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

  “And tomorrow we move the herd.”

  He gave her a hug. “Tomorrow we move the herd.”

  The dream was gone for him. He had to accept that he wouldn’t be raising his rodeo horses, or anything else, on Irish Heaven. Bringing the cattle to the corrals would keep them safe, but he could also kiss the Cattlemen’s Association reward goodbye. And with it, the ability to put the ranch back on its feet.

  This was the end of the road for him.

  It was a good strategy for saving the property, but it also ensured there would be no need for a cowboy on the ranch after spring calving. No cattle meant no one to care for them. And there wasn’t much else for a man like him to do around a ranch with no herd or horses. Rhiannon could get another job and just live there. He had no other skills. No one was going to hire him as a bookkeeper or sales clerk or even a bartender. He was useless without a horse under him. This was it.

  But he’d be damned if he’d let anyone take Irish Heaven away from Rhiannon. Not when she so obviously wanted to fight for it. He’d stay and help her. Until spring calving.

  Then he’d go.

  Yeah, it was about time he put his troubled past behind him and struck out on his own, forged a real future for himself. His mother’s problems and his old rodeo injury had been crutches long enough. He would never fulfill his dreams clinging to a life based on guilt over the past and a fear of failure in the present.

  Sure he had a bum knee and worse luck. But he was a good horse trainer. He’d find a job that paid actual money, and save every penny until he could buy a place of his own. It might be just one acre, but it would be his. And it would be all legal, on paper. Not just a pipe dream or a promise.

  It was the right thing to do. Rhiannon was Fitz’s blood kin. She deserved to have the ranch. He’d known it all along, he just hadn’t been able to admit he’d wasted eleven years of his life on an impossible dream. He should have known better.

  Now it was time to fix past mistakes.

  Get on with his life.

  The woman in his arms stirred, and his heart squeezed so hard in his chest he had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning out loud.

  How would he ever find the strength to leave her?

  How would he be able to walk away from all this?

  But how could he stay? Even if she married him, he’d have no way of supporting her after the herd was sold. Besides, she’d made it very clear she had no interest in being his wife.

  She wouldn’t marry him. And he couldn’t stay.

  End of the rodeo. Come springtime, his eight seconds were all used up and he’d have to limp away from this one the loser.

  But this time, instead of a banged-up knee, he’d be leaving with a broken heart. And he doubted if he’d ever recover from that.

  Chapter 15

  F itz was having a good day, and Rhiannon didn’t want to spoil it. She kept her smile firmly in place as she puttered in the kitchen and he chatted on about an old Celtic dolmen he and her da had discovered on the family farm as boys. He was speaking as if it had happened just yesterday, excited as boys get, and worried that his archrival Lloyd Collins would hear wind of it.

  “There’s treasure buried beneath them stones!” he declared. “Silver and gold! He’ll steal it—I know he will.”

  Rhiannon felt guilty ignoring Fitz, but she was too preoccupied by Redhawk’s troubling behavior to concentrate.

  Hawk had taken the attack a week ago badly. He hadn’t been the same since. He was even broodier than when she’d first arrived at Irish Heaven. And had avoided her nearly as much as when she was still convinced he disliked her.

  “He’s a snake, that Lloyd Collins is! Gotta watch him every minute, I do.”

  Of course, she knew Hawk didn’t dislike her. The few nights they’d spent in bed together since moving the herd down to the corrals had been…wonderful. He’d been attentive and giving and sweetly devoted. He’d held her endlessly, just silently stroking his strong, callused hand over her skin. When they made love he was so achingly tender it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Him and his boyo Burton Grant. What a pair,” Fritz went on.

  But something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  She could feel it.

  And it terrified her.

  “The two of them are cookin’ up something together, you mark me words! They’ll steal everything if I let ’em!”

  The attack had galvanized Hawk, turned his determination to steel, to save the remainder of the herd. But it had also turned him away from her. Except for in bed, he was slowly, subtly withdrawing from her.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  She walked over and gave Fitz a hug. “Don’t worry, Uncle. Hawk is watching the treasure carefully. He won’t let anything happen to it.”

  “Aye, he’s a good lad.” He gave a laugh and looked up from his lunch. “So, Bridget, what’s this I hear about you and Patrick Callahan? Have you decided to give me over, then?”

  For a moment she was so surprised at being called by a name other than Janet, she didn’t understand what he was—

  “Uncle! I thought you said you and Aunt Bridget weren’t an item.”

  He seemed momentarily confused. “Sometimes you look so much alike I forget who I’m talking to,” he said, shaking his head, confusing her even more. Who? Janet, Bridget or herself?

  “Did you mean you and Aunt Bridget were involved?”

  Fitz blinked, and gave her a sad smile. “Now that Janet’s with Jamie, you better tell that Patrick Callahan I’ll give him a run for his money.”

  Her lips parted, and suddenly she couldn’t help asking on Bridget’s behalf, “Why should I wait for a man who doesn’t love me?”

  “He could learn,” he said seriously.

  She stared for a second, then shook herself mentally. That was never going to happen. Not with Fitz and Bridget, not with Hawk and her. And this was a vivid reminder why giving Hawk her heart had been the most foolish thing she’d ever done in her life.

  She placed a kiss on Fitz’s head. “Ever think about moving to Arizona?” she asked, grasping at anything at all to change the subject.

  “And move away from Ireland? Not unless me very life depended on it. Everyone I love is here.”

  She sighed, reminded of what the doctor had said about taking him back to Ireland. Too bad there was no possibility.

  She also remembered his outburst at court that day, and she wondered what life-threatening event had sent him fleeing his beloved homeland to America when his only brother had just been arrested and the woman he desperately loved left alone and terrorized with a child to raise.

  “What happened, Uncle Fitz?” she asked. “What made you flee Ireland?”

  He leaned in conspiratorially. “It was Lloyd Collins and Burton Grant,” he whispered. “They got the treasure. I had no choice but to leave.”

  Rhiannon settled Fitz in his favorite easy chair to watch the telly, which she tuned to a children’s show with short segments he could follow, then she went back into the kitchen to watch Hawk from the window. He was out in the corral putting Crimson through his paces, as he did every day warm enough to let the horses out of the barn.

  After that he’d probably sit on the rustic split-rail fence and stare out at the herd until the sun went down. Then he’d come in for supper and go out again and stare some more. As he’d done for the past week.

  Well, not if she could help it.

  She bundled up and walked out to where he and Crimson were working.

  “He looks good,” she said with deliberate cheerfulness. “Think he’ll be ready for spring?”

  “Should be,” Hawk said, glancing up. “Still needs work weaving barrels, but that’ll have to wait till the ground is less icy. Don’t want to risk him slipping.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, already chilly after two minutes. “When should that be?” She was really looking forward to warmer weather.

  He glanced up at the sk
y, which over the course of the day had filled with dark, menacing clouds. “Not anytime soon, looks like.”

  “More snow, you think?”

  He gave the tongue click for Crimson to come stand next to him. “Tonight, I’d say.” The horse trotted up and accepted a half carrot, munching noisily as Hawk rubbed his neck.

  They looked good together, the man with the copper skin and his red pony. Their dark eyes so composed and genuine. So hardworking. So honest in their affection for each other. One pair so guileless. The other so…deceitful.

  It was as obvious as the chiseled nose on his face.

  Hawk was hiding something.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she asked.

  He turned away to uncinch Crimson’s saddle. “Like what?”

  “Like why you’ve been avoiding me.”

  His movements slowed for a heartbeat, then he threw her a smile that tried to be wry. “Darlin’, every time I look at you all I think about is how to get you naked. We wouldn’t get a whole lot done around here if I didn’t try to steer clear.”

  He was lying. And yet it was true. It never took him long to get her down to bare skin when they were alone together. Her cheeks heated thinking of the blazingly sensual caresses he bestowed upon her every chance he got.

  All right, maybe he wasn’t lying.

  Could the explanation really be as simple as that?

  It didn’t feel quite right, but for the moment she’d have to accept it. She approached and leaned against his back, putting her arms around him as he grasped the saddle and removed it.

  “Who needs work, anyway?” she whispered to the back of his neck. To be honest, she was as mad for making love as he was. She wanted to experience it with him as often as she could, so when she went back to Ireland she’d at least have those breathtaking memories to pull out and relive. The more she had to savor, the less heartbroken she’d feel at his loss.

  He wasn’t the only one hiding something. Her decision to return to Ireland had solidified in the days since they moved the herd. But in the meantime she wanted every precious minute with him.

  He turned, still holding the saddle, and gave her a lopsided smile. “Fitz still awake?” he asked.

  Putting aside her melancholy, she reached up for a kiss. “Afraid so.”

  His lips were icy cold and a little stiff, but it didn’t take many seconds for them to heat up and become soft and pliant against hers. They parted, and his hot tongue invaded her mouth, tasting musky and exotic, setting off a chain reaction of heat in her whole body.

  Need bubbled up from deep within her. “I want you, Hawk.”

  There was a crunch as the saddle hit the snow a few feet away, and then she was in his arms. Their coats were bulky, and as his hands grappled to get under the thick layers he made a frustrated noise. “This isn’t working.”

  His tongue clicked the signal for Crimson to stand steady, and the next second she was sandwiched between the solid warmth of the horse’s side and Hawk’s broad chest. She felt a giant tug and the front snaps of her coat gave way, leaving one less barrier between them. Her pulse skyrocketed.

  He was wearing leather gloves. She shivered as his cold hand closed over her breast, and under her sweater she felt the erotic scrape of his supple, leather-clad thumb across her nipple. She moaned in pleasure. And heard the grate of a zipper.

  “What are you—Oh!”

  He pulled her jeans and panties down. Just a few inches. Enough to slide his hand between her thighs. The air was frigid on her bare skin, but suddenly she was on fire. His mouth came down on hers, swallowing her loud gasp.

  His heavy boots shoved hers apart and she wantonly gave herself up to the deliciously carnal sensations he was wreaking upon her. She began to tremble, sucking in breath after breath as his wicked gloved fingers brushed and circled the very center of her sizzling need. One finger entered her, and she shook with want of him.

  “Hawk,” she pleaded. Needing him inside her.

  But he was relentless in his sensual assault. He continued to coax, with his hands and his tongue and his words, without letting up.

  “Give it to me,” he said, low and rough in her ear. “I want it all, Rhiannon. Come on, baby. Show me how much you want me.”

  His finger slid over her again and she cried out, her body suddenly exploding in a violent, glittering climax that went on and on.

  He grabbed her as she dissolved into throbbing weakness, the cold forgotten, her worries eclipsed, through hot sensual oblivion.

  Then he turned her and bent her over against the horse, yanking her jeans down further. She squeezed her eyes shut as he came into her, hard and thick, with a growl of possession that she felt to the innermost reaches of her soul.

  She grabbed Crimson for purchase, and felt the stiff scratch of horsehair against her cheek as Hawk hilted inside her. She gasped in blinding pleasure. She’d never touch or smell a horse again without thinking of this moment.

  Hawk held her in an iron grip, his gloved hands wrapped around her thighs, keeping her right where he wanted her—right where she wanted to be—as he thrust into her over and over. Until he roared out her name in completion, and his arms banded around her middle as though he’d never let her go.

  “You’re mine,” he rasped between gulping breaths. “Don’t ever forget you’re mine.”

  Hawk hated himself for deceiving Rhiannon. She might not think he was husband material, but she cared for him. He could see it in her eyes when he made love to her. When he caught her looking at him while they worked side by side on some everyday chore. And in her smile when she woke up in his arms every morning.

  She was looking at him like that now as they relaxed in the living room, and he felt so guilty he had to turn away and hide his face.

  Only a jerk would betray that kind of trust. How could he just up and leave her come spring?

  Hell, it was her own fault! Her continual refusal to marry him was driving him away. He would never be what he wanted to be in her life, so he had to go. Now…before the need for her killed him. Make a new life for himself somewhere far away. And hope someday he’d forget her.

  He gave a silent snort. Like that was ever going to happen.

  The phone rang and she picked it up. Her face went stony and she extended the receiver to him.

  “It’s for you. Teresa.”

  He ground his teeth. Of all the stupid times for that woman to call. She knew he was a lost cause. Why did she persist in hounding him?

  “Hey, sweet thing! You coming out to Jake’s tonight?” Teresa asked brightly.

  “Sorry, can’t make it. Listen—”

  “But sugar, it’s New Year’s Eve!”

  His annoyance ground to a halt for the split second it took to add up days. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered. “Must have lost track.”

  “You can’t be having that much fun,” she said, a pouty edge to her voice.

  He glanced at Rhiannon, still rosy and disheveled from their afternoon’s activities. “As a matter of fact…”

  “You’re gross, Redhawk Jackson. And even you need to come up for air sometime. You can bring her, too, I guess.” She gave a huff.

  “Sorry, can’t leave Fitz,” he said patiently. There was no way on God’s green earth he was spending New Year’s Eve anywhere but Irish Heaven, and he said as much when Teresa protested that he could give the old man a sedative and lock the doors.

  “You’re getting real boring, Hawk,” she sputtered as her parting shot and hung up.

  He replaced the receiver and glanced at Rhiannon, who had her nose buried deep in a book, pretending not to listen.

  “That was Teresa,” he said.

  “I know. I answered the phone,” she reminded him primly, nose still buried.

  He didn’t know why it delighted him so much when she got jealous. A totally irrational pleasure. But there it was.

  “She wanted me to go to Jake’s. Invited you, too.”

  “Gener
ous of her.”

  “I’ll bet Burt will be there.”

  “Good. He can keep her company.”

  He chuckled. “She said it was New Year’s Eve.”

  The book dropped slightly. “Really?” The look on her face told him she’d been just as unmindful of time as he’d been lately. “I don’t suppose we have any champagne?”

  He gave her a sardonic look. “How about twelve-year-old Irish whiskey instead? I think there’s still some left.”

  She finally smiled. “I suppose that’ll have to do.”

  At midnight they polished off the rest of the bottle, with Fitz’s help. There wasn’t that much remaining in it—just enough to put a cheerful slant on things, and stir the embers left over from the afternoon.

  Which is probably why none of them noticed that night in the early hours when the rustlers sneaked into the corrals and stole the rest of the herd.

  Rhiannon took one look at Hawk’s face when he walked into the kitchen just after dawn New Year’s Day and she knew something was horribly wrong.

  He didn’t stomp. Didn’t yell. Didn’t even swear. But the look in his eyes would strike a man dead in his tracks.

  “They’re gone,” he said, and she knew instantly what he meant.

  She whipped her gaze out the window to the pasture, but it was impossible to see anything. As predicted, snow had just started coming down in blankets. “How many?” she asked.

  “Nearly all the steers. They generously left the cows for us to take care of until spring.” His voice was rife with anger and disgust.

  She slapped the towel in her hand down on the counter and spun on a toe toward the laundry room. “Let’s go after them.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  She grabbed her coat. “They couldn’t have moved them before it started getting light. It’s slow going out there. They can’t have gotten far.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Rhiannon. These guys are dangerous. They tried to kill me, if you remember.”

  “So we should just let them get away with it?”

  She knew she wasn’t being entirely rational. But the blood of a thousand years of rebellious Celtic spirit flowed in her veins and she was not giving up without a fight. “Get your rifle, Hawk. And if you have an extra, get one for me, too.”