The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  If Dean hadn’t been so focused on managing the ranch, he might have seen it sooner. If he’d found more time to spend with Anne, courting her, something more could’ve developed between them. Or at least, he might have noticed when her emotions strayed.

  But he’d made a commitment to honor his granddad’s legacy. Lawton Ranch was his responsibility.

  And now he had a responsibility to honor Anne’s memory as well.

  Feeling the steady, quiet presence of the woman beside him, he drew a heavy breath and let it out as he straightened up and turned toward her.

  She was closer than he expected, and her fresh female scent swept into his nostrils with his next inhale. He recognized it from the soap he used every day, but it was different on her somehow.

  Hunger kicked to life inside him. He stomped it down.

  “I’ve got no time for a wife,” he said a little gruffer than he intended. “Running this ranch is my main priority, and it takes all I got.”

  If he couldn’t be a proper husband and give a wife the attention and affection she deserved, he wouldn’t take on that role.

  He wasn’t sure his explanation made any sense. He’d never before had to clarify his feeling on the subject, and her expression was impossible to read as she looked up at him. He started to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have been so forthcoming.

  But then she smiled.

  It was just a gentle curve of her mouth: almost sad, but still beautiful. “Well, I’d be the first to admit that I know nothing about managing a cattle ranch, but it’s my opinion that you are doing a fine job of it.”

  Her words were not what he’d expected, but they somehow managed to shake off the melancholia that had fallen over him. He gave a short grunt and replied, “Another opinion?”

  Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I warned you I had a few.”

  “I just didn’t expect to be graced with them so frequently.”

  With her mouth resisting the pull of a smile, she narrowed her gaze and tipped her head to the side in that way she had. “Are you teasing me, Mr. Lawton?”

  He shouldn’t be.

  “I might be.”

  “An earnest apology and now this?” she asked. “Be careful, I might just start to like you.”

  Dean fought against the lure of laughter in her eyes and how her playful tone made him want to respond in kind. “I’m sure I’ll change your mind on that soon enough.”

  The honey was back in her voice as it flowed out in a warm laugh.

  His hunger rose up again as well, in a fierce, deep rush. He tightened the reins on his unwanted physical reaction. It could only lead to no good. Clearing his throat, he grasped for a quick change in topic. “Once our association is resolved, I’ll help you get to your friend’s place.”

  Her laugh had settled into a small smile that remained in place as she replied, “That is kind of you, but I already sent her a letter letting her know I was here—well, in town, anyway. She might even arrive before our four weeks are up. I can’t imagine how I am going to explain this…odd situation to her.”

  “Blame it on me and my bad manners.”

  “Oh, I most certainly will,” she replied with a pert little nod. “You can count on that.”

  She sure had a way with that sass of hers. As he resisted a smile, her attention fell to his mouth again.

  Desire seared through him.

  He took a step back. “I expect dinner will be ready soon,” he said. “We should head inside.”

  “Of course.”

  He held the door open for her to pass through into the house. She kept her chin angled down as she walked past him, and his gaze fell to the graceful line of her nape, where fine red curls brushed against smooth skin. The sight struck Dean acutely. Such a softly feminine detail.

  In the same instant, he was hit with another whiff of her scent. His senses already heightened, he noted how the orange of his soap was sweeter—warmer—on her skin. And the spearmint, when mixed with her natural female scent, hit just the right note to go angling straight through him.

  He inhaled deep through his nose, trying to breathe in more of her.

  The sound drew her attention, and he caught a flash of green as she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes a split second before she passed by and entered the house.

  It took all Dean had to maintain control over the desire running like a wild mustang through his blood.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Courtney was still reeling from the conversation on the front porch as she took a seat at the dinner table. She shouldn’t have pried into such a personal matter. He might be her husband, but Dean Lawton was a stranger.

  His response to her inquiry had not been at all what she expected. Courtney sensed there was more to the story than what he had been willing to admit.

  Behind that serious and focused facade, the cowboy was an enigma of condensed thought and carefully contained emotion. Even his lean, muscled body conveyed a steady brand of self-control. But something had become clear to Courtney while he recounted the story of his former fiancée and her untimely death: the man possessed depths he did not wish others to see.

  With her thoughts still consumed by what Dean had told her, she took a little while to realize it was just the two of them for supper. Jimena had made a couple trips back and forth to the kitchen to bring out the food, but then had not reappeared.

  “Will the others be joining us?” she asked.

  Dean’s light gaze met hers from across the table. “Not tonight. They only come by a few nights a week. Otherwise, I eat alone.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. She couldn’t imagine spending the majority of one’s evening meals without some form of company. But she guessed the man across the table actually preferred it that way.

  Luckily, he didn’t seem to expect any further response from her, as he turned his attention to the meal. Supper continued in awkward silence, another odd experience for Courtney. One of the first things a young lady mastered at finishing school was how to maintain the flow of dinner conversation in a way that was neither intrusive nor forced. It was the duty of an accomplished hostess to ensure guests remained engaged and amused by a variety of topics and delightful anecdotes.

  All that kept the current dinner interesting were the unexpected moments when her untethered gaze accidentally met his over the table. Then, for a brief, flashing second, his striking eyes would penetrate the dull quiet that hovered over the table to spear her with intense self-awareness.

  It was during one of these fleeting meetings of gazes that Courtney noticed wariness in his eyes and realized he had no idea how to handle her presence in his home and in his life.

  Of course, she already knew he didn’t want her there, but more than that, it seemed he was honestly thrown off by her.

  She was pleased to discover she was not the only one feeling so deeply awkward in this unexpected situation. She had to suppress a grin at that. At least she was skilled at concealing her internal discomfort. This man did not appear to be quite so good at hiding his distress. Or perhaps annoyance was a better word. She could read it in the subtle lines that marred his forehead and in the way the outer corners of his mouth tugged downward.

  As the meal eventually came to its inevitable conclusion, Courtney gave up on her efforts to avoid staring at him. Honestly, there wasn’t much else to look at, aside from her food, and though it had been delicious, she had seen enough of it already.

  Lawton had just placed his knife and fork across his plate and used his napkin to wipe his mouth before leaning back in his chair, obviously well satisfied. Still sitting stiff and straight at the edge of her seat, Courtney found his relaxed masculinity fascinating to observe.

  The man knew how to lounge, and he made the casual posture look shockingly attractive.

  Here in his home out
on the Montana plains, he was not ruled by any social expectations other than those he chose to adopt. If he had wanted to, he could have eaten his entire meal with his fingers, and who would have stopped him or railed at him for it?

  And now that he had enjoyed his fill, he leaned back with his feet braced wide. One large hand was splayed on the surface of his denim-clad thigh, while the forearm of his right hand rested on the table. His shirtsleeves were rolled partway to his elbows, and the collar of his shirt was undone.

  Even in that frightfully relaxed pose, he was clearly the king of his domain, the boss. He did not have to flaunt his position of authority with unnecessary airs. It was simply who he was. The nature of his role in life came from what he did—day in and day out—to make the ranch a success.

  As someone who was currently wondering just what she had to offer the world, Courtney found his innate and unquestionable sense of self infinitely impressive.

  She lifted her attention toward his face, wondering if he were still as annoyed as he had been earlier.

  To her instant mortification, she realized that while she had been studying his posture, he had been watching her.

  She fought a swift blush of embarrassment, but the warmth rose to her cheeks anyway. Since she had already been caught, there was no point in pretending she hadn’t been curiously assessing him, so she met his gaze straight on.

  His expression was…closed.

  But not entirely emotionless.

  She did not detect any of the frustration she expected, and strain was no longer so deeply set in his features, but there was a weightiness in his stare. His light eyes were directly focused on her, and the effect was disconcerting. Again, she got the sense that he was trying to figure her out in much the same way she was trying to understand him.

  Then Courtney noticed something different about his mouth. It was in the way the corners held a slight suggestion of resistance while the wide and subtle arches of his upper lip looked…almost sensual within the shadow of stubble that spread across the lower portion of his face. And his bottom lip… Courtney had a sudden urge to trace its shape with her fingertip, to discover if it was as soft and firm as it looked.

  Her pulse began to race through her veins, and her breath shortened as though she had just sprinted down the upstairs hall in her home in Boston. The warmth in her cheeks expanded across her chest to her belly and lower, where an odd, deep ache expanded.

  While she analyzed and wondered at the strange physical reaction, his expression slowly shifted. His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his chin just a bit while tension spread along his jaw. She could actually see his muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth. A new intensity was revealed in his gaze. It was dark and personal, and he appeared to be doing everything he could to contain it, but she caught a fleeting glimpse of it anyway.

  And it resonated with everything she was feeling and more.

  Goodness.

  Thankfully, Jimena chose that moment to come back into the dining room, full of smiles and bright, curious glances. Courtney was starting to believe the older woman might have pinned a few hopes on this temporary marriage.

  As Jimena started to clear away the serving platters still on the table, Dean rose to his feet and gathered up his dishes and anything else in reach.

  Jimena started to admonish him, but he shook his head. “I’ve told you before, Jimena, that you don’t have to clean up after me. I’m more than capable of bringing my dishes back to the kitchen.”

  Courtney swiftly stood as well. She had already realized that Jimena was not exactly the ranch’s housekeeper or cook. She was a member of the family who gave of her time because she wanted to. Which meant Courtney would have to try to do more for herself while she was here or risk unintentionally insulting the kind woman.

  Gathering her own dishes, Courtney followed them into the kitchen. The sink was already filled with water for washing. Jimena began taking care of the leftover food while Lawton returned to the dining room to fetch the rest. Courtney looked at the sink dubiously. She would have stepped in to help, but she honestly had no idea where to start.

  Jimena noticed her expression and gave a laugh. She patted Courtney’s hand with a shake of her head just as Dean returned with the last of the table settings. Then they were both physically shooed from the kitchen.

  Back home, everyone would retire to the parlor after supper to play games or music, or just to talk about the latest local news or social events. At more formal affairs, the ladies would gather separately from the men, allowing the gentlemen to enjoy an after-dinner drink and a smoke before they reconvened for more socializing.

  Here, in this little house, with Lawton following a few steps behind her, Courtney was unsure what was expected. Being uncertain was a totally new experience for her—an experience she’d had at least a dozen times already in the last few days. She suspected this new way of being was not going to go away anytime soon.

  She entered the parlor to find the room lit with the soft glow of an oil lamp set before the window, casting an interesting dance of shadows across the pale-blue walls.

  Courtney wandered to a bookcase that spanned the wall across from the window, wondering what reading might be found on a cattle ranch in Montana. As her fingers trailed over titles that ranged from manuals on agriculture and animal husbandry to a slim volume of poetry by Walt Whitman, she was fully aware of Lawton crossing the room behind her.

  She’d half expected him to abandon her immediately after supper. She did not fool herself into thinking he had any intention of entertaining her for the rest of the evening. He was more likely to simply continue with his regular habits, doing his best to pretend he did not have an unwelcome houseguest.

  Perhaps she should excuse herself and head up to her room. Being in her own solitary company, though decidedly dull, would not be nearly as awkward and strained as being in the same room with this man.

  Awkwardness—another thing Courtney had never experienced before but had gotten a large taste of in the last couple days.

  “Want a drink?”

  His question startled her, though he’d spoken in a low and even tone. Courtney looked over her shoulder at him, a bit surprised by the invitation. She’d honestly expected him to ignore her.

  He stood at a table set in the corner near the window, a small glass of amber-colored liquor already in his hand.

  She was about to decline his offer, but then she realized it had likely been an afterthought on his part—and a reluctant one, judging by the tension in his stance and the taut line of his jaw.

  If she had to hazard a guess, she’d say he was feeling as awkward as she was.

  Her spirits lightened at once. “I would love a drink. Do you have any sherry?”

  “Nope.”

  “Claret? Or a cordial of some sort?”

  He glanced down at the table, which held a single crystal decanter and glasses that matched the one in his hand, and gave a slow shake of his head. “Your choice is bourbon or bourbon.”

  He expected her to refuse. He wanted her to refuse.

  Bourbon.

  She had never touched a drop of hard liquor in her life. Young ladies in her circle rarely imbibed alcohol, and even watered-down wine was served only in strict moderation. Courtney had snuck a sip of her father’s port when she was fifteen and had been surprised by the potency of it.

  She suspected bourbon would be significantly stronger.

  With a shrug and a light smile, she replied, “Why not? I’ve started my adventure, after all. I may as well give it a try.”

  He hesitated just a beat before he turned and poured little more than a splash into another glass. Courtney crossed the room, reaching him just as he turned to offer her the drink. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that sparked a response in the center of her chest. She wanted to prove something to him, though she could
n’t imagine why and she didn’t know exactly what.

  As she took the glass from his hand, her fingers slid against his for just a moment. The brief, almost caressing contact sent a rush of awareness through her, making her skin tingle. She lowered her chin. The last thing she wanted was for him to realize how he affected her.

  Lifting the glass to her mouth, she immediately detected the alcoholic fumes. A second later, the amber liquid slid smoothly past her lips to burn a trail down her throat. She tried to hold in a cough, but it burst forth with a sputtering gasp as her eyes started to tear up.

  Despite her distress, she didn’t miss the telltale tug at the corner of Lawton’s mouth before he said, “I should’ve warned you to start with a sip.”

  “Yes,” Courtney gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in an attempt to stop the fiery burn. “A warning would have been nice. Goodness, how does anyone manage to enjoy this?”

  “It’s an acquired taste, I suppose,” he replied as he lifted his own glass for a long, slow swallow.

  Courtney did not miss the hint of triumph in his tone and wondered if this hadn’t been some sort of test. Let’s see how tough the little Eastern lady is.

  Well, toughness came in all forms, and Courtney was not about to concede this point to him just yet.

  She took another sip.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed as he watched her lift the glass for a second sip. The woman was damned stubborn. And her lips were ridiculously pretty pursed around the edge of his mother’s crystal.

  Get ahold of yourself, Dean.

  This time, she took an easy, measured sip. He watched, more than a little fascinated by the way she seemed to swirl the bourbon around with her tongue for a moment before allowing it to slip down her throat. No big gasps or tearing eyes this time. With a small breathy hmm, she lifted the glass, allowing the light of the lamp to shine through the amber liquid. Then she brought the crystal to her mouth again and took another slow taste. This one she savored, closing her eyes as though reveling in the warmth of the potent spirit spreading through her limbs.