A Cowboy Christmas

by Janette Kenny

  Had she been told she’d come to crave this, she’d have denied it with an insulted gasp. Now? Now she clutched at him to hurry him on, to give her the release she needed.

  And then his mouth was on her, his breath a scalding brand. One flick of his tongue and she shuddered and came in a dizzying aura of lights. Too soon.

  A laugh of satisfaction rumbled from him, distant as she floated among stars. But that incredible mouth of his brought her back to him.

  His mouth slid up her chest and his tongue laved the pulse point in her throat.

  With each kiss, each caress, rational thought escaped her a bit more. Not that she wanted to think any longer. She wanted to feel his hard body molding over hers, then the throbbing pulse as her inner core cried and stretched when he eased into her, inch by delicious inch.

  She ripped his shirt off him and skimmed her palms up his heaving chest, lingering over the male nipples that peaked against her palms. So different from her, yet so alike.

  He rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. She draped over his bare body, making note of every ridge of muscle, every taut line of sinew, every jutting inch of his penis pressed at her opening.

  She wanted him now. Later they could dawdle over those pleasure points she’d not known she possessed. Later she’d love him as he’d loved her the first time.

  The heat of him probing her most sensitive flesh wrenched a moan from her. She tossed her head back and straddled him, taking him in slowly when this time she sensed he ached to go fast.

  His hands gripped her waist to help her set the pace. Slow, torturous glides that drew out the sensations until her body quivered and twanged.

  On and on, the speed going minutely faster. Her body slicked with sweat, straining and alive like never before.

  Here and now faded into a void in time as they came together faster, their bodies meshing perfectly, the sensations building into a white-hot burst of need.

  “Now,” she said, her voice strained with need.

  “Whatever the lady desires.”

  His mouth captured hers, his fingers playing over where they joined. A slide of his thumb and her back bowed, sensations rippling through her like a skipping stone, going on and on.

  He joined her, his body going taut on a grunt, then the spurt of his hot seed filled her, completing her.

  She closed her eyes and held him close, branding every nuance on her mind, the texture of his skin, the tang of salt on her tongue, the feeling of rightness that settled over her like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  His arms came around her as if to stop her from leaving. Not that Ellie had any intentions of deserting his bed this soon. She sighed, thinking she’d be content to stay like this forever. If only that were possible.

  “I’ll never get enough of you,” he said.

  She glided her palms up his corded arms. “I feel the same.”

  He dropped another kiss on her shoulder, his hands roaming her breasts, down her belly and slipping between her legs. She arched against him, desire flaring red-hot.

  Words were unnecessary, though she wondered if he could sense the desperation coursing through her. The realization that when dawn broke, this ideal night they’d shared would be a memory. One she’d cherish forever.

  His body shifted over hers again, fluid and taut with power. She wrapped her arms around his lean waist and arched to meet his thrust, pushing worries about families and heartache to the back of her mind.

  There would be far too much time later to face reality.

  This was perfect. And it hammered home the fact that the memory of what she’d shared with Reid would never be enough.

  Chapter 23

  The back door slammed and slammed hard. Reid rolled to his feet, unease hammering through at the same frantic pace as his heart.

  “What was that?” Ellie asked, her voice drowsy.

  “Company.”

  This time of night it couldn’t be good. None of his men would come inside at this hour unless there was trouble.

  That thought slammed into his head just as someone pounded up the back stairs. He grabbed his Peacemaker and moved to the door.

  “Barclay! Where are you?” Moss—no, Ezra Kincaid asked.

  Dammit, how had the outlaw gotten out of jail? Tavish sure as hell wouldn’t have set him free.

  He flicked a glance at the bed and Ellie sitting up wide-eyed, with the bed sheet clutched to her bare bosom. Shit!

  “Get dressed and stay back,” he ordered, but didn’t waste time putting on jeans.

  He stormed to the door and opened it. Hubert tottered at the end of the hall in his nightclothes while Ezra Kincaid ambled down the hall toward Reid, reeking of black powder and fear.

  “Who the hell let you out of jail?” he asked.

  Kincaid swore. “Some fool blew up the jail. Damn wonder it didn’t kill us all.”

  He should’ve guessed. “One of your gang set on busting you out?”

  “Hell, no! I ain’t had a gang in nigh over three years.”

  Was the old man telling the truth? “Somebody sure went to some trouble to break you out.”

  “I ain’t so sure. The explosion tore off the front of the jail,” Kincaid said. “If that iron key ring hadn’t been thrown back in my cell by the blast, I’d still be there.”

  That had him thinking someone had a bone to pick with Tavish. “The marshal okay?”

  “He was knocked out cold, so I dragged him onto the boardwalk. But I didn’t stick around to tend him with half the townsfolk heading that way to see what all the ruckus was about.” The old man gave him a quick once over and scowled. “A mite cold to be standing round in the altogether.”

  “I was in bed.”

  Kincaid glanced back at Hubert, then squinted at Reid’s bedroom door. “Where’s Ellie Jo?”

  “Reckon she’s in bed, too.” Never mind she was as naked as he.

  Though Kincaid lived on the wrong side of the law, Reid knew he wouldn’t cotton to him dallying with Ellie. It sure as hell wasn’t something he wanted brought out now. As long as she stayed quiet and in his room, all would be fine.

  The old man tipped his head back and eyed him like a hawk would a hare. “She ain’t in her bed, ’cause I just checked. What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” he said, and sucked in a breath when he felt her small hand on his back.

  Kincaid’s eyes bugged. “Ellie Jo?”

  She slipped in front of Reid as if trying to shield him from the old man, clutching the bedclothes around her. “Pa, what are you doing here?”

  “I’d ask you the same, except it’s mighty clear what’s going on.” Kincaid skewered him with a look that promised all hell would break loose if he didn’t like the answer. “Well?”

  So this is what it felt like to look down the barking end of a shotgun wedding. Oddly enough, he hadn’t the inclination to fight it right now. Maybe ever?

  “I suggest we all seek our beds,” Ellie said. “Clearer heads will prevail in the morning.”

  Kincaid was clearly like a dog with a bone—he wanted to chew on this some more. “You’re going to make this right.”

  Like hell he was! Erston used blackmail to force his hand with Cheryl. He wasn’t about to let this old outlaw browbeat or threaten him to marry Ellie.

  Nothing had changed. Until he had more to offer than dreams and promises, he wouldn’t marry Ellie. Yet the thought of letting her go—

  A deafening boom shattered the tension and shook the house. Ellie stumbled into Kincaid’s arms. Hubert fell back against the wall.

  Reid ran to the window to take stock of the ranch. A fireball roiled into the sky, illuminating the ranch as if it was day.

  His ranch hands rushed from the bunkhouse and set to work dousing the flames. One errant spark near the hay barn and he’d lose his winter’s supply of feed for the stock.

  “What happened?” Ellie asked as she pressed to his side.

  “The cook shack e
xploded.” He whirled from the window to confront the old man, but Ezra Kincaid was gone.

  “How could that have happened?” she asked. “Pa’s been in jail, so the stove wouldn’t have overheated.”

  “This wasn’t an accident, Ellie.”

  He threw on his clothes, his gut twisting with the suspicion that this explosion was somehow connected to the one at the jail. Kincaid claimed that his cronies had no part in breaking him out. If that was true, then why make it look like it? Why come here and blow up the one place where Ezra Kincaid had held sway on the Crown Seven?

  Reid jammed his feet into his boots then strapped his gun belt around his hips, welcoming the reassuring weight of his Peacemaker in its holster. He’d never killed a man or woman. Never thought to. Could he pull the trigger?

  His gaze met Ellie’s, and the fear he read in them stilled his heart a measure. Yep, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who harmed her.

  “Stay in the house with Hubert,” he said.

  “Be careful.” She reached up and kissed him, a soft peck that hummed through his blood and teased him with the hope for something better in life. Something good and warm and true.

  Gunshots peppered the air, a collage of volume that he recognized all too well. Sidearm and shotgun. It was the latter that forced him to end the kiss too soon.

  He stared into her troubled eyes one last time then ran the length of the hall and pounded down the stairs, pushing soft thoughts of the woman he loved from his mind.

  Loved? Hell, yes, he did love her. But he couldn’t afford to go soft now.

  Hubert stood like a sentry at the rear door with an Adams percussion revolver clutched in his boney hands. “Godspeed, sir.”

  He dipped his chin in thanks. “Kincaid gone?”

  “He’s en route to the stables,” Hubert said. “He said a varmint was after the horses.”

  A varmint of the two-legged variety, he’d wager.

  Reid burst out the back door and broke into a dead run across the slush and mud. The stench of smoke clouded the air, and the horses’ whinnies and stamping echoed with tension.

  He drew his Peacemaker and headed to the bunkhouse, blinking as the smoke stung his eyes and made them tear. A tall man stepped from the gloom into his path, his face soot-covered, yet familiar.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked Shane.

  The cowboy’s grim eyes met his. “Don’t know, Slim. One minute I was picking my guitar, and the next an explosion damned near shifted the bunkhouse off its foundation.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  Shane shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Where’s Howard?”

  “He headed to the stable right after supper.”

  A shotgun blast sounded ahead of them, followed by a horse’s loud bugle. Rage pounded through Reid.

  Dammit all, there was trouble with the thoroughbreds. He was off at a run toward the stables.

  Shane kept pace with him. “Likely Kincaid is back.”

  That much was true, but was the old man in the thick of it trying to stop a rustler, or was he seeing that his plan came together as he made off with the herd?

  Nervous whickers echoed up ahead. Hooves pounded the ground, coming their way.

  Another shot split the air, this one more a bang. Likely a sidearm.

  “They’re about on us,” Reid said, feeling the frozen ground rumble beneath his boots as the horses headed his way.

  Neal burst from the smoky fog and nearly bowled him and Shane over. The three of them scrambled behind the shed just as nigh on twelve thousand pounds of terrified horseflesh thundered around them. A man’s crazed whoop egged them on.

  There was no way Reid could stop them. Nothing he could do but listen to his prize horses disappear into the night and hope one of Arlen’s shots didn’t plow into them, one of his men, or him.

  “Saddle up and head after them,” Reid said when the shooting stopped, for the trail would get colder the longer they waited.

  Shane was already running to the pasture. But no amount of whistling or calling by either cowboy convinced their horses to come that close to the stench of black powder. Even Kaw refused to obey.

  “We’ll round ’em up.” Shane and Neal took off across the pasture and were soon swallowed up in the haze that drifted from the remains of the cook shack.

  Reid kicked a rock from his path and headed to the stables, pissed to high heaven that he’d failed. He stood in the empty paddock that had held his prize thoroughbreds and his dreams to raise horses and live out his life right here.

  His ace in the hole—gone in a blink.

  Despite having his men watch the horses day and night, it’d been disgustingly easy for Frank Arlen to steal them. Now he feared the bastard would run them into the ground getting away.

  The rustler would push the herd hard and risk that a mare threw a foal. He wouldn’t care if one of them broke the elegant legs that were unsuited to riding wild over this rough terrain.

  He tipped his head back and stared at the moon, madder than hell and sick at heart. It was likely after midnight now. Who now owned the majority of the Crown Seven?

  A faint moan came from the stable. He ran that way, frantically searching the dimly lighted interior for the source.

  “Howard? Where the hell are you?” he asked.

  Another moan answered him, this one slightly stronger. He ran down the aisle and searched each stall. Near the last one he spied his foreman, sprawled facedown.

  Reid hustled over to him and knelt at his side, his insides twisting over the sight of blood soaking the foreman’s trousers. Howard had caught a bullet in the leg.

  “Hang on.”

  Reid scrambled to find toweling. He pressed it to Howard’s thigh to staunch the blood.

  “Arlen,” Howard said, and winced.

  “I know. It’s been him all along.”

  A shrill whinny sounded outside. He looked up just as Kincaid hobbled into the stable leading a gangly-legged colt.

  “How’d you manage to catch him?” Reid asked.

  “Experience, boy.” Kincaid half dragged the colt into a stall and closed the door. “When them horses took off out of here, I lassoed this little feller as they rounded the barn.”

  Reid shook his head. One colt saved out of a herd that was worth a fortune.

  Kincaid ambled over to him. “Hell, Howard. How bad is it?”

  “Burns like hell, Moss.” Howard frowned. “Or should I call you Kincaid?”

  “Makes no never mind.” Kincaid knelt to examine the wound. “That bullet’s got to come out.”

  Howard grimaced. “Then do it.”

  “That’s beyond what I can do. Best get you back to the bunkhouse and fetch the doctor.” Kincaid got to his feet with effort as Shane and Neal came running into the stable.

  “What’s going on here?” Shane asked, his hand hovering by his sidearm and his narrowed gaze locked on Kincaid.

  “Howard was shot.” Reid nodded at the old man. “He caught the colt as Arlen was making off with the herd.”

  Shane took it all in with narrowed eyes. “Reckon it’s fitting that a rustler lassoed the colt. How’d you get out of jail?”

  “You can haggle over that later,” Reid said. “Help me carry Howard to the bunkhouse. Neal, snag a horse and ride for thunder into Maverick. Get Doc Neely out here as fast as you can, and tell the marshal that Frank Arlen rustled the herd. But don’t tell a soul you saw Kincaid here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Neal kicked up dust running from the stable.

  Shane hesitated a moment then hurried to help move Howard. They went slow so they wouldn’t jar him too badly, but every second gave Arlen time to secrete the herd.

  As soon as Howard was settled in bed, Reid headed for the pastures. He whistled for Kaw. This time the gelding tossed his head and moved toward him, though he was still leery and skittish.

  “That paint wouldn’t let me near him,” Shane said, topping the rise behind Kaw with four horses
in tow.

  Exactly why Reid had favored this horse. Kaw was loyal, but a stubborn cuss at times. Like now when time was short.

  “You going after Arlen?” Shane asked.

  “Soon as I can saddle up.”

  “I’m going with you,” Kincaid said.

  “Not a good idea,” he said. “Tavish is likely to join us, and he might just shoot you this time instead of hauling your ass into jail.”

  Reid slipped the loop over Kaw’s hard head and headed back to the barn a few steps behind Shane. Kaw pranced with nervous energy, his coat rippling like velvet caught in the wind. No doubt the smell of smoke still had him spooked. Low clouds of it hung around the outbuildings and house.

  Shane turned the three horses into the paddock and tethered his mount to the fence. Reid did the same and then followed him into the tack room for their gear.

  “You’re going to need help rounding up them horses,” Kincaid said and hefted a saddle off its tree. “The only thing I’m damn good at is rustling.”

  “We’ll have to find the herd first,” Reid said, and knew that wouldn’t be easy in the dark.

  “That colt will help us.” Kincaid grinned. “That mare is going to be mighty restless when it’s time to nurse and that colt ain’t around. You mark my words.”

  Reid mulled that over. “It’ll work.”

  Kincaid bobbed his white head. “I got a feeling he’s been holed up close by all along. Easier for him to hide in plain sight with those horses.”

  Could he be right? If Arlen had a hiding place nearby, he could easily double back after they’d ridden out. Ellie would be here with only Hubert to defend her.

  “Shane, stay here and watch over Ellie,” he said. “Once Arlen hides the herd, he might slip back here to raise more hell.”

  “I don’t like this,” Shane said.

  Neither did he, but Ellie would be safer with Shane watching over things. “With Howard down, I need a man I can trust here while the old man and I go after the horses.”

  Shane slid Kincaid a dubious look, then dipped his chin. “You’re the boss. But if you aren’t back by sunup, I’ll put men on guard duty and come looking for you.”