Heat, longing, and anger tangled together as Shelby fought for balance, fought for control. She was losing at both. She pushed hands into his hair as he nipped her lower lip, knocking off his hat, which bounced on the ground behind them. He responded by taking her lips once again in a searing kiss.
Lost…
Neither of them seemed to notice when he backed her into the fence, his body hard against hers, his thigh pressed between her legs. She welcomed the liquid fire that spread through her as his mouth began to blaze a sensual trail down the side of her neck and she gasped as he hit the sensitive spot in the hollow of her shoulder.
And that was when he pulled back.
And for a moment all Shelby could do was to stare at him, wide-eyed, as the reality of what she’d just done slammed into her.
“I don’t think this theory of yours holds water,” he said in a low voice, still holding her by the waist.
And damn it all, she almost asked, “What theory?”
Shelby pushed against him, not so gently extracting herself from his embrace. She thought it very kind she didn’t once again try to push him back onto his ass.
Once she had some space between them so her brain could continue its journey back to normality, she pulled in a breath—very, very slowly, so it didn’t shake in the same way her knees were shaking.
“Good point,” she murmured, amazed she could get the words out in such a natural tone. And since nothing wildly brilliant occurred to her, she simply said, “I’ve got to go.”
“You mean run away from reality?”
She flashed a hot look at him. “How are we to deal with this reality, Ty? By falling into bed?”
“We’d like to.” He pointed out.
“No duh.” And somehow the less than articulate acknowledgement helped her find the strength to draw herself up and attempt to set some boundaries. “But that won’t be good for me. Therefore, we will not fall into bed.” She took a step closer in an attempt to show both of them she had this, pointing her finger at his chest. “Things between us will be just as they were before we kissed. No—they’ll be better, because the tension’s been broken. That means we can be… normal.”
“Whatever that is.”
“We work together and that’s it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her lip curled. “Do not mock me.”
“Shelby… the last thing I want to do to you is mock.”
Again that breathing problem. She took another step back. Then another. Then she turned and stalked up to the house and let herself in the side door so she had time to recover before strolling into the living room and pretending nothing was amiss.
So now what?
Shelby paced through the kitchen—quietly so she didn’t disturb her grandfather—angry at herself for allowing her body to call the shots instead of listening to her head.
Who was she kidding? Her head had been fully in favor of ripping Ty’s clothes off and getting what she’d been missing for so long. If he hadn’t pulled back when he did…
Shelby pressed the backs of her fingers to her mouth. Just a kiss. No clothing ripping. Just… a kiss.
But clothes-ripping had not been too far off.
She stopped at the window, pulled back the curtain far enough to see the lights of Ty’s trailer were now on. Damn it, she still wanted to rip his clothes off.
Shelby dropped the curtain and opened the fridge to pull out a beer. Why couldn’t anything go according to plan with this man?
Chapter Eight
Gramps was up before Shelby the next morning and when she walked into the kitchen, he gave her a look that made her wonder if he’d seen her and Ty kissing. It wouldn’t have been difficult—they’d been under the yard light near the corrals, in full view of the house. She’d simply assumed Gramps had been watching television as usual, and not looking out the window.
“Coffee?” he asked as she went to the fridge to get out the eggs.
“Thanks.”
Gramps got up from the table, then made a grab for the back of his chair to steady himself. Shelby opened her mouth to ask if he was all right, but he gave her a warning look. “Don’t.”
As if she would let this slide. “Did you almost fall over just now?”
“I got up too fast.”
“That’s what you told Ty the other day.”
“You guys are comparing notes… among other things?”
So he had seen. “The other things are my business.”
“And my health is mine.”
“Not when you’re stubborn about it.”
“It’s only my knees.”
Shelby set the egg carton on the counter and turned to face him. “Your knees.”
“They aren’t as stable as they used to be. They give. When they do, I grab things for balance.”
“And that’s it.”
“Knees wear out.” He walked to the stove and took the pot off, filling Shelby’s cup with steaming brew. In about ten minutes, she’d be able to drink it.
“You could have them replaced.”
“Not going to a hospital.”
Shelby turned back to the stove and lit the burner under the cast iron pan. She couldn’t blame him there. Her grandmother had gone into the hospital for minor surgery and died not long after due to an infection she’d picked up there. Her grandfather had never fully recovered from her loss.
“Then I guess we’re at an impasse.”
“Meaning?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Maybe we both have issues we don’t care to discuss at the moment.”
“At the moment,” he agreed.
He was only talking about her issues. His issues would be off limits forever if he could manage that. He sank down into his chair grimacing as he straightened out his knee.
Real pain? Or faked, to make her believe that his knees were the problem?
“Maybe you shouldn’t go to work today. Ty can handle things.”
“Maybe I want to go to work.”
“That’s a given.” She cracked the eggs into the pan, then tossed the shells into the trash. “Tell you what… you stay home today—just today,” she added when he opened his mouth to protest, “and I’ll stop haranguing you about your health… for two, maybe three days.”
Gramps frowned deeply. “Hard to beat an offer like that, but I’m going to work. Besides, this haranguing could work two ways. That was quite a show you two put on last night.”
Shelby rolled her eyes, thankful her back was to her grandfather, so he couldn’t see the color in her face. “Whatever happens between Ty and I… you don’t need to worry.”
Silence hung between them until Shelby flipped the eggs, nice and easy, the way Gramps had taught her to after she’d come to live with him. It had taken her forever to get the hang of turning eggs without breaking them, but she’d only been ten at the time and Gramps had eaten a lot of broken egg yolks.
She went for the plates, finally meeting her grandfather’s gaze when she set the eggs in front of him. “I’m not twenty-three. I’ve learned some stuff since then.”
Gramps didn’t look convinced, but he finally gave a small nod and reached for the plate of toast he’d made before she’d gotten to the kitchen.
“And if any part of you feels bad, other than your knees, you’d better damned well tell me.”
She had a feeling that mentally he was muttering, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” but he met her eyes and gave another nod.
Shelby held in her exasperated sigh as she set her plate on the opposite side of the table and took her seat. They ate in silence, and she assumed he was mulling over their mini-impasse. She wasn’t going to let go of her concern over his health—and no way did she believe it was only his knees bothering him—and he worrying about Ty’s departure breaking her heart again.
That wasn’t going to happen, because she wasn’t going to let her heart get involved to the point that it could break. Her instinct for survival was too strong fo
r that. But heaven help her, she could see herself kissing Ty again… and more.
That was what happened when a woman had too long of a dry spell. The kiss last night had been both disturbing and amazing. If anything the chemistry between them was even hotter than before he left, which meant she couldn’t screw around with this situation. As she’d told him—they’d act normal. Like two people who worked together. Now she had to make that happen.
“I won’t be fencing tomorrow,” Gramps said after mopping up the last of his egg with toast. Shelby looked up, so damned glad her grandfather had no idea where her thoughts were. “Meeting with my accountant in town. Thought I could visit the barber, too.”
“I think a day off will be good for you.”
Gramps gave a small snort of acknowledgement, then stood up slowly, as if keeping dizziness at bay.
Once he was on his feet, he picked up his plate and headed for the sink. “Something you need to know, Shelby—at my age, every day you can work is a blessing. And I’m going to harvest blessings for as long as I can.”
*
Ty caught a glimpse of Shelby heading to the corrals while he was loading equipment on the quad. He was about to intercept her when Les called his name. He turned to see the old man tromping toward him, looking as if he’d eaten an onion sandwich.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” Les growled. “Is everything ready to go?”
“I have to get my gloves and water jug.” Because Les was twenty minutes earlier than usual.
“Get ’em.”
Yes, sir.
Ty went back to the trailer, grabbed his gloves and jug from where he’d left them on the fold-out table, then headed around the barn the opposite direction from which he came. He caught sight of Shelby at the tack shed, wrestling with the stubborn latch that apparently still jammed when closed wrong, and all he wanted to do at that moment was to help her beat the rusty fastener into submission, then turn her in his arms. Kiss her lips. Feel her soft skin beneath his fingers.
But no. Instead they would “act normal”.
“What’s up with Les?”
Shelby started, then swung her gaze toward him, blue eyes wide with concern. “Why?”
“He looks like he wants to deck me.”
She let out a breath, looking relieved that her grandfather might want to hit him. “But he’s not having balance issues?”
Ty frowned at her. “Not right now.”
She brushed a couple of windblown tendrils off her face. “He saw us last night.” She turned back to the latch, gave it a mighty twist and it opened. “Finally.” She stepped inside, coming back out a few seconds later with a halter, rope and carrot stick whip.
“By ‘saw us’ you mean—”
She gave him an impatient look. “I think you know what I mean.” She started coiling the rope, the picture of cool nonchalance. “He’ll get over it.”
Les might get over it, but would Ty? Shelby was all walled up, deep in the land of denial, and he thought about pointing out she was not acting normal, but it wasn’t the time. He’d allow Shelby her walls. At least until he figured out a few things. No. Make that a lot of things. Maybe a bigger man could have pretended he was good with things the way they were. That he didn’t still want Shelby back in his life.
He wasn’t that big.
There was a loud clattering sound on the other side of the machine shed—the sound of posts being rearranged on a trailer by an impatient and protective grandfather. “Les is waiting.”
Waiting and pacing. And he didn’t look pleased when he saw Ty coming around the far end of the barn instead of returning the way he’d left.
“We have a lot to do. We’re quitting early today so that I can be at the round pen this afternoon when Shelby works that knot-head gelding.”
Les was going to be there when Shelby worked the gelding?
Ty didn’t fight him. It would have only made matters worse. Les bristled at any suggestion he wasn’t capable of doing what he’d done for his entire life. Ty figured he’d stay close, just in case there was trouble, and he was fairly certain there wouldn’t be. Shelby knew what she was doing, and she wouldn’t get on the horse unless she was certain it was safe. Or as certain as one could be. Horses could surprise the hell out of anyone. Blindside them.
As could other things in life.
When he’d come back to Marietta, he’d told himself it was to see whether he’d feel comfortable settling there after his career was over. Marietta was his hometown, after all. And if he ran into Shelby… well, he’d see how things went. That had been his rather vague master plan, but within twenty-four hours of arriving, he’d been at the Forty-Six. It’d been a long four years with no contact—well, none except for that first call when she told him not to call again. Told him to forget about her.
He’d tried. Thought he’d been successful. He’d focused on his career, moved on with his life…
But he hadn’t. And the kiss last night had simply hammered the point on home.
*
The workday took forever. Les remained silent and distant as they set posts and strung wire and Ty had initially assumed it was because the old guy was angry at him and worried about Shelby. As the day wore on, though, he started to wonder if it was more than that. Every now and again Les would hold onto a post for longer than necessary, as if regaining his balance, or he would stare off into the distance, breathing slowly.
Ty pretended not to notice, but he planned to report to Shelby. Something wasn’t right.
After he and Les got home that afternoon, Les made it very clear Ty was dismissed and not needed again until morning—as in, don’t bother coming to the round pen for the training session with the black gelding.
Fine. Les was protecting his granddaughter in the best way he knew how, so Ty sat on the uncomfortable metal step of his borrowed camp trailer and greased his boots. Les might not want him around Shelby, but Ty imagined he’d be glad to have him around if there was a wreck in the round pen.
Ty waited until he’d heard Shelby successfully catch the gelding and lead him into the pen before he opened the boot grease can and dipped the rag in. The tack shed door opened and closed, bringing Ty’s head up. She was riding?
No. Probably just tacking the horse up. It was standard procedure to work the horse with the tack.
He started massaging the grease into the dry boot leather. Arena dust was hell on boots, hell on hats, hell on the skin. It dried out whatever it touched and heaven knew he’d had enough of the stuff ground into him over the past years. But along with the dust had come silver buckles and some decent cash here and again. Bragging rights.
But more than that, it had given him an identity. He was Ty Harding. Two-time saddle bronc world champion. He had a purpose and a goal and he’d loved pursuing it more than almost anything else in life—to the point he didn’t need the “World Champion” part after his name. Ty Harding, saddle bronc rider, was enough. But Ty Harding, three-time world champion had a nice ring to it.
Which was why he wasn’t yet done.
He put the first boot aside and reached for the other. On the far side of the barn he heard the deep rumble of Les’s voice and Shelby saying something in return, but no sounds of distress. Maybe the black horse had finally calmed down? He’d known horses that were sheer hell until they acclimated to their surroundings. Maybe old Evarado was one of those. He hoped so anyway.
As soon as Shelby was finished with the gelding, he’d tackle the free weights. His shoulder was still weaker than before, despite Les was doing his best to toughen it up with the post hole diggers, and Ty’s bad thigh wasn’t even close to one-hundred percent strength-wise. But if his balance was there, and his reactions quick enough, if he could still read the horse, he could compensate when he rode next week.
No. He would compensate when he rode. And all his injured parts were getting stronger by the day.
He’d just dipped his rag in the grease can when the so
und of a something hitting the rails of the round pen brought him to his feet. He dropped the boot, knocked the grease can into the dirt, and sprinted around the barn, ignoring the sharp pain in his bad thigh as he fought to keep from going down when he hit loose gravel.
When he rounded the corner, he saw Shelby mounted on the gelding, flying around the pen at breakneck speed. When the horse tried to slow, she booted him on. Ty came to a stop beside a pale-faced Les.
“Sonofabitch reared on her before her butt was in the saddle.”
And now Shelby was schooling him. Horses liked to run, but they wanted to stop when they felt like it. This guy wasn’t going to stop for a long, long time. As long as she kept his hind quarters engaged, kept him moving forward, he couldn’t buck. If he was a bucker. Not all horses were. Some shied, some reared.
Regardless of tactics, a horse with an agenda was a dangerous animal, until he learned who was boss and until he trusted that boss to keep him safe.
Evarado was dripping sweat by the time Shelby allowed him to slow. Then she turned him and made him trot the opposite direction. When he started to bunch up, she kicked him back into the gallop.
“Stubborn,” Ty said.
“Shelby or the horse?” Les muttered.
“She knows what she’s doing.” But Ty had to admit he wasn’t a big fan of her doing it.
Finally, Shelby allowed the gelding to come to a stop and dismounted. Both he and Les knew she had to mount him again before she could call it a day.
Ty started for the gate and Les said nothing.
Shelby gathered the reins and waited. When the horse did nothing but roll his eye at her, she put weight into the stirrup, then stepped back down to the ground. The horse stood still. She repeated that several times before finally easing her leg over the horse and her butt into the saddle. She picked up the reins and the horse did a small jump forward, but he didn’t rear. She allowed him to walk around the round pen, then stopped him in the middle and dismounted again.
Catch Me, Cowboy Page 8