Nailer, but Randall tossed the reins to Dave.
“Put him away for me, old thing,” he requested languidly, and walked away toward the house. He would have liked to adopt a nonchalant saunter, but his lower half was completely numb and it was as much as he could do to stay upright.
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and then Claire was at his side. Without a word she drew his arm about her shoulders, and felt him lean hard on her.
“I never thought you’d do it,” she said, exhilarated.
As soon as the door closed behind them he staged a mock collapse. Laughing, she put both arms about him and helped him to a chair.
“I’ll get something for your head,” she said.
“Uh-uh!” He was too wrapped up in the feel of her arms around his body to concentrate on her words. He felt light-headed.
She helped him off with his shirt and undershirt, exclaimed over his discolored body, and fetched a bowl of water. Randall became aware that blood was trickling down his face.
“That was a nasty fall you took,” she murmured as she sponged him. “You’d better see the doctor, fast.”
“No way. I shall eat my breakfast and then come out to work.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Do you realize nobody has ever ridden Nailer first time before? Even Gabe had to give up the first time. ’Course, he was younger then,” she added quickly.
“Of course,” Randall said, entranced by her nearness and her fresh, flowery smell.
“There’s a good doctor in town,” she went on. “I’ll drive you in.”
“Claire, I can’t do that,” he said seriously. “I’ve got to carry on as normal, just like the others would. Surely you can see why?”
“But you might have cracked a rib,” she pleaded. “Or worse.”
“I don’t think so.” He felt his rib cage carefully. “Seems OK to me. See what you think.”
She set the sponge down and began to feel him gently. She’d treated enough broken bones on the ranch to know at once that he was right. But her hands didn’t know how to let him go. They lingered on the thickness of his torso, taking far longer than they needed to.
There was a light dusting of hair over his chest-she’d wondered about that. His muscles were as firm as any cowhand’s, and his skin was warm.
He was still heaving from his exertions, and Claire felt the movement of his rib cage against her fingers. She wanted to go on exploring, and the desire shocked her.
“You-don’t seem to have any damage,” she said at last.
“Not to my ribs,” he said.
He spoke so quietly that she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She looked up quickly to find him regarding her with a look that made her suddenly aware how strongly her heart was beating.
Reluctantly, she let him go. She was full of confusion and nothing made sense anymore. She dabbed at his head again, but distractedly, and there was a distant look in her eyes.
“No blue blood,” Randall joked. “It’s the same color as yours.”
She gave a brief smile. “I was a pain, wasn’t I?”
“Just a little prejudiced at first. I guess I understand that.”
“No you don’t,” she said quickly. “It was just-well, never mind. I’m not used to strangers.”
“How long can a man be a stranger?” he asked.
“Guess you haven’t been a stranger for a while now,” she said quietly.
How soft her mouth was, he thought, when she dropped her guard. How badly he wanted to kiss it! In another moment he would throw caution to the wind, lean forward, and it would happen. He drew a sharp breath. His pulses were racing. It was a long time since the mere prospect of a woman’s kiss had filled him with such anticipation. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he’d last had to tread so carefully. The girls at home were only too eager to attract Lord Randall’s interest.
“Claire-”
She turned on him a defenseless smile that destroyed his resolve. She was too easily hurt. Everything mattered so much to her. He couldn’t kiss her, knowing he would go away in a few weeks.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said reluctantly. “Can you give me a hand up the stairs?”
“You want me to rub some liniment in your bruises?”
“Most of them are in a place I’d better see to myself,” he said wryly, and felt his heart lurch at the sound of her chuckle.
That night they had a celebration. Frank arrived with his wife and grown daughter. Susan outdid herself with the cooking, the hands cheered Randall-at least, North and Olly did-and Claire produced some of Gabe’s best wine.
During the day Randall had come to a decision about Claire. His growing attraction to her was threatening to get out of control, and he had to fight it. Not for his own sake, for hers. Only recently he might have regarded her armored heart as a challenge, but he’d seen how easily she could be hurt and it had altered him. Nothing in the world looked quite the same anymore. Time to call a halt, before it was too late.
There was nobody to warn him that when a man started saying things like that, it was already too late. But when he saw Claire come down actually wearing a dress, he knew his good resolution was going to be harder than he’d reckoned.
It was a simple, old-fashioned dress, made of flowered cotton, with a fitted waist and a slightly flared skirt. Randall’s fashionable lady friends would have screamed with laughter.
But he didn’t feel like laughing. He was too busy catching his breath at the sight of the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. He’d already known that Claire had long legs. Now he discovered that she had slender ankles and shapely calves, and when she moved her hips the dress fluttered this way and that, whispering promises.
She’d brushed her glorious red hair until it shone, and caught it back lightly in a loose, twisted braid. She was like a pre-Raphaelite goddess, risen from the earth, smelling of spice and honey, arms outstretched to the sun.
Randall caught himself up on the thought. He’d never been a fanciful man, and this was a helluva time to start.
With two extra women the evening turned into an impromptu dance. Someone put a tape on, and Randall danced with Frank’s wife and daughter. And after that, of course, it was his plain duty to dance with Claire. She was his hostess and it would have been rude not to.
He tried to be strong. Remembering his resolve, he waited until the music turned lively, and everyone “danced” by bouncing around, doing whatever they liked. He held her hand while she twirled, and felt her brush against him, and each time it was like an electric shock.
But suddenly the music changed to a sweet waltz, and then no power on earth could have stopped him taking her in his arms. When he felt the softness of her slim form against his, he knew he’d been waiting for this moment forever, and no amount of good resolutions would be any use.
Despite her boyish ways she was as light and feminine as a fairy in his arms, moving softly and with an instinctive grace that enticed him to fit his movements to hers.
Wasn’t dancing supposed to be a substitute for making love? If so, it
