The Courting Cowboy

by Tara Janzen

  She had spent hours the previous night going over every detail, trying to remember whose hands had been where and doing what. The whole episode had proven to be rather hazy except for the feelings. Those had been all too easy to remember, to conjure up and feel again.

  She groaned and sank lower into her bathtub, closing her eyes. She was thoroughly mixed up. She wanted him. She’d figured that much out without too much trouble. Sex and Ty Garrett were simultaneously the most seductive and the most bewildering combination she’d ever known.

  How could she possibly be attracted to someone she had nothing in common with except liking children, various food products, wide open spaces, small towns, and the same people? Except for agreeing on the importance of education? Except for having the same basic inherent politeness? How could she like him so much?

  She’d be the first to admit that what had happened on his front porch had nothing to do with politeness, but that had been as much her fault as his. Besides, she wasn’t at all sure where politeness fitted in with sex. It was just one of the many things she now realized she didn’t know about sex.

  She sank a little deeper. Neither Charles nor her books had prepared her for the likes of Ty Garrett. How could she have remained so ill informed all these years? So naive? She had truly thought passion was for others, not for her, for it certainly had not been for her with Charles. Ty was another man, a different, virile, incredibly handsome, tall, rugged man. But was he the right man, as he’d said? She didn’t know, and she didn’t know how to go about finding out. She doubted if she’d find such an answer in the library.

  Sighing heavily, she forced herself out of the bathtub. She had dinner to figure out and cook, and papers to grade. Self-recriminations, personal analysis, and rampant confusion would have to get in line for another audience later.

  * * *

  Ty stood on her front porch in the fading twilight, not at all sure what he thought he’d get out of coming to her house. The least he expected was a few minutes of her time. The most he hoped for was harder to admit. He would like to talk to her for a while, figure out where they’d gotten their signals crossed, then pick up where they’d left off with her in his arms.

  He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. Okay, he told himself, relax, think things through. The most he should expect was a chance to talk with her. She didn’t know he’d been up half the previous night thinking about her, about how she’d melted against him, about how sweet and hot her mouth had been, about how she was driving him crazy. She didn’t know any of that, and he didn’t know whether or not he should tell her. Vulnerability was not his favorite emotional place.

  Neither was loneliness, and he’d had a bellyful of loneliness. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to run around on the weekends looking for a good time and a little company. He wanted it all: home, hearth, wife, family. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything except Corey.

  The realization startled him, and he stepped back from the door. Did he really think he had to wed her before he could bed her? His next question was even more startling. Did it matter? And his answer was the most startling of all. No.

  She fascinated him physically and intellectually. Emotionally she was the biggest wall of confusion he’d ever run up against. He’d known a few women in his time, and none of them had ever had him calling in poker debts, giving away peaches as fast as he could get them out of the cellar, and stumbling all over himself, trying to make some time.

  A gust of wind blew in from the north, chilling him beneath his flannel-lined jean jacket. Snow began drifting from the cloud-filled gray sky. He shivered and felt the ache in his ribs low on his right side. One of the colts he was breaking had knocked him for a loop earlier in the day, thrown him when he’d least expected it. He’d been too busy thinking about Victoria instead of keeping his mind on his business.

  He guessed that about summed up his problem—and the solution was just a couple of feet away behind a closed door. He raised his hand again and knocked.

  Victoria got up from her chair, surprised by the unexpected interruption but grateful for the chance to escape the piles of papers stacked on the kitchen table. She needed a better system for evaluating her student’s progress. Nightly homework accompanied by written reports was a grading nightmare. She was swamped, and had been since the beginning of the term.

  Given the draftiness of her old house and the near nonexistence of her current social circle, she had invested in a number of sweatsuits, or, as she preferred to call them, jogging outfits, though she neither jogged nor, she hoped, sweated. She was wearing a white one emblazoned with the flag of Denmark, another bit of wardrobe rebellion. Charles had been angry with the Danes for as long as she’d known him, something to do with a Danish history professor and a theory dear to Charles’s heart. He’d had any number of dear theories, not all of which had borne up under scrutiny. The Danish professor had apparently been quite a scrutinizer.

  Idly thinking of Danes and theories didn’t in any way prepare her for opening the door and finding Ty Garrett. At any other point in the last twenty-four hours, she most certainly would have been thinking of him and would probably have been less surprised. As it was, she could only stare at him and remind herself not to accidentally and ungraciously close the door in his face.

  Actually, that would have been harder than she originally thought. He looked so good, she found herself standing in the doorway, getting dusted by snowflakes, drinking in the sight of him.

  “May I come in?” He asked the question softly.

  She nodded and held the door open even wider. When he was inside and the door was shut, she turned to face him. He wasn’t nearly far enough away, so she took a deep breath and moseyed toward the couch to get some distance. A few feet was all she needed. In another unexpected move he followed her, and they both ended up getting all the way to the divan and sitting down. It wasn’t what she had planned.

  “I’m a little surprised to see you,” she said with world-class understatement, maintaining her composure by an act of will. “I wasn’t expecting visitors tonight.” She hoped that explained the rather wild condition of her hair and the sweatsuit she was wearing. She wasn’t overly vain, but she didn’t like to look unkempt.

  “I’m a little surprised to be here myself.” He took his hat off, and she noticed his hair was damp, as if he’d just showered. The snow wasn’t wet enough to have slicked back the dark strands, especially under a cowboy hat. Upon closer inspection she noted other signs of a recent shower: a smoothly shaved face, a fresh scent devoid of the smells of dust, cows, or horses. His blue shirt had a just-pressed look. His boots were polished, his jeans clean. He appeared to be a man on a mission.

  “I didn’t realize it was snowing,” she said, her voice cracking the merest bit. She felt ridiculous having to resort to the oldest conversational cliché in the book, as if he’d driven all the way in from the ranch to talk about the weather with her.

  “Just started.” He leaned forward and set his hat on her living room table. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any of that hot tea you like so much? What was it again?”

  She and Lacey had talked about tea during lulls in the older woman’s friendly but personal prying. “Ceylon pekoe,” she said, rising from the couch. “Yes, I have some. It will take only a minute.”

  “That would be great.” He stood up and followed her into the kitchen.

  Victoria wished he hadn’t come, wished he hadn’t followed her into the kitchen, and wished just looking at him didn’t make her want to either cry or throw herself into his arms.

  “Looks like you’ve been working,” he said.

  She followed his gaze to the table piled high with papers. “I’m sure Corey will be the first to tell you I assign too much homework.” A lump was growing in her throat, making it hard to speak. She really wished he’d stayed away long enough for her to get her bearings. It wasn’t fair, the ease with which he turned her life upside down.

>   “He doesn’t mind,” Ty said. “Not when it’s for you. I think you’re about his favorite teacher of all time.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” she said, hiding her blush by busying herself with putting water on to boil. “Especially after last night, I don’t know what he must be thinking.”

  There, she thought, the awful truth of her brazen behavior was out. She’d shocked herself on his front porch. She couldn’t imagine that she hadn’t shocked him too.

  The sound of his laughter brought her head around.

  “He thinks you gave me a signal,” he said, taking a step closer. His grin was a little crooked, maybe a little unsure. “I guess I thought you gave me a signal too.”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She knew exactly what he was talking about. There had been, in her estimation, enough signals ricocheting around the two of them last night to light up half the town of Talbot.

  “I think I gave you a lot of signals,” she admitted, turning the water faucet off and setting the teakettle on the stove.

  “I want you to know I talked to him, and he thinks we were kissing.”

  She could feel him moving closer, feel the warmth of his presence filling the empty space behind her. “We were kissing,” she said in an embarrassed whisper.

  “Yeah, but five more minutes of kissing like that and we would have been making love.”

  Honesty kept her from disagreeing with him, and propriety kept her from admitting to the truth, which left the silence for him to fill.

  “I still want to,” he said, and she felt his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. “I still want to make love to you. It’s what I’ve wanted since I picked you up that first night and got you all tangled up in my coat.”

  The silence returned, charged and awkward and veritably alive with signals. He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and tucked a straying curl behind her ear. His touch was gentle, hesitant.

  “It’s not something I’m used to very much,” she said, not knowing if she was admitting something or explaining something. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, instead, and tried not to remember how wonderful it had felt to be wrapped in the warmth and strength of his arms.

  “I know you’ve been alone for a long time.”

  She shook her head. “It’s more than that. Charles and I, we didn’t . . . we weren’t . . . intimate very often. His health wasn’t good, and he had his work. Sometimes I wondered why he married me. He didn’t seem to find me attractive in a conjugal way.”

  “Why did you marry him?” Ty asked what he thought was the more pertinent question.

  “He was—”

  “Brilliant,” he interrupted dryly.

  “Well, yes,” she said, not realizing she’d missed the humor in his voice. “But he was also familiar. The most, maybe the only familiar person in my life after my father died. Moving from place to place and country to country all the time can be very educational, but it can also leave you very unconnected to anything or anybody. Charles was my connection. There was love, even if there wasn’t passion. If he was strict and demanding, he was also reliable and caring. I was happy to marry him. Not marrying him would have meant losing him, and I couldn’t have afforded to lose him.”

  Ty slid his hand to the nape of her neck and ran the tips of his fingers through the straying ends of her upswept curls. He didn’t know what to do with her. He only knew that he wanted her.

  “I’m so connected to this place, I guess it’s hard for me to understand,” he said. “But if those are the things you’re looking for in a man, I’m as reliable as the day is long, and I know how to take care of what’s mine. I’m kind of strict with Corey, because I think it’s good for him, but I’m probably not the best judge of how demanding I am.”

  He bent his head and placed a soft kiss on her cheek because he couldn’t resist. For the same reason he kissed her brow, his hands sliding down to her waist and pulling her closer.

  “I’m not sure I know exactly what love is,” he continued quietly. “But I know I’m not afraid of it, or of commitment. Passion I’m pretty sure of. I seem to have a whole lot of it built up inside, and there’s nothing I’d like better than to share all of it with you.” He bent his head farther and brushed his mouth across her ear. “I ache for you, Victoria.”

  His whispered words and tender caresses made her tremble within his embrace. Victoria tilted her head back to meet his gaze and found her mouth covered in a searing kiss. She parted her lips, surrendering to the power and the beauty of the passion he was so eager to share.

  It wasn’t what she’d expected, to be tumbled head over heels so quickly again, and as much as she liked it, as much as she liked him, she wasn’t at all prepared for the consequences of continuing. Making love with Ty Garrett was bound to be . . . extraordinary.

  She sighed as his tongue invaded her mouth, searching and teasing. The muscles in his arms flexed and drew her nearer, crushing her to his chest. The way he kissed was a luxury beyond compare. It was sweetness and seduction intertwined. It was wonderful. It was dangerous. It was addicting. It was getting out of control.

  “Ty?” she murmured against his mouth, trying to slow things down. “Ty?”

  “Hmm?” His lips roamed over her face, stealing kisses and taking gentle bites until she could hardly breathe. No one had ever given such a good impression of actually wanting to devour her, to use her up, to taste her and feel her, to know her, everything about her.

  “I’m not ready for this.” The words sounded juvenile and stupid—and true. She was in over her head and probably overly capable of making a fool of herself before, during, and after sex.

  “Not ready?” Ty asked roughly, his mouth coming to a halt on the tender skin below her ear.

  He was ready. He was more than ready. He was ready for anything, everything.

  “We hardly know each other,” she said, her voice muffled into the crook of his neck.

  Wasn’t that what they were doing? he wondered. Getting to know each other? If he could just get them both out of their clothes, he had no doubt they’d know each other a whole lot better in very short order.

  “Maybe you should go,” she said.

  Go? As in out the door into the snow? In his current condition? He wasn’t even sure he could walk to the door without hurting himself. Didn’t she know that?

  Probably not. He groaned in frustration. Book learning was no replacement for experience, and from what she’d told him, she’d probably never felt anything like what he was pressing up against her.

  He had to slow down, put his needs aside, and figure out how to bring her around to his way of thinking. He was a grown man. He should be able to do that without expiring of sexual deprivation in the meantime.

  “Can we compromise?” he asked.

  “Compromise?” She sounded unsure.

  “Yes, compromise. You’re right. We don’t know each other very well.” He didn’t really agree with her on that point, but he was negotiating for special rights and privileges. Tact couldn’t hurt his chances. “Thanksgiving is coming up next week, and I’d like you to come out and spend your vacation at the ranch. It’ll just be Corey and me, and Lacey. We’d all love to have you share our dinner and be our guest for the weekend.”

  When she didn’t answer, he pushed a little harder.

  “I like you, Victoria. I like you a lot. I want to spend time with you, give you a chance to get to know me. But a ranch needs a rancher just about twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and that means I don’t have much time for courting. Besides, it’ll be awful lonely here in town all by yourself. We could have a great time together, and you’ll be thoroughly chaperoned with Lacey and Corey there.” He sounded like a school kid, and he hated it. He was sure she was going to turn him down. She’d gone very still in his arms while he’d said his piece.

  “Okay,” she mumbled against his shirt.

  He stared down at the top of
her head, wondering if he’d heard her correctly. “You could come out Wednesday evening,” he suggested, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “That way you’d be there early enough to take part in the whole turkey thing, getting it in the oven and all. Lacey always makes quite a production out of it.”

  “School’s out early on Wednesday.” She was still pressed against his chest.

  “Great. Come as early as you want.” He wanted to shout at the moon. “We’ll have steaks, kind of a farewell to beef before the turkey eating starts.” Knowing she was coming for Thanksgiving made any physical frustration he was feeling a minor inconvenience. He was winning the war. He didn’t understand how, but he was finally, definitely winning.

  When he left, he kissed her once more at the door. Victoria waved him off as he drove away, and all the while she thought about courting. He’d said he was courting her, which absolutely precluded his thinking of her as a casual dalliance. She’d never been courted, unless John’s rampant pursuit could have been called courting. She’d never been dallied with, either, but of the two she highly preferred courting.

  She liked him. She liked him in ways she’d never even thought about with Charles or John. Ty was exciting, and wonderful, and it thrilled her when he wanted to be with her. She’d never experienced anything like what he made her feel, and she wondered if she was falling in love. She wondered if she dared, and she wondered if there was anything she could do about it if she decided she didn’t dare.

  Her life was changing on fundamental levels because of Ty Garrett. Suddenly the knowledge wasn’t nearly as frightening as it had been before. Maybe he was the right man.

  Ten

  Maybe she was being completely irrational, Victoria thought a week later, letting herself get swept up by a handsome cowboy and his wild kisses. Her life wasn’t supposed to be wildly romantic. She was Victoria Miranda Elizabeth Willoughby, a woman who’d tried marriage once and found it stifling, a scientist of small personal acclaim but of international standing within a carefully defined academic circle. She was the co-founder of the Willoughby Institute, and until Charles’s children dissolved the trust, her name would remain on the stationery.