Tall, Dark, and Lonesome

by Debra Dixon

  When he’d started the drive, Zach had one decision to make—whether or not to run for a state senate seat. Now he had a second decision—what to do about Niki. He’d seen his father make mistake after mistake because of chemistry, and he had no intention of following in his footsteps, no intention of becoming involved with a woman who was flying back to New York in a few days.

  He’d come back to Wyoming to make his home. Bess needed him. According to the party chairman, Wyoming needed him. More than that, he needed Wyoming. He needed Bess. He needed a home, and he’d found it. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to buy Christmas presents that were easy to pack in a suitcase. He didn’t have to go home for the holidays. He was home. Inhaling deeply, Zach knew he’d made one decision: He intended to accept the state senate nomination. Now what was he going to do about Niki?

  From her spot by the fire, Niki couldn’t see Zach’s face, but she could sense that he was watching her. And it made her uncomfortable. She felt as if his eyes bored into her, reading her secrets. In Wyoming she was a woman with a past, an easy target for a cowboy on the prowl, and Zach definitely reminded her of a predator.

  Until now she hadn’t had to worry about breaking her self-imposed celibacy during her visits to Wyoming, but Zach was busily chipping away at her reserve. Hell, Niki thought honestly, he’d taken a stick of dynamite to it. He’d pulled her into his arms and shown her how little control her mind had over her body.

  As Margaret would say, “Hot damn, the man can kiss.” Niki smiled as she thought of her best friend, wishing Margaret were here and not in New York. Photography was Margaret’s passion, and she always looked for the dramatic potential in any situation. When she’d dropped Niki off at the airport, her last words had been, “Maybe you’ll meet someone tall, dark, and lonesome. And if you do, loosen up a bit. It won’t kill you. You’ve got to get over this thing about Wyoming.” She’d wiggled her eyebrows and added, “Making love under the stars is actually quite nice. You ought to try it.”

  Niki’s heart skipped a beat when she looked at Zach and knew that he was everything Margaret had in mind. He was sitting slightly apart from the group, his dogs curled beside him. Firelight illuminated one side of his face; the other was in deep shadow. He couldn’t have struck a better pose if he’d been sitting for a portrait shamelessly staged to capture the essence of a man alone.

  Spit! Tall, dark, and handsome wouldn’t have done anything more than tickle her desire, but tall, dark, and lonesome triggered her blasted emotions too.

  Abruptly Niki left the warmth of the fire. She needed to get her mind off Zach before she plopped down beside him and encouraged him to spill his entire life story. She couldn’t afford to care about why he chose to sit four feet away from everyone else. She was going back to New York, and she wasn’t about to take his memory on the plane with her. She didn’t need any more ties to Cutter’s Creek than she already had.

  Coming home always brought her feelings closer to the surface, and that was probably why she’d responded so readily to Zach, she told herself. Her reaction to him probably had nothing to do with genuine attraction and everything to do with being on edge because she was home again. Sure, and if you believe that, then you believe that Santa’s shimmying down your chimney this year. Stop thinking and start cleaning up.

  By the time she’d scrubbed every dish, rinsed every cup, wiped the plank table four times and cleaned the gas stove, she was satisfied that she had managed to put some distance between Zach Weston and her need to nurture. When she heard horses approaching, she expected to see Zach and John riding back from checking on the first watch. Instead, Bill and Hank rode into the light. Niki fed them chili and ignored the vague feeling of disappointment that Zach had decided to finish their watch as well as his own.

  As they finished, Bill looked at her oddly and handed her his plate. “You haven’t seen the herd at all yet, have you?”

  “No, not yet,” Niki answered.

  “Would you like to? Hank and I’ll take you over.”

  Niki was tempted until she remembered that she’d also be seeing Zach, who was likely to look taller, darker, and more lonesome as he kept watch in the night. So she shook her head and said, “I’ll wait until morning. It’s late, and I have to get some work done tonight. I need to get all my impressions into the computer and organized before I forget everything.”

  Two of the lawyers said good night and headed for their tents, complaining that they had to take over the watch at midnight. As Niki listened to the conversations around the fire, she finished her final duty as chuck wagon cook—making a pot of strong coffee for the men on night watch and leaving it by the fire with cups. She made the coffee with painstaking attention to the directions Zach had given her. Slowly everyone drifted toward his tent, torn between wanting to share the camaraderie of the firelight and wanting to get as much sleep as possible before another grueling day in the saddle. Having ridden all day in the wagon, Niki was tired but not down for the count. Besides, she’d told Bill the truth about needing to get her impressions into the computer. She’d been a writer long enough to know that when ideas pounded in her brain, she’d better put them down on paper.

  Niki waved good night to Murray and retrieved her gear from under the seat of the wagon. As she rolled out her sleeping bag, John’s teasing words to Murray echoed in her head. The circle helps keep out bears and wolves.

  Ridiculous, Niki told herself. All the same, she wished she hadn’t decided to sleep under the stars. When Eli explained that the ranch tents were booked solid, he said she had two choices: provide her own tent, or double up with one of the guys. Niki had no intention of lugging a tent onto an airplane or setting one up each night. So she simply decided to buy the warmest sleeping bag she could find and rough it.

  The idea had seemed reasonable at the time. Good fresh air, beautiful stars, and the whispers of the night. However, now that she knew exactly how cold and black the dark could be, she was having second thoughts, but she had no intention of complaining. She was in the wilderness, where men were men and women were darn good sports. Besides, Wyoming was the one place “fast” Nicolette Devlin wouldn’t be caught dead in a tent with a strange man.

  Changing clothes in the open wasn’t a great idea either. If it hadn’t been for the rain, she wouldn’t have bothered, but between the rain and the mud, she felt ready for clean, dry clothes that were still in one piece. Since Zach and John weren’t due back for hours, Niki ducked into one of the two unclaimed tents. Much smaller than it looked from the outside, the nylon dome was designed for one very small, very short person who didn’t like standing upright and didn’t need to change clothes very often.

  Niki struggled out of her T-shirt and torn jeans and into a similar ensemble over thermal underwear and topped with a bright orange sweatshirt. Instead of putting her socks and boots back on, she gathered up her belongings and padded across the camp in bare feet. The meadow grasses were cold and damp, quickening her step.

  She took the lantern down from the awning pole and set it beside her sleeping bag, which was just outside the halo of firelight. After she packed away the dirty clothes, Niki put on a pair of thick orange thermal socks and sat cross-legged on her outdoor bed to unbraid her hair. Pulling the long mass of dark curls over her shoulder, Niki surveyed the ripple of waves caused by leaving her hair in the braid for such a long time. She brushed it until every tangle had been erased. Then she used a little water from the wagon barrel to brush her teeth.

  With her evening rituals completed, Niki sat down to work. The zipper of her laptop computer growled into the night as she opened the case. For the next hour the day’s events tumbled out of her fingertips and onto the word processing screen. Finally she stopped and put away the computer, knowing that she’d written exactly the kind of column Eli wanted.

  Once Niki turned off the lantern and hung it on the pole, she snuggled into her sleeping bag. Almost before her eyes closed, Niki’s mind drifted into the
swirling fog of slumber, and the slightly altered first line of her column floated through her dream—The Western version of “out of the frying pan and into the fire” is “out of the chuck wagon and into Zach’s arms”!

  Zach swayed and jerked himself upright in the saddle as he returned from watch. He’d sent John in half an hour ago. It had been one hell of a day, and he looked forward to the deep, restful sleep that only came at the end of hellish days. At the edge of camp, Zach dismounted, pulled the saddle off Dap, and tied him with the rest of the horses. Wearily he started for his tent, Brass and Snicker at his heels. The clearing was still and welcoming. Zach couldn’t wait to crawl into his sleeping bag and shut out the world.

  As his hand reached for the zipper of his tent, his eyes snapped open, and he surveyed the other tents in the circle. Every one of them was familiar. Every one of them was an old ranch tent with a big white W on the top. Where the hell was Niki’s tent?

  Dammit! He’d told the travel agent the ranch tents were booked. The woman was supposed to have found out if Niki wanted him to get her a tent or if she was supplying one of her own. He’d laughed and said Niki could share with one of the men, but it had been a joke, for heaven’s sake! When he hadn’t heard from the agent, he’d assumed Niki was bringing her own.

  “Damn,” Zach whispered, looking at his tent, the only double left in the camp that wasn’t filled. Part of him wanted her to be inside; part of him wanted her to be anywhere but asleep in his tent, close enough to touch.

  Gently he unzipped and peeled back the flap, expecting to find Niki, but the only items inside were a foam pad and his sleeping bag. He scanned the camp again as he tried to keep a lid on his anger. For a reason known only to his subconscious, he was jealous of whoever was sharing a tent with Niki.

  He fought down the urge to unzip every tent until he found her. Where she slept was her business, he told himself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t convinced. What he believed was that Niki’s tears had opened a little door of protectiveness in his heart—a door he hadn’t been able to close once her tears had dried.

  Zach pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to care about Niki. She had a life in New York, and she’d go back to it as soon as the drive ended. Zach was an expert at caring about women who were going to leave. His mother had died when he was six. He’d stopped caring about his “new mothers” when his father reached wife number four.

  Not wanting made not having a lot easier. He couldn’t allow himself to care about Niki. He couldn’t want her. Didn’t need the complications. She wasn’t the kind of woman who checked her emotions at the door. She might cover them up well, dancing through life with a twinkle and a smile, but Zach knew better. He’d held her in his arms and seen the vulnerability and trust shining through her tears. She would demand more than he was willing to give, and then when he gave it, she’d go back to her life in New York, expecting him to forget her.

  By the time Zach saw the bumpy shadow of an occupied sleeping bag beside the chuck wagon, he was angry. Angry at himself for wanting what he couldn’t have. Angry at fate for tossing Niki into his life. Angry at Niki for being everything he wanted in a woman. Furious with Niki for risking pneumonia.

  What the devil was she thinking of? Sleeping on wet ground, without a tent, in the middle of winter! Well, it wasn’t exactly the middle of winter, but it was sure as hell close enough. Sleeping outside could dangerously lower her body temperature, making hypothermia a very real risk.

  At his signal his dogs dropped to the ground and stayed. Zach never took his eyes off the dipping curve of the bag that had to be Niki’s waist as she slept on her side. The dip flowed upward and rounded gently to contour a part of her anatomy that he refused to imagine. If he did, imagination would replace anger with desire, and he wasn’t ready to give up his anger yet. Nothing was going to stop him from telling Niki exactly how foolish a risk she was taking. He hunkered down beside the sleeping bag, one jean-clad knee on the ground and the other serving as a prop against which to lean his arm.

  “Wake up, Cookie. And get out of that sleeping bag before I drag you out.”

  FOUR

  All Zach could see was the top of Niki’s head. Everything from the bridge of her nose down was buried in the sleeping bag. As she stirred, so did his libidinous urges. First she curled more tightly into the sleeping bag, taking a ragged breath. Then she stretched languidly, uttering a deep sigh that forced Zach to clench his fists in frustration. Turning over onto her back, she raised sleepily up on her elbows without opening her eyes.

  “I’m not your Cookie. My shift’s over.” Still without opening her eyes, Niki cuddled back into the bag and mumbled, “Go bother someone else.”

  The irritating knowledge that he didn’t want to go bother anyone else only increased Zach’s frustration.

  “All right. You asked for it.” Standing up, Zach put one foot on the rounded curve of her hip and gave her a shove. Niki rolled in the sleeping bag and sat up sputtering, but before she could brush the hair out of her face, Zach was kneeling beside her, asking, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Startled, she blinked to be sure she was seeing clearly. Zach was angry. Not mad or peeved, but genuinely angry. Why?

  Even in the moonlight, she could see the grim set of his mouth and the way his eyebrows crashed down over his eyes. Zach Weston was actually treating her like an errant child. In her sleepy confusion, she reviewed her behavior during the evening. She had stayed as far away from him as possible after the kiss, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why Zach would have any reason to be angry. Or why he had any right to yell at her in the middle of the night. Finally she leaned back on her elbows and stared at him. “I’m trying to get a little sleep.”

  “You’re trying my patience,” Zach corrected. “Get out of that sleeping bag. You belong in my tent.”

  “Like hell,” she bit out and sat up, moving as far away as possible without actually sliding out of the sleeping bag. His cheap suggestion cut coldly through her abdomen, and she felt a keen sense of betrayal. Niki’s eyes locked with his, and she straightened her back.

  Zach watched as her mouth settled into a thin line and her chin lifted as though she’d been insulted. Thinking about what he’d said, Zach realized the conclusion to which she must have jumped and cursed softly.

  “Good thinking, Niki,” he said sarcastically. “I make a habit of rousing women from a sound sleep and ordering them to my bed for fun and games. Works every time. Women really like it. However, at this particular moment I’m more worried about you freezing to death from spending the night on wet ground in a wet sleeping bag in thirty-degree weather.”

  Fully awake, Niki’s mind started to function logically. “You’re worried about my freezing to death because the ground is wet and I’m not sleeping in a tent?”

  “Bingo. Now get out of this thing.” He reached out and flipped up part of the insulated bag. “Dammit. I knew you wouldn’t have known to put plastic down.”

  “I didn’t bring any with me because I didn’t think I needed it,” she said sharply, tired of his patronizing attitude. “Besides the fact that it usually doesn’t rain this much in Wyoming in late October, this bag is top-of-the-line. The outside layer is that new fabric made for Arctic expeditions. Moisture can’t seep through it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I paid a fortune for this bag so I wouldn’t have to bother with putting down a tarp.”

  Zach rubbed the material between his fingers and said, “Then they must have seen you coming a mile away, because whatever you bought is not what you got. Your bag’s wet, and the temperature’s dropping.”

  “But I’m not wet or cold,” she protested, getting to her knees and patting her clothes.

  “Yet,” Zach argued, and hated the ragged, husky quality his voice had suddenly acquired. Watching Niki squirm around to check her clothing should be considered torture. His mouth fell open when she looked over her shoulder, unconsciously accenting her
breasts as she smoothed her hands along the curve of her jeans-clad bottom. Irrationally, he became jealous of a pair of soft, faded jeans because right now they touched her more intimately than he could, encasing her thighs, circling her waist, caressing the length of her, and absorbing the heat created by the friction of her palms on her bottom. When she bent to check her sleeping bag, Zach slowly exhaled the breath he’d been holding.

  To convince him of the bag’s quality, she unzipped it and skimmed her hands along the soft flannel inner lining. Her mouth opened to form the word “see” when she felt the beginning of a cold, damp spot where her hip had pressed against the ground. She looked at the sleeping bag and wanted to choke the clerk who must have pulled the wrong item from stock. Why hadn’t she checked it out? Because you wouldn’t have known the difference anyway.

  Niki bit her lip, suddenly feeling the chill in the air. The October nights were colder than she remembered. Hesitantly, she pushed up the orange sweatshirt that had fallen over her jeans and pressed her hand against her hip. Swallowing, she looked up at Zach and admitted, “The bag is wet, and the side of my jeans is damp.”

  Zach watched the dark waterfall of hair that flowed over her shoulders and hung past her waist in cascading ripples. His mouth went dry at the mere thought of sharing a tent with her. And he was hard simply from watching her wiggle a bit. Sleep would be impossible with Niki beside him, tempting his imagination.

  “I’ll get John up,” he said in a rush of air as he made his decision. “He’ll share a tent with me, and you can take his tent.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” she asked, arms akimbo. “The only reason John has his own tent is because no one can sleep with his snoring.”

  “It isn’t that b—”

  “Don’t deny it,” she interrupted, laughing softly. “John was thrown out of the bunkhouse because he snored so loudly he kept everyone awake. He told me so himself when we were putting up the tents.”