Back in the Saddle

Back In The Saddle

by

Desiree Holt

Chapter One

Molly Hayes parked the ranch pickup in the gravel lot of Rusty’s and took a deep breath then let it out slowly.

What the hell am I doing here?

She’d probably have spent another night hiding from the world at home, as content as possible considering her miserable state. But her father had given her a parting shot before he left for Fort Worth.

“Get out of the house, Molly girl. You’ve been hiding long enough. Go out and have some fun.”

Yeah, right. Fun.

“Quit letting that bastard ruin your life,” he added on his way out the door.

That bastard
being her faithless ex.

Thirty years old and she’d quit a damn good job and run home to her father’s ranch to lick her wounds when her marriage to Boyd Whittaker self-destructed. Although, truth be told, her pride was damaged more than anything else. Underneath it all she had to admit the divorce hadn’t much touched her heart.

Maybe Boyd realized she didn’t love him the way she should. That he wasn’t her first choice. That he wasn’t the star of the outrageous erotic fantasies she had. Maybe it was his form of payback. Because soon enough, she’d discovered her husband had the most active zipper in Houston. His cock seemed to be busy in every bedroom but theirs.

Not that sex with Boyd had been any great shakes, unfortunately. She wondered now if his other women found it more interesting and exciting than she did. Of course, with Boyd sex was always all about him, anyway, and his imagination in the bedroom wouldn’t fit on the head of a pin.

She’d hung in there, ignoring the gossip as long as she could. But then came the day she’d arrived at his office to meet him for lunch and found him screwing one of his bimbos on the desk. The expression on their faces was so comical she would have laughed if she hadn’t been so pissed off.

“You asshole,” she’d shouted at him.

Sliding off the desk and calmly pulling up his pants, he’d shaken his head. “Language, Molly. There’s a lady present.”

She’d make a show of looking around the office. “Yeah? Where? I don’t see anyone except this piece of trash spreading her legs for you.”

She’d picked up the handiest item, Boyd’s treasured golf trophy, and slung it at the desk. She’d missed both of them but gouged a nice chunk out of the rosewood.

“Look what you did to my damn desk,” he’d shouted.

“Too bad it wasn’t your dick,” she’d shouted back.

Then she’d turned around, walked out the door, and hadn’t stopped moving until she’d reached Hayes Ranch in Littleton.

Lord knew she’d done her best to make it work, but as much as he might have looked like Chance McDaniel, Boyd was a poor substitute.

Chance.

The man Molly had been in love with since she was a naïve fifteen, and he, at nineteen, was completely unattainable. All those summers he’d worked at Hayes Ranch, he’d barely given her the time of day. She might as well have been a horsefly for all the attention he’d given her. The fly might even have gotten more.

All those outrageous erotic romances she read? She’d give anything to be living them with Chance. She might have been hiding in the house since her retreat from Houston, but through the huge window in the breakfast room she watched him each morning, supervising the men as they trained the cutting horses in the pen. Riding out to check the fence line, his body looking as if he were born in the saddle. Standing with the men at the end of the day, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the bandanna he wore around his neck, dusting his hands on the chaps he wore as much to protect himself from the cattle he herded as from the rub of the saddle.

So here she was, facing the world. Here, at Rusty’s. The old hangout. Rusty’s had been
the
place to hang out the minute you got to be of legal age. How many nights she’d spent here with her girl friends…and dates that meant nothing…tasting life. Trying to learn what it was all about.

Rusty’s on a Tuesday night was usually fairly quiet. Maybe she wouldn’t run into anyone. She could just have a quiet beer, listen to the juke box and crawl home in her unfortunately unwanted state.

Liar! You know why you’re here.

Leave me alone
, she told her inner voice.
I’m just here for a drink. Getting out.

Yeah, right. And maybe to run into Chance McDaniel.

She was well aware that Chance often came here at night for a beer and to hang out with friends. On the drive from the ranch she’d been half afraid she’d run into him—and half afraid she wouldn’t.

You know what you want. Admit it. Chance naked in a room with you, doing the most erotic things the imagination can conjure up.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled open the door and the familiar dark atmosphere enveloped her. A long bar ran against one wall, booths lined the opposite wall and tables and chairs were scattered between. In the back she could hear the clack of pool balls that signified a game in progress, and the juke box was playing some old country tune. Looking around, she breathed easier when she didn’t spot anyone she knew and slid quietly into a corner booth.

She was trying to decide what to order, waiting for the one waitress to make her way over as usual, when someone slid a frosty mug of beer in front of her. In a moment, a second one joined it. Molly looked up, startled, and there he was, sliding into the booth opposite her.

Chance McDaniel in the lip-smacking flesh.

Older now, the boy had filled out to become a mouthwatering man. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and the legs beneath the table were long and lean. The rolled up sleeves of his shirt exposed muscular arms dusted with dark hair that matched the thick black pelt on his head.

And in a tanned rugged face, the electric blue eyes were just as piercing as ever. Her hormones went into immediate overdrive.

“Hello, Molly.” The drawl was slow and easy as warm molasses.

But times had changed. Now he was the foreman at Hayes Ranch and, according to her father, doing a damned good job at it. Despite everything that had happened in her life, she knew in her gut that one touch from him could send her up in flames. As careful as she’d always been to hide her feelings from him, right now she was so vulnerable all her defenses were down.

Another reason she’d stayed inside the house. What if she ran into him and he was coldly polite? Then boss’s daughter. Or worse yet, obviously avoided her altogether.

Well, here he is. Isn’t this what you wanted?

Shut up! Just…shut up.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I didn’t order anything yet.”

A slow smile tilted his lips. “I remember you always used to order this whenever you came in with your friends,” he told her in his soft drawl. “You said a cold brew was better than water.”

Her eyes widened. “You
remember
? I didn’t think you even noticed.”

His gaze was smoldering. “Oh, I noticed all right.”

Her throat went so dry she had to take a sip of the beer before she could even swallow. Why couldn’t she think of something intelligent to say to him? He probably thought she’d left her brain in Houston.

“It’s great seeing you again,” she finally got out.

“Same goes, Molly.” He leaned forward, resting on his forearms. “I thought I’d bring you a drink. Have a beer with you. I know you’ve been going through a bad time, and that’s something I can relate to. So…a beer or two is good, right?”

She knew he’d been married. The devastating news had been the major reason she’d hotfooted it to Houston as soon as she had her degree in hand. Seeing him on the ranch every day and knowing he belonged to someone else was more misery than she wanted to put herself through. But now, like her, he was divorced. She’d heard about it from her father and thought she’d done a good job pretending she didn’t give two hoots about it. She had no idea what his wife had been like or what the problem had been with his marriage. But she wondered what was wrong with a woman who didn’t fight to hang onto a man like him.

“Molly?” His warm drawl brought her back to the present. “Did I make a mistake coming over here?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all. This sounds good. Thanks.”

“So, how are you really?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Angry at myself, embarrassed that I let that jerk make a fool of me. So hungry for you I’d love to jump over this table and rip off your clothes.

“Good. Glad to hear it.” That soft drawl sent shivers racing along the surface of her skin.

She took a sip of her beer, set the mug down. “And you? How are things with you, Chance?”

He shrugged. “Okay. Grateful to your dad for making me foreman.”

She smiled. “From what he says, you earned the job and you’re damn good at it.”

“He’s a good man to work for.”

The song playing on the juke box ended and another one swelled from the speakers. The whiskey-scented air drifted past her nose, and for a brief moment she was back with her friends, hanging out on the weekend, laughing and drinking and dancing. Hoping against hope that Chance would send one look her way. Now here he was, and she was as tongue-tied as a teenager.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Molly,” he went on. “It’s just…you haven’t left the ranch house since you came back. I saw you come in, and even in the dark, I could see you had the saddest look in the world on your face. I was hoping I could help you lighten up.”

She forced a smile. “I guess I haven’t had much to smile about lately.”

“That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” Chance reached across the table and rested his fingertips on one of her hands. “We
are
friends, right?”

Friends! What a joke that he thought about them that way when she’d always wanted so much more. Chance could still light her fire with just a glance. Friendship wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

She dug up a weak smile. “Okay. Sure. Friends.”

“Great, then.” His slow smile made her toes curl. He touched his beer mug to hers. “Here’s to friends.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, letting the sounds of the bar eddy around them.

“How are
you
doing?” she asked after another sip of her beer, thinking it only polite to ask.

But Chance’s face closed up tighter than a gate on a bull pen. “I’m fine, Molly. Like I said, working for your Dad is great.”

Okay. So
his
personal life was off limits. Well, hers would be, too.

They sat there across from each other, neither one of them saying a word.
Just a Dream
by Carrie Underwood drifted out of the jukebox, and Chance stood up, reaching a hand down to her.

“Dance with me, Molly.”

Danger! Danger!

She opened her mouth to refuse him, but somehow instead, found herself rising from the booth and following him to the dance floor. Only two other couples were making use of the music. Chance tactfully led her to a corner where the lights didn’t hit them. She was stiff within the circle of his arms, moving like a windup doll, until one hand slid up her back to hold the nape of her neck.

“Relax, Molly.” His mouth was at her ear, his breath a warm breeze against her skin. “It’s just a dance. Sometimes it helps to shut out everything else and just fall into the music.”

She was trying, but his body was so warm against hers and there was no mistaking the hard thickness of his cock pushing against her through the denim of his jeans. His scent teased at her nostrils, a heady blend of something woodsy and the smell of leather and horses. She was sure he’d showered but somehow, for men who worked at ranching rather than playing, the aroma burned its way into their skin. She loved it. Always had. If she wanted to be truthful, it was almost an aphrodisiac. She shifted so she was just a millimeter closer.

What she would have given all those years ago to be where she was right this minute. But a lot of water had washed over the dam since then, and the last thing she wanted was to have Chance McDaniel feeling sorry for her.

“I…haven’t danced in a while,” she said lamely as she tried to relax in his grip.

God. Could I sound any more idiotic?

He chuckled, a low rumbling sound. “I think it’s like riding a horse. You never really forget. I think you could probably say that about everything.”

His lean fingers massaged the knot at the nape of her neck, his arm holding her against him as they shifted their bodies minimally in place. The stroking of those fingers sent shivers down her spine, but they also coaxed her to relax and move in rhythm with him. She actually found herself leaning her head against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “I learned music can make you forget just about any damn thing.”

She wanted desperately to ask him what he was working so hard to forget, but he’d made it very clear that was off limits. Maybe she’d give her friend Jacie a call and see what the dirt was. She hadn’t called any of her friends since she’d been back, but now curiosity was breaching her self-imposed exile.