As if to accent Cyler’s words, Margaret whinnied.
“I think she agrees with you.”
“She always was a smart one.” Cyler swung his leg over the saddle and mounted effortlessly. The leather creaked then settled as he placed his boots in the stirrups.
“When did you get those?” she asked, remembering that he hadn’t been wearing them earlier when he was laid out on his bed.
“In my closet. When I left, I didn’t exactly take the time to pack up everything. I pretty much jetted out of here with the shirt on my back,” Cyler responded, gathering the reins. “Can you unclip her halter?” he asked.
Laken took the lead rope off and wound it around the pole, setting Margaret free.
“Well, you have fun.” She took a step back as Margaret tossed her head and stomped.
“What? You don’t want to come with me?” Cyler asked, but his gaze held a challenging glint.
“Where?” She glanced around the barn. Margaret was the only horse.
“Just around. It’s beautiful country, and I can only assume that being with Jack wears you a bit thin at times. He’s a pain in the ass on a good day.” He reached out a hand, watching her.
Waiting.
“Can she handle us both?” Laken asked, fighting between wanting to throw caution to the wind and ride and doing what was probably wiser and stay with Jack.
“Easy. She’s half quarter and half thoroughbred. She’s a big girl.” He gave Laken a lopsided grin. “Unless you’re afraid.”
He started to pull back his hand, but Laken reached out and quickly grasped it. The warmth of his fingers tightened around her, and he tugged. He lifted her from the ground as she placed her foot in the stirrup he had vacated and swung onto the horse’s back. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his waist and realized she was in trouble.
Every part of her body came alive. She tried to ignore the warmth of his back against her breasts, the tight expanse of his shoulders, so solid and broad. His soft T-shirt brushed against her, the scent of fresh laundry, horse, and some spicy cologne swirled about, causing her to lose the internal battle of ignoring the millions of sensations.
“You ready?” Cyler’s voice rumbled, teasing her senses further.
“Yeah.” She tightened her grasp around him, feeling the tight structure of his abs.
“Hold on.” He eased Margaret into a slow walk out of the barn, but it may as well have been a gallop as her heart pounded with both anticipation and tension.
They never taught her how to handle this kind of attraction in nursing school.
And it terrified her.
Because the last thing she could risk was her heart.
And something told her it was a losing battle.
Chapter 7
This was a bad idea.
With every shift of the horse, he could feel Laken’s front pressed against his back. It was difficult to concentrate on the horse’s soothing rhythm when each step caused Laken’s body to rub against his. The normally calming scent of old leather and horse was accentuated by a light floral fragrance that made his heart pound faster—harder. It had been a long while since he’d been that close to a woman, and his body was painfully aware of the fact. He needed a distraction or else was going to do something stupid.
“So, tell me about yourself, Laken. All I know is that you’re a nurse with the patience of Job, and that you aren’t afraid of horses.” He focused on the passing sagebrush, on the height of the sun in the cloudless sky. Anything but the way she tightened her grip around his waist, holding him closer.
Damn.
“The patience thing might be a stretch”—she gave a small laugh, the sound warm and inviting—“but I’ve been a nurse for almost four years, a hospice nurse for about three. I do love horses, and no, I’m not afraid of them. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden on one this tall though….” Her voice trailed off, and he felt her shift as if looking down to evaluate the height once more.
“Yeah, she’s about sixteen to seventeen hands. Not draft-horse height, but close. It’s the thoroughbred in her,” he answered, watching as a coyote ducked behind a crop of rocks, hiding. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation moving.
“Yeah. I have one brother, Sterling. He’s older by five years. I haven’t seen him in about a year.” Her tone softened.
He turned his head slightly, not enough to see her fully but enough to notice the way her shoulders caved slightly. “Why so long?”
“He’s stationed in Afghanistan. Marine recon,” she answered, and he saw her shoulders straighten as if saying it gave her strength and pride.
“Wow. You miss him?” He asked the obvious.
“Yeah, a lot. He’s a pretty great guy. I usually get to talk with him more, but this last assignment has him out of range for long periods of time.”
“So, you guys are close?”
“Yeah. Real close. It’s hard with him over there. My mom is in a constant state of anxiety.” He felt her shrug behind him.
“I bet.” He shook his head, his own memories flooding back. “My mom, she always said I could be anything I wanted to be, except go into the military.”
He felt her stiffen behind him. “Why’s that?”
“Don’t be offended. It’s nothing against it. You see, my mom’s two brothers were killed in action in Vietnam. She never really got over the loss, and the thought of her only son in some sort of foreign war was enough to give her chest pains.”
“Oh, that’s hard. I can’t even imagine. I know that I freak about Sterling whenever I think of it.” She tightened her grip around his waist as if trying to pull some security, some strength, from it.
“Reconnaissance?” he asked, clenching his teeth, attempting to ignore the way her arms around him woke up a million senses he’d rather remained dormant.
“Yeah. He likes to be in front. It was a pain when he was younger, and I’d get shoved back behind him. It’s more of a pain when I can’t yell at him for it because he’s so far away. But he’s happiest there, doing only heaven-knows-what, but there’s always this edge of excitement to his voice, even when he’s exhausted.”
His gaze strayed to the horizon as he led Margaret down a deer path that led toward one of the canyons. “When was the last time you got to talk with him?”
“About a month ago. It was a short phone call. He just wanted to wish me happy birthday.” There was a smile to her tone, and Cyler found himself returning the gesture, even if she couldn’t see him.
“Well, happy belated birthday.” He turned his head again, glancing back toward her then again to the trail.
“Thanks.” She chuckled. “It was actually about six months ago.”
“Oh. Well happy really belated birthday. I guess it’s better late than never, right?”
“That’s what Sterling said.” She laughed louder, scaring a pheasant from its hiding place. Its wings beat furiously as it crowed and fled the scene.
“Damn thing.” Cyler flinched and glared at the bird as it flew. “About scared me out of my skin.”
“Margaret didn’t even glance up.” Laken shifted so that she was looking over his shoulder.
“Yeah, she’s what you call bomb-proof. Nothing fazes her, well, except for that one rattler.”
There was a lull in the conversation, but he didn’t want to break the peaceful silence.
“If only we could be like that, huh?” Laken spoke up.
“Be like what?” he asked, intentionally choosing to misunderstand her question.
“Bomb-proof. If we could just live as if nothing really phased us, regardless of how startling or horrible it was.”
“Would save us a lot of pain.” He took a breath and released it in a sigh. “But that’s not how it works.”
“No. It�
�s not.”
He waited for her to bleed platitudes, to say something about how there was beauty in the pain, or how it all worked out, something equally as asinine. But she didn’t; she just moved in quiet grace with Margaret’s strides. He could feel her intake of breath, but not once did she hold it as if trying to break the silence.
Oddly enough, it created a tension inside of him, one that needed to be broken, but he wasn’t sure how. Finally, when another minute passed, he caved and spoke. “I keep waiting for you to say something profound about life, and you’re taking too long.”
He felt her body shift as if regarding him. “Oh? And what do you think I should be saying?”
He shrugged. “Something about life being beautiful in both the pain and the high points.”
“Alright. Why would I say that?” she asked, her tone soft.
“Because, isn’t that your job? I mean, you deal with people dying all the time.”
“Are you dying?”
“No, but—”
“But you think that since I’ve faced death so often, I have the answers.” She finished for him.
He paused, thinking over what she’d said. “No…” He gave a humorless chuckle. “No, I don’t. In fact, I’d bet you were more confused than the rest us.”
“I knew you were smarter than you looked,” she teased lightly, no doubt trying to lighten the mood.
“It’s how I catch people unaware. They see my pretty face and think I’m all beauty, no brains.”
“I can’t say I had that impression.”
“Yeah, well, being taken out by a seventy-year-old and his coffee table sidekick didn’t exactly help that.”
“Ha! No. No, it did not.”
He felt her shake her head.
Cyler noticed the canyon growing closer and nodded in its direction. “See that shadow over there?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s actually part of the Manastash Ridge, but it’s a pretty incredible canyon. There’s a few of them around here, but they aren’t as big as the Yakima Canyon.”
“The one with the bridge?”
“Yeah.”
“My whole body tingles when I cross that bridge. I’m just thankful that whoever engineered it made it so that you can’t see over the edge very well. You can see the depth in the distance, but not right beside you.”
“Don’t like heights?”
“Don’t like driving seventy miles an hour over cement then air,” she replied with an exasperated tone.
“I took you for a braver soul.”
“We all have a chink in our armor. Yours is just a coffee table. Mine is several thousand feet of a sheer drop. Mine is way more badass than yours,” she teased.
“Hey, I see why you get along so well with Jack. You’re a pain in the ass too.”
“Yup, and don’t you forget it.”
“I don’t think you’ll let me.”
“Probably not.”
“At least we understand each other.” He pulled up on Margaret’s reins and commanded her to whoa. As she came to a stop, he shifted slightly to face Laken over his shoulder. “I’m going to slide off, so watch my boot.” He waited for her nod then slowly slid from the saddle.
“Here, let me help.” He held his arms up to help her dismount the horse, but she shook her head.
“I’ve got this.” She placed her foot in the stirrup and arched her leg over, giving him a prime view of her butt as she stepped onto the ground.
Damn it, all that hard-fought self-control went back out the window. He turned around and adjusted himself, trying to think about anything that would distract him from the sweet view he’d just enjoyed.
Enjoyed far too much.
“Wow, that is amazing!”
Laken’s voice didn’t help his state of arousal, and he concentrated hard on thinking about freezing lakes and clowns, anything that he hated.
“Yeah, it’s pretty epic.” He forced his body into a calmer state and walked over to her, thankful her attention was on the canyon to the north and not on the issues happening in his southern region.
“How far down is it?” She took a tentative step forward, even though the canyon cliff was at least fifty feet ahead.
“It drops about six hundred feet. Not too far, but enough to make it a sight.”
“Yeah.” She breathed. “I bet you came out here a lot as a kid.”
He snorted. “Yep, I sure did.” He slid his hands in his jean pockets, noticing that his previous issue was no longer present. He’d have to remember that thinking about his childhood was more effective than a cold shower.
The sun was arching over the Rattlesnake Hills, making its final descent into sunset and creating shadows across the canyon. “It’s a good place to think,” he added.
“I’m betting you needed that.”
“I still do.” He turned back to Margaret. “She could walk out here blindfolded.
“I don’t doubt that,” Laken replied, heading back toward the mare as well. With a small grin, she rubbed her hand over the horse’s velvet muzzle, crooning to it softly.
Warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight. He glanced away, trying to fight the unwelcome emotion.
“Cyler?”
He looked back to her, steeling himself internally. “Yeah?”
“I know you don’t know me well, but if you ever want to talk…I’m here.” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know very well, rather than someone you do. I’m a good listener.” She held up a hand as if warning him that she wasn’t done yet. “That’s all I’m going to say. I’m not going to push you. And I do not expect you to talk now. Just know I’m here.”
It rubbed him wrong, but rather than explore just why, he snorted and did what came easily, retreat behind the hard shell he’d erected so long ago. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I’d like you to just mind your own business. I knew that you’d have some sort of plan or ulterior motive to try and have me mend things with Jack, but hell will freeze over first. Do you get that?” He ran his fingers through his hair and walked away, back toward the canyon.
He kicked the dirt with his boot, sending the particles in the air and watching as the wind took them.
“You ready to go?” Laken called, and he turned, narrowing his eyes at the fact that there wasn’t any firm set to her mouth, no flashing of anger in her expression, just…acceptance. As if they were talking about the weather.
“Uh, yeah,” he answered, eyeing her cautiously. He’d learned long ago that a woman’s emotions were not to be trusted.
“Thanks. I need to finish up everything for dinner. Are you staying?” she asked.
He should say no.
He should ride like hell to get back to the ranch and take off as soon as his boots hit the gravel.
Yet he found himself mounting the mare, helping Laken saddle, and swearing a blue streak in his head as he answered, “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
A month ago, he would have said that hell would have needed to freeze over.
Apparently, hell was starting to get a lot colder.
Chapter 8
The ride back to the ranch was a test in her self-control. With each step of the horse, Laken’s hips would sway slightly, her breasts pressing into his back—his solid, warm, and very sexy back. She needed to refocus. But damn, it was hard! Professional, she had to be professional. And she didn’t even like him a few hours ago! Was that all it took? A sexy back and warm laugh? Ha! No. This was her job, her calling. She wasn’t about to let some jerk who hated his father come waltzing in and distract her from what was important: celebrating life and making each day count for those starting the countdown. Jack deserved better than her dreamy musings.
Laken leaned back slightly, keeping a few inches between Cyler’s back and her all-too
-aware breasts, and focused on what needed to happen next.
Dinner.
Gah. Of all the details her job entailed, cooking was her least favorite.
Of course, that was probably because she sucked at it. No matter how many episodes of The Pioneer Woman, Cutthroat Kitchen, or Food Network in general, she couldn’t quite get the hang of it.
Just another reason she should let the whole Cyler thing go. If she’d been trying to win his heart by way of his stomach, that would mean a fail of epic proportions.
“You’re quiet back there.” Cyler’s voice was a low murmur above the singing crickets.
“Thinking. I feel I should warn you. I’m great at a lot of things, but cooking isn’t one of them.” She sighed, glad she had been honest.
“Ha!” Cyler shifted in the saddle, tossing a quick smile over his shoulder before navigating through a few rocks on the trail. “So, are we talking just burnt food or are we talking food poisoning? Because if it’s food poisoning, that might change my mind about staying.” He chuckled then added darkly, “Though it might make Jack’s trip to the afterlife a bit quicker.”
Laken smacked his shoulder. “Burnt food. No one’s gotten sick from my cooking.”
“Yet.”
“Hey!”
“There’s always a first time,” he said. “So, you’re saying I should maybe cook. Is that what you’re getting at? Just what did Jack tell you?”
Laken blinked, tilting her head in curiosity. “You cook? Jack never said anything. He’s remarkably tightlipped concerning you. Which is interesting since Jack likes to talk.”
“Likes to hear the sound of his own voice, you mean,” Cyler shot back.
“Both,” Laken replied, grinning.
“Huh, well, Mom really sucked in the kitchen. Only she was the kind who gave food positioning.” He groaned slightly.
“So, you taught yourself to cook out of self-preservation,” Laken suggested.
“Call it a dogged will to live.”
Giggling, Laken watched as the barn grew closer and closer. It was bittersweet. Needing to get away from the temptation warred against wanting to stay, talk…learn. It was dangerous ground.
Heart of a Cowboy Page 5