The Rebel Rancher. DONNA ALWARD

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СКАЧАТЬ and he did not normally have a sweet tooth when it came to women. But he couldn’t deny that what he was feeling was attraction. Arousal. As the fiddle scraped in the background, his lips nuzzled against the soft hair at her temple and his eyes closed, drawing in her scent that reminded him of his mother’s lily of the valley. Her skin was warm and soft and tasted like summer.

      The song ended and Ty stepped back, shaken.

      But worse than that was looking down at Clara and seeing her eyes swimming with tears. A quick survey showed him that several people were watching them curiously, and why not? It was no secret that Clara was a resident at the women’s shelter, and Ty knew his reputation—quite intentional when all was said and done. The cocky, confident rebel image was a lot easier to maintain than the truth, after all.

      But Clara didn’t deserve gossip or prying eyes. To his dismay a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and down her cheek.

      “Let’s get you away from here,” he murmured, squeezing her hand, feeling instantly sorry he’d let things go as far as they had during the dance. In another time, another place, with another woman, that sort of soft kiss would have been nothing. But here he’d forgotten himself. The best he could do now was get her away from the gossip.

      Her eyes widened at his suggestion. “Away … as in?” He watched as she swallowed.

      “Away from busybodies,” he said quietly. “I promise you, Clara, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

      She pulled her hand out of his and her face paled. She seemed oblivious to the inquisitive stares of the wedding guests as she stumbled backwards.

      “I’ve heard that before.” The words sounded jerked from her throat, harsh and disjointed. “This was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.”

      She turned on her heel and ran off, dashing out of the garden as she rushed to the house. Her shawl fluttered out of the crook of her arm and settled on the grass. Ty was left standing in the middle of the dance area feeling like a first-class fool.

      He walked over to where her shawl lay on the cool grass and picked it up, running the soft fabric through his fingers.

      He’d spooked her big-time. It was probably just as well when all was said and done. But now he had an additional reason he wished he hadn’t promised Molly he’d move back into the ranch house. He wasn’t sure what would be worse—the awkwardness with Clara or the antagonism between him and his father.

      She was afraid of him.

      The next few months were going to be hell.

      Clara kneaded the biscuit dough with a bit more force than necessary, flattening it on the countertop before rolling it and pushing the heels of her hands against it again. She’d put Virgil through his physio exercises already and he’d fallen asleep over his crossword puzzle, tired from the exertions and from all the excitement of the previous day. She’d changed his bedding after his bath, given him his meds and made sure he was comfortable in his favorite chair. Molly was out at a church women’s breakfast. And Ty was …

      Ty was out in the barns somewhere. Thank goodness.

      Just the thought of Tyson made her cheeks grow hot. The few times they’d crossed paths in the days since the wedding, he’d offered a polite greeting and moved on, barely meeting her eyes. And who could blame him? She’d cried, for Pete’s sake, and run off. For someone who wasn’t into drama or making a spectacle, she’d indulged in plenty. No wonder he kept his distance from her now. Her intentions to smooth the way had been a big fat failure.

      Then again, he never should have kissed her either. Even if it hadn’t been technically a kiss.

      She flipped the dough and kneaded it again, welcoming the rhythmic motion. It was almost therapeutic the way her arm muscles moved and flexed as she pushed the dough around the board. She tended to cook when she needed to empty her mind. And her mind was plenty full.

      But so far it wasn’t working. Things around the Diamond place were tense. Ty complicated matters—and not just for her. Virgil had been irritable lately, growling at her during his exercises and wearing a scowl more often than a smile. She had half a mind to sit the both of them down and tell them to talk rather than stomp around beating their chests. There was clearly some sort of power struggle at work and it wasn’t good for Virgil. It wasn’t her place to say anything, though. And sheer embarrassment kept her from offering Ty more than a quiet hello.

      She’d fallen quite under his spell while dancing. Their bodies had been touching. Her hands paused over the dough for a minute, remembering. On one hand, it had been a stunning victory over her personal-space phobia. But it had also been a huge mistake. Come on—Ty Diamond? And it had been in front of half of Cadence Creek. She gave her head a shake.

      She employed the rolling pin next, rolling the dough out exactly half an inch thick. The more Ty stayed out of her way the better. Virgil needed to stay focused on his rehabilitation, and Ty made Clara feel …

      Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He made Clara feel, full stop. She’d gotten as caught up as any other woman in the romance of the wedding, wooed by the adoring looks Sam and Angela shared, the soft music, the beautiful flowers and pretty dresses. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all.

      Clara applied the cookie cutter to the dough with a vengeance, cutting circles and plopping them on a cookie sheet. In the clear light of day she realized he had felt sorry for her. That stung, but she should have retained a little dignity rather than fleeing. She had no one to blame but herself.

      She heard the front door shut. Molly couldn’t be back already, Sam and Angela were going to be in Ottawa on their honeymoon for another week, and no one else would walk in without knocking. That left Ty. Speak of the devil.

      “Morning,” he said, coming through to the kitchen in his socked feet. Buster, the family retriever, trotted in on Ty’s heels and rubbed up against Clara’s leg to say hello with a wag of his tail.

      “Go lie down, Buster,” Clara said firmly. “Last thing I need is you in my biscuit dough.”

      The dog obediently found his bed in the corner and curled up on it.

      Ty looked around, saw Virgil sleeping, and an indulgent smile curved his lips. She looked down to cover her surprise. The smile changed his face completely, softening his jaw and cheekbones, erasing years off his face and making it appear almost boyish.

      Clara slid the pan into the oven, determined to finally put things on an even keel. “Good morning, Tyson.” She deliberately kept her voice pleasant and impersonal.

      He tilted his head, studying her as she straightened, brushing off her hands. “Ty, remember? Unless I’m in trouble, it’s Ty.” The smile changed, his lips curving in a devilish grin. “Does calling me Tyson mean you’re still mad?”

      In trouble? He was trouble. It would have been easier if he hadn’t smiled, she realized. His smile was the one thing she couldn’t get out of her head. At the wedding it had been warm, intimate and slightly lopsided as though he was sharing a joke. The warmth of it had extended to his eyes, the brown-as-molasses depths of them with sundrenched crinkles in the corners.

      She avoided his gaze and set the timer on the oven instead. He thought she was mad? Embarrassed, yes. Awkward—definitely. Angry? Well, maybe a little. He shouldn’t have rubbed his lips over her temple like СКАЧАТЬ