she didn’t want to think about that. Not until she had to. Anyway, it wasn’t just the condition of the route that had her on edge. Her companion squeezed in beside her was partly to blame for that.
With every jolt in the road, every sharp bend, his solid bulk had come bumping up against her side. Making her far too aware of the heat of his hard body, of the distinctive scent that she already associated with him—a masculine blend of faint musk and the stronger odor of a woodsy soap. Heady stuff, and on him far too arousing.
“Sorry,” he kept apologizing, though she wondered if those contacts were sometimes deliberate.
She might have challenged them, except the SUV was carrying so many supplies from town, along with their own gear piled beside the driver, that she and Roark had a minimum of space on the back seat. And with so little room for them to occupy, she could scarcely blame him for his closeness, even if it did leave her light-headed.
Samantha was able to breathe easier when the vehicle reached the other side of the gorge. The bridge behind them, they traveled another half mile along the rough gravel and then were halted where the crew was working with heavy equipment that blocked the road.
“Looks like we’ll be sitting here for a few minutes,” their driver indicated.
“Care to stretch your legs?” Roark asked Samantha.
She welcomed his suggestion. It would be a relief to escape the disturbing intimacy of their position on the crowded back seat. They left the driver with the car and strolled back along the road, away from the dust and roar of the machinery.
There was a gap in the evergreens, and they stopped at an overlook that commanded a view of the mountains. Along the lower slopes were groves of aspen, their thick ranks so golden with autumn tints that the sight was almost blinding.
For a moment they were silent, their attention focused on the dazzling display, and then Roark turned to her and said quietly, “Want to talk about it?”
Stretching their legs had been just an excuse then, Samantha realized. He had sensed she was worried, that the closer they got to the ranch the more troubled she became.
“What’s bothering you?” he persisted. “Besides this god-awful road, I mean? It’s the risk of the cattle drive, isn’t it? The fear that someone wants you out of the way and that this drive could give him an opportunity to strike? Look, I know that’s a very real possibility, that the threat is there, but I want you to know I’m going to stick close to you. I’m going to see to it that, whoever he is, he doesn’t touch you.”
It would be easy to lie, to let him think this was exactly what had her so unhappy. But why bother when tomorrow he would see the truth anyway? All right, so her pride was going to suffer, but it was better to get it out in the open now.
“That should be what’s worrying me, but it isn’t.” Samantha drew a slow breath, released it and confessed her fear. “It’s the horse.”
He was clearly perplexed. “Are we talking about a particular horse?”
“Yes, the one I’m going to be expected to mount tomorrow morning when we move those cattle out.”
He stared at her. “Are you telling me you don’t ride? That you’re about to join a cattle drive, and you have no experience in the saddle?”
“Let’s just say I’m not comfortable in the saddle. That I hate being in the saddle and that the horse, any horse, knows it.”
“How can that be when you grew up on the Walking W? Or was I misinformed about that?”
“Yes, I was raised on the ranch, and I was taught to ride. I wasn’t given any choice about that. But there was never a moment when I wasn’t plain scared up there in those stirrups. You can imagine how my grandfather liked that.”
“Yeah, Joe Walker wouldn’t have appreciated a granddaughter who wasn’t at home in the saddle. I guess that explains why the two of you ended up being alienated, why you didn’t visit him in the hospital or attend his funeral. Or does it?”
It didn’t begin to explain Samantha’s estrangement from her grandfather, barely touched on the reasons for her intense dislike of everything connected with ranching. But those wounds were too deep, too personal to discuss with Roark Hawke. She avoided the subject by giving him another truth. One she shared in an angry voice.
“I did try to visit him when I learned he was ill. But he made it clear through his lawyer that he didn’t want me there. I shouldn’t have been surprised. To the end he was too stubborn to want anything from me, especially my sympathy. That’s how it was with us.”
“I didn’t know that.”
No, and you didn’t know that I was at his funeral. Or as close anyway, Samantha remembered, as she could bring herself to go. Unnoticed by the mourners, she had watched her grandfather’s burial from a hill overlooking the cemetery before fleeing from a scene she could no longer handle. The memories had simply been too painful. But Roark didn’t have to hear this either.
“A real joke, isn’t it?” she said grimly. “I’ve got to climb up on a horse—a horse, mind you, that isn’t going to like me being on his back any more than I want to be there—and pretend I know what I’m doing while I escort two hundred unwilling cows through a howling wilderness. Now that qualifies as funny, don’t you think?”
“You’ll manage.”
“You sound very sure about that.”
“Why not?” His gaze traveled from her face down the entire length of her figure, his appraisal so slow and thorough that Samantha could feel herself flushing. “You have a body built for the saddle.”
And other things. That’s what his hot eyes seemed to be telling her. Before she could stop him, he reached out and captured her hands, imprisoning them in his own big hands as he bent his head to inspect them.
“And you have a pair of hands meant for holding reins. Strong hands, I’d say.”
His touch was warm and steady and far too provocative.
“What you learned as a girl will come back to you. You won’t have forgotten those lessons, whether you liked them or not. And if this time around you have a little patience with yourself…yeah, you’ll manage just fine.”
His easy confidence in her was hard to resist, his husky voice and deep, blue-eyed gaze even harder.
“Besides…”
“What?”
“You won’t be alone out there in that howling wilderness. I’ll be riding beside you.”
Not as close as he was now, Samantha hoped, which was too close. She could smell his scent again, and she swore that this time she detected more than just musk and soap. That he bore the odors of leather and horses. Aromas that had poignant associations for her. They set off a warning inside her head.
He’s not just a PI and a bodyguard. He’s also a cowboy who was your grandfather’s friend. Stay away from him.
Their driver sounded the horn of the SUV, signaling them that the road was clear again. It wasn’t necessary to snatch her hands away. To her relief, Roark released them. The cattle drive was waiting for her, Samantha remembered as they walked back to the car. She was still nervous about it, but determined. She could do it. She had to do it. If for no other reason, she needed to overcome the ghosts of her past.
NONE OF THEM QUESTIONED his presence. And Roark wondered about that. Asked himself if any of them around the table suspected his real reason for being here. That he’d been hired to protect Samantha on the drive because of a threat to her. That there was someone who might want her eliminated.
Just how had the lawyer explained him to the others who had arrived here from Texas ahead of Samantha and him? Had he told them Roark Hawke was joining the outfit simply to help out? Well, that wasn’t so improbable.