Counterfeit Cowgirl (Love and Laughter)

by Lois Greiman

  “If you’re not sure of this, Hannah, it’s not too late to stop.”

  No. Not too late. There were likely any number of insane asylums within hours of. here. Couple of heavy-duty straitjackets and he’d be perfectly safe.

  “I don’t want to quit,” she whispered.

  He canted his head slightly as his breathing started up again. “What’d you say?”

  “I don’t want to quit, but I’m still…” She paused. “It’s been a long time for me.”

  “Long time.” He touched her cheek. “For me, too,” he said, and ran his fingers slowly down her arm.

  “I mean a really long time.” He felt a shiver run through her.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. Every instinct, every craving hormone in him begged him to hurry, but she was scared, and if there was ever anything he didn’t want to mess up, it was this night with her.

  He bent and drew back the covers. She sat down on the bed, kicked off her boots, and lay down on her side.

  Tyrel watched her for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his own boots. Turning then, he brushed his knuckles from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” she said, and reaching beneath his shirt, touched his chest.

  He closed his eyes to the rush of feelings, and leaning forward, kissed her lips.

  Her hand slipped down his abdomen. His muscles coiled beneath her fingers.

  “Hard.” She whispered the word against his lips.

  “Yeah.” His own voice sounded like a croak, and he realized foggily that he had no idea what she was talking about.

  Her hand slipped around his side, urging him closer, and he gladly obliged until they were lying chest to chest, his half covered by a thin shirt and hers with nothing more substantial than a scrap of pink satin.

  Pink satin with a tiny bow between her breasts. Holding his breath, he felt that bow, then slid his fingers higher to slip a narrow strap from her shoulder.

  Leaning forward, he kissed that spot. She shivered against his caress. Reaching past her, he pulled the blankets over them.

  Warmth and titillation surrounded them. She touched his chest with both hands, then spread them outward, over his shoulders, sweeping his shirt away. Her fingers felt like velvet against the muscles of his arms, and when his sleeves slipped off his hands, he lifted her fingers in his and kissed them softly.

  He heard her catch her breath as he kissed each slender digit. She shivered as he slid his hands up her arms, and when he loosened her bra and kissed her breasts, she arched against him, her breath warm and soft against his hair.

  The remainder of their clothing disappeared without his conscious knowledge and finally they lay stretched against each other with nothing between them but hard desire and aching need.

  Her hand, soft and warm and tentative, slanted over the curve of his buttocks and onto his thigh. He held his breath as she brushed his erection.

  “Do you have…” Her words paused, but her fingers did not. “A rubber?” she whispered.

  He sucked air between his teeth and let his head fall back slightly as her fingers skimmed along the muscles of his belly. Feelings seared him like a windswept blaze, but he tried to concentrate on her words. “Rubber? No, I…” Her hands were like magic, setting him on fire. “I left them at the barn. Oh.” He caught her hand with a shiver and pulled it gently upward before he exploded into a thousand scorched pieces. “You didn’t mean that kind of rubber.”

  It took a Herculean effort to force himself to his feet. He carried his jeans around the bed and into the bathroom, and luckily he still had those condoms in his wallet.

  Sweat had popped out on his forehead by the time he found one in the third compartment he searched.

  Moments later, he slipped back in bed behind her. She was curled up with her back to him and looked very small and very fragile.

  A thousand tender feelings flooded him. Pushing her hair aside, he gently kissed her neck. “You asleep?”

  Hannah laughed. It sounded nervous to her own ears. “No.”

  He slid his hand down her arm. Warmth washed through her. She tried to relax. But it was all new and she had waited so long. His hand slipped onto her waist, over the curve of her hip. Against her will, she tensed.

  “Hannah.” He breathed her name. “If you want me to stop…”

  “No!” She rolled quickly to her back and caught his gaze with her own. His eyes were dark, solemn. “No,” she whispered. “I’m not frigid, Tyrel, I just don’t know—”

  “Frigid!”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze. “I’m not an ice princess,” she whispered. “But I just—”

  “I’m sorry about that stupid bet, Hannah. I never thought you frigid. I just thought you too good for me. It was my way of coping—”

  “Too good for you?” She shook her head as feelings swamped her. Feelings of warmth and hope and everlasting. “All my life I’ve never fit in. Acting as if I was too good was a…a defense I suppose. But really…I’ve never been good enough.”

  “That’s not true. You—”

  She pressed her fingers gently to his lips, stopping his words.

  “Look at you, Tyrel. Look at who you are. So good and kind and strong. Even on that first day, when I was acting like a house should come and fall on me, you took me in. And you’re accomplished. You’ve made something of your life, with your ranch and your horses.” She drew a deep breath. For the first time in her life she realized all her shortcomings. She could only hope he might want her anyway. “I’m not made of ice. I have feelings, Tyrel,” she whispered. “Let me show you.”

  “Okay,” he murmured, and ever so gently, kissed her lips.

  She kissed him back with all the pounding emotion that raged through her. But a thousand other tempting places called to her. She moved lower, kissing each one, the hard slope of his chest, the slanting ribs, the rippled strength of his belly. Touching and feeling and kissing until his body was as tense as a bowstring, and he wrapped his arm around her to pull her beneath him.

  Their gazes met, fire on fire, and then he was kissing her again, searing away any doubt she might have, kissing her ear, her neck, the tiny dell between her collarbone. She gripped the sheet beneath her in clawed fingers as his caresses moved lower, setting flame to her breasts, blazing a trail down her abdomen, nibbling at her belly button, her thighs.

  She was hot and wet and impatient, writhing beneath him when he slid upward and braced an arm on either side of her body. She opened her eyes to find his.

  “Not icy,” he whispered, and slowly lowered himself onto her.

  He was hot and hard and so sexy it stole her breath away. She welcomed his entry with a small gasp of pleasure.

  They moved in tandem, slowly at first, tentatively.

  But there was a tightness inside her.

  “Hannah?” He drew back slightly, his expression quizzical, but now was hardly the time for a long-winded explanation, so she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer still.

  “Please,” she gasped.

  Heaven’s gates closed around Tyrel. He hissed in abject pleasure, and there was nothing he could do, nothing, but let the strength of her legs draw him in.

  And suddenly they were pushing against each other with desperate need, rising and falling and gasping. Striving for satisfaction until they reached their final destination and with paired groans, fell over the summit and down into the soft dark folds of satiety.

  Kissing her brow, Ty rolled onto his side. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing hard. He kissed her lips, her cheek, smoothed his hand down her arm and watched her fall asleep.

  As for himself, sleep stayed far away. Instead, he lay in the dimness and studied her face, how the pale light shadowed and illumined. How her lashes lay like thistledown against her skin, how her breasts
rose and fell as she breathed.

  He was in love with her. Hell, he was crazy about her, and he didn’t know the first thing about her, not even that she had been a virgin.

  “HERE YOU GO, then,” said the waitress. She was in her late forties, bleached blond, with eyes that suggested they had seen it all. “Coffee black as sin, two scrambled eggs and—” Her words stopped short as her gaze meandered off to the left.

  “Hannah!”

  Hannah turned at the sound of Ty’s voice.

  “You’re up,” she said, and despite every warning she had given herself, she felt herself blush.

  “I was worried sick about you.”

  “Worried?” Hannah raised her gaze to his. Feelings like sunshine and laughter flooded through her as she remembered his every touch, his every word of the night before.

  “What are you doing down here?” he asked, touching her cheek.

  His top three buttons were still open and the rest were mismatched, setting his whole shirt askance. Apparently he had dressed in a hurry. The thought bumped up her heart rate.

  “Housekeeping was busy,” she explained. “I wanted to get you breakfast in bed.”

  “Breakfast in bed?” He all but whispered the words as he brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Honey, all I want is you in my bed.”

  Her knees turned to pudding, her mind to oatmeal. Behind her, she heard the bleached waitress sigh.

  Ty glanced up, cleared his throat, and grinned crookedly. “I’ll, uh…I’ll take that,” he said. Leaning past Hannah, he picked up the cardboard tray with one hand and pressed the other to the small of her back, herding her toward their room.

  Hannah all but swooned. Maybe they could skip the stock show. Maybe they could skip the rest of their lives and hole up in their room until—

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a bearded man turn onto the stairs. Sharp memories ripped through her. A dark parking lot. Fear! She gasped and stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Hannah, what is it?”

  Her heart was galloping along like a racehorse in her chest as she stared at the stairway where the man had disappeared.

  But it couldn’t be him! They couldn’t have found her here. No one knew where she was. No one except Daddy. But the memories of that terrible night haunted her. A dark-bearded face, short-cropped hair. Fear as bitter as gall.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, but the panic was still roiling. Jerking away, she ran for the door.

  “Hannah!” She could hear him running behind her, but fear pushed her on, outside, into the parking lot.

  From the corner of her eye she caught the movement of something shiny and red. Jerking around, she saw the old pickup bearing down on her. Fear turned to ice in her veins. Her own scream filled her head. Death swooped down on her.

  But suddenly Ty slammed her from the side, knocking her out of the way. The pickup roared past. Tires squealed as it rounded the corner and raced out of sight.

  “Hannah! Hannah!” Ty’s voice drew her back to reality. But she could barely feel his hands on her skin. “Are you all right?”

  “I—I think so.” She managed to gain her feet, but her hands were shaking and her knees felt weak.

  “Damn bastards!” he growled. “I’m gonna call the police! Be simple enough to describe that old truck.”

  “No!” She grabbed his sleeve with desperate strength. “Not the police!”

  11

  IT HAD BEEN OVER A WEEK since the stock show. Despite Hannah’s state of obvious distress after the scene with the red truck, she had insisted Tyrel exhibit Houdini. The bull had had a decent showing, taking reserve champion, despite his handler’s distraction.

  Back at The Lone Oak now, Tyrel sat on the fence and watched Hannah. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since their night in Valley Green, since he’d kissed her, held her, made love to her. And since that time the woman she’d become had disappeared, drawing back into the woman she had been—haughty, distant, cool. She had, for the most part, acted as if nothing had happened between them, as if she hadn’t stolen his heart, as if she hadn’t been moved by the magic that had touched them both.

  There were a thousand things he wanted to ask her. Why hadn’t she told him she was a virgin? What had frightened her so? Who the hell was she? A princess, an heiress, a thief? Why was she here, and why had she panicked when he’d suggested involving the police? Frustrated by her silence as much as by his own swirling feelings, he had called his father and insisted on learning some facts.

  But the old man, cagey as ever, had said all Ty needed to know was that she was the daughter of an old friend.

  Ty, as usual in his conversations with his dad, had blown up and sworn he would turn Hannah out of The Lone Oak. After all, he had no intention of harboring a jewel thief.

  When Robert Fox had finally overcome his laughter, he assured Ty that Hannah Nelson may be many things, but she was not a jewel thief.

  The conversation had done nothing but make Tyrel more frustrated. The days had dragged by with every second filled with thoughts of her in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

  But now the three weeks prescribed by the roping bet were past. She sat upon Nathan’s palomino, twirling a rope above her head in order to prove herself his equal in the arena as well as everywhere else.

  But he would gladly admit it. Hell, he’d say she was far superior on every damn front if she would just open up, let him in to that secret place in her heart—that place he would have sworn he had been for a few euphoric hours.

  The bet was that she could rope one out of the first three steers that came out of the chute, but she’d shagged a bunch more animals in there. They milled behind the metal panels now, their horns clicking against each other’s as Nathan manned the release gate.

  A large brindle animal stood in the narrow passage, his eyes wild.

  “You ready, Hannah?” Nate called.

  Bent slightly forward over the saddle horn, she looked as if she’d roped all her life, like a wild cowgirl who had been born astride and weaned with a piggin’ string in her hand.

  Feelings as hot as flame seared Ty. He loved her, and felt that painful knowledge rip through his heart.

  She was tense now, ready. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, and in them he saw a glimpse of the woman he had made love to just days before. A vivacious, tenderhearted woman with fire and spirit.

  “Ready?” Nate called again.

  Ty knew she was. She was a tiger in a pussycat suit. Tougher than sin, softer than a sigh.

  Ty watched her calm Lula as Nate reached forward and pulled a lever.

  The gate burst open with a clang. The steer lunged ahead, running flat-out. Hannah’s mount charged after him. She was swinging fast, then tossed. But her aim was off a bit The loop sailed through the air and caught one of the steer’s horns. The beast careened to a halt, his head cocked sideways. The lasso fell to the earth.

  Lula pranced and champed her bit, irritable at the failure.

  “That’s all right, honey,” Nate called to Hannah who recoiled her rope and turned the mare back to the starting position.

  The steers were unhappy with their confinement. They milled nervously, but finally Nate was able to chase another up to the narrow gate.

  “Ready?” he called again.

  Lula pranced, tossing her flaxen mane. Hannah waited for her to settle, then nodded.

  Again the gate swung open. The steer burst free. Hannah leaned into the mare’s movement, already swinging. Ten strides into the arena, she tossed the loop. It sailed like magic through the air and landed, perfect as morning, over the steers wide horns.

  Nate hooted with delight. Climbing onto the big, metal gate, he whipped off his hat and waved a wild salute to Hannah as he yelled again.

  Inside the small pen, the steers lunged wildly against each other. Panicked by the close confines and the bursting noise, they jostled and milled, banging the unlatched gate that N
ate was perched on. As the gate swung wide, the steers burst through the narrow opening, scrambling and bawling.

  In horror, Ty watched as Nate teetered on the upper rung, and then, able to hold on no longer, he fell, glancing off a steer’s bony hip before hitting the mud with a hard jolt Ty and Hannah rushed over to Nate’s side.

  “You all right?” Ty asked, his voice tense with worry. Ty had been in a hell of a mood for the past week.

  Nate’s news wasn’t likely to improve it.

  “HOW DOES RR FEEL?” Ty asked.

  “Feels like a broken leg,” Nate said, settling his new cast under the table and grinning shakily. The morphine had begun to wear off even before they’d stopped for lunch on their way home from the hospital. “Looks like I won’t be doing much two-stepping for a while.”

  “Or chores.” Ty scowled.

  “Yeah, it’s a shame.” Nate’s grin steadied. “Looks like I’ll have to sit around and write songs and play the guitar.”

  Ty winced as he set his cup to his lips. He’d asked for black coffee, not boiled tar. “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, narrowing his eyes for the steam that rolled up from his dark brew.

  “It was my fault,” Hannah said. Ty and Nate turned to her in unison. She still looked scared, Ty noticed, but her color was better. “I should have latched the gate.”

  “No—” Both men spoke at once, but Ty glared down his brother, who grinned back.

  “Nate knows better than to goof around with them steers. We only keep them for roping. Half of them are wild, and the other half are plain stupid.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her apology was very soft.

  Something ripped in Ty’s heart. The truth was, he’d rather have her steaming at him in haughty indignation than to have her look so shaken. Every instinct in him told him to wrap her in his arms, but his foolishness had to end somewhere.

  Nate shrugged at Hannah’s reaction and turning, spotted a newspaper on the chair by the next table.

  After glancing at it for a moment, he scrambled awkwardly sideways and picked it up. “Hey.” He scowled at the front page. “Didn’t you say it was a red pickup that almost ran Hannah down?”