The Princess of Coldwater Flats

by Nancy Bush

  “I’ll be there at six,” she told him, then turned back to Brent.

  “I’ll bring the tractor.”

  They had already decided on their plan to remove the dam; Jack had told him he’d explained it all to Sammy Jo earlier. Now, she nodded dismissively and Cooper left.

  Bev followed him to the car. He held the door for her, but didn’t react to the whisper of nylon and silk as she slid inside. Sammy Jo’s legs had been bare. He could have reached out and touched them. Smooth. Sleek. Muscular.

  “Emmy’s at her father’s,” Bev said by way of letting him know she was free until all hours.

  “Sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  He felt like a horse’s ass. He’d used her. He hadn’t meant to, but it still wasn’t fair. Maybe it was for the best. Bev wasn’t his type. Neither, by God, was Sammy Jo.

  He needed a woman. He still needed a woman. But maybe one not as high-profile as Bev Hawkins would fill the bill.

  His house was dark when he got home. Lettie and Jack had trundled off to their bedroom at the south end of the house. Cooper was virtually alone. Standing on the back porch, he watched a moth fling itself at the porch light in what looked like ritualistic suicide. Finally, the insect sat next to the lamp while other moths joined it, circling and battering themselves senseless.

  He felt in tune with them. Nothing he would like more than battering himself senseless. So thinking, he went in search of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, prepared for a long, lonely night.

  * * *

  Sammy Jo awakened with the birds. A dull heaviness, over her, a vague dread. She had to search carefully through her mind to find its source, like picking through cold embers to find that still throbbing, hot coal.

  She’d told Brent she’d marry him.

  Groaning, she pressed her face into her pillow. Trigger jumped up and licked her cheek, and the next instant, Sammy Jo leapt to her feet and threw on her clothes. No shower today. She was heading straight for the beaver dam.

  She drove the pickup, leaving a whining Trigger behind. Bumping across the field, the truck bounced and jarred along at a fast clip until the terrain grew too rocky and studded with trees, and she was forced to stop. She could hear the engine of Cooper’s tractor. He’d come through the section of fence she’d jerry-rigged. It was at a point where Cotton Creek was fully on her property with about an acre of land between it and the dividing fence.

  Cooper had squeezed the tractor down the field to where the creek cut off the acreage, near the fence. The growling vehicle stood on a peninsula of land upstream from the dam on the opposite side of the creek from Sammy Jo.

  Jack was there, too, yelling something to Cooper, who sat at the wheel of the tractor. Sammy Jo couldn’t make out the words over the deafening thunder of the engine and the crack of wood as the hook attached to the tractor hitch bit into a sturdy timber, the backbone of the dam.

  She got out of the pickup and waved, hoping the two men would see her. They were lost in their own conversation. Cooper shifted gears. The tractor jerked forward. Timber screamed, broke and threw particles of wood in all directions. Sammy Jo hit the ground, covering her face from the flying shrapnel.

  The engine cut. Silence. “Sammy Jo!” Cooper called, aghast.

  “I’m okay. Really.” Slowly picking herself up, she brushed off bits of dirt, sticks and wet wood.

  “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “That’s comforting,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad to know it wasn’t on purpose.”

  His look was inscrutable beneath the brim of his hat.

  “We’re gonna pull this baby down, sure enough,” Jack said, hacking at the nearest logs with an ax.

  “I can’t help feeling a little bad,” Sammy Jo remarked.

  It had taken hours and hours of labor for the beavers to build such a remarkable structure. Now, the poor beasts had to start from scratch. Yet, without Cotton Creek’s sustaining water, the ground would dry up completely to the south and the vegetation that thrived at both the Triple R and Serenity Ranch would suffer.

  Not to mention the ripple effect on the animals. No water, no feed, no nothing.

  Cooper didn’t answer her, just went about his business. It bugged her. Was he really so impervious to nature and its balance? Yes, the dam had to be taken down, but couldn’t they at least mourn the wasted effort and feel pain in their hearts?

  Knowing she was being overly sentimental, Sammy Jo fought her own feelings and helped drag dirt and debris out of the stream as Cooper’s tractor yanked out the more massive logs. Soon the water was trickling through a small V, then it was streaming, then it was rushing wildly, like a pack of racers fighting to be first over the finish line. The three of them pulled the last of the major branches to the shore.

  “All done,” Cooper called to her across the creek. Jack leaned on his ax, watching with satisfaction. Water poured over the thick mud, digging grooves through the sluggish silt, pushing it south. Soon Cotton Creek would be flowing smoothly and the mushy earth around the manufactured pond would dry out and revert to its normal state.

  Cooper and Jack conferred for a moment, then Jack jumped on the tractor and drove it back toward the hole in the fence. To Sammy Jo’s surprise, Cooper splashed through the creek and came up on her side.

  “Hey,” she murmured, stepping back.

  “Well, that’s one problem resolved.”

  “Yeah, right.” Sammy Jo folded her arms over her chest and glanced in the direction of the house. “I’d better get to my chores.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Sammy Jo gave him a cautious look. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and it gave him a rakish appearance she found terribly appealing. No, no, no! This was no time to notice the way his strong brown hands swept off his cowboy hat and brushed through his hair. Nor should she realize that within his blue eyes were darker striations, deeper color that added to their mystery.

  Nor should her pulse thud until it hurt.

  “I heard you agree to marry Brent last night.”

  Her breath caught. “Oh.”

  “So you’re really going through with it?”

  “Um…‌yeah.”

  “You don’t sound too sure.”

  “What’s it to you?” she demanded.

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing,” he stated with suppressed frustration.

  “Good.”

  He seemed to want to say a hell of a lot more, but Sammy Jo gave him her coldest glare. If he wanted a fight, fine. She felt like a fight.

  “You disappoint me,” he said quietly, then turned back to the water, as if he’d said all he was going to say.

  That did it. He’d scraped her nerves raw with her own guilt, a trick her father had been a master at, and now he planned to run away. “How was Bev?” Sammy Jo asked tightly.

  “Bev was fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  Cooper turned to her, his lips curved into a nasty smile Sammy Jo felt she’d somehow earned. “I took her home after dinner.”

  “Whose home? Hers or yours?”

  “You want to know about my sex life?” he asked. When she snorted dismissively, he added, “You want to know if Bev and I got down to it?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you do. I brought her here, actually. We came back to the ranch, crossed over the fence and stood right where we are.” He gestured to the trampled ground beneath their feet. Sammy Jo didn’t believe him. He was doing this on purpose. But her heart started beating a hard cadence. “Then we started kissing,” he said, “kind of like you and I did earlier.”

  “Okay. I get it. Not my business.” She held up a hand to stop him.

  “And then my tongue was in her mouth…”

  “Stop. Enough. You’ve made your point.”

  “Her breasts were pressed to my chest.”

  “Say one more word and I’ll kill you!” Sammy Jo spit out.

  “I unbuttoned her b
louse. Each button through the hole, one by one. Then she was standing there, just skin and lace and I couldn’t help myself. I put my hand—”

  Sammy Jo slugged him, with everything she had. The microsecond before she connected with his stomach, he twisted protectively, one arm slamming down on hers, deflecting the blow. She cried out as Cooper pushed her backward, against the hard trunk of a tree. Her breath came out in a whoosh, and she was left gasping for air.

  “I didn’t do a damn thing with Bev and if you had any sense in that rock-hard head of yours, you’d know it.”

  “You bastard,” she ground out, embarrassed.

  “You asked for it,” he retorted.

  “Get your hands off me.”

  “Gladly. But you want me to touch you. You just can’t admit it.”

  Despite his words, he didn’t release her. “I don’t want you anywhere near me. You’re trouble.”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, lady. A lot to learn.”

  “Let go of me or I’ll scream.”

  “Scream,” he ordered. “As loud as you can.”

  Nothing could have clamped her lips closed faster and tighter. Sammy Jo glared daggers at him, daring him to further manhandle her.

  Cooper shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe her at all. “Don’t marry Rollins.”

  “I’ll marry whomever I damn well please.”

  “You’re better than this. Smarter.”

  “I like Brent, okay. Really like him. This isn’t all about the Triple R.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” His mouth twisted. “You’re marrying him to save the ranch. You’re marrying him for money. You said you were going to.”

  Sammy Jo squirmed, infuriated beyond reason. Cooper wasn’t expecting her strength, and she was free before he could grab her again.

  “Get off my property! Leave me alone, and just go away.”

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He twisted on one heel, heading toward the creek. So furious she could scarcely see straight, Sammy Jo lifted one small booted foot and gave him a little helpful heave-ho in the buttocks. Cooper stumbled and then to Sammy Jo’s consternation, fell into the water, his hat floating on the surface.

  Sammy Jo’s eyes widened in horror. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she jumped forward, shocked at herself, ready to bolt as soon as his head reappeared. He would be furious! Oh, Lord, he would kill her!

  He surfaced slowly, water streaming from his hair, his blue shirt sticking to his chest, his expression grim. He scooped up his hat and glared coldly at Sammy Jo. If Sammy Jo had ever seen murder in another person’s eyes, it was burning in Cooper’s at that moment.

  Steepling her fingers, she rested them against her lips. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m really sorry. Really.”

  Silently, he stalked up the muddy bank, slipping several times. Sammy Jo fought back a hysterical laugh. His eyes skewered hers and her own danced with mirth mingled with fear.

  Cooper continued forward and Sammy Jo couldn’t help staggering backward. Pine branches tangled in her hair, holding her captive. She couldn’t break her gaze from his. There was no mercy in his eyes, just unrelenting, frigid fury.

  “Cooper…‌really…‌I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Do you ever?” he growled.

  “You just made me so mad. I’m not proud of my tactics, but I’ll…‌I’ll make Brent a good wife. I will. It’ll work out.”

  “Someone ought to teach you a lesson.”

  She frowned, not liking the sound of that at all.

  “You’ve got a mean temper.”

  “You know, you’re right. I do. And you do, too, sort of,” she rattled on desperately, her fingers yanking on the pine branches to free herself.

  “That’s true.” He loomed in front of her, bristling with male fury. “Someone ought to pound some sense into that hard head of yours.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be you.” She ripped her hair free. “Ow!”

  He grabbed her arm, his hand shooting out with the speed of a striking rattler. Sammy Jo automatically resisted, glaring at him. She wasn’t really afraid. She’d never been afraid of any man. But then, she’d never antagonized one quite so much before. At least not since she was a kid.

  “Whatever you plan to do, don’t,” she advised. Her heart thundered, fear suddenly shooting through her veins like poison.

  He pulled her forward. Intuitively, Sammy Jo knew he couldn’t decide whether to bend her over his knee to tan her hide or to kiss her. How silly. How ironic. It was enough to make her laugh aloud.

  Her lips curved, drawing his gaze. “Cooper, I—”

  His mouth swept down on hers, hard and crushing. Her blood rose with the demand, surging wildly in response, singing. She gasped and his tongue followed as she bent over his arms like a willow branch.

  His hand was in the small of her back, fingers hard against her skin. Her shoulders touched the bark of the pine. His hips were hard against hers. His mouth promised pleasures she’d never dreamed of. Sammy Jo twisted away, but he was insistent, pulling her back, staring at her in such a way that her resistance melted like snow under a hot sun.

  “I don’t…”

  “Shh,” he warned her, and instead of an angry, pursuing male, she was suddenly faced with a man trying to gain control of his emotions. He closed his eyes, fighting some inner demon, and Sammy Jo, fascinated, didn’t use the opportunity to escape. Instead, she waited for him to open his eyes.

  She wanted…‌something. Something he could give her. Reason fled beneath true sexual desire. When his lashes lifted, he gazed into eyes of crystal green.

  “God,” he whispered, kissing her again, insistently. This time, Sammy Jo didn’t think of resistance. A small moan escaped her lips. The weight of his body was an intoxicant. She wanted to drag him closer, as close as possible, and he seemed intent on the same.

  His hands slid up her back, around the front to cup her breast. He squeezed it hard and Sammy Jo panted, shocked and thrilled. The buttons of her shirt miraculously fell free and then his thumb traveled the edge of her bra.

  Heaviness infused her breasts. They felt hard and liquid at the same time. Her knees were water. His mouth kept hers prisoner while one hand cupped her breast and his hips thrust against hers.

  “Cooper,” Sammy Jo breathed, choking the name out.

  The sound of her voice only spurred him onward, moving his hand downward to the curve of her hip. Sammy Jo swept in a breath, alarmed, yet when his hand slid up her inner thigh and began rhythmically rubbing through her jeans, she was too surprised and distracted by his boldness and the feel of it to do more than whisper a faint protest, which even to her ears sounded more like a moan of pleasure.

  His fingers went to her belt. Above her head, the shriek of a blue jay nearly shattered her eardrum. Sammy Jo jumped. Her eyes flickered open. The jay scolded again and was joined by an irritated squirrel.

  Reality struck, hard and painful. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, thrusting him away, her fists balling.

  The glazed look he swept over her was almost her undoing, but horror had replaced desire, constricting her chest all over again.

  “Kissing you,” he admitted frankly. “And more.”

  “You forced yourself on me.”

  His mouth formed a silent, “What?”, as incredulity filled his expression.

  “You did,” Sammy Jo insisted. “I didn’t ask to be manhandled. You…‌threatened me.”

  “You loved it.”

  “I did no.” Sammy Jo shook with belated reaction. “I hate being touched, and especially hate being touched by you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah!”

  The childishness of their conversation wasn’t lost on either of them. Sammy Jo’s chin was thrust forward, daring him to refute her. Cooper examined her face emotionlessly. A sound rumbled faintly. It took Sammy Jo a moment to realize it was laughter, low in his throat.

  “You’re too muc
h,” he said, his amusement spilling into a roar of mirth. The man actually tipped back his head and howled.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “Yes, you do.” He brought himself under control with difficulty, passion dissipating with the release of emotion. “You’re the biggest liar, and you do most of your lying to yourself.”

  That ticked her off royally. “I want the Triple R, and I’m going to make Brent Rollins a good wife.”

  “I could have had you right now.”

  Slapping his hat onto his head, he splashed back through the creek. Sammy Jo didn’t have time to do much, but she managed to scoop up some mud and fling it at him. It hit his shoulder, splattering like chocolate pudding to mark his entire shirt.

  His deep chuckle was her only indication that he’d even noticed.

  THE PRINCESS OF COLDWATER FLATS — NANCY BUSH

  Chapter Seven

  “Ornery, black-hearted, miserable, son-of-a-mongrel-dirt-chewing dog…‌doesn’t deserve to live on the planet…‌hope he chokes on his own self-importance and dies a horrible, screaming death…”

  The litany had gone on for hours. Days, actually. Any time Sammy Jo was alone, she vented her feelings about Cooper Ryan. At the house. In the barn. In the fields. It didn’t matter that Ridge Range Ranch’s livestock didn’t seem to care. While the horses stared at her in gentle bewilderment, Sammy Jo kept up a stream of consciousness liberally sprinkled with words that would scorch the ears of the good, churchgoing people of Coldwater Flats, had they but heard them.

  Sweating, Sammy Jo grabbed a bale by its twine and thumped it atop another at the crest of the hayloft. Her hands hurt, and she gasped for air. The air was dense as soup and almost as hot. Her eyes burned from floating bits of straw and dust.

  She’d been called a lot of names over the years, some of them well and truly earned, but she’s never been treated so downright nastily by a member of the male sex. Who in God’s name did he think he was, anyway? Telling her she would have lain down and done it with him!

  “Bastard,” Sammy Jo muttered fiercely. She hated him. All the way down to the tips of her boots.

  Men like Cooper Ryan gave the whole male population a bad name.