Cowboys are Forever

by Whitley, Hope

  “Hey, boss. Mornin’, Miss Mari,” Bandy said cheerily. “Nice day, ain’t it?”

  Trey narrowed his eyes and shot a quelling glance at his foreman, as though daring him to comment on what he’d interrupted. “Is there a problem at the ranch, Bandy?” Trey inquired crossly. “I can’t believe that you drove over here just to talk about the weather.”

  The older man gazed back at Trey, and expression of benign innocence on his weathered face. “Why, no boss. There ain’t no problem that I know of. You told me to meet you over here to see about fixing Miss Mari’s corral out behind the barn, remember?”

  “Uh, yeah … of course I remember,” Trey replied. “It just slipped my mind for a minute, that’s all.”

  “Well now, I reckon maybe you had other things on your mind,” the foreman told him blandly. “I’ll just go on down there and take a look at it.” He turned to Marielle, who had stood mutely by during the interchange between the two men. “We plan to move your sheep back over here by the weekend, Miss Mari. They’re fat and sassy, in good shape going into the winter.”

  “Oh, uh, that’s good. Great, just great,” she said lamely, nodding. She was surprised that she had enough presence of mind to say even that much. She was in shock. Bandy’s unexpected arrival felt like being doused with a bucketful of cold water during a vivid and pleasurable dream.

  She felt hot and cold at once, giddy with the realization of what had almost happened. Another five minutes—or less, at the rate things were progressing between them—and she and Trey would have gone inside to finish what they’d started.

  She shuddered. This was unbelievable. What was happening to her? Trey cleared his throat, claiming her attention. She found it difficult to look him in the eye. Then she was even more disconcerted when she did so and felt herself blush. She arched an eyebrow inquiringly, unable to speak for a moment. A big lump had suddenly formed in her throat.

  “I’m going to go down and help Bandy figure out how much work and material we’ll need to fix your corral,” he said. He seemed uncomfortable, too, Marielle thought. His voice lacked its usual confident resonance and sounded slightly hollow to her ears.

  “Okay,” she said.

  They stood there for a moment, an awkward silence lengthening between them.

  “Okay,” Trey echoed finally, then spun on his heel and covered the ground toward the barn in long strides.

  He was probably relieved to get away from her, she thought miserably. What must he be thinking? He’d only given her a causal kiss and she’d responded like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. She turned and trudged to the house, anxious to get inside where she could writhe in humiliation in private. Her steps faltered as she was struck by another horrible thought; not only was she mortified about what Trey must think of her, but his foreman had witnessed her wanton behavior also.

  Reaching the sanctuary of her living room, she snatched Uncle Dan’s hat from her head and sailed it toward the hat rack on the wall before flopping down on the couch. She slumped back, massaging her aching temples. She’d developed a killer headache, she noticed. But the pain in her head seemed inconsequential compared to the pain of her wounded self-esteem. A tiny moan escaped her lips as the embarrassing scene replayed itself in her mind, in merciless detail.

  She’d probably ruined her reputation up here, she decided unhappily. News of old Dan Steven’s over-sexed niece from New York would probably spread from bunkhouse to bunkhouse now—and faster than jungle drums telegraphed word from one village to the next of a man-eater on the prowl.

  She could see it now, emblazoned on the mountainside in letters twenty feet high. For a good time, call Marielle Stevens … followed by her phone number.

  She got up wearily and started to the bedroom to change out of her work clothes. On second thought, she decided sardonically, maybe she ought to just keep them on—wear them everywhere, day in and day out. It might just help. Anybody who saw her in this get-up would have a hard time imagining her as a sex kitten, although her outfit hadn’t proved much of a deterrent to Trey. Marielle groaned with disgust and plopped down heavily on the side of the bed to remove the clodhopper boots.

  She was too sexy for her clothes, he’d told her. Yeah, right, she told herself darkly.

  Trey joined Bandy at the corral. The foreman was walking around inspecting the sagging structure, occasionally giving a hard yank on a questionable board to test its soundness.

  Trey planted himself squarely in front of Bandy, his stance confrontational. “Okay, Bandy. Say whatever you’ve got to say right here and now—just between me and you. Because if one word of what you saw this morning gets out, I’ll skin you alive and nail your hide to the barn wall.”

  The older man faced him, his seamed countenance the picture of outraged innocence. “Well of all the goldurned gall!” he said indignantly. “I reckon you think I’m gonna run around gossiping like an old woman about you and Miss Mari!”

  “Me and Miss Mari aren’t involved, Bandy,” Trey told him stiffly. “Hell, she’s a good-looking woman and … I guess we both just got sort of carried away for a minute there, that’s all. There’s nothing going on.”

  Bandy took a long moment before replying. He stared silently at Trey, his eyes narrow. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Okay, boss. If you say so. But you sure don’t hafta worry about me tellin’ what ain’t going on between you two.”

  “Oh, I know that, Bandy. I’m sorry,” Trey apologized, realizing that he’d hurt the old man’s feelings. “Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  Bandy readily agreed and immediately started showing Trey what would have to be done to make the corral serviceable again. As they walked the perimeter of the wooden fence, Trey did his best to keep his mind on the business at hand. But his thoughts were chaotic. All he could think about was Marielle and her creamy, soft skin, that fiery blaze of long hair which he longed to run his fingers through, and the incredible sweetness of her red mouth.

  He’d told Bandy to forget all about what had happened this morning. But could he?

  Marielle sat astride the big gelding she’d ridden out this morning and watched the sheep as they were herded back onto her land. Gosh, there were a lot of them, she thought excitedly. Trey had called it a small flock. Small by comparison to his, maybe. But as she gazed at the broad, woolly bodies streaming through the gap in the fence that Bandy had opened to send them through, it looked like a sizable number to her.

  “Well, there they are, Marielle. What do you think?” Trey asked, riding up and stopping his mount beside hers.

  “I think they’re beautiful!” she exclaimed. “And they walk so cute … .like big wind-up toys.”

  Trey laughed indulgently. “They’re not toys, Mari. But I know what you mean.” He tilted his hat further back on his head and grinned at her. “Now you’re officially a sheep rancher. Happy now?”

  “Yes,” she laughingly replied. “Very happy.” Marielle took in the sight of him, six feet plus of hard, masculine, sinewy strength. He removed his hat and raked his hair back with his fingers. Windswept, long enough to brush his collar in the back, his hair was burnished by the sun to a nearly iridescent sheen. That hair and those dark eyes … she wondered if he had some Native American ancestry. Whatever his lineage, it had produced one gorgeous hunk of man.

  She’d tried to forget their few moments of shared passion all week; staying busy around the ranch, working on a set of sample illustrations for one of the authors who had liked her portfolio. But Trey was never far from her thoughts. She kept remembering the feel of his corded muscles as he’d strained to hold her closer, could still feel the beating of his heart next to hers as she’d been pressed against his broad chest, the exciting pressure of his warm lips on hers … .

  She blinked and realized that Trey was looking at her curiously. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look a little feverish.”

  “No, no,” she hastily replied, coming back to the present with a jolt. “I mean … yes.” She laughed nervo
usly. “I mean, no, I’m not feverish and yes, I’m okay.” Get a grip, Marielle admonished herself fiercely. She had to keep her wayward, lustful thoughts under control. No wonder she looked feverish! Just thinking about what had happened between them had caused her to feel hot.

  “Bandy was right, you know. Your animals are in good shape for the winter. Most of the ewes are bred. Healthy ewes ordinarily have healthy lambs. So you should have a pretty good lambing season.”

  Marielle clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, boy! I can’t wait,” she exclaimed. Baby lambs were darling. She’d always loved Lambchop, the puppet star of Shari Lewis’s adorable children’s TV show. She’d always loved animals, period. Bandy had promised to find her a few laying hens and a rooster. But when she’d confided her dreams of owning a milk cow like Daisy, Granny Steven’s gentle Jersey, Bandy and Trey had united to dissuade her from that notion.

  Trey shook his head wonderingly and cast her a speaking glance. “Marielle,” he said, “there’s a lot more to lambing season than cute, fluffy baby sheep. Believe me, it’s hard work … outside in the wind and snow and freezing rain. It’s not all fun and games.”

  “I know that,” she told him huffily. “But I’m still looking forward to it.”

  Trey stared at her gravely, then his face creased with a wide, flashing smile. His brown eyes twinkled mischievously, alight with laughter. “You know what, Marielle? I have a feeling it’ll be a lot more fun this year than it’s ever been. And,” he said, waggling his thick black brows at her roguishly, “I wouldn’t be against playing a few games along the way.”

  Marielle felt herself blushing. Since Bandy had interrupted their passionate clinch last week, neither of them had made reference to it. They’d both, seemingly by unspoken consent, tried to pretend it never happened.

  “I don’t have time to play games,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so prissy. “That’s not what I’m here for, Trey.”

  She dropped her head and fiddled with the reins, embarrassed and unsure of how to proceed, but wanting to make him understand that she wasn’t—despite the impression she’d helped foster—ready to jump into bed at all times. “I know I probably gave you the wrong impression. But believe it or not, I don’t sleep around. And I don’t usually act quite so … so … impulsive with someone I just met. What happened between us was a mistake,” she said firmly. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Mari,” Trey said huskily. “Look at me.” When she looked up and met his eyes she was shocked at the tenderness she saw in their depths. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “And I sure didn’t mean any disrespect. I’ll agree that what happened was a mistake. But if you’re thinking that I took it wrong and got the idea you’re hot to trot or something … I didn’t. Not at all.”

  He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, seeming to address his next words as much to himself as to her. “I don’t know exactly what happened between us. But I’ve never experienced anything like it before and I suspect that you haven’t either, because you seemed just as shook up by it as I was. But you haven’t done anything to alter my opinion of you. Which is that you’re one of the sweetest, nicest women I’ve ever known.” He shifted in the saddle, then cleared his throat. “I just wanted you to know that.”

  “Thanks,” she said simply. They sat look at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch on interminably. In a way, Marielle thought, Trey’s words had cleared the air and lessened some of the strain she’d felt in his presence since last week. And yet, something unspoken still hovered between them. Something that seemed to charge the very atmosphere around them like an impending storm … some powerful force of nature about to be unleashed.

  She felt shivery, her breath caught in her chest and her heart seemed to constrict, then swell and thud almost painfully. The world around her seemed to disappear until there was no one or nothing except herself and Trey, caught in a moment of primal awareness.

  “Hey, Miss Mari,” Bandy called, breaking the spell, “Come on down here and get acquainted with these critters of yours!”

  Relieved and yet somehow saddened by the distraction, Marielle gathered the reins and rode slowly down to join Bandy and the boys.

  Unable to resist, she glanced back over her shoulder to see Trey still sitting on his horse on the ridge behind her. Her flesh prickled with goose bumps at the picture he made, tall in the saddle, outlined against the dark backdrop of the mountains with the morning sun spilling straight down upon him, highlighting his profile and illuminating his raven-black hair … he was magnificent. The ultimate male, she thought. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d be the ultimate fool and fall in love with him.

  Trey watched Marielle ride down to meet the others. He tarried, needing a few minutes to try and free himself from the grip of strong emotion that held him. His heart was racing and a muffled oath escaped his lips. What in the hell was happening to him?

  After his disastrous marriage to Lisette, he’d resolved to stay single for the rest of his days. Once, when he was younger, he’d wanted the same things his parents had had together: love, companionship, commitment. But, he mused, Mom and Dad had been a little bit smarter than he had. They’d had the good sense—or the good fortune—to choose a suitable mate. They’d shared a common background, held the same ideals, and had the same dreams. Their marriage had been a testament to the wisdom of choosing wisely.

  While he, on the other hand, had been colossally stupid. He’d married someone whom, for all they had in common, might as well have come from another planet. He’d grown up seeing what a good marriage was like. And he’d lived in a bad one long enough to know that it wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat. He didn’t want to take the chance of finding himself in another match made in hell. It just didn’t seem like an acceptable risk. Now here he was again, attracted to someone whose background was completely different than his. Someone who might or might not be able to adapt and stay here … .who might up and leave.

  When it came to picking the right women he could be dumber than a box of rocks.

  Riding down to join her and the others, Trey strengthened his resolution to keep his emotional distance from her. No matter how tempting those red lips and that soft, silky skin, he couldn’t give in to his desire to kiss and hold her again. Hell, he thought savagely, he might as well be honest with himself. He wanted a lot more than to just kiss Marielle and hold her in his arms again. A lot more. He wanted to bury his face in that sexy tangle of fiery hair, see it spread out around her on a pillow as she lay beneath him … her maddeningly inviting mouth parted and moist, crying his name in passion … Trey blinked and wrenched his errant thoughts back to reality. It could never happen. Because if it did—and the time came for her to leave—it would hurt like hell to let her go.

  Trey sidled his horse next to Bandy’s. The elderly foreman was talking to Marielle. Trey glanced at what seemed to be the subject of their discussion—a small half-grown lamb. It stood by itself, not seeming to fit in with the rest of the flock.

  “So you see, Miss Mari,” Bandy said. “When a lamb loses its mama, like that little feller there did, before they’re old enough to be weaned … .well, even if they survive they just never do too good.” Bandy surveyed the small creature doubtfully and shook his head. “It’ll be a miracle if that one makes it through the winter. Too poorly.”

  Marielle gave a small cry of distress and, dismounting, dropped to her knees by the orphaned lamb.

  “Can’t I take care of him?” she asked. She looked up, her emerald eyes filled with compassion and concern. Trey felt his heart wrench almost painfully. She was so warm, he thought. So caring and loving … and lovable.

  Bandy removed his battered Stetson and scratched his bald head thoughtfully. “Now, Miss Mari, I don’t know as how that’d be a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Marielle inquired. She had pulled a handful of grass and was feeding the skinny lamb. Trey watched as it nibbled the grass that Marielle held at arm’s length. Bandy m
ay as well hang it up—he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of adopting this little animal, Trey thought, seeing the lamb edge a little closer to its beautiful benefactress. That lamb would be going home with Marielle. Done deal.

  “Well, now, Miss Mari,” Bandy began, sounding uneasy. “It just ain’t the way things are done, that’s all. People can’t go around taking in every stray critter. Pretty soon you’d have the whole barn full and then….”

  The foreman’s voice trailed off as he and Trey watched the young animal make the final step toward trust of its new human friend, and snuggled up to Marielle.

  “Oh,” Marielle cried, her pleasure in this gesture plain to hear. “Oh, look! He likes me.”

  Her slender hands caressed the fleecy lamb. Trey watched, fascinated, as she stroked and petted it. He swallowed, imagining those long, delicate fingers caressing him, stroking him like that. Damn! He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as his groin tightened. Whew. Every move this woman made seemed to inflame his senses, turn him on, tantalize …

  He wheeled his horse suddenly and rode over to talk to some of the boys, feeling a sudden, almost desperate need to put some space between himself and Marielle.

  Trey engaged in desultory conversation with his ranch hands for a few moments until the fever in his blood had cooled a bit. He watched Bandy and Marielle from the corner of his eye, grinning when the fate of the orphaned lamb was decided. The foreman had the lamb in front of him on his horse, no doubt ready to take it over to Marielle’s place for her.

  Trey kicked his horse up and rode back over to join them.

  Bandy was talking animatedly to Marielle. “—biggest dance of the year. You’ll love it, Miss Mari,” he was saying. “Might be a far cry from what you’re used to, the men will trade their work clothes for fancier boots and hats, is all. No tuxedos. But there’ll be a good band, lots of good eats, and a good time for everybody.” Bandy grinned at Marielle. “You won’t be a wallflower, that’s for sure. Why, I’m lookin’ forward to twirling you around the dance floor myself. I do a mean two-step. I’m known around these parts as a dancin’ fool, ain’t I, boss?” He looked to Trey for confirmation, his eyes twinkling with humor.