Cowboy Tough

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Well, that’s good.” Dora was smiling madly now. “That’s really good news, isn’t it, Aunt Cat?”

  Mack let out a soft chuckle. “Sure is, hon. Thanks.”

  Cat felt that fist close on her heart again, but this time her worry was for herself. She was going to be alone with Mack again—and she wanted to talk to him.

  Just talk. Nothing more.

  But the memory of that kiss, unplanned, unexpected, and most of all unfinished, hovered in the air between them, dancing like the flames in the fire pit and lighting the night with promise.

  Chapter 21

  Mack tried to read Cat’s face and failed. He never knew what women were thinking. He could sense the faintest signal from a horse, but the female mind was an eternal mystery.

  He kicked dirt over the coals as she approached the fire, shuffling up a cloud of dust that was more appropriate to a raging grass fire than the dying embers of a fading campfire. The cloud drifted her way and settled on the white canvas shoes she was wearing.

  She settled onto one of the benches and he wished he hadn’t smothered the fire so soon. At least flames would give them something to watch. Something to talk about.

  Maybe they could talk about the stars again. He felt his body stirring to life as he remembered their interrupted tour of the heavens. Tonight, the moon was floating serenely over the ranch, its face flat and inscrutable. Its pale light made the winding path that led away from the fire look somehow magical, as if it had been dusted with silver.

  “Beautiful.” Cat’s tone was hushed, and he wondered if she was talking to him or just thinking aloud.

  “Want to walk?” He held out a hand and time stopped while she hesitated. He’d felt the same tension when a horse took a half second to decide whether to trust its trainer or flee.

  She glanced over at the bunkhouse as if she expected to see Dora peering out the window. Didn’t she realize the kid would be cheering them on?

  He thought he’d lost her, but then he felt her hand steal into his. Barely daring to breathe, he started down the path. They passed the Bull House, then the barn, before she spoke.

  “What’s that?” She nodded toward the cabin that stood near the tree line. A tributary to the path they were walking veered toward it, creating a faint depression between clumps of sagebrush and spiky yuccas.

  “It’s a cabin,” he said.

  “Wow. Such an informative guide.” The smile in her voice surprised him. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “It was the original claim shack,” he said. “My great-great-granddad homesteaded there while he built the house. My dad used it as kind of a hideaway.”

  “It’s cute. How come your mom didn’t put Trevor there?”

  “It’s—it was my dad’s space. And mine, after my mom remarried. I didn’t get along with her second husband.”

  Understatement of the year. He’d hated Ollie with a deep, visceral hatred that made him question his own judgment. His mother had fallen for the man, and his mother was no fool. But something about him had made Mack mistrust him.

  He should have listened to his instincts.

  “What happened to your dad?”

  “Accident.” His throat tightened and the words came out hard. “They think he fell asleep at the wheel coming home from a sale. Had a heavy trailer on the back, and once he lost control…”

  He hated thinking of that moment. Life could end in a heartbeat, when you least expected it. And it always seemed to end for the wrong people.

  He needed to change the subject. “We were thinking about making it into an art studio if we get the contract with Art Treks.”

  “Contract?”

  He nodded, realizing she didn’t know how much this trip mattered to the future of the Boyd Ranch. “If this goes well, your company might sign on for a permanent reservation. It would give us some solidity—a predictable income, even if it’s only for a few weeks.”

  She considered the cabin with her head tilted to one side. “It might work,” she said. “You’d need to put in skylights. On the other side, so you’d get north light.”

  “You want to see the inside?”

  “Sure.”

  They trudged up the path together. She rested against the cabin wall with her hands in her pockets, looking up at the moon while he fished out the key.

  He opened the cabin door and flicked a switch. Faint yellow light beamed from a brass fixture that hung from the ceiling and brought the past back, lighting his father’s place. The rickety table where he and his fellow ranchers had played poker. The small kitchen where he’d kept a fridge full of beer and a few frozen pizzas. The old television set, with its foil-wrapped rabbit ears. His father had created a man-cave before man-caves were even invented.

  He paused. They were going to be alone in there, which would be a good thing if the air between them wasn’t so loaded with stress and uncertainty. He needed to clear it.

  “So where are we on the rules?” he asked.

  She stared down at her feet. “I don’t know. I think—we barely know each other. How do I know I can trust you?”

  She probably couldn’t. This whole mess with the ranch, the business with Ollie, had made him distrust himself. He’d left when his mother needed him most, just because he couldn’t get along with her new husband. He’d known the guy was a jerk, and he’d walked away and left him in charge of the ranch. He’d risked his family’s past, present, and future because he’d been too angry to see straight.

  Angry about his mother remarrying so soon. Angry at seeing a man so clearly unworthy taking his father’s place. Angry at his own powerlessness.

  He wasn’t worthy of this woman, and he knew it. But she made him want to try to do better. And for some reason, when he was with her anything seemed possible.

  Anything.

  “I think I do know you,” he said. “I know you love the landscape here, and the open spaces. I know you’re worried about your niece. I know you lost your sister, and you loved and admired her. I know you want your life to count for something.”

  She shrugged. “I told you all that.”

  He nodded, then shot her a sharp look that probed for the truth. “Did you ever tell Amos?”

  “His name is Ames.” Cat shifted uncomfortably. “And of course I did. He’s known me for years.”

  “Does he care?” Mack tightened his grip on her hand. “Does he help?”

  She looked away and he knew he’d hit a nerve.

  He just hoped it was the right one.

  ***

  Cat looked down at Mack’s hand clasping hers and felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. She didn’t know if it was the situation, the setting, or the man himself, but somehow they’d become partners over the course of the past week. He was right; he knew her.

  Except when it came to Ames. He didn’t know anything about her relationship with Ames, because she’d lied about it. She was claiming she didn’t trust him, but she was the one who’d lied.

  He stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. “Do you care about him?”

  She intended only to glance at him, but their eyes locked and held and she knew he read the truth, or some part of it.

  “No,” she whispered. “Not like I care about you.” She took a deep breath. “I lied, Mack. I’m sorry. Ames isn’t—we’re not a couple.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a year.”

  The kiss they’d shared at the fire pit had been heated, hot, and just a bit domineering. If there had been any message in it at all, it had been strictly sexual.

  But this one was lighter, gentler. Friendlier. And even sexier. Telling him how she felt, frankly and honestly, had been the right thing to do. They’d cleared the air and made room for
a comfortable intimacy between them. The confusion was gone, and what shimmered between them now was warm and full of promise.

  He reached over and flicked off the light.

  No confusion there.

  But something tingled at the back of her mind—an edgy, uncomfortable feeling. She remembered what he’d said about the contract. He needed her to give the ranch a rave review. His future depended on this trip as much as hers did.

  That was a good thing, right? A common goal. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would seduce a woman for the sake of financial success.

  Was he?

  “I shouldn’t let this happen again.” She couldn’t help pushing her hips against him as she said the words.

  “Yes, you should.”

  He kissed her again, deeper, warmer, heavier with lust but somehow shimmering with something more. Her misgivings faded, then disappeared. That tingling, troubling thought was gone.

  In fact, she couldn’t even remember what it was. Something about a contract…

  To hell with contracts. To hell with jobs and careers and art and everything else. Everything but Dora.

  Dora.

  But Dora liked Mack. All that about sleeping soundly—she’d practically pushed the two of them together. Clearing her mind, Cat let herself fall into the kiss.

  It retreated and advanced, ebbed and flowed, following some primal pattern. At the same moment, they drew away and looked into each other’s eyes. There were no words spoken, but there was a question asked and answered, and they both knew everything had changed.

  The light slanting from the windows was dim but somehow hard-edged, casting the edges of the old furniture in bold relief and highlighting each rung of the rough-hewn steps that led to a small, crude loft. Stairway to heaven, she thought. Wonder what’s up there.

  Apparently, she was going to find out.

  Chapter 22

  Cat reached the loft on a tide of warmth and feeling, her feet tripping up the steps easily, her weight supported by Mack’s arm around her waist. She shivered when she reached the top, and it wasn’t from the cool air. It was a good shiver—a shiver of anticipation.

  She pushed away all her doubts like lace curtains blocking a bright window. Mack was a good man—grounded and respectful, kind and caring even if he didn’t always communicate his feelings. He was strong, even aggressive, but there didn’t seem to be a mean bone in his body.

  And in this relationship, there would be no questions about the future, and no ugly breakup. Those only happened when one partner expected more than the other, and they both knew better than to expect anything between them to last. She was out of here in a week. Heading back to her world, and leaving him to his. That made a relationship practically risk-free.

  Deep down, she felt a tug of warning. No relationship was without risk. But she smothered the foreboding and concentrated on the present.

  Zen cowgirl. Live in the moment.

  He tilted her backwards and she fell, unresisting, on the bed. Mack was smiling, his eyes lit with anticipation as he flicked on a small bedside light. He looked down at her.

  “You,” he said.

  “You,” she echoed. A laugh bubbled up in her chest and she let it out. It came out in a ridiculous schoolgirlish giggle, but she didn’t care. She felt like a girl—like a girl sneaking off to be with a boy.

  “This is going to be good,” she muttered. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but Mack just grinned.

  “Yes, it is.” He took her hand. “Very, very good.”

  They’d avoided looking at each other for days, and she was surprised at what she saw in his eyes—relief, of course, that they’d dispelled some of the tension between them, and the same sexual spark she’d seen under the stars. But there was something else there—something new and better. She felt as if they were something more than strangers coming together to satisfy their needs. They were friends, free of expectations, free of rules.

  Their gazes locked and held, and she realized they’d never shared a held gaze. He’d never let her. Their exchanges had always been guarded, cautious.

  Not now. And with that protective cloak of uncertainty lifted, they shared something far more honest and real.

  Maybe it was too honest and real. She could feel a connection humming between them, as if they were joined by a wire that was electrified and just a little too hot. Up until now, he’d been a cowboy, something exotic and a little dangerous, a dalliance in a far country. But now he was Mack. A man. And a lover, unless she shut him down right this minute.

  That tight fist of fear tugged at her heart again. She had an impulse to crack a joke, laugh, cut the tension somehow. But all she could do was look, and let him look back.

  He really did live in the moment—fully and without reservation. In life, that meant he was easygoing and adaptable. But in a relationship, it meant he was fully present. She felt like they were both naked, and they hadn’t shed a single article of clothing.

  Yet.

  Impulsively, she kicked off her shoes and twisted in his arms, letting the soft parts of her body meet the hardness of his. Opening the top button of her shirt, she swept it over her head in one quick motion. If he looked at her breasts, maybe he’d stop probing her thoughts. Maybe he’d skim the surface instead of plumbing the depths with those dark, intense eyes.

  A button snagged on a bobby pin and she tilted her head back, tugging her bun so her locks uncoiled down her back. She didn’t know how it looked to him, but to her it felt graceful, quick, and wonderfully wanton.

  She’d been right; the breasts changed everything. His eyes went suddenly soft, his gaze reverent. He reached for her as if he couldn’t help himself, tucking a finger under the delicate strap of her bra and tracing it down to the lace that cupped the swell of her breast. She was glad she’d worn lace that day, ivory with a thread of gold running through it. In the light of the moon, it looked like a fairy garment spun of silk.

  She leaned back on the pillows and let him look and touch. He stroked his finger gently along the edge of the fabric and set every nerve in her body to flickering. She felt like she’d come alive in a new way, waking from the sleepwalk of the everyday into a world of possibilities.

  Sighing, she reached up and swept her fingers through the hank of dark hair that fell over his forehead. Touching him like that made her feel tender, fond, and somehow protective of this strong man who was so obviously undone by soft skin and a scrap of lace.

  While she stroked his hair, he found the clasp at the front of her bra and undid it, sweeping the halves to either side and cupping her flesh in his hands. She wasn’t exactly Marilyn Monroe, but he made her feel soft and round and wonderfully feminine. He stroked his thumbs over her nipples and she arched her back, closing her eyes.

  She opened them to find him watching her again. There was a faint note of triumph in his smile. He’d knocked down a few walls and he knew it.

  It was time to play defense.

  She knew this wasn’t a fight. They didn’t need to dominate each other or settle who was boss; that was something that wouldn’t matter in the short time they’d be together. But she wanted to tussle with him, wrestle and tumble and play. Grabbing the collar of his shirt in both hands, she pulled. It was something she’d been wanting to do since the morning, when she’d noticed as she sponged off his shirt that it was fastened with snaps, not buttons.

  It clicked open with a satisfying series of pops, revealing a tanned chest with a veil of dark hair fanned over hard swells of muscle.

  “Mmm.” She let out a wordless purr and lowered her head to run her mouth over the blade of his collarbone. Her left hand skimmed down the side of his face, swept past his neck, over his shoulder and chest. She stroked one flat nipple with her fingertips and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. Looking up, she saw his eyes weren’t focused on hers anymore. They wer
en’t focused at all. She’d won this round, stroked him into stunned silence.

  Cat one, cowboy zero.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. The cowboy had scored a few points himself, but she wasn’t about to admit that—to him or to herself. She was enjoying herself too much to keep score.

  It was about then she realized her pants were gone. Just gone, in some fabulous cowboy stealth move. How had he done that? The giggle burbled up again as she thanked God for matching lace panties. His admiration of the little bow that decorated each hip was giving her some time to regroup.

  But once she was fully grouped, she realized the bows were gradually making their way down, down, down. Down her thighs, past her knees, over her calves, and off.

  He was way ahead. It wasn’t fair. Her clothes slipped off; his required a wrestling match.

  It was time to get to work on that belt.

  ***

  Mack had heard artists were crazy, and now he knew it was true. This woman was a wild thing, beautiful and eager for him in a way that was somehow pure. There was no buckle-bunny agenda. With other women, he’d always felt like he was taking and they were giving. Like they were doing him a favor. He was always conscious, even in the throes of sex, that there was a price to pay.

  But Cat wanted him in a simple, straightforward way that made them equals. This wasn’t about promises and lies, expectations and bargains. It was about this moment, right now, and the sweet sensation of touching each other.

  He paused in his mission—which was to hook her panties over the bedpost—and watched her tug at his jeans. The panties sailed off in some random direction. God only knew where they landed.

  “It works better if you take off the boots first,” he said as denim bunched around his ankles. She let out one of those little animal sounds that drove him crazy, a choked little laugh mixed in with a mew of frustration. He toed off one boot, then the other. She bent down to slip his jeans off, putting her face on a level with his lap.

  They didn’t have any secrets now. She knew exactly what he wanted, and how bad.