"Whoa, back up," he interrupted. "How about telling me where you came from and what you were doing trespassing on private property?"
"Turn your head toward me just a bit, would you please?"
As a stall tactic, he had to admit her approach was original and quite effective. He turned his head slightly and found himself eye level with her breasts. He tried focusing on the nondescript material of her shirt, but his gaze kept straying to the collar, where the first three buttons were undone, granting him a more enticing view of creamy flesh and wisps of satin and lace.
She shifted from one foot to the other. A gold pendant nestled between her breasts caught his attention. The piece of gold looked ancient, with a swirled design that was neither unique nor spectacular, yet he had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the medallion.
Troubled by the lure of something so insignificant, he frowned and averted his gaze back to the slope of her breast, which only served to prompt fantasies in which he had no right to indulge. He closed his eyes, a low moan escaping him. Hell, what was it about this woman that made him want her so badly?
"I'm sorry," she said, obviously misinterpreting his aches and pains. "I wish we had some ice for your head. It sure would help ease the pain and take down the swelling."
"You're absolutely right," he said through clenched teeth. Except he needed the ice in his lap, not on his head! "Stop trying to distract me and quit avoiding my questions," he growled, turning his head forward once again.
"I'm not," she replied, her fingers still touching and exploring.
"You are."
"Don't be such a grouch. I'm only concerned about you."
"Leave me alone. There's nothing you can do about my head anyway." She ignored him and pressed the swollen perimeter of his bump. Brilliant sparks of pain exploded in his head. He grimaced. "Dammit, Caitlan! Enough!" Grabbing her wrists, he jerked her away, pinning her with a scowl he hoped she'd interpret as intimidating. "Sit down."
Any woman with lick of sense would have heeded his tone and expression and done as he ordered, but she only tossed him an indulgent look that made him feel like a small boy. "Are you always this bossy?"
"I am the boss."
"Of this ranch?"
"Yes." He let go of her hands, enjoying too much the feel of her soft, warm skin and wanting even more to pull her onto his lap and kiss some compliance into her. A long, deep, lazy kiss ought to do the trick, he thought, then immediately chastised himself for entertaining the notion. He didn't want involvements and entanglements with this woman, or any woman, for that matter. The tragic loss of Amanda and a bitter, loveless marriage had taught him that he had no emotion left to give. As soon as they arrived at his ranch house, she'd be back on her way to wherever she'd come from, and that's exactly how he wanted things.
She rubbed her wrists, as if branded by his touch. He saw the awareness in her eyes, a hint of confusion, and knew she felt the same sizzle of attraction he did. Looking away, she walked to the other side of the table and sat down in her chair.
"I don't even know your name," she said softly.
"J.T. Rafferty, and you're doing it again," he said, unable to keep his exasperation from his voice.
"I'm just curious about you," came her innocent reply.
"Then we have something in common, because I'm more than a little curious about you. Answer my question, Caitlan."
"Which was?"
A broken laugh escaped him, a cross between irritation and mild amusement. He rubbed the taut muscles at the back of his neck and sighed. If any other woman had dared to provoke him like this, he would have been gruff and demanding in response. He didn't want to analyze his reaction to Caitlan too deeply, and instead strove for a stern tone of voice. "You're trying my patience, Caitlan Daniels. Listen up: Where did you come from and what were you doing trespassing on private property?"
She hesitated for a moment, as if thinking up a plausible excuse. "I'm a guest at Parson's Dude Ranch," she began, folding her hands primly on the table before her. "It was an absolutely gorgeous day yesterday. At least in the morning it was sunny and pleasant." The direct look she gave him made him feel as though the temperamental change in weather had been his fault. "I was out on a trail ride doing a little sightseeing on my own, except I have a lousy sense of direction. I got lost." She cast a dubious look heavenward and gave a slight shake of her head, as if even she couldn't quite believe her tale.
He had his doubts as well. "Parson's Dude Ranch is well over eight miles away, most of which is rugged terrain."
She shrugged delicately. "See how lousy my sense of direction is? I thought I was headed back towardthe dude ranch."
Her story had a loophole, and he zeroed in on it. There was only one way to and from Parson's that separated the dude ranch's property from Rafferty land. "Didn't you wonder where you were going when you crossed the bridge over the American River?"
"I wanted to explore the other side of the river." An impish expression etched her features, and he found himself totally charmed by the mischief sparkling in her eyes. "I never thought I wouldn't be able to find my way back. How can you miss a body of water as big as the American River?"
"You obviously did."
Her spine straightened defensively. "If it wasn't for the sleet storm, I would have found it again eventually."
"Sure." He settled back as comfortably as the unyielding wooden chair would allow. Stretching his legs out under the table, he laced his fingers over his stomach. "Go on, please," he said in a lazy drawl.
"I started to panic when the storm rolled in. When I found the creek I followed it, hoping it would lead back to the river, a main road, or another ranch."
"Creeks don't necessarily lead to roads or ranches, and they can take miles to reach the river, depending on which direction you're heading."
"Well, excuse my ignorance," she said haughtily. "I didn't know what else to do."
Feeling appropriately reproved for making light of a situation that could have been perilous, he murmured, "I'm sorry." He could well imagine her fear of being stranded in a strange place and softened a bit. After all, she wasn't here in his line shack of her own choice, and she had saved his life.
Seemingly satisfied with his apology, she continued. "I was following the creek when a bolt of lightning struck nearby. Daisy didn't take too well to the thunder and lightning and took off like a bat out of-" She stopped abruptly, her cheeks pinkening.
"Hell?" he supplied, holding back a chuckle at her chagrin over a simple swear word.
"Uh, yeah, I guess that's the term." She cleared her throat and fiddled with a napkin on the table. "Anyway, I shouldn't have asked for such a spirited horse. I could barely control her. We passed this shack, and when I tried to stop her she just got more skittish. By the time I got her back under control, we were only feet away from where you lay by the creek. I jumped off Daisy to see if you were still alive and she took off before I could tether her to a tree."
He stared at her for the longest time, past those deep blue eyes and beyond. Finally, he shook his head. "That's the damnedest story I think I've ever heard. It's so unbelievable, I actually believe it."
"It's what happened," she said, brushing a swath of hair from her cheek, the movement artless and feminine. "How else would I have found you?"
"Hell if I know." Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on the table. His humor fled when he thought of another important fact. "If I was unconscious when you found me, how did you manage to get me to the shack?"
"I dragged you," she replied without missing a beat, then gave another one of those heavenward glances he would have found endearing if her answer hadn't been so preposterous.