Charlotte's Cowboy

by Jeanne Allan

  Wordlessly he stomped up to dry land, ignoring her outstretched hand. Sitting down, he yanked off his boots and poured the water from them. His shirt was next, methodically unbuttoned, removed and tightly wrung. Water streamed from the faded tan twill. He draped the shirt over a bush and without looking up said, “I assume you have an explanation. Not that I’ll believe it.”

  “A snake, Matthew. A rattlesnake.”

  Giving her a sharp look, he jumped to his feet. “Where?” Ignoring that his feet were clad in nothing but wet socks, he strode across the pasture to where she’d been standing. “Come show me. Where did it go? How big was it?”

  “Huge.” Charlotte shuddered. “I’m not coming anywhere near there. It was at least eighteen inches and bright green.”

  “Green.” Matthew gave her a disgusted look. “Rattlesnakes aren’t green.”

  “I heard him rattle.” She wished he’d put his shirt back on. Wrestling cows and horses around sculpted a man’s body in disturbingly attractive ways. Tanned skin indicated he wasn’t averse to working without his shirt.

  “If you heard anything other than your overactive imagination, you heard the snake moving through dry leaves or grass.” He picked a few burrs from his socks before wringing the water from the heavy fabric. “If there was a snake.”

  “Just because you’re so clumsy and fell in the lake is no reason to call me a liar.” Charlotte started toward Penny. An iron trap caught her leg above her boot. One tug and she was falling. She landed squarely in the middle of Matthew’s lap. Steel bands prevented her from scrambling up. “Let go of me. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Matthew grinned. “Protecting you. From snakes.”

  She liked neither his grin nor the wide expanse of warm, muscled flesh so close to her face. “You’re the only snake around here.”

  “Then you admit it? There was no snake, just an excuse to dunk me in the pond.”

  “I meant,” she said stiffly, her eyes glued to his chin, “there is no other snake right here. The other snake—”

  “The bright green rattlesnake.”

  “—was over there by the pond.”

  “Well,” Matthew drawled, not loosening his grip one iota, “snakes move like greased lightning. One second over there, the next over here. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I’d rather be sorry.”

  “If you insist.”

  She should have known he’d retaliate. His chest had dried, and his skin radiated the warmth of the early afternoon sun. As did his mouth. His kisses were almost familiar territory now, but no less exciting for that. She shivered and nestled closer as his hand curved around the back of her neck. Her hands found their way up his arms until they clung to his silken, muscled shoulders. Her lips parted, welcoming his deepening the kiss. His hand tugged her blouse loose and slid inside, his work-roughened fingertips barely grazing her skin, igniting her nerve endings. He outlined the wisp of lace and silk circling her body. Charlotte’s breasts grew heavy and warm. And confined. And then the imprisoning silk was gone and blessedly cool air kissed the tightening tips. Except now coolness wasn’t what she wanted. Matthew’s rugged callused palm, with knowing, tender moves, gave her what she sought. Charlotte melted into his touch. Leaning backward, Matthew tugged her to stretch out along his length.

  “Damn!”

  The explosive word Matthew uttered deep in her mouth brought Charlotte to her senses. She struggled to her feet as he released her. “I... You...” A passing breeze sent a chill through her lower extremities, directing her attention downward. Her riding jodhpurs were almost as wet as Matthew’s jeans. “Look what you did,” she cried, buttoning her blouse, endeavoring to blot from her mind the activity she’d so recently engaged in. “I’ll probably catch pneumonia.” She didn’t care why he’d sworn. She knew why he’d broken off the kiss. She wasn’t Lara.

  “You weren’t worried I’d get pneumonia,” he said wryly.

  Charlotte tucked her blouse carefully into her trousers, then fussed with the collar, needlessly straightening it. His not saying anything about their kiss finally propelled her into speech. “I suppose cowboys make love to women in pastures so they’ll have something to brag about to the other boys at the bar.” She retrieved her hat from the ground. When had it come off?

  Matthew pulled boots on over wet socks. “Is that why ladies—” he subtly underlined the word “—roll around in pastures? So they can trot home to their city friends and make fun of the poor dumb cowboys who fell for their perfumed airs and graces?” He brushed off his back and yanked on his shirt, shoving the ends in his jeans.

  “I suppose you’re a pure and innocent cowboy, led astray by the fast lady from the city.” She hoped he’d rolled in cactus. Sharp, long-needled cactus. The kind that got its hooks into your flesh and never let go. “You’re singing Charles Gannen’s favorite song,” she yelled as he collected the horses browsing a short distance off. “You cowboys are all alike.”

  Matthew rode over, leading Penny. Before Charlotte could mount, he corralled her between Penny and his gray gelding. “Count your lucky stars cowboys aren’t all alike, cream puff. Most would have tossed you in the pond on your fancy behind for that little trick you pulled.”

  “Trick I pulled! Penny bumped you into the water.” Charlotte met his gaze without blinking.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “I knew you blamed me,” she said in an aggrieved voice. Pushing Penny to one side, Charlotte swung up and into the saddle. “You kissed me to retaliate.”

  Matthew didn’t deny it. “It’s amazing how quickly you’ve overcome your fear of horses,” he said instead.

  Charlotte leaned down and fussed with her pant leg, straightening the trouser crease. She’d goofed in not showing fear when pressed between the two horses. “Now I’ve gotten to know them, I’m not afraid of Jay and Penny anymore,” she finally said. “I suppose you were trying to terrorize me. More revenge?”

  “Nope. Testing a theory.”

  She forced herself to face him. “What theory?”

  “That there’s more Gannen in you than you admit.”

  “There’s none,” she said flatly.

  Matthew leaned over and grabbed her saddle horn, forcing Penny closer to the gelding. “As for the kiss, cream puff, those lips of yours remind me of Colorado peaches. As it happens, I’m crazy about Colorado peaches.” A swat of his hand against Penny’s rump sent the mare trotting across the pasture.

  * * *

  Charlotte considered it a miracle she hadn’t toppled from the mare in complete astonishment at Matthew’s comment. He couldn’t possibly mean his words the way they’d sounded. Unless Matthew had an ulterior motive in saying what he’d said. He suspected she’d deliberately caused Penny to shove him in the pond. Naturally he’d pay her back. Only shoving Charlotte in the pond wasn’t subtle enough for Matthew. The arrogant cowboy undoubtedly believed he was nature’s gift to all womankind, and he was teasing her with the prospect of himself, much as a bratty child teases a dog with a bone. And like a bratty child, he intended to yank the bone away if Charlotte showed the least bit of interest in it. In him. Unfortunately for his clever little plan, cowboys, starting with Matthew Thorneton, left her cold. He was a fool if he thought she’d fall for such a transparent trick.

  Fool he might be in some areas, but not in others. Charlotte looked at the computer screen before her. After the episode at the pond, Matthew had declared it was time to introduce her to the business side of ranching. No doubt he thought he’d be safer. Although she was surprised Matthew allowed her within shouting distance of crucial ranch records. Not that Matthew entirely trusted her. She’d spent the last two days entering information in Charles Gannen’s computer, while he’d spent the days in Charles Gannen’s worn leather chair, the phone practically attached to his ear as he ordered supplies and dealt with one hundred and one details. Charlotte had never dreamed ranching was such a complicated business. When Matthew spent e
venings at his place catching up on paperwork, she realized it wasn’t merely an excuse to get away from her. Ranching was like any other big business—tons of paperwork.

  For that reason alone, Charlotte knew she could cause all sorts of mischief even with Matthew sitting across the room. She had enough experience at the store to know a myriad ways to sabotage the various files and records. If she wanted to. Matthew’s thinly veiled threats delivered as he explained what he wanted done certainly wouldn’t stop her. It wasn’t that she was finding the information fascinating. She certainly didn’t care if this cow was always a competent mother and that one always had easy births. No, she told herself, she was simply too much the businesswoman to destroy vital information.

  “Am I interrupting?” Helen stood in the doorway.

  Matthew signaled his mother to wait, said a few more words into the phone and hung up the receiver. “Go ahead.” He leaned back and stretched his arms over his head.

  “Lily called me earlier. She and Sam are having a barbecue Friday night and want us to come.”

  “Hell, why Friday? Sam knows I’m moving the cattle up on Saturday.”

  “Because Paula’s home. You said yourself they never know how long she’ll stay.” Helen turned to Charlotte. “The Kenton place is the showcase of the county. One of Paula’s husbands was something in the arts, and he talked Lily into tearing down the original 1914 ranch house. In its place they put up something Paula calls a tribute to Colorado’s mining heritage. Charlotte, wait until you see Lily’s kitchen. Every woman for miles around would give her eyeteeth for that kitchen.”

  The Kentons. Where Tim was staying. “I wouldn’t want to horn in on your party. You two go without me,” Charlotte said.

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you’re coming with us. Matt’s been expecting you to do too much,” Helen scolded. “Riding the range, checking cattle, stringing fence—” she ignored her son’s snort in the background “—and now these long hours at the computer. You’ve only been to Durango once since you arrived. It’s time you discovered ranch life isn’t all work. We play once in awhile. Sam will barbecue a cow or two and half the state will be invited. Timmy will be so disappointed if you don’t go.”

  Before Matthew could explain to his mother exactly why Charlotte was not to attend the party, Charlotte rushed into speech. “I’m sure it will be a wonderful party, but I’d rather stay here. You and Matthew are the ones Tim will want to see.”

  “Matt...” his mother appealed to him.

  “What Mom means, cream puff, is if you don’t go, she’ll feel obligated to stay home. And Mom loves a party.”

  “Matt! I wanted you to persuade Charlotte, not try to blackmail her into going.”

  “Blackmail?” Matthew lifted a quizzical brow. “I can’t imagine either Charlotte or I sinking so low as to blackmail someone. Can you, Charlotte?”

  “I didn’t say anything about Charlotte blackmailing anyone,” Helen retorted. “She’s not the type to go around twisting people’s arms.”

  Charlotte smirked across the room at Matthew. He’d better be careful or she would go to the party. He’d have to spend the entire evening trying to keep her from contaminating his son. Paula wouldn’t like that.

  “I bow to your superior judgment, Mom. A lady such as Charlotte would never stoop to blackmail.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Persuasion, huh?” He gazed thoughtfully at Charlotte. “Let’s see, cream puff, I don’t believe I’ve introduced you to that very basic ranch chore that involves a shovel, have I? Given your choice between going to the party and cleaning the barn, what would be your choice?”

  “Stop teasing her, Matt. If Charlotte doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to.” Helen disappeared down the hallway.

  “That was unfair, Matthew,” Charlotte said immediately. “You know very well you’d break my leg before you’d let me go and breathe the same air as your son.”

  “Let me worry about Tim, cream puff.” He stood up and grabbed his hat from the corner of the desk. “I’ll be at my place the rest of the day. On my way out, I’ll tell Mom you’ve changed your mind about going.” He pulled his hat over his forehead, a mocking smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I can hardly wait to see what kind of party dress a lady wears to a barbecue.”

  * * *

  If that was a challenge, Charlotte thought as she looked in the mirror Friday evening, she felt she’d met it successfully. Strawberry-blond hair tumbling around her shoulders, cream-colored off-the-shoulder blouse trimmed in antique lace, long silky rayon lavender floral skirt and—she stretched out one foot—purple, high-heeled, lace-up boots. Large-mesh purple stockings were unfortunately hidden, but maybe she’d encounter some lucky breezes at opportune moments. She giggled. Sometimes she felt as if she were acting in a very bad play. A few squirts of perfume and her grandmother’s cameo on a black velvet ribbon around her neck completed her preparations. Grabbing the huge, violet-trimmed straw hat, she plopped it on her head and batted her lashes at the mirror. “Miss Prissy Voice is ready to go,” she cooed. She hoped she hadn’t overdone the green eyeshadow.

  “Doesn’t she look charming?” Helen asked Matthew as Charlotte descended the staircase.

  “Thank you. You look pretty festive yourself. Both of you,” Charlotte said. Coffee brown, trim-cut trousers and shirt accentuated Matthew’s tall, lean physique. No silver buttons or fancy fringe for him. The leather jacket flung over one shoulder looked butter soft.

  Matthew slowly inspected her. “Very nice, cream puff. Your grandmother would be proud.”

  The gleam of appreciation in his gaze sent a warm shiver down her spine as she followed Helen from the house. “At least we don’t have to crowd into the pickup,” she said, for something to say.

  “A good thing,” Matthew agreed, shutting the back car door of Helen’s sedan as his mother settled in place. Going around the car, he opened the front passenger door for Charlotte. Helen had insisted Charlotte sit up front for better viewing. “Driving down the road with you squeezed beside me, smelling the way you do, could be downright dangerous.”

  Charlotte concentrated on fastening her seat belt. Remembering Matthew was only extracting revenge became more difficult with each provocative remark he uttered and each lazy, masculine smile he sent her way. Fortunately she was returning to Denver on Sunday, her two weeks dutifully served. Shifting slightly, she asked Helen about the others who’d be attending the party. Only half listening to the older woman, Charlotte gazed out the windows. Afternoon rain showers had washed the sky and decorated sagebrush with silver droplets that sparkled when touched by the last rays of the setting sun.

  Paula Kenton was again in black, skintight jeans above shiny black snakeskin boots and a form-fitting black silk vest with a plunging neckline. In case anyone was missing the point, or two points, Charlotte thought dryly, the deep expanse of skin was decorated with an elaborate silver and turquoise necklace, which ended in a silver arrow strategically nestled between two tanned mounds of flesh. Silver cuffs ringed Paula’s arms and turquoise weighted down her fingers. Her blond hair was swept tightly into a sleek chignon, baring ears pierced and cuffed with silver earrings. She reeked of sex appeal.

  “She’s not wearing a blouse,” Helen said in a low, scandalized voice.

  Charlotte suddenly felt as dowdy as if she were wearing one of her grandmother’s housedresses. “You have to admit she looks stunning. Not many women could pull off that outfit.”

  Helen snorted and veered off to greet friends as Paula bore down on them.

  “Matt, darling.” Paula draped herself against his chest. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  He unfastened her clinging arms and drew Charlotte forward. “You remember Charlotte.”

  “Of course. Don’t you look nice in your cute little cowgirl outfit.”

  Charlotte let that one pass. “It was so sweet of you to invite a perfect stranger.” Paula didn’t hold the patent on insincerity.

  �
�Hardly a stranger,” Paula said archly. “You’re the talk of the town. Everyone is just dying to see Chick’s long-lost illegitimate daughter.”

  “Tim,” Matthew said in an quiet explosion of breath. “I’ll wring his neck.”

  “It’s no secret, Matthew,” Charlotte said.

  Paula practically danced with anticipation, her eyes glittering with dislike as she looked at Charlotte. “He was simply full of the exciting news. It’s been Scarlet this and Scarlet that ever since he got here. You can imagine how stunned we all were to hear about Chick messing around in Denver all those years ago. None of us ever dreamed he’d be the type to pick up some girl off the streets. Chick, of all people, why he talked so slow, never saying much...”

  Anger ripped through Charlotte’s body. In a few short words Paula had attacked Jewel Darnelle’s morals and Chick Gannen’s intellect. Charlotte dug her fingernails painfully deep into her palms, fighting the urge to slap Paula across her nasty mouth.

  Matthew laid an arm across Charlotte’s shoulders. “Chick kept his mouth shut unless he had something worth saying,” Matthew said in a hard-edged voice. “Unlike some people.”

  His words had given Charlotte time to regain her balance. Beaming blindly in Paula’s direction, she pasted a wide smile on her face. “You knew Chick!” she cried. “I didn’t realize...I should have, of course, you’re so much older than me.” Paula’s face was a comic combination of outrage and shock. A choking sound came from Matthew. “When Matthew told me Chick was engaged to a local woman I didn’t realize she was you. I’m so sorry, and of course, I forgive you for saying such an ugly thing about my mother, because I realize you wouldn’t behave in such a childish way if Chick hadn’t hurt you so badly by jilting you. Really, Paula,” she added earnestly, speaking louder over the other woman’s furious interjections, “you must move on and not allow what happened to blight your life, because you look great. I know a couple of old fogies, I mean, nice older men, in Denver. You mustn’t think just because my mom turned them down—”