Tempted by a Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, Melissa MacNeal

  She didn’t want him to speak and didn’t want to have to open her own mouth.

  Deliberately keeping her mind as empty as possible, she pulled on her blouse and shorts without bothering with underwear, which she wadded up and tucked under her arm after sliding into her sandals. Because she had her back to the bed, she couldn’t say for sure that he was watching her. Something made her back tingle.

  She reached for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To my motel room.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  Of course it wasn’t. What did he expect, a practical and reasonable explanation? “All right,” she said and turned around. Thank goodness for darkness. Otherwise, the sight of his naked body would destroy her. “We fucked, got what we both wanted out of the way.”

  “You’re saying that’s the only thing you need from me?”

  Like I’m going to answer that. “It’s all you need from me.”

  Sitting up, he started to swing his feet over the side of the bed, head bent to prevent contact with the ceiling. “That’s what you think?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she snapped even though she understood nothing of her emotions. “What do you know about me, Miguel? I know about your mother and her influence on you, why you do what you do for a living. You haven’t bothered to ask a single damn question about my family, whether I’m happy with my job.”

  His shadow legs dangled. He’d stopped moving, which should have filled her with relief but brought her near tears. “No,” he whispered. “I haven’t. Dawn, I—”

  “Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter, Miguel. It just damn doesn’t matter.” Her fingers ached from clutching the door handle.

  “Stop this! All right, tell me about your job.”

  “I’m excited about something I’ve been part of since we met, but you won’t approve.”

  “Try me.”

  How had she let the conversation take this turn? “Blanco was hardly the only mustang stud running free. There are other stallions, too many of them if they all breed.”

  “Hmm.”

  “The agency I work for is going to start rounding them up and sterilizing them.” She rushed her words. “Once that’s accomplished, they’ll be returned to their herd. They just won’t be able to reproduce.”

  “What?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, damn it! Not only are the mustangs losing the land they were born on, now they’ll—”

  “No longer be able to do what they were created for.”

  “That’s right,” she agreed, perversely needing to turn the conversation into an argument. “There’s no alternative, don’t you understand that? Of course you don’t. You want to go back in time, tear down all the fences and make civilization disappear.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “I don’t know. How can I when we’re little more than strangers?”

  Emotionally exhausted, she stepped outside.

  11

  Miguel was the sixth wrangler to compete in the freestyle event. If anyone had asked her impression of those who’d gone before him, she wouldn’t have been able to offer so much as a word because only he mattered.

  He shouldn’t but he did.

  Studying his quiet form as he waited his turn on Blanco’s back, she had no choice but to replay what little they’d said before she’d stormed away. It didn’t help that their argument, if that’s what it had been, had kept her awake most of the night, but at least she hadn’t had to look at him. That’s what made right now so damn hard.

  That’s why she’d come here today, wasn’t it, because she couldn’t head north without trying to get in touch with her emotions. Granted, she’d spoken the truth when she’d chided him for not asking about her life and world, but what did she expect? All told they hadn’t yet spent two hours together. And that time had been spent doing very little talking.

  The horse and rider ahead of Blanco completed their talent, which included getting the mare to stand on a platform so small her four feet nearly touched. In preparation for Blanco’s demonstration, three barrels were rolled into the arena and placed on end in a triangle. She recognized the pattern used in rodeo barrel racing events. Two other competitors had already taken their mounts around the barrels, and she couldn’t understand why Miguel had chosen it.

  Still…

  Give me something to take back with me, a memory to last a lifetime.

  Like the others, he began by urging Blanco to race at full speed toward the barrel farthest from where he’d taken off. Even as she silently applauded Blanco’s speed, she noticed something. Miguel wasn’t using reins. Instead, they’d been wrapped around the saddle horn and lay on either side of the mustang’s neck. As Blanco neared the first barrel and started around it in a clockwise pattern, Miguel leaned into the turn, one hand cupping the saddle horn, the other resting at his side. Man and animal came within inches of scraping the ground. Dirt flew up from churning hooves.

  The turn completed, Blanco straightened and charged the barrel on the left. Miguel wasn’t urging his mount on by digging his heels into his sides. She nearly convinced herself that Miguel was simply along for the ride and Blanco knew exactly what he was expected to do. But surely Blanco wouldn’t be risking a fall as he raced around the second barrel if his trainer wasn’t sending him reassurances known only to the two of them. As before, horse and man completed the turn as one, their bodies dangerously close to horizontal, Blanco’s legs churning.

  Miguel and Blanco straightened, the marriage between them stealing her breath. Only the third barrel remained. All around her, people had fallen silent, proof that they appreciated how much wordless communication was taking place. This time horse and rider approached the barrel from the right, compelling them to lean low to their left in order to switch to counterclockwise.

  Once again she barely had time to question how Blanco had known this turn would be different from the others before horse and rider all but kissed the barrel, Blanco digging his hoofs into the loose ground. She hadn’t seen Miguel switch holding on to the horn with his right hand to the left. All she could do was jump to her feet when he reached out and stroked the barrel.

  Then he sat straight and still and magnificent in the saddle as Blanco stretched out, mane and tail streaming as he galloped for the finish line. Even before he’d crossed it, Miguel lifted both arms over his head, fists pumping the air.

  “That’s amazing, ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer gushed over the applause. “Think about that. No hand signals or control, nothing but man and animal with the same goal and determination. I don’t need to say this, but I wouldn’t recommend trying this at home.”

  Others laughed, but Dawn could only sink back into her seat, pounding her hands double time as tears ran down her cheeks. He’d done it! Gotten inside Blanco’s head so the two of them shared the same brain. The same dream.

  She was so caught up in admiration for his accomplishment that at first she didn’t realize he hadn’t returned to his spot in the arena but was slowly riding past the audience. His expression was somber and tense.

  Her heart pounding and her pussy flooding, she stood up again, her arms at her sides. He came closer, then stopped below her. Because she was in the fifth row, she couldn’t get to him, and because whatever they might say to each other was personal and private, she didn’t speak. Neither did he.

  For the first time since the competition had begun, Miguel wasn’t with Blanco. Instead, like the other wranglers, he was standing outside the arena near where the auctioning was taking place. He had climbed partway up the wooden fencing and had propped his arms over the top railing, watching. He’d remained near Blanco until the stallion’s turn to be auctioned off neared, then had handed Blanco over to one of the assistants. From where she’d been sitting surrounded by those interested in taking over ownership of the formerly wild horses, she believed she could read Migu
el’s body language. He didn’t want to lose Blanco.

  The horse ahead of Blanco was bought by a middle-aged woman who’d explained that she wanted a mount for her grandchildren. Unable to handle more of the distance between her and Miguel, she left the stands and made her way to where he was. Then she scrambled up next to him and hooked her own arms over the top.

  He was quiet and still, a study in patience. Or resignation?

  “If you don’t want me here—”

  “What? No, not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d look you up.”

  “Why did you?”

  “He should bring a good price, maybe the top one,” she told him instead of trying to answer his complex question. “After all, he took first place.”

  “He should.”

  “You’ve done an incredible job with him.” She was too close to the wild wrangler, their elbows brushing and feet only inches apart. Still, she couldn’t make herself move. “I should have told you that earlier.”

  “Other things got in the way.”

  “Yes, they did.” And if we were alone right now—

  The auctioneer announced a starting bid of five thousand dollars for Blanco. Elbow against elbow wasn’t enough after all. She needed his arms around her, his cock housed inside her, sperm bursting free and flooding her, maybe impregnating her.

  Rocked by the thought, she struggled to concentrate on the bid increments. No fewer than four parties were interested in the stallion. Despite the auctioneer’s insistence, the bidders refused to be rushed.

  “Could you buy him? He means so much to you that—”

  “I agreed to this. I knew what I was getting into.”

  “But it isn’t easy.” Risking more than losing her perch, she let go of the railing and touched his arm.

  “No.” He covered her hand with his, jolting her. “It isn’t. I fell in love with him.”

  Love. “I can see why.”

  “Blanco wouldn’t be alive if he wasn’t intelligent,” he said, “and he wouldn’t have had his own herd if he hadn’t proven himself as a stud. He’s passing his smarts on to his offspring.”

  Wondering if he was making a case for why mustang stallions shouldn’t be sterilized, she debated telling him that vasectomies had been chosen over castration so at least the horses would continue to exhibit normal social behavior, but he had to know that.

  The bidding was up to ten thousand dollars. Two of the original bidders had dropped out but a well-dressed couple and a man wearing a shirt with the name of a Nevada resort and dude ranch on it showed no signs of quitting.

  “I wish we’d never rounded Blanco up,” she admitted. “He deserves—”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Are you blaming me?”

  “No. I was as much a part of his change as you were.”

  “But if he’d been left alone—”

  “He’ll be all right. He understands that humans aren’t the enemy.”

  “Do you think that’s enough?”

  Still sheltering her hand, he shrugged. “Blanco will embrace whatever comes his way. He loves a challenge. And now he won’t have to spend a snowstorm with his back to the wind.”

  “There’s that.” Much as she wanted to link her fingers with his, she had to take hold of the fencing again. He did the same.

  “There’s something I want you to know,” he said following a barrage of fast-paced words from the auctioneer. “Despite the way I reacted, I don’t disagree with what you and the BLM are going to be doing.”

  “You don’t?” Even with just their elbows touching once more, an even longer zing chased over and then through her veins.

  “You were right about one thing, I’d love to go back in time to when there was no limit to the land mustangs could roam, but that’s behind us. Just like I can’t bring my mother back.”

  The well-to-do couple exchanged high fives. A moment later, a boy and a girl rushed forward and hugged them. Tears stung Dawn’s eyes. Looking over at Miguel, she saw him nod. His own eyes glittered.

  “I wish I could have met your mother,” she told him.

  “I wish you could have too. About last night—”

  “I’m sorry.” Her arms and legs ached. Any second now, she’d have to climb down and stand on terra firma. “I don’t know why I acted the way I did except…”

  Maybe he could read her mind because he pointed at the ground and started down. As soon as she could get her legs to work, she joined him. And when he held out his hands, she placed hers in them.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he began. “You said the things you did and acted the way you did because you were overwhelmed.”

  “Overwhelmed?”

  “By what you were feeling.”

  She’d been wrong. He did know certain things about her. Vital things.

  “It’s been intense between us,” he continued. “And unless I’m wronger than I’ve ever been in my life, that isn’t going to change.” He made his point by pulling her against him. His erection caressed her belly. “Dawn, you weren’t the only one who felt out of control. That’s why I didn’t try to make you stay.”

  “You—”

  “But it didn’t take me long to realize I’d made a hell of a mistake.” Holding her in place with one arm, he cupped callused fingers under her chin and lifted her head. “I think you felt the same way. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here today.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “What about tomorrow and the day after that?”

  Her throat aching and her pussy already loose and ready, she answered him, not with words, but action. Standing on her toes, she covered his mouth with hers. Sounds faded away. She no longer smelled anything except him. Cared for nothing except him.

  Tasted only his lips.

  Tomorrow. Together.

  LONG HARD RIDE

  MELISSA MACNEAL

  1

  “Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head!”

  “Oh, enough already!” As she peered through the fogged-over windshield, Diana Grant jabbed the radio button. The wipers could barely keep up with the beating rain that had pelted her since she’d left the bank ten minutes ago, which seemed only fitting. While her previous chats with the bank president hadn’t boded well, this one had sounded the death knell for Seven Creeks Ranch.

  Diana blinked rapidly. While it devastated her to hear those final pronouncements about the home Garrison had built for them more than twenty years ago, crashing into another car would only make matters worse. She just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But it would be another half hour before she got home, the way this rain kept her from seeing out.

  Vision. It all came down to vision. And Jerry Pohlsen—Jerry the polecat Pohlsen—had eyes only for his own interests. Once the bank foreclosed on her ranch, he planned to finance a community of upscale townhomes and condos that would make Wolf Point, Montana—and his bank—look a helluva lot more progressive. He didn’t seem to care where she would fit in this picture.

  Through the loud, constant downpour the sign for the WelCome Inn flashed red and then white. Gossip was the last thing she needed on top of unpaid medical bills and this foreclosure crap, but she simply couldn’t drive any farther. Diana cranked the wheel in a hard left and took the cafe’s last open parking slot.

  She turned off the engine. Sat there, numb, surrounded by the roar of the rain and a lonely desperation like she’d never known. Where had she gone wrong? Why had Garrison’s liver transplant and medications done nothing other than drain her and their accounts? Why was her life one huge pile of shit right now? One huge wet pile of shit.

  God, what she wouldn’t give for an escape…a good man who would love her and rescue her and take care of her. All these months of being the strong woman who solved her world’s problems had worn her way too thin.

  Diana yanked her old shades from her purse. It felt
good to hide behind dark sunglasses even on a cloudy day, especially when there wasn’t a glimmer of light or hope to be seen anywhere.

  She shoved her door open and the cold deluge soaked her. Once inside the cafe, Diana paused on the soggy doormat. The tables were all full with the noon rush, as this was the only place north of town to eat. One empty stool remained at the lunch counter, between a guy absorbed in his newspaper and another one with a set of shoulders the size of Montana. A wet, black ponytail clung to the back of his soaked shirt. A guy like that wouldn’t take any crap from Jerry Pohlsen. A guy like that would cure what ailed a needy woman—

  Like he’d even look at you.

  Diana shoved her shades back in place and hurried toward the empty stool without making eye contact. Everyone knew who she was. No need to rub her nose in what they’d all heard about the fate of Seven Creeks by now, and about her financial setback. Pity got her nowhere.

  Get a Coke and go. Sit in the car until this storm lets up. Why open yourself to condolences or speculation?

  “What’ll it be, hon?” Gladys, the county’s oldest and most cantankerous waitress, gazed across the counter at her. She snapped her gum, waiting.

  “Diet Coke. In a go cup, please.”

  “Want pie with that? Today we’ve got cherry cheesecake and peach and—”

  “No. Thank you,” Diana added with terse politeness. “Just the drink.”

  Gladys rolled her eyes and strode to the fountain spigots, filing away this little incident for the local litany about how that Grant woman had no call to be so antisocial or rude.

  Diana slumped on the stool. Exhausted as she was, it felt good to remain invisible—or as anonymous as anyone could be here among the locals. The man on her left folded his newspaper and nearly dragged it through the gravy where his meat loaf had been. The guy on her right—

  “Is that peach pie you mentioned homemade?” he asked in a low voice. “Peach is my all-time favorite. If it’s fresh.”

  Gladys set Diana’s plastic cup in front of her, raising her eyebrows flirtatiously. “Don’t even think about me passing off store-bought stuff as real pie!” she teased. “Earl’d shoot me!”