In a Cowboy’s Bed

by Cat Johnson

  He held the screen and door open as she slid past. She didn’t need to clutch the pizza box that tight, but it gave her hands something to do. Only once she was inside did it dawn on her that water was running off her coat and onto the hardwood floor. Horrified, she tried to back away only to run into him.

  Heat. The smell of soap.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’m going to ruin your floor.”

  His chuckle came from deep inside that broad and barely covered chest. “Don’t worry. It’s not the real thing. A cattle operation and wood flooring would never work. When I decided to start remodeling this place, I made practicality my number one consideration.”

  She’d all but bounced off him when her backside came in contact with his body. A little space between them made breathing slightly easier, but she didn’t yet trust herself to look back at him. Instead, she glanced down, which caused rainwater to slide off her hood and onto her lashes, nearly blinding her.

  He stepped around her and began unzipping her coat. Everything slowed down and became real. With her senses on overdrive, she couldn’t tell whether he was taking more time than necessary to get her out of her coat. She hoped so, because that meant he wanted this closeness as much as she did.

  You aren’t ready for this, are in over your head.

  Even with his body demanding her attention, she took in a large room with comfortable furniture and a fireplace insert in a large rock fireplace. A couple of lamps provided the only illumination. There were no curtains on the picture window. Stump and the other dog that had been working the cattle sat on a dark brown couch, looking at her.

  At length, Mike drew the garment off her shoulders. Leaving her to return the dogs’ stare, he stepped outside and shook her coat. Then he came back inside and hung it over a chair near the stove.

  “What’s that?” He nodded at her midsection.

  Knowing he was looking at her made answering nearly impossible. “What . . .” she started to say before gathering her thoughts. Suddenly, she felt silly. “I, ah, I thought you could use some dinner. Even if I only stay a few minutes you could . . .” Shut up. Don’t make things any worse than they are.

  His smile drew her attention to his perfect teeth—and the fact that he’d shaved. Had he done that for her? “Pizza?” he asked.

  “It has to cook in the oven. I wasn’t sure what kind you liked, so if—”

  “Perfect.” He held out his hands. “I haven’t had time to think about food. What temperature?”

  Still not quite believing they were having this conversation, she told him. When he headed toward the kitchen past the living room, she walked over to the wood stove and backed up to it. Warmth radiated around her as she studied her surroundings. Now that Mike wasn’t in the way both physically and emotionally, she noticed a trio of pictures on the wall to the right of the front window. Someone had taken photographs of a newborn calf, foal, and fawn, and had blown them up. She sensed a connection between the new lives.

  Another photograph turned framed wall art had been placed to the left of the window. This one was so large it took up most of the wall and showed a herd of cows and their white-faced calves. The cows were all grazing, the youngsters caught in the middle of some game that called for everyone to run. Dark gray clouds hung above the peaceful scene. The contrast between green grass, many colored animals, and slightly ominous sky had her covering her mouth.

  “Would you like a beer?”

  Turning from the picture, she spotted Mike in the doorway. Did the man have any idea how sexy he looked in worn jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt? And barefoot. Don’t forget barefoot. Maybe he’d left his hair damp and begging to be caressed to see how far he could push her.

  It won’t take much, cowboy. You’re getting to me. Hell, you already have.

  “Beer’s fine,” she said after a too long silence.

  “Are you sure? Maybe you’d prefer wine, not that I have any. Used to, but—you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

  It didn’t seem possible that this man ever stumbled over words. She briefly entertained the possibility that she’d blown him away with her sexuality, but what a joke that was. Average height, weight smack in the normal range, feet a size larger than she’d prefer, B cup. Her jeans were at least five years old, the sweater even older. And don’t forget her wet shoes. Mentally berating her choice of footwear, she removed them and placed them near the hearth.

  “I’m not much of a drinker, but I love a cold beer on a hot day. Your dogs barked when I drove up. Now they could care less about me.”

  “They’re wiped. The uproar was them trying to do their civic duty.”

  When he disappeared back into the kitchen, she left the stove’s warmth and walked over to the animals. Stump lifted an eyelid, but the other—Zeus, she thought he was called—managed to open both eyes.

  “Of course you’re tired.” She knelt in front of the couch so she could wrap her arms around both cattle dogs. “I just want you to know you impressed the hell out of me today.” They smelled of wet hair, and there were muddy paw prints on the couch. Seeing proof that Mike put his animals’ comfort before furniture lifted him even higher in her estimation.

  Even though she watched the pair’s chests slowly rise and fall, her nerve endings told her when Mike returned. His presence seemed to fill the room, to say nothing of the sensual energy swirling around him. After joining her, he held an icy bottle in front of her. It was probably her imagination, but was he standing closer than necessary? After too long, he turned his attention to the lumps on the couch.

  “I fed them as soon as the cattle unloading was done. They’re down for the count.”

  Nodding, she took the bottle from Mike. Their fingers didn’t touch and yet suddenly her whole body tingled. She had to hold on to the beer with both hands as she sipped to keep her trembling at a minimum. After placing the bottle on the floor, she stood up.

  Too close. Just close enough.

  Trembling and tingling morphed into a sensation that felt like sandpaper being rubbed over every inch of her body. She couldn’t be feeling like this! No way did getting turned on by an interview subject make a lick of sense. Not trusting her ability to keep her turmoil to herself, she leaned down and grabbed her drink. Her second swallow lasted longer than the first one. More heat joined with what had already filled her. If this kept up, she’d be jumping his bones before she emptied the bottle.

  “The pictures,” she stammered. “Did you take them? They’re amazing.”

  He pointed at the largest one. “That’s my doing. It was a matter of being in the right place at the right time. As for the others, my oldest nephew is turning into an incredible photographer.”

  She stood near Mike in the dimly lit room while rain hammered the roof and two dogs snored. This was one of those moments that would stand out in her memory—unplanned and ordinary on the surface but filled with layers. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her hands off him or whether she wanted to try.

  4

  “Reed is thirteen going on thirty,” Mike said. “My sister has four kids. I love them all, but Reed and I have a special relationship.”

  Night closed around them as Mike explained that Reed had been born when his oldest sister was only eighteen. The boy’s father had slipped in and out of the picture for several years but now lived on the East Coast. Reed hadn’t seen him in a long time.

  Mike had been a high-school freshman when Reed’s father moved away, but something, paternal instinct maybe, had told him the boy needed a father figure, a role he was happy to fill. Reed’s mother had married when Reed was nine. Mike approved of Reed’s stepfather, but his connection with his nephew remained strong.

  Thanks to his three sisters, Mike had nine nieces and nephews. As a hands-on uncle, he changed diapers, supervised teeth brushing, broke up sibling squabbles, and attended school events whenever he could work it into his schedule. The entire extended family lived in the county, h
is parents just a couple of miles down the road on their own ranch.

  Mike’s acreage was his legacy from his deceased grandparents who’d split the once-sprawling ranch into four equal parts for their four grandchildren. One of Mike’s sisters had sold her share to him so her husband would have the money to expand his dairy cattle operation. The other two sisters and their spouses farmed within spitting distance of their brother.

  “It sounds like a monopoly,” she said when he was finished. “The Moss clan owns the entire valley.”

  “Not really, but a good chunk of it.” He looked at the window. “I’m telling you this in part because it explains why I take advantage of the BLM lease program. Unless I changed my operation from free range to feedlot, which I’m not willing to do, I don’t own enough land to support the entire herd.”

  That’s what you’re here for, to try to understand his lifestyle, not . . . not something else. “Could you buy more acreage?”

  He shook his head. “Land has become too expensive. That to some extent is why factory farming has become so popular.”

  “Factory farming?” Maybe she should be taking notes, but how could she when holding on to his every word meant so much?

  “Treating ranching primarily like a business, which is something I swore I’d never do.”

  “Because you like being your own boss?”

  His smile didn’t last long enough. “That’s part of it. I’m committed to a kind of ranching that doesn’t put maximizing profits before everything else. I want my cattle to spend their lives living as nature designed. I sell my beef for more than feed-lot operations can because the meat’s better.”

  He wasn’t just outlining his career, he was giving her glimpses into the man he’d become. “Is there a difference between cattle that graze in pastures versus the ones that spent the summer in the forest?”

  “Not really. Those we rounded up today will spend several months on my land before they’re butchered. I always finish off my BLM cattle with hay and grass.”

  “Oh. There sure is more to it than I realized.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight.”

  Of course. It wasn’t as if this was a date.

  “Ranching is constantly evolving,” he said. “My great-grandparents settled here. I wonder what they’d think of the changes. Hopefully they’d agree their legacy is being respected.”

  She was sitting in a recliner some five feet from where Mike had settled himself. They’d finished their beers and he’d opened two more while they waited for the oven timer to tell them the pizza was done.

  Night had fully enveloped them, but she had no trouble recalling what the area had looked like while she was driving here. The county road cut through the valley; there were a number of fences, and widely spaced houses spoke of development, but she didn’t think the Moss ancestors would have any trouble recognizing where they’d homesteaded. They’d also approve of how Mike lived his life.

  “I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I’ve been running off at the mouth. No wonder you’re bored.”

  “Bored?” Her long day and the two beers had relaxed her, but she was wide awake. She couldn’t imagine falling asleep as long as this man was in the room with her. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re quiet.”

  If she’d been it was because she’d been juggling sexual awareness with making comparisons between Mike’s rich life and her so-called family.

  “Maybe this isn’t why you came.” Not waiting for a response, Mike stood and walked to the window. His back to her, he stared out. “Maybe you want to ask me what makes me and other ranchers think we have a right to let our livestock run rampant over forests taxpayers support.”

  “No.” Her sharp tone shocked her. “I don’t give a damn about that.”

  Now that the words were out of her mouth, she had no choice but to acknowledge them. Truth was, she hadn’t yet made up her mind which side of the argument she stood on, let alone whether there needed to be disagreement.

  Mike Moss lived in a house his grandparents had built. She liked that he had no desire to tear down the old structure and build new.

  Damn him for being such a rich, complex man.

  Double damn legs perfect for a physical lifestyle, a flat belly, deeply muscled chest and arms, and the unavoidable bulge proclaiming him male.

  “You should give a damn,” he said at length. He still didn’t face her. “How can you write about something without looking at both sides of an issue?”

  “That’s not what I mean.” The stack of wood near the fireplace made it easy to imagine him sawing down a dead tree or working on one felled by a storm. He’d section it and, wielding an ax, split the sections apart. Maybe he’d strip to the waist. The sun would glint off the sweat running down his chest and spine and he—

  She had to get a grip.

  Or not.

  “It’s evening,” she said, her voice low. “It wouldn’t take much for me to curl up with the dogs once I’ve filled my belly. Right now the article is the last thing I want to think about.”

  The way his leg and hip muscles worked as he faced her nearly broke her in two. There weren’t any houses within shouting distance, which meant they were isolated from the rest of the world.

  “Neither do I.”

  He started toward her, prompting her to sit up straight. Her suddenly hard nipples pressed against her too-small bra. It took all her self-control not to press her legs together. There was just the two of them and the snoring cattle dogs. A rainy night.

  She was trying to find the strength to stand when a buzzing from the kitchen announced that the pizza was ready. Time to try to return to normal, whatever that was.

  Mike supposed he should have asked Kathy if she wanted to eat at the kitchen table, but tonight the dimly lit and wood-warmed living room had a bit of magic to it. There wasn’t a dining room because he’d turned it into his office shortly after Jalena left with the furniture they’d bought together.

  He’d talked too much, gone on too long about farming methods and his family. The thing was, he couldn’t blame his tired body and two beers for what had spilled from him. If someone nailed his foot to the floor and demanded a reason, he’d have to admit he’d simply wanted her to understand some of what mattered to him.

  As for the other part, on the remote chance that she wound up spending the night, in the morning he’d take her on a tour of his land. Walk her into the oversized barn and show her where he brought pregnant cows when they were about to give birth or if one got sick or was hurt. See if she’d react to the hay bales that took up a good half of the structure and what the massive stacks said about his ability to care for his responsibilities through winter.

  Hot cheese burned the roof of his mouth and brought him back to earth. Earlier today he’d concluded there wasn’t a lot to her beneath her coat. Her sweater didn’t hug her body, but neither did it hide what nature had designed. She looked fantastic in white wool and blue denim, would look even better wearing nothing.

  Did she want to get naked?

  Did he want her to?

  “Oh my.” She sighed. “I don’t know about you, but that tastes wonderful. My stomach was rubbing against my backbone.”

  What stomach? Of course, if she let him touch the slightly rounded place between her hip bones . . . “Yeah, I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  She chewed for a few seconds. “You live here alone, except for the dogs, I mean? No one to cook for you?”

  That matters to you? “I do pretty well for a bachelor. Of course, with three sisters and a mother, someone is always dropping something off.”

  “I love that.”

  She’d spoken so softly that if he hadn’t been concentrating he might not have caught the words. Even though he wasn’t full, he put down his slice so he could study her. Like him, she was barefoot. Her hair lay soft against the sides of her neck and if she wore makeup, it was minimal. To his way of thinking, sh
e couldn’t have looked more at home if she’d tried.

  The ache between his legs that had begun even before he’d issued his invitation threatened to prevent him from carrying on a conversation. Considering the day he’d had, any other night he’d already be nodding off. Instead, he couldn’t remember when he’d felt more awake, and what were her hard nipples saying?

  “What do you love?” he asked.

  The way she blinked he wondered if she’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. “Your family,” she said. “They remind me of the old TV series The Waltons. I’ve seen some reruns.”

  “That’s what my mother says.” He debated asking his question, then decided it was too important not to. “What about your family?”

  She’d been returning his gaze, but now her half-eaten meal fascinated her. “There was just me and my folks. A lot of moving around, their breaking up and getting back together, then splitting again.”

  In the middle of the worst argument of their marriage, Jalena had accused him of not being in tune with her emotions. Too bad she couldn’t see him now, because she might say he was right on about what was going on inside Kathy. The reporter’s words were short and to the point in an attempt to cover a hell of a lot of pain.

  “I’m sorry.” Barely aware of what he was doing, he put his plate on the coffee table and stood. “Some people like seeing as much of this country as they can.” Like the woman I used to be married to. “My world has always revolved around this valley.”

  She, too, put down her plate. “You have roots. I envy you.” She extended her arms indicating, he thought, this room. “We always rented.”

  “What about now?” He didn’t know what to do with his body, whether to sit back down, how to tell her he’d never felt like this. “You live with or near your aunt, right?”

  “In a little place my uncle had built for his mother after she lost her husband.” She sighed. “I love it, but I don’t own it. I sometimes let myself imagine what that would feel like?”