Denim and Lace

by Rice, Patricia

  Sam considered shoving him overboard. If he hadn't hit so close to her own worries, she might have. But she had to be honest with herself. She was standing here hoping he would find some way for them to share a bed together before they had to go to his brother's. She wanted to feel his arms around her right now. She also wanted to beat him with a gun butt.

  "I'm not the only one with a way with words." The sarcasm was as much for herself as for him, but she was glad to see him wince. "You don't know where to find my valley any more than I do."

  "I know how to find it, which is more than you can say. I've also got the money to build there when we find it." His fingers gripped the rail tighter as the boat maneuvered into shore. They were running out of time for this argument.

  Sam sighed as they bumped against the dock. "I'm ashamed to say, you almost tempt me. If I hadn't been raised to know better ..." She shrugged. "But it won't work. I won't shame my family. I won't shame any children we might have. I'll just have to fight this battle on my own."

  "Your family won't have to know, and we won't have any children," he said grimly, standing upright as the plank was unloaded. "I sure the hell don't want children."

  "You sure the hell know how to make a woman feel wanted, don't you?" Gathering up her skirt, Samantha stalked away.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Cursing Sam's stubbornness, cursing the sinking feeling in his stomach, Sloan unloaded their horses while keeping an eye on his wandering mistress—"whore," as she had so politely put it. "Lover" had little to do with anything. She was his woman, and he meant to keep it that way. Neither of them really had a choice, much as she might like to believe otherwise.

  It was nearly dusk, and Sam blithely wandered the docks as if half a dozen men weren't watching her as closely as he was. Did she really think she looked so much like a man that they wouldn't notice she wasn't? She wasn't even wearing her damned denims. Some men out here would jump anything in skirts. One as attractive as Sam was a sure target.

  One as attractive as Sam. Damn, but he better start listening to himself think. She was a she-cat in petticoats. Just because she looked deceptively innocent ... Hell, she had been innocent.

  Groaning at that memory, knowing he only dug the hole deeper, Sloan checked the saddle straps and set out after Sam. He wouldn't make the mistake of trying to label her again. She was just Sam, a female who was so damned good in bed that she made him forget why he didn't want a woman there on a regular basis.

  Sam wasn't speaking to him, and that was a relief. He would have to change her mind before they went back up the mountain, but her silence gave him time to think. The sight of the little adobe church on the plaza gave him a different direction of thought.

  Sloan looked at Sam. He looked at the church. And wheels began to spin.

  It would be a dirty thing to do, but his experience with women had taught him that they fought dirty. This would just be a way of protecting himself while protecting her. He'd tried being honest with her. He'd meant every word he'd said. He thought he could manage having Sam around on a permanent basis. She wasn't like most women. She'd go her own way most of the time and keep out of his hair. She wouldn't pry into his private life. And he hadn't lied about what they had between the covers. He'd never had it so good.

  In his opinion, the end justified the means. Sam wouldn't agree, but Sam wouldn't know.

  Of course, he had one major hurdle to overcome before he could perpetrate the dirty deed—persuading Sam. He'd find a way. He was almost whistling by the time they rode up the lane to his brother's ranch.

  A maid answered the door when they knocked. Sam shifted nervously from foot to foot and gave him sidelong glances as they waited. Good. Keep her off balance and maybe he had a chance of pulling this off.

  Jeanne rushed out with a breeze of expensive perfume and a rustle of skirts as she reached to hug Sloan. "You didn't tell us you were coming! It's been ages. Come in. Come in." She glanced curiously at Sam, waiting for an introduction.

  "Jeanne, this is Samantha Neely. Her family moved into town a few months back. Sam, Jeanne Montgomery, my brother's wife."

  Sloan didn't have to look at Sam to see the curiosity in her eyes about the difference in names. He was getting to know her too well. That's why he'd sprung it on her without warning. He knew she'd be too polite to question him in front of others.

  "Welcome, Miss Neely. Won't you please come in? Knowing Sloan's abominable habits, you are probably quite worn out from your journey. Let me fetch you some coffee." Jeanne didn't actually go for the coffee herself; she signaled a maid to do it. Her dark eyes followed Sam and Sloan with even more curiosity than Sam was showing.

  "Where's Matt?" Sloan asked without sitting down. He had no desire to get involved in a hen party where he would be the one pecked to death.

  Jeanne gestured vaguely. "He's out in the stable with one of the mares. One would think animals couldn't give birth without help the way he carries on."

  Sloan groaned as he saw Sam's head instantly raise with interest at this news. Already he knew better than to interfere.

  "Do you think he'd mind if I went to watch? We had to sell our mares when we came out here."

  Sloan hid his grin as his very proper sister-in-law's mouth almost flopped open. She recovered admirably and threw him a questioning look. He shrugged. "I'll go out with her, show the way." He didn't even try to apologize for Sam's unladylike request. He'd rather be in the stable, too.

  "I didn't offend her, did I?" Sam whispered as they walked through the dark to the barn.

  Sloan stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Most likely she's just dying because we didn't tell her anything. I don't often show up with a woman on my heels."

  "I can understand that."

  He was learning to appreciate her dry understatements. He almost grinned at that one. She really was pissed at him, but she wasn't throwing tantrums or anything else. He racked up a point in her favor.

  The barn was cold and dark except for the corner stall where someone had hung a lantern and stoked a wood stove. More interested in seeing Sam in action than watching a horse, Sloan let Sam stay one step ahead all the way down the aisle. Coming out here had just been an excuse to get out of the house.

  Two men struggled with the mare lying in the bloody straw of the last stall. Neither looked up as their visitors appeared. Their attention was focused entirely on the sweat-covered animal straining to give birth.

  They looked up when Sam knelt down in the straw with them, though. The light-haired one glanced over his shoulder, gave Sloan a surprised look, then looked astonished as the woman kneeling beside him asked, "Breech?"

  "Leg caught," Matthew replied curtly. He turned away when the mare struggled again. Sloan rested his arms on the stall gate.

  "She owns a mare that can beat any of these plow horses you've got, Squirt. Says she raised her herself."

  Both Matthew and Sam gave him a look of disgust. Sloan couldn't help it. He cracked a smile.

  "If you're not going to help, get your ass out of here, mama's boy," Matthew grunted, turning back to his work.

  "My hand is smaller. Let me help." Sam threw her coat in Sloan's general direction.

  Matthew looked at her as if she were crazed and ignored her offer.

  Sloan caught the coat and laid it over the rail. "You might as well listen to her. She's a royal pain in the ass when you don't."

  "Just like someone else I know." The mare snorted and kicked and tried to roll, and Matthew grabbed her legs. He glanced at the other man holding the mare's head and received a hesitant nod in return. With that silent exchange, he moved over. "You're going to ruin your gown," he warned, "But then, Sloan can always buy you another. That's all he's good for anyway."

  Sloan could almost swear he heard Sam mutter "I wouldn't say that," but no one else seemed to notice. Maybe he was just imagining things—or reading her mind. It sounded just exactly like something she would say.

  He watched as
she inserted her hand as gently as if she dealt with a newborn babe, and Sloan felt his stomach do another double clench. He'd brought her out here to tease his brother. He hadn't expected to be reminded of what he was and could have been and wasn't any longer. His hands ached with the need to feel what she felt. It was all he could do to restrain himself from giving her directions.

  Horses weren't people, he reminded himself. It didn't matter if one animal lived or died. But he couldn't keep himself from watching avidly as Samantha struggled to guide the bloody newcomer into the cold world. The mare whinnied and kicked in pain. Matthew and his stable hand held her down hard. And the sticky, slimy new colt slid into Samantha's arms.

  "You did it! You did it! Bless you a thousand times whoever you are." Ecstatic, Matthew knelt beside her, hugging and kissing her, admiring the perfectly formed colt struggling to return to his mother's warmth.

  "She's mine, and I'd thank you to remember that," Sloan commented as he joined the rest of the crowd in the stall.

  Holding the wiggling colt in her arms, Sam looked up at him with stars in her eyes. "Isn't he beautiful? Isn't he the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen?"

  She was covered in blood and slime and sweat. Her gown was ruined. And she was holding a bloody awful long-legged creature too weak to stand. Sloan nearly staggered beneath the painful memories suddenly engulfing him.

  He'd said those very words himself once, but they hadn't been said over a horse. And they hadn't been met with that starry-eyed look Sam gave him now. They'd been met with the same look that he was probably giving her at the moment.

  Relenting as Sam's happiness began to fade at the disapproval she probably perceived in his face, Sloan crouched down beside her. He stroked the tiny creature before Matthew returned it to the mare's side. "He's beautiful, all right, but there's someone else here even more beautiful right now."

  Sam's wide-eyed astonishment at his whispered words made Sloan smile again. She was so damned easy to please, it tickled him. He leaned over and kissed her nose. "Gotcha. I meant the mare. You're a mess."

  She slammed her fist into his shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. "And you're a liar and a scoundrel, Sloan Talbott. I'd never speak to you again, but I know that would only make you happy, so I won't."

  Sloan's laughter practically knocked the grin off his brother's face. Standing up and wiping his hands off on clean straw, Matthew looked from one of them to the other as they pulled themselves out of the straw. "I don't know who you are, ma'am, but I'd pay you to stick like a burr to Pretty Boy's side here for a week or two. I'd charge admission to watch."

  Sam cleaned her hands on the rag he gave her. "You'd have to pay me more money than the government could print, I'd wager."

  Sloan kept chuckling as the two of them skirmished around each other. "Meet Samantha Neely, comedian extraordinaire. Sam, this is my brother, Blowhard, and that's his faithful sidekick, Pedro, down in the straw."

  Sam nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You'll forgive me for not shaking hands right now." She exchanged nods with the small man still working with the horse, gave the new colt a critical look, then turned her gaze up to the blond version of Sloan beside her. "I take it you're Matthew. Sloan hasn't told me a blamed thing about you."

  Sloan made a "tsking" noise. "Your language, Miss Neely. We wouldn't want to reveal that we're from the hills, would we?"

  She continued looking at his brother. "Why haven't you killed him by now?" she asked with a perfectly straight face.

  Matthew grinned. He grinned so wide that Sloan thought he might crack his face. Sloan crossed his arms and leaned against a post. He might as well let them get it out of their systems. He'd known it would be a mistake to bring her here.

  "He's bigger than I am," Matthew replied, shrugging. "And he was never around much when I got old enough to kick him where it hurts. What's an intelligent woman like yourself doing in his company, I'm afraid to ask?"

  "Suffering," she said succinctly. Then turning to Sloan, she finally conceded his presence. "I need to go in and wash now. I don't need your assistance if you'd prefer to continue this charming reunion."

  "Jeanne will no doubt faint when she sees you. I'll come along to pick her up off the floor." Sloan raised his shoulder from die post and looked his brother squarely in the eye. "And I meant what I said earlier. Hands off."

  Sam gave him a look of disgust. "Only someone as filthy as I am would put their hands on me. Just keep yours at your side, Pretty Boy."

  Matthew's roar of laughter followed them outside. Sloan contemplated meeting her challenge and taking her in his arms right here and now, but he had a feeling all he'd get out of it was a bruised shin and a ruined suit. He was learning caution where Sam was concerned. He could see that they were in for a rough-and-tumble time of it once he had her where he wanted her, but he certainly wouldn't be bored anymore. For the first time in ten years, he actually felt a tingle of anticipation.

  "Are you going to want to catch those damned wild horses as your father did?" he demanded, denying any feelings at all. "If so, I might take back my promise about the valley."

  "I'll find the valley myself. I was just waiting for spring."

  She still wasn't happy with him. He would have to turn that around somehow. Sloan kept in step beside her. "I can buy you real horses to raise there."

  She threw him one of those looks that told him she wouldn't buy that tale from a tinker. Sloan caught her shoulders and held her still. "I mean it, Sam. We'll be good together. Just wait and see."

  He could see the moon reflected in the fathomless bottoms of blue she turned on him. He would drown in those eyes one of these days, if he didn't die of lust first. His body hardened at just the feel of her slender shoulders beneath his hands.

  Quickly, before either of them could think twice about it, Sloan closed his mouth over hers.

  She was so right in his arms. She swayed into them without a word of protest. Her lips melted into his. They parted and gave him full access to the sweetness beyond. Her tongue responded to his thrusts, and he felt it clear down to his loins. He couldn't remember it ever being this way with any other woman. There was too much trust, too much innocence.

  He didn't think he would make it all night without taking her. She damned well belonged in his bed. There was no question about it anymore.

  Sloan set Sam back from him, completely unconscious of the mess she'd made of his suit. Her face was pale in the moonlight, but her hair was a glorious fire against the chilly wind. He stroked her cheek gently and wished he could offer her what had been taken from him so long ago.

  Instead, he whispered, "Marry me, Sam."

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Marry him? Sam pulled away and searched Sloan's face for laughter or cynicism or whatever other idiocy had made him say those words. She was quite certain she had heard him right. Perhaps she just hadn't translated his meaning correctly.

  "I've always admired the way you hold your tongue until you have something intelligent to say, but this is carrying it a little too far, Miss Neely. I've got a lot riding on the outcome of this question," Sloan reminded her.

  She actually thought she saw a trace of uncertainty in his hardened face, but perhaps it was a trick of moonlight. Sloan Talbott was never uncertain. Actually, he hadn't even asked her a question. His words had been more of a command. Realizing that made her feel a trifle better—for what reason, Sam didn't know.

  "I'll say you've got a lot riding on that question, so let me release you from your error at once. I told you from the first that there's no need to marry me. That's not part of the bargain. Now you may breathe a sigh of relief, and we can go in and get some sleep."

  She would have started toward the house, but Sloan didn't release her shoulders.

  "It's not relief I'm feeling, Sam. It's frustration. I've thought about this all afternoon, and it's the only solution. Give me credit for having a little more experience than you. What we're feeling now won't go away an
ytime soon. It's some kind of spontaneous chemical reaction that's going to keep on burning unless we do something about it. I don't relish sneaking into your bedroom window under your mother's nose every night to get at you. I'm too old for that kind of foolishness. I want you in my bed every night. I offered you every other alternative I could think of, but you turned me down. This is the only one left. Think about it, Sam."

  Utterly flabbergasted, Sam stared at Sloan through the moonlit darkness. His newly trimmed hair no longer fell in his face as before, but it still curled about his ears and neck, tempting her fingers to touch it. She couldn't read the shadows of his eyes, but she saw signs of strain in the muscles along his cheekbones. His fingers were digging almost painfully into her shoulders. He wasn't teasing. He really meant it.

  "It won't go away, ever?" she whispered in disbelief. Neither one of them had to question what "it" was. "It" was burning through their clothing right now, surging up and down their veins, pumping their hearts so loud it sounded like thunder in her ears. She was almost ready to beg him to move his hands a little lower, to touch her as he had last night. And she was perfectly aware where that would get her.

  "I don't know about 'ever,' " he admitted. "I've not had any woman that long. But I can't imagine either one of us deciding we don't want what the other's got to offer. It's a pretty basic instinct, and I'm damned tired of ignoring it myself."

  Sam managed a weak smile. She supposed it was something to have a man actually admit that he wanted her. She shouldn't expect anything more. Maybe Sloan was right. Maybe they could be good for each other. It would certainly be the solution to a number of trifling problems.