The Diva Diaries Page 4

  She smiled as he took a nip at Sam’s arm.

  Jenna waited until Sam led the stallion from the corral. Sam watched her intently.

  “I’m sure you’d like to go up to the porch. I’ll call from the barn and have Mrs. Sparks bring you some lemonade.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  Sam’s head came up and her eyes collided with his. “No. I’ve got a messy job to do. You wouldn’t want to ruin your expensive shoes,” he said softly. He turned away and started to lead the horse around in circles.

  “Well, what did you think of that, little lady?”

  Jenna turned to find Tooter at her arm. “It was quite exciting,” she said, unable to stop her eyes from roaming to Sam. “They were both pretty determined.”

  “Sam has that in abundance, along with a lot of pride.” A bell rang in the distance. “That’s grub. Gotta go or the ravenous young’uns will have eaten everything.” He tipped his hat and sauntered off.

  When she turned to seek out Sam, he was gone. She went into the barn to find him, her blood pumped with adrenaline. He’d cross-tied the horse and was using the hose to get the worst of the grime off the animal. Jenna stopped and swallowed hard. Sam was bare from the waist up. He was still clothed in his tight jeans and the sexy black shotgun chaps. The Stetson was still on his head and shielded his eyes from her.

  Unable to think of the right thing to say to him, but unable to leave, she blurted out, “Sam, are you hurt?” Not the most sophisticated way to act, but he made her feel on the edge of a cliff.

  His head jerked up and he stared at her.

  “I heard you make a noise when he slammed into the fence.”

  “Just a passel of bruises. Nothing serious.” He shrugged, seeming out of sorts to her. “Go on up to the house.”

  It irked her that he didn’t think she belonged here. She might be from New York, but she wasn’t averse to horses or barns. She definitely was not averse to him. Not with all that hard-wrought muscle evident in his thick biceps. “Can’t I help?”

  He looked over at her and shook his head. Walking around the horse, he picked up a pair of black rubber boots. “Here, slip these on,” he said without inflection.

  Jenna slipped on the oversize boots. Sam grabbed a bucket and began to pour in warm water, adding equine soap and a bit of mineral oil. He held out a sponge.

  She dropped the sponge into the bucket and rolled up her sleeves. She’d show him she wasn’t afraid of hard work. She’d washed her own car plenty of times. It couldn’t be too hard and she didn’t have to put on a coat of wax.

  She grabbed the soapy sponge and began to wash one side of the horse. She knew the moment Sam stepped behind her. She could feel his chest close to her back; she could feel the heat of his body. “Jenna, this way,” he said in a husky voice. “Follow the way his hair grows.”

  His big hand engulfed hers and Jenna had to close her eyes at the sensations that zinged through her from his callused touch. Working man’s hands, abrasive and warm, competent and kind.

  “You usually do these chores yourself?”

  He didn’t remove his hand, not even when she started to wash the horse correctly.

  “Not usually. Cowboys don’t really spend a whole lot of time grooming their horses. But this one isn’t mine. I need to take extra care. The business side of the ranch takes up most of my day, but this is what ranching is all about.” She sucked in a breath when he moved closer to her, the feel of his mouth soft and hot against the shell of her ear.

  “See, he likes that.” The cadence of his voice was intoxicating as she unconsciously leaned back. Turning her head, the side of his face came into view. That steel jaw, the dark stubble, and his perfect, tantalizing ear with the fleshy lobe.

  Something in the barn fell to the floor and the clatter drew them apart. Sam cleared his throat. “Let’s get to the other side.” He picked up another sponge and started to wash the horse’s hindquarters.

  When they had finished, Jenna stepped back as Sam picked up the hose. He rinsed while Jenna smiled at the way the animal tried to catch water in his mouth by tossing his head. “I think he must be thirsty.”

  “Looks like it. Would you grab a clean bucket and get him a drink?” Sam asked.

  Jenna did so. When she came back with the bucket, the eager horse sidestepped the stream of water directed at him and the spray hit her right in the face.

  She squealed from the sudden attack and the cold feel of the water.

  “Damn. I’m so…sorry,” he said.

  She placed the bucket down so that the thirsty horse could drink. “You did that on purpose.” Jenna then picked up the bucket filled with dirty water.

  “I swear I didn’t.” Sam eyed the bucket in her hands. “You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged.

  “Oh, yes, I would,” she refuted with narrowed eyes that twinkled with merriment.

  He grinned and Jenna found it infectious.

  “Don’t do it, sugar pie,” he warned, “or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Oh, I will, will I?” she challenged him right back.

  Sam used the hose on her again. Jenna tossed the contents of the bucket at him and launched herself toward him, trying to wrestle him for the hose. Their laughter mingled and, before Jenna knew what was happening, he had her pressed against his chest, her soft curves yielding to the hard contours of his body, a beautiful grin on his lips and an unsettling awareness in his eyes.

  Prudently, she stepped back and he made a hissing sound as his eyes became riveted to the bodice of the white blouse.

  She looked down to find that the water had soaked the silk and her lacy white bra, revealing the dusky disks of her nipples. Immediately, they puckered as she thought of Sam’s eyes on her and all the adrenaline surged back into her body.

  “Sam, you still in here?” The sound of Tooter’s voice sent Sam into action. The next thing she knew, he was draping his coat around her shoulders. She pushed her arms through the sleeves and closed the coat over her breasts. The coat was a mess and smelled like a horse, but it was the sweetest gesture any man had ever made to her.

  “Why don’t you go on up to the house and shower and change. Mrs. Sparks probably has dinner ready about now. I’ll see you there.”

  Jenna left the barn with one last, lingering look at all the hard muscle of his torso. Sam Winchester sure wasn’t what she’d expected and she was just beginning to wish he had been some old, potbelly guy.

  3

  RAIN DRIPPED off the slightly too big hat that was perched on her head as she followed closely on Sam’s heels.

  The next morning, overcast and ugly, proved that maybe her plan wasn’t such a hot idea as Sam, who seemed impervious to the rain, held the barn door open for her. She slipped inside and was assailed with the smell of warm horseflesh, fresh hay and an earthy scent she rather liked.

  It reminded her of the spring, when tulips would push up from the dark earth and bloom along with flowering azaleas and Gran’s well-tended rosebushes. Jenna could remember the days when she’d sit and watch her gran prune the bushes with a stylish floppy straw hat on her head. Elegant even as she toiled in the garden.

  With the smell came the sharp sense of loss and Jenna closed her eyes.

  “Hey, do you need another cup of coffee?”

  She opened her eyes to find a chipper Sam, his eyes filled with mischief and a grin on his face. It had been six o’clock when he’d knocked on her door and told her to get up and get dressed. The full ranch experience was even better before the crack of dawn. What this smart-alecky cowboy wasn’t aware of was that she always got up at six o’clock in the morning to practice an hour before breakfast. It limbered her up for the day.

  “No. The smell in here reminds me of spring days when I used to watch my gran work in the garden.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I find myself doing that, too. I’ll see a bridle hanging on a hook and I’ll remember my dad’s hands as he put the bridle on a horse. Strange what you rememb
er, huh?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He handed her a scoop. “You can give them all one ration of grain. I’ll fill the buckets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You asked for it.”

  “I guess I did.” She tipped her head back, gasping as the rain on the brim of her hat went down the back of her shirt. She removed the overly large hat. “I won’t be running to a hotel, if that’s what you think.” She had a mission and, no matter how uncomfortable he made her, she wasn’t leaving without Gran’s belongings.

  He gave her an innocent-as-a-babe look. “Why would I think that?” he asked, walking over to one of the stalls and tipping the bucket so that the water splashed into the trough.

  “Oh, could it be that you dragged me out of bed early enough that it was still dark out, brought me into this downpour and now have me filling buckets with grain?”

  “This trickle barely counts as a gully washer. Besides, downpours are good. Good for the grass and the streams. Sprinkles are for tenderfeet. Don’t want to be a tenderfoot, do ya?”

  She smiled. He was irresistible. Even when the man was being downright sneaky, he was too cute for words. “Oh, good God, no. I wouldn’t want to be labeled a tenderfoot. Perish the thought.”

  He grinned at her. In his duster and Stetson, he looked like a poster boy for the rugged cowboy. She watched as he removed the coat and grabbed two baling hooks. He stuck the hooks into a bale of hay and dragged it over to the stalls. Dropping it at her feet, he replaced the baling hooks, picked up a pitchfork and began to fork hay into the first stall.

  Jenna watched him, watched the sheer quality of movement, nothing wasted. She’d seen better-polished men, more well-spoken, but nothing fascinated her like watching Sam do manual labor.

  “So why don’t you want me here?”

  She picked up a pitchfork herself. Sam paused and took notice of her for a moment. Then he shook his head and continued working.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want you here.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s only for a couple weeks.”

  “I’m grateful to you, Jenna. I guess I just like dragging a city girl out of her warm bed to show her what real ranching is all about.”

  “Would it surprise you that I get up at this time every morning?”

  He stopped pitching hay and leaned his hands on top of the fork. “That does surprise me.”

  “I thought it would. I like practicing first thing in the morning.”

  He looked sheepish. “And I dragged you out here in the rain, interfering with your schedule.”

  “I don’t mind, really.”

  He stared at her a moment.

  “Okay, it’s wet and it’s miserable,” she admitted.

  He nodded and bent to the hay again. “Let me know next time if I keep you from your practicing.”

  “I will.”

  HOURS LATER they finished the chores in that small part of the barn. Jenna rolled her shoulders, feeling tight, a bit of fatigue between her shoulder blades.

  Sam saw her movement and concern crossed his features. The big, strong cowboy wanted her off his ranch, but he didn’t want her hurt in the process. The thought gave a little tug on her heart.

  He turned her gently and grasped the top of her shoulders. Using his fingers to massage her neck, his thumbs rubbed deeply and rhythmically around her shoulder blades.

  Every muscle, every nerve in her body froze. Her heart stopped for an instant, then doubled its beat, the blood pushing rapidly through her veins to pound in her pulse.

  His hands gentled, slowed until he was caressing instead of kneading. The silence in the barn thickened, stretched, teased and solidified into something completely different. Something alive. It smelled of leather and wood and hard work. It felt like the unraveling ties of restraint.

  “Boss? You in here?”

  Sam released her immediately and cleared his voice before he called out. “In here, Tooter.”

  Tooter came into the area where Jenna and Sam stood now a respectable distance apart. He tipped his hat. “Miss Sinclair.”

  “Please, Tooter, call me Jenna.”

  He nodded and turned to Sam. “Silver Shadow is getting ready to drop her foal and I’m worried about her. She’s not actin’ right.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Tooter tipped his hat to her again, and said, “Ma’am,” as he left the barn.

  She looked up at Sam. “I see you’re quite in demand here.”

  “That I am. If you’d like to go on up to the house and practice, I’ll check out that pregnant mare.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I’ve already interrupted your schedule enough,” he said, and shrugged into his duster, pulling his hat low over his eyes. “You have that first concert tonight.”

  Jenna didn’t argue. As much as she would like to see a foal born, he had reminded her that music was something much safer, something she understood more than this out-of-control feeling she got whenever he touched her.

  She’d seen firsthand how hurt her father had been when her mother made opera the center of her world. Her brokenhearted father had never recovered and, to this day, Jenna had no idea where he was. Jenna never wanted to hurt anyone like that, especially a proud man like Sam. It was a promise she’d made to herself a long time ago, one she never intended to break.

  Music was her life.

  THAT NIGHT, Jenna stood in the wings and peeked out at the audience. Earlier, she’d wanted to locate the desk, but practicing and rehearsing with the Savannah College Orchestra didn’t leave her any time.

  Apprehension coursed through her, but it wasn’t in response to all the people waiting for her to play her violin. She never got stage fright. No, this nervousness was a direct result of the fact that, against her own will, she wanted Sam to like her music as much as she’d enjoyed their early-morning chores.

  In addition to her other selections, she’d chosen to play a special arrangement called “Storm.” It was a hauntingly beautiful piece. She hoped it would appeal to Sam. Then she snorted at the unexpected thought. The man had dragged her around in the pouring rain to feed horses and cows. Why would she think he’d care about her music and why did it matter so much?

  “A full house tonight, Miss Sinclair,” the stage manager of the sumptuous Savannah College Tannenbaum Auditorium said to her with a pat on her shoulder. She smiled at him. He returned her smile.

  “I heard you warming up. Your fiddling sounds mighty fine.”

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “It’s not kindness, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, but admiration and the doggone truth.”

  “Thank you, then, for your admiration.” She liked his nice plain face and charming Texas voice.

  Not like Sam’s. No, Sam’s drawl was husky and seemed to seep into her bones.

  She shook herself. The only reason she was even in Savannah was to get her gran’s diary and jewelry back.

  The hall continued to fill as people greeted each other and others searched for their seats. It was a handsome crowd, dressed in dark suits and fashionable gowns, some even aglitter, the light reflecting off numerous beads.

  The house lights went down and the stage manager whispered, “Two minutes.”

  Jenna picked up her violin and fluffed up the flounces of her angle-length full-skirted black dress. Sam had been delayed in the foaling barn and she hadn’t seen him before she left the ranch, driven to the college by one of his ranch hands.

  She took a deep breath as she was announced. She swept out from the wing and walked to center stage. She refused to look at Sam, who was in the first row along with the mayor and his wife. Instead, she kept her eyes straightforward. She bowed into the applause. Then she brought her eyes to the seats directly in front of her and almost dropped her instrument.

  She stared.

  Her eyes met and melded with the piercing blue of his. They were hot eyes, eyes that promised heat beyond h
er wildest imagination. It was pure undiluted lust. There was not a man of her acquaintance who ever instilled this feeling inside her. In fact, every other man she had ever known paled in comparison to him.

  In a sea of suits, Sam stood out in a black frock coat just like a riverboat gambler, with a striking silver-and-gray-tone vest over a white-banded collar shirt.

  She remembered the determined look on his face yesterday afternoon when he’d broken the horse. She sensed strength in him, yet beneath his dress clothes there hid subtle danger. A whisper of risk.

  He met her eyes boldly and, with an amused glint, he inclined his head slightly.

  Her gaze moved down to his provocative mouth, wondering suddenly what it would be like to kiss such full, beautifully shaped lips.

  His enticing mouth, turning up into a sweet smile, broke the spell and she pulled her eyes away. She said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It’s a pleasure and an honor to be here tonight. I’m thrilled to be playing with the excellent Savannah College Orchestra and its illustrious conductor, Martin Slade.” She extended her hand and the audience broke into applause.

  She glanced back down at Sam, his presence commanding her attention. She raised her eyes to the conductor and nodded. He sharply rapped his baton at her commanding nod. Bringing the violin to her chin and the bow to the strings, she began to play. She moved from one piece to the next. The college orchestra was good, the music beautifully performed and the audience sighed collectively when they finished.

  Sam hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her from the moment she’d come onto the stage. When she spoke again into the microphone after several selections, her soft voice flowed over him. “I have looked forward to visiting Texas and I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Sam Winchester for being my gracious host.” She looked down at him and smiled. “I would like to play for you a special work. I hope you like it. It’s called ‘Storm.’”

  As soon as she stopped speaking, the lights went abruptly out, leaving the auditorium in total darkness. A slash of lightning brightened the large room, replicated by a strobe light. Then a hushed sound moved through the theater as thunder, skillfully played on the bass drums, could be heard very faintly in the distance.