WIFE FOR HIRE Page 8

She glanced over her shoulder. "What?"

  "Will you go to the auction with me day after tomorrow?"

  "Me?" She turned, water dripping off her sponge. She immediately tossed it into the sink and wiped up the mess. "Why?" Oh, this shouldn't make her so nervous.

  "Because I want you to see it, understand what I do."

  "I know what you do." She turned back to the sink. "You talked of nothing but this ranch while you were in Georgia working for that stock brokerage." She shook her head, bending to put the last dish in the dishwasher. "Why you worked there in the first place was beyond me."

  "I was supposed to be sowing my wild oats." His tone was dry. "Dad thought I should get off the ranch before spending a lifetime here." Nash had been twenty-eight at the time and his father hadn't realized how much sowing he'd already done. Until he met Hayley. He knew then he was finished. A little pang of regret slid through him. He pushed it aside. That was then and this is now, he thought. "You never said anything."

  She glanced at him. "I wanted you around, yet I remember the look in your eyes when you talked about the plantation. Seeing it, I understood."

  Nash smiled, moving toward her, loving how her eyes got a little darker and her stance a little softer. "So, Dr. Albright. Can you handle a day or two with me?"

  "Won't you be busy?"

  He shook his head. "That's why all the buyers come here beforehand. They know what the top-dollar mark is and a horse doesn't go for less that he's worth. Unless there's more than one buyer, then the real fun starts. I might sell them all. I might not. That's the gamble."

  She gazed up at him and ignored the voices screaming, No, don't do it, for she really wanted to go. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been out anywhere with anyone. And she wanted to see the auction. Yeah, she thought. Keep telling yourself it's horses you want to hang out with and maybe you'll convince yourself.

  "What do you say?"

  "What do I wear?"

  "Boots and jeans. It's not exactly the Kentucky Derby."

  She nodded.

  He was so pleased he wanted to kiss the daylights out of her, but the word trust blew through his mind just then.

  "It lasts for a couple of days. There's a rodeo, trick riders, a cattle auction, too."

  "Anything else I should now about this event?"

  He was thoughtful for a moment. "The people from the auction houses will be here tomorrow."

  Her eyes widened. "When?"

  "After breakfast, I 'spect."

  She inhaled and shoved him back. "Good Lord, Nash! You didn't think to tell me this?" She closed the dishwasher and flipped it on.

  "What's the big deal?"

  "A houseful of people before noon!" She had to prepare something and clean up more. In the center of the kitchen, she shifted impatiently on her feet, not knowing exactly what to do first.

  "Chill out, honey. They're coming to look at horses, not inspect the house."

  She sent him an irritated look. "Oh, just like a man," she groused, then headed toward her room. "Didn't your mama teach you about Southern hospitality?"

  "Apparently not enough," he said to the empty kitchen.

  Representatives of the auction house arrived just after breakfast. They were here to inspect horseflesh for starting bids for the auction this coming weekend. Hayley left a light brunch laid out in the dining room, and without the girls around to keep her busy, she acted as a hostess for Nash. She felt his gaze follow her as she refilled one man's cup, and he stared so hard and long she felt her skin heat.

  She glanced to the side, the silver carafe in her hand. She was suddenly conscious of her simple teal tank dress that had seen one too many washings. In a slow saunter, Nash moved toward her, his every step sending a spark of anticipation through her.

  "Thank you," he whispered. "You didn't have to do this."

  She shrugged. "You want the best price, don't you?"

  He smiled, his gaze wandering over her upturned face. This morning when he'd found his dining room draped in old family linens and set as elegantly as his mother would have done, Nash was knocked to his knees by the gesture. In the year and half that Michelle was his wife, she hadn't bothered to do anything like that, though the auction was a twice-yearly event. Hayley had a talent for making the officials feel comfortable enough to tell her things about themselves and their families even Nash didn't know. And he'd been working with these people for years. Good bedside manner for the future, he thought, and disliked the reminder that she'd be leaving soon.

  "Buttering up never hurt," she said, leaning close so they were not heard.

  She refilled his coffee. Nash stared at her bowed head, catching the scent of her perfume. Her nearness excited him beyond rational thought. She tipped her head, her dark gaze clashing with his, and he could almost feel the current crackling between them. Casually, he laid his hand on her waist and heard her indrawn breath.

  It was the first time he'd touched her since they'd danced by the pool. His fingers flexed, tugging her an inch or two closer, and the memory of her bare skin beneath his hands instantly brought another time when he'd made her gasp for air. And how he'd done it. He wanted to do it again and again and could scarcely control the images colliding through his mind. He bent to whisper, "You look lovely this morning, sprite."

  Her cheeks brightened becomingly. "Thanks."

  His voice dropped to a sensual timbre. "Downright delectable."

  A little sound, close to a whimper, escaped her. "Behave."

  The temptation to touch her further, to sweep his arms around her and pull her close, nearly overcame him. He was grateful she stepped back before he did something foolish. He felt like one of the stallions in his barns, and it would not do his reputation any good if he laid his daughters' nanny across the two-hundred-year-old polished dining table and made love to her. The decadent thought made him chuckle softly, and her gaze flew to his.

  As if she read his mind, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. He took a final sip of coffee, then set the cup aside. "Time to make some money," he said for her ears only, then urged the men and women outside.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, Hayley kept busy cleaning up after the brunch while Nash presented his best stock. At last she realized there was nothing left to do except maybe polish silver, and she went to her room to study. She picked up a book and sat by the window, but never opened it, her attention drawn to the activity outside. And to Nash. She admitted she liked watching him work. Heck, she liked looking at him doing nothing. Her heart jumped a little when he led the black stallion out of the barn. He wasn't wearing his usual blue jeans and work shirt, but black jodhpurs and tall black boots. His white shirt was collarless with knife-edge creases on the sleeves. She ought to know—she'd ironed it. He led the stallion around the ring. The animal pranced regally for him, the representatives for the auction houses trailing him like puppies, clipboards in their hands. Nash commanded the beast and the people around him. His ranch hands brought the mares and foals out. Nash gestured for one pair to be led back into the barn. A representative questioned him, obviously admiring that mare in particular and wanting it in the auction. Nash shook his head and the objection ended there.

  Her chin in her palm, elbow on the windowsill, she admired the man in his element. He dealt well with "corporates," people owning race horses or wanting to, as well as the Florida and Georgia cattle ranchers buying trained cutting horses from him. And Nash was a bit of both, refinement and rawhide.

  And in the privacy of her mind she admitted that she envied him, his life. He lived hard, worked hard and had roots that went back two hundred years. He was comfortable doing the same job his ancestors had, day in and day out. It was that lineage, this life, that she couldn't be in. She didn't know about family or making a home. Stability and longevity were Nash Rayburn, not her. How could he have ever believed she was capable of being a wife and mother when she'd seen neither in her own life? Right now she was only an old lover with lingering mem
ories. She couldn't expect more. And she wouldn't.

  Hayley felt the sting of regret in the back of her throat. She'd tried giving him all she could give years ago and it hadn't been enough. She looked at the Physician's Desk Reference in her hand, then to the other books stacked on the bed. She had her plans and he had his. She didn't know a thing about his life-style other than it was beyond her. She just wouldn't fit in. It wasn't as if he'd asked her to, either, she thought. Then why am I looking at what I cannot have as if it's the last morsel of food on the table?

  Just before she turned away from the window, she stole one last glance at him.

  Over the distance his gaze locked with hers.

  Hayley felt electrified. His lips curved and, astride the bareback horse, he had the creature dip his head and put out one gleaming hoof toward her.

  She clapped silently.

  He bowed, slight and elegant. Hayley just laughed to herself and shook her head.

  Charming. The prince of River Willow with mud on his boots.

  * * *

  Seven

  « ^ »

  Nash shook Andrew's hand, smiling, then turned toward Hayley, drawing her forward. "Andrew Pike, I'd like you to meet Dr. Hayley Albright."

  Hayley spared a look at Nash and sellers, but his attention was on Andrew. He'd been introducing her to the buyers all day as Dr. Albright, and each time it made her go warm and fuzzy inside.

  Andrew, a big strapping man with a mustache, smiled, pumping her hand. "How do, doc?"

  She smiled back. "I do right fine, Mr. Pike."

  "Call me Andy, please. Only my secretary calls me Mister." He didn't hide his appreciation and looked his fill of her. "Dang, I can't believe I'm wishing I'd get sick." His gaze slid to Nash, then back to Hayley.

  "Be careful what you wish for, Andy," Nash said.

  Andrew winked at Hayley, and Nash put his arm around her waist. She couldn't help sinking into him a little. It felt so good.

  Nash noticed and his smile widened. "You going to clean me out again, Andy?"

  "You do have some fine-looking horseflesh this year, as usual. How many cutters?"

  "A hundred."

  Hayley's brows shot up.

  "I 'spect I better get to looking before they're all gone. Ma'am." Andy tipped his hat to her and she nodded, watching him make his way through the crowd.

  "A hundred? I didn't know you had that many to sell."

  He urged her in the opposite direction, toward a booth. "They've been delivered to the stockyard all week. The ones we rounded up will go into training. The Thoroughbreds won't be auctioned till later. Ranchers from all over the country come to Aiken to buy and sell horses at this livestock fair." He stopped before a booth, plucking a cowboy hat from the racks surrounding the stand. After a quick inspection, he dropped it on her head.

  "I don't need this." Nor could she afford it.

  "Your nose is already getting red."

  She looked in the mirror set near a stack of hats. The cowboy hat was straw with a brown band and not so big that she looked ridiculous. When she looked back at Nash, he was waving off the change from the vendor. The vendor thanked him by name and they moved away.

  Hayley said, "Thank you, but I don't need your gifts."

  He knew she'd balk. "I know. But if you've noticed, you're the only one here not wearing one."

  She glanced around. He was right; even the children wore hats.

  "Besides, you look cute in it."

  She blushed and he gave her hand a quick squeeze. Then he cocked his head, listening to an announcement. "Come on. The trick riders are going to start." He pulled her along, forgetting that her legs were a lot shorter than his, and when she tugged him back, out of breath, he apologized and met her pace.

  She stopped before the bleachers. "There doesn't look to be any seats left."

  He didn't hear her apparently and made his way around the bleachers. They walked beyond the security guard into the grandstand building. The ushers and guards merely nodded to him and stepped back, holding the door open. Icy conditioned air instantly chilled her skin. They walked into a carpeted area, and he led her up a chrome-railed spiral staircase to what looked like a large nightclub. There was a perfect view of the arena through massive windows tinted against the glaring sun; the box seats jutted out over the grandstand, so they'd miss nothing. Waiters moved through the small clusters of people, offering canapés and champagne.

  Nash introduced her to everyone as Dr. Albright, and beyond that her presence with him obviously garnered curiosity and surprise, everything else felt like a blur. She would never recall all those names, she thought.

  "Welcome back, Mr. Rayburn," a man in a Western-style tuxedo said. He ushered them into a private area near the glass windows, plucking a Reserved sign off the small table, then motioning to a waiter. She couldn't help notice that the sign was embossed with Nash's name and his plantation's.

  Hayley dropped into a sofa. Not wanting to look like a yokel, she tried not to stare at the huge crystal chandelier above her head, the closed-circuit TV, the carts of desserts or the elegantly dressed people, who looked as if they hadn't stepped out of this private club all day.

  Sitting on the sofa beside her, Nash tossed his hat on a nearby chair. She followed suit, absorbing her surroundings as a waiter came forward, offering flutes of champagne. Nash took two, handing one to Hayley.

  She sipped, watching the riders circle the arena. She was fascinated by the young girl standing on her horse's rump. Incredible balance, Hayley thought as they took a jump.

  "Comfortable?"

  She met Nash's gaze. "This is all very lovely."

  His brows drew down. "I know you, Hayley. I hear a 'but' in that comment. Give."

  "It's nothing really. I just feel drastically underdressed."

  "You look great." He shifted closer to her, setting the flute aside. "Don't worry. I thought you'd like a break from the sun."

  "I do, thank you." He was so damn handsome her heart jumped every time she looked at him, but right now she was seeing Nashville Davis Rayburn, millionaire. Even if he didn't normally show it off, this private box, the plush surroundings, screamed it at her. She would have been content in the bleachers, eating hot dogs and drinking beer, while he was comfortable with champagne and canapés and waiters in white jackets. He'd earned it, she knew, but just the same, it made the differences between them all the more apparent.

  He was caviar. She was a pig-in-a-blanket.

  She smiled at the thought.

  "Hayley, honey." He slung his arm over the back of the sofa, effectively creating privacy. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  He gripped her chin with a thumb and forefinger, gazing into her eyes. "I can feel it. What's bothering you?"

  When he looked at her like that, her deepest secrets could spill out without restraint. "I'm glad we came. It gives me a chance to really know your world."

  He reared back a bit. "My world? You act like it's Mount Olympus or something."

  She smiled again. "Close."

  He let go of her chin, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Nash saw this place through her eyes, saw the wealth and money she'd never had. Damn. He'd never known anything to rattle her cage, but this had. Even if she tried to hide it. And though he didn't want her to think she wasn't welcome or that he was in any way ashamed of her, the move had backfired.

  "Listen to me, honey. Those people—" he inclined his head to the groups behind him "—aren't my friends. Most of them have never set foot in a barn, let alone a place like River Willow. My friends are people like Andrew."

  Hayley blinked, shocked that he knew her feelings.

  "I don't mind this." She waved at the elegant surroundings. "Don't get me wrong—what woman minds being treated like a princess? But it seems so … detached."

  "Snotty, you mean."

  "Well…"

  He took the champagne flute from her and set it aside, then stood, holding out h
is hand.

  "Come on, Dr. Albright. Let's blow this pop stand."

  She smiled and rose, picking up her hat. They left, but they didn't go to the bleachers. Nash led her up onto the fence rail, and they sat there, eating hot dogs, sipping beer and watching the show.

  Hayley loved it.

  Nash knew it.

  Then a dark-haired man stopped by them. "Hey, Nash, you gonna join us this year?"

  Nash jumped down, helping Hayley to the ground before he spoke. "I hadn't planned on it."

  Hayley dumped their trash and wiped her hands as the man said, "Come on, pal. Chris Kramer broke his ankle and Dodd's wife is having a baby. We could use the extra body."

  Hayley looked between the two men. Nash introduced her to Royce, and though he tipped his hat to her, he was intent on getting Nash to do something.

  "I'm with a guest," Nash said.

  Hayley touched his arm. "Whatever it is, Nash, go do it if you want. I'll be fine."

  "You sure?"

  Her hands on her hips, she gave him a "get real" look. "I've been on my own for a while, Rayburn. I think I can handle this."

  He grinned. "Okay, see ya in a few." He gave her a quick kiss, helped her back up onto the rail, then patted a platform close to it. "Stay right here so I can find you."

  She could feel his almost childlike excitement and laughed to herself as he took off like a shot with Royce. She shifted onto the short platform, her feet hanging over the edge. Beside her sat several girls wearing banners diagonally across their chest. Rodeo princesses, she thought. They were young and pretty and flirting with the cowboys walking past. Hayley grinned when one young man tried making a pass at her, until one of the girls told him she was Nash Rayburn's woman. The kid looked as if he'd committed a sin and tipped his hat to her. Nash Rayburn's woman. Hayley scoffed. Boy, was that sexist. Not that it didn't feel good to hear it, but she knew she was taking far more pleasure in that than she ought.

  Music blared as the trick riders left the arena, and she searched the area for Nash. She listened to the garbled announcement, then asked the girl beside her. A competition, she said, a rodeo decathlon of sorts. First a barrel race, then roping and tying off a calf, ending with bronc riding. Hayley's heart started to pound as she scanned the riders lining up. There were only five of them. And one was Nash.