T-Bone was a lanky string bean of a cowboy with curly close-cropped hair, wild untamed eyebrows, and a wad of chew as big as a walnut bulging in his cheek. He was taciturn and often grumpy but he knew cattle and, thank God, had never shown any interest in running off to compete on the rodeo circuit. At least, not up to now, he hadn’t. The way he was standing there, with his hands thrust into his back pockets, his head cocked attentively, nodding agreeably as he listened to whatever Clay was saying, made him look almost as starstruck as the two boys. Jo Beth decided she’d better nip that in the bud.
“I see you’ve met our new dude wrangler,” she said to T-Bone as she approached the group.
T-Bone shot her a dubious glance. “Dude wrangler?”
“Yes. Clay here—” she tipped her head in his direction, as cool and composed as if they’d done nothing more in her office than discuss the terms of his employment “—has agreed to hire on for the summer to help me ride herd on our paying guests.”
T-Bone raised his bushy brows, his expression conveying shocked skepticism and disgust in equal measures. “Better him than me,” he said laconically, and spat out a stream of tobacco juice from between his front teeth.
Jo Beth frowned at the gob of brown goo on the ground between them. “You’re going to have to watch that when the dudes get here,” she said.
“They ain’t here yet.”
“They will be by tomorrow afternoon. And it won’t make a very good first impression if one of them steps in a slimy wad of tobacco juice before they even get checked into their room.”
“They don’t want to step in anything slimy, they shouldn’t be spendin’ time on a cattle ranch.”
One of the boys snickered.
Jo Beth turned a gimlet eye on him. “Did Miz Steele send you boys over?”
He sobered up immediately. “Yes, ma’am. We hitched a ride over with Clay. That is—” he amended, belatedly recalling his manners “—Mr. Madison.”
“Clay’s fine,” Clay said.
Jo Beth ignored him. “And did she tell you what’s expected of you?”
“Yes, ma’am. She said we was to give you a hand with whatever needed doing and if we caused any trouble she’d see to it that we regretted it.”
“That about covers it,” Jo Beth said approvingly. “You’ll take your orders from T-Bone. What he says, goes. Is that clear?”
They nodded in unison. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Take them to my office to fill out their withholding forms, then show them what needs doing,” she said to T-Bone. “And make sure they head on back over to the Second Chance in time for their summer-school classes or Roxy will see to it that I regret it. You—” she jerked her chin at Clay “—come with me. I’ll show you where you can park your rig.” She walked around to the passenger side of his truck, pulled open the door, and climbed in. “Step on it, cowboy,” she said when he took just a moment too long to answer her summons. “You’ve already wasted enough daylight.”
Clay got into the truck. “You do know, don’t you,” he said, as he reached for the ignition, “that the dudes aren’t going to be getting up at five o’clock? Or even six, probably. They’re going to be on vacation. That means they’re going to want to sleep in. Maybe have brunch out by the pool.”
“You obviously haven’t read our brochure. If you had, you’d know we offer our guests an authentic ranch experience. What that means, among other things, is three meals a day, served family-style in the dining room. Anyone who wants brunch is going to have to drive into town for it.” She kept her voice and manner brisk and businesslike, the way she would with any new hand. It was best, she’d always thought, to begin as you meant to go on. And she meant, always, to have the upper hand.
“Head on around to the back side of the main barn,” she said, directing him with a gesture. “We have electrical and water hookups you can use but no sewage facilities. So if you need to empty your blackwater tanks, you’ll have to drive your rig on over to one of the RV and truck stations on 81.”
Clay brought his rig—a black Chevy pickup and state-of-the-art fifth wheel trailer—to a stop in the spot she indicated, set the parking break, and turned off the ignition. Jo Beth had the door handle up before the engine stopped running, her right shoulder pressed against the door to shove it open. Clay reached out and grasped her forearm lightly, stopping her from exiting the cab.
Jo Beth froze in midmotion, and turned her head to look, first at his hand and then, her gaze traveling slowly up his arm, into his eyes. Her expression was faintly incredulous, as if she were a queen who couldn’t believe one of her subjects had actually had the temerity to touch her. The look she gave him was the one he was beginning to think of as her freeze-the-balls-off-a-bull expression.
A lesser man would have been intimidated by that look and backed down. Clay merely tightened his grip on her arm and waited.
“You’re crowding me again, cowboy,” she said, her voice as frosty as her gaze. “And I believe I’ve already told you that I don’t like to be crowded.”
“Does that mean we’re going to do it your way?”
“My way?”
“Strictly business?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Her eyes flashed sudden fire, a smoldering sensual heat, full of promise and challenge that caused him to loosen his grip in a way her icy glare hadn’t. “But it also doesn’t mean we’re going to go at it in the front seat of this truck, either.” She shook his hand off and slid out of the cab.
Clay sat where he was for a long moment, trying to get his bearings. She’d surprised him again, confused him, bemused and baffled him. The woman changed direction quicker than a Brahman bull, and her sudden moves left him just as off balance. More so actually, because he could usually sense which way a bull was going to jump and brace for it. With her, he realized, he didn’t have a clue where things were going. She was fire and ice, then ice and fire, and sometimes both at the same time. It was maddening. And intriguing. And more challenging than anything had been in a long time. All he could do was hang on and ride it out, which, as luck would have it, was exactly what he liked best to do.
He was so immersed in trying to untangle the puzzle she presented that he jumped when she tapped on the glass on the driver’s side door.
“We need to talk,” she said, and motioned toward his trailer.
Had there ever been four words that struck more terror into the heart of man? he wondered, but he got out of the truck and followed her to the door of his fifth-wheeler. She stood wordlessly, waiting for him to unlock the door, and then preceded him inside. She moved to the middle of the trailer and then turned in a slow circle, her gaze openly assessing as she surveyed his home on wheels.
The interior was surprisingly clean and neat, with a place for everything and everything, apparently, in its place. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no untidy piles of clothes on the floor, no objectionable “art” on the walls. In addition to an almost full-sized stainless steel sink, the kitchen consisted of a two-burner stovetop, a microwave, a miniature refrigerator, and a small built-in table with seating for four. A portable TV and a coffeemaker were attached to the underside of one of the cabinets, leaving the countertops free.
In place of the usual built-in sofa in the living area sat a complicated-looking exercise machine bristling with weights and pulleys. It was bolted to the floor, as was the weight bench next to it. A wooden bookcase with slats across the front of each shelf to keep the books from toppling out in transit took up the rest of the available space in the living area.
Through the partially opened pocket door at the front of the trailer, she could see a bed, neatly made, covered with a Navajo blanket in a zigzagging pattern in emerald green, black, and deep wine red. There was a piece of abstract art, vaguely western in design, made of hammered metal and polished wood, bolted to the wall above the bed. There were no rodeo posters, no display of trophy belt buckles, and absolutely no clutter.
It wasn’t what she’d
expected but, then, she couldn’t really have said what she’d expected, except that she’d thought his living quarters would be more like him—brash, bold and unabashedly sexual. Instead, the trailer was poison neat, and nearly as austere as a monk’s cell.
Her fingers itched to open the drawers and cupboards, to poke into cabinets and closets to see if that’s where he kept the mess of his life. She leaned back against the kitchen counter instead, bracing her hips against it, and crossed her arms in front of her. “It’s very nice.”
“I like it.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “But that’s not what you brought me in here to talk about.”
“No, it isn’t.” She shifted her stance, uncrossing her arms, and brought her hands down on either side of her hips, bracing them on the counter behind her.
“Why don’t you quit fidgeting and just spit it out,” he suggested. “Unless you’d rather I just hoist you up on that counter you’re leaning on and do what we’re both dying to do?”
She straightened away from the counter so fast an impartial observer might have thought one of the burners behind her had suddenly come on.
“I take it that means we’re not going to ‘go at it’ in my trailer, either,” he said.
“No, we’re not.”
“What then?”
Jo Beth took a deep breath and decided to just say it, straight out. That’s what she was best at, after all. She was known for her bluntness and her ability to lay it—whatever it was—on the line.
“You were right,” she said. “What we have is sex. Incredibly fantastic sex. And if you want to keep having it, it’s got to be sex my way, by my rules.”
“Which are?”
“There will be no hanky-panky in front of my guests or my other wranglers. No quickies in the barn or anywhere else we might get caught. No stolen kisses. No accidental little touches when you think no one’s looking. None of those sly, knowing glances you think no one else sees. No slap-and-tickle in the front porch swing. No hand-holding. No butt patting. No pet names. No romantic nonsense of any kind. Just sex. And when it’s over, it’s over, and if I hear a whisper of gossip in the meantime, if I even think anyone suspects, it’s over right then and there, and you’re out of here. If you can’t live with that, then you might as well climb back into the cab of your truck and head on down the road right now. Have I made myself clear?”
“As crystal,” he said, surprised to find the words coming through clenched teeth. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why all the secrecy? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said. “I just like to keep my private life private, is all. I don’t like being the subject of gossip. And I don’t like sticky emotional strings. I like my sex easy and uncomplicated, with no commitments and no promises on either side.”
“Like a man, you mean,” he said, insulted. He wasn’t quite sure what he was getting so riled about. She was offering him simple, undemanding, straightforward sex with no games and no strings and no obligations. He should be tickled pink. So why did he feel his hackles rising, like a dog who was being teased or a wolf sensing danger?
“Yes, exactly like a man,” she said, pleased he understood. “Do we have a deal?” she asked, and stuck out her hand.
He looked at her from across the width of the narrow trailer, at her slim white hand, at her long silky brown braid and her big brown eyes, at the luscious swell of her shapely hips and the delicate curve of her small, stubborn chin. She was a hot, passionate, gorgeous woman, and she was offering him hot, passionate, uncomplicated sex. He’d be a stupid fool to say no.
“Deal,” he said and reached out to take her hand in his.
8
SHE WENT TO HIM that night, very late, after the last light in the bunkhouse had flickered out and the bright silvery globe of a nearly full moon was riding high in the ink black sky. Millions of stars added their twinkling glow to the night, making the flashlight she carried unnecessary. She walked quietly but boldly out to the barn, using neither subterfuge nor stealth to camouflage her actions or direction. Although it was highly unlikely she’d be observed so late at night, anyone who happened to see her would assume she was on her way to the barn to check on one of the animals or simply taking a late night stroll. And no one would think to question her, anyway. She was, after all, the jefe of the Diamond J and it was her right to wander anywhere on the ranch, anytime she wanted to.
She moved into and through the dark, silent barn, her ears attuned by long custom to the soft snufflings and snores of sleeping livestock, the scuttling and scurrying of nighttime creatures, the creaking of old, weathered structures. She paused now and then to peek over a stall door at the animal inside—the pregnant mare that was near term, the Hereford cow that had cut itself on barbed wire and had needed stitching—assuring herself that all was well. Everything was quiet. Everything was as it should be.
She exited through a side door on the north end of the building and walked the remaining few yards across the open ground to Clay’s trailer. The door was unlocked when she tried it. The inside of the trailer was dark and silent. She tiptoed carefully through the tiny living area and the galley-style kitchen, her hand outstretched, gingerly feeling her way along the countertop to the open pocket door at the front of the vehicle.
It was much lighter in the bedroom than in the rest of the trailer. There were long, narrow windows on either side of the bed, set high up in the walls for privacy. The short wine-red box-pleat curtains were pushed back, letting the moonlight stream in.
It spilled down on the recumbent form of the man in the bed. He was gloriously naked, a study in stark black and white in the moonlight, sprawled facedown on his stomach with the covers kicked off and lying in a heap at the foot of the bed. His head was pillowed on his right arm. His left knee was bent and drawn up nearly to his waist. The lighting and his position emphasized the long, smooth muscles of his back and legs, and the tight, startlingly white curve of his buttocks. It also exposed the tender, vulnerable flesh of his scrotum.
Jo Beth hovered in the open doorway, watching him, drinking him in with her eyes, feeling the wild, uncontrollable passion he roused in her rise up at the sight of him. She let it build until she couldn’t wait one more minute, not one more second, to touch him. And then, stealthily, hurriedly she began to undress. Boots and jeans and a shirt were all she had on. She peeled them off as quietly as possible, turning to pile them on the kitchen counter behind her. Naked, she tiptoed into the bedroom and up to the edge of the bed. He was still sleeping. Or pretending to be asleep. Either way was fine with her.
She leaned over the bed and reached out, touching him, very lightly, with just the fingertips of her left hand. She drew them slowly from the nape of his neck, down the strong curving line of his spine, over the crease between his buttocks to the soft skin covering his testicles. She felt him raise his hips, just slightly—she knew he’d been playing opossum!—and she turned her hand, sliding it deeper between his legs, cupping him in her palm.
He made a soft murmuring noise, less than a moan, more than a sigh. She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over him, brushing her bare breasts against his back, continuing to caress his balls with her clever fingers, rolling them gently, back and forth, like delicate Ben-Wai balls in a fleshy sack.
“I’ll give you about a year to stop that,” he said, his voice already thick with lust. She felt his muscles bunch and tense as he started to roll over to give them both more room to play.
Jo Beth leaned more heavily into his back, holding him where he was, and put her lips to his ear. “Don’t move,” she said, and nipped his lobe, not quite gently, to reinforce her order.
He acquiesced immediately, relaxing onto the bed, silently ceding control to her. She sucked his earlobe into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue, then released it to draw a wet line down the side of his neck, to hi
s nape, and down the hollow of his spine. She made her way down his back, slowly, with little cat licks, stopping now and then to blow gently on his skin, making him shiver in response. She kept the fingers of her left hand busy between his legs, gently squeezing and releasing his testicles as she licked her way down his back. She felt his body tense again as she drew near the base of his spine, but he lay very still and didn’t so much as move a muscle.
She knew what he was waiting for, hoping for, what he was anticipating with every fiber of his being. She was anticipating it, too, and didn’t make him wait, couldn’t make him wait because it would mean that she had to wait, too. She withdrew her hand from between his legs and curved it around his hip. “Turn over now,” she said, tugging a bit to make him roll onto his back.
His chest was wide and well developed, the smooth coil and flex of muscle and tendon shaded and defined beneath a dusting of fine silky hair that looked coal-black in the bright moonlight shining through the window. It grew in an almost perfect diamond pattern, starting from a point at the top of his sternum, spreading evenly from nipple to nipple and then narrowing down to a faint furry line that disappeared just a tad north of his belly button. His abdomen was washboard flat, roped with starkly defined muscles in the classic six-pack. His erection was massive in the moonlight, high and tight and hard against his washboard stomach.
Jo Beth shifted onto her knees beside his hip, slid her left hand down between his legs again to cup his balls, and curled her right around his cock, lifting it gently upright. Then she lowered her head, bringing her mouth down to within millimeters of his penis and swirled her tongue around the head, just once, as if she were licking a melting ice-cream cone.
His penis jerked in her hand and his whole body shuddered.
Best of Cowboys Bundle Page 132