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Authors: MAGGIE SHAYNE
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into her flesh. The warmth of them seeped right through her silk suit.
His sigh made her look up to see him shaking his head slowly.
“What?”
His hands still hadn’t moved away.
“I…” He looked down, took his hands away. “I’m just not used to handling tiny things,” he said, and he looked embarrassed. “Like Ethan, and now you.”
Her throat went dry. She didn’t know how the hell to reply to a comment like that, so she said nothing. Garrett finally turned away and headed for the door. He used a set of keys she hadn’t noticed to unlock it, then pushed it open and stood aside, waiting for her to go first.
The office consisted of only one sparsely furnished room, and two cells at the far back. That was it. She looked at him in surprise.
“Not much happens around here,” he explained, reading her expression. He left the door wide open after coming in behind her.
“Obviously.”
He shrugged and moved past her to the file cabinet, which wasn’t even locked. After riffling through a drawer, he pulled out a folder, tossed it onto his desk and took a seat in the big hardwood chair behind it. As he began flipping pages, Chelsea felt restless. She prowled the office, examining some photos on the wall, and paused at one that had been taken right in front of the ranch house. A huge family. Five boys and a little baby girl. Two proud parents standing behind the group of smiling kids.
The oldest of the boys, she knew without a doubt, was Garrett. He stood taller than his father, with shoulders that seemed too big for his body. He’d been a gangly teen, she thought a little smugly. Long limbed and awkward.
Her gaze stole to him as he sat behind that desk, dwarfing the big antique. He certainly had grown into his body. His proportions were perfect now. He ought to be a centerfold.
She drew a little gasp at her uncharacteristic thought.
He looked up, caught her staring at him. He held her gaze with his for a long moment, and finally he smiled. His smile was a killer.
“That’s a pretty suit, by the way.”
Confusion made her blink. She glanced down at the forest green silk skirt and the sleeveless blouse that matched it. “It’s too hot here for silk. I should have known better.”
“It’s the same color as your eyes.”
Her head came up fast.
A deep red color crept up his neck into his face, and he looked for all the world as if his blurted compliment had been as surprising to him as it had been to her. “I mean…you know. Green and all.” He quickly lowered his gaze to the papers in front of him again, shuffling madly.
“Yeah,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “Green and all.”
“Muchacho,
what
are
you doing here on a holiday?”
Chelsea turned, surprised by the frail, heavily accented voice coming through the open door.
“Hey, Marisella,” Garrett said, and he rose, went to the door and took both of the deeply tanned, wrinkled hands in his. “How’s my best girl?”
“Oh, now, Garrett…” The elderly woman—who wore jeans and a Travis Tritt T-shirt of all things—gazed up into the big man’s eyes much like little Ethan had done earlier. Her black eyes beamed adoration.
“How’s the arthritis, Marisella?” His tone was more serious now.
“No worse than usual.”
“And ol’ Pedro?”
She shook her head slowly, her dark eyes going sad. “He doesn’t eat, Garrett. Pedro, he is turning his nose up at everything I offer. Doc Ramone is away at that veterinary convention, and I am sick with worry.” Marisella glanced over Garrett’s shoulder at Chelsea, then smiled. “And who is the
chica?”
Garrett turned to her. “Marisella, I’d like you to meet Chelsea Brennan. She’s staying out at the ranch with us for a few days.”
A few days?
“Chelsea, Marisella del Carmen Jalisco. Prettiest widow lady either side of the Rio Grande.”
Marisella’s sun-bronzed face crinkled when she smiled, and she waved a dismissive hand at Garrett’s compliments,
His sigh made her look up to see him shaking his head slowly.
“What?”
His hands still hadn’t moved away.
“I…” He looked down, took his hands away. “I’m just not used to handling tiny things,” he said, and he looked embarrassed. “Like Ethan, and now you.”
Her throat went dry. She didn’t know how the hell to reply to a comment like that, so she said nothing. Garrett finally turned away and headed for the door. He used a set of keys she hadn’t noticed to unlock it, then pushed it open and stood aside, waiting for her to go first.
The office consisted of only one sparsely furnished room, and two cells at the far back. That was it. She looked at him in surprise.
“Not much happens around here,” he explained, reading her expression. He left the door wide open after coming in behind her.
“Obviously.”
He shrugged and moved past her to the file cabinet, which wasn’t even locked. After riffling through a drawer, he pulled out a folder, tossed it onto his desk and took a seat in the big hardwood chair behind it. As he began flipping pages, Chelsea felt restless. She prowled the office, examining some photos on the wall, and paused at one that had been taken right in front of the ranch house. A huge family. Five boys and a little baby girl. Two proud parents standing behind the group of smiling kids.
The oldest of the boys, she knew without a doubt, was Garrett. He stood taller than his father, with shoulders that seemed too big for his body. He’d been a gangly teen, she thought a little smugly. Long limbed and awkward.
Her gaze stole to him as he sat behind that desk, dwarfing the big antique. He certainly had grown into his body. His proportions were perfect now. He ought to be a centerfold.
She drew a little gasp at her uncharacteristic thought.
He looked up, caught her staring at him. He held her gaze with his for a long moment, and finally he smiled. His smile was a killer.
“That’s a pretty suit, by the way.”
Confusion made her blink. She glanced down at the forest green silk skirt and the sleeveless blouse that matched it. “It’s too hot here for silk. I should have known better.”
“It’s the same color as your eyes.”
Her head came up fast.
A deep red color crept up his neck into his face, and he looked for all the world as if his blurted compliment had been as surprising to him as it had been to her. “I mean…you know. Green and all.” He quickly lowered his gaze to the papers in front of him again, shuffling madly.
“Yeah,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “Green and all.”
“Muchacho,
what
are
you doing here on a holiday?”
Chelsea turned, surprised by the frail, heavily accented voice coming through the open door.
“Hey, Marisella,” Garrett said, and he rose, went to the door and took both of the deeply tanned, wrinkled hands in his. “How’s my best girl?”
“Oh, now, Garrett…” The elderly woman—who wore jeans and a Travis Tritt T-shirt of all things—gazed up into the big man’s eyes much like little Ethan had done earlier. Her black eyes beamed adoration.
“How’s the arthritis, Marisella?” His tone was more serious now.
“No worse than usual.”
“And ol’ Pedro?”
She shook her head slowly, her dark eyes going sad. “He doesn’t eat, Garrett. Pedro, he is turning his nose up at everything I offer. Doc Ramone is away at that veterinary convention, and I am sick with worry.” Marisella glanced over Garrett’s shoulder at Chelsea, then smiled. “And who is the
chica?”
Garrett turned to her. “Marisella, I’d like you to meet Chelsea Brennan. She’s staying out at the ranch with us for a few days.”
A few days?
“Chelsea, Marisella del Carmen Jalisco. Prettiest widow lady either side of the Rio Grande.”
Marisella’s sun-bronzed face crinkled when she smiled, and she waved a dismissive hand at Garrett’s compliments,
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