The Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, P. J. Mellor, Nelissa Donovan

  THE COWBOY

  Also by

  Vonna Harper:

  Surrender

  P.J. Mellor:

  Pleasure Beach

  Nikki Alton (writing as Genie Davis):

  The Model Man

  THE COWBOY

  VONNA HARPER

  P.J. MELLOR

  NELISSA DONOVAN

  NIKKI ALTON

  KENSINGTION BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Contents

  Wild Ride

  Vonna Harper

  Cowboy in Paradise

  P.J. Mellor

  Saddle Sore

  Nelissa Donovan

  Rodeo Man

  Nikki Alton

  Wild Ride

  Vonna Harper

  1

  T he bulls had arrived.

  Fighting the knot in her belly, Jordan Shore gripped the corral railing as the massive stock truck made its way through the night-darkened rodeo grounds. Whinnies from the nearby horse barn mixed with bellows from the soon-to-be unloaded Brahmas.

  Like many competitors, she’d arrived at the county fairgrounds the day before the rodeo was set to begin. But where her fellow barrel racers, as well as the bronc and bull riders and ropers, were primarily concerned with getting settled in, she’d come early so she would have time to study the Brahmas.

  So she could come face-to-face with her fears.

  Whoever was driving the stock truck handled it as if he’d been jockeying the unwieldy thing for years, expertly backing until it was only a couple of feet from the corral where the bulls were contained until their event. Shivering, Jordan sensed the animals’ impatience at being penned up. If she had the brains of a gnat, she would leave right now. But even with her heart pounding and her surgically repaired right leg aching, she held her ground.

  If she didn’t, she might never win the biggest round of her life.

  Mercury lights illuminated much of the grounds, but back behind the outbuildings, deep shadows provided the perfect opportunity for her nightmares to breed. And, boy, were they breeding, making her hands and between her shoulder blades and in the small of her back sweat.

  Then the driver opened the door and jumped down from the high cab, and she couldn’t breathe.

  Cougar Lighthorse.

  A sharp pain turned her attention to her right palm. Damn! She’d been gripping the railing so tight she’d forced a wood sliver into her flesh. Yanking out the splinter with her teeth briefly distracted her from the reality of Cougar’s presence. By the time she’d turned her attention back to him, the tall, solid Indian, and whoever had been in the passenger’s seat, had moved to the stock door.

  Wiping her sweating hands on her well-worn jeans, she hurried around to the rear of the corral. Her riding boots thudded dully on the packed earth, echoing her heartbeat. Given his need to concentrate on what he was about to do, she doubted Cougar was paying attention to his surroundings. Good. This way she had more time to come to grips, to comprehend, to resign herself. And, if truth be known, to ogle.

  She was asking herself if two men on foot really could unload who knew how many two-thousand-pound bulls, when several mounted cowboys appeared. They spoke briefly with Cougar, but the bulls’ continual bellowing made it impossible for her to hear anything.

  One of the men on horseback opened the corral gate. A minute later the rear door to the stock truck swung open. Heart in her throat, she frantically looked around. If one of those monsters broke loose, where could she run? The barn? Could she reach it in time?

  Stop it! Damnit, get over it!

  To her surprise, although the bulls fairly charged down the ramp and exploded into their temporary home, they almost immediately calmed down without giving her so much as a glance. Of course, finding hay and water waiting for them had a great deal to do with things. In less than five minutes a dozen Brahmas had been secured in the sturdy enclosure. It was so dark in there she barely glimpsed their massive forms, but morning was soon enough for that stroke-threatening task.

  Male voices tore her attention from the bulls. Cougar and the others had gathered near the truck cab. Occasional laughter told her the conversation was less than serious. Although thoughts of being surrounded by so much testosterone intimidated her, she wanted to laugh with them, to absorb their strength and competence, to thank Cougar for holding her tight and strong and safe during that memorable day a year ago when pain and panic chewed at her sanity.

  Heat touched her nerve endings. Unsettled, she closed her hand around her throat. If a bull—no! What she felt spoke of something far different from danger, at least the kind of danger she’d experienced, thanks to one of those beasts. This was a hell of a lot more carnal. If she didn’t—

  Cougar had left the others and was walking toward her.

  Her legs trembled. She wanted to run. She needed to stay. Watching him, she concentrated on a body carved from a lifetime of physical labor. His jeans barely contained powerful thighs, and yet what she could see of his ass was tight and minimal. Like most true cowboys, his belly nestled between prominent hip bones. If this was rodeo day, he’d be sporting a handtooled leather belt complete with decorative brass buckle, but tonight he hadn’t bothered with flash. He’d tucked in his long-sleeved Western shirt and had rolled up the sleeves, exposing hard forearms capable of handling the wildest bronc. His shoulders were broad enough for any task. Midnight hair so long he’d contained it with something at the nape of his neck spoke of his Native American heritage.

  Although he was now so close he might see what she was doing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing down. There. Wrapped tightly in denim, the bulge she’d thought about more times than he would ever know.

  “Jordan? Jordan Shore?” His voice hit her nervous system like a drumbeat.

  “Cougar.”

  He held out his hand. In the uncertain light, she couldn’t see all the details, but memory told her of long, strong bones and sun-weathered flesh. Although her hand shook, she closed her fingers around what she could of his. She felt small and feminine. Turned on.

  “I heard you were going to be here,” he said, still claiming her hand. “Is this the first time you’ve competed since…”

  “Just a couple of local events. Nothing as big as this.”

  “Or with my bulls around.”

  The statement weighted the air. Although robbed of breath, she mustered the strength to pull free. Before she could think of a response, one of the men called out.

  “I have to go,” he said. “But we need to talk.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Where are you staying?”

  She pointed toward the parking lot reserved for participants. “It’s a double horse trailer. Faded blue and white, sleeping area.”

  “I’ll find it. You’ll be there later?”

  “Yes. But you don’t—”

  “Yeah, I do. We do.”

  Although she was tired after the ten-hour drive from the family ranch in Harney County, Oregon, Jordan hadn’t undressed. In the hour since she’d spoken to Cougar, she’d checked on her trained quarter horse, Trixie, dropped by the trailer of a woman she’d competed against for several years, and read the local newspaper. Now, because the night was hot, she was sitting in a lawn chair in front of her rig, boots off, attention shifting between the moths swarming around the lights and the comings and goings of those around her. She could have joined the large group in the next row but didn’t because experience had taught her that someone would bring up her accident. She understood their curiosity but wasn’t interested in rehashing the details. Besides, there were certain questions she didn’t want to try to answer.

  For th
e second time that night, something hot shocked her nerves. She didn’t have to look to know who was walking among the many vehicles, but she did. Cougar still carried himself as if he had limitless strength, but his steps were slow. Either his day had been as long as or longer than hers, or he wasn’t looking forward to this.

  “I’m here,” she said.

  He nodded, came closer, stopped when maybe four feet separated them. She’d known this man all her life, but there’d always been a certain awkwardness or awareness or something between them, and the years hadn’t changed that. Telling herself it was the civilized thing to do, she pointed at a lawn chair she’d propped against her trailer. Nodding, he set it up so he could sit across from her. Because she’d left a light on in her sleeping/eating quarters, the night only nibbled at his edges. He’d always been quiet, while she’d been what her parents called the ultimate chatterbox. Now, however, she couldn’t think of a word to say.

  You’re making me crazy, Cougar. I’ve been attracted to you since I was old enough to know the meaning of the word. Why the hell do you have to look so damn sexy and feel so dangerous?

  “Long day?” she brilliantly came up with.

  “Long. At least these bulls are accustomed to traveling.”

  “You’ve really gotten into stock contracting, haven’t you?” She tried to lean back, but her body refused to relax. Her skin jumped and hummed, and she couldn’t keep enough air in her lungs.

  “It’s working out.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth in contrast to his deeply tanned face. “Those years of working for your father taught me a lot about handling livestock.”

  Except for those few minutes a year ago. “What about your father?”

  “He’s doing good. He and Mom are in Arizona for some kind of powwow.”

  “I’ve been meaning to thank him. When your dad retired, mine finally admitted he couldn’t run the ranch without his foreman—and that maybe his kids really were capable of taking over the operation.”

  “That’s what you’re doing? Running the ranch?”

  Despite the wear on her emotions, she’d been meeting Cougar’s black eyes. Now she looked down at her right leg. “Not really. The truth is, I’m addicted to competing. At least, I was until I did a number on this. Fortunately my brothers aren’t the incompetents I accused them of being all the time we were growing up.”

  “You didn’t mess up your leg. One of my bulls did.”

  There. The truth laid out between them.

  “All right. Your bull. Rampage. He’s aptly named.”

  “He’s here.”

  The heat he’d pumped into her just by breathing flowed out to be replaced by ice. She didn’t remember lifting her head, but now that she had, she couldn’t tear her gaze off those high cheekbones and broad nose. “Oh.”

  “I wanted you to know. Reporters might pick up on it. The announcer’s probably going to say something.”

  “I know.” She started to shake. “But thanks for the reminder.”

  “That’s not the only reason I came looking for you.”

  Through the years she’d seen countless mares backed into the corner by countless stallions. She’d taken bulls to cows and watched the sometimes violent servicing. Why those images came to mind right now escaped her—or, at least, she told herself she had no explanation for the comparison.

  “Why did you?”

  “To see how you’re doing. And to apologize.”

  Quit looking at me like that! As though you want to throw me onto the ground and bury yourself in me.

  Forcefully reminding herself that she was putting her own spin on his gaze, she shook her head. “You didn’t open a gate and let Rampage out when he was having a bad hair day in spades. You didn’t plow into my mare and send me flying.”

  Now it was his turn to jerk his head. “I’ve relived the accident a thousand times. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it come out different.”

  Realizing she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been able to let go of the past shocked her. But, then, if she’d had to hold a frightened and bleeding accident victim, the memory would have stayed with her, too. “At least it’s behind us.”

  He stood, the movement both weary and effortless. “Is it? We’ll know better once this rodeo is behind us.”

  Us? She might have questioned his word use if he hadn’t held out his hands. Not giving herself time to ask what the hell she thought she was doing, she let him draw her to her feet.

  “Funny how life turns out, isn’t it?” He continued to grip her fingers. “While we were growing up we were pretty formal around each other. There you were, my dad’s boss’s daughter. I knew there’d be hell to pay from my old man if I was anything except respectful toward you. I understood my place.”

  “Your what?” Why did his hands have to be so warm and strong, his body so close, her libido so in overdrive? “You scared me.”

  “Scared?”

  She looked up, up, shaken to realize how much taller and substantial, more everything he was. “Every time I saw you, you were doing something physical. You were so muscular.” You still are. “I’d watch you on horseback and envy you because you made it look effortless.”

  “You ride as if you were born to it.”

  “Hardly.” She laughed more as an attempt to calm her nerves than anything. “It took countless hours in a saddle for it to become anything close to second nature, while you…”

  “What?”

  Stop holding my hand. Give me back my space, because if you don’t, I’m going to jump your bones. “I was going to say that your being Indian made your horsemanship instinctual, but that’s stereotyping.”

  His chuckle rumbled up from somewhere deep inside and slid over her skin. Her breasts tightened, and her nipples hardened. She struggled not to acknowledge the moist heat between her legs. Damnit, a man’s laugh shouldn’t have this impact on her.

  But Cougar Lighthorse wasn’t just any man.

  2

  J ordan’s living quarters while on the road were what a horse-trailer salesman might label efficient. She was more inclined to call the combination eating/living/sleeping area cramped to the max, but her primary need had been for something large enough to haul her horses and gear. She’d joked that she could sit at the table and cook dinner on the doll-sized stove. A cloth curtain separated that space from the bed, which, although only double-sized, took up so much space she had to walk sideways to get around it.

  At the moment, she and Cougar were standing in front of the red and black cotton, which not-too-effectively hid her bed. If pressed, she couldn’t say why she’d invited him in; maybe the truth was she didn’t want to admit what had motivated her.

  “A little smaller than mine, but not by much,” he said. Only a few inches separated them, and her skin was telling her that wasn’t nearly enough. Other areas of her anatomy wanted to get a hell of a lot closer. “I have more storage room.”

  “I keep most of my belongings back with the horses,” she explained. “Since I take only two mares with me, I have the space.” The light that had barely touched him when they were outside now played over his features. If he’d been born two hundred years ago, surely he would have been selected as his tribe’s chief. There was something commanding about his strong facial bones, especially the large and deep-set eyes that reminded her of polished obsidian. No wonder he’d intimidated her while she was growing up.

  And now she’d brought him into this cramped space.

  “W—well”—she stammered over the word—“that’s pretty much it. Not much of a tour. And I—I imagine you need to get back to your stock.”

  “Jordan?”

  Don’t say my name that way. “What?”

  He leaned against the metal wall; then, when it creaked, he pushed himself off. The move brought him even closer. “Every time I think about the day Rampage attacked your horse, one thing stands out.”


  “What?” She licked her lips and tried again. “My screaming?”

  “You only did that once.” He rested his hands on her shoulders as though he had every right to her body. “The way you felt in my arms.”

  Rampage, who’d shattered a section of the bucking chute he’d been placed in, had charged into the arena while she and her mare were in it. Rampage had run right at Trixie and knocked Jordan to the ground, trapping her leg under Trixie’s weight. Fortunately Trixie had suffered only bruises and a blow to her less-than-calm nervous system. Unfortunately, while her mare scrambled back onto her feet, Jordan’s attempt to stand had resulted in a piercing cry and teeth-loosening pain. To make matters worse, Rampage wasn’t finished.

  “You’re shaking.” Cougar’s fingers clamped down around her shoulders. He drew her against him.

  Back up. Stay in control.

  But she could feel his heat, his strength, his cock. “I—I guess I am.” Determined to regain control, she dug her toes into the sad excuse for carpet. “Sorry about that.”

  “Memory lane?”

  “’Fraid so. Fortunately it’s nothing I can’t live with.”

  “Maybe.” When he relaxed his grip she told herself he’d done his good deed by the traumatized barrel racer with the pinned-together leg bones. That was before he wrapped his arms around her back and pressed her against his chest, before her own arms found their way around him.

  He smelled of the cowboy way of life. He might not yet be in rodeo regalia, but the impact was there. This was a man who made his living much as those who’d settled this land once had. He was in tune with the environment and understood the vital role horses and other livestock had once played. His ancestors once hunted with bows and arrows and fought their enemies with knives and spears. They’d prayed to the sun, moon, rivers, bears, and eagles.