A Chance for the Rancher

by Brenda Harlen

  Especially in comparison to his taut and sculpted body. As she ran her hands over him—happily exploring his pecs, delts and abs—she almost couldn’t believe that he’d worked behind a desk for the past several years.

  “You didn’t build these muscles over the past few months,” she said.

  “When I wasn’t at Blake Mining, I was usually at Crooked Creek helping my grandfather with whatever chores needed to be done,” he told her.

  “So maybe there’s more real cowboy in you than I gave you credit for,” she mused, reaching for the buckle of his belt, eager to get some of this real cowboy in her.

  “I’ve always enjoyed working outside,” he said. “Though I like to think that I do some of my best work in the bedroom.”

  “I think I’m going to need a demonstration,” she said.

  “With pleasure,” he murmured.

  Then he kissed her again, long and slow and deep, and she was happy to get lost in the sensual onslaught of his mouth moving over hers.

  She didn’t realize he’d unfastened the buttons of her shirt until he parted the fabric, pushing it over her shoulders and down her arms, trapping her hands in the sleeves behind her back, while he kissed his way down her throat and nibbled along her collarbone. She felt the rasp of the stubble on his cheeks against the soft flesh as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts.

  She couldn’t think straight when he was kissing her like this. She could barely think at all. And that was before he opened the center clasp of her bra and peeled back the cups, freeing her breasts.

  He caught them in his hands, murmuring his approval as his thumbs began to trace circles around the already taut nipples, causing them to draw into tighter points, making her ache and yearn. She felt a similar tightening low in her belly, an almost painful coiling of tension that ached for the pleasure of release.

  Then he lowered his head and captured one of those nipples in his mouth, laving the peak with his tongue, causing hot sparks to dance over her skin and liquid heat to pool between her thighs.

  She’d forgotten how arousing were the contrasts between a man’s body and a woman’s, but every pass of his hands reminded her now. His palms were strong and calloused, a testament to the manual labor he’d been doing over the past few months, and she shivered in response to their touch.

  Having freed her own hands, she explored him, too. As her fingers glided over his taut and bronzed skin, his muscles tensed and rippled. Intrigued, she leaned closer to press her lips to his chest and felt his groan reverberate through her lips.

  She was hardly innocent. She’d lost her virginity almost a decade earlier. She’d carried and birthed a child. And yet she was certain she’d never been touched the way Patrick was touching her. She knew she’d never felt the way she felt in his arms.

  Nothing she’d ever known or experienced before had prepared her for the intensity of the heat that pulsed in her veins. Even scarier than that realization was the uncomfortable idea nudging at the back of her mind that she might never feel the same way with anyone else. Certainly she couldn’t imagine another man making her want as she wanted him.

  After he’d ensured their mutual protection, he settled between her parted thighs. It had been a long time, and she wasn’t prepared for his size, wincing a little as he pushed deeper inside.

  He captured her mouth with his, kissing her deeply and thoroughly, until her body finally relaxed, accepting and welcoming him. Only then did he begin to move. As pleasure continued to build inside her, she lifted her hips, her heels digging into the mattress. She met him thrust for thrust, tension coiling tight in her belly. Tighter and tighter, until she finally exploded like a firework—a kaleidoscope burst of bright lights and colors—a billion tiny little shards that slowly faded as she drifted back to earth again. Patrick cried out as he found his own release, his body shuddering and then collapsing on top of her.

  It was several minutes before her breathing returned to some semblance of normal.

  “That was...” She trailed off, not quite sure how to finish.

  “Indescribable?” he suggested.

  She nodded.

  “Although wow might also work,” he decided, as he summoned the energy to roll off her.

  She didn’t have a chance to register and regret the loss of his weight pinning her to the mattress before he gathered her close.

  “Was it wow for you, too?” she asked and immediately cringed at the neediness of her tone.

  “Quite possibly beyond wow,” he said.

  She relaxed then, pleased by his response and grateful that she’d packed the overnight bag.

  Then her stomach growled.

  Audibly.

  Patrick chuckled. “Now you’re hungry.”

  “So it would seem,” she agreed.

  He rolled out of bed and reached for his discarded jeans. “Let’s go see what I’ve got in the fridge.”

  * * *

  “Apparently I need to move grocery shopping to the top of my to-do list,” he commented, as he whisked eggs in a bowl.

  “I don’t think I even have the ingredients for an omelet in my fridge,” she confided, as she stood beside him, wearing his soft flannel shirt, dicing the pepper and onion.

  “That’s sad,” he said.

  “Fortunately, if I’m really desperate, I can walk across the driveway to raid my parents’ pantry.”

  “Is that fortunate?” he wondered.

  “When you’re trying to feed a growing seven-year-old boy, it’s very fortunate.”

  Patrick poured the egg mixture into the heated pan, then chopped up some leftover ham. When the eggs were set to his satisfaction, he added the onions, peppers and ham, grated some cheese on top, expertly folded the egg in half with a spatula, then slid the omelet out of the frying pan and onto a plate.

  “That can’t all be for me,” she protested when he set the plate in front of her.

  “You’re the one who didn’t have dinner,” he reminded her.

  “But you just completed a pretty intense workout.”

  He smiled. “That wasn’t work. That was pure pleasure.”

  She felt her cheeks heat and dropped her gaze to her plate, all too aware that blushing like a schoolgirl was the price of being a redhead. Picking up the fork, she cut off a piece of omelet and popped it into her mouth.

  “How is it?” Patrick asked.

  “Really good,” she said, digging her fork into the fluffy omelet again. “So where did you learn to cook?”

  “That’s a rather personal question from a woman who made it clear she had no desire to complicate sex with intimacy,” he remarked.

  “You’re annoyed that I wanted to establish some ground rules,” she realized.

  “I may not have a lot of experience with relationships, but I’ve always thought it was poor form to plan for the end at the beginning.”

  “I don’t have a lot of experience with relationships, either,” she reminded him. “And it may be that, in trying to manage my own expectations, I was a little tactless.”

  “Apology accepted,” he said.

  She smiled gratefully. “Good to know you don’t hold a grudge.”

  “I don’t want to waste the limited time we have together arguing when we could do much more interesting things.”

  The promise in his eyes made her insides quiver, but she refused to let him distract her from her original question. “So are you going to tell me who taught you to cook?” she asked, lifting another forkful of egg to her mouth.

  “My mother.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re surprised she can cook?”

  She shrugged. “I would have guessed that your family had a cook in their big house on Miners’ Pass.”

  “My parents do have a cook, but he’s only there Monday through Friday—unless they�
�re hosting a weekend event. Otherwise, it’s my mom who reigns over the kitchen on Saturdays and Sundays. She says that cooking relaxes her, and I’d agree it’s the only thing that does,” he confided. “She always seemed more patient in the kitchen, which is probably why I liked hanging out with her there.”

  “What else did she teach you how to make?”

  “In addition to a simple meat loaf—”

  “Simple and delicious,” she interjected, reminding him that she’d already enjoyed that culinary offering.

  “—I do a decent job with an omelet,” he continued. “But my grilled cheese is to die for.”

  “To die for, huh?”

  “My sister’s words, not mine,” he said.

  “So why did I get a melt-in-your-mouth omelet instead of a to-die-for grilled cheese?” she wondered.

  “They’re exclusively offered on the second night,” he teased. “So if you wanted to stay again tomorrow...”

  “You sure know how to tempt a girl, don’t you?” she said, and she wasn’t only referring to the potential sandwich. It was the man more than anything else that tempted her to throw her own rules and guidelines out the window and beg for not just a second night but as many more after that as he’d give her.

  “I do my best,” he said and leaned over to brush his lips over hers, tempting her even more.

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of his kiss. “Now I’m craving more of your kisses.”

  “As it happens, I have an endless supply of those.”

  “Good to know,” she said and drew his mouth down to hers again.

  He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her out of the chair. She wrapped her legs around his hips, anchoring herself to him as he made his way back to the bedroom, kissing her the whole way.

  * * *

  Patrick was accustomed to sleeping alone.

  Though he enjoyed the pleasurable pursuits that came with sharing his bed, he generally preferred solitude for sleeping. Apparently Brooke was accustomed to sleeping alone, too, because she was sprawled in the middle of the mattress, having somehow managed to push him to the edge.

  He considered waking her and nudging her on her way. He knew she wouldn’t protest. Considering she was the one who’d set limitations on their relationship, she might even be relieved. But he didn’t wake her, because he didn’t want her to leave. He wasn’t nearly ready to let her go. And that realization was more than a little disconcerting.

  Or maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it wasn’t surprising that, after three weeks of intense buildup, he needed more than two rounds of exceptional sex to get her out of his system.

  She truly was an amazing woman—slim but toned, her muscles firm beneath silky smooth skin. An enticing contrast of softness and strength. Having watched her work with Ranger over the past few weeks, he knew she was as capable as any man, but there was no doubt that she was all woman.

  He let his hand skim over her now, from calf to knee, thigh to hip, waist to breast. And, yeah, he got a little distracted there, but how could his attention not be captivated by the way her nipple immediately pebbled against his palm? How could he not be aroused to know that, even in her sleep, she responded to his touch?

  He shifted closer and kissed the side of her throat; she exhaled on a sigh and rolled over so that she was facing him. Her eyes, heavy with the remnants of slumber, lifted to his.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  Her lips curved. “I’m not sure if I’m awake or having an incredibly erotic dream.”

  “Let’s find out,” he said and lowered his head to her breast, capturing the taut nipple in his mouth.

  She gasped as his tongue swirled around the rigid peak, and again when he suckled the tender flesh. He loved the sensual sounds she made, her throaty murmurs and soft sighs letting him know what she liked. She was so passionate...so incredibly responsive.

  He nuzzled the hollow between her breasts, making her squirm, then kissed his way down her torso. He stroked the insides of her thighs, urging them to part, and felt her muscles quiver as she complied with his silent request.

  He settled there, his broad shoulders pushing her legs farther apart, opening her to his eager gaze, his avid mouth. He touched her with his tongue, a slow, leisurely stroke. Her breath caught in her throat, then exhaled on a shuddery sigh.

  He tasted her again, teasing her with his lips and his tongue until she whimpered, then licking and sucking until he heard her breath catch the way it did when she was oh so close to her release. He held her at the brink for just a moment, glorying in the power he had over her.

  But of course that power was only an illusion, because he was equally in her thrall—rock hard and aching for her. He wanted nothing more than to rise up and drive himself into her, driving them both to the finish.

  No, there was one thing he wanted more.

  He wanted to make her come completely undone, and he wanted to watch it happen.

  So he did...and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  And when her body finally stopped shuddering with the aftershocks of her climax, he took her to the brink again. Only then did he sheathe himself with a condom and join their bodies together.

  Their rhythm was easy and comfortable, as if they’d been lovers for weeks, maybe months, rather than mere hours. There was something about being with Brooke that didn’t just feel familiar; it felt...right. And when she lost herself in another climax, he found his own release deep inside her.

  * * *

  The next time Patrick awakened, it was because Brooke was trying to disengage herself from the arm wrapped around her.

  He responded by tightening his hold and pulling her closer.

  She turned her head to look at him, an apologetic smile curving her lips. “I have to go.”

  “Why did you bother bringing an overnight bag if you didn’t plan on staying overnight?”

  “I did stay overnight. It’s now morning.”

  “Not even the cows get up this early,” he grumbled.

  “How would you know?” she teased. “You’re never up with the cows.”

  “Can’t you stay just a little while longer?”

  “I’ve got surgeries this morning, starting at nine o’clock,” she said, sounding sincerely regretful.

  He glanced at the clock. “I can work fast.”

  He was true to his word.

  And his overnight guest left the Silver Star with a very satisfied smile on her face.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Someone’s in a good mood today,” Larissa remarked, when Brooke walked into the clinic a short while later.

  “It’s a bright, sunny morning,” she said, grateful that she had the weather as a ready excuse. Because even if it had been gray and gloomy, she wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling, and she didn’t know how she would have explained her euphoria then.

  She could hardly admit that she was feeling happy and relaxed because Patrick Stafford had given her multiple orgasms multiple times over the span of the ten hours she’d spent with him. Or that she’d been sincerely reluctant to leave his bed.

  She wished she could have stayed.

  Or that she could go back.

  But she was the one who’d made the rules. She was the one who’d insisted that one night would be enough. It didn’t matter that she’d been wrong—she couldn’t backtrack now.

  And with Ranger’s injury healed, she didn’t even have the stallion as an excuse to stop by. And if Patrick sent her a vague text message about a potential problem at the ranch, she was going to ask for some specifics before she raced over there again.

  Probably.

  “How was your dinner at The Home Station last night?” she asked, when she found Courtney prepping the room for their first surgery.

  “Amazing,�
� the vet tech immediately replied. “And so romantic. The food was unbelievably good, with a different wine pairing for each course. Plus, there was candlelight and soft music.”

  “It sounds amazing,” Brooke agreed. And though there was a part of her that hoped to dine in the fancy restaurant one day, she’d been satisfied with the omelet she’d had for dinner—and more than satisfied with everything before and after.

  Thankfully, she managed to put those memories and the man out of her mind to focus on treating her animal patients. She also exchanged pleasantries with and offered reassurances to their human companions.

  She had five surgeries scheduled, including two spays, a neuter, repair of a strangulated umbilical hernia in a pet lamb and the extraction of three rotted teeth from a nine-year-old Yorkshire terrier. Everything went according to plan except the second spay surgery, which she had to postpone when the pre-op exam revealed that the owners of the fifteen-month-old French bulldog had waited too long to book the procedure. Little Lulu was already pregnant.

  * * *

  Patrick didn’t mind getting an earlier than usual start to his day. Then again, who would complain about waking up with a warm and willing woman in his arms?

  In fact, he was in such a good mood, he caught himself whistling as he mucked out stalls and fed the animals. After that, he spent some time playing with the dog and even used the brush Brooke had left for grooming. Princess didn’t just accept the attention but seemed to revel in it, and he found himself wondering again how anyone could have let her go.

  He returned to the house to answer emails, do some banking and check the updated version of the Silver Star Vacation Ranch website—which Devin had promised would be ready to go live as soon as Patrick gave him the word. He was eager to open for business and for Melissa to arrive so they could test-drive the menu he’d drafted. Of course, Brendan had given him some input on that, too, suggesting kid-friendly additions such as French toast sticks, PB&J, mini corn dogs and a sundae bar.

  Thinking of food made him realize that he hadn’t eaten since lunch, and even then he’d only opened a tin of chili because he’d been too busy to make anything else. Aware of the limited contents of his refrigerator, he decided to go into town to grab a bite. Maybe he’d even reach out to a couple of friends to get together to share a couple of pizzas and a pitcher of beer.