Free Texas Heat by Bárbara McCauley

thought darkly, but it would be worth it. If she was any other woman, he wouldn’t even think twice.
    But she wasn’t any other woman. She was Emma’s aunt. And after the physical satisfaction there was nowhere for this to go. There was no place for a woman like Savannah in his life. There was no place for any woman in his life beyond a night’s pleasure. Or in this case, he thought in extreme frustration, an afternoon’s pleasure.
    Reluctantly he tore his mouth from hers and let her slide to the ground. The movement was sheer torture for him, and he held back the groan deep in his throat. He looked down at Savannah. Her passion-glazed eyes opened slowly, and her lips, still wet and parted, nearly had him reaching for her again. Sweat beaded on his brow as he stepped away.
    Confusion filled Savannah’s eyes. She stared at him, then blinked several times. He stood rigid, watching as awareness slowly returned to her face. Her cheeks flamed red.
    A hawk shrieked overhead. Waves of heat shimmered off the hard flat ground. The rich earthy smell of the land permeated the air.
    â€œYou lost your hat,” she said quietly.
    He nodded slowly. “So did you.”
    They locked gazes for a long moment without speaking, then turned away from each other, both of them realizing they’d lost a great deal more than their hats.
    * * *
    â€œJake, you’re not being reasonable.”
    With his back to his stepmother, Jake stared out his living room window. Clouds framed the distant mountains, and he hoped like hell it wasn’t going to rain again. He’d had enough mud today to last him a lifetime. He turned his head at the sound of the shower shutting off. Savannah had insisted on using the bathroom after him. He thought of her in there now, her skin glistening as she rubbed the towel over her—
    â€œJake, are you listening to me?”
    Sighing inwardly, Jake turned and faced Myrna. Now that she’d hired someone to drive her around, God only knew how often she’d drop in unannounced. Legs crossed, she sat stiffly in the worn leather armchair that had been J.T.’s favorite. Dust spotted the front of her navy blue pants and she brushed it delicately away.
    â€œThere’s nothing to listen to,” he said dryly. “I have no intention of selling this ranch. Not to you or anyone else.”
    Myrna tapped her red-polished nails impatiently on the arm of the chair. “Why do you insist holding on to a nonprofitable venture? You risk losing it all if you don’t get out while you can.”
    Myrna was every bit Carlton Hewitt III’s daughter, Jake thought bitterly. All either of them saw was the bottom line of a financial statement. The land itself, the sweat and blood that had been poured into it, meant nothing.
    There was a graveyard under an oak tree that embraced every deceased Stone for the past 130 years, and the turned soil had barely settled on three of those graves. Jake would give it all away before he let Myrna have one square foot more than she already had her claws into.
    â€œTen years ago Stone Creek was the most profitable ranch in the county,” he said flatly. “Strange how that all changed after J.T. married you.”
    Myrna lifted her chin indignantly. “Even J.T. would have known when to throw in the towel, Jake.”
    â€œThere’d be no towel to throw in if he hadn’t had to mortgage this place to build that monstrosity of a house you live in.”
    Cool disdain laced the look she threw him. “We could hardly live here with you. Daddy pulled a lot of strings at the bank so we could build our dream house. Your father loved Stone Manor every bit as much as I.”
    Jake nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of her statement. J.T. had hated Stone Manor and had spent most of his time with Jake at the ranch.
    Jake sighed. He was growing extremely weary of this conversation. “What would you do with this ranch,