Crazy for Lovin’ You

by Teresa Southwick

  “So why aren’t you taking care of the bulls?”

  “Jim’s showing Cal what to do and he said I was in the way.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that around here,” he said wryly, referring to what she’d said while putting breakfast on the table. “And the general impression is that Texas is a big place. Who knew people could get underfoot on an annoyingly regular basis?”

  “I needed to do some work here in the barn,” she added.

  “Don’t you have cheap labor for this?”

  She nodded. “But they don’t start till tomorrow. I’m saving the rest for the hired help from the high school rodeo team. But they’re finishing up school finals.” She rested the pitchfork prongs on the ground and leaned on the handle. “I plan to give the kids lots to do when I fill the guest rooms. They can work with any greenhorn who wants to learn about horses, or ride, or rope.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You bet. The teenagers have a lot of knowledge to share. My clients will benefit and just think how good the kids will feel about themselves. I figure my busiest months will be summer when they’re out of school so there should be a steady supply of labor.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “I’m the brains of the outfit.”

  “Chief cook and bottle washer?”

  “Pretty much,” she confirmed. “I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly at the house. Organize activities—hay rides, campfires, trail excursions. If we have a group of children, I figure I’ll handle showing them around. Maybe I’ll set up a petting corral where they can touch the animals and feed them.”

  “Everything from creekside cookouts to cozy campfires,” he said.

  “That about covers it. And I’ll have to remember those words for the advertising brochure I’m putting together.” She closed the stall gate and started out of the barn, stopping in the toolroom to replace the pitchfork. Her breath caught when she came out and saw that Mitch had waited for her, then fell into step beside her.

  “You’ve thought of everything,” he commented.

  Not quite. She’d never thought about what it would feel like to see him again. Let alone to have him under her roof.

  That morning she’d awakened with a sense of anticipation she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She’d had to keep reminding herself that she was practicing on Mitch. But she couldn’t quite get her heart to buy the baloney. She’d been happy as a cat in a creamery. Right up until he’d told her about his engagement. It was like a dousing with ice-cold water and twice as bracing. He’d been in love with someone else.

  Do not make the mistake of falling for Mitch Rafferty again, she warned herself. Her father’s words came back: one mistake is acceptable. The same mistake is just plain stupid. She’d been a girl the first time, but she was a woman now. And the pain could be so much worse.

  “Is there some reason you were looking for me?” she asked.

  “I called a reporter friend of mine to set up a time for an interview. Publicity for the championships. She’s going to bring a photographer along.”

  “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  They walked out of the barn and Taylor stopped for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the sunlight.

  “That will work,” she said nodding. “So when the reporter’s here she can tie in the rodeo and my operation in the article.”

  “Right.”

  Suddenly the full impact of his words sank in. “You’re giving me the endorsement? So soon?” she asked. “You’ve only been here a day, and you’re ready to sing my praises publicly?”

  “Breakfast was really good,” he said with a grin.

  She shot him a skeptical look. “You’re not just feeling sorry for me? I don’t want that—”

  He shook his head. “I like what I see, Taylor. No kidding. And I think a lot of folks will, too. I meant it when I said yours is a good way of life. I consider it a civil service to give you a recommendation.”

  Taylor believed him. Maybe it was just because she wanted to so badly, but she did.

  She threw herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it! A thumb’s-up from the legendary Mitch Rafferty, bull rider extraordinaire.” She kissed his lean cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she savored the contact. It was risky, especially when he fell into that sweet and considerate category she was so leery of. But she couldn’t help it.

  Then she felt him tighten his grip, snuggling her more securely against him. Cold feet time.

  “What will the neighbors say?” She wriggled out of his arms, a second after meeting his amused gaze.

  “Probably nothing since the closest one is a left turn past yonder.”

  “Yeah.” She backed away and stuck her fingertips into her pockets. “Anyway, I’m really grateful.”

  “Glad to help,” he said simply.

  In silence they started walking again. As they neared the pool area, she noticed that his limp was more pronounced than she’d seen before. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded. “Just stiff. And part of the reason I came looking for you to tell you about the reporter. I needed a walk to work the kinks out of it.”

  She slipped off her boots so as not to track muck over the decking. Walking past the pool, she stopped just outside the sliding door that led into the kitchen eating area and set her boots beside the patio mat.

  She glanced back at Mitch where he stood staring into the crystal-clear pool water. Something about his expression tugged at her heart. In her stocking feet, she walked back and stopped beside him.

  She met his gaze. “That must have been a difficult time—the injury and everything. It must have been tough to make the decision to leave the pro circuit.”

  “Considering the alternative, that part was easy. Surgery, pins, screws and plates in my leg was hard. Not to mention rehabilitation afterward.”

  “Still, you were young. I hope what’s her name at least hung around until you got out of the hospital.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  The dark intensity in his eyes told her differently. “I know you’d never admit to it in a million years, but you were probably scared.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You were scared?”

  He shook his head. “I’d never admit to that in a million years.”

  “You don’t always have to be the strong, silent type, you know.”

  “I’m not being any type. But I do believe that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  Taylor bent over to dip her hand in the water. “Nice.” She stood. “Not too cold. And the Jacuzzi might help the stiffness in your leg—”

  Suddenly he scooped her into his arms, as easily as if she were a five-pound sack of potatoes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I also believe in don’t get mad, get even.”

  She shook her head. “Haven’t we been through this before? You didn’t throw me in then, I don’t believe you’ll do it now. All talk and no action, Rafferty.”

  “If you yank a rattler’s tail, you best brace yourself for the bite.” There was a devilish grin on his face as he walked to the deep end of the pool.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she warned him.

  “I never could resist a dare.”

  The next thing she knew, she hit the water fanny first.

  Chapter Six

  Mitch watched for Taylor to surface. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d thrown her in, except maybe to wash away the sadness in her eyes on account of his leg. Since he was a boy, folks had looked at him with the same expression she just had, because he was the kid no one wanted. But he was luckier than a whole lot of people and he didn’t need anyone’s pity.

  Ever since he’d returned to Destiny, he’d had a nagging sense of putting away the past, making peace with it. On top of that, another feeling pestered
him: that she worked too hard, and needed some fun in her life. He figured a mad-as-hell Taylor was better than the serious woman he’d just ambushed.

  “You son of a rabid coyote,” she shouted. “Why did you do that?”

  He shrugged as he stared down at her. “You looked hot.”

  “I wasn’t, but I am now,” she shot back, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. She stroked through the water and reached the side of the pool where she hung on. “These jeans are heavy.”

  “I seem to remember something about that.” He reached a hand down to her. “Unlike you, I’ll help you out.”

  “Because you’re a nice guy.” She only hesitated a moment before grabbing on with both hands. “A true Texas gentleman,” she said wryly. There was a gleam in her eyes and saccharine dripped from the words. “How’s your leg?”

  “Fine,” he said, but her tone had warned him.

  He was prepared when she braced her feet against the side of the pool, then yanked for all she was worth. He could have resisted easily, but he let her pull him in.

  He surfaced almost instantly and saw her struggling to climb out. “No, you don’t.”

  He reached out with one arm and seized her around the waist, hauling her up against him. He settled her back to his front.

  She tried unsuccessfully to break his grip. “Let me go. We’re even now, Mitch.”

  “Nope. You’re still one up.”

  “But you’re a Texas gentleman,” she reminded him.

  “I’ve been living in California. The West Coasters weirded it out of me,” he answered.

  Looking over her shoulder, he was distracted by the sight of her breasts, just above where his arm encircled her waist. Her pink cotton blouse, so crisp and clean just that morning, was now wet and all but transparent. Her white bra was clearly visible beneath the soaked material. He could practically identify the brand, and it wasn’t satin or lace. Just serviceable cotton, plain and practical. He swore he could see the dusky shadow of her nipples. Water everywhere, but his mouth went dry.

  Heat flashed through him in spite of the cool water. It didn’t make any difference that a perfectly respectable tank suit would show more skin than she revealed in her drenched clothes. But Taylor Stevens wet and in his arms made him think about things he shouldn’t—about how she would look without the layers of clothing.

  He didn’t know he’d loosened his grip until she suddenly turned in his arms and lunged halfway out of the water to get the leverage she needed to push on his shoulders and dunk him.

  When he surfaced, she was trying to get away, stroking for the shallow end of the pool. “Not so fast,” he said, reaching after her. “Cheaters never prosper.”

  “I didn’t cheat. All’s fair in love and war.” She glanced over her shoulder and squealed when he stretched out his arm and caught her slender ankle. Slowly he pulled her toward him. “This is war,” she said, trying to pull her foot away.

  “Damn right it is.” He could stand on the bottom, giving him the advantage he needed. Gripping her waist, he lifted her and arced her body up and into the water with a splash.

  She came up laughing and shrieked as he made a move toward where she was treading water. “You’ve got me on size and strength, Rafferty. But I’m not above using teeth and nails as weapons.”

  “A true Texas lady,” he said, grinning.

  “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “Okay. I give up,” he said. He held up his hands.

  She blinked and pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes. “Wow. If you’d been in command at the Alamo, Texas would still be part of Mexico.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her brown eyes flashed fire. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. I’m tough.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth and remembered a night ten years before when she hadn’t been so tough. Since then, very few things had surprised him as much as what Taylor had done that night. She’d said she loved him, then kissed him—an innocent touch of her mouth to his. After leaving town, he’d put Destiny—and Taylor Stevens—out of his mind.

  Coming home again resurrected all the memories. Now the only thing that amazed him more than Taylor’s sweet kiss, was that he could still see the hurt in her eyes, the way her mouth had trembled. Just that morning, she’d confessed her busted engagement. He’d seen a familiar expression on her face, pain and betrayal mixed together. He didn’t ever want to be responsible for hurting her again.

  He swam to the side of the pool, his will to spar sputtering out. But she wasn’t giving up. She followed and tried to dunk him, putting all her weight into pushing on his shoulders. He braced himself and she couldn’t budge him.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” She cupped her palms just at water level and pushed a wave into his face.

  Tossing his head to scatter the drops, he grinned. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’m shaking in my boots.”

  “You’re not wearing boots.”

  Then he started splashing, and his hands were twice as big as hers. She kept at him, though. She just wouldn’t give up. Definitely a tough cookie. He couldn’t help admiring her for that. But he could see she was tiring and took pity on her.

  He held his hand up and put the other on top forming a T for time out. “You win,” he said, knowing that was the only way to get her to stop.

  “You give up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a trick, right?” she asked. “A ploy? Playing possum? Lull me into a false sense of security so I’ll let down my guard then you go in for the kill.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  He hung on to the side of the pool, and she glided next to him, laughing as she grabbed hold of the coping and faced him. She rested her elbow on the edge and dragged in several gulps of air as she concentrated on catching her breath.

  Mitch looked at her mouth. He might go in for the kiss. In that instant he realized his mistake. But wild horses couldn’t make him look away from her full lips. Their faces were barely an inch apart. He could feel soft puffs of her breath on his cheek. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, drawing his attention to her breasts. She was no longer off-limits. At least not because of her age. He remembered the little girl she’d been. He wanted to taste the woman she’d become, see how she would feel. Would she respond to him or had he destroyed that by pushing her away ten years ago?

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he brushed strands of hair off her face, then threaded his fingers through the heavy mass. He encircled the slender column of her neck with his palm and gently urged her toward him.

  Surprise and something else leaped into her big brown eyes. She’d caught her breath from their tussle, but now her breathing was quick and unsteady. Again. He hoped she was winded for the same reason he was—an attraction he couldn’t seem to ignore no matter how hard he tried or all the reasons he reminded himself it wouldn’t work.

  Before he could think it to death and stop himself, he captured her lips with his own.

  Her mouth was cool, wet with droplets of pool water. More than that, she was soft and sweet. With his fingers threaded through her hair, he gently urged her forward to make the touch of their mouths more firm. She tipped her head sideways to deepen the contact.

  His heart hammered in his chest. Liquid heat sluiced through him driven by the blood that raced through his veins, fueling his desire. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and instantly she opened to him. Dipping inside, he stroked the honeyed recesses of her mouth.

  Just when he’d thought it was safe to go back in the water, he was in danger of going up in flames. Their wet shirts were practically nonexistent, and he could feel the heat of her skin when she pressed her softness to his hardness. Her honestly eager response delighted him. His will to hold back was just a microthread from snapping.

  Taylor was consumed with desire at the first oh-so-tender touch of Mitch’
s fingers brushing the hair from her face. Why did he have to be sweet? She was powerless to resist that. She expected him to turn his back, ignore her, push her away. If he’d just followed his usual pattern and kept his distance, she’d have been okay. But the soft and gentle feel of his big hands in her hair was her undoing. All her self-warnings became ashes in the wind.

  Her skin felt hot and her heart pounded madly. He was so strong, so masculine, so sexy. And so achingly romantic. The feel of his mouth, the touch of his long, strong fingers, the wall of his chest against the softness of her breasts. It was every bit as wonderful as she’d dreamed. And she prayed he would never stop, but the prayer wasn’t working for her.

  Almost the next instant, he pulled back. His breathing was ragged and a perfect match for her own. His gaze burned into hers.

  “You kiss like a woman,” he said.

  The little pocket of hurt she’d carried around for ten years disappeared. There wasn’t anything he could say that would have touched her more. “Thank you, Mitch. That’s high praise coming from Texas’s most eligible cowboy.”

  “Not anymore,” he said. He let her go and hauled himself out of the pool, buckets of water pouring from his jeans onto the decking. “I took myself out of the running.”

  He held a hand down to her and she grabbed on and held tight as he easily pulled her out of the pool. Her heart squeezed painfully at the words. They were a between-the-eyes reminder that he’d been hurt badly. She knew wounded animals were likely to strike back and it wasn’t smart to get too close. She already knew how painful it was when Mitch had left her behind. To go through it again would be plain stupid.

  She would take his words about her kissing technique, and his kiss, in the spirit he’d no doubt meant—a white flag to put the past to rest.

  “Now I think we’re even,” she said, hoping her voice was light and steady.

  “Yup.” He ran a hand through his wet hair.

  Were his fingers shaking? No. Not cool, calm, collected Mitch Rafferty. It must be her imagination. She stood in the puddle her sopping jeans had made and looked down at herself. Her blouse was practically see-through. Embarrassed, she felt the heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks. After pulling the tails of her shirt from her jeans, she tugged the material away from her chest, trying to salvage some modesty.