A Cowboy To Keep: A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

by Hebby Roman

  “No, no one has mentioned I was a snob.” Maria shook her head and looked her in the eye for the first time. “I only want what is best for you, Señora. I told you that the day before yesterday when—”

  “But it’s my life, Maria, and as you also pointed out, you’re not much older than I am. How do you know what is best for me? What if Señor Ramos is who I want, not Mr. Laidlaw? What would you do then?” She shook her head. “Make me change my mind? Quit working for me? Poison Señor Ramos’ supper?”

  Maria flinched and stepped back. Leticia could see tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

  Leticia relented, holding up one hand. “Don’t take me literally. But I wanted to make a point that I’m not a child you can control. We’re both adults. I appreciate your concern about me, but in the end, I make my own decisions. I must do what’s right for me. ¿Entiendes?”

  “Sí, you’re right, Señora. I … I wasn’t thinking. You must make your own decisions.” She bobbed her head. “I will try to do better.”

  Leticia sighed and unfolded her arms. “I know you want what is right for me, and I appreciate your caring. But there has to be a line drawn…” She hesitated and nibbled her lip. “Somewhere, we have to find a happy medium. Don’t you think?” She resisted the urge to hug Maria.

  “Sí, a happy medium, Señora.”

  “Okay, Maria, you know I care about you, too.” She sighed again and inclined her head. “Can you please send Chuy to me?” She considered and decided to kill two birds with one stone. “And have him bring a step-stool, a hammer, and some nails.”

  * * *

  Leticia rummaged through her oversized purse, looking for her keys. She pulled them out and found the one that fitted the condo door. She put the key in the lock.

  John Clay touched her arm and turned her around. He lowered his head and kissed her, briefly, lightly. Then he lifted his head and said, “Won’t you ask me in? For a nightcap?”

  She tilted her head as if considering. “I don’t usually keep liquor here. In fact…” She hesitated and tried to remember. “To be honest, I don’t know if I have anything in my liquor cabinet, except maybe an old bottle of gin.”

  “What about wine? I thought you liked wine.”

  “Yes, I might have a bottle or two, but you don’t like wine much. Do you?”

  “On occasion, I don’t mind drinking the stuff. But I’ve got a cooler in my trunk with some Lone Stars.”

  “Aren’t you the Boy Scout? Always prepared. Extra clothes, a toilet kit, and a stash of your favorite beer. But they’ve got to be warm. Unless you iced them before picking me up.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Leticia, you’re teasing me.”

  “You noticed?”

  “Yeah, the beer is warm. But I don’t care. Learned to drink warm beer in the U.K.”

  “When were you in the U.K.?”

  He dropped his head and studied his shiny, black cowboy boots. “Years and years ago, when Cathy and I were still … still … a couple, we took the grand tour over there—England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland.”

  “I’ve always wanted to travel,” she said wistfully. “Eduardo and I took a couple of Caribbean cruises, but mostly, we liked to go to Monterrey, México.” She sighed. “It was kind of our special place. Though, when I sent Camila and Rusty there to buy Frosty Prince and Midnight Princess, a terrible thing happened.”

  “I’d love to hear more, but I feel kind of funny, standing here in the hallway of a condo building and reminiscing.”

  She chuckled and pushed on his chest. “Go and get your warm beer. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  But he didn’t move. Instead, he ran his fingertips over her neck in circles. Then he touched the bun at the nape of her neck.

  She shivered; he’d raised goosebumps on her arms.

  “Will you take your hair down? I love your hair.”

  “Why, Mr. Laidlaw, what are you thinking?”

  He brushed a kiss across her lips. “You know what I’m thinking.”

  “Yes, I do. But we don’t always get what we want, when we want it. Do we?” She turned and opened the door, closing it behind her.

  She leaned against the door, wondering if she’d gone too far. Would he come back with his warm beer? Depended upon how tenacious he was. She laughed and clapped her hand over her mouth. She knew the game she was playing, but he didn’t. And she wanted to keep it that way.

  Dinner with John Clay at the Country Club had been just what she needed. A way to leave the ranch and all the silliness behind. With Chuy, Maria, and Ramos on notice to not meddle in her personal life, she had wanted to get away from the ranch.

  But going out with John Clay wasn’t just about getting away from the ranch. She did care for him, but she didn’t trust him fully … yet. She’d made herself a promise, and she intended to keep it. If John Clay really wanted her in his life, he’d have to prove it.

  She’d been concerned about showing up with him at the Club, but the few people she’d encountered had been cordial. She’d expected awkwardness, her being Eduardo’s reclusive widow and John Clay still officially married, but she’d been pleasantly surprised.

  Old friends she hadn’t associated with since she’d lost Eduardo had appeared genuinely happy to see her. And some of John Clay’s acquaintances she didn’t know, had been courteous and warm. Altogether, a triumphant re-entry into Del Rio’s small and insular society.

  She fished around in her almost-empty fridge and found an unopened Chardonnay. She inserted the corkscrew and pulled out the cork, pouring herself a glass. Knowing John Clay, he didn’t need a glass.

  She settled on the couch in the small living room and clicked on her favorite music station on the TV. She sipped her wine, waiting.

  John Clay knocked once and then let himself in. Under his arm, he carried a small cooler. She’d told him the door was open, but she appreciated his courtesy.

  She rose and said, “Let me get you a bottle opener.”

  He grinned and fished one from his shirt pocket, holding it up. He really was a Boy Scout!

  Gazing at him, she couldn’t help but think, as usual, his grooming was impeccable. He’d worn a lavender Polo dress shirt with a Bolo-type tie, held in place with a gold and silver-embossed medallion, depicting a horseshoe, stamped with his trademark Lazy L brand.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was superstitious about horseshoes?

  His trousers were black, matching his ostrich-hide cowboy boots, and his gold and silver belt buckle repeated the horseshoe-and-brand motif of his tie.

  Obviously, the tie clasp and belt buckle had been specially made for him.

  Over his shirt and trousers, he wore a western-style, corded jacket in a beige color. And the color was echoed again in his summer-straw cowboy hat with a darker brown, rawhide band around the crown.

  When it came to sartorial grandeur, no one could match John Clay.

  He set his cooler down in the kitchen and popped the lid off a beer. “I see your hair is still up.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to take it down for me?” Her lips twitched. Oh, she was enjoying her game.

  His lavender-blue eyes gleamed, and he almost galloped across the room.

  She squelched a smirk and took another sip of her wine.

  He sat beside her and gently turned her around, so her back was to him. Then he nuzzled her neck, kissing and licking his tongue over her skin until she thought she’d scream because it felt so damned good. At the same time, his busy hands plucked at the Spanish-mantilla-style comb she’d used for her bun and then the pins, holding her hair in place.

  Like rose petals at a wedding, he scattered the pins on the floor, while he kept kissing her neck, over and over.

  She shuddered and her body grew taut, like a lead line on an unbroken filly, she wanted to plunge and buck, wanted to feel him against her, naked as sin, wanted to roam her hands over his body. Make him shiver and shudder.

  But—too soon�
�too soon. He was way too good at seduction.

  Her freed hair caressed her shoulders. She’d worn a little black number, clinging and silky and off-the-shoulder, giving him a peek of the valley between her breasts.

  She turned in his arms and met his gaze. His eyes were wide, his dark-purple pupils dilated. She ran her hands over his shirt, pushing aside his jacket.

  He tore off his jacket faster than a New Orleans-oyster-shucker and dropped his hat on the coffee table. And then he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were firm and moist. She could taste the savory lamb he’d had for dinner and the sting of something minty, probably a breath mint he’d popped when he retrieved his beer.

  Now he was kissing her with a deep hunger, his mouth wide open and his tongue insistent, pushing inside hers. She met his tongue with hers, curling around his, enjoying the warmth of his kisses.

  He pressed closer to her, and from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the tent in his black trousers. He was obviously aroused.

  And good Lord, she wanted him, too. Wanted him inside of her, wanted his naked body against her skin, and his body covering hers with his.

  It had been forever since she’d wanted this, forever and ever.

  He touched her breast and then slowly circled it, making her nipple extend, as if begging for his touch. She exhaled, breathing in his too-right cologne, the cool water smell of him. Had she already gone too far? Was there no turning back?

  His busy fingers pushed at the low-lying collar of her dress, delving inside her bra and touching her … just there.

  She gasped and moaned into his mouth. This was beyond difficult. She wanted him, now and here, on the floor or in the bed or anywhere… But she’d promised herself, promised to make him respect her and want her … in the right way.

  She pulled free and grabbed his hand. Then she looked him squarely in the eye. And decided on complete honesty. “John Clay, I want you. You must know it. But I don’t trust you yet. You must give me time.”

  He reared back and stared at her.

  She watched him closely, needing to gauge his reaction. Was he pissed? Was he going to be arrogant, wanting his own way? Not caring about her?

  He dropped his gaze. “You don’t trust me? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve always taken what you wanted—with no respect for anyone else’s feelings—”

  “But that’s not true.” He ran his hand through his long, silver-and-brown hair. “Cathy kept me on a short leash, especially when we were first married, before the girls. I had to … to…” He shook his head.

  “Leticia, what in the hell do you want me to do? I offered to get on my knees and grovel.” He rose, flinging his arms wide. “What are you asking? I don’t understand.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is this a test or … or something else?” He paused and paced the small room. “I don’t get it. We’re adults. I want you. You want me. Simple.”

  She met his gaze and then dropped hers. “I don’t think I’m asking a lot, not considering where we’ve come from. Not considering our past history.”

  He turned and stared at her again, stretching his arms wide. “So, no apology is enough, no amount of begging and pleading will change the past? Then why didn’t you just tell me? Why this ugly charade?”

  Suddenly, her clever game wasn’t so clever. And heaven help her, she wasn’t good at games. She’d always been forthright and to the point.

  This wasn’t the way she wanted to be—this wasn’t where she lived.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have led you on.” She dropped her head. “Knowing my doubts.”

  “Okay, okay, I think I get it. You need for me to be patient. Right? To be a friend first and then … and then …”

  She lifted her head and licked her lips. “Yes, that’s it. If it’s possible. If not, and you’d rather not be my friend, I understand.” She shook her head. “If I can get Rusty’s approval, I’ll even sell you Stormy at a loss. Whatever price you think is right. No need to—”

  “Are you kidding? Is this all about your damned horse?”

  “No, not really.” She rose and faced him. “I didn’t know where this would lead, and I didn’t know—”

  “How frigging much I want you?” His voice was a low hiss. “How badly I’ve wanted you for years and years, Leticia? Even when I was married to Cathy, I couldn’t help thinking about you and your big cat’s eyes and your long, auburn hair curling—”

  “John Clay, this is wrong! All wrong! Are you saying I came between you and Cathy when I had nothing to do with you?”

  He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “No, you had nothing to do with my marriage.” He shook his head. “It was me, all me. I knew you loved Eduardo, and I didn’t have a chance. Not to mention how I treated you, trying to make you date me and not funding your loan when you wouldn’t.”

  He turned away. “I guess the hurt won’t heal. And I’ve lost your trust forever.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “I should have known.”

  Her instincts urged her to go to him and throw her arms around him. But she’d lived too long, loving and grieving over Eduardo to give her heart lightly. Trust was an issue with John Clay, that was true, but in a blinding moment of self-realization, she knew the real reason.

  She couldn’t let go of Eduardo—not yet. Maybe never.

  He grabbed his cooler and tucked it under his arm, looking like a small boy, stealing all the marbles before he went home.

  “Leticia, I’m going now. If you and Rusty want to run Stormy on my track on the fifth, I’ll be there. No problem. No pressure.” He spread his hands. “If you don’t show, I understand. And if you want to sell Stormy, I’ll pay full price. Just contact Sydney Janus, my CPA and financial administrator. He’s in the Del Rio phone book.” He shifted the cooler under his arm. “I’ll let myself out.”

  The door closed behind him.

  Leticia sat on her sofa, sipping her wine, and listening to the soothing guitar music of André Feriante from the television music channel. She gazed at her front door and wished she knew what she was doing … or not doing … with her life.

  Chapter Seven

  “What do you mean Frosty Prince and Midnight Princess are missing?” She demanded of Chuy, trying to keep her voice modulated, when inside her head, she was screaming. “And what about the foal?”

  “We left the colt in the stall, wanting to let his dam and sire have a run. He was fine until we couldn’t find his mother, and he got hungry. He’s safe inside the barn, and I’ve fed him from a bottle.”

  She closed her eyes and opened them again. “That’s a relief. But what happened to Prince and Princess?”

  The sun was just rising, turning the late spring sky a deep orange. Thank heavens she hadn’t been able to sleep last night and had driven home before sunup.

  Señor Ramos stood off to one side, studying the hard ground and letting Chuy take the heat. Not that she could blame him after their showdown in her study. She wondered, briefly, where his son was.

  “We turned them out for a short run in the pasture beside the vega,” Chuy explained. “We never meant for the colt to be separated from his dam for long. We ate supper and then went to get both horses and bring them back to the barn. But they weren’t in the pasture.”

  “Did you check the fence line? Was there any wire down?”

  “No, Señora, that’s the first thing we checked. All the fences are secure, but—”

  “But what?”

  “You don’t use padlocks on the gates in the inner pastures, Señora,” Chuy said.

  She winced. Chuy had often lectured her on putting padlocks on all the gates, but she hadn’t had problems before, and it seemed like a cumbersome undertaking, to deal with a padlock, when moving livestock from one pasture to the other.

  She fisted her hands and let them ride her hips. “Okay, Chuy, I should have listened to you. I admit it. Get padlocks with combination numbers, no keys, too hard to keep up with. We’ll decide on one combination for all of
them and keep it in the safe.” She glanced at Ramos. “You and me, Rusty and Camila, and Señor Ramos will know the combination. No one else. None of the day laborers. ¿Entiendes?”

  “Sí, sí, Señora, it will be done as you say.”

  “Now, what about finding my horses?”

  “We tried last night, but the darkness made it hard to follow tracks. I’m glad you’re home. We can start right away.”

  “Saddle Pearl for me and let’s go. Those horses are … are … very special to me. Not to mention what they’re worth. We need to get started right away.”

  Chuy bobbed his head and scurried off. Ramos looked at her and then turned away, following the foreman.

  She frowned. Her world had just turned upside down, and John Clay was still in Del Rio. Last night at dinner, he’d mentioned some business with his wool factor.

  She didn’t like the way they’d parted. And deep inside, somewhere she hadn’t visited in a long time, she wanted a strong shoulder to lean upon. Losing her prize charro horses had hit her like a slug to the stomach.

  Maybe it was an excuse. Maybe not. All she knew was she wanted John Clay.

  She grabbed her cell and punched in his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Prince and Princess are missing,” she said without preamble. “Can you come?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there. Give me an hour. Okay?”

  “I’ll wait.” She exhaled, considering. Then she glanced up at Stormy’s horseshoe, finally mounted over her study door. If ever she needed luck—it was now.

  She’d send Chuy and Ramos on ahead while she changed clothes and waited for John Clay. They could catch up with the two men. And she’d take some wire and wire cutters in case there was a break in the fence.

  * * *

  Two hours later, the four of them found Prince and Princess, unharmed, wandering by the Rio Grande and nibbling on the soft leaves of the cane beside the river.

  And they’d found the break in the fence, too. The fence line had been cut in a corner heavily hidden by brush and on the outer fence closest to the Rio Grande.