Alana dropped the tour group off in the gift shop and headed back toward the house. Matt had remained aloof from her as they’d walked back. Yet his quiet retreat piqued her interest more than a charming smile or flirtatious word would have.
“How’d it go?” Peg asked as she walked up with a group of six kids.
“Great. Gave them their money’s worth.” She didn’t feel like announcing her stumble. It’d make the gossip rounds soon enough.
“It’s a charity tour,” Peg said with a smile. “You donated it to the silent auction.”
“You mean Nana did.”
“Same thing. It all goes to a good cause.”
The kids were clamoring to go into the frantoio, so Peg headed off, taking the adults with her too.
Alana headed back to the trail that skirted the pond and led toward the barn. Her thoughts were busy, teasing her as she puzzled over her strong reaction to Matt Darrington. Scuffling footsteps behind her made her turn. A tow-headed girl came bounding up from the path leading to the pond.
“Are you lost?” Alana asked. The little girl had wide-set gray-green eyes fringed in dark lashes, making her look like a Disney Princess cartoon.
“I’m not lost. I’m here to make a complaint.” She fisted her hands on her hips.
Alana couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s earnestness. “Well, consider me the complaint department.”
“You’re supposed to have a real butterfly garden. The pictures I saw online showed lots of plants and things, but they’re not here.”
“You go online?” Imagining six-year-olds surfing the web gave Alana a chill.
“My mom showed me. I still can’t read it all, but I can look at the pictures. Your pictures showed butterfly bushes and daisies. You don’t have any of those. Don’t you know butterflies?”
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure we get some proper plants and make a perfect home for them.” Alana had seen the hand-sketched drawings in Nana’s study that showed where she’d planned to plant a native butterfly and hummingbird garden along the south bank. It wasn’t distraction that had put a hiatus to Nana’s plans, Alana was sure of that. Death was a hurdle even her grandmother hadn’t scheduled in. But death was no subject to discuss with a child.
“My dad says it’s called habitat,” the girl continued. “I know how to spell it. H-A-B-I-T-A-T. And I know how to make a real garden. I have books. Three.” She eyed Alana. “They’re mostly pictures, but I could loan them to you. But you’d have to promise to give them back. Before we moved my friend Alice didn’t give all my books back.”
Alana felt a pang of sisterhood with the half-pint. She’d always fumed as a child when a friend hadn’t returned one of her books or toys.
“I promise to give them back.”
“And you have to build a fairy village by the pond too. Butterflies need fairies. They’re important.”
“Do you have a book for that too?”
The child’s eyes went wide, and she shook her head, tut-tutting under her breath.
“Everybody knows how to make a fairy village. I can draw you one; it’s easy. But you have to have the right sizes. If it’s too big, the trolls will move in.”
“Sophie!” Matt’s voice took them both by surprise. “I told you not to run off from the group.”
He jogged up the path, wrapped an arm around the girl, and bent low, hugging her.
“Sorry. She has a tendency to wander off.” He stood back up. “Sophie, this is Alana. She runs the orchard tours.”
Alana didn’t bother to correct him. She was too busy being disappointed that he was a dad. Kids were not part of her repertoire. After her own horrific childhood in a shaken-but-never-blended family, they might never be. She didn’t want to put a kid or herself through all that drama. But she found herself straightening her blouse and flipping her hair over her shoulder as if her body couldn’t care less what her mind was saying.
Sophie grabbed her dad’s hand. “Come see the pond. She promised me they’ll put in a proper butterfly garden and a fairy village. H-A-B—”
“That’s enough, Sophie. I’m sure this nice lady has other work to do.”
“No,” Alana said. “I can show you the pond.” Sophie’s disappointment in the butterfly garden awakened Alana’s instinct to fulfill Nana’s promise. If the ranch didn’t have a proper garden, they sure shouldn’t be touting it. She cast Matt a tentative smile. “No ladders there.”
They started down the path. Though he kept his distance, Alana could feel Matt’s eyes on her. She knew the effect she had on men—and their effect on her. She shouldn’t be toying with this one. But she put some extra swing into her walk in spite of her better intentions.
“Your daughter is going to offer me pointers for improving our efforts here. Evidently the garden we have in place is not up to her standards.”
“It’s lame,” Sophie said with a grin that showed her two front teeth just coming in.
“Sophie! That’s rude. Apologize to this nice lady.”
Alana grinned at being called a nice lady. “No need to apologize. Apparently she’s right.”
Sophie beamed and skipped along beside them.
A clump of hummingbird mint surrounded the base of an old willow, and just off to the side Alana spied a chrysalis under the leaf of a pipe-vine growing up a rustic trellis.
“Now this is a bona fide butterfly plant,” Alana said, trying not to sound defensive. Defending the integrity of the ranch to a six-year-old felt completely ridiculous, but she wanted to set things right. “Do you know the story of the butterfly and the pipe-vine, Sophie?”
Sophie peered at the scrawny vine crawling up the trellis and shook her head.
“Pipe-vines aren’t always the most impressive of plants,” Alana said as Matt strode up beside her, “but to a butterfly they look like heaven.”
Matt crouched beside Sophie. His jeans strained against the muscles of his thighs. Either the guy spent hours at the gym or he did something for a living that required great leg strength. She could imagine those legs straddling hers and the sensations such a man could tease out of her. She did start imagining—
“You were saying?” he prompted.
Alana dragged herself back from her fantasy. Too bad he was married. Too bad about the kid. But no matter what people might think of her partying ways, she had her standards. Breaking up families was strictly off her list.
She smoothed her hands along her dirt-streaked shirt, wiping away the dampness on her palms. If the guy fired her with a crouch and a look, what would it have been like to have a taste of the full monty? Alas, she’d never find out.
She crouched beside Sophie, being careful to keep a good distance from Matt. The scent of lemons and spice and alpha male wafted from him and made her traitorous body tingle. She reached a finger to the pipe-vine and turned the leaf over gently so she wouldn’t disturb the chrysalis on the underside.
“The official name of the butterfly that loves this plant is Pipevine Swallowtail,” Alana said in the best tour-guide voice she could conjure. “This is the chrysalis. It grows to—”
“Oh!” Sophie squealed. “I have a picture of one of those in my books. It’s blue with orange spots. But isn’t it poisonous?”
“The caterpillar eats the pipe-vine leaves, and yes, the leaves are poisonous, so the caterpillar becomes poisonous too.”
Alana was aware of Matt watching her, as if with every pass of his gaze he left a trail of heat along her skin. The heat made it hard to focus. But she was determined to salvage the reputation of the butterfly garden. She searched her memory. She and Nana had spent many afternoons traipsing the paths of the ranch. To her younger self it seemed that her grandmother knew every secret of every creature that made its home in the hills and valleys surrounding the property.
“The adult butterfly has a wing span of nearly three inches.” Alana spread her fingers in the air, demonstrating. “Sometimes the males are an iridescent blue, the color
of—” She’d been going to say the color of Matt’s eyes. But his eyes were steelier, with more gray. “Well, there’s really no color anything like it.”
Matt caught her in his intense gaze. His eyes narrowed, and she felt he was looking into her, not simply at her, as if he had her number, just like that. She flicked her hair from her shoulder and stood. Whatever he did, he was used to assessing people; she felt him do it. Or maybe she was just paranoid. Parents probably had to size up lots of people who rolled into their children’s lives.
“We need to get back, Sophie.”
He stood, unfolding his magnificent body and towering a good six inches above Alana. Tall men were her weakness. He qualified.
“I’m sure Alana has things to do.” He turned to her. “Thanks for indulging us. I’m afraid we’ve pulled you away from your next tour group.”
He really thought she was a tour guide at the ranch, an employee. A rush of pleasure bloomed in her chest. At least someone thought she fit in.
“But you haven’t seen the pond!” Sophie protested.
“Another day, Punkin. Time to go.”
Alana watched them as they skipped up the path. Well, Sophie skipped. Matt’s long strides easily kept up. She hadn’t expected to be so touched by the bright-eyed enthusiasm of little Sophie. That Matt sparked her interest hadn’t surprised her one bit. A woman would have to be dead and six feet under not to be moved by him. What had surprised her were the deeper feelings that being close to him had stirred. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so roused. Maybe never. But he was off limits. Maybe his being out of bounds was the spice that made the encounter so potent.
Still, her strong reaction to Matt puzzled her. She felt branded where his arms had caught her, breaking her fall just inches from the ground. Branded in a sensual, delicious sort of way that sent shocks of erotic energy zinging to her most sensitive places. He moved like a cat, she decided. Sleek and feral and yet all tightly wound muscle with a hint of wildness. And yet so very aloof, almost shy. It was an alluring combination.
No, a strong voice insisted in her head. No matter how gorgeous he was, just plain no. There are plenty of gorgeous men in the world, the voice insisted. Stick with one of those.
But this one is different, she argued back.
No, no and no.
The voice arguing yes might very well win. It usually did.