Buch lesen: «Her Forbidden Cowboy»

One

The heels of Jessica’s boots beat against the redwood of Zane Williams’s sun-drenched deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Shielded by the shade of an overhang, he didn’t miss a move his new houseguest made as he leaned forward on his chaise longue. His sister-in-law had officially arrived.

Was he still allowed to call her that?

Gusty breezes lifted her caramel hair, loosening the knot at the back of her head. A few wayward tendrils whipped across her eyes and, as she followed behind his assistant Mariah, her hand came up to brush them away. Late afternoon winds were strong on Moonlight Beach, swirling up from the shore as the sun lowered on the horizon. It was the time most sunbathers packed up their gear and went home and the locals came out. Shirt-billowing weather and one of the few things he’d come to like about California beach living.

He removed his sunglasses to get a better look at her. She wore a snowdrift-white blouse tucked into washed-to-the-millionth-degree jeans and a wide brown belt. Tortoiseshell-rimmed eyeglasses delicately in place didn’t hide the pain and distress in her eyes.

Sweet Jess. Seeing her brought back so many memories, and the frigidness in his heart thawed a bit.

She looked like...home.

It hurt to think about Beckon, Texas. About his ranch and the life he’d had there once. It hurt to think about how he’d met Jessica’s sister, Janie, and the way their small-town lives had entwined. In one respect, the tragedy that occurred more than two years ago might’ve been a lifetime ago. In another, it seemed as if time was standing still. Either way, his wife, Janie, and their unborn child were gone. They were never coming back. His mouth began to twitch. An ache in the pit of his stomach spread like wildfire and scorched him from the inside out.

He focused on Jessica. She carried a large tapestry suitcase woven in muted tones of gray and mauve and peach. He’d given Janie and Jessica matching luggage three years ago on their birthdays. It had been a fluke that both girls, the only two offspring of Mae and Harold Holcomb, were born on the same day, seven years apart.

Grabbing at the crutches propped beside his lounge chair, Zane slowly lifted himself up, careful not to fall and break his other foot. Mariah would have his head if he got hurt again. His casted wrist ached like the devil, but he refused to have his assistant come running every damn time he wanted to get up. It was bad enough she’d taken on the extra role of nursemaid. He reminded himself to have his business manager give Mariah a big fat bonus.

She halted midway on the deck, her disapproving gaze dropping to his busted wrist and crutches before she shot him a silent warning. “Here he is, Jessica.” Mariah’s peach-pie voice was sweet as ever for his houseguest. “I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“Thanks, Mariah,” he said.

Her mouth pursed tight, she about-faced and marched off, none too pleased with him.

Jessica came forward. “Still such a gentleman, Zane,” she said. “Even on crutches.”

He’d forgotten how much she sounded like Janie. Hearing her sultry tone stirred him up inside. But that’s about all Janie and Jessica had in common. The two sisters were different in most other ways. Jess wasn’t as tall as her sister. Her eyes were a light shade of green instead of the deep emerald that had sparkled from Janie’s eyes. Jess was brunette, Janie blonde. And their personalities were miles apart. Janie had been a risk-taker, a strong woman who could hold her own against Zane’s country-star fame, which might’ve intimidated a less confident woman. From what he remembered about Jess, she was quieter, more subtle, a schoolteacher who loved her profession, a real sweetheart.

“Sorry about your accident.”

Zane nodded. “Wasn’t much of an accident. More like stupidity. I lost focus and fell off the stage. Broke my foot in three places.” He’d been at the Los Angeles Amphitheater, singing a silly tune about chasing ducks on the farm, all the while thinking about Janie. A video of his fall went viral on the internet. Everyone in country music and then some had witnessed his loss of concentration. “My tour’s postponed for the duration. Can’t strum a guitar with a broken wrist.”

“Don’t suppose you can.”

She put down her luggage and gazed over the railing to the shore below. Sunlight glossed over deep steely-blue water as whitecaps foamed over wet sand, the tide rising. “I suppose Mama must’ve strong-armed you into doing this.”

“Your mama couldn’t strong-arm a puppy.”

She whipped around to face him, her eyes sharp. “You know what I mean.”

He did. Fact was, he wouldn’t refuse Mae Holcomb anything. And she’d asked him this favor. It’s huge, she’d said to him. My Jess is hurtin’ and needs to clear her head. I’m asking you to let her stay with you a week, maybe two. Please, Zane, watch out for her.

He’d given his word. He’d take care of Jess and make sure she had time to heal. Mae was counting on him, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Janie’s mother. She deserved that much from him.

“You can stay as long as you like, Jess. You’ve got to know that.”

Her mouth began to tremble. “Th-thanks. You heard what happened?”

“I did.”

“I—I couldn’t stay in town. I had to get out of Texas. The farther, the better.”

“Well, Jess, you’re as far west as you could possibly go.” Five miles north of Malibu by way of the Pacific Coast Highway.

Her shoulders slumped. “I feel like such a fool.”

Reaching out, he cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to his, the darn crutch under his arm falling to rest on the railing. “Don’t.”

“I won’t be very good company,” she whispered, dang near breathless.

His body swayed, not allowing him another unassisted moment. He released her and grabbed for his crutch just in time. He tucked it under his arm and righted his position. “That makes two of us.”

Her soft laughter carried on the breeze. Probably the first bit of amusement she’d felt in days.

He smiled.

“I just need a week, Zane.”

“Like I said, take as long as you need.”

“Thanks.” She blinked, and her eyes drifted down to his injuries. “Uh, are you in a lot of pain?”

“More like, I’m being a pain. Mariah’s getting the brunt of my sour mood.”

“Now I can share it with her.” Her eyes twinkled for a second.

He’d forgotten what it was like having Jess around. She was ten years younger than him, and he’d always called her his little sis. He hadn’t seen much of her since Janie’s death. Cursed by guilt and anguish, he’d deliberately removed himself from the Holcombs’ lives. He’d done enough damage to them.

“Hand up your luggage to me,” he told her. With his good hand, he tucked his crutches under his armpits and propped himself, then wiggled his fingers. If he could get a grip on the bag...

Jessica rolled her eyes and hoisted her valise. “I appreciate it, Zane. But I’ve got this. Really, it’s not heavy. I packed light. You know, summer-at-the-beach kind of clothes.”

She let him off the hook. He would’ve tried, but fooling with her luggage wouldn’t have been pretty. The doggone crutches made him clumsy as a drunken sailor, and he wasn’t supposed to put any weight on his foot yet. “Fine, then. Why don’t you settle in and rest up a bit? I’m bunking on this level. You’ve got an entire wing of rooms to yourself upstairs. Take your pick and spread out.”

He followed behind as she made her way inside the wide set of light oak French doors leading to the living room. “Feel free to look around. I can have Mariah give you a tour.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” She scanned over what she could see of the house, taking in the expanse—vaulted ceilings, textured walls, art deco interior and sleek contemporary furniture. He caught her vibe, sensing her confusion. What was Zane Williams, a country-western artist and a born and bred Texan, doing living on a California beach? When he’d leased this place with the option to buy, he told himself it was because he wanted a change. He was building Zane’s on the Beach, his second restaurant in as many years, and he’d been offered roles in several Hollywood movies. He didn’t know if he was cut out for acting, so the pending offers were still on the table.

She sent him an over-the-shoulder glance. “It’s...a beautiful house, Zane.”

His crutches supporting him, he sidled up next to her, seeing the house from her perspective. “But not me?”

“I guess I don’t know what that is anymore.”

“It’s just a house. A place to hang my hat.”

She gave his hatless head a glance. “It’s a palace on the sea.”

He chuckled. So much for his attempt at humble. The house was a masterpiece. One of three designed by the architect who lived next door. “Okay, you got me there. Mariah found the house and leased it on the spot. She said it would shake the cobwebs from my head. Had it awhile, but this is my first summer here.” He leaned back, darting a glance around. “At least the humidity is bearable and it never seems to rain, so no threat of thunderstorms. The neighbors are nice.”

“A good place to rest up.”

“I suppose, if that’s what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?”

He shrugged, fearing he’d opened up a can of worms. Why was he revealing his innermost thoughts to her? They weren’t close anymore. He hardly knew Jessica as an adult, and yet they shared a deeply powerful connection. “Sure it is. Are you hungry? I can have my housekeeper make you—”

“Oh, uh...no. I’m not hungry right now. Just a bit tired from the trip. I’d better go upstairs before I collapse right here on your floor. Thanks for having a limo pick me up. And, well, thanks for everything, Zane.”

She rose on her tiptoes, and the soft brush of her lips on his cheek squeezed something tight in his chest. Her hair smelled of summer strawberries, and the fresh scent lingered in his nose as she backed away.

“Welcome.” The crutches dug into his armpits as they supported his weight. He hated the damn things. Couldn’t wait to be free of them. “Just a suggestion, but the room to the right of the stairs and farthest down the hall has the best view of the ocean. Sunsets here are pretty glorious.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her quick smile was probably meant to fake him out. She could pretend she wasn’t hurting all that badly if she wanted to, but dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin told the real story. He understood. He’d been there. He knew how pain could strangle a person until all the breath was sucked out. Hell, he’d lived it. Was still living it. And he knew something about Holcomb family pride, too.

What kind of jerk would leave any Holcomb woman standing at the altar?

Only a damn fool.

* * *

Jessica took Zane’s advice and chose the guest room at the end of the hallway. Not for the amazing sunsets as Zane had suggested, but to keep out of his hair. Privacy was a precious commodity. He valued it, and so did she now. A powerful urge summoned her to slump down on the bed and cry her eyes out, but she managed to fight through the sensation. She was done with self-pity. She wasn’t the first woman to be dumped at the altar. She’d been duped by a man she’d loved and trusted. She’d been so sure and missed all of the telling signs. Now she saw them through crystal clear eyes.

She busied herself unpacking her one suitcase, layering her clothes into a long, stylish light wood dresser. Carefully she set her jeans, shorts, swimsuits and undies into two of the nine drawers. She plucked out a few sleeveless sundresses and walked over the closet. With a slight tug, the double doors opened in a whoosh. The scents of cedar and freshness filled her nostrils as she gazed into a girl cave almost the size of her first-grade classroom back in Beckon. Cedar drawers, shoe racks and silken hangers were a far cry from the tiny drywalled closet in her one-bedroom apartment.

Deftly she scooped the delicate hangers under the straps of her dresses and hung them up. Next she laid her tennis shoes, flip-flops and two pairs of boots, one flat, one high-heeled, onto the floor just under her clothes. Her meager collection barely made a dent in the closet space. She closed the double doors and leaned against them. Then she took her first real glimpse at the view from her second-story bedroom.

“Wow.” Breath tunneled from her chest.

Aqua seas and the sun-glazed sky made for a spectacular vista from the wide windows facing the horizon. She swallowed in a gulp of awe. Then suddenly, a strange bone-rattling feeling of loss hit her. She shivered as if assailed by a winter storm.

Why now? Why wasn’t she reveling in the beauty surrounding her?

Nothing’s beautiful. You lost your sister, her unborn baby and your fiancé.

“Would you like to go out onto the balcony?”

She whirled around, surprised to find Mariah, Zane’s fortyish blonde assistant standing in the doorway. She’d worked for him since before he had married Janie. Jessica and Mariah’s paths had crossed a few times since then. “Oh, hi.” She glanced at the narrow glass door at the far end of the wall that led to the balcony. It was obviously situated there to keep from detracting from the room’s sweeping view of the Pacific. “Thanks, but maybe later.”

“Sure, you must be tired from the flight. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve unpacked. A shower and a nap and I’ll be good to go.”

Mariah smiled. “I’ll be leaving for the day. Mrs. Lopez, Zane’s housekeeper, is here. If you need anything, just ask her.”

“Thank you... I’ll be fine.”

“Zane will want to have dinner with you. He eats dinner just before sunset. But he’d make an exception if you’re hungry earlier.”

“Sunset is fine.”

Mariah studied her, her eyes unflinching and kind. “You look a little like Janie.”

“I doubt that. Janie was beautiful.”

“I see a resemblance. If you don’t mind me saying, you have the same soulful eyes and lovely complexion.”

She was pale as a ghost, and ten freckles dotted her nose. Yep, she’d counted them. Though, she’d never had acne or even a full-fledged zit to speak of in her teens. She supposed her complexion wasn’t half-bad. “Thank you. I, uh, don’t want to cause Zane or you any trouble. I’m basically here because it would’ve been harder to convince my mother otherwise, and I didn’t want her to worry about me off in some deserted location to search my soul. Mama’s had enough on her plate. She doesn’t need to fret over me.”

“I get it. Actually, you might be exactly what Zane needs to get his head out of the sand.”

That was an odd statement. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of it.

“He’s not been himself for a while now,” Mariah explained without spelling it out. Jessica gave her credit for the delicate way she put it.

“I figured. He lost his family. We all did,” Jess said. She missed Janie something awful. Sometimes life was cruel.

Mariah nodded. “But having family around might be good for both of you.”

She doubted that. She’d be a thorn in Zane’s side. A kink in his plans. She would bide her time here, soak up some fresh sea air and then return home to face the music. Humiliation and desperate hurt had made her flee Texas. But she’d have to go back eventually. Her face pulled tight. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Maybe,” she said to Mariah.

“Well, have a good evening.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

After Mariah left, Jessica plucked up her shampoo and entered the bathroom. Oh, boy, and she’d thought the closet was something. The guest bathroom came equipped with a television, a huge oval Jacuzzi tub and an intricately tiled spacious shower that was digitized for each of the three shower heads looming above. She peered closer to read the monitor. She could program the time, temperature and force of the shower and heaven knew what else.

After she punched in a few commands, the shower spurted to life, and water rained down. Jess smiled. A new toy. Peeling off her clothes, she opened the clear glass door and stepped inside. Steamy spray hit her from three sides, with two heads spewing softly and one pulsing like the pumping of her heart. She turned around and around, using the fragrant liquid soap from a dispenser in the wall. She lingered there, lost in the mist and jet stream as pent-up tension seeped out of her bones, her limbs loose and free. Eventually, she got down to business and worked shampoo into her hair. Much too early, the shower turned off automatically. As she stepped out, the steam followed her. She dried herself with a cushy white towel. How nice.

She dressed in a pair of tan midthigh shorts and a cocoa-brown tank top. She hoped dinner with Zane wasn’t a formal thing. She hadn’t brought anything remotely fashionable.

After blow-drying her hair, she lifted the long strands up in a ponytail, leaving bangs to rest on her forehead. A little nap had sounded wonderful minutes ago, but now she was too keyed up to sleep. The time change would probably hit her like a ton of bricks later, but right now, the sandy windblown beach below beckoned her. She slipped her feet into flip-flops and headed downstairs.

Lured by the scent of spices and sauce wafting to her nose, she headed in that direction. Inside a magnificent granite-and-stone kitchen, she came face to face with an older woman, a little hefty in the hips, wearing an apron and humming to herself.

The woman turned around. “Hola, Miss Holcomb?”

“Yes, I’m Jessica.”

“Hola, Jessica.” She nodded. “I’m Mrs. Lopez. Do you like enchiladas?”

She was Texan. She loved everything Mexican. “Yes. Smells yummy.”

Mrs. Lopez lowered the oven door, and a stainless-steel rack automatically pushed forward.

“They will be ready in half an hour. Can I get you a drink? Or a snack?”

“No, thank you. I’ll wait for Zane. Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, retreating from the kitchen. “I’ll be back in—”

A boom sounded. “Double damn you!” Zane’s loud curse echoed throughout the house.

Jessica froze in place.

Mrs. Lopez grinned and shook her head. “He cannot dress himself too well. He will not let anyone help him. He is not such a good patient.”

They shared a smile. “I see.” But when she’d first arrived, he was wearing jeans and a casual cotton shirt. Was he dressing up now? “Do I need to change my clothes for dinner?”

“No, no. Mr. Zane spilled iced tea on his shirt. You are dressed nice.”

“Thank you.” Okay, great. She felt better now. When she’d packed her clothes, she hadn’t given much thought to her wardrobe. All she hoped for was to clear her head a little while here. “I thought I’d go for a walk on the beach. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner. See you later.”

Mrs. Lopez nodded and focused on the stove. Jess’s stomach grumbled as she left the spicy smells of the kitchen and walked out the double doors to the deck. From there, she climbed a few more stairs down, until warm sand crept onto her flip-flops.

* * *

There were no lakes or rivers back home that compared with the balmy breezes whipping at her hair, the briny taste on her lips or the glistening golden hues reflecting off the ocean. Her steps fell lightly, making a slight impression in the packed wet sand until the next wave inched up the shore and carried her footprints out to sea. Even with the sun low over the water’s edge, her skin warmed as she walked along the beach. To her right, beachfront mansions overlooking the sea filled her line of vision, each one different in design and structure. She was so intent on gauging the houses, she didn’t notice a jogger approaching until he’d stopped right in front of her.

“Hi,” he said, his breaths heaving.

“Hello.” A swift glance at his face made her gasp silently. He was stunning and tanned and one of the most famous movie stars in the world. Dylan McKay.

He hunched over, hands on knees, catching his breath. “Give me a sec.”

For what? She wanted to ask, yet she stood there, feet implanted in the sand, waiting. He was easy on the eyes, and she tried not to stare at his bare chest and the dip of his jogging shorts below a trim waist.

He righted his posture, and blood drained from her body as he aimed a heart-melting smile her way. “Thank you.”

Puzzled, she stared at him. “For?”

“Being here. For giving me an excuse to stop running.” He chuckled, and white teeth flashed. Was the sun-gleaming twinkle from his smile real? Could’ve been. Dylan McKay was every red-blooded woman’s idea of the perfect man.

Except hers. She knew there was no such thing.

“Okay. But...you could’ve just stopped on your own, couldn’t you?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m supposed to run ten miles a day. It’s a work thing. I’m preparing for a role as a Navy SEAL.”

No kidding? She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know who he was. Or that his bronzed body wasn’t already honed and ripped. “Gotcha. How many did you do?”

His lips twisted with self-loathing. “Eight.”

“That’s not bad.” Judging by the pained look on his face, he was a man who expected perfection of himself. “There aren’t too many people who can run eight miles.”

His expression lightened and he seemed to appreciate her encouragement. “I’m Dylan, by the way.” He put out his hand.

“Jessica.” It was a one-pump handshake.

“Are we neighbors?” he asked, his brows gathering. “I live over there.” He pointed to a trilevel mansion looming close by.

She shook her head. “Not really. I’m staying with Zane Williams for a short time.”

When his brows lifted ever so slightly and his eyes flashed, she read his mind. “He’s...he’s family.”

He nodded. “I know Zane. Good guy.”

“He is. My sister...well, he was married to Janie.”

A moment passed as he put two and two together. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I think I’ve gotten my second wind. Thanks to you. Only two miles to go. Nice meeting you, Jessica. Say hi to Zane for me.”

He about-faced, trotted down the beach in the opposite direction and soon picked up his pace to a full-out jog.

She headed back to the house, a smile on her lips, a song humming in her heart. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

She spotted Zane braced against the patio railing and waved. Had he been watching her? She was hit with a surge of self-consciousness. She wasn’t a beach babe. Her curvy figure didn’t allow two-piece bathing suits, and her pale skin tone could be compared only with the bark of a birch tree or the peel of a honeydew melon.

As she climbed the stairs, her gaze hit upon his shirt, a Hawaiian print with repeating palm trees. She’d never seen Zane look more casual and yet appear so ill at ease in his surroundings.

“Nice walk?” he asked, removing his sunglasses.

“It beats a stroll to Beckon’s Cinema Palace.”

Zane laughed, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You got that right. I haven’t thought about the Palace in a long time.” His voice sounded gruff as if he’d go back to those days in a heartbeat.

There wasn’t a whole lot to do in Beckon, Texas, so on Saturday night the parking lot at the Palace swarmed with kids from the high school. Hanging out and hooking up. It’s where Jessica had had her first awkward kiss. With Miles Bernardy. Gosh, he was such a geek. But then, so was she.

It was also where Janie and Zane had fallen in love.

“I met one of your neighbors.”

“Judging by the glow on your face, must’ve been Dylan. He runs this time of day.”

“My face is not glowing.” She blinked.

“Nothing to worry over. Happens all the time with women.”

“I’m not a wom—I mean, I am not gawking over a movie star, for heaven’s sake.”

He should talk. Former brother-in-law or not, Zane Williams was a country superstar hunk. Dark-haired, six foot two, a chiseled-jawed Grammy winner, Zane wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. The tabloids painted him as an eligible widower who needed love in his life. So far, they’d been kind to him, a rare thing for a superstar.

He picked up his crutches and lifted one to gesture to a table. “This okay with you?”

Two adjacent places were set along a rectangular glass table large enough for ten. Votive candles and a spray of flowers accented the place settings facing the sunset. “It’s nice, Zane. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. I don’t expect you to entertain me.”

“Not going to any trouble, Jess. Fact is, I eat out here most days. I hate being cooped up inside the house. Just another week and I’ll be out of these dang confinements.” He raised his wrapped wrist.

“That’s good news. Then what will you do?”

Inclining his head, he considered her question. “Some rehab, I’m told. And continue working out details on the restaurant.” He frowned, and the light dimmed in his eyes. “My tour’s not due to pick up until September sometime. Maybe.”

She wouldn’t pry about the maybe. He hobbled to the table. Leaning a crutch against the table’s edge, he managed to pull out her chair—such chivalry—and she took her seat. Then he scooted his butt into his own chair. Plop. Poor Zane. His injuries put him completely out of his element.

Mrs. Lopez appeared with platters of food. She set them on the table with efficient haste and nodded to him. “I made a pitcher of margaritas to go with the enchiladas and rice. Or maybe some iced tea or soda?”

“Jessica?” he asked.

“A margarita sounds like heaven.”

He glanced at the housekeeper. “Bring the pitcher, please.”

She nodded. Within a minute, a pitcher appeared along with two bottle-green wide-rimmed margarita glasses. “Thanks,” he said. Zane leaned forward and gripped the pitcher with his wrapped hand. His face pinched tight as he struggled to upend the weighty pitcher. He sighed, and she sensed his frustration over not being able to perform the simple task of pouring a drink with his right hand.

“Let me help,” she said softly.

She slipped her hand under the pitcher and helped guide the slushy concoction into the glasses. She gave him credit for clamping his mouth shut and not complaining about his limitations.

“Thanks,” he said. He reached out, and the slide of his rough fingers over hers sent warm tingles to her heart. They were still connected through Janie, and she valued his friendship now. She’d made the right decision in coming here.

The food was delicious. She inhaled the meal, emptying her plate within minutes. “I guess I didn’t know how hungry I was. Or thirsty.”

She reached for her second margarita and took a long sip. Tart icy goodness slid down her throat. “Mmm.”

The sun had set with a parfait of swirling color, and now half the moon lit the night. The beach was quiet and calm. The roar of the waves had given way to an occasional lulling swish.