The Rancher's Rules

Grant felt sucker punched and glared at his dad. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into coming home from the east coast. You had your plans, and I wasn’t going to ruin them, but then Lottie left for Portland and told me I could follow or be divorced.”

“I meant it too.” Lottie’s eyes filled with a militant gleam. “I wasn’t going to stick around to watch your father work himself into an early grave. Nothing was worth his health—not the ranch, nothing.”

Grant couldn’t argue with that. Lottie was right. His dad’s health was more important than his former lifestyle, and Zoe was more important to Grant than his current one.

Nothing was worth losing Zoe. Not the ranch, nothing. Hell, it had to be love…nothing else could feel this damn scary.

As she drove toward the Pattersons’, Zoe’s mind kept replaying her conversation with Grant and his parents.

Grant had advised her dad to sell, and she couldn’t blame him. Not when she thought about it rationally. He had been right. She didn’t want to be a cattle rancher, and selling the ranch had been the only alternative that made sense for her parents. What he and her parents didn’t seem to understand was her need to have been part of the decision—to have been legitimized as an important part of her family.

But that had not been Grant’s choice. She clutched the cold steering wheel tightly, missing the gloves she’d forgotten to put on…again. She shouldn’t have run out of Grant’s house without talking out Roy’s revelation. She’d left Grant believing she blamed him for her dad’s rejection, and she didn’t. She didn’t even blame her dad. Losing his only son had broken something inside him and she’d never been able to fix it.

And she had to give her dad some credit. She had been a difficult child for a rancher to raise. She smiled at the memories Grant had brought up. She’d been too attached to the animals, and she’d spent hours drawing and writing stories when she was supposed to be doing chores.

It wasn’t Grant’s fault her parents didn’t see her as a contributing member of their family unit either. But frankly that old pain had been well and truly superceded by a new one. Grant’s advice to her dad only confirmed the lack of any hope for a future between them. He wasn’t going to marry a woman who’d failed so miserably at the whole ranching lifestyle.

He might not realize it, but she knew he had major baggage left over from the three most important women in his life abandoning him for his lifestyle. He wouldn’t risk marriage to someone who couldn’t love him more than she hated ranching.

Zoe had spent the last four years running from her love for Grant, but she wasn’t going to run any longer. She loved that stubborn rancher-tycoon more than anyone or anything else on earth, and she believed he loved her. He couldn’t have made love to her the way he had otherwise. It had been too reverent…too spiritual. It had not been simple lust.

She would live in a snakepit if it meant being his wife. Telling him she wanted to share his life on a working cattle ranch was nothing in comparison.

She smiled with grim purpose as she turned into the Pattersons’ drive. She had plans. The Christmas wrapping would have to wait. Grant had invited her to spend the holidays at the ranch, and she intended to accept his invitation.

Grant stood under the pulsing hot water, steam billowing around him, and closed his eyes.

Zoe had come back. She’d shown up on his doorstep not two hours after she’d left. She’d come in through the front door again. There was significance in that, but he didn’t know what. She’d had all of her stuff too, not just a suitcase.

He’d wanted to yank her into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want to flaunt the physical side of their relationship in front of his parents. He would heed her wishes, but as soon as the household had gone to sleep he was going to Zoe’s room—even if it meant tiptoeing down a dark hallway.

He reached for the soap and touched a feminine hand instead. “Let me do that.”

He spun around at the sound of the soft female voice and ran into a lot more female flesh. Naked female flesh. He opened his eyes and blinked. He rubbed them and blinked again. He still couldn’t see anything. “Zoe?”

Soft, soapy hands started gliding over his torso. “Who else would accost you in the shower?”

“No one.” He reached out to touch her, trying to see her tantalizing body in the inky blackness. “What happened to the lights?” His hand connected with resilient flesh and he cupped her breast, reveling in the feeling of her turgid nipple against his palm.