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

  They reached the finish within seconds of each other, shuddering together in a white-hot climax, pressing close until the trembling passed, both of them totally exhausted, physically replete and wholly dissatisfied despite the blinding strength of their mutual release. The aftermath was equally unsatisfying.

  “Untie me, please,” Jo Beth said when she could breathe again. Her voice was icy calm and utterly controlled, as if she were completely unaffected by the sensual storm that had just raged through them. It took every last ounce of strength she had to make it sound that way.

  Clay unbuckled the belt that held her captive. “I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he said politely, chafing her wrists lightly as he released them. His touch was entirely impersonal, as if he hadn’t just had his hands all over her naked body. It took every last ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from gathering her up in his arms again. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that she would resist him as fiercely now as she had when he first pushed her down on the bed.

  He sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for the jeans on the floor. “I guess you’re right about it being over,” he said. “I’ll hook up my trailer and leave in the morning.”

  13

  JO BETH SPENT the better part of the night alternately crying into her pillow, berating herself for being a stupid, spineless fool, and cursing Clay Madison to hell. None of the various activities had proved to be in any way productive. And none of them were in any way evident the next morning as she circulated in the front yard among her first batch of dudes, saying her farewells and helping T-Bone get their luggage to their respective automobiles.

  Despite her personal unhappiness, she was gratified to see the satisfied smiles on the faces of her departing guests. It looked like everyone had had a good time. The man-eaters from New York had bagged their cowboy. The divorced dad and his teenaged son were still on speaking terms. The young couple celebrating their first anniversary were holding hands. And the four Bransons looked tanned and relaxed.

  The first week of operation had been a success and it had proved two things to her: dude ranching was profitable and it was doable. Maybe a little less doable without Clay to help her, but she’d find someone else just as good with the dudes. Someone, moreover, whom there’d be no chance of her falling in love with, and no chance of her breaking her heart over.

  Because, damn it, her heart was broken. It wasn’t just her pride this time, the way it had been with Tom, although, God knew, her pride was going to take a hell of a beating. As soon as Clay’s shiny black pickup rolled down her driveway and out onto the main highway with his trailer in tow, the whole county would be privy to the fact that she’d been dumped. By a cowboy. Again.

  She calculated that about ten minutes after his truck was spotted heading out of town, some concerned friend and neighbor would drop by to commiserate with her and ask her what the hell she’d been thinking. Then, judging by what had happened when Tom had thrown her over for Roxy, it would take, oh, at least eight years before people stopped talking about it. If they ever did. She was a two-time loser now and, generally speaking, there wasn’t any time limit on how long you could remain a topic of conversation when you’d made the same mistake twice.

  “Where’s Clay this morning?” asked Carla Branson. “My boys want to say goodbye to him personally.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jo Beth said. “He’s…busy.”

  “Not too busy to say goodbye to everyone,” said Clay from behind her.

  Jo Beth plastered a smile on her face and turned around to face him. “I thought you’d be packing,” she said. Even to her own ears, the words sounded stilted and cold.

  “Not all that much to pack,” he said, his tone as icily polite as hers. “Everything I own is already in the trailer.”

  “Hey, Clay! Clay!” The redheaded Branson boys ran up to him, clamoring excitedly for attention.

  “Hey, there, fellas,” Clay said. “What’s up?”

  “We’re going home today,” one of them said.

  Jo Beth thought it was Spencer, but she wasn’t sure.

  “Yeah,” said the other one, “and we wanted to give you this.” He thrust his hand out, palm up.

  His sibling plucked it out of his hand with two fingers and held it up to Clay. “We found it,” he said. “It’s a real Indian arrowhead.”

  “We wanted you to have it for teaching us to ride and lasso and stuff.”

  “Well, that’s real nice of you both,” Clay said, “but I can’t take this. You found it. You should keep it as a memento of your vacation.”

  “Naw, that’s okay. We’re coming back next year. Mom said.” He beamed up at his mother. “We’ll find another one. Maybe you can even help us look?” the boy said hopefully. “We’d let you.”

  “That’s a real nice offer, boys, but I won’t be here next year.”

  “How come?” they chorused in unison.

  “Why the hell—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.” T-Bone nodded at Carla Branson. “Why the hell not?” he said to Clay.

  Clay darted a quick look at Jo Beth. “I’ve been given my walking papers.”

  “You fired him?” T-Bone said incredulously. “What the hell—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.” He sketched another nod at Carla Branson. “What the hell for?” he demanded of Jo Beth.

  “I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Jo Beth said.

  “But—”

  “We’ll discuss it later, T-Bone.”

  “But—”

  “Later,” she said, and turned away from him to continue with her farewells.

  “What in blazin’ hell did you do to make her mad enough to give you the boot?” she heard T-Bone whisper behind her, loud enough to be heard all the way down to the barn.

  Clay’s reply was more discreet but she heard it, too. “We had a difference of opinion,” he said gruffly. “And since she’s the boss, it’s her opinion that counts.”

  She realized then, with those few words, said in just that disgruntled tone of voice, that he’d changed the entire complexion of the situation. Somehow, for some reason, he’d managed to create the impression that he wasn’t leaving by his own choice. That he’d been sent packing. By her.

  She could have made that very same assertion till the cows came home but, given her prior history, she wouldn’t have been believed. Everyone would have just assumed that she was covering up her own foolishness and making excuses. But that very same assertion coming from Clay—and repeated by T-Bone, who was one of the biggest gossips in Bowie County—was golden and would be accepted as gospel without question.

  She wasn’t going to have to face the gossips, after all. And no one was going to “poor Jo Beth” her. Her precious pride was intact and unassailed—and it was, she realized, completely worthless to her.

  “Well, shit,” she said under her breath.

  She knew, suddenly, what she had to do. She had to take a chance. She had to lay it on the line. She had to put herself out there and quit worrying about what everyone else would think of her. And if that meant looking like a fool, so be it. She’d look like a fool.

  Without giving herself time to think about it, she stomped up the wide wooden steps to the front porch and grabbed the coil of braided rawhide rope hanging from the brass hook beside the front door. It was being used for decoration but it was a good stiff, strong rope made from bull hide, meant for roping steers by the heels. It should be plenty strong enough for what she had in mind. She uncoiled it, building herself a perfect “hoolihan” loop as she did so. With a quick, backward flick of her wrist, she sent it flying through the air.

  It went right where she wanted it to—she’d been a junior roping champion in the under-twelve age group, after all—and whirled down over Clay Madison’s head without touching his wide-brimmed black Resistol cowboy hat. She gave the rope another flick so that it settled down around his waist, and pulled it tight.

  He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. He didn’t so
much as move a muscle.

  Nobody did. Not Clay. Not T-Bone. Not any of the other Diamond J hands or any of the dudes who, moments ago, had been milling around the front yard like ants at a picnic. Everyone stopped and waited and watched.

  The ball was in her court.

  She took a deep breath and laid her pride on the line. “Stay,” she said. “Please.”

  Clay didn’t turn around. “Why?”

  She took another deep breath. “Because I love you. Damn it to hell! I love you, Clay Madison.”

  There was a long tense moment of silence, and then Clay turned around to face her, a grin of pure happiness lighting up his face. It was his wickedly charming, cocksure cowboy grin, the one that turned her knees to water and sent fire racing through her blood.

  “Come here, darlin’,” he said, and yanked on the rope—hard—so that she came stumbling down the wide wooden steps and across the patch of lawn to fall into his waiting arms.

  He clutched her to his chest, tightly, as if he would never let her go, and she held on just as tightly. She felt like crying and laughing at the same and did a little of both, sniveling happy tears into his shirtfront. And then he worked his hand between them, and lifted her stubborn chin on a curled forefinger.

  “I love you, too,” he said, and kissed her, long and hard and thoroughly, right there in the daylight, in front of God and everybody. She kissed him back—and to hell with what the neighbors might think.

  Epilogue

  IT WAS THEIR anniversary. Not of their wedding, but of the day he had seen her through the lenses of Tom Steele’s binoculars.

  Jo Beth sat, naked, in the water tank, just as she had that day, her head resting against the concrete rim, her eyes narrowed against the blazing Texas sun, her fingertips idly circling her swollen nipples as she watched Clay undress in preparation for their annual private party for two. The first few times they’d reenacted it, he’d insisted on a faithful recreation of the original experience, right down to him watching her perform solo from the vantage point of the tree-covered hillock yonder, before he joined her in the tank.

  Now, after nearly five years of marriage, with a two-year old back at the house under Esperanza’s eagle-eyed care, a second baby beginning to show itself in the slight swell of Jo Beth’s formerly flat belly, and a full complement of vacationing dudes who couldn’t always be trusted to stay where they were supposed to, he was willing to deviate from a strict reenactment of the original experience in favor of more efficient time management.

  Instead of riding off to the tree-shaded hillock, he stood by the water tank, undressing as he watched her stoke and caress herself. His dark eyes were avid with lust, as if it were the first time he’d seen her do it. His breathing was fast. His pulse was visible in the vein at the side of his neck.

  “Why don’t you come on in and join me, cowboy?” Jo Beth invited when he was naked. “The water’s great.”

  “You look like you’re doin’ just fine on your own, ma’am.” His lips turned up in the wicked, roguish smile that still made her knees weak—or would have, if she’d been standing. “I think I’ll just watch a bit longer, if you don’t mind.”

  “But I do mind.” She arched her back, thrusting her breasts more completely out of the water, and slid her hand down between her legs. “I need you. Bad.”

  “Well, in that case…” He started to step into the tank.

  “Put your hat back on first,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Your hat.” She lifted her chin toward where his black cowboy hat hung on the saddle horn of his dappled gray mount. “Put it on.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have this persistent fantasy of you. In this tank with me. Soaking wet. Wearing nothing but your black cowboy hat.” She continued to work one hand between her legs as she spoke. The other caressed her breasts. “It makes me hot just thinking about it.”

  He grabbed the hat off the saddle horn and put it on.

  In too much of a hurry to wait any longer, she sat up straight, reaching for him as he stepped into the water. One hand slid to the back of his thigh, pulling him down to her. The other curled around his rigid cock, as if to guide him to where she needed him to be.

  “Hey there, now, darlin’.” He took her hands in his as he sank to his knees in the sun-warmed water. “Let’s slow this down some.”

  “But I want you inside me,” she said almost petulantly.

  “And you’ll have me inside you.” He turned her hands in his and pressed a warm kiss to the center of each palm. “Soon.”

  “Now,” she demanded in her most autocratic tones.

  “Soon,” he countered again as he trailed his lips up her water-slicked forearm to the tender crook of her elbow. “I want to play first.” He grazed her shoulder with his open mouth, careful to keep from bumping her with the rigid brim of his hat. “I want to touch you.” He skimmed her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “Kiss you.” He nibbled at the curve of her neck. “Love on you for a good long while. And then—” he touched his lips to her ear, his breath hot with promise against her skin, his hat brim shading them both from the relentless sun “—when you think you can’t take any more without going crazy, I’ll flip you over and slip inside you and pound into you until the world explodes and you beg me to stop.”

  Jo Beth sighed languorously and let him have his way with her. It was a good way. The cowboy way.

  Every Inch a Cowboy

  Carole Mortimer

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  D ana woke with a groan after a long and restless night. Rising, she took a quick shower, then pulled on a bright yellow flowered sundress, hoping the cheerful color would brighten her mood. It didn’t.

  Feeling sleep deprived and listless, she fixed breakfast out of habit, though she had no appetite for anything but a glass of orange juice and a piece of buttered toast.

  Sitting there, she knew she couldn’t go to work. She couldn’t face her boss and her co-workers, all of whom had been invited to the wedding. Many of her clients were people she knew, people she saw on a regular basis. By now, she was certain they had all heard that her fiancé, Rick, who was vice president of one of her company’s best accounts, had run off to Las Vegas with his secretary.

  Her mind in turmoil, she drank the last of the orange juice, took a bite of toast and threw the rest in the garbage. It had been a year since she’d had any time off. Her vacation was overdue and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to take some time off from work. She knew her father would call it cowardly of her to run away at a time like this. He would tell her to stay and face the music, chin up and all that, but she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t, at least not now. She needed some time alone, time to sort out her thoughts. Time to come to grips with the fact that she was never going to trust another man and that she was probably never going to get married, never be swept off her feet by a handsome knight on a white horse. Because you couldn’t trust knights, either. Even Lancelot had been a tarnished cavalier.

  Certain that she was doing the right thing, she called work and told Mr. Goodman that an emergency had come up and that she needed to take two weeks off before the wedding in addition to the week she was already taking for her honeymoon. Since she was a valued employee and she hadn’t had a vacation in over a year, her boss reluctantly agreed. Next, she called her mother and told her what had happened. Hearing the sympat
hy and understanding in her mother’s voice brought quick tears to Dana’s eyes.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Marge Westlake said. “Where are you going?”

  “I thought I’d go up to the mountains.” Dana had a small house in the foothills that her grandmother had left her. Though the house was only a few hours away, it had been years since Dana had gone there. Now it beckoned like a haven of safety, a place where she could hide and lick her wounds.

  “That’s a wonderful idea, dear,” her mother said. “You just go and relax and don’t worry about a thing.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Tell Dad I’m sorry…”

  “Pish posh,” her mother said airily. “Don’t give it another thought. Call me when you get there.”

  “All right, Mom. Thanks again.”

  After hanging up, Dana packed her bags, dumped them in the back seat of her Toyota and left town. It was a beautiful day for a long drive. The sky was blue, the air warm but not hot. Rolling down the window, she turned on the radio, then settled back in her seat and focused all her attention on the road, determined not to think of the reason why she was going up to the Hollow….