The Cowboy Claims His Lady (7 page)

“Comfortable?” he asked, his mouth against her hair.

“I'm fine,” she answered quickly—perhaps a bit too quickly.

He laughed, and her paranoia increased.

“We'll be back down the mountain soon. If you want another horse tomorrow, I'll get you one.”

She looked back at Girlie. “I don't want another one. I like her.”

“You might have to ride with me again.”

Shrugging to free herself of unwanted sensations, she said, “I can handle her next time.”

“I admit you're both pretty well matched. I ought to get Hazel to buy her for you.”

“Buy her? And where would I keep her? In the French Quarter?” she quipped.

“You can keep her here.”

His words made no sense at all. “Cowboy wisdom,” she dismissed, rolling her eyes.

He laughed again, all the way down the mountain.

 

The rain came down in twisted sheets. The thunder and lightning show was magnificent against the black background of jagged mountains. Sitting on the porch rocker in front of her bunkhouse, Lyndie watched it all.

She had been unable to sleep, even though she was dog-tired. Her mind kept returning to Bruce, the way he had felt against her, the way he had looked at her at dinner.

Everyone ate in the lodge, family-style, on long ranch tables. He had yet to bless her with his company, but all through the meal, she swore he was staring at her from the other end of the table.

She wanted to know what he was thinking, which was probably her first error. Getting involved with anyone right now would be the worst thing for her, let alone getting entangled with a Montana dude ranch guide who hadn't had a woman in forever.

Sure, he could banter with her, match wits with her. And there was a certain animal attraction about him. He was all male. Sun and sweat and dust suited him.

But she had to quit thinking about him. There was no point in having an affair with a cowboy when she was going to ride into the New Orleans sunset.

Besides, getting involved again was the last thing she needed. Healing would come only when she could shrug off the pain of what Mitch did to her. Bruce Everett wasn't the medicine man to do that. She would need a real relationship; she would need love and commitment.

A brief physical affair would only leave her longing. And she had felt enough longing to last a lifetime.

Her mind entrenched in darkness, she almost didn't notice the crackle of the power lines. Suddenly the entire ranch compound went black. Lightning had probably taken out a transformer.

It was late. All in the other rooms of the bunkhouse were sound asleep. No one would notice the power outage.

But then she saw a lantern light from behind the stable. Someone was up, checking on the horses.

She rose from the rocker and pulled on her slicker. A walk to the stable would clear her head. She could check on Girlie, too. No doubt the poor animal was still frightened.

The stable door opened and closed as she approached. In the driving rain, she couldn't tell who was there. Secretly she hoped it was Justin. He was just so much easier to deal with.

Slipping inside the stable, she shut the battened door behind her and looked to the circle of yellow lantern light.

The silhouette of a man straightened. He was tall and muscular, a low-slung cowboy hat on his head.

“Couldn't sleep?” Bruce asked.

She shook her head and came forward. “I figured I'd check on Girlie. I was worried about her in the storm.”

He raised the lantern and studied her in the flickering light. “Good thinking. Maybe you can hold the lantern while I get her hind leg out between the boards she kicked open.”

“She's hurt?” Lyndie's heart quickened.

“If I can get her free, she might just be a little sore. But I'd sure hate to find out she's broken her hock, struggling against all those boards.”

“No,” she gasped, her hand over her mouth.

“You wanna help?” He held out the lantern.

“Anything. Anything at all,” she offered, taking the lantern and going with him to Girlie's stall.

The palomino was in the corner of her stall, her right hind leg vised between the corner boards. With every new flicker of lightning, the animal would wrench her leg and violently toss her head.

“Talk to her. See if you can calm her, and I'll take care of the leg,” he ordered.

She nodded, whispering softly to the frightened mare and stroking her sweat-covered neck.

“That's a girl,” he murmured, and she wondered if he was talking to her or Girlie.

“Easy. Easy…” He took the animal's rear leg in a grip like a blacksmith getting ready to shoe her. Then, feeling for the rest of the appendage, he reached into the dark hole where she'd kicked off the board.

“She may jump when I do this. I'm warning you,” he growled.

Lyndie said nothing. He needed light, and she was determined to stand and hold the lantern.

“Take one hand on her halter. That way you may distract her.”

She did as she was told. Girlie seemed to calm the minute Lyndie resumed her soothing words.

Bruce took a crowbar and broke the board that wedged her leg into the wall.

The loud crack even startled Lyndie. Girlie
lurched forward. Just as she did, Bruce pulled her leg free.

“She's not standing on it, but there's no blood that I can see,” Lyndie offered, desperate for the pretty mare to be all right.

Bruce took a long time massaging and stroking the mare's leg.

Lyndie watched, mesmerized at the contrast of strength and gentleness. His large hands could probably be capable of inflicting pain, and yet Girlie reacted to his touch as if she were a cat having her favorite owner scratch her.

Briefly, she recalled how his hands had felt on her at the mill. His touch commanded and seduced.

The man was dangerous…

Snapping out of her thoughts, she stepped back so he could lead Girlie by the halter out of her stall.

“She's fine!” she cried out when she saw the animal put weight on her rear leg.

“She'll probably be a little sore tomorrow. You can take another animal if we go out trail riding, but from what the weather service reports, I don't think anyone's going anywhere.” He rubbed Girlie's nose with his knuckles.

“You're bleeding,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

He looked down at his hand and the red smudge on Girlie's nose. “It's nothing. Just a few nicks from the board.”

“Do you have a first-aid kit here? I could wrap it for you.”

He chuckled. “The Panty Princess is a nurse, too? My, what talents you have, Miss Clay.”

“Hey, I only offered to—”

He took her by the waist and pulled her to him. For a moment, he stared down at her, studying her every feature, seemingly trying to read her emotions from her face.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid? I'm not afraid,” she said.

“Yep. You're afraid, all right. You play all these little games with me and Hazel because it lets you avoid the real issue.”

“Which is?” Her face flushed with newborn anger.

“That you're unwilling to take a chance. To have fun. You're afraid of liking it.”

“I have lots of fun in New Orleans, believe me. It's 24/7 fun, fun, fun down there,” she rattled on.

His undamaged knuckles ran down the smooth curve of her cheek. His every stroke was like a tongue of fire, licking lower and lower.

“Let loose, princess. I dare you,” he whispered, just as his lips came down on hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut and devoured his kiss like a starving woman. It wasn't true what he'd said, but somehow she couldn't get the words out of her
mind. Taking chances was too risky with a broken heart. She had nothing left to fracture.

But nonetheless, she opened her mouth for his searching tongue.

The kiss got hotter, and hotter still. His hand moved up from her waist. With a jolt of carnal electricity, she felt him cup her breast. He massaged her nipple through the fabric of her bra and shirt. It responded like all things feminine responded to him: wanting more.

“Have you ever made love to a man by lantern light? With all heaven and earth letting loose above?” he whispered, his voice melding with the drum of rain on the roof.

Girlie nickered, then stole a mouthful of hay from another horse's hay ball.

“Of course I've never done that. Adults don't do such things,” she protested thickly, her words sounding drunk from his kiss.

“So tell me, what do adults do?” he taunted gently, his hand on her waist tightening, pulling her ever closer.

“They go to dinner. They have sex in a real bed with nice clean sheets and a nearby shower.”

“Not talking about sex, girl. I'm talking about making love.”

She stopped short. They were talking of two different things.

After Mitch, she could only imagine having sex
again, never making love. The latter required too much courage.

Bruce kissed her again, deeply. His lips went to her throat, and then to the part of her raincoat. He slipped in his hand. Then he lowered her to the corner where a mound of fresh straw was piled.

“I can't do this,” she gasped, her words barely audible over the thundering of her heart.

“Why? Because you might feel something?” he demanded, lowering on top of her, his weight intimidating. “Because there's no hell on earth like living and not feeling?”

He stroked her face, then fingered her cleavage through the buttoned part of her shirt.

He was right, of course. She'd been living for months, numb and half-dead, her vitality killed by betrayal.

She moaned a surrender while he unbuttoned her shirt.

He took her nipple in his mouth through the fabric of her pink bra, wetting it. The sensation rolled through her like a drug.

Then, like a bath of cold water, the lights flashed on.

She lay on the hay looking up at him, mortified that she was barely in her bra, displayed beneath the harsh glare of a dozen fluorescent lights.

He glanced up at the lights, cursed under his breath, then rolled off her.

Adjusting himself, he helped her to her feet and picked the straw from her hair.

“Well, I call the winner of this round, I guess—” he said ruefully, as she fumbled with the buttons on her shirt.

“Winner? Of what?” she asked, not following him.

“The seduction game.”

She looked up at him. His gaze taunted and dared.

“The game's not over,” she whispered, before grabbing her raincoat and running to the safety of the bunkhouse.

S
he hated him. The humiliation of Bruce's parting words was enough for Lyndie to decide that she really and truly hated him.

To make matters worse, she was trapped with him in the lodge during a day of continuous downpour.

While the others played cribbage and drank tea by the big fieldstone hearth, Lyndie sat off to one corner, playing solitaire on her laptop.

She really should pack it in, she told herself. Toying with a cowboy was a waste of time and energy. A road to nowhere—or worse.

And she didn't need the emotional torrents, either. There seemed no middle ground where Bruce was
concerned. She either surrendered gladly, or fought with all her might. He seemed to inspire passion in her that knew no blandness, only fire and consummation.

But it wasn't love.

Love was comfort and security, not this terrible raw emotion that lay naked within her, as naked as she had felt when those fluorescent lights came on.

“Whatcha doing?” Susan asked, peering over the screen of Lyndie's laptop.

Embarrassed, Lyndie logged off and put the computer aside. “Nothing. Just work. Trying to catch up.” As if she could do that, with all the turmoil within her.

Susan smiled. She was a tiny woman with straight mousy-brown hair and a preference for black clothing; very L.A. “I guess it's hard to keep up with work when you're busy chasing cowboys.”

Lyndie stopped short. “Why would I be doing that?”

“You and Bruce Everett are the talk of the ranch.” Susan gave her another gamine grin. “I have to admit, I'm wicked jealous.”

“Well, surely— I mean, I don't— I mean, you don't have to be,” Lyndie stammered. “Jealous, that is. There's nothing between Bruce and me. I only had to ride with him because my horse Girlie is afraid of lightning.”

“My horse is as steady as this rain coming
down.” Susan sighed. “You know, I've got a fab fiancé back in L.A. But I take one look at Bruce Everett, and I'm rethinking the whole thing.”

“That would be a mistake. He's certainly handsome, I admit—”

“Handsome?” Susan exclaimed. “He's a Greek god in chaps.”

For some strange reason, Lyndie nearly choked on her words. “Hey, if you're interested in him, then, go for it. I don't have any special hold on him.”

“Really?” This time it was Susan's turn to seem dumbfounded.

“Really,” Lyndie answered succinctly.

After all, what did she care what a woman from L.A. did with the big bad cowboy, she told herself, hoping the rationale would chase away the conflicted feeling inside her.

The feeling that, if she didn't know better, smacked of jealousy.

Lyndie looked up. Bruce had just entered the lodge. She gave him a dismissive glance, then added, “He's all yours.” She rose from her seat and made to go.

Susan stared at her. “Gee, thanks,” she said.

“No problem.” Lyndie left without looking back.

 

The next morning dawned clear and cold. Lyndie was up early and went to see Girlie in the paddock.

As Bruce had predicted, the mare was sore—lame, to be exact—but there seemed no permanent damage.

“You want to take Heartthrob today?” Justin asked her as he dumped sweet feed into the horses' buckets.

Lyndie shrugged. “I was thinking I might take the day off with Girlie. I want to see Hazel and let her know I'll be leaving the ranch earlier than I thought.”

“You will?” Justin seemed way too interested.

She shrugged. “Do you think I could get an evening ride with Girlie if she's up to it? I'd love to have one more trail with her.”

“If she's sound by then, I don't know why not. It's up to Bruce, though. He says who comes and goes in this place.”

“Well, he certainly doesn't have that authority over the guests.” She smiled, trying to give herself a confidence she didn't quite feel.

“Yes, ma'am.” Justin tipped his hat.

She gave Girlie one more rub on the nose and headed for her cabin.

Justin watched her go, then headed for the tack room phone.

 

“Hazel? This's Justin over at the dude ranch.”

He listened, then got on with his business. “I got
some pretty interesting news for you. She's leaving early.”

He listened again, flinching at the curses coming from the earpiece.

“Yep. She'll be in her cabin all day.” He nodded. Then nodded again.

Then he hung up.

 

The morning's trail ride hadn't even begun before Lyndie heard a commanding knock on her bunkroom door. Convinced it was Bruce trying to get her on a horse, she threw open the door, the admonishment ready on her lips.

But it wasn't Bruce. It was Hazel. The woman's expression was concerned and exasperated at the same time.

“What brings you out here, Hazel?” Lyndie motioned for her to enter her room.

“Heard tell you're leaving again, and I don't mind letting you know that you're making me feel like I'm chasing my tail here.”

Lyndie rubbed her eyes, which she knew were puffy and red from lack of sleep. “It's no good, Hazel. I've tried relaxing—”

A thought just occurred to her. “Hey,” Lyndie exclaimed. “How'd you know I wanted to leave early? Are you bugging the place? Or is everyone here your spy?”

“Now, smooth those feathers. You've been tell
ing everyone here you'll be leavin' early, haven't you?” Hazel took a seat in the rocker, making herself at home.

Lyndie conceded. “I suppose.”

Hazel looked inexplicably relieved. “And what about our wager?” The cattle baroness tossed a glance behind her at the open door.

Beyond, Bruce and Susan were laughing over some shared joke before getting ready to ride with the rest of the trail group.

“Just some friendly old lady advice, my dear—I don't think you're trying hard enough to win the bet.”

“Maybe Susan and Bruce are better suited. Besides, I tried to seduce him and it just didn't work. I'm better off spending what little energy I have working for Milady.”

“Why do you fight it so hard?”

Hazel's words disarmed Lyndie. Without even being aware of them, tears slipped out of Lyndie's eyes and fell down her cheek.

Resignedly she sat on the edge of the bed. “I don't know, Hazel. When you've seen your world explode, you just can't relax anymore…”

“Nonsense. Your world's just peeking over the horizon. You just need a good man, a good snowstorm and a good bottle of wine. Believe me, you'll see worlds a-plenty that way.”

Lyndie laughed through her tears. “If your match-
making skills are that clichéd, Hazel, I'm surprised you crow about them so much.”

“I've had more than one couple unite in wedded bliss with just the man and the snowstorm.” Hazel harumphed. She stood, and the rocker creaked back and forth, leaving Lyndie's nerves as raw as the floorboards.

“Only God can produce a snowstorm, love,” Hazel began.

“And you're not God, Hazel,” Lyndie finished.

Hazel smiled, the light back in her eyes. “Yes, but I'm the next best thing, and don't you forget it.”

Lyndie laughed again. It was good to release the tension.

“You've got a lot of life in you, Lyndie. And first I'm going to get you to relax, or I'll be a heifer in a whiteout.”

“A what?” Lyndie widened her eyes.

“That's for ranchers to know.” Hazel winked. “Now, looky here, I'll promise you no shenanigans, but then I'll have to have your promise to stay. Is that final?”

“I'll hang on for one week, then I must begin to get you your money back.” Lyndie held her breath.

“One week. But here it's all play and
no work,
got it?”

“Got it. In fact, I think I did pretty well at the stomp Saturday night, don't you?”

Hazel chuckled. “You were all McCallum then,
dear. A few more days of that kind of behavior and if you aren't willing to stay after that, then nothing I do can help.”

Taking the older woman's hand, Lyndie squeezed it. “Hazel, when did you become so reasonable?”

Hazel scowled. “When I got thwarted by my own kin, that's when.”

Lyndie laughed until her stomach ached. She was even beginning to feel that the rest of the week might be halfway enjoyable.

That was, if a certain cowboy could be held at arm's length. And if she didn't melt again, and long for his callused palms on her face, on her back, on her…

She mentally shook herself. It was up to her. She had a week of ranch living, and she could make Bruce and herself stay out of each other's company. She would enjoy herself without him, even if it meant spending the next week locked in the bunkhouse playing horseshoes.