Rescued by a Rancher

by Mindy Neff

  “Would you two stop talking about me as if I’m not in the room?” Tracy Lynn said, huffing out a breath. “Stress is not good for pregnant women—Donetta, that includes you, so behave.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Donetta saluted smartly, grinning. Simba cut a clumsy path through the living room with Buck and Tori hot on his heels. Probably because Simba had stolen the Lab’s chew toy, and Tori was a stickler for fairness.

  “You can get out of this situation, Tracy Lynn,” Sunny said, her voice sincere and soft. “I know your dad put pressure on you, but he’ll come around. He can’t stay mad at you for more than five minutes, and the last thing he’d ever want is for you to be living with someone who makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Linc doesn’t make me uncomfortable—at least not in the sense you seem to be intimating. He tempts me something fierce, and I have to keep reminding myself not to go overboard, to protect myself from a big letdown. Still, I’m annoyed that it takes marriage to make me and my child legitimate. Honestly! I chose single motherhood.”

  “Yes, but that wasn’t your first choice,” Becca reminded her. “Over the years, you’ve dated enough men to outfit an army—with the express purpose of finding the right one.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t find him, did I.”

  “Are you sure?” Becca asked.

  “What kind of a question is that? Besides, Linc told me he’s going back to Dallas after the first of the year.”

  “To stay?” Sunny asked.

  “I don’t know. He has issues here.”

  “But he and Jack have just partnered up in the horse-breeding business,” Sunny said. “Linc told us he wanted to be a true uncle to Tori, not just see her a couple of times a year.”

  Under the guise of straightening the veil on her straw cowboy hat, Tracy Lynn glanced across the room where Linc was standing in a semicircle with Jack, Storm and Beau. The only furniture in the living room was a couple of leather club chairs facing the wide-screen television that was hidden in the built-in shelves. She could already imagine this room painted in a pale, buttery faux marble to complement the pecan stain on the wood floor.

  She would keep the leather chairs, she decided, and dress them up with a couple of sofas, some wing chairs in different fabrics and textures, and a Persian rug to draw the pieces together. The room begged for a touch of elegance, along with the warm and homey.

  As though he’d felt her gaze, Linc turned and caught her staring. Flustered, she turned back to her friends, acting as though she had much more important things on her mind besides him.

  As if!

  “Come on, girls,” she said. “Let’s go tour this house.” Anything to keep her mind off her sexy husband and her suddenly overactive libido.

  Chapter Six

  After all their guests had left, Linc hauled the trash bags outside. He stopped to breathe deeply of the crisp night air, seasoned with the scent of horses.

  He wasn’t sorry he’d agreed to start a joint venture here in Hope Valley with his brother. It made good sense for a man to branch out, to create a backup so he’d never find himself pinned in a corner, helpless to defend himself against events or people he had no control over. Jack had faced that very situation not long ago when an infectious cattle disease threatened to wipe out his entire herd.

  Everyone needed a cushion of safety, whether it was a nest-egg savings account, a diversified means of income, or merely a home where they were protected, sheltered from angry words and drunken rages.

  His gut tightened with the familiar hatred, and Linc slammed the door on his thoughts. Every time he turned around in Hope Valley he was tripping over something that brought back bitter memories of his father. He didn’t like the feelings of rage that flared so unexpectedly.

  The volatile emotion was the one thing in his life he couldn’t claim mastery over.

  And it was the one thing that could prevent him from staying here.

  How could he spend the rest of his life constantly fighting his phantoms? He needed to be in control of himself and his surroundings—because his childhood had been so out of control.

  He saw Buck chasing a rabbit but didn’t whistle for him. The dog would come in through the pet door when he was ready.

  Back in the kitchen, he shut off the lights, then walked back through the house toward the soft music playing on the stereo. Barely two strides into the living room, he came to a jarring halt, nearly tripping over his own booted feet.

  “Good God Almighty,” he breathed. Spellbound, he watched as Tracy Lynn swayed to the rhythm of a country-and-western song, her body flowing in slow, sinuous movements. She appeared utterly lost in the moment, and so incredibly gorgeous he could hardly believe she was right here in his living room, and he was watching her.

  Married to her.

  Her jeans rode well below her navel, her form-fitting top about an inch above. She’d removed her denim jacket soon after they’d come indoors, causing him a great deal of discomfort the rest of the afternoon. Her stomach was flat, her arms sleek and defined.

  She sure didn’t look pregnant.

  Her straw cowboy hat, no longer sporting the veil, was pulled low on her forehead, casting her face in shadow. Her head was tilted back, her eyes were closed, and her full lips were moist and parted, tempting him to ease on over and slowly lick the sexy arch of her neck.

  She was a sensual woman, a woman comfortable in her skin. And watching her dance made his jaw slack and the rest of his body rock hard. A smart man would turn around and head in the opposite direction.

  But intelligence didn’t stand a prayer against temptation.

  He walked across the room. “Mind if I cut in?”

  Her eyes opened slowly, sensuously, as though she’d been expecting him. Leading with her hips, she melted against him, her arms sliding around his neck like the whisper of a silk slip trailing over his skin.

  She matched her steps to his as Faith Hill and Tim McGraw sang about wanting to make love.

  The brim of her hat brushed his, her blue eyes open, honest and holding his dead on.

  His stomach took an elevator-dropping dive, and he was sure his groin passed it on the way up.

  Her sultry, graceful moves were innate rather than calculated. She didn’t shy away, or act coy, or try to deny that she was responding to him, and to the suggestive lyrics of the song.

  And Linc was burning hot.

  “I have something for you,” she said.

  You? he prayed. Naked in my bed?

  She put a few inches of distance between them and reached into the pocket of her jeans. He didn’t know how she could actually fit anything besides herself inside those pants.

  She brought her hand out and opened her palm.

  His heart and stomach changed places.

  His ring. The small horseshoe of diamonds sparkled in the overhead light.

  “Where did you get that?” His voice was low and raw.

  “From the lake where you threw it thirteen years ago.”

  “You were there?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the circle of gold and diamonds.

  “Yes. I was going through my ‘poet’ stage and figured the serenity of water might inspire me to write the next celebrated classic. You didn’t seem in the mood for company, so I stayed where I was by the tree at the edge of the Anderleys’ place.”

  “How did you find the ring?” He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers.

  “It practically landed at my feet. I hope you didn’t have your heart set on capturing the attention of any major league scouts. You’re not the greatest pitcher.”

  He smiled slightly, didn’t take offense. Her tone was light, yet there was a vulnerability in her eyes, a watchfulness, a hesitation as though she was embarrassed about whatever thoughts were scrolling through her head.

  “After you left the lake, I waded in to see what you’d thrown. I knew there was a shallow area right in front of the cottonwood where I was sitting, and since I’d seen the splash, I was pre
tty sure that whatever it was had landed on this side of the dropoff.”

  “That was my grandfather’s ring,” he said. “My mom gave it to me before my fingers had even grown thick enough to fit the band. She told me the ring was lucky. I chucked it that day because I felt as if I hadn’t had any luck at all in my life. Me and my old man were butting heads as usual, and I’d ended up with his bull whip wrapped around my chest.”

  “Oh, Linc. That image makes me so mad I could catch fire! How could any parent treat their child…?” She stopped, took a breath. “Does the ring bring back bad memories, then?”

  He shook his head. “No. Just the opposite.” He wasn’t used to someone expressing anger on his behalf, championing him. Tracy Lynn’s attitude moved him more than he wanted to admit. “I’ve always regretted my impulsive fit. Gramps was a good man. I looked up to him. I never thought I’d see this ring again.”

  Instead of luck, what the unique band had truly symbolized to him was love. But that day by the lake, hatred had bred self-pity.

  He’d known that staying in this town would destroy him, known that he could never call it home.

  Yet here he was, standing in the living room of a house he’d built on the exact spot his maternal grandfather, Noah Sully, had erected his own homestead years before Linc was even born. Two weeks after Gramps died, Russell Slade had bulldozed the house.

  “When you gave me the wedding band today,” Tracy Lynn said, “I remembered this one. I don’t know why I kept it all these years. Maybe I was saving it for you. I thought you should have it back, that maybe it could even serve as a wedding ring—a pretend one, of course.”

  She stretched her hand closer, an indication that he should take the ring.

  “Uh-uh.” He held out his left hand, palm down. “You put it on me.”

  He wasn’t sure why he tossed out the challenge. When she took his hand in hers and pushed the ring over his knuckle, he wished he hadn’t. Her touch, and the thoughtfulness of saving this ring for him all these years, seemed to take on a much deeper meaning.

  The band still fit him, and a sudden memory of himself as a seventeen-year-old boy flashed in his mind. These were the same hands that had touched Tracy Lynn’s smooth skin—platonically—when he’d come to her rescue and scattered a group of jocks whose teasing had gotten out of hand.

  He also recalled that her daddy had refused to listen to explanations and had made it very clear that Linc wasn’t welcome anywhere near his house or his daughter.

  “You seem to have a habit of rescuing me,” she said as though she’d read his mind, walked with him through the same reminiscence. Her voice was soft, her eyes trained on his hand as she stroked his knuckles with her fingertips, then measured his palm against hers as if surprised that its shape and size hadn’t changed in thirteen years.

  The CD player changed disks with a sharp click.

  When she lifted her gaze to his, he slid his hand around her waist and up the center of her back, pulling her against his chest as he slowly rocked her to the rhythm of the ballad playing now.

  He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he felt the hard press of her nipples against his chest.

  “What are you feeling?” he asked against her temple.

  “Desire,” she said honestly. “Like it’s my wedding night for real, even though I know it’s not. But you know when someone tells you something’s off limits and it makes it all the more enticing?”

  Her stark honesty constantly caught him off guard. “Mmm.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Wondering. Is that why I’m feeling this way?”

  His feet were no longer moving with the music, yet their bodies swayed, rubbing and pressing from hip to chest. He started to suggest her emotions were the result of alcohol, but then recalled that the only drinkers in the small crowd had been the grandmothers.

  “Maybe,” he said when he was sure his voice would work. He looked down at her, pressed his hand against the center of her back, stilling her movements. “But I’m feeling it, too.”

  Her fingers went to his hair, and she lifted his hat off, tossing it behind him onto a chair. He returned the favor and sent hers sailing in the opposite direction.

  In a move that felt as natural as breathing, he lowered his head and kissed her. She met him more than halfway, proving once more that her sensuality wasn’t merely a facade.

  Fire ignited in his gut. He deepened the kiss, forgetting every one of his reservations. She tasted of lemonade and smelled like a bouquet of white orchids. She was as rare as the flower itself.

  “I’ve wanted to do that again since this afternoon,” he said against her lips. “And a lot more.”

  Tracy Lynn wondered if anyone had ever felt as much want as she did now. Life had been a series of emotional ups and downs lately. The agony of trying to get pregnant, the elation when she finally did. Then the terror of possibly losing her father and finding herself in a marriage she’d never in her wildest dreams imagined would take place.

  “Would it be so wrong to pretend that this is a real wedding night?” she asked softly. “I can’t get pregnant twice, and…” Her voice trailed off. Perhaps she was being too forward, but life was a fragile thing, and dreams could disappear as quickly as a sudden heart attack or incurable disease.

  She wasn’t a young, innocent girl. “There’s a unique chemistry between us,” she whispered. “I don’t understand it. I just…need.“

  “Are you sure?”

  She closed her eyes. “Don’t make me beg, Linc.”

  Before the words were hardly uttered, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, still kissing her as he pushed through the doorway of his bedroom.

  He toed off his boots, laid her on the bed and followed her down, fitting his body over hers. For what seemed like hours, he simply kissed her, kept his hands cupping her face as though they had the rest of their lives to do just this. Holding his weight on his elbows, he showered her with kisses so tender she thought she might weep, then slowly turned up the heat with kisses that inflamed.

  When he came up for air, she saw a hint of reluctance mingled with the hot passion in his eyes. She understood, felt the same emotions…and so much more.

  But she didn’t want either of them to entertain second thoughts. Something had happened between them at that wedding ceremony today, something good and decent and right.

  And if tonight was all she could have of him, so be it. No one could predict what tomorrow would bring…or take away.

  She didn’t need his nobility just now.

  She needed his touch.

  Reaching between them, she began unbuttoning his shirt. His stomach sucked in as the backs of her fingers brushed his skin from neck to belt buckle. Sliding her hands inside his shirt, she reveled in the hard muscles rippling beneath her palms.

  She was about to push the material off his shoulders when he stopped her. Capturing her hands, he kissed her knuckles, then removed the shirt himself.

  “My turn,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  He started with her boots and socks, then her jeans, stroking and massaging every inch of skin he uncovered. Taking his time. His touch was feather-light, yet his fingertips exerted just the right amount of pressure to make her writhe as he skimmed them up the inside of her thighs. Driving her mad.

  She had never been undressed with such exquisitely erotic care.

  When his hands bracketed her hips, his thumbs lightly stroking over the silk of her panties, Tracy Lynn whimpered. The sound astounded her. She couldn’t recall a single time a man had made her whimper. Not that she’d had all that many lovers, but for a very long time she had been actively searching for a white knight to father her babies.

  And now…her breath stalled as his hands slid up her rib cage, lifting her shirt. The elastic of the builtin bra pulled against the bottom of her breasts, then tugged free as he skimmed the top over her head.

/>   For a long moment he sat back on his heels, caressing her with only his hungry gaze. A slight chill pervaded the sparsely furnished room, and her skin pebbled with goose flesh, her nipples contracting from both the cool air and hot desire.

  And still, he just stared, as though truly, utterly mesmerized. Either that, or he was about to change his mind and back out.

  “Linc?”

  “You are so beautiful.” He traced the outer contours of her breasts, coming so close but never touching the aching centers. “So soft. So perfect.”

  The utter reverence in his tone aroused her beyond reason. She tugged him down to her, needing to feel him, skin to skin.

  His mouth covered hers, the expertise he brought to the kiss shooting her into a maelstrom of desire so fierce she could hardly remember her own name. She arched her hips against his, needing the pressure, something, anything to put out the fire running rampant through her body.

  “Take off your pants,” she urged against his lips even as her hands were sliding between their bodies, fumbling with the snap at his waist.

  “Babe.” He intercepted her hand, rested his forehead against hers, his breathing as strained as hers was. “It’s been a while for me, and I’m about to go over the edge just looking at you.”

  She went utterly still. He had the kind of bad-boy sex appeal that should have women waiting in line to claim him. His admission that he hadn’t been with a woman in a while thrilled her, made her feel special. Even more so because she was the one wearing his ring, lying beneath him in his bed.

  Even if it wasn’t for the long haul.

  “Well, it’s been three years for me,” she said, “so if it’s a race you’re looking for to see who’ll lose control first, don’t bet on yourself.”

  His mouth kicked up at the corners. “Three years? You been playing hard to get, Miss Prom Queen?”

  “That’s Ms. if you don’t mind.”

  Linc stood, unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans and boxers, then knelt on the mattress and slid her panties down her legs, tossing them on the floor. He kissed the mound of her femininity, her navel, her breasts, licked his way up her neck and jaw, tasted her perfume.