How to Handle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  No. He gave himself a mental smack. Then he gave himself another one, because he was still thinking about what a woman that uninhibited would sound like in bed.

  She finally ran out of laughter and clutched her stomach, struggling for control of her breathing. At least it was for all the right reasons this time.

  Well, not all the right reasons. The rightest reason of all…

  He wasn’t going to think about that.

  In the hazy light from the transom, he could just make out her face. He hadn’t noticed before how delicate it was. With her slanted cheekbones, big eyes, and pointed chin, she reminded him of a fairy in some old kids’ book. Although fairies didn’t wear black skirts and leather jackets.

  He realized he was staring and looked away. They had a problem to solve, and big eyes and cheekbones weren’t going to help.

  In fact, Tinker Bell herself was starting to be a bit of a problem. Whatever had just happened might have been a mistake, but it felt important somehow. He’d made her that promise—the promise he made to his animals. Nothing’s going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.

  He’d never broken that promise, and that meant he needed to do his best to help her. But he also needed to stop thinking about how good she smelled and how pretty she looked and how he’d felt when she’d rested her head against his chest. Because this was not the time for him to take up with another woman.

  He was still worn out from the last one.

  He struggled to think of something to defuse the situation, but he’d never been good with words. In fact, he’d said more to this woman in the last half hour than he’d said in the past month.

  Fortunately, Tinker Bell took over.

  “Okay, listen,” she said. “We need to straighten this out.”

  There was a time when he’d have been relieved to have a woman take charge of the situation, but he knew better now. He’d let Shelley take charge, and suddenly she’d started going on about weddings and babies. Now would be a good time to walk away, but he was locked in a danged closet.

  “I’m sorry about the Caress thing,” she continued. “I can see how you might have misinterpreted it. Although…” She cocked her head and gave him a curious look. “Do women often order you to caress them when you’ve only known them for half an hour?”

  “No,” he said. Actually, he’d had some pretty direct requests from strange women. But caressing? Not exactly.

  “Anyway,” she said, “let’s just forget that happened. You’re not my type and I have a feeling I’m not yours, either.”

  “Right.” All he could do was agree, but why did he feel like a liar? Worse yet, why did he feel disappointed? He should be relieved, but it was kind of a letdown to hear her say it.

  How did she know he wasn’t her type?

  One thing was for sure: he wasn’t in nearly as much of a hurry to get out of the closet.

  Chapter 5

  If Ridge had learned anything from ranching, it was to be adaptable. When you couldn’t fix something with barbed wire, you tried duct tape.

  But there was no barbed wire in Sierra’s office and probably no duct tape either. Squinting into the dark recesses of the closet, he took in the sparse furniture.

  “Maybe if I stood on the chair, I could reach the transom.”

  “And do what?”

  He eyed the narrow window over the door. “Open the transom. Push you through it.”

  “So I could break my head open on the floor on the other side?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  Instead of answering, Sierra grabbed the chair and hoisted it in the air, shoving it at Ridge legs-first, like a lion tamer at the circus. Taking it from her, he set the chair down in front of the door and placed one booted foot on the seat.

  “Wait,” Sierra said. “Maybe this isn’t such a good…”

  Crack.

  It was too late. He’d already shifted his weight and launched himself up toward the transom. There was another sharp crack as the chair leg closest to the bookcase collapsed.

  Good thing he had a lot of experience with dismounts. Hopping nimbly backward, he grabbed a shelf for balance. The bookshelf tilted ominously, swayed, then slowly returned to its upright position.

  “I forgot,” she said. “I use that chair because it’s broken.”

  “Right. And you like broken chairs because…”

  “Well, I don’t want one of the boys getting hurt. Sorry.”

  “Fine.”

  She stepped toward him and the light from the transom slanted across her face. The woman sure knew how to smile. The glow of her lit up the room, and the moment seemed to draw out a little, as if there’d been an extra couple of seconds added to that particular minute.

  Maybe that was why he stood there, transfixed, as the bookcase groaned and tilted away from the wall in slow motion, vomiting its entire contents onto the floor like a messy drunk who’d downed too many psychology texts.

  Standing knee-deep in books, he could hear Tinker Bell trying to stifle her laughter. Darn it, the woman was always laughing at him. The worst thing was, he didn’t blame her. He felt like he was in the middle of some old silent comedy, where the intrepid hero tried to save the girl and met with one disaster after another.

  The only way to save his dignity was to actually save the girl.

  “Here.” He bent at the waist, cupping his hands and lacing his fingers together. “I’ll give you a leg up. See if you can get that transom open.”

  Cautiously, she set one foot in his interlaced hands. Her heels were liable to skewer him if he didn’t concentrate, but he couldn’t help moving his gaze upward, taking in the shadowy outline of ankles, calves, knees, thighs—and the little black skirt that topped it all off.

  His gaze paused at a tattoo peeping out between the waistband of her skirt and the hem of her top. It was a curving tendril that might have been anything from the stem of a flower to the tail of a dragon, and he wished he could hoist the top a little higher and check it out.

  Combine a mysterious tattoo with blond hair that somehow managed to be short and gloriously unruly at the same time, and green eyes that gave away every nuance of her changing moods, and you had one intriguing package. Better yet, she’d let him caress her and hadn’t asked for anything in return. In fact, she’d even insisted they forget the whole thing. He wondered what else she’d let him forget about.

  “Will you quit checking me out?”

  “Sorry.” The foot, the foot, the foot. Only look at the foot. “Ready?”

  She nodded. Estimating her weight, he hoisted her into the air with what he hoped was just the right amount of gusto.

  And bonked her head on the ceiling.

  “Ow.” She slid down, landing on a book that had ended up facedown on the floor. Executing a brief version of the Charleston, she wound up standing in the only clear place on the floor—which put her practically on the toes of his cowboy boots.

  They were standing toe to toe, with Sierra’s hands clutching his shoulders. The position brought her body right up to his, and he could feel the soft, warm give of her breasts. When she twisted against him, he wasn’t sure if she was trying to get closer to him or get away.

  That was the trouble with women. You could never tell what they were thinking. With men, there were obvious physical signs of attraction.

  Physical signs he needed to get control of right now.

  “Hold on.” She popped up on her toes and nearly bopped him in the face with the top of her head. “I’m sure I can get up there if I…”

  The sentence ended in a grunt as she gripped him around the neck and wrapped one long leg around his waist. Good Lord. She was going to climb him like a tree. He felt like he was going to pass out.

  “Can you maybe help a little?” She had one foot still around his waist, while the other still stood tippy-toe on his boot, grinding his toes into bonemeal.

  “Sure. How?”

  “I don’t know. Give me a boost.”


  “Is that the name of a soap or anything?”

  “No! I mean it.”

  “All right.” Reaching down, he palmed a butt cheek in each hand and hoisted her up toward the transom. All he succeeded in doing was bringing the panties under that little black skirt to face level.

  “This isn’t going to work.” She seemed totally oblivious to his arousal as she slid slowly down the front of his body, clinging to him like a very attractive monkey as she went. Finally, she stepped away, scratching her head and looking from him to the transom.

  “Maybe you should bend over and put your head between my legs.”

  “What?” At this point, he couldn’t tell if she was trying to get out of the closet or act out the first five chapters of the Kama Sutra.

  “Like in the swimming pool.” She spoke slowly, as if he was stupid. “As if we’re playing chicken.”

  She picked her way carefully over the fallen books to her desk and hopped on top.

  “Come on. Hurry.” She jigged impatiently from one foot to the other. Either she was one impatient woman, or she needed to get to the ladies’ room.

  Well, he sure wished that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Now he had more needs than he knew what to do with.

  Pushing his physical troubles out of his head, he edged through the narrow pathway then turned around so she could clamber onto his shoulders.

  “Okay.” He started to straighten his back and she gave a little screech. He didn’t realize what was wrong until he heard the now-familiar thunk of her head against the ceiling.

  “Oops.” He bent his back and struggled through the pathway to the door. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’m locked in a closet with a total stranger, riding around on his shoulders and clonking my head repeatedly against the ceiling.” She waved her arms, struggling to balance on his shoulders without hitting her head again. “Who wouldn’t be okay?”

  Chapter 6

  Sierra flailed her arms for balance, then decided it would be better to clutch the cowboy’s head in both hands, so she could tilt forward and avoid the ceiling. She already had one hell of a headache, brought on as much by her concern for the kids as the repeated bashings to her brain.

  Finally, they reached the transom. She could see the hallway, lit by the faint light that slanted through the front windows. How long had they been in here?

  “Here, I can reach it. Stay right there.”

  She had no idea what she was going to do if she got the transom open. She could probably fit through the narrow opening, but there was nothing on the other side but a smooth wooden door and a hard oak floor. She was liable to get the ultimate bonk on the head if she made it through.

  But at least she’d be out of the tiny, dark, stuffy closet she was sharing with this frighteningly attractive stranger. She might have given up on love, but she apparently hadn’t given up on—what would you call it? Snuggling? Yeah, snuggling. With cowboys. In the dark.

  But how could she help it?

  Nothing’s going to hurt you. Not as long as I’m here.

  What woman didn’t want to hear that?

  If only he’d meant it. It was a shame the whole thing was just a misunderstanding, but it was. It had to be.

  Reaching over his head, she fumbled at the transom. It had originally opened from the bottom, swinging out from hinges at the top. She managed to pry open a latch, only cutting one finger and breaking two nails in the process. She pounded the bottom edge with her fist.

  Nothing. No give at all.

  “There must be ten layers of paint on this thing. It might as well be nailed shut.” She pounded it again, this time with the heel of her hand. “It’s not working. It…”

  Snap.

  The lights flicked on.

  She froze with the sense that a flashbulb had gone off and the two of them would be exposed forever like this, with her riding his shoulders.

  “The kids must be back,” he said.

  “Or somebody.” She peered right then left. There was no sign of life in the empty hallway. She lifted her voice to a shout. “Hey! Let us out! Hey!”

  No response.

  “Somebody’s around,” she said. “We’ll have to just wait.”

  “Okay. I’ll bend down till your feet can touch the ground then back away. Ready?”

  She clung to his head and shifted her weight backward. “Ready.”

  He grunted as he bent his knees and lowered her to the ground. One moment she was touching the ceiling, the next she was on the ground, facing the blank and frustratingly unmoving face of the closet door.

  “Okay. Now I just need to back off,” he said.

  He’d better back off. His head was right between her legs. If she squeezed, she could strangle him. Well, not really. If she was one of those girls who rode horses, she could, but her thighs weren’t that muscular.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t want to strangle him. With his head between her legs and his hands on her thighs, she felt a hot rush of lust. His hands slipped down to her calves, and maybe, just maybe, he lingered there a little too long.

  She grabbed his head, figuring she’d shove him to the floor if he didn’t move soon. The rush of lust had turned to something stronger, and she needed to get him out of the danger zone before he realized what he was doing to her.

  “Miss Dunn?” said a small voice from the other side of the door.

  She froze. The knob turned in what seemed like slow motion—but not slow enough. When the door opened, she staggered and fell backward as Ridge dropped down on all fours. She writhed on his back, struggling for purchase with flailing feet.

  And that’s what nine-year-old Josh saw when he opened the door.

  ***

  Ridge had to smother a laugh at the stunned expression on their rescuer’s face. The kid was a puny little guy, eight or nine years old, with sandy hair and wire-framed glasses perched askew on his nose. Skinny arms protruded from the drooping sleeves of a grubby T-shirt that hung nearly to his knees. It had a picture of the Hulk’s scowling face on it and said “Don’t Get Me Mad” in big block letters.

  The kid’s nose wrinkled up in confusion as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Which was understandable, since Sierra had fallen to one side and was thrashing around on the floor.

  She finally scrambled to her feet. “Josh!”

  The kid squinted then wrinkled up his nose again, lifting his lip and exposing his front teeth in a grimace that reminded Ridge of a cartoon rabbit. Then he shoved his glasses up on his nose with one finger and his face relaxed again.

  “Josh, where are the others?”

  The boy looked longingly toward the front door then returned his gaze to Sierra and made that face again. It was evidently a technique designed to adjust his glasses while keeping his hands free.

  A very ineffective technique.

  “The others?” Josh poked the glasses back into position and gazed at the door again then returned his owlish gaze to Sierra, eyes wide with fake innocence. “What others?”

  “The other boys.” She ran her hands through her hair, bringing it back to some semblance of order. “Where did they go, Josh?”

  He continued looking at the door while he answered. “They left.” He looked back at her and gave her a winning smile. “Do I get a Pudding Snack? For letting you out?”

  “Yes. If you tell me where the others went.”

  He looked torn, as if his loyalties had been strained beyond endurance. The squinting and grimacing intensified. “They left. I don’t know where.” He wiped his nose with the back of one hand. “Were you scared? In the closet?”

  “No, Josh, I was just worried. About you boys.” Her voice was rising into a shrill, barely contained hysteria. “Where did they go?”

  Joshua squinted at Ridge then returned his gaze to Sierra. “You probably weren’t scared because you had him to play with.”

  Ridge put on his best poker face and stared straight ahead. He could feel S
ierra beside him radiating tension. If he looked at her, he’d laugh as loud and long as she had back there in the closet.

  He had to admit the idea of “playing” in the closet had crossed his mind, especially when he’d felt the firm, muscled tone of Sierra’s smooth calves. Tennis. That was his guess. Her muscles were ropy and hard, different from a cowgirl’s.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets in a vain effort to forget the feel of her muscles under his palm. It had been way too long since he’d had anything to do with any kind of girl, cow or otherwise.

  “I was never scared when my sister was in the closet, and we could play,” the kid said.

  Ridge winced, and the urge to laugh disappeared. From the sound of it, the kid had been locked in a closet on a regular basis.

  Sierra gave Josh a shaky smile, as if she wasn’t sure how to respond. “We weren’t playing, Josh.”

  “Well, what were you doing, then? Because he was down like this, and his head—”

  Sierra didn’t wait for the description of what had probably been one of her most mortifying moments ever. “I know, honey. We can talk about that later.”

  Ridge grinned. Judging from Joshua’s determined squint, putting him off until “later” was not going to help Sierra avoid a conversation about what had been going on in the closet.

  “Right now, we need to find the boys. Did they leave the building?”

  The answer seemed obvious, considering Joshua had barely been able to keep his eyes away from the door. But the kid fidgeted, refusing to answer. Finally, Sierra crossed the hall to the front door, and Joshua, thin shoulders bowed under the weight of his secrets, followed.

  Ridge, after briefly considering his options, trailed along as well. It was hardly a bronc ride, but at least there was something going on here, which made following Sierra a much better choice than heading back to the ranch. He wasn’t up for dealing with his brothers right now. He’d just as soon they hit the road and leave him with only his own wrecked body for company.

  Well, almost wrecked. A certain essential part was obviously working just fine. In fact, if he didn’t forget the feel of Sierra’s body in the dark, and if he couldn’t take his eyes off the determined way she sashayed down the hall, that part was liable to work a little too well.