Her Midnight Cowboy (2 page)

Rowdy sucked in a fortifying breath. “You shouldn’t be walking around like that.”

“Like what?”

His hands balled into fists, but it didn’t stop him from glancing up. “Any one of the cowhands could walk in here.”

She let out a little laugh. “My father would fire them on the spot.”

“He’s not here.”

Her trim brows arched. “Then he’d expect you to fire them on the spot.”

Rowdy stood, and his eyes locked near the neckline of her gown. The thin material revealed where her breasts darkened, and highlighted the peaks of her taut nipples beneath. His lungs locked. “Let’s get something straight, Miss Clayton.”

“Hmm, let’s, Rowdy,” she whispered, leaning across the edge of the desk.

His teeth clenched, yet the ability to be angry, really angry, at her didn’t exist. “That’s Mr. McGuire.”

“
Mr. McGuire
, is it?”

Her husky whisper sent his insides in all directions. He attempted to glare at her, but failed when his eyes encountered the sparks glittering in her big brown ones. Leaning toward her, he copied her whisper. “Yes, Miss Clayton. It’s Mr. McGuire. That’s how you’ll address me, when and if you see me.” The heated vibrations between them made the air snap and crackle.

A coy smile formed as she moved, coming nose to chin with him at the corner of the desk. “All right, Mr. McGuire.”

Rowdy had to delve deep to find the willpower to keep his lips off hers. He took a step forward, forcing her to take one back. “I’m the foreman of this ranch, which means I’m in charge of everything.”

“Yes,” she murmured, “you are.”

He took another step, then another, inching her backward toward the door. Keeping his lips hovering over hers as they moved, he said, “Including you.”

One of her slender brows arched. “Me?” Her tone was soft, yet challenging.

They were through the doorway, and he kept moving, forcing her down the hall. “Yes, you.” His nose bumped hers. “You will not parade yourself about half-dressed. Not in front of me or anyone else.”

She grabbed the end post of the large staircase, stopping both of them. “Not even my father tells m—”

“Nor will you ride the hills by yourself, or run to town on a whim.” He laid a hand on the stair railing, curling his fingers around the polished wood for support. No longer whispering, he said, “I have ten thousand head of cattle to see to, and don’t need any trouble from you.”

Huffing, she asked, “Trouble from me?”

“Yes.” He nodded toward the second floor. “Now hightail your little butt upstairs and get dressed.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh, yes, I can.” He took a step back and pointed upward. “Go, now.”

Angel’s chin dropped. “I don’t—”

His palm playfully connecting with her backside stopped her outburst. It had been action without thought. Being responsible for her virtue was more than he’d bargained for. “Go before I drag you up those stairs and dress you myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” he challenged.

The staring match lasted a few minutes before she gave in and stomped up the stairs. Stopping on about the fifth one, she turned around and glared at him. “You’ll rue this day,
Mr. McGuire
.”

His eyes locked on the way her breasts rose and fell. “I already do, Angel girl. I already do.”

The ire Rowdy had created lingered, and made Angel recall every one of her failed attempts. After a morning of sulking, she found her determination rebounding, and by the end of the week she had her plans for retaliation fully in place.

Shading her eyes with one hand, she searched the valley below. Tiny dots came into view and her heart skipped in her chest. “You can run, Rowdy McGuire, but you can’t hide.” She slapped her hat back in place.

Templeton picked the trail down the hill. The horse was sure-footed and didn’t need guidance from her. The two of them had been roaming the hills and valleys of the ranch for years—long before
Mr. McGuire
had said she couldn’t.

After that morning on the stairs, Angel had taken Constance’s suggestion to heart and decided to ignore Rowdy. It hadn’t been too difficult, since he never came within one hundred yards of her.

Then two days ago, her plan took a new route, after she’d had a ranch hand take her to town. She’d needed the counsel of another woman, and who better than the one woman who knew Rowdy better than anyone else—Liza?

No matter the profession the woman chose, Liza Spencer was a stellar citizen of Cottonwood. The woman was not only beautiful, she was smart.

Angel gazed at the men branding the young stock below. Even from this distance she could pick out Rowdy. She didn’t need to see his hair, which teetered between dark brown and black, nor those gray eyes that looked like pure silver when the light hit them just right. No, from this distance it was his tall form, the self-assured, yet lofty way he held himself and his easy, but determined swagger that identified him.

Shifting her weight in the saddle, and hoping the movement would quell the tingling quivers that infested her body whenever she thought of him, Angel followed his shape as he moved from the fire to his horse.

She had the wherewithal and determination to get what she wanted. Hunting Rowdy down like a rabid wolf hadn’t worked, and neither had pretending he didn’t exist. But with Liza’s aid, she’d come up with a new plan. The woman said Rowdy needed to be nudged in the right direction. Angel knew how to nudge.

Rowdy mounted and turned his horse her way. Suppressing a grin, she kneed Templeton, steering the gelding straight toward Rowdy’s black mustang.

“Miss Clayton,” he said as their horses grew closer.

She brought Templeton to a halt. “Mr. McGuire.”

The mustang stopped next to her knee. “Is there something wrong at the ranch?”

The sun, high overhead and blazing with all the heat it could muster in early May, made his eyes silver. “No,” she answered, tipping back the brim of her hat.

“Then is there something you need?” he asked, looking everywhere except directly at her.

“No, I just thought I’d check on the branding, see how everything’s going.”

His gaze went to the half-dozen cowhands working the herd several yards away. “Fine, everything’s going just fine. We’re almost done for the day.”

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.

The gaze that swung around to settle on her was cloudy, and his brows were furrowed. “No,” he said, somewhat cautiously.

She fanned her neck with her fingers, hoping to draw his attention to the top three buttons of her blouse, which she’d left undone. “All right, then, I’ll just go talk to Hank for a moment.”

Rowdy reached down and took hold of the rein looped along Templeton’s neck. “Why do you need to talk to Hank?”

“I want to ride to town with him tonight.” She turned to the group of cowhands as if searching for Hank, and tried not to smile. If Rowdy’s scowl was anything to go by, he wasn’t happy about her plan.

“What for?”

She shrugged. “It’s Saturday night. I don’t feel like sitting home alone.”

“Cottonwood gets a little rough on Saturday night. I don’t think your father would approve of you going there.”

She met his gaze, smiling openly now. “My father is most likely boarding a ship in the New York harbor right now.”

“That doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t approve.”

“My father hasn’t stopped me from going to town for years. I highly doubt he’d start now.” This was the first time she and Rowdy had spoken all week, and the exchange, though not overly friendly or romantic, had her senses reeling.

His lips drew into a tight line. “What, Miss Clayton, do you plan on doing in town?”

Those silver eyes of his were no longer on the men, but roaming her torso. Her nipples hardened and tiny jabs of sweet pain shot across her breasts. She sucked in a breath and squeezed the saddle horn with her fingers. “Oh, I don’t know. I have several friends I could visit.”

The mustang shifted, and Rowdy’s knee brushed against hers. “Why don’t you invite your friends out to the ranch?”

She let out a nervous laugh, more from the shock of their bodies touching than his words. “It’s a little late to send out invitations.”

He still held Templeton’s reins, which kept their knees pressed together. “Who would you invite?”

Angel hadn’t thought that far in advance. A frown tugged at her brows. She’d assumed he would offer to take her to town, or refuse to let her go. “Oh, uh, probably Tanna Brown and Carla Snipe.”

“Go write out the invitations. I’ll take them to town for you.”

“Row— Mr. McGuire,” she started, “It’s—”

“I’ll ride back to the ranch with you,” he interrupted, steering the mustang aside so Templeton could turn about.

“Wh-what about the branding?”

They were riding up the hill, so he had to let go of Templeton, but he didn’t answer. Angel kneed the horse and they reached the summit at the same time. “What about the branding?” she repeated.

“The men will finish.”

They galloped for a short distance before she pulled Templeton to a slower gait. Rowdy copied her actions, and when they were riding calmly, side by side, she attempted to coax him into conversation, as Liza had suggested. “Do you like it here, Rowdy?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Angel searched for another topic. “Did your travels ever take you to England?”

“Nope.” He looked at her quizzically. “You wishing you’d gone with your folks?”

She shook her head. “I’m not much for traveling. I’ve gone out East a few times, but can’t say I liked it much. I’d rather be home. Have you been East?”

“Yep.”

“Been to New York?”

“Yep.”

“Plan on going back?”

“Nope.”

The laugh they shared tickled her insides. He seemed to relax a bit, and then a casual conversation flowed between them. They talked like they used to, of things they both wondered about, as well as those they knew the answers to. As they started down the hill toward the ranch house, she asked, “Why haven’t you married?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’ve never met a woman bossy enough to suit me.”

She glanced sideways. The cocky grin she loved was there, and he winked. Her heart flipped and flopped. He’d called her bossy more times than not.

She’d longed for his teasing the past few weeks. “I’ve missed you lately, Rowdy.”

He brought his horse to a stop in the middle of the ranch yard. When she reined in, he moved forward until their horses stood side by side. “Missed me?”

She nodded.

“I’ve been right here.”

She shrugged. It was an attempt to look indifferent, whereas in reality her heart was threatening to rip open. “Sometimes I think you don’t like being around me.”

He gazed straight ahead, as if he couldn’t face her. “I like being around you.”

The words were flat and sounded forced. That hurt. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes and steered Templeton into the barn. Once there, she dropped the reins, preparing to dismount. The hands that grasped her waist were gentle, yet firm, and sent tiny flares zinging through her body like shooting stars in a midnight sky.

Rowdy lifted her from the saddle and lowered her to the floor. “I like being with you, Angel,” he whispered from behind her.

It took a moment before she understood what he meant. Heart in her throat, she twisted around.

The shimmering silver eyes staring down at her made her insides melt. His fingertip, slightly rough, brushed her cheek. “Way too much.”

She opened her mouth, attempting to speak, but no words formed. Her lips trembled and she licked them before biting the bottom one, staring at him the entire time.

His hold on her waist grew firmer, tighter, and she shifted her hips, wanting to feel his touch through the layers of her skirts. Instinct had her stretching upward. She paused when her lips were half an inch from his. “I like being with you, too, Rowdy.”

He growled and closed his eyes. The muscles in his neck tensed. She ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, to gently cup his jawline. “Show me, Rowdy. Show me how much you like me.”

The ferocity of his mouth connecting with hers should have surprised her, but it didn’t. Searing, his lips sent a flame of desire all the way to her toes. First her hat, then his fell to the floor. Lacing her arms around his neck, she pulled herself against him and, stretching up on her toes, kissed him back with all the intensity that had built up inside her during the past months.

He stepped backward, taking her with him until he bumped into the barn wall, and then his tongue slipped between her lips and tangled with hers. It was divine, and sent heat racing through her veins. As one, they spun around until her back was up against the wall. Her hands raced over him, caressing his cheeks, cupping his neck, combing into his hair before moving on to explore other regions—the bulk of his shoulders, the curve of his back and sides.

His were just as frantic, going from her hair to her waist and back again, leaving every spot wanting more. Sensations assaulted her. Nothing had ever tasted so good, felt so right. He was indeed perfect—and kissing him was better than she’d dreamed it would be.

They spun again, and she pressed him against the wall with her entire body. His lips raked across her cheek, down her neck and then back to her mouth. She groaned, burrowing her breasts into his hard chest.

Abruptly, he jerked his mouth away from hers. With a gentle hand, he pushed her aside. “Go write your invitations, Angel. Go write them now.”

She had no choice but to continue moving, or land face-first on the barn floor. Stumbling toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder.

Rowdy’s back was to her. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, as if trying to catch his breath.

She hit the ranch house steps running, and didn’t stop until she flung herself on the divan. Angel sat there, huffing, puffing and grinning.

Her heart danced in her chest. Whether Rowdy was ready to admit it or not, they were destined to be together forever—something she’d known for months.