by Day Leclaire
Her lips parted and she opened to him. He tasted of coffee and need, a need that echoed her own, sparking something deep down in the pit of her stomach. It spread outward, threatening to consume her. Maybe she could have resisted, if he hadn't chosen that moment to spin them in a slow circle, pressing her back against a nearby cottonwood. The thick, furrowed bark pressed against her spine. Overhead, a light breeze caused the glossy leaves to rustle, the sound restless and turbulent, similar to distant waves crashing against the shore. For some reason, it seemed to magnify her own inner turbulence.
Holt must have felt something comparable. A low groan escaped him and his hands slid downward along the sides of her throat, leaving streaks of slick, warm mud. He reached the snaps of her shirt and gave a hard yank. They popped, one after another, the edges falling open.
"God, you're beautiful."
"I don't think anyone's ever told me that before." She stroked the side of his face, shuddering. Beneath his gaze she felt beautiful. "This is a first." Everything he did was a first.
"Then the men you've known are fools."
He cupped her breasts, his thumbs sliding across the soft cotton bra and causing her nipples to harden. She tilted her head back against the tree, her eyes drifting closed. He teased her nipples and when she would have cried out, his mouth closed over hers again. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and clung to him. Gave to him. Took everything he offered. She couldn't think straight anymore and she knew why.
She was totally, completely passion drunk.
To her eternal frustration, he chose that moment to pull away, his touch no longer easy and caressing, but hard and inflexible. She resisted. She held on and resisted with every ounce of her strength and determination. Heck, even their shirts resisted, cemented together as they were by drying mud. Unfortunately, he was stronger and more determined. With a popping of shirt snaps, he set her from him. For a long moment they simply stood and stared at each other, his breath as fast and gusty as hers, both their shirts agape.
"I shouldn't have kissed you," he admitted, putting more space between them and folding his arms across his exposed chest. Mud oozed down, painting the solid muscles of his abdomen a rich dark brown.
Cami swallowed, struggling to turn a blind eye to such an irresistible sight. It proved an impossible task. The temptation to close the distance separating them almost bested her. For the first time ever, she found herself at a loss for words. She fumbled with her snaps, fastening them all the way to her throat, no doubt getting them mixed up due to her nervousness. She managed to get it done, though she almost strangled herself in the process.
What should she say? That he could kiss her anytime he cared to? That she didn't mind if he kissed her silly? That she wanted him to do it again and soon? She shifted beneath his cool, remote scrutiny, dropping her gaze to her pointy-toed boots.
Spying her hat, she bent and picked it up, twisting the brim between nerveless fingers. Tarnation! Wasn't this a fine mess. She glanced at his filthy clothes and that tantalizing glimpse of naked chest. A fine mess in more ways than one.
"I gather you don't make a habit of kissing your wranglers?" It seemed a reasonable guess.
"No, I don't. And if you'd been a man, I'd have knocked you on your backside for pulling a stunt like that." His black eyes continued to burn with a strange intensity. "But since you aren't a man—"
"You kissed me." They couldn't avoid the truth. The sooner they faced facts, the sooner... what? What happened now? Did they ignore the kiss and put it behind them? She wasn't certain she could. Did they pretend the kiss never happened? It would take a heap of pretending.
"I shouldn't have touched you," he stated baldly. "It won't happen again. I don't kiss my employees, nor do I kiss city slickers. And you qualify on both counts."
She flinched at his harsh tone. "I may be your employee, but I'm no—" She broke off at the look on his face. She'd never seen him so cold and distant. She'd stumbled onto something here, and instinct told her she'd better find out what. "What's wrong with kissing city slickers?" she asked instead, dreading his response.
For a minute, she didn't think he'd answer. Then he said, "The cost is too high. Last time I kissed one, I ended up married to her. That mistake almost lost me my ranch."
She stared in shock. "You're married?"
"Divorced."
Divorced. Of course. It made perfect sense. It explained his flashes of anger and bitterness, she thought with compassion. It also explained his attitude toward her, both for being a woman and for being fresh from the city. "And because of that one experience, you hold a grudge against all city slickers?"
"Good guess, Tex." He picked up her rope and tossed it to her. "Our arrangement isn't working. You realize that, don't you?"
Panic-stricken, she shook her head. "No, I don't realize it. I'm a little green, I admit. But I can do the work. I know I can."
He crushed down his hat, his jaw settling into rock-solid lines, suggesting he'd made up his mind, and come hell or high water he'd stick to it. "No, you can't. You've proved that here today. You're more hindrance than help."
"Dropping you in the mud was an accident," she protested.
A grim smile eased the lines around his mouth. "If I thought otherwise, we wouldn't still be talking. You'd be packed and on your way by now, sorer but smarter." He snapped his shirt closed and snagged his rope off Loco's saddle horn. "The fact remains, I don't have time for your brand of accidents. I have guests arriving in a couple days."
She nodded enthusiastically. "Great. I can't wait."
"Not great. There's work to be done that isn't getting done. You're holding me back. I need someone experienced enough to get a solid day's work under his belt."
"His belt?"
"His or hers, makes no nevermind to me," he replied coolly. "So long as they do the job and help train the newcomers, that's all that matters. You can't do either. I'd spend more time bailing you out of trouble than I would the damned dudes. You're dangerous, Tex. Putting someone like you on a ranch is just asking for it."
Desperation edged her voice. "I'll get better. I know I will."
He didn't give an inch. "Not on my ranch, you won't. And not on my time."
"But—"
He stopped her with a single cutting look. "I have enough hands to cover the general ranch work. Baling hay, hazing cattle, that sort of thing. And I have a couple of women who will take care of the guests' children. What I want and what I need is a wrangler who can help Gabby and me with the dudes. That's an experienced, honest to God, knows-what-he's-doing wrangler I'm talking about. I don't have the patience, nor the inclination, to play cowboy with you."
"Great. Because I'm not playing." She faced him down. "You're tromping on sacred ground here. Cowboying is serious business to me, not just a game. I'm here and I'm here to stay."
Two swift strides brought him to her side. He towered over her. "Wrong. You're here because I'm a man of my word. I signed a contract with you and I'll honor it. You'll have your two weeks. But once those two weeks are up, you're gone. And nothing and no one is going to change my mind."
"Unless I meet your conditions, you mean," she corrected.
"Not likely, Tex." Grim certainty marked his expression. He pointed at the mud hole. "See that cow? My job is to yank it free and return it to the herd. A cowboy, a real cowboy, would have helped me drag her outta there by now. Instead, I'm still picking mud from between my teeth."
"I already apologized for that. It's my fault you got a little dirty. I admit it."
"A little dirty?"
"Okay," she conceded. "A lot dirty. But as far as wasting your time..." She took a deep breath and plunged onward. "You didn't seem in any all-fired hurry to get down to business once you slid out of that hole."
"You're walking a thin line here," he warned.
"I don't doubt it. But that doesn't change the facts. You had other concerns on your mind after you got up close and personal with that mess of
muck." She tilted her chin to a reckless angle, daring him to disagree. "And not one of them had a blessed thing to do with helping that poor cow."
"What's your point, Tex?" he snarled.
She continued doggedly. "That my being inexperienced isn't why your cow's still sitting rump deep in mud. You were the one sidetracked, not me. You were also the one doing the grabbing."
He whipped his hat off his head and slammed it into the ground. "That tears it."
Cami gulped. Maybe she'd gone a tad too far with her last remark. She took a hasty step back. Not that it helped. He swallowed the distance between them in one swift stride. She looked up at him. Boy howdy, was he tall. And hopping mad, too.
"Excuse me there, Holt," a laughter-filled voice interrupted.
Holt froze in his tracks, slowly swiveling to face the newcomer. Cami peeked around a wall of Holt, surprised to see his neighbor, Frank Smith. The rancher had a shoulder propped against his horse and his arms folded across his chest.
"Been there long?" Holt demanded.
A knowing grin eased the lines of Frank's tanned face. "Long enough. Thought maybe before you get to killing your wrangler, you might like some help pulling that cow out of the mud. Then you can strangle the girl or shoot her." His knowing gaze swept the two of them. "Or whatever else you had in mind."
The muscles in Holt's jaw tightened and Cami caught a brief glimpse of the fury still sparking in his dark eyes. A long minute ticked by before he gave an abrupt nod. "Fine. Let's get it done."
Frank straightened and tossed his reins to Cami. "Take the horses off a piece. It wouldn't do to be anywhere nearby when the cow gets on her feet." He joined Holt, addressing him in a low voice. But a sudden gust of wind gave Cami full benefit of his words. "You know, it's just my opinion, but if you don't want folks to know what you two have been up to, you best learn not to leave fingerprints."
Cami flinched and stared down at the front of her shirt. An ample helping of mud coated her clothing, along with two telltale handprints where Holt had grabbed hold of her shirt to rip it open. That hadn't been the only place he'd touched, she suddenly remembered. He'd cupped her face, too. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her cheeks and looked at her hands. Streaks of mud stained her fingers. Dismayed, she glanced at Holt to check his reaction to Frank's comments.
Not that Holt's expression told her anything. He'd closed down, shutting off all thought and emotion. Without a word, he picked up his hat, slapped it on his head and climbed on Loco. One easy spin and toss of his rope and he'd lassoed the cow's horns. A moment later, he'd pulled her free of the mud. She lay on her side, bawling miserably.
Frank joined Holt and studied the cow. "She doesn't look like she's going to get up on her own."
"Nope," Holt spared Cami a quick glance. "Come get Loco. Ground hitch him over yonder. Hear?"
With a nod, she led Loco to where the other horses stood.
Holt caught hold of the cow's tail. "Let's tail 'er up. Get the horns. Ready?"
"Set," Frank said.
At Holt's nod, they both lifted and flipped the cow onto her feet. She immediately tried to charge Frank. Holt, his heels dug into the ground, held her back by the tail.
Once Frank reached the safety of his horse, Holt let go. The cow appeared uncertain what to do next. The bawling of the calf decided the issue. She trotted over to her offspring. Holt kept behind the animal and joined Frank and Cami.
"Go back to the ranch and get cleaned up," Holt instructed.
"What about you?"
"I have work to do."
"But—"
He tensed, his hands balling into fists. "Don't argue with me." He'd clearly reached the end of his patience. He took a deep breath, struggling to rein in his temper. "Go to the ranch and get cleaned up," he repeated in a low, stern voice.
Deciding to follow the prudent course for once in her life, she nodded obediently. "Yessir. And then?"
"We'll get the cow and calf back with the rest of the herd down by the river. You can join us there."
"Yessir," she repeated and climbed aboard her horse.
With a shrill "Hiyah!" she wheeled Petunia around and dug in her heels. The horse took off like a shot. This time, Cami clung to the saddle with all her might. Judging by the look in Holt's eyes, falling off meant death. And most likely a slow one, at that.
* * *
Holt watched Cami charge through the bushes and up over the ridge, shiny black curls bouncing against her back. He remembered sliding his hands through that hair and the feel of her curls beneath his hands. The softness had taken him by surprise, the little ringlets twisting around his fingers, clinging and twining so he'd been afraid he'd hurt her when he'd gathered sufficient wits to pull free.
He also remembered what her mouth had felt like beneath his. Soft. Soft and sweet and welcoming. And then there'd been the rest of her. The scent of her skin. The tiny groan of desire slipping from her mouth to his. Delicate curves pressed tight against him. Breasts as close to perfect as he'd ever laid hands on.
He'd almost stripped her down and taken her right there beneath the cottonwood. Would she have resisted? Something told him she wouldn't have. Something told him, she'd have given herself to him with the same determination and generosity that had characterized her from the minute he'd first seen her.
Of course, if nature had taken its course Frank would have gotten quite an eyeful. Then he'd have had to shoot Frank. Frank probably wouldn't take well to having been shot and feel obligated to do something about it. Plus, Holt would have the small problem of the law frowning on ranchers shooting each other. Once upon a time he might have gotten away with it. But today people tended to frown on it.
He sighed.
"You've got trouble," Frank said.
Holt didn't bother denying it. "Big trouble."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"Keeping my damned hands off her might be a good start."
"A difficult proposition."
"A painful proposition." They both fell silent for a few minutes. In a resigned voice Holt asked, "I don't suppose you've heard of any decent wranglers looking for work."
"I put the word out. The few I heard were free I wouldn't have within a thousand miles of my spread. What about those other resumés you received? Isn't there anyone else you could hire?"
Holt shook his head. "Only one's still available and she's eighty-two. I'd have hired her on the spot, but she's just been released from the hospital following a bout of pneumonia and the doctor won't okay it."
"Which leaves Tex."
"Which leaves Tex and all that damned black hair," Holt agreed.
"And those big blue eyes."
"Not to mention the dimples."
"Or the freckles."
Steel crept into Holt's voice. "Mention those cute little freckles in that tone and I'm like as not to knock you on your arse."
"You've got trouble."
Holt yanked his hat low on his forehead. "Big trouble."
* * *
Cami walked to the side of the ranch house and into the laundry room. Holt had pointed it out the day she arrived and told her he'd recently put in sufficient machines to service the hands as well as the guests. "Feel free to use it anytime," he'd said. "You'll get plenty dirty working around here." He hadn't been kidding.
She bypassed a long folding table covered with a pile of heavy duty commercial towels, several pairs of faded jeans and a neat stack of flannel shirts. Crossing directly to the washing machine, she opened the lid and dumped in her muddy clothes and a cupful of detergent. Her mouth curved downward.
Here she stood, squeaky clean from head to toe and poor Holt rode the range with mud filled boots, a dusty hat and a six-inch coating of muck. By now the muck would have dried beneath the warm spring sun into something akin to plaster. If he hadn't been cemented in place atop his horse, he'd at least be itchy and miserable. And ticked.
And it was all her fault.
With a sigh, she st
arted the washer and turned to leave. Feeling guilty wouldn't help. Nothing she could do would help, except, perhaps, to stay away from ropes, mud holes, and Holt. And considering that cowboying on the A-OK frequently involved all three, her future looked decidedly dicey.
Time to get moving. Time to return to work. Time to give Holt more of her special brand of help. She hesitated, her gaze falling once again on the stack of clean clothes lining the folding table. Inspiration struck. Maybe, just maybe, she'd found a way to make amends.
Snatching up jeans, shirt, and a towel and washcloth, she headed for her horse. Shoving her collection into the saddlebags, she mounted. "Come on, Petunia. Let's find Holt. He sure is going to be pleased when he sees what I've brought him."
They'd be working down by the river, he'd said. To her surprise, she found him in the first pasture she crossed. She pulled up short and watched, her brow wrinkled in confusion. What in the world was going on? Frank and Holt, whistling and hiyahing for all they were worth, pursued a bunch of longhorn cows.
She took another look. Those weren't just cows they were attempting to corral. The herd contained a huge infuriated bull, as well. Cami winced as a wickedly curved horn slashed a path inches from Holt's thigh. This was no place for an amateur, she realized, deciding to sit tight. She didn't dare risk distracting Holt. And without doubt, she seemed to have an uncanny knack for distracting, not to mention riling the man.
An instant later, a huge longhorn thundered by, heading straight for Holt's back. On the other hand... Acting on sheer instinct, she clipped her heels against Petunia's rump and gave chase. She reached for her rope and hesitated, an image of this morning's disaster flashing before her eyes. The longhorn continued on its path of certain disaster and Cami realized she needed to act fast. If she didn't stop the beast, Holt would be on the hurting end of those horns.
Without further consideration, she shoved her hand into her pocket and yanked out a yo-yo. Petunia increased her stride, until they were just behind the cow. Cami hollered a warning to Holt. He whirled around, but she knew it was too late for him to escape those huge horns. She let fly with the yo-yo.