The Cowboy Claims His Lady (3 page)

She watched as Bruce whispered something in Hazel's ear.

The cattle baroness laughed.

Then he was gone, like a shadowy sharpshooter who dissipated in the mist.

“Well, I'll be,” Lyndie muttered.

“You'll be what, dear?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

Hazel winked at Lyndie's empty whiskey glass. “Why, you've gone dry!” She was off to the bar before Lyndie could stop her.

It was another hour before she saw Bruce Everett again. Lyndie spied with him a young brunette who was falling all over him on the dance floor.

“Don't you think he's robbing the cradle a bit there?” she muttered over her glass.

“Who?”

Lyndie went to point out Bruce, but the waltz had stopped and the band picked up a lively two-step.

“Dance?”

She looked up and found Bruce next to her, his dark expression quizzical.

It took a moment for Lyndie to realize what Hazel had done. The cattle baroness had to have known that after watching all the couples dancing for an hour, and downing a couple of stiff ones, Lyndie would be tipsy and, at last, ever so grateful to be asked to dance.

“Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're
not
out to get you,” she joked to herself before taking Bruce's strong arm.

Out on the dance floor she had some difficulty following him. Then suddenly she burst out, “I get it! A two-step is really three steps!”

He laughed. His teeth were very white.

The vision sent an unwanted thrill down her back.

“Give the little lady a hand,” he smirked, pulling her back into sync with him.

“This is fun, actually,” she confessed.

“'Course it is. Why else would we do it, then?”

She looked up at him, capturing his gaze through the shadow of his low-slung hat.

“I'd better watch out,” she teased. “A girl could get used to having fun and not working so hard.”

“Why do you need to work so hard? I thought you were the boss.”

“That's exactly why I have to work so hard. I'm expanding and I can't find a silent partner, so I'm having the worst time financing—”

She giggled and put her hand to her mouth. “I'm sorry. I don't want to bore you.”

“You're not boring me,” he said, his gaze never leaving her.

She laughed out loud. “But it's technical. You won't understand.”

“I may not be an MBA from one of those fancy East Coast schools, but I understand a good—”

She put her hand to his mouth. His lips were taut with suppressed anger, and she wondered what it would be like to try to kiss the anger away.

“Look, I don't want to ruffle your feathers. I'm here on a vacation. To have fun. So let's have fun.”

He pulled her around the dance floor one more time before he spoke.

“You wanna have fun?” He seemed like he'd pondered something for a while and finally had made up his mind.

“Sure,” she said lightly.

“Have you seen the old gristmill?”

“I don't think I've ever seen an old gristmill—let alone the one here in Mystery.”

“Then, let's go.” He stopped dancing and took her hand.

The whiskey must have really hit her hard because she heard herself saying, “What do you do at the mill?” instead of, “My God, I'm not going anywhere with you
alone!
”

“Skinny-dip,” he answered.

She took this bit of news more calmly than she
would have expected. “But you don't understand. I can't—” she began.

He stopped her. “Sure you can. Just take off your clothes and jump in. It's easy.”

“Take off my clothes?” she repeated numbly. “I really don't think I can take off my—”

“Hey, you're the underwear queen. I thought showing off the merchandise would be second nature.” he countered.

“Just 'cause I sell lingerie doesn't mean I can go around—”

“Sure it does,” he said soothingly, putting a vise-like grip on her arm as he led her away.

“No really,” she countered, but still let him lead her.

“I'll make you a deal then. I'll let you keep on everything you sell in your shop.”

“It'll just bore you. I only wear what's beige and functional. I save the froufrou for the customers.”

He seemed to hold back a grin. “I'm a cowboy, ma'am. Plain and simple's just fine with me. In fact, you'd like to get plain right down to your birthday suit—”

“I couldn't. I just couldn't,” she added.

He grinned in full. “Then, bore me with the beige and functional. And hey, think of it as advertising. Do it for the business. It's good customer relations to show off the merchandise.”

She didn't really have an answer for that one.

His arm went around her waist and soon they were out the door.

“Shouldn't I have told Hazel where I'll be?” she asked before getting into an old faded-red pickup.

“You never lived in a small town, did you?” he asked, sliding behind the steering wheel.

“Nope,” she answered with more vigor than was necessary.

“Believe me, everybody, including Hazel, knows we're going to the mill.”

“Now, how can that be?” she murmured stumped. “Does everybody here have cell phones I can't see?”

“Don't need 'em. We've got Hazel McCallum—and everyone reports to Hazel the goings on 'round here. That's twice true if it concerns one of her own.”

He smiled that carnivore's smile and said, “So are you ready?”

She looked at him in the dark. Suddenly she wanted to get out and run.

“I guess,” she whispered, all the while wondering what madness had gotten hold of her.

 

“I'm only doing this because Hazel trusts you. Otherwise, let me tell you, I never go off with strangers.” Lyndie rambled on while the pickup negotiated the unpaved mountain road.

“I'm no stranger,” Bruce said. “Ask Hazel.”

“She says you used to be a tomcat. And even this city girl can figure out what that means.”

“Haven't been tomcatting in a while,” he almost whispered.

“She told me that, too.”

A silence permeated the truck's cab. It was so deep and oppressive, Lyndie was glad when the silhouette of the mill appeared over the hill.

“Here we are.”

He pulled next to the fieldstone building. A small river emptied alongside the building and drove the wheel. Beneath it all was a large inviting pool of river water that shimmered in the opalescent moonlight.

She opened her door and got out.

The creaking wheel and the splash of water suddenly set her nerves on edge. As did the tall dark man next to her.

“So, what do you do here?” she asked in a tough voice.

“Swim. I'll show you.”

He tugged his shirt out of his jeans and peeled it over his head.

In the moonlight, she could see the ripple of muscle on his chest. There was also a light sprinkling of dark hair that narrowed where his abdominal muscles tightened into a grid. It formed a trail that disappeared into the waist of his jeans.

When he reached for the button on his jeans, she held up her hand.

“If I'm giving a lingerie show, then, so are you. Keep 'em on,” she instructed, gesturing to his white boxers that showed through his fly.

“You sure you've never done this before?” He grinned.

She nodded. “I'm sure.”

Tossing off his hat and scuffing out of his boots, he finally stood in his boxers, arms crossed as if impatiently waiting for her to follow suit.

A lump of anxiety caught in her throat, but the whiskey told her she wasn't out of her mind—that it was perfectly acceptable to go swimming with a man she'd only met that afternoon.

“Hell, it's the country, isn't it? What's wrong with getting back to nature when I'm on vacation?” she muttered, pulling off her hat.

“That's the spirit,” he coaxed.

“But I'm keeping my T-shirt on,” she told him.

He seemed only too compliant. “Sure. Go right ahead.”

She looked down at herself.

The sheer white T-shirt would be worse—or better, depending on the perspective—than being naked. Still, her sense of modesty wouldn't allow her to fling it off.

“You know, I think you're setting me up,” she added warily.

“For what?” he whispered in her ear before he took her hand and pulled her on top of him into the swimming hole.

“You j-j-jerk!” she stammered, gasping at the frigid chill of Rocky Mountain melt water.

“Best to keep moving” was all he offered.

Enraged, she tried to dunk his head.

Laughing, he even let her a few times, as if it would be good for her to get her anger out.

“Bet you can't do this.” He swam over to the wheel and held on to it for a few feet. Then he dove into the pool as if from a diving board.

“Oh, yeah?” she taunted, answering the challenge. She was shivering and acting like a child, but she had to admit, she couldn't remember ever feeling so free.

She held on to the churning wheel. After a couple of seconds, she pushed herself off and plunged into the dark, frigid pool.

When she came up for air, she screeched with laughter. “My God, it's c-c-cold!”

He went to her. Unbidden, his arms encircled her waist. His torso was like a branding iron against her, but she couldn't deny herself the welcome warmth.

“Is this how you've gotten all your girls? Through hypothermia?” she jabbed.

“Nope,” he answered, looking down at her while they treaded water. “Whiskey always worked just fine. But I figured you'd be a tough pony to tame.”

“Ha!” She pushed his head into the water and swam away.

To prove her point, she held on to the wheel, this time longer, then cannonballed him.

“You know,” she said blithely, swimming on her back, “this is fun. I'm actually getting used to the temperature of the water.”

“Unfortunately, once you get out, you freeze all over again.” His gaze followed her.

“Can't wait.” She splashed him, he nearly splashed back.

She laughed and was almost grateful when he took her waist again and warmed her.

“I have a confession,” she sputtered, wiping the water from her eyes. “You wouldn't know it from what I do for a living, but I was a tomboy as a child. I always wanted an older brother, too. To do stuff like this. Now I kinda feel like I have one.”

He pressed her closer. “I hate to tell you this, but I have no intention of being your older brother.”

She looked at him. The moonlight sparkled across the water and upon the droplets that clung to his chest hair. He seemed sexier by the minute, and yet, no warning bells went off in her head.

She feared it might still be the whiskey.

“No, really,” she insisted. “That was a compliment. I always wanted some guy friends to pal around with. I thought after five years of marriage that I'd get some companionship from my husband,
but, boy, was I wrong!” She smiled and gave him a little splash. “This has been just what the doctor ordered.”

“Good,” he answered in a husky tone, just staring at her.

“What?” she asked, her words lazy and maybe even more inviting than she had intended.

“How'd you meet him?”

“Who?” she asked, suddenly blank.

“Your husband.”

She almost laughed. “At a book reading. Can you imagine anything more dull? That should have been the first warning, huh?” She treaded water. “Then, after that, he decided to write the Great American Novel, and like the infatuated fool, I did everything I could to support him. Even when he took all the money I had to give with my little business, I still believed he deserved more. I always thought he needed to travel more, to prop up his surroundings so he could write. I had to be the perfect helpmate, and that meant to give and give and give 'till I and everything else was spent. But I wasn't going to end up alone and poor like my mom.” She released a wry smile. “So since I'm alone now, I work 24/7, so I won't be poor, too.”

A long pause reigned when the only sounds were the creak of the wheel and the soft splash of falling water.

To relieve the tension, she flicked some water at
him. “So how d'ya like that for a sisterly confession?”

“Nothing sisterly about it.”

“No?” she asked, raising her damp eyebrows. “You think I'd confess that to a date? I don't think so. That's for brothers only, pal.”

His stare only grew more intense. Even in the dimness of the moonlight, she could see his gaze tracing every shadow of emotion that swept past.

“Can't be my little sister,” he instructed, his voice low, like a seductive growl. “Impossible. Because, first of all, I already have one. Her name's Becky.”

“I'm sure she's lucky—” she stammered, losing her train of thought beneath that dark stare.

“And second, I never wanted to do this to her.”

His arms tightened. He crushed her against his chest. Slowly his hard lips descended upon hers. The heat of his mouth shocked her. The delicious contrast of her cold lips and his warm tongue made her release an involuntary moan.

His kiss deepened and she could taste the whiskey on his breath and smell the male scent of him. Against her will, she found her mouth opening to him, as if she was thirsty for him and all she wanted to do was drink. His broad warm chest coaxed like a blanket in the snow. It was all too much to resist, and she felt herself folding into it as if she could
crawl inside the fortress of it and be safe and warm forever—

His tongue ran down the slick wet skin of her neck giving her chills that had nothing to do with the Montana night air. Instinctively she crushed her breasts against his chest, her nipples, puckered with cold, brushed erotically against the wet fabric of her bra and the hard warmth of his pectorals.