Letter to a Lonesome Cowboy

by Jackie Merritt

  So was Rand. Writhing and rocking together, they reached the pinnacle at almost the same moment. It was so strong and beautiful for Suzanne that tears filled her eyes and dripped down her temples. Rand roared her name, and she chokingly whispered his. He collapsed upon her and breathed heavily in her ear, and she closed her eyes and strove to catch her own breath.

  Minutes ticked by and neither moved. Suzanne’s thoughts began to coalesce. She should regret another misstep and didn’t. Someone should commit her for what could only be another bout of temporary insanity.

  She sighed and was surprised to hear a chuckle from Rand. “I bet we woke up everyone upstairs,” he said.

  Her heart nearly stopped. “Oh, my God, do you really think so?” Mack was up there. What if he had heard them? He would never forgive her, or respect her again, and she already had enough trouble with his lack of regard for anything she said to him.

  Rand raised his head and brushed his mouth against her cheek. “Honey, I was only teasing. No one heard us.”

  “Did…did the bed make noise?” She had worried about the bed creaking before they’d made love and then had completely forgotten it. That made a lot of sense, she thought disgustedly.

  “Some, but you made more.” Rand moved in the bed and curled himself around her.

  “Me! What did I do?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Embarrassment struck without mercy as memories of her torrid cries suddenly flooded her brain. “Oh, no,” she groaned.

  “Don’t you dare be sorry,” Rand said with a gentle shake of her body. “You’re a passionate woman and people with passion have to express it.”

  Her mouth turned down wryly. “Well, I must admit, I’ve never been accused of being passionate before.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Believe me, I’m not.”

  “Then I must bring out your best side.”

  “You bring out something, I can’t deny that. But whether or not it’s my best side is a debatable point.”

  “All right, let’s debate it.”

  “I didn’t mean that you and I should—”

  “I’ll play prosecuting attorney. Ms. Paxton, is it your misguided belief that a man prefers a woman to lie beneath him and make no sound?”

  “Rand, you’re embarrassing me.”

  He laughed and hugged her. He would like to lie with her every night, to be able to laugh with her and to hug her close every night for the rest of his life.

  But she already knew that, and things were so good between them right now he was afraid to mention marriage on the chance it would ruin Suzanne’s mood. There’s time, he told himself. There’s plenty of time. Don’t rush her again.

  A gust of wind hitting the building startled Suzanne. “I hope that doesn’t mean another storm,” she said anxiously.

  “It’s a chinook,” he told her. “Been expecting it. I had the radio on earlier, and the weather forecaster said it was coming.”

  “What in the world is a chinook?” Suzanne asked, mystified over a term she’d never heard before.

  “It’s a warm wind off the coast. We get them every so often in the winter and spring. Melts the snow so fast sometimes that the area has some flooding to contend with. We’re lucky out here, though. Our only flooding since I’ve been here has been a little overrun from the creeks. No damage done.”

  He was getting sleepy, and he snuggled closer to Suzanne and closed his eyes. She knew she should tell him to go back to his own room, but he felt so good wrapped around her that she couldn’t bring herself to break the spell.

  Yawning, she settled deeper into his arms. “Good night,” she murmured drowsily.

  “Night, sweetheart.”

  She thought of only one thing before sleep took her. While they’d been making love, she had almost said, “I love you,” several times.

  How would Rand have reacted to hearing that?

  Thirteen

  It was 2:00 a.m. A man in dark clothes cautiously tiptoed down the stairs in his stocking feet, carrying his boots close to his chest. He didn’t know why Rand had pulled the men off guard duty tonight, but he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.

  Noiselessly he made his way to the laundry room. There was so much in his favor right now it was hard to keep from laughing out loud. George gone, Handy gone, no one sleeping on this end of the first floor, a wind that would blow away any sound he might make. It was fate, that’s what it was, he thought while pulling on his boots. About time, too. Things had been quiet on the ranch too long. Harding was apt to get complacent. The man grinned and let himself out through the laundry room door.

  The warm wind hit him full in the face. He breathed it in and grinned again. Even the weather was on his side.

  Peering around he searched the dark shadows of the compound, even though he knew no one else was up. But he took pride in his vigilance; it was the reason no one had discovered who had been keeping the ranch in an uproar. He couldn’t prevent a quiet but gleeful chuckle. Tonight—this morning, actually—the ranch would experience a real uproar!

  He knew how to move quietly, and how to keep himself in the shadows. It was strictly instinctual, as he’d never had any formal training in the fine art of sneaking around in the dark. He always felt an adrenaline rush before one of his capers, but he managed to function around it, to keep his excitement under control, until it was over. Then he would sit back—if only symbolically—let the excitement roll and wait for someone to discover what was sometimes a grisly mess. He didn’t like butchering cattle in the dark, but running across a mutilated animal scared the hell out of the other men and had proved to be one of his most effective tactics. It was so funny to hear grown men speculate about ghosts and little green people from outer space that he could hardly stop himself from laughing in their faces.

  Tonight, though, would be the ultimate thrill. He was going to blow up the equipment shed. His plan was firmly fixed in his mind, down to the smallest detail. Pandemonium would break loose after the explosion. He would be as shocked as everyone else. Losing thousands of dollars of heavy equipment and a good metal building would be a financial setback for the ranch, but no one would be physically injured. He drew the line at that, and the man who was paying him to wreak havoc with this ranch knew it.

  Away from the bunkhouse he walked faster. The warm wind was smoothing out tracks and ruts in the snow, and melting it down to slush in spots. If the chinook blew for days there wouldn’t be any snow at all. He was glad. When the snow had been unblemished he hadn’t dared to go to the big house because of footprints. Tonight it didn’t matter. He’d noticed today how someone had ridden a horse all around the house, and there was no way anyone would be able to separate his boot prints from so many other tracks.

  He made a wide circle and approached the house from its hind side. That put it between him and the bunkhouse, and he had all the freedom he wanted to move freely. Quickly, eagerly, he walked up to the side door. At once he saw the large white rectangle plastered against the varnished door. He could tell it had something written on it, but it was too dark to read what it was.

  Cursing under his breath, he pulled the small flashlight he had known he would need once he was inside the house, and at the equipment shed later, from his jacket pocket. Glancing around nervously—he hadn’t planned to turn on the light outdoors—he put it close to the sign and switched it on. It took a minute because he wasn’t a fast reader, but he finally got to Rand’s signature.

  Rage began in his midsection and radiated outwardly from there. He turned off the flashlight and tried the knob. The door was locked! Harding had found the dynamite and written him this insulting, degrading message. It was a kick in the teeth he hadn’t anticipated, and he stood there and cursed for a good five minutes. He’d been hearing and smelling that explosion for days, and now there wasn’t going to be one!

  He had to do something to get back at Rand, the low-life bastard. Prancing around, running the sh
ow, ordering everyone to work their butts off. He hated Rand Harding. He would have made a hell of a lot better foreman than Rand was.

  Grinding his teeth in the most abiding fury of his life, he struck out across the field toward the sheds. He’d do something to scare the bejabbers out of everyone on the place, he had to for his own peace of mind. In fact, maybe he’d do more than one thing.

  Yeah, that was the ticket. His snort of laughter sounded mean and vengeful.

  It was precisely how he felt.

  Rand was sound asleep one second and wide-awake the next. If a noise had awakened him, he couldn’t remember it. But there was an uneasiness in his system that wouldn’t let him relax and go back to sleep. Maybe a dream had disturbed his slumber, he mused. But he couldn’t remember that, either.

  He lay in Suzanne’s bed, aware of her warmth next to him, alert and listening. Other than the wind outside, Suzanne’s quiet breathing and his own heartbeat, there was nothing to hear.

  He was getting too jumpy, he decided, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Small wonder, though, he thought next with a wry twist of his lips. Anyone with half a brain would get jumpy over the things that had happened on this ranch.

  Thing was, he felt responsible. No matter how many times Sterling assured him that the incidents weren’t his fault, he couldn’t shuck his innate sense of responsibility. It was too much a part of who he was, the kind of man he was. He hated calling Sterling and Wendell with reports of dead animals and fires. At least the call to Sterling about having found and disposed of that case of dynamite had been gratifying; so few were these days.

  He realized that he was second-guessing every decision he made when he started worrying about having pulled the night guards. His confidence was taking a beating; he wasn’t positive of anything anymore, and he didn’t like the feeling.

  Turning his head on the pillow, he studied Suzanne’s form in the dark. Maybe his waning confidence in his ability to do his job was carrying over into his private life, he thought with a frown of uncertainty. Maybe Suzanne sensed that in him. Maybe it was the reason she couldn’t or wouldn’t commit herself to him. What woman would want a man who had very little faith in himself?

  It was a disturbing thought and Rand tried to shake it by bringing to mind what he did have faith in. There was very little about cattle ranching he didn’t know. He took his job seriously and worked hard. He was a damned good foreman, and if it weren’t for some loony causing trouble on the ranch, it would be running as smoothly as any cattle operation in the country.

  He grinned humorlessly. Telling himself how great he really was was an abysmal waste of time. If he was smart enough to figure out who was behind the sabotage, and why he was doing it, then he’d have cause to pat himself on the back.

  Suzanne stirred, snuggled against him and flung an arm across his waist. His response was instantaneous, and he drew her into his arms.

  “Are you awake?” she murmured drowsily.

  “No, are you?” he teased.

  “No. I’m asleep and dreaming a man is in my bed.”

  He skimmed a hand down her belly to nestle between her legs. “Are you dreaming he’s touching you like this?”

  “I think so.”

  He kissed the soft underside of her jaw. “Is he kissing you like this?”

  “I’m afraid I’m more focused on what he’s doing below my belt,” she said breathlessly.

  Rand chuckled softly. “Like that, do you?”

  Her voice was no more than a husky, sensual whisper. “I hope he does it for a very long time.”

  “He will, I guarantee it.”

  She snuggled even closer. “Good. I like this dream.”

  At 4:30 a.m. Rand slipped out of Suzanne’s bed, felt around in the dark for his clothes and tiptoed from her room to his carrying them.

  Suzanne heard the quiet closing of her door, opened her eyes and checked the clock. The ranch came awake at five, it was time for her to get up and start breakfast. Groaning, she pulled the pillow over her head. She hadn’t gotten enough sleep; she was still tired.

  But then a smile toyed with her lips. Tired or not, she would not trade last night for anything, especially not for an undisturbed eight hours of sleep. Tossing the pillow aside, she reached for the bedside lamp, turned it on and got out of bed. She’d been taking her shower after breakfast, but this morning she needed one before she even entered the kitchen.

  Switching on the faucets in the shower stall, she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. There was a glow about her that she’d never seen before. It was in her eyes, which appeared larger and more luminous than normal, and in the almost mysterious curvature of her lips. She had been well and thoroughly loved last night, and it showed.

  “Goodness,” she murmured. She must watch herself today or every person on the place would figure out what had occurred last night.

  Her expression changed suddenly, becoming sad and wistful. As exciting as last night had been, it hadn’t been wise, not wise at all. Giving everything she was to a man who didn’t love her, and never would, was a witless act. She never should have come to Montana. Mack might never realize the extent of the damage he had caused, but it would haunt her into eternity.

  Sighing soulfully, she stepped into the shower stall.

  Deep down Suzanne wasn’t completely sold on Mack starting school in Whitehorn. When George and Handy got back, she would be out of a job again, hopefully with a nice paycheck in her purse, but unemployed all the same. She couldn’t imagine Mack liking school here any better than he had in Baltimore, but anything was possible, and if he happened to like school even a tenth as much as he did the ranch, she would never get him to go home with her. Not without taking legal measures, which would probably cost more than what she was making, and they would both be back at square one.

  She should hate Rand for that damned ad, which was more or less how she had felt when she got here. But now she couldn’t even work up a good solid dislike for him, not when her insides melted and oozed together at the mere sight of him. When he came into the kitchen after breakfast, they just stood there and looked silly, smiling at each other.

  “How are you this morning?” he asked, as though he hadn’t made love to her throughout the night. The men were bringing in their dishes, and he was doing his best to sound normal.

  “Very well, thank you,” Suzanne replied. Mack walked in, and her eyes widened. He was shiny clean and his hair was neatly brushed. “Good morning, Mack.”

  “Morning,” he said sullenly.

  “See you later,” Rand said, and left them alone.

  Suzanne’s attention was fully on her brother. “You look very nice,” she told him with a cheerful smile.

  Mack flopped down on a counter stool without appearing to notice his sister’s smile or her compliment. “Rand said to hang around the bunkhouse till it’s time to catch the bus. I don’t want to hang around the bunkhouse. I don’t want to catch the stupid bus. Only dorks ride school buses.”

  “I told you I would drive you to school for your first day.”

  “Oh, yeah, as though one day would help. Why do I have to go to school, anyway?” he whined.

  “Because fourteen-year-old kids belong in school!” She was losing her ambiguity about Mack starting school in Whitehorn, and even found herself hoping that the teachers in the high school, and the principal, were strict disciplinarians. The school Mack attended in Baltimore was huge, with overcrowded classrooms and overworked teachers. They tried. Given the sheer numbers they were dealing with, they tried very hard, but it simply wasn’t possible to single out students for special attention. Suzanne had often wished for the money to send Mack to a private institution. Maybe a small town school would work as well.

  “If I was gonna be a teacher or something like that, I’d need some more school, but I’m gonna work on a ranch.” After a pause he added, “I’m gonna work on this ranch.”

  “Rand wants you to go to school,” Suz
anne said.

  “He doesn’t know everything.”

  “Oh, really? Does he know how you feel about his intelligence? Why don’t you go find him right now and tell him? I’m sure he would enjoy hearing what you think of him.”

  “I didn’t say anything wrong. Why do you always make such a big deal out of everything?”

  “Oh, Mack,” Suzanne said on a weary-sounding sigh. “Don’t you realize I’m on your team? You and I are all each of us has. There are no other Paxtons. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” She saw the smear of red in his cheeks, the embarrassed realization that he was behaving like a jerk. It was these moments when she loved him most, when she felt protective of him.

  “I would never knowingly do anything to hurt you,” she said quietly. “I want to be your friend, as well as your sister. Talk to me, Mack. If you can’t talk to me as a sister, do it as a friend.”

  His cheeks were still flaming, and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I wanna be a cowboy. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “Did Mom and Dad know?” she asked gently.

  “No.”

  “But you talked to them, didn’t you?”

  “Not about that.” Mack got off the stool. “I gotta go.”

  Suzanne glanced at her watch. “You’re right. Have fun today, Mack. Talk to your classmates. Make some friends.”

  “Yeah, right,” he drawled sarcastically.

  Suzanne watched out the dining room window as he trudged down the muddy driveway toward the road. Her heart ached for him. He had so much to learn about life, and he fought so hard against learning anything.

  Except for what he had here, or thought he had.

  When he was out of sight, she sighed heavily, returned to the kitchen and dove into the mess. But her thoughts remained with Mack while she worked, and she no longer had to speculate on his reaction to being legally forced to go back to Baltimore, should she decide to take that route.