Cowboy Doms Collection

by BJ Wane

  Lillian wouldn’t admit it to Doctor Mitchell Hoffstetter, but she felt better after eating. Staring at her pathetic reflection in the bathroom mirror, she could tolerate how awful she looked now the dizziness had cleared. If she weren’t still so tired, she might give in to the temptation to continue sparring with her host. There was something about his deep, commanding voice that helped keep her mind off the worrisome building snowstorm and her sorrow over Liana’s passing. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone and that both scared her and made her sad. As annoying as she found him, Mitchell’s bossiness was still preferable to silence and her depressing thoughts.

  But even after that quick nap, fatigue weighed her down and she longed to escape her sorrow and aches through sleep. After stripping off her jeans and sweater, she pulled on the blue flannel shirt he loaned her, the hem falling to mid-thigh, the sleeves needing rolled up several times. It was wide enough to wrap around her twice, but warm and comfortable, and that’s all she cared about. The slight woodsy odor reminded her of him as she left the bathroom, his direct, observant gaze as she padded over to the bed warming her insides. Yes, she mused, slipping under the turned down covers, she was definitely exhausted if a stranger she didn’t particularly care for could stir her up with a look.

  “Are you sure I need that?” She eyed the wrapped ice with a shiver as he approached the bed.

  “Yes.” Instead of giving it to her, Mitchell delved under the blanket, and the shirt and placed the cold compress against her ribcage where she was the sorest. “How’s that?” he asked, stepping back and flipping the covers back up.

  “Freakin’ cold, how do you think it is?” She sounded bitchy but damn, it was cold.

  “Be careful, pet, or you won’t like the way I warm you up.”

  She gritted her teeth at the nickname. “Is that a threat? I thought I could trust you?”

  “I don’t threaten, just warn. Remember that and we’ll get along fine. I also don’t hit, but I do have ways to punish a woman you wouldn’t care for.”

  He turned from her but she wasn’t about to let that go. Burying deeper into the comfortable bed, she whispered on a tired sigh, “What do you mean, women like me?”

  Mitchell settled in the recliner and pulled a book out of the side pocket, flicking her a look of exasperation. “Never mind. Go to sleep, Lillian.”

  Her eyes drifted closed of their own accord, rousing sometime later from the loud crackle of logs added to the fire. The ice pack was no longer nestled under the shirt, its removal without her waking proving how deeply she’d slept but not for how long. The room was dark except for the glow from the fire where her eyes focused as soon as she lifted her lids. In appreciative silence, she gazed upon Mitchell’s bare back as he bent to remove his jeans. It didn’t surprise her to see he went commando, or to note his lean muscled body was as pleasurable to look at as she’d imagined. Those broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and taut buttocks topped his long, muscled legs.

  He turned, lifting an inquisitive brow at catching her staring. “You must not be as out of it as I’d thought.”

  “I’ve sworn off men but I’m not dead, at least I don’t think so.” If he wasn’t going to act prudish then neither would she, but holy moly, the man had an impressive package and build.

  “No, you’re not,” he replied, strolling around to the other side with complete disregard for his nudity. “Go back to sleep. I won’t bother you.”

  Bummer. Lillian drifted back to sleep as the bed dipped with his weight, a giggle lodged in her throat from that one-word, wayward thought.

  She slept through the snowstorm as it raged into a full-blown blizzard, the snow piling up past the one window over the next few hours. She didn’t wake up when Mitchell did, or when he dressed and started bacon sizzling on the stove. His conversation with the sheriff via his satellite phone went unheard, the coffee aroma didn’t tickle her sense of smell. It wasn’t until mid-morning when her body’s demand for the restroom won out over some explicit dreams that she rolled out from her warm cocoon, shivering from head to toe as her bare feet hit the wood floor.

  Blinking to clear her sleepy vision, the first thing to come into focus was Mitchell sitting at the table appearing content and well-rested as he finished off the last bite of scrambled eggs. With the images of her writhing under the forceful plunges of his thrusting body still playing through her head, Lillian found herself resenting his probing once-over out of eyes mostly green this morning with the yellow glow of the fire haloing his head. She had zip-zero interest in men before Liana collapsed in a coma six weeks ago, and even less than that, if possible, by the time she left Brad’s house without looking back. Her appreciation of the doctor’s rescue, hospitality and physical attributes she understood, but not her mind and body betraying her with those dreams that stirred up her libido.

  “Good morning. You slept well, so why the scowl?” Mitchell stood and picked up his plate, carrying it over to the sink.

  “Maybe I’m not a morning person. Excuse me.” She walked into the bathroom where she washed up and dressed. A shower could wait until later. Right now it was more important to shield her body from the appreciative glance he’d given her bare legs and to get herself under control. It’s the circumstances that have thrown us together in close proximity and my stress, that’s all this is, she insisted before opening the door to see him setting a plate piled with eggs and bacon on the table. Feeling irritable, she grumbled, “I’m not hungry. You eat it.”

  With a sigh, he stalked around the table and peered down at her with a frown. “You need fuel to heal. Quit being so stubborn.” Of course her stomach took that moment to rumble in hunger. A taunting smile appeared as he cocked his head. “It seems I know your body’s needs better than you, baby.”

  Lillian reacted without thinking, hearing him call her baby igniting her temper with the flashback of Brad’s sneering voice. Lifting her arm, she swung only to have him halt her slap before her palm connected with his face. He gripped her wrist, his hold loose but unbreakable. his eyes going to narrowed slits and boring into hers. She sucked in a trembling breath, shaken by the force of her anger.

  “You really do have a deep-rooted aversion to affectionate nicknames, don’t you?” he murmured.

  “Especially that one,” she returned without thinking, the information revealing in its simplicity.

  He held her in his penetrating perusal and light grip for several seconds before releasing her from both with a short nod. “Understood. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

  Mitchell waited until Lillian complied, sat down and picked up her fork before turning his back on her. He had seen the second the word ‘baby’ triggered something inside her, her reaction as volatile as his thoughts. The urge to poke at her for more information about this guy and the circumstances responsible for her landing here was as strong as the desire to hunt him down and exact retribution for her. The intensity of his need to do those two things bothered him. Not since his wife, Abbie had been diagnosed with stage four cancer had he experienced such a profound desire to right the wrong done to a woman. He didn’t even know Lillian, not like he had Abbie, or the submissive members of The Barn, the private BDSM club he’d joined eight months ago, shortly after arriving in Willow Springs. With any of them, he could indulge in a long spank-session over his knees to get the answers he wanted and then reward them with a climax when they quit holding back.

  Stoking the fire, a warm curl of remembered fondness spread around his chest as the memory of Abbie coming to stand before him with a shy smile popped up. Spanking for discipline or to get answers was sometimes necessary, but nothing beat the pleasure of watching your sub approach you with need of your hard hand connecting with their bare flesh reflected on their face. It hadn’t taken long to convince Abbie not to wait for his order if she yearned for the release his butt-reddening smacks could give her and he had loved watching as she would pull down her pants and drape herself over his lap wi
thout words.

  Swiveling his head, he watched Lillian eat with her brows dipped in a frown. This woman didn’t possess a submissive bone in her slender body, that he could detect anyway. It wouldn’t do to fantasize about pulling answers from her the old-fashioned way. The storm had abated early this morning and street crews would head out later today and into tomorrow. After assuring Grayson they were both fine, the sheriff put digging out her car as low priority and would let him know when they could get to it in a day or two. After that, he and his attractive but annoying houseguest would go their separate ways and the concerns he harbored for her would go away as fast as she’d interrupted his solitude.

  Until then, all Mitchell had to do was ignore the odd itch to erase the sadness lurking in her extraordinary eyes that mimicked his sorrow when he thought of Abbie. As much as he disliked seeing those bruises marring her face, the fleeting idea of replacing her bad memories with one fucking good one before they parted company wouldn’t come to pass. Since losing his wife, he only indulged his dominant sexual preferences with submissive women at the club, ones who didn’t expect anything other than his undivided attention for a scene or two.

  It was best not to involve himself with Lillian’s troubles other than to get her well enough to send her on her way to wherever she was headed in a few days.

  Chapter 3

  “The storm has passed, but I told Sheriff Monroe to put digging your car out as low priority.” Lillian picked up her plate and stood, her mouth tightening with pique as she flicked Mitchell an irritated look. He held up a hand to ward off her complaint. “We’re both fine here for another twenty-four hours, and even longer if necessary. There are others in worse straits, including livestock that local ranchers could use a helping hand in getting to.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she carried her empty dish to the sink. He liked she didn’t expect him to clean up after her.

  “You’re right. Even though this is my first winter storm outside of the city, I should have realized the efforts it takes to get to people who are so spread out.” She rinsed her plate and turned to lean against the counter. “I missed the turnoff to Billings, where I planned to stop. Where is this Willow Springs you mentioned?”

  “Not far, closer than Billings from here. Hailing from Denver, it took me some time to get used to the small-town vibes, but now I like it. If you’re in no hurry, you should stay a few days to rest up and let yourself heal.”

  A sorrowful spasm crossed her face before she averted her head toward the snow-covered window. “I might, seeing as I’m not headed anywhere in particular. I wish I had my paints,” she murmured with a soft sigh.

  “You’re an artist? I wondered when I saw the canvases in the back of your car.” Mitchell walked over to a cupboard to her left and retrieved a notebook of unlined, blank sheets. His arm brushed hers as he lowered it and handed her the tablet. “You can have this to sketch in, if you want. It’ll give you something to do while I go out and clear the window and get more wood. There should be some pencils or pens in that drawer.” He nodded to the end drawer along the counter.

  For the first time, her eyes shone with gratitude and pleasure as she took the simple offering, careful not to let their hands touch. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I want to check your ribs before I go out.” Michell wiggled his fingers in an upward motion, signaling for her to lift her sweater. This time, her deep purple gaze lit with amusement.

  “Men usually don’t insist on me making it easy for them to get under my clothes.”

  His mouth twitched, enjoying her humor. It was so much better than her sniping or sadness. “I’m not most men and I’m checking you out as a doctor, not a lover.”

  She set the tablet on the counter and lifted her sweater, her eyes on his face as she smirked, “So you’re not imagining what I look like without my bra right now?”

  Sliding his eyes down, he visually caressed her white satin-covered breasts long enough to watch her nipples pucker in response. “About as much as you’re not imagining me touching you.” Her eyes flashed and she started to lower her top. Apparently she could dish it out but had trouble taking it. Or maybe she was fighting her response as hard as he was struggling to suppress the growing need to ease the pain reflected on her face with something pleasurable. He stopped her by reaching out and running his fingers over her bruised ribs. “Relax. It’s just a little harmless banter to break up the tedium.”

  Lillian sucked in a deep breath as he lightly probed her black and blue ribcage. “Do you always blow so hot and cold? One minute you’re the nice, concerned doctor, the next a put-upon host and now the congenial acquaintance.”

  “I could say the same about you, pet,” he answered absently as he tried to palpate her ribs without causing her too much discomfort. When he realized he let slip with another nickname, he glanced at her face, lifting one brow at her silence.

  After a moment, she shrugged, saying, “Just don’t call me baby.”

  “Deal. One to ten, how sore are you?”

  “Maybe a four or five. I’m fine.”

  He lowered his hand, replying, “You will be in a few weeks. Until then, no lifting or straining. I have aspirin, if you need it.” He plucked it out of an upper cabinet and set the bottle on the counter and then strode toward the door to shrug into his coat. “This will take a while, so rest and amuse yourself until I come back in.” Snatching up his gloves, he stepped out into bright sunshine but frigid cold air, wondering at the urge to put space between them.

  Lillian scowled at the closed door. Mitchell’s parting comment had sounded more like an order than a suggestion, his clipped tone stirring up her resentment of this whole situation. When she’d teased him about getting under her clothes, she’d done so to throw him off guard, the same as her lightning quick, warm responses to his innocent touches had flustered her. The same desperate impulse to drive away and keep on going that had gripped her when she’d stumbled out of Brad’s house returned to plague her. Only she was as stuck here, with no way out as much as she had been trapped for the previous month into staying with Brad.

  Liana’s smiling face popped up into Lillian’s head as she remembered their laughter as they’d tossed tinsel they’d plucked off their Christmas tree onto each other. That was the last time she’d heard Liana’s voice. A week later, Lillian had gotten the phone call from her sister’s boss telling her she’d collapsed at work and was en route to the hospital.

  Blinking back tears, Lillian sat at the table and started sketching the scene in her head. During her two-week vigilance at the hospital, she’d passed the time by drawing childhood memories of the two of them, thinking they might help Liana heal when she awoke. After her twin had been moved to the care home and Brad blackmailed Lillian with threats to her beloved sister, she’d been too distraught and then too angry with him and fate to sketch any more memories.

  It had been a grave mistake to let herself lean on Brad right after Liana had collapsed. She’d broken up with him because of his high-handed, possessive manner and attempts to control her, but the shock and despair of her sister’s condition had rendered her helpless to cope alone. With no other family, Brad had taken advantage of her grief and uncertainty and then revealed the true depth of his obsession with her when she’d backed away. But every snide, cutting remark, every punch, arm twist, kick and unwanted fuck had been worth it to ensure Liana didn’t suffer at his hands. Lillian still shuddered when she recalled the things he’d said he could do to her, things sure to cause tremendous pain without anyone being the wiser.

  A scraping sound drew her eyes to the window as she finished a sketch of Liana reaching to place the star on a Christmas tree. She watched the snow fall away from the window, one scrape from top to bottom at a time, until enough cleared she could see Mitchell. A black Stetson covered his head and a scarf tucked around his neck was stretched over his mouth and nose, but there was no mistaking that unnerving, penetrating gaze zeroing in on her through t
he cleared glass. She wanted to look away, to hide from whatever he was trying to calculate from her expression but refused to back down.

  And then his head moved in an almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d been checking up on her and affirmed she was doing his bidding by resting and drawing. She slid her eyes away from the window, a curl of resentment forming a knot in her stomach. He’s a doctor, I should cut him some slack. Maybe she would if she hadn’t been forced to endure another doctor’s insufferable dictates for weeks. Mitchell’s tendency to order instead of ask might stem from medical concern, but she didn’t care. The part of her that still trembled whenever she thought of Brad’s retribution when she didn’t meet his demands insisted she retaliate.

  With no thought in mind except to venture outside in a small show of rebellion, Lillian tried not to think about her aching face and ribs as she tugged on her boots after Mitchell moved away from the window. Snatching her coat off the rack, she buttoned up and pulled on her gloves, figuring she wouldn’t mind if the cold air numbed her face. Opening the door, she shielded her eyes against the glare of bright sunshine bouncing off a field of winter white.

  The sound of an ax cutting through wood resonated from around the side and Lillian trudged through several feet of snow to spy on her host, admiring the glistening icicles dangling from frozen tree limbs. Peeking around the corner, she spotted Mitchell, now coatless, lifting an ax above his head and bringing it down in the center of a propped-up log, his strong swing splitting the wood in two. Okay, he is worth staring at, she admitted as his shoulder and back muscles bunched under the brown flannel shirt. Snug jeans emphasized the clench of taut buttocks as he replaced the split pieces with another hefty log. He was just as eye-catching now as last night when she’d seen his naked body silhouetted by the glowing fire. She might have been groggy with lingering exhaustion, but she’d been awake enough to appreciate the mouthwatering, pussy spasming view.