The Girl with the Golden Spurs

by Ann Major

  “You look like a lost, little waif,” he muttered gruffly, watching her from just inside the door as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

  “Believe me, I feel like one, too. You don’t look too hot yourself.” The cold tile floor stung her bare feet and sent chills up her legs. The room smelled a little musty. “I—I thought you’d never come,” she whispered as she began to shake.

  She wanted to run to him and throw herself into his arms and tell him scared she’d been. But his face was dark and grim. His white shirt and tight, threadbare jeans were wrinkled and dirty. No telling what he’d been doing when she’d called. He probably didn’t want anything to do with her. Now wasn’t the time to tell him how frightened she still was.

  So, she bit her lips and clutched the edges of her robe together at the throat and said rather primly, if not nervously, “Thanks for coming. Unit Four is so charming and cozy I may never want to leave it.”

  “I just can’t believe it’s really you,” he whispered, appearing to be somewhat dazed.

  They were staring at each other from opposite sides of that large sitting room that had a lovely stone fireplace flanked by a pair of brown leather sofas. Above the fireplace hung an immense portrait of Caesar, and it unnerved Lizzy a little that wherever she stood, her daddy’s eyes followed her just as they had when he’d been alive.

  There was a bedroom, a bath and a small kitchen, even though most hunters probably preferred to be fed and waited on in the main lodge.

  “I’ll try to find you something to wear home,” he said as he turned from her and began to open and shut all the drawers.

  How could he be worrying about clothes—now—when she was so afraid? And so glad to see him? So glad to be alive?

  “I—I don’t want to go home,” she whispered and felt herself flush all over when he glanced up abruptly to read her meaning. “Not yet anyway.”

  That’s right. The rules have changed, cowboy. I want to be here alone with you.

  Yesterday she’d learned for certain her brother was gay. Then she’d learned her father was dead. And when she’d thought it couldn’t get worse, she’d been chased and shot at. Cole’s presence was the only thing holding her together. Did she want to go home? Not hardly.

  When he slammed the last drawer shut without finding anything, he turned, and she saw that his dark cheeks were as red as hers probably were. “You hungry then?”

  “Starved.” How could he act so normal? She was looking directly at him, imploring him to read her mind, to care a little, to feel something.

  If he did, he was loath to let on.

  “Me, too.” His voice was hoarse.

  “The only thing here is a jar of instant coffee,” she said shyly.

  “Then I’ll go down to the lodge and find something to cook for us here.”

  “Don’t leave me!” Like a terrified little kid, she scampered after him when he opened the door. Her eyes lingered on his face. She wanted so much to touch him, to be held and comforted, to feel safe.

  “What the hell happened?” he whispered, reaching for her. Pulling her close, he brushed his hand across her cheek where the bark had hit her when she’d been shot at.

  “I—I…” She stopped, clamping her teeth together. If she tried to tell him, she’d fall to pieces and maybe weep hysterically.

  “Just hold me. Don’t ever let me go.”

  “I thought you were dead,” he murmured gravely, hugging her. “I’ve been through hell. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “I nearly was dead. But just hold me.” She was still trembling as if she had the chills.

  They stood together at the door for a long time, locked in a tight embrace.

  “You smell a little funny,” she said.

  “Sorry about that, darlin’.” Without further explanation, he turned his face from hers even as he pressed her even closer.

  He was warm and tall and strong. After a while her teeth stopped chattering, and her knees quit feeling so wobbly.

  “Feeling better?” he asked gravely, frowning when he saw her hands poking out from under her thick sleeves. Slowly he lifted her fingertips and turned them over to inspect the red scratches on her wrists and palms.

  “Oh, my God! You’re hurt!” He whistled when he saw all the cactus needles imbedded in her left palm. “What are these?”

  “Needles. From a cactus.”

  “I mean—how’d you get them?”

  “They’re not that bad.” She fought to pull her hand free, but he held on to her wrist.

  “The hell you say! I’m going out to my truck to get a pair of pliers.”

  “No!” She jumped closer to him.

  “Now don’t be scared. I’ll be right back. Lock the door behind me.”

  She nodded. When he was gone, she stood right by the door, hugging herself for a while. When he didn’t return as fast as he’d promised, she began to pace. Where was he?

  Her restless gaze skimmed over the rooms. The kitchen was immaculate except for a few bits of paper in the trash can.

  Odd, that there should be any trash if no hunters had been here.

  Curious, she knelt and retrieved the torn white fragments. When she pieced them together, they formed a credit card receipt from a local hardware store in Chaparral dated yesterday that was signed by Uncle B.B.

  When she heard Cole’s footsteps again outside, she wadded the receipt and slipped it into her robe pocket. Then she ran to the door to throw it open for him.

  He was loaded down with cans of chili, chicken, tomatoes, tuna, pliers and a bottle of brandy.

  “You were supposed to only get the pliers.”

  “I couldn’t very well let an injured woman starve, darlin’.”

  “Or yourself.”

  “I was thinking of you, darlin’.”

  She gathered a few cans off the top to help. In the kitchen he found a glass and poured a single shot of brandy.

  “Here, Lizzy. This will warm you even better than a fire or hot food, and dull the pain in your hand, too.”

  “Aren’t you having any?”

  “I’ve already had my share tonight.”

  “So that’s why you smell funny,” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  She bit her lip. “What…what does Suz mean to you?”

  “I see her at work.” He sighed. “I had one lousy date with her.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  He knelt before the fireplace and struck a match to the kindling beneath the stacked logs in the fireplace. When the fire roared to life, she moved closer to the yellow flames and swallowed the brandy, which sent more dizzying warmth through her veins.

  Feeling better but still tired, she sat down on the couch. He turned on a lamp and sat down beside her and pulled the needles out with expert ease. Each needle stung as it slid out and he placed it on the table, but the brandy helped.

  “You want to tell me how you got these?” he said, staring at the pile of needles.

  She told him about being chased and shot at and thrown from Star, about crawling over thorns and about burying herself under high grass to hide. She told him about the rider who’d left her and had raced after Star.

  “Did Star get home okay?” she asked.

  His face had darkened at the question, and his whole body tensed. Suddenly she felt afraid again.

  “Is Star…?”

  “Did you get a look at him?” Cole demanded. “The rider?”

  She shook her head. “I—I tried to call you when I was sure he was gone, but my cell phone wouldn’t work. So I walked through the brush for hours, it seemed, until I found the road and headed for this hunting camp. I kept thinking… he’d come galloping back and shoot me.”

  “Thank God he didn’t.” Cole’s face had never looked so lined and grim as he stared at her. He didn’t glance up again until he finished removing the last of the needles and set the pliers down beside the little pile of thorns on the table.<
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  Getting up and sitting down on the couch opposite hers, he said, “It’s late. You’d better wash that hand. I’ve got an ointment for it. I’ll cook us something easy and fast.”

  “All right,” she whispered, feeling vaguely disappointed at his formal manner as she took the ointment and headed to the bathroom.

  When she came back, she watched Cole set the table; she watched everything he did, devouring his broad shoulders and tall lean body with her gaze. Being alone with him in such a romantic setting seemed truly wonderful after the horror that had gone before. If she hadn’t nearly lost her life, she might have wasted months being too stubborn to realize how much she cared about Cole. Just looking at him made her temperature rise and her skin tingle. She felt safe and happy and treasured. Which was crazy. A maniac had tried to kill her.

  Cole. Cole. Cole. He was everything.

  Every step she’d taken across rough wild country tonight had felt like a step back to him. Lying in that grass after her fall, she’d known he mattered more to her than anything else in her life. The past was forgiven. Yes, he’d married Mia, and Lizzy didn’t know why. And he didn’t seem to, either. She simply didn’t care why.

  He was different now, and so was she. Those events felt like ancient history—she knew they had happened, but all emotion surrounding those happenings was long dead.

  After they’d eaten and pushed their plates aside, he made her recount every excruciating detail of her misadventure.

  “You know something,” she said. “For the first time in my life I wished I had a gun. Daddy used to be adamant that I strap on my pistol when I rode, but I never wanted to. I used to tell him he didn’t always carry a gun. You know what he said?”

  Cole shook his head.

  “He said I was prettier than he was.”

  Cole smiled as he got up from the table and began to pick up their dishes. On his way to the kitchen, he said, in a cold, formal tone she hated, “It’s late. Why don’t you go to bed. I’ll do the dishes and find sheets for the couch.”

  Instantly she felt bereft.

  He was gallantly giving her the bedroom when all she wanted was to be wrapped in his arms and held close. Yet she didn’t know how to tell him.

  “All right,” she whispered, getting up but feeling miserable and awkward and shy as she headed to the bedroom alone. Her eyes met his and she had the fleeting thought that maybe he felt just like she did.

  Later, as she pulled back the thick down coverlet and got into bed, she tried not to think about him in the next room, but, of course, she could think of nothing else. Death was somehow related to sex. The loss of her father plus her own recent brush with death had made her want Cole with an unbearable, undeniable need. She knew that someday she would die for sure, and she wanted to make every moment count. And she knew that the moments that would count the most for her were the moments she spent with him. More than anything she wanted to feel alive, and Cole made her feel that way.

  She lay tossing and turning. He was being the perfect gentleman. He was being the Cole she’d always wanted rather than the dispossessed bad boy next door who wanted what he wanted regardless of other people. But he was rejecting her.

  Or was he simply showing her by considering her feelings how much he did care? She had to find out.

  Hardly knowing what she did, she got out of bed and padded slowly into the sitting room. At the sound of her door opening, he came to the doorway of the kitchen.

  He was watching her, and she saw the desire in his eyes even though his low voice was casual. “Something wrong?” he whispered huskily.

  “The bedroom was so cold,” she said, lying as she rubbed her arms.

  Very slowly, hardly knowing what she was about, she fluffed her damp hair with her fingertips so that it flowed freely over her shoulders. His blazing eyes made her feel powerful and exciting.

  Then slowly, rhythmically she began running her hands through the silken platinum. Even though he was still fully dressed, she lowered her hands and shakily undid the sash of the robe and let it slide off her shoulders to the floor.

  “I felt lonely, too,” she continued softly, closing her eyes as if to savor her own touch. “Without you.” She batted her long lashes and smiled at him. Then she glanced up into her father’s painted eyes.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Cole said, but his warm gaze said something else. “You’re not yourself tonight. Hell, I don’t know who I really am most of the time. You said New York meant nothing. You told me to stay the hell away…”

  “Shhh. I know what I said. And I know what I want. Can’t a foolish woman change her mind, cowboy?”

  “Sure she can,” he whispered on a ragged note that tore her heart.

  Lizzy smiled when he strode across the room faster than she’d ever seen him move. Then his strong arms were around her and he was holding her so close she could barely breathe. Their bodies were fused, and she melted into the heat of his. The next thing she knew his mouth was on hers, hard and yet soft and warm and wet, too, exactly right, as always, and soon she was drowning in his frenzied kisses.

  “Don’t ever let me go,” she begged as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “Not a chance. Not tonight. Not ever. Oh, Lizzy, Lizzy, oh, my darlin’ Lizzy. I thought I’d never hold you like this again.”

  “One more thing! Would you take Daddy’s picture down. I don’t want him watching this!”

  Cole laughed. “Neither the hell do I! It’ll just take a minute.”

  He crossed the room, removed the picture and stood it so that Caesar’s painted face was against the wall.

  She ran into his arms, and he kissed her.

  “You’re alive,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re really alive.”

  Seventeen

  Pink light sifted through the windows and slanted across the bed. Beneath the covers they were naked. Lizzy closed her eyes and pressed herself against him, reveling in the hard contours of his long body as she began to explore him with her hands.

  “What do you want now that you’ve got me all hot and bothered?” he murmured, running his palm between her thighs.

  “I’m easy. Just another night of wild, unforgettable sex.”

  “Like New York?”

  His body heat drew her like a magnet. Snuggling closer, she parted her legs.

  “Wanting you like this shows me New York meant something…meant a lot, at least to me,” she said.

  “To me, too, darlin’.”

  “I nearly died. Oh, Cole, make me feel I’m glad to be alive.”

  “Wanting you has damn near made me crazy,” he said fiercely, his hot whispery breath falling on intimate places that made her quiver when he lowered his head and went down on her.

  “It has?” she squeaked when his mouth nuzzled her there.

  “What did you think, woman, that I was made of stone?”

  “Only that part of you.” She giggled.

  “Do you want to talk or—”

  “Definitely…or.”

  His mouth had begun stroking the delicate folds of feminine flesh, sending lava warm tingles flowing inside her. He kissed her and licked her until her body writhed. Until her hands tore the sheets. Until she begged him to take her in frantic, breathless whispers.

  “Not yet. Maybe it’s your turn to return the sexual favor.”

  She rolled him onto his back and rose above him. Her tongue moved down his lean, muscular body, circling him with her lips, taking the large, satiny hardness inside her mouth and flicking her tongue in circular motions until he groaned with pleasure.

  Then he lifted her head and pulled her forward until she was on top of him, straddling him. He paused at the pulsing brink for a long moment before easing her gently down and thrusting up inside her.

  She bent forward, lowering her breasts against his wide chest, savoring the feel of fur covered muscle against her aroused nipples. As they made love, their bodies moving in perfe
ct harmony, all the old hurts dissolved even as fragile new hopes flamed to life.

  Then she shuddered quietly while he exploded, yelling her name and gripping her fiercely. Later he wrapped her in his arms and held her close.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said. “So perfect.”

  She blushed, pleased. “So are you.”

  “Let’s get married,” he whispered.

  Maybe, she thought. Maybe. Then she remembered Mia lost forever in the cold, dark gulf and pulled away from him uneasily, the old doubt welling up inside her.

  Was he attracted to the Kemble name or her?

  “Maybe we should just enjoy what we have for now.”

  “Whatever you say.” But his voice was tense, his mood as changed as hers was.

  He was lying beside her, his eyes wide-open with her at a loss as to what to say next when his cell phone began to vibrate in the pocket of his jeans, which she’d tossed into a heap when she’d stripped him.

  “Don’t answer it,” she murmured when he rolled away from her.

  Frowning, he leaned over the bed and grabbed his jeans.

  “Always so responsible?”

  “You make me sound like the bad guy.”

  “I fell in love with the wild bad boy, remember?”

  “Right. The real me.” His jaw tightened.

  She swallowed. His sudden tension reminded her he didn’t like thinking of himself in that light. He was different now, she realized. So different. Wonderful.

  She caught a glimpse of his stark profile as he stalked out of the room, his cell phone pressed against his ear, and she thought the nice Cole was the real Cole.

  Life had twisted the old Cole and made him bitter. He’d believed the only way he could be whole was to get even with the Kembles. He’d schemed to use her. Then he’d schemed to use her sister. Without the bitter memories of his youth, he seemed to be the man he would have been if life hadn’t been so hard on him.

  She remembered how he’d saved her when Pájaro had run away with her. Even that first afternoon she’d felt a truth between them that was more profound than his hatred of the Kembles. Her father hadn’t seen the good in him, of course. None of her family had, except maybe Mia, and now Joanne.