The Cowboy Claims His Lady (8 page)

L
yndie was determined to sow some wild oats. And if Bruce Everett wasn't the man to do it with, she was bound to find one in Montana—cowboy heaven.

Bar-hopping never had been her thing, but she'd convinced Susan and her sister, Kim, to venture forth with her that night to a rowdy little place called Katown.

Taking Girlie for a brief evening ride beforehand, she thought the mare was healing nicely. Justin concurred as he led the short trail ride.

Lyndie had wanted to know where Bruce was, but refrained from asking. She didn't care. Indeed, he was handsome, but her encounters with him were too volatile to handle right now.

A good barfly flirtation was what she needed. Something that didn't count and never would.

“I hear you gals are thinking of going to Katown.” Justin mentioned on the way back to the barn.

“We're thinking of it.” Lyndie patted Girlie on the neck.

“You ever been there?”

Lyndie shook her head. “Why?”

“Pretty rough crowd down there. Beginnin' of the last century, it used to be the red-light district for the mining operations this side of the Divide. Hazel's grandmother nearly burned the Katown bar to the ground trying to rid the place of vermin that might come crawling to Mystery.”

“Sounds perfect,” Lyndie announced.

“Bruce ain't gonna let you go alone. You know that, don't you?” Justin said.

“And what say does he have in the matter?”

“You gals are our guests. The guests are always right, but that don't mean we let 'em hitchhike out of the ranch. Somebody's got to get you there and that would be Bruce.”

“Fine. I don't mind a chauffeur. I never have.”

“He'll do more than drive you around, that's for sure. Even now, he can't barely let you out of his sight.”

Lyndie gave him a strange glance. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Justin shrugged and his expression went purposefully blank. “Nothin'” was all he said, as they arrived at the paddock and gave the stable hand their mounts.

 

The ride to Katown was awkward. Lyndie took the third-row seat in the ranch's huge SUV, and Bruce drove. Justin, Susan and Kim filled in between. Still, the tension between Bruce and Lyndie was palpable.

Kim flirted with Justin. Susan chatted with Bruce in the front seat.

Lyndie wasn't sure, but she swore Bruce stared at her in the rearview mirror. As usual, she couldn't read his hard, inscrutable expression. Whether his thoughts were on her, she'd never know. All she did know was that with every passing day, he was getting more and more under her skin.

Tonight she was determined to exorcise him from her thoughts forever.

“I got to warn you gals.” Justin spoke up. “Katown isn't the nicest of places. Most of the bars have the band behind a chain-link cage. It's been known to be a rough spot—”

“Do they have cowboys there?” Lyndie asked, recklessly.

Justin paused. “Mostly the kind that go there are either guys who work in the mines or they're ranch
hands ready for a long drunk. Not too many cowboys, at least not the way you gals think of 'em.”

“But you're a real cowboy, aren't you?” Kim asked, squeezing his hand.

“I was raised on a cattle ranch. And I was taught to treat ladies like ladies.” Justin snorted. “But that don't mean much to the characters in Katown. They'll all tell you they're cowboys, just to get some.”

Lyndie began to wonder if her wild night out was such a good idea. But before she could mull it over further, they pulled onto a dirt road and entered the little crossroads nestled beneath the Bitterroot range.

Bruce parked the SUV. Justin helped Kim, Susan and Lyndie from the car.

Already they could hear men fighting in the saloon across from them called the Broke Spoke. There were more motorcycles out front than there were pickups.

“Let's not go inside and say we did,” Susan said nervously.

“You all feel free to go back to the ranch,” Lyndie announced. “I can always call a cab to take me home.”

Bruce looked almost angry. “Sure. But if we leave you here alone, you won't be needin' the cab. We may never find you again.”

Lyndie smiled. “Don't be silly. I can take care of myself.”

“I'd like to see you try.”

Lyndie felt as if he'd just thrown down the gaunt-let.

Susan looked nervous and clung to Bruce's arm.

As much as Lyndie denied it, the sight shot a stream of jealousy through her veins.

“Then, brace yourself,” she taunted, then walked toward the entrance of a saloon called the Blue Bronc.

Smoke filled the dark saloon. Along with it came the smell of body odor and spilled beer.

A four-piece Western band played in the far corner. She was relieved to see it wasn't in a cage, but then, the band members looked more hairy and mean than even the clientele.

“What's your pleasure, beautiful?” the bartender asked as she sidled to the bar.

“Uh-h.” Lyndie only knew she didn't want whiskey, that was for sure.

“She wants a whiskey!” a man called out from the end of the bar. He was a large man with a full black beard and a tattoo of the flaming-skull-and-rose kind.

“No, uh, really—” she protested before the whiskey was set before her.

“It's on Joe,” the bartender told her as he pointed to the husky man at the end of the bar.

“Th-thank you.” Lyndie tried to hide her gri
mace, but didn't think she was doing a very good job.

She must have been a more brilliant actress than she'd thought, because Joe came right up to her and put his arm around her.

“My, ain't you a pretty little thing. Where you from, sugar?” He smiled. His teeth were tobacco-stained but at least all there.

“I'm from New Orleans.”

“New Orleans! They do some serious partyin' down there, now, don't they?”

Lyndie released a silent sigh of exasperation. If this was her wild night out to forget about Mitch and Bruce Everett, it was off to an unpromising start.

“Actually, all I do there is work. Work, work, work. All work and no play. Sorry.”

She sipped from the whiskey glass, pacing herself.

He smiled his yellowed smile through the huge beard. “Glad to meetcha, little lady.”

She didn't really care to speak to the lout, but in the mirror behind the bartender, she saw Bruce and the rest of the gang enter the bar. At all costs, she didn't want to let on that she was lost or scared.

Joe stared at her and took a long mouthful of whiskey. “So, what do you do down in New Orleans, little lady?”

She opened her mouth to reply, then thought bet
ter of it. There was no point in fanning Joe's flames with visions of silk panties and bras.

“I'm a schoolteacher. Uh—kindergarten.”

That was pretty safe. She cringed at the lie, but it definitely seemed like the more prudent path.

“I never finished high school myself.” He squeezed her.

She wondered how she was ever going to get his arm off her.

“How interesting.”

“You've met a real-live mountain man—right, Ian?” He winked at the bartender.

“I live off the land, darlin'. I hunt and fish, and I got to tell you, sugar, you look pretty fine to a man who's been up in the mountains for a very long time.”

She was speechless.

“What say you and I get a little closer?”

He swept his big hand down her back.

She swore he patted her rear, but since she wasn't sure, she didn't want to make a federal case of it.

“You mean you don't have women lining up to go live amongst the splendor of the mountains?” She hoped she'd hidden her cynicism.

“I don't want to talk about them. I want to talk about where you're stayin' tonight, darlin'.” He hugged her again.

And this time, there was no mistaking the grip on her rear.

She tried to step away, but he snatched her to him.

Coldly, she said, “Hey look, I don't mind a little friendly chat, but I don't want to be mauled.”

“Who's maulin' ya, huh? Not me, huh? I'm just a good ol' boy in town for a while, wanting a good ol' time.” He bent to kiss her.

Her adrenaline surged.

Trying to push him away, she spat, “Look, you might be a legend in your own mind, but I'm not really impressed. So hands off!”

His eyes chilled with anger.

“You uppity woman. You come in here thinkin' you're too good for us, huh? Well, I'll give you a spin around tonight that'll put you in your place.”

It wasn't quite a scream that came out of her mouth, it was more of a half moan, half grunt as she tried to shove the man away. She was just realizing she couldn't succeed, when someone pulled him off her.

“She said scat.” Bruce, his face filled with unspent rage, nearly lifted Joe off his feet.

“Who are you?” Joe hollered.

“Nobody you need to know, just somebody you need to listen to,” Bruce answered ominously.

Lyndie was ready for Joe's retort.

But not the fist that met with Bruce's eye.

Her instinct was to rush to Bruce's side to see if he was okay.

But she was completely out of her element. Bruce
ignored her cry of sympathy and laid several nasty blows in Joe's gut.

“Stop this!” she exclaimed, but neither of them listened. It was as if they were stags in rut, acting on nothing but testosterone and rage.

“Stop this at once!” she demanded, as Bruce laid into Joe like a madman.

Joe, bloody and aching, began to look afraid of the man he'd riled.

“Please stop!” she screamed, before any other men could join in the fray.

Bruce withheld the final blow and Joe sank against the wall.

“I can't believe this,” she gasped, staring at Bruce.

“Well, believe it,” he said, fury snapping in his cold eyes. “You got what you wanted. We came here. Now we're leaving.”

“I didn't want this! I wanted a night out.” She looked around.

Justin was holding Kim and Susan by the arm as if comforting both of them.

Everyone in the bar was staring at her and Bruce.

“Maybe your boyfriend's right, lady. Maybe you ought to leave,” the bartender nudged.

Bruce grabbed her by the hand. He pulled her out of the bar and toward the SUV.

“Believe me,” she implored, “I never thought
something like this would happen. I mean, I can take care of myself—”

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

She suddenly felt as foolish as she probably looked. “I'm sorry. Maybe I couldn't take care of myself back there. I guess I should admit it and thank you.”

“I don't want your thanks,” he sniped.

“Then, what do you want? An apology? Look, I'm sorry, but I had no idea that would happen, and I certainly didn't plan on getting you a black eye this evening.”

“I don't want your apology.”

She looked at him, defeated. “Then, what do you want? My blood? What else is there?”

“This—”

He grasped her chin and tilted her head up toward him. His lips planted on hers in a deep yearning kiss.

“Whewwweee!”

The voice made them freeze.

Lyndie stepped away from Bruce, only to find Justin, Susan and Kim staring at her.

She flushed with embarrassment—and guilt.

Susan had been quite clear she wanted to go for Bruce, and Lyndie had made it clear she wasn't interested. At best, she now looked like a hypocrite, at worst, like a liar.

“This—this isn't what it looks like,” she stam
mered, trying to inject some sense into the insane night.

“It looked pretty clear to me,” Justin remarked.

“Me, too,” Susan said softly.

“Everyone get in the truck. We're going back to the ranch,” Bruce ordered gruffly, glancing at her as if she'd somehow betrayed him, too.

Resigned to an even more tense ride back to the ranch, Lyndie got in the car, but found her seat taken by Susan. With Kim and Justin in the middle seat, she had no choice but to sit up front with Bruce.

She slid into the truck, confused and chagrinned.

She desperately wanted to talk her way out of the situation, but she couldn't, when all had witnessed what was crystal clear. She and Bruce had been kissing and it hadn't been their first kiss. And even if she could lie to him, she could no longer lie to herself.

She had let him kiss her. She had wanted him to kiss her.

Twisting her lips in a wry grin, she tried to think of something humorous to say that might make the ride back a little more tolerable.

But it was no use. She didn't utter a sound. Nor did Bruce before he sped out of Katown as if a posse were after them.

T
he rain started about midnight. Lyndie knew it because they'd been back at the ranch for almost an hour.

Bruce had unceremoniously left the group at the bunkhouse and gone to park the SUV in the ranch's garage. She didn't see him again, though his light was on in his cabin.

Cold droplets sprayed on her face as she rocked on the porch and studied the thin yellow glow coming from beneath his door. The cabin was over a hundred yards away and looked even farther in the falling mist.

Emotionally, she believed the cabin was in an
other universe, where honesty and bravery ruled, not in her universe where she was wounded and afraid.

She wanted to hate him. Bruce Everett represented everything Mitch had done to her. His swagger and easy seductive manner was very similar to Mitch's, and it frightened her.

Instead of being an adult and telling Bruce she wasn't up to a flirtation with him right now, she wanted to play games, and kiss him. And run away.

Adults didn't behave this way, she admonished herself.

But the hurt little girl in her kept crying.

She needed to apologize to him. He'd protected her when all she'd done was amuse herself at his expense. In fact, that's all she'd done since she'd arrived at Mystery.

In the distance, a flood of yellow light illuminated the rain.

Lyndie looked up and found Bruce's silhouette standing in the open door to his cabin.

Her knee-jerk reaction was to stand, as if readying for…

A thrill wove down her back as she watched him walk toward her in the dark and the rain. The icy sting of the rain pelted her face, but she hardly noticed. All she saw was him, walking to her. All she heard was the primal drum of rain on boards.

She watched as he came ever nearer, his shad
owed form growing larger and more ominous with every step.

Finally, when he was close enough to see her, he stood in his tracks, rain-sodden and tense, staring, as if she were prey.

“I
am
sorry.” She half swallowed her words. Her throat was choked with some unnamed emotion.

“I didn't come for an apology.” His words were harsh.

He came no nearer. He had to wipe the rain from his face.

“Then, why did you come?” she asked in a hushed voice. But her question was rhetorical. She knew.

“From the day I laid eyes on you, something came alive inside me. Something I thought was dead. That night at the mill, I knew I wanted you. I haven't thought about much else since.”

She took in what he was saying like a beggar, and she hated herself for it. Her reaction to him proved she was susceptible game. There was no longer any need to protect herself, because he'd won. He'd made her recognize her need. She was still alive inside, too. She was still a woman. His last conquest would be to make her need him and him alone.

Numb and yet strangely giddy, she drew back and opened her bunkhouse door.

The light inside spilled onto the porch, onto him.

He stared at her in the rain, his jeans soaked, his
T-shirt clinging like transparent film. He was tall and muscular, harsh, and yet gentle.

Her attraction to him was uncontainable. And she no longer wanted to try to contain it.

Slowly she walked in through the bunkhouse door, leaving it open.

He followed her. The last of the outside world was shut away when she heard him close the door, then lean against it, as if barricading them in with his back.

 

Minutes seemed to pass as Lyndie stared at the wet man in front of her.

Bruce had to be cold, she thought, but he didn't shiver. He just studied her back, until suddenly he reached for her, and she let him, unmindful of the wetness, blank to any sensation that was not the pure, warm, dark essence of male.

He kissed her.

His mouth took, his tongue probed.

Her lips thrummed with desire for his taste, his demands.

She felt drugged as he broke from her to slip out of his T-shirt. Now she could see what she could not at the mill.

His chest was smoothly rippled, finely sprinkled with black hair. Steel beneath velvet.

She couldn't stop her hand from resting there, to see if he felt as erotic as he looked.

She was not disappointed.

The warmth on her hand spread to her belly and then to her thighs. Her emptiness became unbearable. She wanted him, on top of her, covering her, inside her. She wanted him all night and maybe the next and the next one after that. Her hunger was insatiable.

His hand went to her nape and pulled her to him.

Without speaking, he kissed her again, this time unbuttoning his soaked jeans and forcing her hands to the waistband so she could help pull them off.

She moaned when he unzipped her fleece jacket. She was still in the silk camisole and tap pants that she slept in. To go out to the porch, all she'd done was slip into her jacket and pull on a pair of jeans.

He seemed pleased by the easy access. He made quick work of the jacket, then slipped his hand beneath the shimmering pale pink silk.

Her resistance crumbled.

Perhaps it was partly the callused palm on her breast, or the surprising warmth of his mouth on her nipple.

But in the end, it was his scent. While Mitch had smelled of expensive cologne and starch, Bruce smelled of rain and the darker scent of aroused male.

There was only one way to purge both their systems of this strange attraction.

They were so different, she thought, and yet as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him,
nothing seemed more natural, more comfortable. His hands gave her assurance and warmth, even when the last of her clothing was gone. His words kept her mind on the moment and her need, blessedly away from everything rational and prudent.

Finally with a last soul-searching kiss, he lowered his body to hers.

He was naked, hard and hot, and she wanted him like an alcoholic wants a drink. Her thirst became insatiable, even destructive, but she didn't care.

He parted her thighs with his hand and thrust himself inside her. His breath quickened; she moaned. The fullness was ecstasy. She didn't ever want him to leave.

She reached up to his chest and felt the hammer of his heartbeat begin to meld into the rhythm of his lovemaking. His tense, muscular legs rocked against her womanly soft thighs. Then he grew more fierce and demanding, and her body went with him, finally building into a long, racking release.

The fall was exquisite.

She took her orgasm and held it inside until tears filled her closed eyes. The feeling was life-affirming, yet terrifying; satiating, yet agonizing—taunting her that there might be no more.

He stared down at her. She clutched him to her though his back was slick with sweat.

Finally, when he could take no more, he devoured her mouth in a searing kiss and spilled himself in
side her. His release racked his torso with pleasure, his muscles steeled with barely contained strength.

The silence afterward should have horrified her. Instead, it was like a blanket of peace that lulled her into sleep.

Her last thought as she snuggled within his arms was that she could get used to sleeping this way, protected in his strong embrace, serenaded by the rain falling on the shake roof.

 

Waking the next morning was the hardest thing Lyndie ever had to do. Sunlight spilled through the bandana curtains of her bunkroom, her bedside lamp was still on. Next to her, the sheets were cold and empty.

It seemed the dream, like a fire, had turned to ashes.

She took a deep cleansing breath and tried to summon her courage.

She didn't know how to go about the day. She was not the kind to act on an impulse, but last night had been just that. She was lonely and Bruce had offered comfort. She'd thrown good sense to the wind and had taken everything he'd offered.

Now she had to deal with it, no matter how painful, no matter how awkward and humiliating.

As she saw it, she had two options: she could pretend last night never happened and go breezily about her way at the ranch, or she could admit to
the intimacy they'd shared last night and hope he reciprocated the goodwill.

She moaned and wished she were anywhere but there. New Orleans suddenly seemed so safe and secure. Even Mitch didn't seem to matter as much as he had before. Now all she could think about was Bruce Everett. And what to do about him. And how to save herself.

Outside she heard Justin ring the bell to saddle up. She'd missed breakfast, but that wasn't much of a sacrifice these days. She hadn't much appetite, anyway.

Forcing herself out of the bed, she slipped on a bra and panties, grateful there wasn't time for a shower. The scent on her body was too delicious to wash away.

She threw on her riding jeans and a white oxford shirt and walked out her door, bracing herself for whatever came her way.

“There she is. Girlie's all tacked up and waitin' for you.” Justin greeted her with a smile.

Looking around for Bruce, she didn't find him among the mounted riders. Susan gave her a rather baleful stare, but Kim seemed all too pleased to be riding in front, right behind Justin.

“Where's our fearless leader?” Roger thankfully exclaimed as they headed out of the paddock.

“He's off on his own this morning. Headed out
before dawn. He'll catch up to us. Always does,” Justin called out.

Lyndie was thankful she hadn't had to ask, but she was still tortured by questions. She wondered why Bruce had gone off on his own and where, but when they reached the fork in the trail, she looked up the forbidden path and saw fresh hoofprints in the mud.

It answered a lot of questions.

Suddenly chilled, she wrapped herself in her fleece jacket and tried to concentrate on what Justin was lecturing ahead about soapberries and the grizzlies that loved to eat them.

It was no use.

Her mind was filled with the vision of Bruce and Beastie Boy standing on the cliff that had taken Katherine.

She suddenly feared last night had been a mistake. She had had no business getting herself involved with a man who was still mourning. There was little future for her with him, anyway. He was a dyed-in-the-wool good ol' boy from Montana, and she was a career-minded businesswoman from the French Quarter. They were worlds apart. They were oil and water.

“My, you're quiet this morning, lovey,” Annette tsked. “Did the trip last night give you a head?”

Lyndie thought she knew what the woman meant. “You mean a hangover?”

Annette smiled at Roger knowingly.

Lyndie smiled when she wanted to cry. “No, I haven't got a hangover. We didn't do much drinking last night, after all.”

“Home in bed early. That's how I like my nights,” Roger commented pleasantly.

“Yes. Home in bed early,” Lyndie repeated, her words fading with the hope in her heart.