Rodeo Rancher

by Mary Sullivan

  His heart thumped. Talk about symbolism. He inhaled shakily. She had indeed done that, and he didn’t mean the tiny house on the table.

  Across the top of Lily’s head, Michael met Samantha’s beautiful blue gaze.

  “Yes, Sammy made a happy house.” How could he ever thank her? There weren’t enough words.

  He stood, lifting his daughter with him. He brought Lily’s face level with his. Looking at her, he saw bits and pieces of her mother. Lillian shone through in her soft gray eyes and pretty mouth—a blessing and a curse for Michael. Lillian would live on through their daughter. Michael would feel the pain and the joy of his loss every time he looked at her.

  Perhaps in time, he would be able to see it without the burden of grief, and instead with gratitude that Lillian had walked this earth, had graced him with her love and had given him two beautiful children.

  He kissed Lily’s smooth forehead and settled her in his arms.

  “I love you, baby.”

  “Love you, too, Daddy.”

  “You did an amazing job on your happy house.”

  Samantha had stood when he had. Lily snagged an arm around her neck and pulled her close.

  “Sammy and me both made the happy house. Kiss her, too.”

  Samantha watched him with wide eyes and parted lips.

  The air between them hummed with warmth and possibility.

  Michael leaned toward her. She closed her eyes. He touched her forehead with his lips, a meager kiss, but he felt the magic of it to his toes.

  “Good job, Daddy,” Lily whispered. “We’re all friends. Put me down. I have to play.”

  She ran out of the kitchen while Michael stared at Sammy with his heart doing a crazy dance.

  A great chasm opened in front of him and he felt himself falling, hurtling forward before he knew he even wanted to.

  His mind could only follow where his heart had already gone.

  Lightning did strike twice. Hallelujah. He’d fallen in love with this glorious woman who had indeed made him and his children a happy house.

  He had a choice. He could step out into thin air and hope it all worked out, or he could hide away as he’d done for two years.

  He knew what Lillian would say. Go for it, Michael. Wake up. Seize life and love with both hands. We loved each other. I want you to have that again.

  Samantha sidled away, chattering while she cleared the table. Dazed, Michael couldn’t follow it. Or maybe Sammy wasn’t making sense. She was nervous about something.

  Was it him? Did she sense the shift, too?

  At the counter, she gathered soiled plastic plates and cups, but her hands shook and knocked over the neat piles she was trying to make.

  It seemed that all he’d done since she arrived was take from her. Maybe he could do something for her. He could put her at ease, calm her, gentle her as he would a frightened horse.

  Michael approached and placed his hands on the counter on either side of her. He snuggled against her.

  She startled, but he said, “Hush. Be still. Please. Just for a moment.”

  He breathed in her feminine warmth and light perfume. His cheek touched her hair and found it as soft and silken as he had imagined.

  “You don’t have to be nervous with me. I will never hurt you.”

  “It’s not you. It’s change and loneliness and terror of the darkness and silence. I’ve never had a good relationship. I’m afraid, Michael. Afraid to try again. Afraid to hope.”

  “Me, too.”

  His voice seemed to calm her so he talked. He, a man who strung barely four sentences together on any given day, soothed her with whatever came to mind.

  In time, she quieted, but her breathing sounded ragged. He knew how she felt. This crazy new mess of emotions set his stomach churning. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or where this was going. He only knew that he needed to hold her.

  He brushed his lips along the side of her neck. She dropped her head back onto his chest. Her trust humbled him. He drew his mouth along the smooth satin of her skin by her ear.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

  With the lightest touch, she caressed the length of his arms.

  “Oh, Michael. You have no idea how good this is, to have my children in this house where they’re treated with respect and affection. Where they’re given attention.”

  Had her husband ignored the kids? Or had it been worse? Had he hurt them? And Samantha, too?

  “And having your children to coddle and make happy,” she continued, “makes me happy.”

  “You do. Make them happy, I mean.”

  He eased back and turned her in his arms.

  “You make me happy, too.”

  “I do?” She sounded breathless. He knew how she felt. He might as well have just run a marathon.

  Placing her hands on his chest, she said. “It’s good to touch and to be held.”

  The front door burst open, startling them, and the children ran into the house.

  Michael sprang away from Samantha, uncertain whether the interruption had been salvation or damnation.

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT, WHILE Lily slept, Samantha wrestled with her. She had hoped to steal Puff to take measurements, but Lily had a tight enough grip on the doll that Sammy was afraid she would hurt her if she tried to pry the doll away.

  She uttered a groan of frustration.

  “What’s up?” Michael stood in the doorway, watching her.

  “I can’t get Puff away from her,” she whispered. “I need to figure what size to make the doll’s clothes.”

  “Let me.”

  He tried as well, but Lily stirred and muttered, “Leave me ’lone, Daddy. Tired.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips. “What do we do?”

  Samantha liked the sound of that we. All day, she’d tried not to think about the incident in the kitchen. She’d failed.

  Every time Michael had stepped close to her while they’d made dinner, or later when they’d lined the living room windowsills with the gingerbread houses, she’d been intensely aware of him.

  Now she scooted past him out of the bedroom and to his room. She stood in the doorway.

  “Sometime tomorrow, take her outside to play. The boys, too. I’ll stay inside and make clothes and knit mittens.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They stared at each other, the air swollen with their unspoken desires, gripped by the struggle between wanting and resisting.

  Samantha swayed toward him, but resistance won out.

  Without a word, she closed the door and crawled into his big, empty bed.

  This week, her sons had moved into Mick’s room. The first night had been a nightmare. The boys hadn’t fallen asleep for hours, giggling and talking until all hours, but the novelty had worn off and tonight they were quiet.

  Samantha lay awake for a long time, not knowing what was the right thing to do, and what was wrong.

  * * *

  MICHAEL WATCHED THE children play in the snow while Samantha started making the clothes, distracted by what had happened in the kitchen yesterday and what had almost happened last night in the hallway.

  He needed a compass, a map, but had nothing.

  Where were the maps for navigating new attraction? For figuring out what to do with a woman who challenged him, but who also made his life infinitely better?

  She pushed him beyond his comfortable limits, the narrow boundaries he’d put into place to handle a grief—and anger—that had felt out of control.

  He hadn’t realized until now how good her pushing had been for him.

  Forget about how much his children had benefited. That was amazing. He’d already thanked her for what she had done for them.

  He hadn’t thought until now what her
presence had meant to him, and her looming departure now felt...catastrophic.

  He was lost.

  * * *

  ON CHRISTMAS-IN-FEBRUARY EVE, Samantha and Michael hung up the stockings she’d bought on sale.

  She studied the room, and every cheap, discounted and homemade decoration they’d used, and she was proud of the results.

  “We did well,” she whispered, even though the children were down the hallway and fast asleep. Or maybe they weren’t. They’d been ridiculously excited about tomorrow morning, especially Mick and Lily.

  “You did well.” He hovered near her, heat shimmering from him and mingling with the flame of the fireplace. She felt it like a caress.

  He grasped her arm and slowly pulled her to him. She knew he was giving her a chance to step away, but she didn’t want to.

  She wanted this to happen.

  His deep chocolate eyes came close. Closer.

  She welcomed his kiss. It started soft, deepened to affection and tenderness, and then burst into ripe passion.

  Yes! She craved this. Craved him.

  Michael took her hand and led her to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him, where he stopped suddenly.

  “What?” Samantha whispered, sensing a cooling in him, a hesitation.

  “I—”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I have this feeling...this—I have to tell you something. It’s embarrassing.”

  “What is it? Whatever it is we can get through it together. Is it erectile dysfunction?”

  “What? God, no!” Michael laughed shakily and raked his fingers through his thick hair.

  “I started dating Lillian when I was sixteen,” he said.

  Samantha waited, not sure where this was going.

  “We were always together after that and got married when we were twenty.”

  When Samantha still didn’t respond, he burst out with, “I’ve only been with one woman.”

  Samantha breathed a huge sigh. “Is that what’s bothering you? I’ve only been with three men. I had a boyfriend in high school and got married at twenty. Since Kevin left, there’s only been—Never mind. I’m not talking about him.”

  “Really? But look at you. Men must be all over you.”

  She hardened. She hated the assumptions men made about her appearance. Sure, she looked like a Vegas showgirl, but she wasn’t one.

  “Because of the way I look, men think I’m some kind of sex goddess. I’m a woman, okay? Just a normal woman.”

  Michael leaned back against the closed door.

  “I am not my body,” she said. “I’m not my face. I have depth and a brain and feelings.”

  He tucked his fingers into his pockets.

  “I like sex, but no more than the average woman. My sex drive is healthy, but I’m not sex driven. Do you understand the difference?”

  “Yeah, I get it.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “To tell you the truth, it’s a relief. I worried about having to be some kind of great stud for you.”

  His vulnerability and honesty charmed her.

  “You don’t have to be a stud. You just have to be you. Let’s just be a man and a woman who care for each other and want to please each other.”

  He smiled, his relief blossoming like a tidal wave across his face. “That should do the trick.”

  “Have we dealt with all of your insecurities, Moreno? Can we make love now?”

  He grinned and reached for her.

  Passion blossomed instantly.

  Moments later, their clothes were off and Samantha was holding Michael’s spectacular, work-hardened body against hers. It felt like the most beautiful thing on earth.

  He opened the drawer of the bedside table and fumbled out a condom.

  “Do you always have condoms ready and waiting for women to land here in snowstorms?”

  Michael sobered. “No. Lillian and I started using them after she was diagnosed so her body wouldn’t have to deal with a pregnancy.”

  “Oh.” She kissed him with sweetness and depth she didn’t remember ever feeling for a man before. She loved him. She loved his character and his tenderness and his respect for all creatures.

  She tried to put on the condom for him, but her hands fumbled.

  “I want you so badly.” Her voice was shaky. Between the two of them, they got it on and he entered her with the eagerness of a man in the worst bout of lust.

  Samantha laughed and breathed a hearty sigh.

  “Oh, Michael,” she whispered. “You feel so good.”

  Her hands roamed his back. She hadn’t realized until this moment that she’d been longing to touch him almost from the day she’d arrived.

  His massive, warm shoulders and biceps, his smooth skin beneath her hands, came alive.

  She loved how big and solid he was. Beneath him, she felt grounded at last, a part of life in a more secure way than she ever had.

  This man... This man made her reach for the stars.

  Together they fought their climaxes to make their lovemaking last, but desire defeated them and it was over too soon.

  They lay spent, lazily tracing circles on each other’s bodies. Samantha had never felt so content, so filled with love. Where had this come from?

  Long minutes later, he rolled out of bed, stepped into his jeans and left the room. He returned smelling of soap and carrying a warm damp washcloth for her.

  He picked up the sweat suit she slept in every night and handed it to her.

  “I know you need this. I grew up in a cold house, not in a hot house like you city slickers,” Michael joked.

  “Quit with the generalities, okay?” Sammy smacked his chest. “We had no money when we were young. There were plenty of times when all the utilities were cut off.”

  She shrugged into the clothes he’d handed her.

  “I slept many a night without heat, macho man.”

  Michael finished putting on his sweatpants and long-sleeved T-shirt. “Macho man? I’ll show you—”

  Sammy cut him off. “You already did.” She giggled.

  Michael grinned, picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She giggled again.

  He crawled into bed beside her and pulled her close, hauling up the bedclothes to cover both of them.

  Their clothes didn’t last long. Soon enough, hands explored under them and then threw them off and tossed them to the floor.

  It took a while to come back down to earth, but she did it in Michael’s arms and she’d never felt anything so good.

  In time, they got dressed again and spooned.

  With Michael, Sammy found the security and contentment that had been missing from her life until now.

  She kissed his palm and laid it on her stomach.

  “Michael,” she whispered. Just his name. That was enough.

  “Sammy.” He kissed her cheek.

  It had been a long time since she’d been so sated...and so happy.

  * * *

  MICHAEL AWOKE TO a wild animal pummeling his chest.

  “Wha—?”

  “Pig! Leave my mom alone.” Jason lay half across him, hitting him. “I thought you were okay, but you’re just like all the other men.”

  Damn! He’d forgotten to lock the door after he’d gone to the washroom. Michael cursed his carelessness.

  Beside him, Sammy cried out.

  Jason got in a few good whacks at Michael’s face before Michael managed to trap the boy’s fists in one of his own.

  He heaved himself up out of bed and wrapped his arm around the struggling child.

  Lit by the meager winter moonlight struggling through the window, the boy’s ravaged expression saddened Michael. Tears streamed down Jason’s cheeks. Poor kid. The betrayal coursing through his thin body thundered t
hrough Michael.

  “It’s not what you think.” Michael kept his voice low and steady. He caught a glimpse of Sammy’s shattered expression.

  She reached for her son, but Michael shook his head. “Leave him to me. You’ve meddled in my life, now it’s my turn to meddle in yours. He needs a heart-to-heart with a man, not with his mother. Stay here.”

  He knew she wouldn’t, but Michael wanted to protect her in case her son started spewing nonsense that might hurt his mom.

  Jason kicked and yelled.

  Michael squeezed him, aware of his own strength and of the boy’s vulnerability. He didn’t want to hurt him, only control him before he hurt himself.

  “Hush,” he said. “Don’t wake the little kids.”

  “They should wake up,” Jason cried, but Michael noted he modulated his voice. Even in this desperate situation, the kid was conscious of the need to take care of the younger children. “They should see the kind of man you really are.” Jason did a good job of bruising Michael’s shins with his sharp heels. “You lied to us. You fooled us. I trusted you.”

  His voice cracked and Michael’s heart broke for the boy.

  “No, I didn’t fool you.” He carried him down the long hallway to the living room, making sure the bedrooms were silent as they passed. All was quiet except for the hellion in his arms, whom he plunked down onto the sofa.

  When Jason made a move to run, Michael corralled him and put him back, this time with a hand around his wrists and an arm across his thighs to immobilize those deadly heels.

  With his foot, Michael snagged the coffee table, pulled it close and sat down facing Jason.

  Jason wriggled.

  Quietly, Michael said, “I love her.”

  It had come out of nowhere, this second love in his life. He’d resisted and resisted, but could no longer deny what had happened.

  Jason struggled on.

  Michael raised his voice. “Listen to me. I love your mother.”

  He meant it. It had sneaked up on him. In a ridiculously short time, he’d fallen like a ton of bricks, head over heels and every other cliché in the book.

  Jason had stopped moving and stared at him, that wry twist of his lips mocking Michael.

  “That’s what all the men say, but they never mean it. My dad didn’t mean it. Greg didn’t mean it. I hated how he looked at Mom. He was a creep.”