The Love of a Cowboy

by Anna Jeffrey

  He chuckled. His teeth showed white in the moonlight. She jerked her gaze back toward the night. “You can stop laughing.”

  “Not laughing. I wouldn’t make light of what we had, especially after seeing what we got.”

  “I always knew what we had, but you—” She stopped herself. She had already made the point. Why belabor it?

  “Sometimes a man’s choices are all hard ones, Dahlia. And sometimes what seems right one minute looks different a few minutes later….That speech I made in the Forest Service parking lot that day, I practiced it all the way to town. But after I made it, it took only about ten miles to see it was a mistake. I turned around and went back to town, but you weren’t home. You weren’t at the laundry either.”

  Something inside Dahlia went still. In all the times she had re-lived that brutal parking lot break-up, not once had she thought he might have come back. “Hunh. Fate must not have been on our side. I was upset. I took a drive.”

  He dropped to sit on the porch floor a step above her. His denim-covered thigh touched her bare arm. His boots came to rest on the ragged concrete step beside her. “I knew I hurt your feelings, but at the time, I couldn’t see what else to do.”

  She twisted from the waist and stared up at him. His face was shiny with perspiration, his expression grave. “Let me get this straight. You made a conscious choice to hurt my feelings instead of doing something else?”

  “When you put it that way, I guess I did. It’s kinda hard to explain, but Janet was an outsider. Me marrying her and bringing her to the Double Deuce, then all that happened afterward caused a lot of pain in my family. I decided it was better to hurt you and me than to hurt them anymore. I’m not saying it was right.”

  Dahlia huffed and looked out into the night again. Outsider. She hadn’t heard that word since coming back from Callister.

  “I was spread pretty thin last summer. Mom being sick and nobody knowing what was wrong with her had everybody wondering what would happen next. Then Janet—well, my kids’ futures were on the line, Dal. The problems I had with my ex-wife were like a sore that wouldn’t heal. I had to fix things once and for all.”

  “So the solution was to give up us”—Dahlia snapped her fingers—“just like that?”

  “It wasn’t that simple or that easy. It probably doesn’t matter to you anymore, but I didn’t want to give us up. After that night at the cabin when Mom walked in, Janet went after my ass. Things got real mean before they ended.”

  “Sorry Luke. I’m not convinced.”

  But Dahlia understood more than she would ever admit to him. Piggy’s words spoken on a mountainside in Idaho came back to her:…He’s a warrior and a survivor. His perspective is different. You won’t see him diving off a cliff over a woman….

  She knew his rigid sense of responsibility, knew that with soldierly ardor, he was capable of ignoring his heart to do what he saw as his duty. It was chilling. She had met few people, if any, who had the self-control to pick their battles in that way. Or the luxury.

  “It’s not just people that depend on me, you know. You live here in the middle of cow country. You know what a rancher’s life is like. I had to get ready for winter. There was no choice about that. When the snow’s six feet deep and it’s thirty below, those poor old cows and horses don’t give a damn if Luke McRae wanted to go a’courting instead of putting up hay.”

  “Our relationship was more than courting. If you had wanted to, if I had been important, you could have gotten in touch with me. I didn’t hear a word from you. Not one word.”

  “I tried. Not as hard as I should’ve, maybe. I didn’t hear from you either. Do you think it’s right that you—”

  “Don’t go there, Luke. You were the one who ended it.”

  She heard him sigh again, sensed he had leaned back on the porch. Having this conversation without looking him in the face felt awkward, but it was easier by far.

  “At first,” he said, “I figured I’d try to patch things up after the judge made the custody decision, but it kept dragging from one hearing to another. Then, we had to get calves to the sale and getting the girls settled down in Callister was rougher than I expected. The holidays were real hard on them and—”

  Dahlia interrupted with a humorless chuckle. Was Luke the Stoic groveling? “There’s no end to it, is there? The saga of Luke McRae and his kids and cows.”

  “Those kids needed all I had to give. Mary Claire felt responsible to take care of her mother. She ran off and went back to Boise twice. The last time, when I went to get her, I found her helping Janet out of one of her binges. A guitar player with earrings stuck all over was all my Mary had for help. She’s a good little trooper, but she’s having a time of it, even now.”

  “So you rescued your daughters from the jaws of alcoholic hell and have sole custody now. Does their mother see them?”

  “Only if I let her. And only if she’s sober.”

  So he had backed his ex-wife into a corner. Dahlia had never thought of him as being mean-spirited, but he was tough as bull hide and ruthless when he thought it necessary. Didn’t she know from first-hand experience? She felt a need to jockey for position. “I can’t imagine that. Nothing, absolutely nothing could make me give up Joe.”

  “No reason why you should. You’re not a drunk.”

  Her fists clenched. “And I’m not rich either. But don’t think for a minute I wouldn’t find a way—”

  “Whoa. Just hold it. I’m not somebody you’ve got to fight.”

  “I’m not fighting. Just understand, I won’t be steam-rollered by you.”

  He mumbled an expletive. “Okay. I guess I’ve said my piece. I was hoping you might see it as reasons instead of excuses. Guess not, huh?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it now. And Joe and I are doing just fine.”

  His thigh touching her arm had become too comfortable and perspiration had her clothing sticking to her body. “Well,” she said, pushing herself up. “I think we’ve beat this subject to death.” Wanting to appear unaffected, she looked across the yard at the oak tree. “I fell behind today, so I’ll have to run twice as fast tomorrow.”

  “Dahlia.” He stood up, too. “He’s all a man could hope for. You’re gonna share him with me, aren’t you?”

  She hesitated, crafting a reply with care. “I don’t see how it could work at this point. Callister’s a long way from here. Someday, when he’s older, maybe he can spend time with you. I suppose that’s one of those bridges we can cross when we get to it.”

  His hand reached out and closed around her arm. He turned her to face him. Tension so thick it was almost tangible thrummed between them, a too familiar feeling. Her heart began to hammer.

  His eyes peered into hers, his mouth inches away. “Eyes like a spring meadow,” he said softly. “You’re still the prettiest woman I know. And you’ve never stopped being my girl.”

  She knew he was going to kiss her. And just as surely, she knew she was going to let him. His head descended and he placed his lips on hers. Closing her eyes as his mouth shaped hers, she gave in to the volcanic fever rising within her.

  Stop this right now, Dahlia!

  She parted her lips and let in his tongue. His mouth tasted clean, just as she remembered. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed against him.

  This is dangerous, Dahlia!

  One of his hands closed over her nape, the other slid down her back and kneaded her bottom. Instinctively, her hips thrust forward. He was hard and the heat of him radiated through his jeans. He maneuvered her, fitted his erection to the notch of her thighs. A dreamy memory of how he felt inside her swept into her mind. All she had to do was unhook his belt, open his zipper and . . .

  She pressed her palm against him, rubbed him up and down, remembered the velvety feel of his hard penis in her hand.

  She heard his deep groan. His lips left hers and cruised down her throat, the woodsy scent of his shampoo filled her nostrils.

 
“Dahlia, Jesus . . .”

  She tilted her head back as his warm mouth and tongue on the slope of her breasts chipped chunks out of her will power. Then, she felt his warm fingertips under the leg of her shorts, touching her bare thigh and the pain and hardship of the past year screamed in her ears. She broke away with a sideways jerk of her head. “No,” she said, gasping for breath.

  “Why not?” he growled beneath her ear, tightening his arm around her waist.

  She pushed away from him, her breath coming shaky and fast, her heart pounding. “It’s not the same as it was.”

  His eyes locked with hers. “It is the same. You want it as much as I do. You wouldn’t have kissed me like that, rubbed my cock with that pretty little hand if you didn’t want it.”

  “No! I don’t. I’m a year wiser now.”

  His fists jammed against his hips, taking her attention to the front of his pants. His fly bulged prominently and he was breathing hard. “You’re talking in circles again.”

  She forced her gaze back to his face. His brow glistened with sweat. “If some crisis crops up at the Double Deuce or with some member of your family, or a cow gets sick, or a horse goes lame, you’ll leave me lying in the dust just like you did before. That’s never going to happen again.”

  He stepped toward her. “That’s BS.”

  She stepped back, keeping distance between them. “Luke, please . . . I said I’ll share Joe with you. When he’s old enough.” Her voice sounded almost falsetto.

  Luke shifted his weight to one leg and looked away, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Okay, Dahlia.” He jerked his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hand. “I shouldn’t have pushed it. But I thought—”

  “I’m—I’m a different person now, Luke. I own the store and I’m proud of the direction I’m taking it. I have ideas to grow it into something better. . . . My feelings aren’t the same as they were last summer.”

  His features fell. She saw pain in his eyes, but she rambled on. “I don’t know why I let you kiss me. Or why I kissed you. It was wrong of me to—to…Just Shut! Up! “I’m sorry.”

  He stepped back and went into the house. He returned, carrying his hat and running a hand through his hair. “I’ll go on back over to Piggy and Bill’s.” His voice sounded stiff, distant. He set his hat on and adjusted it. “They told me I was welcome.”

  She drew a calming breath as her heartbeat slowed from a gallop to a trot. “That isn’t necessary. It’s late. They’ll be asleep. You may as well sleep here. Surely you and I can behave like adults.”

  He puffed his jaws and blew out a long breath.

  “I’ve got an extra toothbrush,” she added.

  “I don’t need it. My bag’s in the car. I intended to get a room at that bed and breakfast place.”

  She watched as he went to the Taurus and dragged a duffel and a suit bag from the backseat. “I must be out of my mind,” she muttered.

  Chapter 27

  Dahlia led him to the guest bedroom, the one with walls higher than its width and furnishings older than she was, the one where no one had slept in years. A spread crocheted by her mother covered a bed that filled more than half the room.

  His gaze swerved from the bed to her. She diverted her eyes and directed him to put his bag on top of a carved mahogany chest her mother had brought from the Philippines. Her extended hand shook and she quickly put it behind her.

  He laid his duffel on the chest and she opened the narrow closet that contained nothing but a few cardboard boxes of who knew what. After he hung up his suit bag, she showed him the household bathroom up the hall, rummaged in the linen cabinet for a towel that wasn’t threadbare and handed it to him. “If you’re up before I am, feel free to make coffee or whatever. I presume you still like eating breakfast early. There’s cereal and fruit.”

  She said good-night, then watched him return to the bedroom and close the door. Soon, the bed squeaked. He had sat down on the edge of the mattress to pull off his boots. Left boot, left sock, then right. Always the same. How many times had she lain in bed and waited while he completed that routine? She drew in a deep breath and placed her hand on her stomach as if by doing so she could hold herself together. Then she walked the eight steps to her own room.

  In her bathroom, Dahlia dribbled scented oil and skin softener into a warm bath, then slowly settled into it. She hadn’t allowed herself this luxury for months, but after the past two days, she had earned a little stress relief. Tranquility was her goal tonight, but a bubble bath wasn’t where it lay.

  Luke. She closed her eyes, allowing the soothing water a chance to calm the tremors rocking her world, but memories of the day assailed her:

  . . . Dal, I never—I haven’t been with anybody since you lef. . . . That way, I mean . . .

  She believed him. She had never known him to be a liar.

  . . . You remember how it was, don’t you? How we couldn’t wait to touch each other? Sometimes couldn’t even take the time to get undressed. . . .

  She well remembered those times—in the front seat of his pickup, fumbling with belts and boots; in the reclining chair in the cottage’s living room, the mechanism screeking and groaning; on the boat on the Snake River; in a hotel room in the ski lodge, fighting through her clothing. She wished she had touched him—just unzipped his fly, slipped her hand inside and folded her fingers around his erection. He loved for her to touch him.

  She missed sex, or at least sex as it had been with Luke.

  . . . You making it with anybody?. . .

  Indeed, there had been times during her pregnancy when need had made her wish she could forget consequences and take up with one of the local men who would have happily relieved her of her self-imposed celibacy. Mick Ivey, for one. Or Rob Ellis, Loretta’s new deputy who had asked her out several times, even while she was pregnant.

  But they were the wrong men. Luke had ruined her. She couldn’t imagine “It” with another man.

  She climbed out of the tub and dried. Her bath had done nothing to calm the turbulent desire to feel his hands and mouth on her body, nor had it cooled the fire he had ignited between her thighs. She studied her naked self in the vanity mirror. Two faint stretch marks showed on her stomach, which was still slightly rounded and flabby even with the number of times she jogged up and down the stairs to the Handy Pantry office. Her nipples were enlarged, her breasts weighty with milk, but they didn’t sag she was happy to note. She did enough lifting in the grocery store to keep her pec muscles toned. She sighed. Even if her body didn’t look as svelte as it once had, the aftermath of child bearing wouldn’t be unfamiliar to a man who had fathered three children.

  Closing her eyes, she cupped her breasts and caressed them, remembering how well they fit in Luke’s hands, remembering the heat of his mouth closing around her nipples. She smoothed her hands over her belly, thinking of the times Luke had kissed her there. And lower.

  One thing she knew with certainty about Luke McRae—he was a sexual being. Her rebuffing his kiss on the front porch wouldn’t keep him from coming to her bed.

  She creamed and perfumed her body. Then she searched through her dresser drawers for the one lacy nightgown she still owned. He had loved seeing her in sexy lingerie.

  She slipped the black gown over her head, straightened it and adjusted her breasts into the peek-a-boo lace cups held by thin spaghetti straps. Then she slid between the sheets and waited, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

  Minutes passed. She reached for a magazine from the bedside table and thumbed through it. Finding no article to distract her or quell anticipation, she switched off the light, plumped the pillows and plopped back against them. Soon. Soon he would appear in her bedroom doorway, her name soft on his lips. . . .

  He didn’t come.

  What did come was five o’clock. Dahlia started her make-up, listening for sounds Joe had awakened, glad she had bathed last night. One thing less to do this morning.

&nbs
p; At the same time, she gave herself a mental tongue-lashing. How could she have stooped to waiting for Luke to come to her bed? How pathetic was that? Her jaw tightened at the thought of how she had abandoned her pride.

  So he didn’t want her. Fine. She had already proved his rejection wouldn’t kill her and he was an itch she couldn’t let herself scratch anyway. Today she had things to do and places to go and none of her plans included an unwelcome cowboy. Luke McRae could take a hike back to the mountains and jump off a high one for all she cared.

  But just in case he didn’t, she applied her makeup with care—rose blush to emphasize how her high cheekbones framed her eyes, lavender shadow and black-black mascara to make them look cat-like. She twisted her hair into a loose knot and secured it on top of her head with a silver claw clip from which tendrils escaped immediately.

  Moving on, she dressed in a white T-shirt and a soft rayon gored skirt, coral with a large, white peony print. Cinching her waist with a leather and silver belt in front of the vanity mirror, she saw the outline of her nipples showing through her T-shirt’s thin knit fabric and decided something more conservative was called for.

  Then a mischievous thought danced past. She had heard Piggy say some men were ass and leg men and others were breast men. Luke was definitely a breast man. She changed her mind about finding another shirt. Eat your heart out, Luke McRae.

  Adding a slash of Sun Kissed Melon lipstick and dangly earrings gave her the exotic appearance she knew fascinated Luke. Last, she added several spritzes of True Love fragrance and pushed her bare feet with their bright coral toe nails into tan woven leather mules. Ta-daaa! Ready to face the cowboy.

  She found Joe’s room empty. Luke’s voice came from the kitchen and she double-timed toward it. At the Formica table, she saw him cradling Joe in the crook of his left arm, feeding him from a bottle and making soft gooing sounds. To her horror, when she had finally dropped off in the wee hours after Joe’s last feeding, she had slept so soundly, he hadn’t even awakened her this morning.

  She hadn’t heard Luke making noise in the hall bathroom either, but she wasn’t surprised to see him looking starched and pressed in Wranglers and a button-down, its light blue color coordinating with his eyes as if he had planned it. The Fort Worth Star Telegram lay folded on the table in front of him. He would have already read it from front to back.