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

  “You stay in my bed. I’ll move in there,” he insisted.

  “No!” She set down the sponge she was using to wash a pan. “I mean, no, thanks, that won’t be necessary. I want to be in my own space tonight. It’ll be fine.”

  Sometimes she could be so stubborn. “All right,” he said, making a sudden decision. He stacked up the dirty plates on the counter for her. “Doesn’t matter either way. I don’t plan on sleeping here tonight, anyway.”

  “Oh?” she said in a cool tone, turning her back to him. After a slight hesitation, she added, “Going for a sleepover? Teresa maybe?”

  He set his jaw. He wanted to spin the woman around and shake her. “I’m not interested in Teresa, Rhiannon. You’re the only woman I want to sleep with.”

  She didn’t respond, but he saw her grip the edge of the counter. He had to resist the urge to peel her hands off the tiles and make her squeeze him that tight. Except she’d probably just go for his throat.

  “It’s been a week since the rustlers hit. I’m worried they’ll be back. Maybe if I watch the herd I’ll get lucky and catch those sons of bitches in the act.”

  She finally turned to face him. “What brought this on?”

  “The Cattlemen’s Association has doubled the reward for their capture. I want that money. It’s enough to put Irish Heaven back on its feet.” Maybe even start his string of rodeo ponies. Like he’d always dreamed of raising, instead of cattle.

  He could see the defiance in her eyes. The refusal to believe his supposition that Irish Heaven was as good as his. Of course, he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Fitz hadn’t told them anything concrete, and every time Hawk’d brought up his will since, he’d become agitated and started talking about the old country and his brother.

  Still, it was the only straw Hawk had, so he’d grasp it.

  But there was a silent, private battle going on between him and Rhiannon, neither of them giving an inch, conducted through looks and stances, hard work, and her ignoring the deliberate brushes of his hand over her skin whenever he got close enough to touch her.

  He liked her defiance, her gritty unwillingness to give up. It showed character. But sooner or later she’d come around to him. She had no choice.

  He was hunting her, like a wolf stalking a lone doe, tiring her out, wearing her down, until the day she’d finally surrender. To him.

  Hawk didn’t care anymore that he currently had nothing to offer her but his name. With the reward, things would change. Then he’d be worthy of her. He just had to make damn sure he was the one who caught those rustlers.

  Because he wanted her.

  And one day soon he intended to have her.

  Permanently.

  Rhiannon gazed out the window of her new room onto the vast moonlit landscape of sand, chaparral and piñon that stretched endlessly from the silent ranch house to the distant black horizon. Murky shadows stirred in fits and spurts, prompted by soft gusts of desert wind. She pulled up the window sash and shivered in the blast of cold, sage-scented air.

  Peering into the darkness, she listened carefully. Wind whispered through dry branches; far away a pair of coyotes howled back and forth in mournful yips and yowls.

  There was no sign of Redhawk. Neither sight nor sound.

  She wrapped her arms around herself uneasily. He’d been gone when she got home from work tonight, just as he’d said he’d be. Glancing down at her makeshift bed, she tried to make herself get back in it and close her eyes. But she knew sleep would elude her, as it had until now.

  She didn’t like sleeping without Hawk close by.

  In fact, she was miserable. She hadn’t realized how safe and secure his mere presence in the house made her feel. Not that she was afraid of anything specific. Other than a vague disquiet caused by the overwhelming loneliness and emptiness of the miles and miles of the foreign desert terrain surrounding the house. She’d gotten over her fear of wild animals, and so far the rustlers hadn’t hurt anyone in their raids. Unless you counted the wounded steer—and Rudy Balboa—but those appeared to be accidents. There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself.

  Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms, she slid the window closed. And looked around for something to do for the rest of the night. Or at least until he came home.

  “Darlin’?”

  A gentle hand shook Rhiannon’s shoulder as Hawk’s voice softly called her name. She lifted her head and blinked, disoriented. She was lying curled up on the living room floor. For the life of her she couldn’t remember why.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  Peering around, bleary-eyed, at the stacks of cartons and piles of papers surrounding her, she suddenly remembered. Filling time until he came home. “Cleaning out closets.”

  “What the—Why?”

  Good question. She realized she was holding something against her chest, and glanced down. A flood of sad consternation filled her as she recalled the thick bundle of ribbon-bound letters clutched in her hands.

  “Rhiannon? Baby, what’s going on?”

  Sitting up, she cradled the letters in one arm and rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. And the closets were all so cluttered I could never fit—” She halted at his dubious look. “I guess I fell asleep on the floor.”

  He jerked his chin at her arm. “What have you got there?”

  She hesitated before answering. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to know. It was just…she felt a little guilty. The letters were, after all, private. And Fitz was right in the next room.

  Hawk reached for the bundle, and she let him take them.

  “It’s letters. To Fitz.” He squinted at the return address. “From your mother?”

  Eyes suddenly stinging, Rhiannon nodded. “Oh, Hawk, I never should have read them.”

  He tossed the letters aside. “Come here.”

  Pulling her to her feet, he enfolded her in his strong embrace. His rough ankle-length duster was still stiff and cold from being outside, and he smelled of horses and dust and masculine sweat. But she’d never felt so comforted, or wanted to be anywhere so badly as she wanted to be right where she was.

  “They were in love,” she murmured threadily. “My mother was in love with her husband’s brother.”

  Hawk sighed. “Yeah. I figured as much.”

  Her heart squeezed. Was she the only one who hadn’t known? What about Aunt Bridget and Uncle Patrick? Had they—

  She gasped. Her father! Was that why he’d given the farm to them? Because maybe he thought—

  “Shh,” Hawk soothed, running his hand up and down her back. “Leave it be, darlin’. This tired, you’re apt to come to all sorts of wild conclusions.”

  “Too late,” she whispered.

  He kissed her forehead. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered back. “I’ll help you forget.”

  Wrapped in his calm, powerful arms, she was, oh, so tempted. She looked up and saw sympathy radiating from his warm chocolate eyes, but she also saw weariness. The sharp planes and angles of his handsome face were softened by fatigue, the sensual curve of his mouth bracketed by deep furrows. No need to ask if he’d caught the rustlers.

  Time to think of someone else besides herself. “Did you get any sleep out there?”

  “A little.”

  Probably about as much as she had. “You go up,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

  “What about you?”

  “I better clean up this mess.”

  “Rhiannon—”

  She put a finger to his lips. “You’re about to fall over. Go on.” Then she kissed him. A sweet, tender kiss. He went to deepen it, but she pulled away.

  He didn’t let her go. “I’ll sleep better if you’re with me.”

  It was their usual ritual. Him pushing, her pulling back. She kissed him on the jaw and shook her head. “Sun’s coming up. Chores to do.”

  He sighed and loosened his hold, letting his hands slide down her arms. “You’ll break down eventually and come to me,�
�� he said. “You’re mine. You know damn well you’re mine.”

  With that he turned and slowly walked away. Leaving her standing there, her whole world tilting on its axis. His claiming words thrilled her to the core. But also made her dizzy with panic. Because he was right, on both counts. She was his, heart and soul. And if he kept up his pursuit, she would break down, sooner or later, and let him take what he wanted.

  Swallowing, she watched him drop his duster onto a chair and climb the stairs, the yellow light of dawn painting the dusky skin of his face a glowing bronze. She wanted him so badly, it would be easy to give in.

  But if she did, where would that leave her? And her heart?

  She would have to think carefully about that. Especially after this last blow. Her own mother had married the wrong man and paid for it by living a life of loneliness, five thousand miles from the man she truly loved.

  Would it be better to be with Hawk, even if he didn’t return her feelings, than to spend a lifetime filled with regret?

  The answer frightened her as nothing else ever had.

  Because either way, she would lose.

  And that was the loneliest feeling of all.

  The next night, Hawk again spent out in the canyons watching the cattle. And the night after that. And the night after that.

  Rhiannon was worried about him. The weather had turned chilly during the day, dipping down close to freezing at night. He claimed he had an arctic-weight goose-down sleeping bag, but she saw how drawn and ragged he looked when he dragged in just after dawn each morning.

  “You have to stop this nonsense,” she told him sternly on the fourth day. “You’ll make yourself ill. Or freeze to death.”

  “Guess you’d get the ranch then,” he said with a tired, wry smile, warming his hands over the woodstove. She’d taken to lighting a blaze in it when she spotted his silhouette galloping over a rise about five miles away, coming home.

  “Don’t be morbid,” she snapped. “That’s not funny.”

  He leveled her a look. “I won’t stop until I catch them. I can’t. You know that.”

  “At least light a fire to sleep next to,” she pleaded.

  “Yeah. And alert everyone within a hundred miles I’m there. No, Rhiannon. I’m fine.”

  She huffed out a breath and stomped into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of coffee. And he called her stubborn. She’d met donkeys less obstinate than that man.

  “But if you’re so worried,” he said, accepting the mug, “come upstairs and warm my bed for me.”

  The man was also relentless.

  She allowed him to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Don’t spill your coffee,” she warned when the kiss threatened to go too far. She’d found it impossible to deny him when he kissed her, but she was always careful not to let it go beyond the point of danger.

  “Woman, if the frost don’t kill me, you will,” he muttered when she slid from his embrace.

  She helped him off with his long duster and went to hang it on the peg in the laundry room, along with the jacket he wore under it. He usually left the duster in the barn, so she called, “Do I need to rub down Tonopah?” thinking he must have come right in without tending to his horse.

  “No. I got him. It was just so freaking cold I had to put my coat back on to walk to the house.” He downed his coffee and set the cup on an end table. “Sure would like a warm body to snuggle up with, falling asleep. Take the chill off.” He sent her a lazy smile.

  “Falling asleep, eh?”

  He winked. “Eventually.”

  “Take an extra-hot shower. Or maybe a cold one. That should do the trick.”

  He let out a long, mock-aggrieved sigh. “Like I said, killin’ me.” Shaking his head, he started up the stairs.

  He was limping badly. His knee must be hurting like the dickens from sleeping outside in the harsh, frigid weather. This really had to stop, she decided. It didn’t matter about the reward. His health was far more important than any amount of money could ever be. Rhiannon knew that with bitter certainty. Tonight she would have a talk with him.

  A half hour later she suddenly heard a loud crash from upstairs.

  “By the saints!” She bounded up the stairs two at a time, calling, “Hawk! Are you all right?”

  When she reached his bedroom, she found him sitting on the floor, wincing in pain and holding his knee in both hands.

  “My God!” She dropped to his side and hovered, not knowing whether to hug him or call the hospital. “What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” he said gruffly, adding a few curses under his breath. “Go away.”

  “You are not fine, and I will not go away. Here, let me help you into bed.” She got up and tried to lift him, but it was like trying to raise a two-ton anchor. She also realized with a start that he was wearing nothing but a bath towel; his body was warm and steaming, fresh from the shower. How could she have missed that?

  He slanted her a glance from under his lashes. “Oh, sure. Now that I’m crippled you’ll get into bed with me.”

  With a cough, she dropped her hands from under his bare, muscular biceps. “Who said anything about me getting into bed? Honestly, Hawk. You really are shameless.”

  “And you are heartless.” He leaned over and grabbed a pillow from the bed. She was pretty sure she still had a heart because it fluttered wildly when the bath towel threatened to come loose from his waist. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll sleep right here on the floor. Hand me a blanket, will you?”

  Her jaw dropped as he lay back on the carpet, propped the pillow under his head, folded his arms over his broad chest and gazed up accusingly at her.

  “You get into that bed right this minute, Redhawk Jackson.”

  His bottom lip jutted out. “I’d like a couple of aspirin, too, while you’re at it.”

  Her jaw dropped even further. She put her hands to her hips. “Stop acting like a two-year-old!”

  “Or you’ll do what, Miz O’Brannoch? Spank me?”

  “I just might, at that!” she declared.

  The twinkle in his eyes should have warned her. “So wait,” he said, “are you saying you’ll spank me if I stay on the floor, or if I get into bed?” The corner of his lip twitched.

  She finally twigged. “Oh!” she cried, scandalized, and grabbed the pillow to whack him with it.

  He burst out laughing, caught her around the waist and tried to pull her down onto the floor with him. Against her will, she started to giggle. It was impossible to fight him, convulsing with mirth.

  “Ow!” he growled, when he rolled toward her. “Damn knee!” He let her go to grab it.

  “Oh, love,” she murmured, and put her arms around him. “I’m so sorry! Please let me help you into bed. This hard floor will kill that knee.”

  Reluctantly he nodded, and together they got him sitting up on the mattress, his long leg stretched out gingerly.

  “I’ll get an ice pack,” she said, studiously ignoring the fact that the bath towel had been left on the floor.

  He grasped her hand before she could leave. “You’ll come back?” She nodded. “And you’ll lie down with me?” She hesitated. “I really want to hold you.”

  Her stomach zinged at the thought. Of its own volition, her head nodded again. How could she deny a wounded man? “All right, then. But just for a little while.”

  When she returned with the ice pack and carefully placed it over his swollen knee, his breath hissed in. “Damn, that smarts. Must have banged it good to hurt this bad.”

  “You don’t remember?” She propped a pillow under it to ease the muscle tension.

  “Always knocking into something or other during the course of the day. Nothing jumps out.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and moved the ice gently back and forth over his knee. “Better?” He nodded. “You can’t keep sleeping nights on the hard, cold ground, Hawk. That’ll just make it worse.”

  He regarded her. “What’s worse is sleeping in th
e room next to you and not being able to touch you.”

  “Hawk—”

  “I thought you were going to lie down with me.” She must have looked uncertain, because he added wryly, “Baby, I can’t move my leg without screaming in agony. You’re safe enough tonight.”

  A slight exaggeration, but she got the point. She started to climb over him to the empty part of the bed, but he grabbed her arms, shaking his head. “No. Take off your clothes first.”

  Her lips parted in consternation. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “I swear, the way I’m hurtin’, any hanky-panky’s gonna have to be your doing. But I need to feel my lover skin to skin.”

  She sat back down and gazed at him in misery. “We’re not lovers, Hawk.”

  “You can’t change what’s happened between us, Rhiannon. We’re lovers, and always will be, whether you want to acknowledge it or not.”

  He grasped her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. After searching his exhausted, guileless face, she relented, hesitantly unbuttoning her cotton blouse and unhooking her bra.

  “So proper,” he murmured, watching with half-lidded eyes. “Next time just wear the sweatshirt.”

  She shivered in the chilly dawn air, her nipples tight and hard.

  “Keep goin’,” he encouraged, flicking open the snap of her jeans. “Hurry so we can get under the blankets.”

  Without giving herself time to think about the folly of her actions, she stripped out of her jeans and panties and climbed into bed with him.

  He caught her when she was halfway over and pulled her down on top of him. Her breasts pillowed softly onto his solid chest, and her leg slipped between his thighs. She couldn’t help herself, a choking moan of need slipped from her throat as their bodies made contact, meshed and settled together in a perfect fit of male and female puzzle pieces.

  He was aroused. Blatantly, wonderfully, long and hard. But he made no overtly sexual move. Just drew his arms around her and held her close, after flipping the covers over both of them.

  She tipped her head up for a kiss, knowing she was already lost.

  His mouth was warm and persuasive, the bed a musky cocoon of bare limbs and heated skin. He held her there, his hands brushing lightly over her naked body.