Harvest at Mustang Ridge (16 page)

A skitter of claws on wood and tile had him waving a hand. “Not now, Klepto. Go play.”

Her body vibrated with amusement. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Don’t care,” he said, kissing along her jaw, the soft spot beneath her ear. “I’ll replace whatever he demolishes. Just don’t tell me to stop.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt, tugging it up to find her way beneath. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He groaned at the sensation of her fingers across his abdomen and the softness of her breast beneath his palm. He kissed her, touched her, explored her, finding sensitive spots that made her sigh and move restlessly against him, ticklish spots that made her squirm, and hot buttons that made her moan and reach for him. Dying for her, needing to be inside her, he shifted, giving
her access to his belt buckle. When she eased back, he sucked in a breath, but one look at her face let him know that she wasn’t putting on the brakes. Far from it.

Breathless and excited, she said, “I don’t have . . . You know.”

“I do. In my bags.” Protection was usually front and center for him. Now, he had to think about it. “Somewhere. Upstairs, I think?”

She leaned back in and nipped his chin. “I’ll race you.”

“I’ll give you a head start.” He scooped her up once more, tossing her high enough to elicit a gasp and a grab, then carried her laughing up the stairs and through the door with her in front. “You win.” He tossed her lightly to the bed, where she sank into the luxurious mattress and disheveled bedclothes. “What do you want for your prize?”

She crooked a finger. “You.”

“Hold that thought.” He beat it into the bathroom, unearthed the unopened box of condoms, and let out a relieved breath at the expiration date. Bearing them like a trophy, he came back out into the bedroom.

And stopped dead.

The rumpled sheet and spread were on the floor, the bed a wide expanse of dark blue cotton and pillows, with Krista in the center, completely naked.

Wyatt stared. He couldn’t
not
stare. In the warm light coming from the hallway, her skin was like honey and shadows, and her eyes were alight with anticipation and a faint challenge. “Problem?” she asked archly.

“No. No problem at all.” He tossed the box onto the bed beside her, then followed it down, taking his weight on his arms while he skimmed his lips along her throat and the curve of her collarbone. “I just couldn’t breathe there for a minute. Still can’t.”

This was important.
She
was important. And that was okay with him.

She worked the buttons of his shirt, the snaps popping in sequence. “How about now?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need to breathe, as long as I can kiss you.” He found her lips and sank into her mouth, skimming a hand down the smooth skin of her rib cage, her hip, her thigh. She quivered as he followed his hands with his lips, kissing his way down her body while working at his clothes.

She arched against him, hands fisting in the sheets. “I can’t . . .” she whispered.

“What?”

“Breathe, either.”

He came back to her lips, sliding up her body with the rest of his clothes gone and the condom in place. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. No.
Oh!
” She curled her legs around him as he settled against her, and her eyes fluttered shut on a soft moan. “Who needs to breathe?” she asked softly, and pressed herself up against him.

His pulse hammered. His vision hazed. “Krissy.” The nickname came from deep within him, feeling very right as, with a roll of his hips and an answering arch of her body, he slid home.

Warm. Wet. Pleasure.

Incredible.

He gritted his teeth against the surge that threatened to send him racing ahead of her. Heat surrounded him, poured from him to her and back again, and it was all he could do not to bury his face in the curve of her neck and cut loose. He held on, though, concentrating on the gentle bite of her fingernails on his back and the low, broken moan that said they were in this together.

When he had some thin thread of control, he began to move—one stroke, then two. But then Krista surged against him and whispered his name, new heat cannonaded through him, and any hope of a slow build vanished.

Rearing back, he seated himself to the hilt and reveled in her moan, backed off and thrust again, aware that she was meeting him move for move. He lowered himself so they were face-to-face, belly-to-belly, and dragged his lips across hers as the tempo increased.

She moaned and his body tightened; she dragged her fingernails along his ribs and down, and he bucked against her. Aware that he was teetering on the edge, he worked a hand between them and stroked her with the rhythm of his thrusts. She cried out and pushed against his hand, her fingers digging into his hips as she sucked in a breath, held it, and then came in a rush, whispering his name. And that shuddering, wondering voice sent him over the edge. He thrust home and let out a raw groan as his release pounded through him, leaving him locked above her, around her, inside her.

It went on forever but ended too soon, draining to a deep, drugging lassitude that made him want to stay put for the next couple of lifetimes. Rolling to his side, he gathered her close, so her head nestled beneath his jaw and her hair brushed his cheek. “Sweet Krissy,” he rumbled. “Thank you.”

Then he closed his eyes and let the lassitude have him, not asleep but not really awake, either. And plenty happy to be exactly where he was.

*

Lying curled against Wyatt, Krista blinked into the half-light while the world came back into focus around her. She saw the rubbed-wood columns of the four-poster bed, the pale overhang of the homespun canopy, and the curved porch rocker in the corner, loaded with soft pillows and flanked by a reading table on one side and a silver champagne bucket on the other. Which meant she was upstairs in the bunkhouse loft. That, along with the tug of unfamiliar muscles and the warm bulk beside her, left zero room for doubt.

She and Wyatt were lovers. Again.

Her heart went
tappity-tap
and her stomach knotted with excitement, anxiety, and pride. She knew what she was getting into this time, knew how to keep herself whole and come out of it in one piece. She smiled into the darkness, imagining herself running up onto the ridgeline naked, beating her chest, and giving a Tarzan scream with a chaser of
I am woman, hear me roar
.

Then she pictured Jenny there, filming it, and chuckled.

Wyatt’s arm tightened around her. “Something funny?”

He hadn’t tensed, but she thought the potential was there. She wasn’t going to censor herself to avoid his twitches, though. He could take her as she was, or not take her at all. “I’m happy. Really, truly happy. And don’t worry, it’s not because I think my life just changed forever and ever. I’m not going to go get your name tattooed on my fanny or anything. It’s more that I got what
I
wanted for a change—not for the business or the family or anyone else. Just me.”

“Glad I could be of service.” He patted her rear end. “But about that tattoo . . .”

“Ha. Keep dreaming.” She danced her fingers across his ribs. “That is, unless you’re planning on reciprocating. The ranch logo would do nicely.”

“Free advertising?”

“I guess that depends on where you put it.” She grinned up at him. “Middle of your forehead? Now that’s a billboard.”

“With some of Damien’s crowd, that’d be tame.” He kissed the top of her head. “Want a drink? I’ve got water and iced tea, and I should check on Klepto.”

“I’m good.” She levered away from him. “In fact, I should go.”

“You could stay.” He didn’t hesitate. Apparently, he didn’t have a no-overnights rule.

She thought she might, though. “Not this time.” Not with her father potentially asleep in the downstairs recliner, waiting for her to come home. She didn’t want
to think about the time—the minutes had flown in the workshop, but she suspected it had been hours. Like the wee hours of the morning.

Wyatt exhaled and stretched. “I’ll drive you.” But his eyes were half-lidded, his words drowsy.

“Sleep.” She kissed his cheek. “This is my home turf. And you look whupped.” Which she should have been. She didn’t know where the jittery, jumpy energy was coming from, only that she couldn’t stay put.

“Take my truck. I don’t want you walking that far alone in the dark.”

Which should have made her want to roll her eyes, but was actually kind of nice. “Fine. Where are your keys?”

“Pants. Somewhere.” He was already drifting off. And, damn, he looked good doing it—like a sleepy, well-fed mountain lion, all tawny skin and big, loose muscles.

Given what they had just done together, it shouldn’t have felt weird to go through his tossed jeans for the keys, and it shouldn’t have put a quiver in her belly to climb in his truck and breathe in his scent. It was no big deal—she was just borrowing his wheels for the quick trip home. Still, she found herself grinning like a fool as she rolled away from the bunkhouse. And when she reached the house and found it midnight-quiet, she did a little tap dance up the stairs to her bedroom, where she flopped down on her bed and shot off a quick text to Jenny:
Girl Zone?

The phone rang almost immediately. Krista
answered with: “I take it you and Doc Hottie weren’t sleeping—or, you know, otherwise occupied?”

“Why? You want a blow-by-blow?”

“Dear God, no.”

Jenny’s laugh carried on the airwaves. “Didn’t think so. It wouldn’t be all that interesting, anyway—Nick is at the Plunkett place for an emergency call and I’m fiddling with one of the ads I’m doing for Mayor Teapot.”

“What’s the slogan?
Come blow off some steam in Three Ridges
?”

“Ha! So tempting. In fact, I’m writing that down for Shelby.” Her keyboard went
clicka-clicka
in the background. “But enough about me—you’re the one who invoked the sacred Girl Zone. So start talking,
chica
! Good date? Bad date?”

“We had sex.”

That got her a moment of startled silence. Then, “Well . . . Good sex? Bad sex?”

Krista laughed, then sighed. “I love you, sis. You always say the right thing.”

“Except when I don’t, but even then you know I meant well.” A pause. “I’m guessing good sex. Do you want to talk about it? Come over? Dial Shelby in?”

“No, it’s late.”

“Yet you called me.”

“I texted. There’s a difference.” Now that they were on the phone, Krista didn’t really want to postmortem the date. Which was strange, really. When she first got home, she had been dying to tell someone that her long dry spell was finally over, and she was in control of the
situation. Now, she just wanted to curl up in bed and hug the memories to herself. Tonight was hers. The next six weeks were hers—she was giving herself this present, this vacation from the everyday.

“When do Shelby and I get to meet him?”

“I don’t know—”

“I do. Pick a day and we’ll triple date.” And when she used that tone of voice, Jenny was unshakable.

T
he next morning, Wyatt was out in the arena early, more because he wanted to get Jupiter worked than because he’d awakened and reached for the empty spot in the bed, though there was some of that, too. He and Krista hadn’t planned to meet for the morning’s training session, but he’d just swung into the saddle when she appeared around the corner of the barn, carrying a couple of steaming mugs and a napkin-wrapped bundle that said “muffin” or maybe—pretty please—“homemade doughnuts.”

She was dressed for the workday, in jeans and a dark green logo’d shirt, and as she got closer and his pulse picked up a notch at her warm smile, it felt like the sight of those cowgirl braids and the dusting of freckles across her nose were being burned into his brain.

“Morning, cowboy.” She set his coffee on the flattened-off top of a fence post, and lifted the wrapped bundle. “Beignets.”

He nearly moaned. “With sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top?”

“Of course.”

“Since when?”

“Mom took the breakfast shift so Gran could go to a doctor’s appointment.”

“She okay?”

“Routine stuff, as far as I know. How’s our girl this morning?”

Since when was he tempted to turn a question like that back on a woman he was seeing? He wanted to ask how she was, tell her how much he’d enjoyed last night. Instead, he said, “She seems good so far. I was going to warm her up with some gate work, then maybe start getting her used to pulling weight, like she’ll need to do for the freestyle. She drags a tarp just fine, so we’ll see how she does with a tire next.”

“Mind if I watch?”

“I’d mind if you didn’t.” He nudged Jupiter closer to the fence so he could grab a couple of swigs of coffee, then lean in for a kiss. Krista came up on the bottom rail, bringing their faces level, and brushed her lips across his, bringing a hint of coffee and kicking the heat level up a notch or two. When his horse shifted and stomped a forefoot, he eased away. “I missed you this morning.”

After the briefest of hesitations, Krista dimpled. “You can see more of me later.”

“Tonight?”

This time, the hesitation was longer. “Actually, Jenny wants to meet you. She thought we could all get together—you and me, her and Nick, and Shelby and Foster.”

Remembering the lottery, and being glared at by a dark-haired version of Krista wearing a T-shirt that read
I
’
M
STARRING
IN
MY
OWN
REALITY
SHOW
, it was his turn to pause. But he had known going into this that Krista’s family was woven into the fabric of her life. “Sounds good. When do you want to leave?”

He left it too long, though. “It doesn’t have to be tonight,” she said with a small smile that said she understood. “In fact, it doesn’t need to happen at all. She’ll cope. She’s just—”

“Feeling protective,” he finished for her. “And I can’t say I blame her. I wish I had taken the time to get to know Kenny when he and Ash first started seeing each other. Not that it would’ve changed anything. She’s stubborn.”

“So am I. I’m also old enough to know what—and who—I’m doing.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So . . . a couple of drinks with my meddling sister, then back to your place?”

He grinned. “I’m not cheap, but I can be bought.”

“Beignet?” She held them out.

“Sold.” Chuckling, he snagged a couple, then reined Jupiter around. “Come on, hoss. Let’s show the pretty lady how brave you can be when those scary gates come swinging at you.”

Thanks to the training he’d done over the past week, the gray mare stepped up to the challenge, pivoting on command so he could unlatch the round pen gate and swing it open. When it swung back and bumped her haunches, she flattened her ears and tucked her butt, but held her ground.

“Good mare!” Krista cheered as he nudged the horse through and turned back to refasten the gate, then again when he reversed the process. “She’s so much better already.”

He clicked and patted the mare—he had started mixing praise with food treats—and said, “Better, yes. Ready for the trail course? Not yet. She still has trouble when things get narrow. I was thinking the next step is to—”

“Heads UP!” a voice bellowed from the barn, followed by a loud crash, several clatter-bangs and Klepto’s frenzied barking. Another voice hollered, “Close the door! Don’t let her get out front!”

“Someone’s loose!” Krista said, and started to run.

Adrenaline zinging—a thousand pounds worth of panic could do serious damage in seconds—he urged Jupiter up beside her and held down a hand. “Come on!”

She grabbed his wrist and swung up on the saddle skirt behind him while Jupiter danced in place, unnerved by the extra weight and the noises coming from the barn. But the gray mare had heart. At his urging, she ran toward the chaos rather than away, while Krista gripped Wyatt’s waist.

They galloped out of the arena and down the short path, whipping around the front of the barn just as a brown-and-white blur shouldered through the narrowing gap of the rolling doors with a barn worker pursuing on foot, optimistically waving a lead rope and shouting, “Come back!”

“Don’t let her get to the main house!” Krista cried. “She’ll destroy the kitchen!”

Wyatt wheeled Jupiter and clapped his heels into the game gray mare.
“Git!”

She flattened out and flew after the spotted cow as it dodged between a couple of parked cars and accelerated across the parking lot. With no lasso to work with, he cut Jupiter to the left, forcing the cow to swerve toward a three-sided equipment shed with an empty bay.

At the sight of the dark opening, the cow slammed on the brakes. Jupiter—a few hundred pounds heavier and not used to balancing under one rider, never mind two—overshot.

“Whoa!” Wyatt sank into his saddle and the mare sat down on her haunches in a perfect figure-eleven stop that gouged parallel furrows in the gravel drive. Wheeling the horse, he sent her lunging back toward the cow, who was darting glances between the shed and the path leading to the main house, where Gwen and Charm—a pair of yoga instructors from Florida—were standing making
ooh, look at the cow!
gestures, oblivious to the danger.

“Go in, Betty Crocker!” Krista urged. “Go in, go in, go in—”

Suddenly, channeling however many escaped cow horses had found their way into her family tree, Jupiter closed on the cow, snaking her lowered head and dancing on her pointed toes, ready to spin on a dime if her target tried to break away.

Eyes bugging, Betty Crocker gave a startled “Mooo,” then wheeled and plunged into the tractor shed.

“Block her in!” Krista cried, but Jupiter didn’t need the urging—she surged forward to plant herself in the opening and give Betty Crocker a
don’t even think it
glare. Swinging down, Krista caroled, “Good mare!” Looking up at Wyatt, she gripped his knee and voiced a low, fervent,
“Thank you.”

Then, whirling away, she went into damage-control mode as a couple of the barn guys came running up from one direction, the yoga instructors from the other, and a babble of voices arose from the direction of the dining hall.

“You heard her,” Wyatt said, stroking the mare’s tense, sweaty neck. “You’re a good mare.” Which was one of the biggest understatements of his career in the saddle. Kind of like him saying that he’d enjoyed last night. Both statements true, neither one nearly enough.

The horse was something special. Just like the woman who’d picked her from the herd.

*

Trying not to let the others see she was shaking, Krista fisted her hands on her hips and said sternly, “Betty Crocker, you naughty cow! Why aren’t you with your friends?” As Gwen and Charm reached her, clearly dying to be part of the excitement, she grinned at them. “Did you see that? We just had ourselves a one-cow stampede!”

“Is everyone okay?” Charm asked, eyes darting like she was afraid she might miss something.

“Absolutely!” Krista assured her. “It’s all in a day’s work when you’re dealing with horses and cattle.”

“Oh.” She seemed disappointed.

Gwen went up on her tiptoes, craning to see into the shed. “That’s a bull, right?”

“Actually, she’s a former milk cow whose owner turned her loose on state land when she stopped producing. She’s one of the rescues we have here at Mustang Ridge.” As she did her darnedest to divert the yoga instructors, Krista watched out of the corner of her eye as Wyatt—thank God for him and Jupiter—blocked the shed door while Deke got a halter and lead on a disgusted-looking Betty Crocker.

“Poor thing!” Gwen said. “But she sure got lucky with you, didn’t she?” She pouted. “I can’t believe someone would toss her out like that. She’s sooo cute. Just look at that sweet, innocent little face!”

She’s a massive pain in my ass,
Krista thought as the cow planted her cloven hooves and dug in for a round of tug-of-war with Deke, who had a nice touch with the horses and guests, but zero experience with cattle. “She’s—” Krista broke off at a clatter of hoofbeats behind her, wheeling around just as Big Skye and Bueno rounded the corner at a gallop, fast enough that the gelding’s shoes struck sparks. “Whoa!” Krista jumped in front of Gwen and Charm, waving her hands. “Slow down! It’s fine, she’s right here!”

The burly, age-roaned bay slid to a stop, and Big Skye glared down at Krista. With his hat askew and his face red, she wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or
angry. “That cow should be shot,” he announced. “She’s a menace.”

Make that angry. And, based on the gasps coming from behind her, really not helping the situation.

“Like I said,” she repeated pleasantly, “everything’s fine. No harm done.” To the ladies, she said, “We have an extensive herd of rescued or retired horses and cattle, and my grandfather here sees to their special needs.”

“Ayup,” he agreed, eyeing Betty Crocker with zero affection. “We’ve all been put out to pasture.”

“Hey, Gwen and Charm,” Wyatt said, nudging his horse up beside the two greenhorns. “Could you guys help me put Jupiter away?”

“Really?” Charm’s eyes lit at the prospect of handling the mare, who was normally off-limits to the guests. “Come on, Gwennie.”

“But breakfast—”

“Won’t run out. And the Brothers Studly will be totally impressed that we got to help with Jupiter.”

As they left, Krista made a mental note to remind the others—especially the firefighter brothers, who unfortunately might take it as a dare—about the barn rules and the off-limits horses. Wyatt had saved the moment, though—it would take him three times as long as usual to untack and groom Jupiter with the greenhorns’ help, but he’d given them something better to talk about than a loose cow on an almost-rampage.

She would thank him properly for that later. In the meantime . . .

Tucking her hands in her pockets and turning to look off toward the hills—Big Skye didn’t do well with a direct confrontation unless he started it—she said, “What happened up there?”

He harrumphed. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Maybe not—livestock got loose all the time on a ranch, and it got dealt with. And, more, the Over the Hill Gang was his bailiwick, and he didn’t take to meddling, especially coming from her. But Betty Crocker was different, and Mustang Ridge didn’t need videos of her on a rampage to hit YouTube with catchy titles like
Cow In Da House
and
Udder Chaos
. Knowing she was treading on unsteady ground, she said, “Could you use an extra set of hands up there? Maybe we should hire on an assistant.”

“Leave it,” Big Skye ordered, leveling his hat on his head. “My herd, my problem. I’ll tighten up the fence, maybe add a second line and another gate.”

“Like an airlock.” She nodded. “Feel free to grab Deke or one of the others if you need help.”

“I said I’ll handle it,” he said sharply. “You want me to run the herd, then let me do it. Either that, or fire me and put me out there with them.”

“I was just—”

He wheeled Bueno and rode off in a clatter of hooves and a spray of gravel. Which left her standing there staring after him, not sure whether to be mad or sad for him . . . and feeling it for herself, instead. Because no matter how many times she told herself it was okay
that she wasn’t his little cowgirl anymore, it still sucked eggs.

“He’s wrong,” Wyatt said from behind her.

“It’s fine,” she said. It was nothing she hadn’t heard from her grandfather before, after all, along with so many variations on the theme. “And it’s still better than it used to be.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

She turned as he approached. “Seriously. I’m fine.” And he hadn’t signed on for the messy stuff. “I’m used to dealing with Grumpy Gramps.”

“Okay, then let’s say that I need a hug after the stress of dealing with your rogue milk cow.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Just let me lean on you for a minute, okay? Then we’ll get back to work.”

Her resistance melted as his warmth and scent enfolded her. She burrowed in, rested her cheek against his chest, and sighed. “I’m sorry Betty Crocker stressed you out. She’s a very naughty cow.”

“Lucky for me, I was on a heck of a horse.”

Her lips curved. “Jupiter is that. Can you believe how far she’s come?”

“I almost can’t. I even checked her over the other day, seeing if I could find signs that she was someone’s escaped saddle horse.”

“Great minds—been there, done that. I didn’t find anything. You?”

“Nope. I think we just lucked out.”

It was a nice thought, and one that she needed right
now.
Lucky me.
“You didn’t leave Gwen and Charm alone with her, did you?”

“No, ma’am. Deke is overseeing things, and under orders to give them five minutes and escort them back to breakfast. I wanted to get back here and make sure things went okay with your grandfather.”

“Which they did.”

He didn’t argue, but he didn’t agree, either. He just dropped his chin onto the top of her head, in a gesture that made her feel small and safe, and reminded her of being in the workshop with him last night. After a moment, he said, “There’s one more thing. About tonight.”