Best of Cowboys Bundle

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Barbara White Daille, Judy Christenberry, Christine Wenger, Shirley Rogers, Crystal Green, Nina Bruhns, Candance Schuler, Carole Mortimer

  Felicia set her bottle down on the nearest flat surface—the TV stand—and smoothed out her nightdress. He followed the progress of her hands, the way they were touching her body in such an innocuous way—but not really.

  She wasn’t blind to the growing hunger in the center of his gaze. She liked it, took great pleasure in stoking it.

  “In actuality, you’re not so gruff,” she said, her voice a little urgent, foreign.

  “Not so much around you. Not anymore.” Even he sounded strangled. “You do something to me, Felicia, but hell if I know what it is. I just wish I could do the same to you.”

  She jerked, coming to watch him from the corner of her eye in a narrowed glance. Was he talking about the way she comforted him? And he wanted to…comfort her?

  “There’s just…” His forehead furrowed. “You seem sad at times. Like you understand me a little too well.”

  And there it was again—the nearly imperceptible web of hurt that strung them together. Slender, almost a mirage in its fragility, but strong enough to capture all the small details.

  God, she just wanted to lean down where he was sitting and touch him, to make contact so she would know she wasn’t dreaming this up out of pure desperation.

  Holding her breath, she reached out, smoothed a stray lock of dark-and-silver hair away from his temple. He closed his eyes, molding his hand over hers, singeing her.

  “Just being around you…” he murmured, angling his lips against her wrist, pressing his mouth there until his five-o’clock shadow scratched and burned against her sensitive skin.

  The kiss was soft, his mouth moist and warm. Felicia started to keen for the want of him low in her belly. The sensation spiraled downward, twisting between her legs, making her tremble, lose strength and shift forward until her knees were against his. She braced herself from falling by levering her other hand on the back of the chair.

  The linen nightgown gaped away from her body, brushed over his face as the fan whipped air over them. It made her feel half-naked, sensual, yet at the same time fearful.

  The physical pain of being with him, she thought. What if it hurt as much as that first time?

  But the notion was just a strike of lightning in the storm of her mind, passion sheeting over her as Jack kept kissing her wrist, her palm. When he slid his hands into the small of her back, Felicia gasped, responding by slumping the rest of her weight onto the chair and straddling him.

  With a groan of surrender, he used her nightgown to tug her the rest of the way down, running one hand up her back and into her hair, pulling her to him for a long, searing kiss.

  They took up where they’d left off days ago near the barn, greedily sipping at each other, her fingers sweeping through his hair, too, craving more.

  His mouth broke away from hers for an instant. “Come here,” he said, one set of fingers cupping her rear end, urging her closer, closer, until her breasts were flush against him.

  Jackson’s head swam, body tightening at the feel of her beaded nipples against his chest. With something close to a growl, he resumed their kiss, deepened it, sliding his tongue into her mouth, exploring, tasting, enjoying this too damned much.

  She felt lighter than clouds, smelled a little like heaven, too, with her long hair tickling his cheek and her nightie belling away from her body. Earlier, he’d seen the shadow of her lush figure through the white of the material, had just about lost his mind right there and then.

  You couldn’t stay away from her, could you? he asked himself. “I’m sorry for being such an jerk,” indeed.

  Dammit, it was true that he really had come to care about what she thought of him, but he was almost ashamed of inventing such a lame excuse to be here expressing it, making out with the furious need of a teenage boy in lust for the first time.

  Truthfully, should he even be here at all?

  When they came up for air, panting, he sketched his fingers up her smooth arms, under the straps of her gown, toying with the linen. A bit lower, he could see the outline of her stimulated breasts under the nightie.

  So close he could lean his head forward and take them into his mouth. So perfect he wanted to feel them in his hands, meld them into his memory.

  He looked up at her, his breath chopping out of him, his blood simmering, building into an inferno.

  “You’ve got a way of putting me just right,” he managed to say.

  “Jack.” Her cheeks were pink, making her eyes shine all the brighter. “Don’t stop now.”

  But he should. Really, really should. Even though she had him feeling so good, he could sense the inevitable guilt lying just below the surface of his flesh, gnawing there and waiting its turn. In fact, the longer they weren’t doing something as mind-boggling as kissing, the easier it was to return to his doubts.

  Then kiss her again, you dunderhead, said his better instincts.

  She shyly laid a hand on his shirt, fiddling with a button. He relaxed his head against the chair’s cushion, heartbeat banging, watching her, turned on by the grace of her hands, the yearning in her wide gaze.

  Today, he’d told her not to be surprised if she discovered the ranch to be empty of him at some point. And he hadn’t been kidding, either. But after taking one gander at her in a nightgown, he’d decided that maybe he’d actually come over here to convince himself that he needed to stay in Wycliffe. For a long time.

  Maybe forever, whatever that meant.

  But could he really sit here and say that he was ready to make a commitment like that? To a woman he’d known for such a short time?

  Jackson wasn’t a believer in destiny—not by a long shot—so how could he explain these feelings he was struggling with?

  Felicia worked his first button loose, drawing her fingers down to the next.

  Jeez, he needed to stop her. Soon.

  He’d rested his hands on her thighs and now, with her undressing him, his digits inadvertently clawed as he fought himself. Her nightgown bunched in his fists, revealing more pale skin to his famished gaze.

  She undid another button.

  What if he went and fell in love with Felicia?

  She loosened another.

  No, he couldn’t deal with affection again, that was the bottom line. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone, making them live with all his demons.

  So how could he sit here and let Felicia think it could happen? He knew what she wanted from him—the whole kit and caboodle. Things that a woman like her deserved.

  In the end, how could he take advantage of her youth and willingness merely so he could feel like a man again?

  “I’m glad you came over here tonight,” she said, slipping her fingers beneath his shirt.

  She traced over his abs, his chest, gently circling his nipples, cautiously stimulating them, as if curious about how a man worked.

  It was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to his head. His body rang with an inner wake-up alarm, tremors quavering up and down his skin, bringing the lower half of him to attention.

  He knew she could feel his arousal beneath her, because she got a beatific look on her face, her lips going into a pleased O.

  When she shifted over him, a tiny grind of further exploration, Jackson sucked in a breath, planted his hands on her hips, arched slightly into her. Damn, she felt good. And when she made a tiny mewling sound, she felt even better.

  “Felicia, that’s something you don’t do to a man unless you mean it,” he said, pulling back, his groin protesting with pressure beyond imagination.

  He bit back a curse, knowing he’d earned every second of frustration. Knowing exactly what she would say next.

  Her thumbs went back to circling his nipples. “What makes you think I’m only fooling around?”

  Couldn’t she go back to being that prairie sweetheart who seemed so virginal? She was killing him.

  Or maybe he didn’t want her to revert at all.

  For Pete’s sake, what did he want? He was so screwed up even a whole toolbox couldn�
��t set him back to rights.

  He captured her hands in his, just to calm things down for the time being. “Hold up, sweetheart.”

  She flashed a smile at the endearment, but then, after a long second, her face fell, shoulders sinking in realization.

  “It’s not working for you?” she asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that at all.” He massaged her hands, not wanting her to feel that his reluctance was her fault. It was his. All of it.

  She laughed, a delicate, pained sound that about broke Jackson’s heart.

  “Well, I thought I was doing something to your libido,” she said. “And rightly so, because you’re supposed to be my fate. My future.”

  His head banged against the back of his chair as he lost muscle control. Fate? Him?

  And how had she known he’d been thinking about something real similar only moments ago?

  She rushed on. “I’ve been debating about telling you something, and I think what I’ve got to say just might make me the nation’s biggest fruitcake. Still…”

  After a pause, she intertwined her fingers with his, then told him about an empath psychic friend named Carlota and how she’d predicted Felicia would have a baby with someone called “the last cowboy.”

  What? Of all the…

  Wait. Besides the lunacy of this, could it be that she was just pursuing him to make this crazy prophecy come true? Was that all he was to her?

  She must’ve read the question in his face because she was quick to say, “I didn’t believe it myself, either, even if I really, truly wanted to. All I knew is that one look at you made me a goner, Jack. And now, every passing day, I just want to believe what Carlota said more and more.”

  Not even Jackson could deny the strike of desire he’d felt when he’d first met Felicia. Relief burrowed into him, welcome and surprising.

  Still, the whole thing sounded like a stretch, even if he suspected Carlota was the fortune-teller he’d literally run into at the charity event.

  Had her friend touched him and gotten some kind of reading at that moment?

  Yeah, sure. And the cow jumped over the moon.

  “We’ve already talked about this cowboy thing,” he said. “And I’m not one of them.”

  Something in Felicia’s gaze closed, like a box of dreams being taped up for storage. “I know. You’re not a cowboy, and…” She swallowed. “And I’m probably not going to be having children anyway.”

  She’d said it with such deceptive blandness that Jackson wondered if he’d heard the words correctly.

  The air had changed around them. It was no longer sultry, with a fan blowing warm breezes around their bodies. It was clipped now, as efficient as a wind you needed to turn your coat collar against.

  She made her way off his lap, leaving him empty as she tidied her nightgown, then her hair. Sitting on the bed, she faced him, as straightforward as always.

  But even though the temperature of the room had changed, the thermometer in his body had stayed the same—overheated. And staring at her like an addled fool wouldn’t cool him down, either.

  “The doctors can define my problem much better than I can,” she said, her posture a little too upright. “I developed something called endometriosis.”

  Sounded serious. He started forward in his chair, consumed by the bad news, stomach knotting up.

  “No, Jack, it’s not like I’m on my deathbed.” She smiled at him, calm, accepting. “There’s some tissue that grew outside my uterus, where it shouldn’t have strayed, and it attacked my reproductive organs.”

  Jackson’s instinct to protect her overrode the typical male need to shrink back at the too-much-information female talk.

  Felicia. His sweet cheerleading squad of one, hiding her pain and not wanting him to comfort her. He felt bereft, left out in the dark because he wanted to help her and she didn’t seem to need it.

  “Is there anything to be done about it?” he asked.

  “I’m scheduled for laser surgery in a few months, but they tell me the symptoms are likely to reoccur afterward. But then there’re other options that might allow me to have children. Superovulation, intrauterine insemination. Nothing’s a cure-all.”

  One glance around her quaint cottage told him that a maid from Oakvale probably wouldn’t be able to afford such treatment beyond what insurance might pay.

  She noticed his assessment, sent him a look that hinted she’d thought about it, also.

  But—this was the thing of it—she didn’t seem beaten down. In fact, she’d even set out to make this crazy prediction, this so-called answer to her troubles come true.

  So she thought he could be the one to give her a child instead of some expensive cure?

  Even if it was physically possible, he didn’t know about the emotional part. Another little boy or girl. Another kid who might leave him too early.

  Jackson didn’t know if he could survive that.

  But…

  A thought occurred to him, a tremor of suspicion.

  If Felicia couldn’t have children, wouldn’t that make her the perfect woman for him?

  Could he stand to find out? Because Jenna had shut him down, as well. The brusque nature he’d developed wasn’t just about Leroy and Lucas.

  Felicia had been quietly watching the emotions play over him. He could tell by the melancholy understanding on her face.

  “Didn’t I say it was slightly unbelievable?” she asked.

  Unbelievable? Hell, he was feeling things for her that he hadn’t felt for another woman in…well, ever. He’d loved Jenna, but he wasn’t so sure it’d been so passionately, or even with this weird invisible cable that seemed to connect him and Felicia.

  But…fate? Impossible.

  “I’m not into magic,” he said gently. “All I know is that I’m lucky that you even care to lay eyes on me.”

  She seemed right pleased at that. “Really? Even though…?”

  Her hands moved around near her stomach, searching for a way to end the question.

  “What?” he asked.

  She stopped, staring at him incredulously. “You don’t appear to be so taken aback by my news, Jack. People haven’t been as accepting of this in the past.”

  How could he tell her what he was feeling without seeming selfish? How could he explain that no babies was the only option for him when she so obviously adored children and would make such a wonderful mother?

  “People haven’t been accepting, you say?” The lightbulb was finally going off in his head. “You mean ex-boyfriends, like the one you were talking about in Rip’s kitchen?”

  “You got it. Seems a lot of men want a family, and I can’t blame them for needing a woman who can provide that.”

  “But…” He stood. “You’re worth much more, Felicia. Hasn’t anyone noticed?”

  She looked away and bit down on her lips, a very feminine precursor to tears, in Jackson’s experience.

  How could anyone have ever rejected her?

  More to the point, how could he?

  His comments seemed to have taken root in her, flowering into confidence as she burst into the biggest smile he’d seen yet. It nearly knocked him over with its brilliant power.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes moist. “But just so you know, I aim to make you see that I can give you everything, too.” She gave a cute shrug. “Carlota’s never wrong.”

  Though he doubted her optimism, he kept his tongue, sitting back down in his chair because he didn’t feel it was the time to leave.

  Aw, hell, he would admit it. He just didn’t want to go.

  For the next couple of hours, they relaxed with each other, talked about her family, his family, opening up more by the minute, because what secrets were left to tell?

  Jackson could pinpoint one, he thought, after kissing Felicia good-night under her porch lamp.

  She certainly wouldn’t appreciate knowing that he never intended to have children at all.

  Last cowboy or not.


  Chapter Ten

  T he following week was a lovely blur for Felicia, consisting of visits to the Hanging R, post-dinner quality hanging-out time with Bobby…

  …and post-Bobby quality alone time with Jack.

  Ever since the night he’d come to her cottage, they’d been seeing each other, kissing under the moonlight, holding hands as the stars blazed down on them. She hadn’t intended to tell him about her infertility so early on, but it’d obviously been the right choice. Surprisingly, the revelation had seemed to sway him toward her instead of away, unlike what had happened with the rest of her boyfriends.

  Just imagine—her last cowboy had been the first man to ever take the news decently.

  It was the last thing she would have predicted.

  And the second-to-last thing was the way Jack had managed to get into Bobby’s good graces. Not that the wrangler was overextending himself in this area. No, ironically, all Jack had to do was be around and Bobby would gravitate toward his general area, both of them sitting near each other wordlessly while Jack whittled on the sly and Bobby colored pictures with the markers and paper Felicia had bought him.

  The sight touched her, but stymied her just the same.

  Didn’t Bobby know that Jack had kid issues?

  More importantly, didn’t Jack himself even know?

  Felicia was asking herself these kinds of needless questions a few nights later, when she suggested to Carlota that they take a few Oakvale boys and girls—children of their friends and fellow house workers—to the rodeo and out for a burger afterward.

  “You know Toby’s going to be there,” Carlota said.

  “I don’t mind,” Felicia answered. “My ex-boyfriends can be wherever they want. Besides, Bobby’s all fired up to see a rodeo. He’s never been to one before.”

  Thus, a plan was born, made all the better after Jack said he would go with them.

  Even with all those kids there.

  Was he getting more comfortable around them? Felicia would have to spy closely tonight, just to see what was going on.

  It turned out that all of them—six Oakvale children, Bobby, Felicia, Jack and Carlota—enjoyed the festivities, the red, white and blue bunting around the arena, the calf roping, bull riding and barrel racing. Toby Baker even fell off his bull after two seconds, adding a decidedly poetic sense of justice to the proceedings.