The Cowboy's Deadly Reunion

by Cindy Dees

  The answer, which came to him unwillingly, made his jaw tighten. Since Jessica Blankenship had shown up at his front door and started playing house with him.

  What in the hell was he going to do with her?

  Chapter 13

  Wes fled Monday morning as a dozen contractors and workers and Jessica descended upon his house. He couldn’t believe how fast she was getting the job done. Then again, he supposed no man could refuse her when she batted her gorgeous eyes and smiled that winning smile of hers at him.

  On the one hand, he was eager to get his damned house back to himself. On the other hand, Jessica’s promise to leave for good when it was done loomed ominously in the back of his mind. He wanted her to leave, right?

  Aw, hell. Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t want her to go.

  He was riding fence again today, making sure his herd hadn’t broken through the fence to get to greener grass on the other side. He’d seeded his pastures last fall and should get better, thicker forage for his cattle this year, but the new seed wasn’t coming up as fast as his father’s older, more established pastures, which continued to tempt his cattle.

  He was paying attention to his horse’s footing and stewing over Jessica’s imminent departure when he heard a faint bang and something zinged past him. A sharp crack of sound made his horse shy. He managed to keep his seat, but barely, as his horse jigged, agitated, beneath him.

  “Easy, Mac,” he soothed the horse. Usually Mac was as steady as a rock, and nothing fazed him. Except for snakes, of course. Mac was terrified of them and ran like a little girl from them. All thirteen hundred pounds of him.

  Wes looked around cautiously. He was near the top of the valley his ranch shared with a portion of the Runaway Ranch property. The trees were thin, and the pastures were giving way to fields of boulders and patches of late snow.

  Thunderclouds were roiling over the mountain peaks in the west, and he’d assumed that loud bang was thunder. What if it wasn’t?

  Jessica’s shooting incident fresh on his mind, he turned Mac back down toward the barn and gave the horse his head. Mac was as good a trail horse as he’d ever had, and the animal could be trusted to choose his own footing and not twist an ankle on a loose rock or unseen gully.

  They’d gone perhaps a hundred yards when another bang sounded and bark flew off a pine tree a few yards ahead of him.

  Sonofabitch. Someone was shooting at him!

  Leaning low over his horse’s neck, he clucked to Mac and squeezed his legs against the horse’s ribs. Picking up on Wes’s stress, the horse jumped forward, stretching out in a gallop. Even then, Wes left the horse to pick his own path. Mac had been born and raised in this valley and would know the terrain better than any human ever could.

  Fat drops of rain began to pelt his back, and Wes pulled his cowboy hat lower on his brow. They charged down the mountain, and the barns and house came into view. He didn’t ease back on Mac’s reins until they’d almost reached the barn, and even then he trotted directly into its sheltering cover.

  He slid from the winded gelding, quickly stripped off the saddle and bridle and threw a wool cooling blanket over the animal’s heaving sides. “Good job, Mac.”

  He patted the horse’s neck and commenced walking the horse up and down the long aisle between the decrepit stalls. He’d fixed up a big double stall for Mac when he’d bought the horse. It was bedded with fresh sawdust and weatherproofed against wind and wet. When Mac was dry and breathing normally after his hard run back to the barn, Wes put him away.

  He checked the horse’s water, tossed him a heaping helping of grain and threw in a couple flakes of good alfalfa hay. God knew, the horse had earned it. Mac’s speed and familiarity with the mountain had likely saved Wes’s life.

  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his cousin, Joe.

  “What’s up, cuz?” the sheriff answered.

  “You know how someone took potshots at Jessica last week? Someone just did the same to me on my own damned property. Two shots were fired at me before my horse got me the hell out of there. I was up in the high pasture. Unfortunately, it’s gonna take horses or helicopters to get up there and have a look around.”

  “Is it raining up there? It’s pouring down here in town.”

  “Yup. Cats and dogs up here.”

  “Damn. The rain will erase evidence that could have been helpful. But maybe we can still retrieve a slug to compare to the ones used to shoot at Miss Blankenship.”

  “I only have one horse. If you want to go up there tomorrow, you’ll need to bring your own ride.”

  Joe laughed. “Cheapskate.”

  “Naw, man. Just a cash-poor rancher trying to get started in the business. All my money went to cattle.”

  “I’ll bring one of the sheriff-patrol horses first thing in the morning, and we’ll ride up there.”

  Wes ran back to the house, not only because it was raining harder now, but also because he hated the sensation of being outside and exposed to a potential sniper. Lord, it was like being back overseas at a forward operating base with enemy combatants on the lookout for any chance to take out an American soldier.

  He ducked into the house, which wasn’t much less of a combat zone than the high pasture had been. Men were working all over the place, doing last-minute trim work, installing stuff in the kitchen and who knew what all else.

  He needed a little peace and quiet, and retreated to his bedroom, closing out all the noise with a sigh of relief. He turned and drew up short as something—someone—moved in the corner.

  Jessica stepped out of the shadows beyond his bed. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you back yet. I’m sorry. I was putting your clothes back into the new dresser for you. I think I got most of them back in the right place.”

  He shrugged impatiently. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Listen, Jessica. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “I need you not to go outside today for any reason. Promise me.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “Someone just shot at me up at the top end of my property. It could just be a poacher I stumbled across. Or,” he added reluctantly, “it could be the same person who shot at you.”

  “Ohmigod! Are you all right?” she cried, rushing over to him. Her hands roamed frantically up his arms and across his shoulders, fluttering in panic down his ribs and around his sides.

  He captured her hands and held them against his chest. “I’m fine. But with the rain, the sheriff and I won’t be able to get back up there until tomorrow morning.”

  “Should we leave?” she asked urgently.

  “I’m not about to get chased off my own land. Not to mention I’m a Marine. I can handle myself when someone threatens me.”

  “But I don’t want anything bad to happen to you—”

  He released one of her hands and pressed his fingertips against her lips. “Nothing bad will happen to me or to you. I promise.”

  He became aware of how soft and plump her lips were against his fingers, how warm and kissable. Her eyes were wide with fright and worry for him, and something warm surged through his gut at the sight.

  His fingers drifted down to her chin, lifting her face slightly, to the perfect angle for kissing. His other arm went around her and he drew her close. She came to him without any hint of resistance, and when his lips replaced his fingertips, lightly touching her mouth, she sighed like this was a homecoming she’d been waiting for for a very long time.

  In an instant, the kiss transformed from sweet and grateful to smoking hot and carnal. Before he hardly knew what was happening, her hands fumbled at his belt buckle, his zipper made a metallic slithering noise and her fingers wrapped around his rock-hard shaft. He was always rock hard around her, it seemed.

  He grabbed at handfuls of her puffy retro skirt, dragging them up around her waist.
He felt bare bottom and grinned against her mouth. She might be wearing a demure fifties-throwback dress with a little lace collar, but she was wearing a naughty, barely there thong beneath it. He shoved the scrap of fabric aside and plunged a finger into her wet desire. It was too much. He had to have her.

  He hoisted her by the hips, and her legs wrapped around him eagerly. He backed her up against the new wood planks covering his wall and lowered her onto his straining erection.

  He buried his face against her neck, groaning his pleasure into her satin-smooth skin. Jessica threw her head back, riding him with abandon. She was lithe and athletic and slender and curvy all at once.

  Relieved as hell to be alive, he surged up into her with abandon to match hers. How was it that he could never get enough of her? Every time he was inside her like this, he only craved her more. Every time he felt her pulse racing frantically beneath her skin, his raced harder. Every time he tasted her mouth, he grew starved to taste her more deeply.

  He found release in her body, joy in her muffled cries against his neck now, security in how tightly she clung to him and freedom in how she made his spirit soar. Sex with her was more than just physical pleasure. It was life.

  He had never been a woo-woo kind of guy, but ever since she’d come to Montana, sex with Jessica had been...more. It wasn’t just sex anymore. It had become something life affirming, spiritual, even. Which was ridiculous, of course. But undeniably true.

  Blessedly, the wanderings of his mind were taken over by the physical sensations of Jessica’s tight, hot body cupping his sex, by the glory of plunging so deep into her that he could feel her womb, the instinctive clenching of his glutes as he drove into her, the fantastic feel of trapping her between him and the wall at her back, losing himself in the pleasure clawing at the back of his eyeballs and closing his throat and constricting his heart.

  His entire body braced as the coming explosion built and built. And built some more. Holding his breath, he plunged into her harder and faster, racing toward a finish that he sensed would be epic. Jessica’s fingernails clawed at his back and she surged against him as mindlessly as he was pumping into her.

  And when the dam was on the verge of bursting in a spectacular fashion, he whispered, “Look at me.”

  Jessica’s sex-glazed eyes opened, and he dived into their azure depths, reveling in the helpless love he saw there. Her beautiful, kiss-reddened mouth curved into a smile of pure bliss, and her internal muscles gripped him so strongly he thought he might cry.

  Staring through the naked windows of their joined souls, their joined bodies sought the explosion together, straining against one another frantically.

  All at once, his entire universe froze. Clenched. Drew one last, apocalyptic breath and then exploded. This was a supernova—a flash of light blinding all the way across the universe, followed by a crash of pleasure so intense that no matter, no planet, no sun could survive its utter and perfect devastation.

  Thank God his knees were locked, or he would have fallen to the ground under the weight of the ecstasy ripping through him, destroying him.

  Vaguely he realized he was leaning heavily against Jessica, smashing her against the rough wall at her back. He tried to push away from her and let her breathe, but her arms tightened around his neck and one of her legs slid from around his hips to touch the floor.

  “Don’t move,” she mumbled.

  “Not sure I can,” he mumbled back.

  Eventually, her lips moved against his neck, kissing lazily. Her hot, wet tongue touched his skin and roused him slightly from his stupor.

  “You’ve killed me.” He managed to sigh.

  “What a way to go.”

  He smiled against her temple, too spent for a response. More time passed, and he murmured, “I give up.”

  “Give up what?”

  “Fighting against you.”

  “Were we fighting?” she asked, sounding more alert.

  He lifted his head to look down at her. God, she was beautiful. Her features were delicate, elfin even. Her bones were exquisite, her cheekbones sleek and elegant, her jaw just square enough to have character yet not so much as to be masculine. And her eyes—the life brimming in them was impossible to look away from.

  He pushed a strand of hair off her damp forehead from where it had stuck to her porcelain skin. It delighted him to see her mussed up by sex, her skin flushed with color he’d put in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling with pleasure he’d put in them. Normally, she was so polished, so put together. But this side of Jessica, breathless and messy, was his absolute favorite version of her.

  “I wasn’t fighting with you,” he explained. “I was fighting against myself. Against my desire for you. I’m done fighting this, whatever this is that we have between us.”

  Her eyes lit with excitement. “You mean we get to do that again...a lot?”

  He laughed under his breath. “God help me, but yes. You and I may end up burning each other to the ground and completely wrecking each other’s lives, but so be it. You’re an addiction I can’t shake.”

  “Just call me nicotine and heroin.”

  He eased her other leg off his hip and took a step back from her, righting his clothes. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Both of those kill the foolish and unwary.”

  “Is that what we are?” she asked softly. “Foolish and unwary?”

  “How would you describe us?”

  She tilted her head, considering him more seriously than he’d expected. “Star-crossed, maybe. Inevitable, definitely.” She paused and then added, “And who says being foolish and unwary is a bad thing, anyway?”

  He dropped a kiss on the end of her elegant, perfect nose. “I do. But damned if I can stop being either.”

  * * *

  Jessica snuggled deeper under the new down-filled duvet she’d put on Wes’s bed. This was a lightweight one, appropriate for the warmer nights of spring and summer, and its gentle warmth was weightless and wonderful.

  Or maybe that was Wes’s body heat wrapping around her so perfectly—effortless and natural beside her.

  Why on earth had it taken them so long to find this simpatico again? They never should have broken up the first time, her father’s wishes be damned. She was just grateful that Wes had finally stopped fighting his feelings for her and given in to them. If only it hadn’t taken someone shooting at each of them to bring them to this point.

  She was worried about this shooter of his. She didn’t believe for a minute that it was a simple poacher that Wes had stumbled across. Her instinct told her in no uncertain terms that it was the same person who’d tried to kill her on the Westlake Road.

  Her contentment destroyed, she lay awake, staring at the new ceiling, idly counting the planks lining the roofline between the heavy, gorgeous ceiling beams.

  How long she lay there, she didn’t know. An hour maybe.

  She heard a strange sound faintly—like a woman screaming a long ways away. Must be a coyote howling or something.

  She heard the noise again, and it was louder this time. That didn’t sound like any canine howl she’d ever heard before.

  “Wes,” she whispered.

  He was awake instantly, his consciousness tangible in the darkness.

  “What’s that sound?” she asked him. “You’ll hear it in a minute. It’s like a woman screaming.”

  He sat up, the duvet and flannel sheets pooling around his waist. She reached up to touch the shadowed planes and valleys of his muscular back. She never got tired of looking at him.

  The sound came again, and Wes swore. He leaped out of bed, yanking on jeans and his cowboy boots and forgoing even a shirt before he raced out of the bedroom at a dead run.

  Alarmed, she followed suit, pulling on her own jeans, a T-shirt and her new cowboy boots. She stepped out into the living room and stopped, staring at a strange flicker
ing light coming in the new picture windows. What was that—

  And then it dawned on her. The flickering light was yellow and orange and red.

  Fire.

  Stone-cold terror roared through her.

  The animals.

  Wes.

  Oh, God. Not Wes. She tore outside and flew across the front yard toward the old horse barn. The north end of it was engulfed in flames, spiraling up into the night, throwing sparks easily a hundred feet in the air as the old, dry, seasoned wood went up like an enormous pile of tinder.

  She saw Wes’s shirtless form race inside the south end of the barn, from which heavy smoke was pouring like a river of death, and her heart stopped beating. No kidding, stopped.

  She sprinted toward him, flying over the wet grass with speed born of sheer terror at the idea of losing the man she loved.

  No way was he going in there alone.

  The cloud of smoke began to swirl around her, blinding her eyes with agonizing pain and making her cough so hard she couldn’t draw a breath. She slowed. She’d lost her bearings when the smoke had blinded her. Panicked, she stumbled back to figure out where she was before charging forward again.

  As she squinted into the smoke, she thought she saw tongues of flame licking at something overhead in front of her.

  And then a black apparition raced toward her, fast, bearing down on her as if to run her over and consume her. The fire itself had come to life and was coming for her to kill her—

  The giant shape took form, and she realized with a start that it was Wes, leading a squealing and lunging horse beside him. The beast was blindfolded with a white towel, but every time an ember fell on his hide, the horse kicked and screamed.

  “Get the hose!” Wes shouted hoarsely at her, coughing violently on the last word. His face was black and sweat had drawn hellish streaks through the soot coating his face and chest.