Sandra Marton - Taming of Tyler Kincaid

by The Taming of Tyler Kincaid

  Caitlin smiled despite herself. "Dangerous questions, huh? I mean, a man's definitely up to no good if he wants to talk about the old days, or if he takes the time to ask Carmen about her son and daughter."

  "Just figured I'd let you know what's going' on, Ms. Caitlin. Everythin' ain't always what it seems."

  "I appreciate that," she said gently. She looked at Tyler, watched the mare come forward daintily to sniff at the hand he held out to her. "He's probably just a cowboy that's got some get-rich-quick scheme he's dying to tell Jonas about." She smiled. "And we both know how Jonas will deal with that."

  The foreman chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. Tyler Kincaid'll be out of here so fast it'll make his head spin."

  Caitlin turned back to the corral as Abel sauntered away. She stepped up on the bottom rail and watched Tyler's per­formance.

  That was what it was, all right. A performance, but she had to admit, it was enjoyable. Tyler had a gentle touch, strong hands and a sense of authority. The mare was responding to all of it.

  Just as she had.

  The thought made her uneasy, and she forced it from her head.

  The sun had climbed higher; it was a blazing fist of yellow, punching through the blue sky. Tyler had left his shirt on and it was soaked through. Caitlin could see the muscles move and bunch beneath the wet fabric. Her face heated; she looked sideways at the men lining the fence but all their attention was on the man and the horse. Some of the men called out good­-natured words of advice.

  Tyler looked at them, smiled, even grinned—but he never once looked at her.

  It annoyed her, though she knew it was silly. Why should he look at her? Still, it ticked her off. A while ago, she'd accused him of being arrogant because of the way he'd spoken to her. Now, she was thinking of him as arrogant because he refused to acknowledge her presence. She was being an id­iot ...except, dammit, he was being arrogant. She knew it. Did he think it was a turn-on? Caitlin thumbed her hair behind her ears. Not for her, it wasn't. She'd grown up watching her mother succumb to a seemingly endless succession of men whose egos were bigger than their IQs. Even Jonas, who was as smart as a whip, thought he could strut through life with only his arrogance to guide him.

  If Tyler Kincaid thought the same thing, he was in for a nasty surprise.

  Eventually the mare was trembling with exhaustion. Tyler rubbed her ears, whispered to her, then jerked his head toward Manuel, who was watching with the others.

  "She's had enough for today," he told the boy. "Take her inside. Give her a good rubdown and some of those special oats she's so fond of."

  Caitlin waited for Manuel to point out that Tyler could take the mare inside himself, that he was nobody to give orders, but the boy nodded and did as he'd been told. The same thing had happened when Tyler began working with the mare. One of the older men had been standing around, smoking. Tyler had asked him to get the mare's tack and Pete hadn't hesitated, even though he was as independent in spirit as most cowboys.

  There was an art to giving men like this orders, and some basic rules.

  Rule number one was that one ranch hand didn't give an order to another but the men seemed to have forgotten that. Tyler asked a man to do something, the man did it. It was as simple as that.

  And it annoyed the hell out of her. Was she supposed to stand by and let a stranger order her men around? Jonas had told her to keep Kincaid on until he got back but that didn't mean she had to let him march all over her.

  It was time to push things and find out who Kincaid really was. and what he wanted.

  The men drifted away. Kincaid strolled toward her. He had the lazy walk of a man who spent lots of time in the saddle but it was tempered with a masculine grace and innate au­thority she'd never seen in anyone but Jonas Baron and her stepbrothers. Strange, that she should think of Jonas's sons just now, and yet—and yet, there was something so familiar in that walk. In the set of those shoulders...

  "Show's over," Tyler said. "You can leave now."

  Color flooded her face. She took her arms from the top rail and stepped back. "What did you say?"

  That smile she'd seen before—insolent, all-knowing, dan­gerously sexy—curved across his mouth. He opened the gate and stepped out of the corral.

  "You heard me. I said the show was over."

  Caitlin could feel herself tremble with anger. She watched as he drew his shirt over his head and used it to mop his torso. Sun glinted on his chest, touched the powerful muscles of his biceps, the ridged abdominal wall with gold.

  Her mouth thinned. "Must you flaunt yourself?"

  "It's hot. I've been working my tail off. If that means I'm flaunting myself, so be it."

  "You're out of line, Kincaid."

  "I'm honest, Ms. McCord."

  "You're insolent, and you're so full of yourself it's a mir­acle you don't explode."

  "So I've been told."

  "I'll just bet you have." Caitlin blew a strand of hair from her forehead and bunched her fists on her hips. "Just what are you doing here, Kincaid?"

  "Hell, Ms. McCord, we've been over this ground already."

  "Yes, and you told me it was none of my affair but I think it is. I want some answers, and I want them now."

  "I told you, I have business with Jonas Baron." Tyler hung the shirt over his shoulder, hooked it on his thumb and started toward the bunkhouse. Caitlin fell in beside him.

  "What kind of business?" Her legs were long, but his were longer. She was almost running to keep up with him, and she didn't like it. "Dammit," she said, dancing out in front of him, "stand still when I'm talking to you!"

  Tyler's eyes narrowed. "Do you use that tone of voice with all your hands?"

  "Just answer the question, Kincaid. What are you doing at Espada?"

  Tyler looked down into Caitlin's face. It was flushed and her hazel eyes glittered with anger—and he was pretty sure he knew what that anger was all about. She'd been watching him work the mare. Hell, she'd been watching him ever since yes­terday. After three days of never so much as glimpsing her, he saw her everywhere. And each time he did, he could feel her eyes on him. Not that he could ever catch her looking. The second he turned toward her, Caitlin McCord swung away like a nervous filly.

  A muscle danced in his jaw.

  And he knew the reason.

  Something had ignited between them, hot and electric, prim­itive, almost pagan. What he wanted, what she wanted, was to feel him deep inside her. He knew it. She knew it—and she didn't like it.

  She was too good for him. She thought so, anyway. He'd been watching her as she went about her business and yeah, she knew her way around the ranch. She wasn't afraid of get­ting her hands dirty or her boots soiled, and there was muscle tucked away beneath that soft, golden skin, but that didn't mean she wasn't a lady.

  And ladies didn't stoop to play bedroom games with the likes of the man she thought he was, the man he would have been, if he were still John Smith.

  "Dammit, Kincaid, I asked you a question!"

  Tyler turned away abruptly, walked to the old-fashioned i horse trough beside the bunkhouse and ducked his head into the cool water.

  "And I answered it," he said, looking at her.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, spearing it back from his face, and blotted his face with his shirt. She tried not to notice the drops of water, caught like diamonds, that glittered against his tanned shoulders and clung to the dark mat of hair on his chest.

  "You don't belong here."

  His teeth showed in a quick smile. "No?"

  "No. You're no cowhand."

  He sighed, leaned back against the trough and folded his arms. "Look, lady, I didn't storm the castle walls. You said Baron wasn't here, you offered me a job and I took it. Why make it into anything more complicated than that?"

  "Maybe," Caitlin said stiffly, "I made a mistake."

  His eyes turned dark. "Maybe you did." He took a step forward. "Truth is," he said softly, "this hasn't anything to do with you want
ing to know why I came to Espada, does it?"

  "Certainly it does. I'm in charge, when Jonas is away, and—­"

  "It's me." His voice was low. He moved forward again and she took a step back. "I make you uneasy."

  "Don't be silly. I'm not afraid of you."

  Tyler smiled. "No?"

  "No. Of course I'm not. I—­"

  "Maybe you're afraid of yourself."

  She caught her breath as he reached out and lay his hand against her cheek. It was a simple gesture but an intimate one. She didn't like it or the little knowing smile on his mouth—­or the way her heart jumped, when she felt his roughened fingertips brush her skin.

  "Don't do that," she said, and jerked her head away.

  "I could feel your eyes on me, when I was with the mare." He reached out again but she pulled back before he could touch her. "It made it tough to concentrate."

  "All right, that's it. I should have done this yesterday. Kincaid, you're fired."

  "For telling the truth?"

  "Maybe you didn't hear me, cowboy. You are out of here! Collect your time from Abel and—­"

  She cried out as he caught her wrist and dragged her behind the bunkhouse. She swung at him with her free hand but he caught that wrist, too, pushed her back against the limestone wall and pinned her hands to her sides. Her heart thudded into her throat. His eyes had gone from green to black. He looked hard, and dangerous—and incredibly, savagely exciting.

  "I'll scream," she said. Her voice trembled and he laughed softly. He knew, she thought, he knew she was as excited as she was terrified, and in that moment she didn't know which of them she hated more, Tyler Kincaid or herself.

  "Does it frighten you, Caitlin?"

  "Let go of me. Let go or so help me—"

  "Wanting a man like me? Does it scare you, just a little?"

  "Nothing scares me," she said, forcing her eyes to stay locked to his, telling herself that he couldn't hurt her, wouldn't hurt her, not here. The bunkhouse blocked them from view, yes, but they weren't alone, not really. There were men work­ing only a few yards away. All she had to do was scream and this would all be nothing but a bad dream.

  "Kincaid." Her lips felt parched. She ran the tip of her tongue over them. His gaze followed the motion of her tongue and the realization sent a hot, lancing need shooting through her. "Kincaid, look. This is a mistake. You must realize that. You can't get away with—with—"

  His mouth twisted. "Is that what you think? That I'm going to rape you?" He laughed, though the sound of it was hu­morless. "Hell, lady, you think you've got me all figured out, don't you?"

  "Just let go of me, dammit!"

  "Answer a question first."

  "You're not in a position to bargain, Kin—"­

  Her breath caught as he shifted his weight, moved just enough against her so that she could feel him—and, heaven help her, feel the heat of her own response slipping through her blood.

  "One question," he said softly. He clasped both her wrists in one hand and cupped her face with the other, tilting it to him. "Did you like watching me?"

  She looked at him, told her pulse to stop its crazed race. "I told you, I wasn't—"

  He bent his head, brushed his mouth against hers. "The truth," he whispered.

  "No," she said, "no, I didn't. I—­"

  She caught her breath as he touched his mouth to hers again, rubbing his lips against hers, then nipping at her bottom lip. Scream, she told herself, scream and bring the men running...

  He sucked her lip into his mouth, worried it gently with his teeth.

  A moan rose in her throat. She tried to stop it but Tyler heard it, felt it pass from her lips to his, and he groaned, swept his arms around her, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NOTHING in her life had prepared Caitlin for Tyler's kiss.

  A first kiss between a man and a woman was supposed to be gentle, even cautious. How did his mouth feel against yours? How did your body fit in his arms?

  That was how it was supposed to be.

  Tyler's kiss wasn't like that.

  His mouth was hot on hers, his arms hard as he gathered her to him and held her. She could feel herself being swept into a whirlpool of desire, and the sudden terror of giving herself up to it swept through her blood. Gasping, she tried to turn her face from Tyler's but he clasped it in his hands, brought his mouth to hers again...

  And she was lost.

  Lost, and drowning in the taste of him. The heat. The in­toxicating scent of being possessed by an aroused male.

  She moaned again and Tyler heard the sound and knew it marked her surrender.

  Her arms wound around his neck and she lifted herself to him, fit her softness against the hardness of him. Tyler groaned, ran his hands down her back, down her spine, cupped her bottom and lifted her into the V of his legs, wanting her to know what she had done to him, that she had turned him from a civilized man into a creature that knew nothing but desire. Her touch, her taste, the feel of her in his arms, had reduced the world to this. He was blind to everything but the need thundering through his blood.

  She moved against him, deliberately, provocatively. He felt the press of her breasts, the tilt of her hips. There was a roaring in his ears and he whispered her name, his voice low and rough, tugged her T-shirt out of her jeans, swept his hands up her back, along the warm silk of her skin.

  She trembled in his arms.

  "Tyler," she whispered against his mouth and just that, the sound of his name on her lips, drove the last shreds of sanity from him.

  "Yes," he said, "yes, that's right. It's me, touching you. Me... "

  His hand closed over her breast. She moaned, twisted against him to thrust the small, sweetly rounded flesh against his palm. His callused palm. His callused fingertips, fingertips that slid across the yearning, lace-covered nipple and turned her body to liquid honey.

  "Please," she said brokenly, "Tyler, please..."

  He groaned, thrust his hands down her jeans, his fingers cupping her backside, urging her to her toes, bringing her closer. Her nerves, her muscles, her heart throbbed with desire. Yes, she thought, oh, oh, yes...

  "You son of a bitch!"

  She heard the roar, felt the blow as it landed on Tyler's shoulder and reverberated through her body. Tyler grunted, Caitlin's eyes flew open, and she stared over his shoulder at the enraged face of her stepfather and the riding whip he bran­dished in his right hand.

  Tyler's response was instantaneous. The tough kid he'd once been still lived inside him. He shoved Caitlin out of the way, spun around, lowered his head, raised his fists and struck his assailant. Jonas staggered back. He shook his head, snarled and came at Tyler again. But the red haze had cleared from Tyler's eyes, long enough to let him see that his attacker was an old man with a shock of white hair and a face that looked as if it had been seamed by all the winds in Texas.

  "Hell," he said in disgust, and dropped his fists to his sides, "knock it off, Gramps. I can't fight an old man."

  "Try me," Jonas said, and struck him again. It was Tyler who staggered this time, stunned not just by the blow but by the violence of the old man's attack.

  This was ridiculous, he thought, and jerked back as the old-­timer came at him again. What was he supposed to do? Stand here and get his tail whipped, or go down in history as the man who'd beaten Methuselah to a pulp?

  "Put up your fists and fight," Jonas snarled. "I'm gonna whip your butt into next Sunday!"

  "Stop it!" A slender woman with a cap of pale gold hair came running toward them. "Stop it this instant!"

  "You stay out of this, Marta."

  "She's right," Caitlin said fiercely. "Dammit, stop!"

  Tyler held up his hands, palms out. "Look," he said rea­sonably, "this is crazy. I'm at least thirty years younger than you are—"

  "More than that, I'd bet," Jonas said. "But if you think I give a damn about beatin' you up 'cause you're a baby, you'd better think again."

  Tyler
couldn't help it. He laughed, and the old man's pale blue eyes flashed with anger as he came at him.

  "Hell," Tyler said wearily, and in a move so swift it was nothing but a blur, he caught the old guy's arm, jerked it behind his back and subdued him.

  "Tyler." Caitlin looked around them and bit back a moan of despair. The fight had drawn a crowd. Men were gathered around, gaping the way they would at a bad accident on the highway. Nobody wanted to see the gory details but nobody wanted to miss them, either. She put her hand on Tyler's arm. "Please. Let him go."

  Tyler flashed her a quick smile. My God, she thought, he's enjoying this.

  "Kincaid." Her voice steadied. She lifted her chin and fixed him with the kind of look that had been known to make the toughest ranch hand tremble. "I said, let him go!"

  "I heard you, McCord, but a man has to be a fool to let go of somebody who's determined to kill him."

  "He's right," Jonas growled. "I will kill him, just as soon as I get loose."

  "You see?" Tyler shot her that primal male smile again. "I let him go, he's going to come at me and then I'll be forced to beat the crap out of him." The smile changed, turned cold and dangerous, and he jerked back on Jonas's arm just enough to make the old man wince. "Your choice, mister. You want to waltz around like this another couple of hours, or are you going to tell me you'll behave?"

  "Dammit, Kincaid!" Caitlin's voice was sharp with anger. "You said you came here to see Jonas Baron. Well, that's him you've got in an armlock."

  Terrific, Tyler thought with disgust. If there was a better way to ensure that Baron wouldn't answer any of his ques­tions, he couldn't imagine what it might be. He'd humiliated the old man in front of what looked like every hand who worked on Espada.

  There had to be a right way to let go of a tiger, once you'd grabbed it by the tail.

  "If you hadn't used some kind of pansy kung fu stuff on me," Jonas said, "you'd be hightailin' it into the next county by now."

  Tyler grinned. "It wasn't kung fu, it was natural talent. Not that you're bad, for a man with one boot in the cemetery and the other in the hearse."

  Someone in the little crowd laughed. Caitlin spun toward them, eyes flashing.