So I’d be grateful. All the time you only wanted to buy my land right out from under me. You are the lowest, meanest—”

      He wasn’t about to listen to any insults from a greenhorn female. A moment later her arm was twisted up behind her and he had pulled her flush against him. She opened her mouth to lambaste him again and he shut her up the quickest, easiest way he knew. He covered her mouth with his.

      Nathan was angry, and he wasn’t gentle. That is, until he felt her lips soften under his. It felt like he’d been wanting her for a long time. His mouth moved slowly over hers while his hand cupped her head and kept her still so he could take what he needed. She struggled against his hold, her breasts brushing against his chest, her hips hard against his. That only made him want her more. It was when he felt her trembling that he came to his senses, mortified at the uncivilized way he’d treated her.

      He abruptly released the hand he had twisted behind her back. But instead of coming up to slap him, as he’d expected, her palm reached up to caress his cheek. Her fingertips followed the shape of his cheekbone upward to his temple, where she threaded her fingers into his hair and slowly pulled his head back down.

      And she kissed him back.

      That was when he realized she was trembling with desire. Not fear. Desire. With both hands free he cupped her buttocks and pulled her hard against him. For every thrust he made, she countered. He was as full and hard as he’d ever been in his life. His tongue ravaged her mouth, and she responded with an ardor that made him hungry for her. He spread urgent kisses across her face and neck, but they didn’t satisfy as much as the taste of her, so he sought her mouth again. His tongue found the space between her teeth. And the inside of her lip. And the roof of her mouth. When he mimicked the thrust and parry of lovers, she held his tongue and sucked it until he thought his head was going to explode.

      When he slipped his hand over her buttocks and between her legs, she moaned, a sound that came from deep in her throat and spoke of an agony of unappeased passion.

      And the lamb in the corner bleated.

      Nathan lifted his head and stared at the woman in his arms. Her brown eyes were half-veiled by her lids, and her pupils were dilated. She was breathing as heavily as he was, her lips parted to gasp air. Her knees had already buckled, and his grasp on her was all that kept them both off the floor.

      Are you out of your mind?

      He tried to step away, but her hand still clutched his hair. He reached up and drew her hand away. She suddenly seemed to realize he had changed his mind and backed up abruptly. Nathan refused to look at her face. He already felt bad enough. He had come within a lamb’s tail of making love to Harry-et Alistair. He had made a narrow escape, for which he knew he would later, when his body wasn’t so painfully objecting, be glad for.

      “I think it’s time you left, Mr. Hazard,” Harry said in a rigidly controlled voice.

      He couldn’t leave without trying once more to accomplish what he’d come to do. “Are you sure you won’t—”

      The change in her demeanor was so sudden that it took him by surprise. Her expression was fierce, determined. “I will not sell this land,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now get out of here before—”

      “Good-bye, Harry-et. If you have a change of heart, John Wilkinson at the bank knows how to get in touch with me.”

      He settled his hat on his head and pulled it down with a tug. Then he shrugged broad shoulders into his sheepskin-lined coat. Before he was even out the kitchen door Harry Alistair had already started heating a bottle of formula for the lamb she had snuggled in her arms. It was the first time he’d ever envied one of the fleecy orphans.

      The last thing Nathan Hazard wanted to do was leave that room. But he turned resolutely and marched out the door. As he gunned the engine of his truck, he admitted his encounter with Harry-et Alistair СКАЧАТЬ