Chapter Eight
Sarah served a top-sirloin roast with potatoes tossed in butter and herbs, together with a garden salad and watermelon slices.For dessert, she spooned ice cream into bowls.
Joining Big Jim and Ben at the table, she listened to the men chat about the current ranch work Jim had laid out for the spring.He needed tractor parts, a new barbed wire section strung in the lower forty, plumbing fixtures for the barn.
Preoccupied, Sarah ate her meal and let the men’s shoptalk flow around her.Under the table, the two dogs lay panting, hoping someone would drop something.Slipping them a few bits of food, she petted their soft fur absently.She was surprised to learn, although the signs were there in his knowledge of ranching, that Ben had grown up on a similar Texas spread.She already knew he was a western man by his accent and clothing.
Since Ben had agreed to teach her how to handle a knife, she was eager to learn.Surely such knowledge would relieve her of her growing phobia.She fiddled with her ice cream spoon and slanted a glance at Ben, hoping he’d finish soon.Apprehension warred with a desire to begin.The apprehension lost.She wanted to get going.
At last, Ben laid his spoon aside.“Sarah, that’s the best meal I’ve had in months.Rio told me you’re a great cook and he wasn’t kidding.”
She accepted the thanks and got up.She enjoyed cooking, fixing tasty and nutritious meals for her dad.In recent years, she hadn’t been able to cook at all.Food had been her enemy.A pound here, a pound there, were death to a model’s career.She’d spent a lifetime starving herself.
No more.
Ben cleared dishes and Sarah stacked them in the dishwasher.Drying her hands, she said to him, “I’ll just get changed and meet you down at the barn.”
Big Jim wandered into the living room to watch TV, and Ben let himself out the front door.
Changing into black yoga pants and a stretchy t-shirt, she tied the shirt’s hem into a knot at her waist, leaving an inch of her slender abdomen exposed.On her feet, she pulled on tennis shoes, then twisted her hair into a long, tight braid.Flicking a quick glance at herself in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were wide and eager.She was ready for this.
Outside, the twilight was giving way to full dark, and she hurried along the gravel-covered trail to the barn.Lifting the wooden latch, she slid open the big barn doors.All the lights had been turned on.
A tall building, lining one wall were horse stalls, some occupied by dozing geldings and mares.On the other side, stacks of baled hay were piled next to the tack room.In there, neatly hung on pegs, were leather saddles, bridles, halters, and ropes.Over in a far corner, a cardboard box held a warming light and the chirping chicks that Willie had bought for her.
Standing in the wide space next to the tack room, she found Ben Paxton waiting.He’d taken off his shirt.
Sarah stilled.He wore his jeans and boots.That was all.Ben’s tanned bare chest had very little hair and a great many muscles.His pectorals swelled from his chest wall, and his abdomen was impressively ribbed.A leather belt was strapped around his hips with a silver trophy buckle depicting a steer’s horns.Steer wrestling, she thought, trying not to be impressed.In that rodeo event, participants were required to fling themselves off a galloping horse and wrestle a full-grown steer to the ground.It certainly wasn’t for amateurs or wimps.
Lastly, her gaze drifted over his biceps.There was no other word for it—they bulged.His strength shouted fitness, health, and the virility of a man in the prime of his life.
Her breath soughed softly in her throat.Maybe it wasn’t just the prospect of knife fighting she’d been so eagerly anticipating.
He grinned at her.“Like what you see?”
Dammit.Caught again.“Stop saying that,” she muttered, closing the door behind her.“I just didn’t expect to find you half naked.”To distract herself, she glanced around the barn.On a wooden workbench, she saw that he’d laid out his hat, two knives, a wadded-up t-shirt, and two water bottles.Next to those, she saw an uncapped permanent black marker.
“Well, I sure do like what I see,” he told her, giving her a thorough once-over.“Yoga pants?Really?Are you trying to kill me?”
When his appreciative gaze swept her body, she busied herself inspecting the table’s items.“I thought they’d be easier to move around in than jeans.”During her entire career in modeling, she was accustomed to having every inch of her body examined, studied, judged.But Ben’s scrutiny seemed different.His eyes were hot, intensely laser focused on her.
Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed her palm over her t-shirt, down her flat belly and over her hip.
With rapt attention, Ben followed the movement of her hand.“Guess this won’t be a fair fight.”After a moment, he appeared to shake himself.“Ready?”He pointed at the table.“Choose your weapon.”
At the table, she looked at the blades and a chill went through her.Gingerly, she picked up the bigger knife.
“That’s a Bowie, with a crossguard and a clip point.The smaller one is also a fixed blade, and simpler in design.”
She held the weapon cautiously, a creeping dread trickling through her veins.
