For Love of a Cowboy

by Yvonne Lindsay - For Love of a Cowboy

  “I had a good time tonight,” she said. “Thank you for taking me. Good night.”

  She looked up at him and he was hit with a bolt of need so powerful and so basic that, despite every instinct calling him all kinds of fool, it was suddenly the most natural thing in the world to lean down and kiss her.

  Her lips were soft and yielding and parted on a gasp of surprise that he immediately took advantage of. She tasted of the wine she’d drunk with dinner and something exotic, something forbidden. Something he wanted more than anything he’d wanted before in his life. He traced the contours of her lips with his tongue, felt her sag against him, her arms reach around his waist even as his hands took her shoulders and hauled her tighter against him. Every cell in his body went on high alert, demanding he take this further. Passion surged within him, clouding his mind and bringing his focus solely on the two of them, of the taste of her, of the texture of her tongue as it dueled with his, of the press of her deliciously feminine curves against the hardness of his own.

  The sound of some animal skittering away from the trashcans stacked in the alley intruded, waking him up to what he was doing—and, more importantly, with whom. He pulled away and let her go so fast she teetered slightly before self-correcting. Her hand went to her mouth, her fingertips pressed to lips that only seconds ago he’d possessed without a thought for anything more than the craving she inspired in him.

  And that was the image that stayed with him as he strode away without a word and got into his truck. The image that burned on the back of his eyelids for long hours as he tried to sleep back at the ranch. The image that woke with him the next morning.

  Six

  Friday night, Booth was in town for a much-needed drink. They’d put up five hundred round bales of hay these past few weeks and it was hot and dirty work. They hoped to put up another thousand by the time they reached summer’s end. He was tired and itchy and his temper had been short and foul ever since that darn fool kiss. He’d been out of his mind to give in to impulse. Impulse had led to trouble every single time he’d indulged in it and he’d spent the better part of the last five years learning to limit his baser urges. Willow Phillips had thrown all that hard-fought-for control to the wind.

  Booth pushed thoughts of Willow, and the memory of her lush soft lips, firmly from his mind. There was no time to think about her. KD wasn’t one of the biggest spreads around Marietta, but what with hay making and his general duties as ranch foreman, he had more than enough on his plate. Complications were something he needed to avoid. Plus, the county fair started in just under two weeks and Booth would be busy with that, too. He’d agreed to drop three skydivers from the Cessna 172 he operated from the ranch as part of the opening ceremony, then a few days later he was registered to compete in the senior calf-roping competition. Somehow, this year, his heart wasn’t in it. The competitive streak that had seen him win most years had dulled with the need to seek some change in his life, to find newer pastures—preferably his own.

  Uncle Kyle had always been an ornery coot, but this week he’d been riding Booth’s back more than usual about one thing and another. Seemed Booth always had to be at least two steps ahead of the old man just to keep him satisfied. All good training for when he ran his own spread, he reluctantly acknowledged, but helluva hard on a man at the same time.

  “You going to drink that beer, or just look at it all night?”

  Booth looked up to see Reese Kendrick, Grey’s Saloon’s manager, wiping glasses in front of him. He’d been so wrapped in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed the other man.

  “Drink it, and then probably another. You all right with that?”

  Reese nodded slowly. “Sure. For a second there I thought you were going all soft on me.”

  “No fear of that,” Booth smiled.

  “That new woman in town was in here earlier, asking around about your uncle.”

  Booth stiffened. Willow was asking around about his uncle? Why on earth would she be doing that?

  “Is that right?” he acknowledged. “Did she ask anything in particular?”

  “Just what kind of guy he is, where he lives, that kind of thing. And if he was married or had kids. Thought you might like to know.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll look into it.” Booth grabbed his longneck and downed half the contents before setting the bottle back on the bar in front of him.

  Why was she asking about his uncle? He thought back to what Ness had said about Willow searching for her father. Did she somehow think Kyle Donovan knew her father? If so, why didn’t she just ask them last Sunday night? He shook his head slightly. Of course, he and Ness had a different surname than their uncle, so it was likely Willow hadn’t made the connection. Even so, his stomach did that now all-too-familiar twist as another idea bloomed like nightshade in the back of his mind. Did she think his uncle was her father?

  The idea of his uncle, young and stupid and sowing wild oats, didn’t gel with the taciturn man who’d reluctantly taken on raising his wife’s dead sister’s kids. But even if it was true, Willow couldn’t be more than twenty-five or -six. Kyle and Emmie had been married thirty years this past spring. If he was her father, then that meant he’d have cheated on his wife.

  He weighed the idea in his mind, studying if from every angle he could think of. If Uncle Kyle had cheated on Aunt Emmie, she couldn’t have known about it or she’d have left him—that’s all there was to it. Fidelity was her hot button and she was all about loyalty to family. He felt his heart soften as he thought of the childless woman who’d taken on a mother’s role and who’d loved her sister’s kids with all her heart. He’d do anything to prevent her being hurt or seeing her life derailed.

  Doing anything meant keeping a better eye on Willow. He’d suspected she was up to something, and now he at least had some idea. The fact she’d inveigled her way into Ness’s life so quickly and easily hadn’t sat comfortably with him right from the start. Now, he wondered if his family had been her target all along. Whatever her angle, he didn’t want her coming within a hundred yards of his uncle, or his aunt for that matter.

  He looked up at Reese. “She was in here, you said. How long ago?”

  “Right up until you walked in. She took one look at you and hightailed it out of here.”

  “No shit?” Obviously she had something to hide from him. “Any idea where she went?”

  “Hey, do I look like a babysitter? Mardie,” Reese called to the saloon’s waitress who was bringing a tray of empties back to the bar. “D’you know where the flower child went?”

  “Her name is Willow,” Mardie said. “And lay off with the hippie jokes, okay? She’s nice. She took one look at Booth coming in and said she’d have to find somewhere else to get a drink.”

  Booth acknowledged Mardie with a nod. He very much doubted that Willow had been headed to the bar at Graff’s Hotel, which only left one other place within easy walking distance. The Wolf Den. Last time he’d gone in there, five years ago, he’d gotten into a fistfight with a guy he’d gone to high school with. They’d both ended up in the local jail overnight while they cooled their heels. He hadn’t been back since and he’d had no desire to do so either. He wasn’t that guy anymore. The whole incident had reeked too strongly of his father’s behavior and had reminded him that the beast hovered too close to the surface for him to ever relax his grasp on his self-control.

  The Wolf Den definitely brought out the worst in him and it certainly was no place for a woman like Willow. People like her got gobbled up and spat out by the clientele of places like that. Even though he’d sworn he’d never so much as set foot in there ever again, he knew he had to go and rescue the fool woman—even if it was just from herself. Booth swigged down the last of his beer and threw his money on the bar.

  “Thanks,” he said to Reese and jammed his Stetson more firmly on his head before making for the door.

  Leaving his truck parked where it was, he’d both talked himself out of and straight back
into extracting Willow from the Wolf Den. By the time he drew up outside the bar he was good and angry. He paced back and forth on the sidewalk. She wasn’t his responsibility and he didn’t really care what happened to her, right? Maybe she’d gone back to the little apartment over the store. He could only hope. But his only way of finding out was to go into the Wolf Den in the first place. And then there was the matter of the questions she’d been asking about Uncle Kyle. He needed to find out where she was coming from with that. If she had plans that would upset his family, particularly Aunt Emmie, he was going to put a stop to them. Pure and simple.

  That’s all there was to it and there probably was no need to be all fired up like this. Even so, there was something about her that just tugged on his last nerve. Even thinking about approaching her had him all hot under the collar. He didn’t know if it was because of those crazy clothes she wore—and the fact that she so obviously never wore enough underwear—or the blithe way she’d waltzed into Ness’s store and secured not only a job but a roof over her head in the bargain. Her mere existence managed to push his buttons with very little effort whatsoever.

  And then there were the times when a thought of her would intrude on his working day. When he’d remember the taste of her and the softness of her lips, not to mention the fire that slender body had stoked when it was tucked up against his. He couldn’t even escape her in sleep—waking aching and surly more than once this past week. Something he’d taken out on his men, which also annoyed the shit out of him. He was better than that—at least he had been up until a certain free spirit had literally wandered into his path.

  Yep, he was good and angry. Probably not the best mood to be entering the Wolf Den in, but if she was in there…

  He paused. So what if she was in there? She was an adult. If she got into trouble it might make her leave town a whole lot sooner than she’d planned. Booth ceased his pacing, all but determined to head back to his truck and back out to the ranch where he ought to be. Laying in a good night’s sleep before another hard day’s work tomorrow.

  He groaned out loud. Ness would never forgive him if anything happened to Willow—and, if anything was going to happen to her, it would be here. The Wolf Den attracted a meaner clientele than Grey’s. And it had been seeing him there that had driven her out. As much as he hated to admit it, he was responsible for her being there. So he was equally responsible for getting her out.

  Booth banked the slow-burning fury that smoldered inside him and pulled open the door to the bar. He’d get her and get out. That’s all there was to it. It took his eyes a little time to adjust to the gloom inside. He looked around and didn’t see Willow right away. He felt his mood pick up a little. Maybe she wasn’t here after all. But then he picked up the sound of laughter over by the pool tables, in particular a laugh that made every muscle in his body tense and he felt that all-too-familiar swell in his groin.

  She was standing there, holding a cue, laughing at something one of the guys crowded around her had said before accepting a beer from him. It was innocuous enough, but Booth saw the lascivious looks on the men’s faces as she took a long pull at her beer, exposing the slender column of her throat. He froze in his tracks until he realized there were at least another half dozen men staring at her exactly the same way—with exactly the same hunger that now gripped him. Oblivious, Willow propped the bottle on the side of the table and bent to take a shot at the scattering of balls on the table.

  Any fool could see she wasn’t wearing a bra under that knitted cotton thing she wore. In fact, just about every fool here was privy to that information. And those impossibly short cut-offs she wore? They should be declared a national hazard with the way they rode up the back of her thighs, exposing the beginning of a soft curve of buttocks.

  A red haze clouded Booth’s vision as another guy leaned over Willow, guiding her as she lined up her shot. Booth’s fists clenched tight. That was enough. He wasn’t going to stand around and see more. A woman like Willow was live bait in a place like this. A peach, ripe for plucking.

  His cock twitched behind the fly of his jeans and he let out a soft growl. If anyone was going to do any plucking it would be him. Before he knew it, he was pushing through the crowd, ignoring the protests flung his way along with a few choice cusses.

  She was laughing again as she straightened from taking her shot. Her face animated and relaxed. Totally unaware of the potential danger she was in—and, surprisingly, not from him. Booth noted the exact moment she realized he was there. Saw the laughter freeze on her face and her eyes widen in surprise.

  “Booth, what are you—? Oooomph!”

  He had her hoisted on his shoulder and heading out the door before anyone around her could do more than issue a few catcalls and jeers at his retreating back.

  *

  Willow’s head spun. One second she was sipping a beer and learning the finer points of shooting pool, the next she was being slung around like a sack of potatoes. A strongly protesting one.

  “Put me down right now. I was having fun!”

  “Not for long you weren’t,” Booth said darkly as he headed for the door.

  “Hey buddy. The little lady said she wants to be put down.”

  The guy who’d been teaching her at the table stood squarely in front of Booth, stopping him in his tracks.

  “I did, Bill, thank you for pointing that out since someone,” Willow said, squirming as Booth tightened his hold on her, “appears to be hard of hearing!”

  Booth merely slapped her on her backside and muttered, “Behave.”

  “Put her down. She doesn’t want you,” Bill challenged.

  “Don’t mess with me, Bill. I’m in just the right frame of mind to punch the shit out of anyone who gets in my way.”

  Booth’s voice was as cold and cutting as finely honed steel. Even Willow felt a shiver crawl down her neck. She struggled to see what was going on but from her vantage point all she could see was Booth’s very fine butt. Beneath her stomach she felt the muscles in Booth’s shoulders bunch, as if he was coiling up and getting ready to unleash some energy in a quick burst.

  A weird silence fell around them. The bar’s patrons seemed to be collectively holding their breath, just waiting to see what would happen next. She felt, rather than saw, Bill step aside.

  “I guess she’s not worth that,” he said.

  “Wise man,” she heard Booth mutter.

  Next thing they were headed for the door with Willow bouncing along on his shoulder.

  “Oh, for goodness sake. Put me down, will you? I feel like I’m going to be sick,” she protested, not entirely lying.

  “Nope.”

  “Booth, I’m not kidding.”

  He ignored her as he carted her across Front Avenue and down Fourth, only slowing when he reached Main Street. He set her down on her feet, at which point she promptly turned on her heel and began to march back the way they’d come again. She should have known he’d stop her. One big strong hand settled on her shoulder and wheeled her around to face him.

  “You’re not going back there,” he said grimly.

  “Oh yes I am. I’m in the middle of a game,” she insisted.

  “You want to play?”

  Willow frowned. She had the distinct impression they were talking about totally different things. She tried to pull free of his hold but instead she felt herself suddenly pulled up against the long hard length of him and trapped within his arms.

  “I’ll give you a game,” he said, his voice dropping an octave and sending a tremor through her body.

  Before she could think of an appropriate response he’d caught her lips with his. His kiss was hard, punishing, and yet she felt the thrill of it from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She should push him away, in fact she lifted her hands to his shoulders to do exactly that, then found her hands clasped behind his neck—holding him to her as if she never wanted to let him go.

  His mouth softened and his tongue swept the crease of her li
ps in silent entreaty. She opened for him, felt that thrill again as his tongue traced the inside of her top lip, then the bottom. A shudder of longing pierced her—so sweet, so intense. She wanted more of this, more of him.

  Tentatively, she mimicked what he’d done, reveling in the taste and texture of him, feeling every cell in her body blaze into flaming life. He pressed his hips against her, and a surge of longing shot through her body as she felt the thickened length of him pressing against that most sensitive part of her. She hooked one foot around his leg so she could get closer, feel more of him. Just feel more, period.

  The blare of a car horn, accompanied by a yelled, “Get a room!” made them both jump and pull slightly apart.

  Booth’s breathing was heavy, his eyes shadowed as he looked at her. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her up Main and then down the alley that led to the back entrance to SuperStitch’n’s.

  “Key,” he demanded as they reached the door.

  She dug into the pocket of her shorts and dragged it out for him. He all but snatched it from her grasp and shoved it in the lock, turning it and opening the door in one smooth movement. He yanked her into the small hallway behind him and pushed her up against the door. She whimpered with need as his big hands cupped her breasts and as his mouth plundered hers once more. She was on fire for him, every part of her body hungrily clamoring for his touch.

  “Upstairs,” she gasped. “Lock the door.”

  Without waiting to see if he did as she said she started up the stairs. He was mere seconds behind her. She grabbed his hand and all but ran through the apartment to the tiny bedroom that overlooked Main Street. The evening sun slanted golden rays through the deep sash window, casting her bed in soft inviting light.

  Booth removed his Stetson and went to put it on the bed.

  “No,” she said softly, taking it from him and putting it on the chest of drawers pressed up against the wall. “Bad luck.”