Cowboy Confessions

by Gail MacMillan

  “Medium rare?” He hobbled up the verandah steps, two T-bones on a platter in his free hand. Fox, sniffing appreciatively, followed at his heels.

  “Right. Those look delicious.”

  “I agree.” He placed the food on the table, then swung himself around to pull out a weathered chair for her. “Let’s hope neither of us breaks through these elegant seats.”

  As she accepted his offer, he flashed a smile in her direction that gave her goose bumps. The man was totally gorgeous, there was no use denying it, and he could be absolutely charming when he wanted to be. But a small suspicious voice in her mind kept asking, Why now? Why this sudden turnaround?

  “Wine?” He held the bottle over her glass.

  “Please.” She decided to dismiss her suspicions with the fact that she was capable of looking after herself no matter what his motives were for this display of gentlemanly charm.

  “Jess, we haven’t really talked about this arrangement my mother foisted on us,” he said once he’d poured a measure into both their glasses and taken a chair opposite her. “We’ve been too busy sniping at each other about a situation neither of us is responsible for. When I had time to think today on the drive to Carleton, I came to the conclusion we have to take stock of our circumstances coolly and calmly and decide how best to deal with them.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked over at him. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “I know I’ve been anything but cooperative, or even civil,” he continued. “I’m ready to concede the fact. I’m also sure you didn’t want to come here any more than I wanted a nursemaid. Purely out of love and concern, my mother manipulated us both. Therefore, purely out of our love and concern for her, we might at least try to put her mind at ease by appearing to go along with her plans…at least for a little while.”

  He looked over at her, blue eyes far too appealing for Jessi’s comfort.

  Remember Clint Harrison. He has blue eyes, too.

  “Sure, why not? Anything for Laura,” she replied hoping she sounded offhanded.

  “Good.” He moved forward in his chair, picked up the bowl of potatoes, and offered it to her. “But,” he continued as she took one, “in actual fact, I won’t be spoon-fed or ordered around. I will continue to do exactly as I please. Understood?”

  “But I thought you said you were willing to go along with your mother’s wishes.” Her hand stopped in midair as she met a gaze that had suddenly gone steel cold with determination.

  “I said ‘by appearing to go along with her plans,’ ” he said, taking the bowl out of her hand. He dropped a pair of potatoes onto his plate, replaced the container at center table, and picked up his wineglass. “Understood?”

  She hesitated.

  “Understood,” she said finally, slowly. Then, picking up the other plate, she offered it to him. “Roll?” she asked with an innocently seductive gleam in her eyes.

  ****

  She was putting plates into the sink when she became aware of his presence close behind her.

  “Yes?” she asked, turning to face him.

  “That was a nice meal.”

  “I enjoyed it. Glad you saw fit to buy the trimmings.”

  “Jess…” He looked down at his boots. “I’ve had a devil of a time to keep from becoming totally antisocial since this leg thing. I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted. You’re going through a rough patch. I understand.”

  “Then we’re good?”

  “We’re good.” She turned back to the sink and began to run water into it.

  “Leave those.” He put a hand on her arm, and she turned to see something too warm and suggestive for comfort in his eyes. “Come out on the veranda and have another glass of wine. It’s a great evening…bit of a moon rising over a bay that’s smooth as glass. We shouldn’t waste it. It might be just what Dr. Laura would order at this point for both of us.”

  “You think so?” His suggestion conjured up the memory of Laura Turner daring Jessi to resist her handsome son on a romantic evening alone with him. Now here stood Ross Turner, all six foot two of him, broad-shouldered and handsome beyond the legal limit, offering her a moment of magic in the warm September night.

  She did have a pretty fail-safe firewall, she reminded herself. Clint’s betrayal was still fresh in her mind.

  “Fine.” She turned off the water. “Let’s go.”

  ****

  Later, seated beside him on an old porch swing at the far end of the veranda, Jessi Wallace was having second thoughts. A gorgeous sunset over the bay had metamorphosed into the dark velvet of a soft autumn night punctuated with stars and a curl of a new moon. A breeze, gentle and hinting of the sea, wafted in off the water. And beside her was a man who could be Mr. September on any Chippendale calendar.

  Handsome, sexy, and incredibly virile Ross Turner sat next to her in the dark lace of softly swaying tree shadows and told the story of a small island about a quarter mile off shore in front of the farm.

  “According to family legend, all kinds of marine outlaws are reputed to have used it as a hideout,” he explained, leaning back beside her. “There’s a deep, narrow channel between it and this shore.”

  “Were there any stories of treasure buried out there?”

  “Not that I’ve ever heard. If there’d been any hint of such a possibility, the place probably would have been excavated to the core.”

  “Hmmm.” An idea brightened in Jessi’s mind. “I’d still like to visit the place. Is there a boat around here?”

  “There’s an old skiff down near the shore. I doubt it’s seaworthy.”

  “What say we give it a try?”

  “I’ll take the idea under consideration.” He reached for the bottle on the table in front of them. “More wine? Normally, as you know, I’m a beer drinker, but this stuff isn’t half bad.”

  “Why not?”

  When their glasses had been replenished, he pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled through it for a moment, then tapped. Moon River wafted out into the warm, moonlit night. With an effort he tried to disguise, he got to his feet.

  “Dance?”

  “What?” Astounded by the offer, Jessi stared up at him.

  “Dance. With you to support me, I think I might be able to handle this old tune.”

  “Ross, what are you up to?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him.

  “Nothing, nothing. The desire to try just came to me. But if you don’t want to…”

  “No, no, of course not.” She stood. Can’t discourage any bit of initiative he’s willing to try.

  He laid his cane up against the veranda railing and took her into his arms. For a moment, he hesitated, looking up at her through the soft black veil of summer night shadows. A butterfly feeling fluttered inside her.

  “It’s been a long time,” he muttered, and Jessi didn’t know if he meant since he’d danced or since he’d held a woman in his arms.

  “All the more reason to get back in the game.” She struggled to sound casual.

  “Okay, let’s give this a go.”

  As he drew her against his body and his hand found the small of her back, she caught the scent of his aftershave and was struck by a myriad of sensations so powerful they knocked her physically and emotionally off balance. When he started to move slowly, almost cautiously, in time to the music, she stumbled.

  “Sorry,” he said softly, his lips close to her ear. “I warned you.”

  “My fault,” she managed, but the words sounded falsetto and shaky. She tried for a recovery. “You’re doing just fine.”

  “Am I?” He drew her out from him enough to look down into her face. “Am I, Jessi Wallace?” The words thickened with sensuous double meaning. Slowly, very slowly he lowered his head to kiss her.

  Ross, Ross, Ross. His name gushed over her in a wild, impetuous wave, pulling her under, drowning her in the moment. She hadn’t been expecting this or anything like it. Her feet seemed to leave the warped planking of t
he old veranda floor. Her senses grew wings and soared.

  Then he was letting her surface, raising his head to study her expression in the moonlight.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “And you smell”—he nuzzled her neck, her ear—“like an evening breeze after a summer shower.”

  “Ross…” His name was a prolonged exhale. “Please…”

  “Please what, Jess? Stop? Keep going? What do you want me to do? I’m all yours. Totally seduced.”

  “Seduced?” The spell snapped, and she yanked herself out of his arms. “This dance was supposed to be therapy, a chance to see what you can do!”

  “Right.” He grinned down at her.

  “Oh, Ross, stop it!” She slapped his chest with the flat of her hand. “Don’t go giving double meanings to a purely innocent…”

  “Sure, sure.” He caught her by the shoulders, planted a final quick kiss on her lips, then grinning turned, picked up his cane, and hobbled into the house. “See you in the morning, Nurse.”

  Left alone on the verandah, Jessi crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Her eyes narrowed in anger. She willed her heart, or something in her chest, to stop beating a tattoo.

  Okay, score one for the cowboy, but Jessi Wallace wasn’t about to concede the game.

  Chapter Seven

  He feigned sleep in the chair in the parlor when she entered the room, but through a slit below one eyelid he saw she’d changed into flannel pajamas decorated with galloping horses.

  Thank God for small blessings! He’d had a hard enough time dragging himself in off the veranda after that hot kiss. If she’d showed up wearing anything even vaguely sexy…

  “Good night, cowboy.” She dropped down onto the couch and gathered his sleeping bag around herself. “I know you’re faking.”

  He suppressed a mutter as he pulled his jacket over his chest and tried to get comfortable.

  What in hell is she referring to…faking sleep? Or that kiss?

  There’d been one good result of that encounter, he thought as a smug smile pulled at his mouth. The lack of response with Cat hadn’t been his fault. That kiss with Jessi had proven he could get back in the game any time he chose.

  ****

  He woke, sweating, his leg aching like fire. A cramp in his right shoulder didn’t help the situation.

  Hell and damnation, this is one miserable place to sleep. The woman could at least have offered to take turns on the couch.

  He tried to resettle himself to sleep by reminding himself he’d always been his own man and he wasn’t about to change now. No way was he getting involved with that woman sleeping across the room, honey-colored hair spread out over a ratty old pillow, curvy body stretched in his sleeping bag.

  Feeling chafed to the bone, he wondered if she would’ve had the courage to return that kiss so boldly if she hadn’t been confident in Laura Turner’s assurance she’d warned her son to be a gentleman at all times. His mother wouldn’t have told Jessi that one of her reasons for sending her to New Brunswick was in the hope they would form a relationship that would convince him to marry and settle down to ranching. Or would she?

  The Jessi Wallace he knew would never commit to such a scheme. No, he was sure Jessi was as much a pawn in his mother’s game of hearts as he was, probably even more so, since she didn’t know Laura Turner as well as he did and probably didn’t suspect her ulterior motive in sending her down to care for him.

  Grudgingly he had to admit the woman had made a good choice. If he, Ross Turner, was going to consider settling down and getting married, Jessi Wallace might be a candidate. They shared similar backgrounds, both loved the western lifestyle, and both were good at living it.

  Remembering her arrival on his doorstep, he let a grin quirk his lips. Even dripping wet, she was beautiful. In fact, the way her clothes had clung to every curve of her body had made him all too conscious of just how long it had been since he’d enjoyed intimate female companionship.

  He forced it down. He had to. This time his mother had definitely brought in the heavy artillery. Well, he wasn’t about to fall victim to his mother’s plots or plans, no matter how well intentioned. He, Ross Turner, had already set up a no-fail counterattack.

  Clutching his jacket/blanket he stood, suppressing a grunt of discomfort. With Fox at his heels, he headed for the front porch and the swing at one end. He’d always enjoyed sleeping outdoors. The farther he got away from her, the sooner he’d be able to relax and settle down to some serious rest. And tomorrow he’d be back in scheming mode.

  ****

  “Good morning.” He smiled at her as she came into the kitchen. “Looks like it’s going to be a warm one. I see you’ve dressed for it.” He glanced at her tan walking shorts and yellow tank top. Damn it, she’s got great legs.

  She shot him a withering glance as she strode past him to the percolator.

  “Look, I’m sorry about last night.” He limped over to stand beside her as she took a mug from a cupboard and poured coffee into it. “What I did was in self defense. I was checking your motives for coming down here…seeing if they were as altruistic as they were supposed to be.”

  Liar. The word echoed in his mind as he offered the explanation. He’d been intrigued, attracted…on a purely physical level, of course.

  “I’m that suspicious and intimidating, am I?” She looked up at him, green eyes as cold as emeralds in a snowstorm.

  “Suspicious? No, I don’t think so…not anymore.” He turned to rest his hips against the counter and face her squarely, arms crossed on his broad, white T-shirted chest, and favored her with what he hoped was a disarming grin. “Intimidating? Yeah, I guess you could be considered intimidating. So from now on, no more slow dancing in the moonlight, no matter how therapeutic, okay?”

  “Okay, fine.” She went to the refrigerator. “Bacon, eggs,” she went over the inventory. “I’ll fry them up, and you can make toast and brew fresh coffee.” She grimaced down into her cup. “You must have made this stuff at dawn and measured it with a forklift.”

  “Yeah, well, you are right about that first part.” He couldn’t tell her the thoughts of her had kept him awake. “Fox woke me at dawn, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  “Okay.” She gave him a long look that reminded him of a teacher he’d had in the third grade who could always tell when he was lying. “Did you go out somewhere last night? I woke about three and you weren’t in the chair.”

  “Found it more comfortable in the porch swing. Did you think I’d snuck out for a booty call?”

  “You’re free to do as you please.” She shrugged, and she almost sounded indifferent. Or is that wishful thinking?

  “I was thinking,” he hastened on as she took a frying pan from a hook above the stove and brought it down on one of the burners with more vehemence than necessary. “My mother wants me to see a doctor in Moncton. Some sort of sports injury expert.”

  “Yes?” She laid rashers of bacon side by side in the pan.

  God, can’t the woman speak without making me feel like squirming?

  “Well, what say we take a drive down there today?”

  “What!” She swung to face him, astonishment registered in her expression. “Laura said you’re determined never to see another doctor.”

  “Can’t a man change his mind?” The words came out with a tone of annoyance he hadn’t intended. Lying definitely wasn’t his thing.

  “Sure, of course.” She returned her attention to the meat in the pan. “Just that guys as stubborn as bull riders usually take a lot more persuading.”

  “Okay, okay. So I’m thinking if I go, it might just be a way to get you and her off my back…for a while.”

  “Fine.” She watched the bacon begin to curl in the hot pan. “We’ll leave as soon as we’ve eaten.” Then she turned on him. “But don’t you have to have an appointment? Specialists seldom if ever take off-the-street patients.”

  “My mother made it weeks ago. I’d planned to cancel a
t the last minute…put me in the black books with a high-end doctor who has patients waiting for months to see him.”

  “Aha. I might have guessed.” She went to the refrigerator for eggs. “Okay, I’ll change after breakfast, and we’ll hit the road.”

  Good. Everything going according to plan.

  ****

  They left for Moncton an hour later, in Ross’s truck, with him driving. Jessi had expected the three-hour journey to be silent and tense. Instead, Ross drew her into conversation about rodeos they’d both attended, horses they were both familiar with, and their lives as kids growing up on successful ranches. By the time they reached the city, both were laughing over shared memories. When Ross suggested lunch at a seafood restaurant, she agreed without hesitation.

  “The lobster rolls are great here,” he said as the waiter gathered up their menus and turned away. “I stopped in for a meal when I arrived at the airport a few weeks ago, while I was waiting to pick up my rental truck. I also saw something you might enjoy. You can watch it in about”—he looked at his watch—“a half hour. It’s called the Tidal Bore, when the tidal waters of the Bay of Fundy rush in against the Petitcodiac River’s current to create a wave surfers can ride for miles. Worth a view.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Jessi settle back in the comfortable chair and relaxed. She would have been enjoying the day completely if a nagging little voice in the back of her mind hadn’t kept asking why Ross the Difficult had suddenly become Prince Charming.

  ****

  “Damn it!”

  As they were leaving the restaurant, Ross’s cane caught in a crack in the steps leading down to the sidewalk. He toppled against Jessi, catching at the strap of her shoulder bag in a last-ditch effort to save himself. His weight wrenched it from her arm and sent it skittering.

  “Hell!” he exploded, righting himself against her shoulder, then shrugged away as she tried to steady him. “Rotten, stupid…”

  “Ross, there are kids behind us!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “My purse.” Jessi turned to look for it, but he was already hobbling toward where it lay against a step front. She followed. As she caught up to him, he bent to pick it up and his hand grasped its strap, but he lost his balance. In his efforts to right himself, he bumped the clasp, which released and let the purse’s contents spew across the sidewalk.