The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  Dean’s body hardened nearly to the point of pain. He figured he’d never seen anything as erotic as this fancy city lady enjoying her first glass of Kentucky bourbon. His muscles burned and his stomach tightened with a deep achy feeling that angled straight to his groin.

  Slamming down the rest of his own drink, he turned away before she opened her eyes and noticed his physical reaction. He crossed to the big front window. Instead of giving him a distracting view of the yard outside, the glass simply reflected the room back at him. His gaze followed her slim form as she turned to stroll back to the bookcase, taking her bourbon with her.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him once. The swift and feminine little glance had his body going crazy all over again.

  “Walt Whitman,” she noted in a light tone. “Do you enjoy his verse?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, still watching her in the reflection. Half of the books were Augie’s and dealt with ranching. The other half had been chosen by Dean’s mother.

  Courtney had paused and half turned back toward him, waiting for further explanation. “I don’t have much time for reading,” he added.

  “Right,” she replied softly as she turned fully around to look at him where he stood with his back to her across the room. She held a slim volume in her hand. “Do you enjoy spending time alone?”

  The question came out of nowhere. “Do I like being alone?” he repeated, wondering why she’d ask such a thing.

  When she simply nodded, he realized she knew he was watching her in the window’s reflection. He probably should have felt shamed for observing her in such a way, but he didn’t. She had taken the time to study him earlier at the table, and though she’d blushed prettily when she’d gotten caught, she hadn’t apologized for her bold curiosity.

  He wouldn’t either. To be honest, he probably liked the feel of her eyes on him way too much.

  “I suppose so,” he answered honestly.

  She took another sip of bourbon, standing there in her blue dress with the book in one hand and her gaze on his back. Then she walked forward to place her empty glass on the sideboard before she continued across the room to his side.

  Though he kept his gaze directed forward, Dean felt her nearness down to his bones.

  “I wonder if I would enjoy being alone.”

  The intimate nature of her hushed voice affected him in inappropriate ways. He shifted his stance and accidentally brushed her shoulder. He told himself he imagined the sound of her swift inhale and spoke quickly to cover up his own internal disquiet at the contact.

  “Haven’t you ever been alone before?”

  “Not in any significant way,” she replied. Then she smiled and gave a small gesture with her hand. “I mean, of course, I am alone when I go to sleep at night and other brief times, but I cannot say I have ever been completely on my own for any extended period. When I was young, I was always with my nurse or other servants. And of course my mother felt a near-obsessive need to monitor my behavior. At school, I always had my friends, and after, there were constant social events.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  She smiled at his reply. “I enjoy being around people. But I do wonder…” She glanced down for just a moment before lifting her chin quickly to look into his reflection again. “I wonder who I would be if I were on my own. Independent and free to make my own choices. Choices not based on my mother’s expectations or for appearances’ sake, but based on my own personal desires. What would I do?”

  “What do you wanna do?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. But I certainly hope to find out.”

  The breadth of her optimism was bewildering. Dean had always viewed life through a practical lens. He had been taught to weigh every option carefully and to make decisions based on the best probable outcome. He sure as hell didn’t do anything based on hope.

  Yet this woman had left the only life she’d ever known with nothing more than a reverent hope of finding something better.

  “So, tell me,” she said in a lighter tone as she broke her gaze from the reflection and turned toward him. “What do you enjoy about being alone?”

  Dean knew it would be rude to continue facing the window, but he wasn’t sure he could handle her direct gaze just then. The moment already felt too intimate.

  He gave a shake of his head. “I never thought about it.”

  But now that he was thinking about it, he realized his answer wasn’t too far off from what she’d said.

  When he was alone, he didn’t have to live up to anyone else’s expectations. He didn’t have to be Augie’s chosen successor, or the responsible brother, or the boss.

  “Humor me, please,” she urged. “If you had a whole day to yourself, what would you do with it?”

  There was something in her voice—a quiet, seeking desperation—that made him reluctant to disappoint her. “I suppose I’d take a long ride out to some quiet, solitary spot where I could listen to wind across the prairie and not think about what work wasn’t getting done.”

  “Sounds lovely,” she murmured softly.

  He looked down at her. She stood with her face tipped upward and her eyes closed, as though she were imagining what he described.

  And then suddenly, he was imagining it too, but now she was with him in the vision. Riding beside him, smiling into the sun. Smiling at him.

  No.

  He took a step back, harshly clearing his throat.

  Her eyes flew open, and he was caught by her vivid gaze. He froze in place. A shock of need that was both physical and…something else…rushed through him.

  What the hell was she doing to him? She’d only been there a day, and she was already throwing his ordered existence off track. He didn’t need to be daydreaming about long rides through the countryside with this woman. His focus needed to stay on ranch business and the problem with the slaughtered cattle.

  A slight frown tugged at her brows. The shift in her expression did not detract from her prettiness. Rather, it brought further emphasis to the intensity of her eyes, her fine cheekbones, and the sexy curve of her mouth.

  He needed to walk away, but something kept him there, waiting for what she would say next.

  “With all the time you spend on your own,” she asked quietly, “do you ever get lonely?”

  An odd feeling arced through him. “I’ve got no time for loneliness.”

  She smiled at that. A sweet, sad little smile. But her voice, when she replied, was filled with that confounding optimism. “I suppose I had better find something to keep me busy then.”

  Dean’s chest squeezed tight before releasing on a slow and heavy breath that helped him regain some lost control. “As long as it doesn’t—”

  “Interfere with ranch business,” she completed for him, her smile never wavering. “Of course.”

  The corners of his mouth itched to smile. Definite sass. “I just wanna be sure we understand each other,” he countered, combatting his reluctant humor with a flat tone.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Mr. Lawton,” she replied, an impish gleam in her eyes, “though I do believe we have potential.”

  A blast of warmth spread through him. The conversation had definitely gotten off track, and because he suddenly realized how much he was enjoying it, he decided it was time to end it. “Well,” he said with a nod as he took another step back, “you have a good night.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “You are retiring? So early?”

  “My day starts with the dawn,” he answered. “Make use of the parlor as you’d like. I imagine I’ll see you around supper tomorrow.”

  She watched his retreat with a steady gaze. “Good night, Mr. Lawton.”

  As common as they were, the softly uttered words shouldn’t have had any particular effect on him, but they did.

  He turned and
strode from the room. His reactions to her were becoming a problem. The way his body kept responding to the slightest triggers was not something he’d ever experienced before. Not even when he’d been young and randy. His sexual appetites had always been something easily managed.

  Anne had certainly never inspired anything close to what he felt when in the presence of the Eastern woman.

  But then, Anne had been different. She’d always been different. And Dean’s feelings for her had never really centered on the physical.

  Dean looked around his bedroom. The one he’d been given as a kid. It was a simple space. The narrow bed he’d grown up in had been replaced with a much larger one, but otherwise, the room hadn’t changed much over the years. He’d planned on moving to the larger bedroom, which had once been Augie’s, after his marriage.

  That room had now been claimed by his new guest.

  Just the thought of her seemed to conjure her up as he heard the soft tread of her steps on the stairs. His body tensed again as he fought off the return of his acute physical awareness.

  Did he imagine her steps slowing as she passed his door?

  What cause would she have to hesitate?

  Dean started stripping off his clothes. He needed to stop worrying about the woman and what she did. She’d be here for four weeks, and then she’d be gone. As long as she stayed out of his way, all would be fine.

  That should have been the end of it.

  But something still kept him awake that night, just lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

  A disquiet had lodged in his chest much like the redhead was now lodged in his home. He could declare nothing changed all he wanted, but it wouldn’t make it true.

  The moment he’d bumped into that woman outside the post office, something had been altered inside him. He’d felt it when he’d looked into her green eyes and noticed the soft wisps of hair curling at her temples and against her cheeks and slim neck. Not to mention when he’d gotten a good look at her wedding gown. In that moment, Dean’s life had gotten kicked off track.

  And what did he do?

  He’d gone and lost his head and married the woman.

  If Augie were still alive, he’d either beat the tar out of his grandson for his stupidity or laugh his ass off. Probably both.

  He’d sure made a mess of things. All he could do now was minimize the damage and keep his bride from interfering in his life any more than she had already with her dress buying and bourbon tasting and pretty smiles and sassy tone.

  Most importantly, he had to keep himself from doing anything else stupid.

  He rolled over onto his stomach and punched the pillow into shape.

  If only he could just keep the woman out of his head long enough to get some goddamned sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning, the sun was barely breaking over the horizon when Courtney heard the door down the hall open, followed by bootsteps making their way down the stairs.

  The man certainly hadn’t been lying when he’d said his day started at dawn.

  Though that did nothing to explain why she had been waking up so early since she’d arrived at the Lawton Ranch. At least she had slept better last night. Sliding from the bed, she wandered to the window and looked out to see Lawton crossing the yard toward the barn, his long strides eating up the dew-wet ground.

  He did everything in the same purposeful, almost impatient way. He was clearly devoted to the ranch, and of course, the cattle operation likely needed a great deal of attention. She just wondered if maybe he was little too dedicated. She had not imagined that thread of longing in his voice when he had spoken of spending the day alone, away from his many responsibilities. She had heard the weariness in his voice, though if she had mentioned it, he would have denied its presence.

  She considered the possibility that he wasn’t even aware of it.

  As he disappeared into the barn, Courtney wondered if he would still have left the house first thing in the morning if theirs were a true marriage. Would he have abandoned a real wife, leaving her to spend her days alone and, quite frankly, bored?

  Or would he have taken the time to acclimate his bride to her new life? Would they have woken up together to enjoy breakfast in the sunny kitchen? Would he have stayed up after dinner to tell her stories of his childhood? Surely, they would have gone to bed together—in the same bedroom.

  Weeks ago, when Courtney had still been stirring up fantasies in her mind of what married life might be like, she had often wondered whether she and Geoffrey would share a bed on a regular basis. Considering the very platonic kisses they’d shared during their engagement, it had been difficult for her to imagine Geoffrey engaging in a passionate physical relationship.

  Of course, now she knew that he was very passionate indeed, if some of the more explicit passages of his letter were to be taken at face value. It just wasn’t something he had ever felt driven to explore with her.

  Would Dean Lawton be the type of man to take his bride to bed every night?

  The thought made Courtney fidget on the window bench, her skin flushing from head to toe.

  During his reluctant apology, he’d claimed that he rarely lost control.

  She could believe that. If she ignored his impulsive behavior when they’d first met, his manner had been quite stern and taciturn. Still, despite his apparent control, Courtney suspected he had a whirlwind of a storm inside him, wrapped tight and primed for release. He might be adept at containing the intensity, but Courtney had caught more than a few glimpses of a deeper breadth of emotion he hadn’t been able to hide.

  With a true bride—a woman he trusted and desired above all others—would he still feel the need to hold back when it came to love and passion?

  Courtney wrapped her arms tightly around her bent knees as heat infused her body.

  She really shouldn’t be wondering what Dean might be like if he felt comfortable releasing all the passion inside him. But goodness! She suspected it would be glorious.

  The sigh that escaped from her lips was deep and long, coming up from the aching hollow at the center of her body. It was followed unceremoniously by a growl from her stomach.

  Time for more practical and sustainable matters—breakfast.

  Just as she had the thought, Jimena’s little wagon crested the hill on the road from Randall and Pilar’s.

  Rising to her feet, Courtney decided to join the older woman in the kitchen. She might not have anything to do on this Montana ranch, but at least she had someone who seemed to appreciate a little company.

  After dressing quickly and twisting her hair into a simple bun at the back of her head, she made it to the kitchen just as Jimena was lighting the big iron stove.

  As anticipated, she was greeted with Jimena’s wide smile. “Buenos días, señora. ¿Estás aquí para ayudarme a cocinar?”

  “Buenos días, Jimena,” Courtney replied. She really should consider asking Pilar to teach her some Spanish. By Jimena’s intonation, she suspected she’d asked her a question, but she had no idea what it was.

  The older woman shook her head and crossed the room to take an apron off a hook. Returning to Courtney, she said, “Tómalo. Ponte esto. Una esposa verdadera debe saber cómo cocinar.”

  “Cocinar?” Courtney repeated as Jimena slipped the apron over her head and spun her around to tie the strings behind her back. “Oh. You want me to help you cook. I am sorry, Jimena. I have never cooked a thing in my life. I will probably just get in your way and ruin everything I touch.”

  “Sí, sí sé,” Jimena replied with another joyful smile as she patted Courtney’s cheek, then turned back to the stove. “Vámonos.”

  Courtney stood still for a moment. Cooking had never been anything she’d considered attempting. She’d grown up with family chefs and a city full of wonderful restaurants. She’d never even set foot in the kit
chen back home, let alone thought to put her hands to the work of fixing a meal.

  But it was not as though she had any other plans for the day.

  She wanted an adventure, right? And independence. Well, being able to cook her own food felt like a pretty independent thing to do.

  Taking a breath that lifted her shoulders, she looked to the older woman with a wry smile. “All right, Jimena. You will likely regret this, but where do I start?”

  Jimena waved her forward, and Courtney took another few steps in her adventure.

  * * *

  Not much later, delicious smells filled the small kitchen.

  Jimena appeared to realize rather quickly that Courtney’s experience with such things was extremely deficient, and she did not let her near the stove other than to observe. She did, however, instruct Courtney on how to scramble the eggs for omelets, dice onions and peppers into small pieces, and roll out the dough for biscuits.

  The dough was tricky at first, but Jimena hovered over her shoulder, directing her in the proper motions until she got it right.

  The resulting meal was simple enough but filled Courtney with the distinct pride of accomplishment. Though she realized she had been nothing more than an assistant, it was the first meal she’d ever had a hand in preparing, and she was anxious to try it.

  Before she could sit at the table, however, Jimena handed her a large tray containing two covered plates. Nodding toward the door, she said, “Llevale esto al jefe. Un hombre siempre es más feliz cuando es bien servido.”

  “Al jefe? You want me to take this to Mr. Lawton?”

  “Sí,” Jimena replied with a wave of her hand.

  Courtney looked with longing at the plate that had been set on the table. She would have to hurry if she wanted to get back before her own food cooled. Adjusting her grip on the tray, she went out the back door and made her way across the yard to the barn.

  She hoped he was still in there somewhere, though she had no idea where he’d find a place to eat. She couldn’t exactly imagine him sitting down on a bale of hay in an empty horse stall.