Wild West Weekend

by C. R. Moss

  “You’re in the Night Hawk cabin,” Marianne continued. “Night Hawk is terminology referring to a cowboy that constantly rides around the cattle herd at night or someone on the dodge. Directions to it are in the folder. So’s a list of the pre-planned activities we do for ranch guests on a regular basis. Feel free to attend them or not. You’re in time to go to the Wrangler’s Lunch. The guys cook over an open fire. Dinner’s normally at five-thirty. We have a campfire on a nightly basis. When you’re ready to go, Kent will be offering rides to and from the site. You still can go on a trail ride or attend today’s classes on shooting and roping. There’s also a listing of places to see and things to do in the valley and info on all the great Las Vegas hot spots.”

  “Thank you,” Bristol stated softly, grabbing her purse from the counter. She slung it across her shoulder and walked out the side door of the lodge. A funny feeling that her bags weren’t going to make it crossed her mind. Visions of her clothes strung out across the desert landscape played like a slide show. She should have been nicer to the people here, but she’d had such a long flight and it was god-awful hot out. Enough for anyone to momentarily forget their manners. And the arrogance of that man.

  For a brief second a swarm of butterflies nested in her stomach brought on by the image of the sandy blonde-haired man with the dangerous, almost tragic blue eyes. Damon. Why does that name sound so familiar? What’s your story, Mr. Dougan?

  Coming off the last step of the porch, Bristol breathed in a light floral smell, lifted from small patches of wildflowers surrounding the property. She pulled out and surveyed the directions to the cabin.

  Walk fifty feet. Cross the parking lot. Pass the pool. Climb the hill—one hundred or so feet from the pool. Find the line of cabins along the pine tree line. The Night Hawk cabin is the fourth in line.

  Why was everything in feet? She hated following any sort of directions. That’s why she always took a cab in New York. Not to mention, driving her car was a true nightmare in every sense of the word in the city.

  After passing the pool and trudging up the hill, she stopped. There stood her cabin near the trees. Fourth in line? She was the last in line. Why in God’s name did they put her in the very last cabin on the property? The wood building looked worn from years of seasoned weather. Cobwebs fluttered against the two front windows each time the breeze turned a new direction.

  Images of horror movies, Night of the Living Dead, Friday the Thirteenth, Wrong Turn, splayed across her mind, just in time for her to recognize a strange cool breeze creeping up her spine in the desert heat. Great.

  As if someone stuck a pin in her, Bristol’s shoulders tensed, she dropped her purse, and cupped her hips. I’m in the killer cabin! Where’s Jason? Freddy? The Texas Chain Saw Guy?

  With the horror fest images still seared into her brain, she picked up her belongings and headed toward her home for the next few days.

  Securely inside the cabin, she stood in the center of the room, surveyed the goods. It was Little House on the Prairie minus Michael Landon and family. Was this their idea of a suite? It sure wasn’t anything near the five star rooms she was accustomed to, that she could be relaxing in right now not even twenty miles away. Copper pots hung from a rack hoisted above a wooden block in the center of the room, a stand-in for an island, and the stove in the corner looked to be about one hundred years old. Not that she planned on using any of the kitchen appliances or anything. Leisurely her gaze slid from each heirloom looking piece of furniture to the next until she zeroed in on the bed or rather beds. A set of bunk beds hovered in the right corner of the room.

  Correction. Dwarf bunk beds.

  Now, she needed a drink. No, she needed several. Better yet, an entire bottle of their best wine would do the trick. She looked at the clock above the burgundy and blue checkered board patterned sofa. Ten-forty five.

  Tonight was a campfire. Hopefully, Cassie would arrive before hand. As far as she knew, her flight was scheduled to land around one thirty. She couldn’t wait to see her.

  She glanced down at her attire, wanting to change out of the denim skirt and white blouse she’d traveled in. Not to mention, slip on another pair of shoes, but low and behold, Damon hadn’t arrived with her things yet, so she needed to make do with what she wore. Her treatment here was pathetic, and she wouldn’t stand for it. With that, she spun on her broken heels, and swung open the door to find Damon leaning on the doorjamb, hand balled up into a fist ready to knock.

  He jolted backward a few feet.

  “Do you have my money, you know to pay for the shoes you destroyed?” A hint of irritation laced her voice as she looked around. “Did you bring my luggage?”

  Damon gave her another one of his humorous puppy faced looks and closed the short distance between them until his chin hovered above her head. She lifted her jaw, met his gorgeous blue gaze with her own. His masculine sandalwood scent wafted across her face. Damn, he smelled good.

  She tried to step back, but his right hand cupped her waist, held her in place. “About those shoes, I apologize, darlin’, but I don’t have the available cash for them. However, I could make up the difference in other ways. You know perhaps a little barter system. I took something from you, now you take something from me.”

  “What? Oh, stop teasing me with your sexual innuendo crap. I mean, if you brought my luggage, we’ll call it a truce.” With him so close she couldn’t breathe. And, against her better judgment, she really wanted to implement the suggested barter system.

  The pressure from his hand around her waist tightened.

  “Actually, I did bring your surplus of bags, Bristol. But I was thinking along the lines of making it up to you with a little physical action instead of monetary.”

  “Oh no you don’t, Mr. Dougan. I am not some easy city girl. You can let go now.” She pushed backward. He slid his left hand against the small of her back and pulled forward. Teetering against the tug of war, she couldn’t stop her body from touching his. “Seriously, the shoes were a gift.”

  He pinned her with a look full of passion that dared her to speak another word.

  So she did. ”Come on, Damon, seriously. Let me go. You—”

  With that he lifted both hands in mock surrender. For a moment.

  Before she could exhale a second breath from her lungs, her body was snug against the contours of his body, and he closed his mouth over hers.

  A quick flash of an image of Damon, naked and pressed against her, almost made it impossible to harness the uncontrollable desire to grab his butt. Yet, she stood her ground when every nerve ending in her body sizzled with raw desire. She could only imagine his derrière was tight, round, and squeezable.

  The kiss sent sparks the size of lightning bolts through her. And when his tongue rimmed her lips, she was sure the earth moved. Even though he sent her into a lip locking induced haze, she begrudgingly refused to let him stick any part of his anatomy in her mouth. At least not yet.

  Visions of her final encounter with her ex-husband, John, ruined the Damon fantasy, causing her to open up just enough to let his tongue slide in to her mouth. Without truly considering her actions, she bit down. No man would have an opportunity to hurt her like John had. Not again. No way.

  He stiffened in automatic defense, released her mouth. The glare he pinned her with should have made any grown woman panic. Instead, she lifted her right leg and kicked him in the shin.

  A whimper filled the air, then a disbelieving snort. “Damn woman, you kicked me. And bit me. You’re a feisty city-girl.”

  Perhaps she overreacted? Ignoring the passion she felt building between them, she moved to where he leaned against the cabin rubbing his leg. “I’m sorry, Damon, but you had no right to kiss me.”

  His over-exaggerated pained expression softened, then he let loose a breath that was half agitation and a whole lot of exasperation. “No, I didn’t have the right. But I damned well had the desire. I’m sorry, too.”

  His words made her stop in
her tracks, sent a shockwave through her frame. “What?”

  “I said, I’m sorry.”

  “I accept your apology for kissing me.”

  He pinned her with that sexy gaze of his, practically gluing her in place, ran his tongue across his upper lip, and she wished desperately that she was that top lip. What in God’s name was the man doing to her? She’d been married to John for years and never once felt the intensity of his mere essence in her veins like she did Damon’s, some stranger she’d just met.

  “I’m not sorry for kissing you, darlin’.” He rubbed his leg where she’d given him the power kick.

  “For ruining my shoes?”

  “Not that either. I’m sorry I didn’t throw you to the floor and kiss every inch of your naked body.”

  Words temporarily left her, and in their place, warmth so intense erupted from her core. The long hidden dormant sensation practically knocked her off balance. Naked. Yes. My fantasy. Wait. Did he read my mind?

  He offered a perfect smile. One she hadn’t noticed in its glory earlier. Damn.

  “But don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make up for my missed opportunity.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said the words, but deep down inside she really wanted to kiss him again, place his lips and tongue all over her naked body.

  “Yes. I will. I’m known for breaking wild, stubborn horses.”

  She huffed as she opened her shoe suitcase and pulled on a pair of boots. “I am not a horse. I can’t believe you. First you destroy my property and now—now you insult me by calling me a stinky animal.”

  “I didn’t call you a horse. I said I’m known for breaking wild, stubborn horses. Meaning, if I can tame a wild animal, surely you should be a piece of cake, wild thing.”

  “That’s what you think.” The amusement in his eyes might have warmed her heart, melted the icy wall she had erected during her divorce to protect it. But the sad reality was, she had his type pegged and definitely didn’t want any of what the playboy was giving away this weekend. No matter how flattering and downright sexy he was. She was here to get away from men, to spend time with her friend and relax. She needed a quick rebuttal or would risk changing her mind and letting her libido take over. “You’re quite the penis. Full of yourself. Your tactics might work with other women, but I’m not other women. I have boundaries.”

  “A penis, huh? Just call me a dick city girl. That is what you meant, right? No need to use the medical journal definition.” He said the words extra slow, obviously for dramatic effect. A slight smile slid off his lips. He seemed to be enjoying the little word tango a little too much.

  In all his sexed-out glory, he looked magnificent. Her heart fluttered in lustful admiration, but she stopped her thoughts before her imagination could run away with her. This weekend was about re-visiting a friendship. The last thing she needed was Damon Dougan, looking like the doppelganger of Keith Urban, in her life.

  Like greased lightning, she hauled ass off the porch, refusing to supply him with any sort of rebuttal. In reality, she was dying to kiss him again but prepared to fight that desire every step of the way. It was when the desire became need she would beg for divine intervention.

  Chapter Four

  Minutes passed while Damon remained on the porch. Thoughts of Bristol rampaged through his mind. Why in the hell did he kiss her without even asking? He displayed very little cowboy manners there. Lately he’d been doing things he was starting to regret. Marianne… He shook that thought from his mind, realizing he would have to discuss his issue with the office manager at a later time.

  For now he preferred to concentrate on the dark haired beauty who had recently arrived. She was so spunky and intriguing. The way her body appeared to surrender when their lips touched made his desire for her even more profound. He vowed after the fiasco with Kristi that loving another woman would never happen again. Love was all wrong. All wrong, but damn, with Bristol it would feel so right.

  Although Bristol was long gone, the sweet scent of freesia lingered in the air. Why in the world was he acting like a predatory animal when she was near?

  No doubt he should stay away from her. Far, far away. Get on his motorcycle and head for the woods of Zion. Tonight. But, that window had long passed. His decision had been made the moment he looked into the depths of her aqua-colored gaze, and she called him a penis. He would stay and make Bristol Ashcombe his woman. Tonight he would let her show him her Tony award winning stage talents. And in return, he would show her a little of his own.

  He’d show her that cowboys have culture, too. A little duet from his favorite Broadway play was in order. A warmth coursed through his veins as the words from the song he considered took form in his thoughts. All I Ask Of You.

  She’d better be ready because she was getting all of him this weekend.

  Reaching the Wrangler’s Lunch, he slid into the open space on the log in between his brother, Dakota, and wrangler, Kent, a man who’d been with the ranch for as long as he could remember and had gray highlights in his dark hair. Another ranch hand, Hugh, leaned against a tall pinon tree on the east side of the fire. Hugh had been through a lot in his life. His desire to remain alone even in a group of people was understandable under the circumstances. Death, injuries, and lost love had a way of making a person distrustful.

  Lost love. I know that first hand and all too well.

  Damon sighed just as Dakota elbowed his side. “Hard morning little brother?”

  Damon winced. “You could say that.”

  He remembered how good Bristol tasted. A hot wave of excitement followed by shame passed through him. He couldn’t let her be upset with him. Perhaps he crossed boundaries when he sprang the kiss on her, but the idea of her thinking he was a dick just didn’t sit well with him. Maybe he should go and purchase her a new pair of shoes, apologize for the kiss, then leave like he should have done earlier. Forget about his plans to make her his. In all honestly, he couldn’t promise he could control his irrational behavior a second time nor could he stay on the ranch all weekend and leave her alone.

  What he seemed to forget, she had no idea what had transpired in his life to make him react the way he did. She wasn’t responsible for the crack in his heart. It wasn’t her fault that his fiancé of two years married his best friend.

  No, all mind shrinking and other psychobabble aside, he wanted her in the worst way. Walking away wasn’t an option.

  If he was going to win her trust, they needed to start over. Immediately.

  He stared at his brother and friends just as Dakota laughed. A sinister one, seeming to indicate he knew the pattern of his thoughts, and how that filly was getting under his skin. The chuckle rubbed off on Kent and tweaked him the wrong way.

  “Not funny you two.” Damon’s gaze slid around the open area. It was time to apologize for his earlier actions. Where is she?

  In unison both men chimed. “Looking for someone Damon?”

  “Nope. Just takin’ in the sights.”

  Kent shook his head and then gave an incredulous smirk. “The sight you’re looking for is stuffed in the corner over there.” He gestured with an open hand to the other side of the food area near a makeshift bar under the picnic pavilion. “She looked like she needed a few drinks when she arrived. What did you do to the poor woman this time?” He cocked his head and scrunched his nose. “Too bad you didn’t break the heels off the boots she’s wearing.”

  Looking at Bristol again, his mouth dropped open in surprise. “What is she wearing on her feet? They’re glowing.” He flashed back to her putting on the boots. He recalled blue, but these were as blue as aquamarine and as shiny as a newly polished diamond.

  “Cute, huh?” Dakota whooped, slapping Damon’s knee with his hand.

  Damon wanted to karate chop him off the log. That would be the brotherly thing to do, but instead he mock laughed. “Yeah, definitely cute.” Damon kicked a blade of dry grass with the tip of his boot, then leaped off the log, preparing to close th
e distance between him and the actress.

  * * * *

  Bristol made a quick visual sweep of the clearing. Masked by the shade of trees, she glimpsed Damon moving across the area toward her. His expression was unreadable which didn’t help her predicament. If she bolted now, she wouldn’t have to face him. Nor deal with all of the butterflies nose-diving in her stomach. But, she really wanted to see him.

  Too late. Her mental lashing messed up her time to run.

  He stepped up to the tattered wooden bar, ordered a Budweiser long neck from the bartender, keeping his eyes on Bristol the entire time. “Nice boots.”

  She looked down at her feet. “They’re authentic cowboy boots. Quite lovely, aren’t they?”

  His semi-sarcastic chuckle and twitching jaw snapped her back to the situation at hand. A dozen butterflies once again free fell in the pit of her stomach. “What do you want, Damon? I know you didn’t come over here to compliment my boots. You probably hate them. Or is there another farm animal analogy you would like to grace me with?”

  “You’re right. I didn’t come here to compliment your boots, darlin’. Again, you misunderstood the horse comment. I came to apologize. I’m sorry for my earlier actions, Bristol. I’d like us to forget the events happened.”

  Although she should be happy, it felt as if a truck had just flattened her. The thought of forgetting their entire encounter hollowed out her stomach, like someone gutted her from the inside. She swallowed against the boulder lodged in her throat. “Fine. We can forget we ever met if that’s what you want.”

  He frowned. “I don’t want to forget we met, Bristol, just start over. And I promise, I won’t kiss you again until you ask me.”