Home on the Ranch--The Cowboy's Dilemma

by Pamela Britton

Oh, dear goodness.

  “I’ll see you up there, then,” she called out brightly, waving, because she had to leave. She had to go before he saw something in her eyes, because the dratted man could read her like the Sunday paper and she didn’t want him to catch a glimpse of the hero worship in her eyes. That would be terrible and embarrassing and humiliating because she had no business, none, falling in love with a man when she was pregnant with another man’s child.

  Dear Lord, Amy, are you insane?

  “No, don’t go,” he said.

  Nope. Nope. She wasn’t going to listen to him.

  “You can help me carry my twice-baked potatoes up there. I have two trays and I was planning on driving, but it seems stupid to drive that little way. Hang on. Better yet, come inside. I still have to fill the potato shells and sprinkle cheese on them.”

  “I can’t,” she said, but then realized the words sounded crazy because there was no earthly reason why she couldn’t help him carry his dang potatoes. It wasn’t like he was asking her to carry tubes of viral plague. “I mean, I shouldn’t. I’m going to be late.”

  He took a step toward her. She was like a deer in the forest, the one that spots a human and freezes for a moment right before it bounds off. Except she couldn’t dart off. She just stood there staring up at him and thinking he was the kindest, most generous man she’d ever met and she wanted—oh, how she wanted—to go up to him and bury her head in his chest and inhale his scent because he was all the man she’d ever need...and he would never be hers. Never.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Nope. She would not turn into helpless Amy again. Not now of all times.

  “Nothing. I just told Charlotte I’d be up there early, and then I decided to walk and I forgot how long it took to get here...”

  She was rambling and Flynn, sharp eared as he always was, had noticed it. He took another step.

  “Amy, come inside. I’m not going to kiss you again if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  Was he kidding? That was what she wanted. She wanted his kisses and his touch, but most of all, the haven of his arms.

  “I’m sorry I let things get out of hand the other day. I just sort of let you take the fall about how things went too far and that was wrong of me. It’s been bugging me for a week now. It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. It was my fault.”

  He thought it was his fault? Who was he kidding? She’d practically jumped him.

  “You don’t have to apologize.”

  And he was wrong. She wasn’t afraid of him wanting to kiss her. She was afraid of herself. Afraid she’d let him see how much she cared for him. Afraid she’d fall even harder if she spent any more time in his company. Afraid of what it would be like to have her baby and watch from a distance as Flynn fell in love with some cute rancher’s daughter who knew how to ride and delivered baby cows in her spare time.

  “Come on inside,” he said again.

  She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. But as if from a distance she heard herself say, “Okay.” And then, because she felt really, really stupid for agreeing, added, “But just for a second.”

  He waited for her and the closer she got, the more aware of him she became. Her superhuman sense of smell caught a whiff of him, all sandalwood and sweat, and she wished for a moment that she had the nerve to take his hand and say, “Forget about Thanksgiving dinner. Let’s go to bed instead.”

  “It’s a mess inside,” he said. “Been cooking these damn potatoes all day. My oven is so small I’ve had to do them in batches. Can’t wait to build my own home where I’ll have counter space galore—oh, and a wall of cabinets and a really big fridge.”

  “Yeah?”

  That was good. Just keep it casual. Act like your ovaries are still working and you haven’t lost your mind.

  “Yeah. I plan on building a place by the entrance to the ranch, away from where I work. I love where I grew up, but I need something different.”

  “So do you and your brothers get to pick a place to build or something? Is that how it works?”

  “Oh, no,” he said, going to the oven and pulling out a sheet of baked potatoes. “My father isn’t the type to hand things over to any of his kids. Part of each paycheck goes toward a fund he set up for me. Actually, he set the same thing up for all of us, including Jayden, except she never worked the ranch so it didn’t really apply. Anyway, we agreed on a purchase price for the bare land and I get to pay for the rest, and I should be able to do that pretty quickly if I win an open championship on the cutting horse circuit, which I plan to do with Markie. My dad and I own him together, so we get to split his earnings.”

  He’d told her much the same before, and yet there was a part of her that hadn’t really believed it. She figured there had to be some perks for living and working at the ranch, seeing as it was a family operation, but she guessed not. Well, aside from the unlimited supply of land. And being able to put aside his earnings.

  “I even get charged for staying here. Of course, it’s not a whole lot, but that’s how my dad is. He didn’t want to raise a bunch of spoiled, namby-pamby sons—his words—and I think for the most part, we all turned out okay.”

  You think?

  That was what she said inside her head. Better than okay. Every single member of the Gillian family she’d met had been so kind and humble and amazing that it was no wonder she found herself falling for the man. She was falling in love with his family, too.

  “Maybe you can start filling the potatoes while I finish mashing this last batch.” He pointed to a bowl and the creamy potatoes he’d apparently whipped up inside. “We can cheese them together.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she quipped.

  He smiled. Her heart did the cartoon equivalent of jumping out of her chest and landing at his feet. She had to turn away, but her hands shook, she realized.

  She was falling for him and it was crazy and stupid and the most ridiculous thing in the world because she was pregnant. Preg-nant. No man in his right mind could look past that, just as her mother had said...not even a man as remarkable as Flynn.

  Chapter 16

  Something had changed between them, Flynn thought. Something that he wished with all his heart he could get back because no matter what he’d told her, he had to fight an urge to kiss her again. But she could barely look at him and he kept rambling on about growing up on the ranch and his plans for the future and he knew that she knew that no matter what either of them claimed, they could never go back to being “just friends.”

  “You ready?” he asked once he sprinkled the last of the cheese on two trays of twice-baked potatoes.

  “Sure, yeah,” she said.

  “You want to walk?” He wiped his hands on the front of his pants, not because of the cheese on his fingers, but because his palms were sweating. He needed to get her out of there.

  “Yes, actually.” He could have sworn he heard her add, “I need air.”

  He turned back to her sharply, almost tempted to ask her if he’d heard her correctly, but she picked up the tray of potatoes and all but ran from the kitchen, and he knew—he just knew—she felt it, too. The chemistry between them. It was off the charts. He wanted to kiss her again. No, he wanted to do way more than kiss her.

  “Amy,” he said.

  She turned back to him so sharply she damn near made Frisbees out of the potatoes. She caught herself just in time, tipping the tray back, but too quickly, the cheesy potatoes face planting into the fancy Western T-shirt she wore.

  And maybe it was the tension in the air. Maybe it was her expression of sheepish embarrassment, but for whatever reason, he started to laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” she said.

  “Lean forward,” he told her. “I think we can salvage them.”

  She did as instructed, leaning forward, Flynn taking the tray from her. When she straig
htened, there were bits of cheese stuck everywhere.

  He tried not to laugh.

  “I’ve ruined my shirt.”

  “No, you haven’t. You just need to brush it off.”

  She looked so crestfallen that he couldn’t help himself, he tipped her chin up, and as always happened when he looked into her eyes, he felt something shift inside him, something crazy and remarkable and frightening all at the same time.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

  He ached to hold her. Literally, the muscles in his arms burned.

  “This has nothing to do with potatoes, does it?”

  She shook her head.

  “What is it?”

  But he knew. Deep inside, he knew. She suffered from the same overwhelming urge to touch him and hold him and kiss him as he did her.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice almost a groan.

  “I know,” he said, the heat in his arms spreading throughout his body.

  She peered into his eyes, seeming to look into first one, and then the other, and she said nothing, but he knew she studied him—every line and angle and plane of his face. She memorized him, or so it seemed.

  “I want you,” she admitted. “I want you so badly it hurts.”

  Damn her brutal honesty. The words were like a hot poker to his groin.

  “I want you, too.”

  Her eyes widened. “You do?”

  He thought she was joking, but as he looked into her eyes he realized she wasn’t, that for some reason, she thought he found her undesirable.

  “Amy, if you knew how hard it was for me to hold back the other day, you would not be saying that.”

  “But I thought...”

  “What?”

  She looked down. “That you didn’t want me, not like that. That maybe my belly turned you off—”

  He kissed her. He didn’t know why. Or maybe he did. Maybe it was the only way he could prove to her just how badly he wanted her. He kissed her and pressed himself up against her, showing her what she did to him, and she gasped. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and just like before, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her, tipping his head sideways, suckling her and twining his tongue with her own, a part of him wondering how in God’s name she could have thought he didn’t want her.

  Somehow, he would never recall how, he backed her though the tiny family room and into the bedroom. He’d tugged her shirt off before he’d closed the door, and even though he wore a button-down, he somehow managed to get that off, too. He’d been wearing a cowboy hat at some point. Maybe. He couldn’t remember. All he wanted was Amy. Naked Amy. And his bed. With her beneath him.

  She was helping him now, undoing her pants, sliding them down. They both kicked off cowboy boots at the same time. She undid her bra, he slid off his jeans, but before she could pull down the tiny pink panties she wore, he knelt down in front of her, nuzzling her warm center, a move that caused her to groan and clutch his head.

  Didn’t want her. Was she crazy?

  She sank to the bed. He kept nuzzling her and kissing her and driving her closer and closer to the edge. He could tell by the way her body began to shake and the way her moans grew louder and louder, but this wouldn’t be like the last time. Oh, no. She didn’t think he wanted her, but he would show her just what she did to him.

  He slid up her body, kissing her belly again, the muscle contracting beneath him, then her bare breast, circling her nipple with his tongue. She began to writhe beneath him, but then he realized it wasn’t just because of his effect on her. No. She was shucking off her panties somehow, which he really wished she wouldn’t do because he wanted to slow things down.

  Or did he?

  Because suddenly she was naked beneath him and all he wanted—oh, how he wanted—was to thrust into her, but he couldn’t do that because she was pregnant and he might hurt the baby. Or something. He didn’t know. All he knew was he wanted to feel the exquisite warmth of her wrapped around him, and suddenly he was afraid.

  “Can we...? Is it okay?”

  “Yes,” she groaned, thrusting her hips toward him.

  “But I don’t have protection.”

  “You’re not going to get me pregnant,” she all but yelled.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Just shut up and get on with it,” she ordered.

  And he wanted to laugh, or maybe cry, or maybe do both those things because she drove him absolutely nuts. But then she wrapped her legs around him, drawing him ever closer and he was lost, just lost.

  “Flynn,” she panted. “Please.”

  She was all that he’d fantasized about and more. In a moment he knew he would never forget, Flynn sank into her, moaning her name at the same time.

  She went wild beneath him. He wanted to tell her to slow down, but her movements and the warmth of her and the feel of her hardened nipples against his chest—he could no more have slowed down than he could reverse a wave crashing onto shore. Their mouths found each other, Flynn’s hands sliding beneath her, pressing her closer, his tongue diving deeper and deeper, their bodies straining toward one another, tighter and tighter, higher and higher.

  She jerked her lips away. “Flynn.”

  That was it. That was all he needed to hear. The sound of her crying out his name. The feel of her body around his own. He gasped, thrust his head back, and he knew in that instant that his life would never be the same again. He knew that because when they were finished, as she lay spent in his arms, he pulled her tight, as tight as he’d ever held a woman, his eyes closed—her eyes closed, too—his heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

  “I have a feeling we’re going to be late to Thanksgiving dinner,” he heard her say.

  It made him smile. She always made him smile.

  “I think you’re probably right.”

  He kissed her again and quickly proved her words true.

  * * *

  They rushed to get to dinner, although they ended up driving to save time, and contrary to Amy’s fears, nobody seemed to notice their late arrival, which was good because she had to work to keep the sappy grin off her face.

  “Just put those in the kitchen,” called out Crystal, obviously spotting them from the family room, where she sat with easily half a dozen people. “We’ll bake them for a few minutes when the turkey comes out.”

  It smelled heavenly in the house, and as odd as it might seem, Amy felt a little homesick all of a sudden. The apartment she’d shared with her mom was long gone, but it hadn’t been all that bad. There’d been times when she’d felt loved and happy and content.

  “I’m going to go find my brother,” Flynn said, scanning the area around them. “Someone called about his horse. Think they might make him an offer.”

  She smiled. “Of course. Go.”

  He turned away and she watched him go, wondering at the odd pang of disappointment she’d felt before realizing it was because he hadn’t kissed her goodbye or touched her or shown any sign that they were more than friends.

  “You look lost.”

  Charlotte had come up alongside her and Amy was glad for the distraction. It was nice to see a friendly face in the house full of strangers.

  “I feel a little like a fish out of water.”

  Charlotte smiled. “They’re a little overwhelming at first, aren’t they?”

  “At first?”

  She laughed and smiled. “You’ll get to know them, and then you’ll wonder how you could have ever felt like a stranger.”

  They stood near the island that took up a large part of the kitchen. On the countertop were numerous appetizers and side dishes, so many Amy wouldn’t have a clue where to start. It all looked so yummy.

  Her eyes landed on Flynn. It was like his body was a giant
pillar of steel and her eyes magnets that were naturally attracted to him. In his cowboy hat and jeans he looked much the same as the rest of his brothers and cousins, and yet different. His brothers were broad shouldered and tall. Flynn was skinnier and shorter than the rest of them, his height the same as his father. Still tall, but not like Maverick or even their father.

  “Come on,” said Charlotte. “Let’s go outside. It’s quieter there.”

  When she glanced back at Charlotte, it was just in time to catch a glimpse of something in her eyes, something that put Amy on alert. Did she know? Had she guessed? But she meekly followed her from the room, waving at Jayden, who sat by a man who must be her husband, Colby.

  Charlotte was right. It was much quieter outside, the stark difference in sound like plunging into a swimming pool.

  “You can’t beat the view, can you?” Charlotte asked.

  “No.” Beneath them the vineyard stretched for what seemed like miles. To their left, she could just make out the roof of a house, probably Flynn’s dad’s place. Beyond the valley, there were pastures and oak trees and dirt roads that crisscrossed the landscape.

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  There was a massive bench, one with tractor wheels for the sides, the bottoms sawed off so they didn’t roll down the hill. For a moment Amy lost herself in imagining what that might look like, the two of them rolling down the hill on that bench, and it made her smile as she sat down next to her new friend. That was what Charlotte had become in recent weeks, a friend and a mentor of sorts, and certainly her biggest cheerleader. But that was the kind of person Charlotte was, Amy supposed. She worked in Child Protective Services and Amy knew she had to be brilliant at her job. She was too warm and compassionate not to be. Maverick was a lucky man, as was their daughter, Olivia.

  “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  Amy jerked. She turned to face Charlotte on the seat next to her.

  “Don’t bother answering. I can see you did.” And to Amy’s surprise, Charlotte started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I told Maverick this would happen.” She shook her head. “He didn’t believe me. Said his brother would never get involved with a woman carrying another man’s child, and I told him he was wrong. No man would care about that sort of thing when they’re as cute as you, but he thought I was crazy, and now he owes me twenty dollars.”