by Debra Dixon
The buckle of his belt rattled and was followed by the unmistakable sound of leather being pulled through belt loops. Niki actually bit her lip when Zach dropped the belt. Next the boots came off, and Niki didn’t know which would be worse—listening to the sounds of Zach stripping for bed or watching him uncover the body she’d felt beneath his flannel shirt.
“Night, Cookie.”
“Night,” she whispered, and wondered why she felt like she’d just dodged a bullet.
A sense of urgency woke Zach, and he assumed the urgency was his internal timer reminding him of his four o’clock watch. Bleary-eyed, he brought his watch close enough to read the dial, and suppressed a sigh of irritation when he realized that it was only three o’clock. He snuggled Niki more securely against his belly and resettled his head with every intention of finishing his extra hour’s sleep.
Instantly his mouth flew open and every muscle in his body tensed in surprise. Cautiously he raised up on his elbow and stared at the woman who trusted him more in her sleep than she did wide awake. Niki’s gentle breathing was accented by the tiny rise and fall of his arm, which he’d thrown carelessly across her waist. Her bottom was nestled spoon fashion against his abdomen and thighs. Brass lay at her feet, and Snicker curled up behind him.
He had no idea whether his subconscious had taken over in his sleep and pulled her close or whether she had gravitated toward him of her own accord. Not that he cared. The end result was the same—Niki lay in his arms, dreaming contentedly, if the serene expression on her face was any indication.
While he watched over her, she stirred, rubbed her nose, and slipped a hand beneath her cheek, all without completely waking. Zach spent the next hour doing nothing more than watching her sleep, fascinated by the crescent moons of her dark eyelashes against her skin, and the way her generous mouth parted slightly. If Zach had believed in fairy tales, he would have kissed the princess awake.
Zach didn’t kiss her. He knew better than to believe in happily-ever-after, but the woman he held in his arms was the first woman who made him wish he did believe.
Waking up alone wasn’t a new experience for Niki. Waking up wasn’t the sort of activity she thought about at all. Until she woke up and found Zach gone. Emptiness was her first impression. Followed immediately by loneliness and disappointment.
The moment she’d opened her eyes, anticipation had shot through her as she prepared to face Zach and his beguiling way of saying one thing while meaning another. Conversation with Zach was never dull. Touching Zach was never dull, her mind added promptly. Then she’d found the tent empty and felt like a sixteen-year-old all dressed up with no place to go.
Trying to stand produced a gasp of pain as her muscles screamed their objection to yesterday’s activities. Maybe it was best, she decided, that Zach wasn’t around to watch her hobble pitifully about the tent. By the time she’d packed her belongings, she was walking less like a wounded crab and more like a human being.
Zach wasn’t around the camp either, obviously having more important duties than babysitting a greenhorn who’d begun to enjoy his company. Rather than making a fool of herself by asking about him, she wolfed down a couple of oversized store-bought blueberry muffins and hurried to saddle Cay. Sheer determination got her into the saddle without asking for help. After a silent “Ouch,” she urged Cay toward the herd.
Scanning the scene in front of her, Niki told herself that looking for Zach didn’t mean she wanted Zach. But when she finally spotted him, an unfamiliar all’s-right-with-the-world feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Rationalizing her response was fairly easy. She decided that any guest probably experienced the same emotion when they looked at the trail boss. After all, Zach exuded confidence, made people believe they didn’t have to worry as long as the job was in his capable hands.
Pleased with her handy armchair psychology, Niki decided she’d say good morning, since her horse was headed in that direction anyway and, more importantly, squeezing her thigh muscles to turn the horse in another direction produced instant misery. As she edged up beside Zach, she nodded what she hoped was a casual good morning and raised her face to the autumn sunshine, wincing as she leaned forward on touchy inner-thigh muscles.
“Sore?” Zach asked, and was rewarded with a frown.
“Does it show that much?”
“Only to those of us who’ve been there. Trust me. Bouncing around in a saddle is much easier on you than on the men. Several of them are having a tough day too.”
A quick laugh exploded from Niki, and she covered her mouth to cut off the sound. Finally she said, “The thought hadn’t occurred to me. But it does explain why they’re all so slow getting started in the morning. Makes you wonder why someone would do this kind of work for a living.”
Zach grinned, “You learn to adjust. I’m going to miss it.”
Startled, she swiveled in her saddle to look at him. “Miss it? What do you mean?”
“A man can’t play cowboy forever.”
“John and Bill would disagree with you.”
“Big difference. They’re not playing. Cattle ranching is what they know. The ranch could run without me, but not without them.”
Shaking her head, Niki said, “I don’t think so. Hank and Bill, even John, are wonderful at being cowboys, but not one of them is a trail boss. Zach, like it or not, you’re a born leader.”
“So I’ve been told.” His comment was uttered without an ounce of conceit or pleasure. As he spoke he waved a hand signal to the men riding point, indicating they should veer to the right.
“But you don’t agree with them?” Niki asked when she had his attention again.
“I never believe what politicians tell me.”
Suddenly Niki felt apprehension settle coldly in her stomach. A cloud scudded across the sun, throwing gray light on the day. “What do politicians tell you?”
“That I should run for a state assembly seat next year.”
Niki had a vision of Zach in a well-cut suit, kissing babies and shaking hands. His handshake would be firm and reliable for men, but for the ladies he’d add that smile—the one that said, “You’re important to me.” She could see the news cameras. Zach would be a wonderful politician. And that made him absolute poison for her. Politics was what he’d come home for.
“Are you going to run?”
“I haven’t decided,” Zach lied, sensing something—distrust or disappointment—in Niki’s tone of voice.
“Yes, you have,” she said quietly. “You’re one of the good guys, Zach, and the good guys always say yes.”
“Does that bother you?” He reached for her reins and pulled Cay to a halt, not caring that he’d revealed too much about his growing feelings for Niki with his blunt question.
“That you’re a good guy or that you’re running for office?”
“Answer the question, Niki.” His hand captured hers and held it until she looked at him. “Does it bother you?”
When she looked into his eyes, she remembered she’d once called them gunmetal gray and serious. That was an apt description of the way they were now as he waited for her answer.
“It shouldn’t bother me.”
“But it does.”
Niki didn’t meet his gaze as she said, “I’d imagine living in a fishbowl would bother a lot of people.”
Zach shook his head and tapped Dap’s sides. “You don’t like cowboys, Wyoming, or politicians. Is there anything you do like about me?”
“Flannel shirt,” Niki answered instantly, without thought.
“Flannel shirt?”
“Flannel shirt,” she repeated as she rode away, leaving Zach to ponder her response.
The fire dispelled the gathering darkness as Zach approached the camp. When he passed the chuck wagon, he accepted a cup of steaming coffee with a nod of thanks and kept walking. He wanted to know if the furrow in Niki’s brow was a trick of the firelight or real distress. When she looked at the ground and sighed, Zach guessed the p
roblem.
“Can’t face the thought of sitting down and having to get back up?” he asked as he stopped beside her in the dusk and carefully sipped the steaming coffee.
“What do you think?” Niki asked primly, holding her bowl of stew in one hand and cup in the other. Getting out of the saddle today, without falling down, was the most difficult achievement of her life.
“I think you should nonchalantly mosey down to the front of the chuck wagon and put your cup on the seat. That way you can manage to free a hand for your spoon without bending over to put your cup down.”
Niki wanted to ignore his suggestion, but couldn’t. It was less obvious than any of the ideas she’d had. The slightest bend in her knees started a howling protest in her thighs and rump that was so strong, the pain robbed her of breath. Pride kept her from wanting to advertise the fact, though. Treading carefully, she left Zach hiding a grin behind his coffee mug and found a spot by the wagon.
As soon as she finished dinner she said good night, politely refusing to join the sing-along by the campfire with the excuse that she had to make some notes for her column. Truthfully, she did need to work, but the real reason she left the campfire so abruptly was because she had to get to the tent before her legs folded like a broken card table. Each step encouraged her to sue her aerobics instructor for breech of contract. Twice-weekly workouts were supposed to have kept her in shape, toned her legs, and strengthened her heart. All they’d really accomplished was to give her a false sense of security regarding the condition of her body.
For a full minute she stood staring in defeat at the zippered tent flap. She wasn’t sure she could bend down and catch the tongue of the zipper. Maybe she’d just drop dead where she stood. After all, she’d had a fairly good life. Death beneath a beautiful moon didn’t seem such a bad trade as long as she didn’t have to get back up.
When a strong arm caught her elbow the second before she folded, she didn’t resist. She didn’t have the strength. Two days of hard riding had pounded her backbone into dust.
“Hold on, Cookie. I’ll do it.”
“Good, because I was considering falling to the ground and dying.”
Zach chuckled softly. “That’s a little extreme.”
“Yeah? Well, so is the pain I’m in,” Niki informed him, and made the mistake of raising her eyes to his.
Words died on her lips as the rush of attraction spilled over her. Reflexively she wet her lips and remembered the feel of his mouth on hers. The weakness in her legs no longer had anything to do with a long day’s work. Deep in her belly she felt the quicksilver pulse of desire.
“Zach—” she began unsteadily.
“Get inside,” Zach ordered brusquely. “I’ll go get something for the pain.”
Still shaking, Niki tried to cover her confusion with humor. “Unless you have a spare body hidden in that wagon, I don’t have much faith it’ll work.”
“Kill or cure. One of the two, I promise.”
“That certainly makes me feel better,” Niki said as she took a deep breath and bent to enter the tent.
“See, I told you.”
Turning around to fire a snappy comeback wasn’t worth the effort, so Niki hobbled to her sleeping bag, pulled the ties and kicked it open. By the time Zach returned, she was stretched out on her back with no plans to move again in her lifetime. When the canvas flap whisked open, she did open her eyes, frowning as she discovered that even that hurt.
“I hope you brought something considerably stronger than aspirin.”
“Considerably.” Zach pulled a large cloth off his shoulder and spread it over his foam mattress and sleeping bag. From his coat pocket he pulled a brown glass bottle. “Liniment.”
“No.” Niki didn’t even wait for his explanation. Just the thought of Zach’s big, strong hands rubbing anything on her accelerated her heart rate and scared the hell out of her. Even the thought of Zach in the same room while she rubbed something on her was a disturbing idea. “Thank you, but no.”
Zach hunkered down beside her and met her gaze squarely. “You can have Murray do this for all I care, but you are going to let someone work on those muscles. Unless you do, you won’t be able to walk by tomorrow.”
“Give me two aspirin, and I’ll call you in the morning.”
“You’ll have to. You won’t be able to get up by yourself.”
“Fine. Give me the liniment. I’ll do it myself,” Niki said and grabbed the bottle.
“Right. Sit up.”
Niki didn’t answer immediately, but her fingers tightened around the bottle. “I can’t.”
Softening, Zach asked, “Why didn’t you say something this afternoon? You could have ridden in the wagon.”
Hiding her eyes beneath the crook of her elbow, Niki said, “When you grow up with three brothers, you learn to tough it out unless you want to be teased for days on end about being a powder-puff, sissy girl. Old habits die hard.”
Zach hit the inside of his cheek. “No one with any brains would ever call you a powder-puff, sissy girl.”
“I said they were my brothers. I didn’t say they were smart,” Niki quipped, desperately trying to cover her embarrassment and think of a way out.
She couldn’t. Zach was right about her muscles. She had to do something, or she wouldn’t sleep at all. The slightest movement produced either a sharp, bright pain that brought tears to her eyes or a dull, hard throb that sucked the breath from her lungs. She was miserable.
Feeling vulnerable and miserable was a deadly combination that lowered her resistance to Zach’s sex appeal. She knew that his hands on her legs would drive her to the edge of sanity. Intimacy would only encourage this insane spark of desire that flared every time she touched him or he touched her. Since that morning’s discovery of Zach’s career plans, she no longer had a choice about pursuing a more intimate relationship. She had an aversion to one-night stands, and considering Zach’s political ambitions, anything more was out of the question. She’d had enough of being stared at and constantly judged her last two years of high school.
“Niki.”
“I know. I know,” she wailed and pulled her arm from her eyes. “This was definitely not mentioned in the travel brochure.”
“Trade secret,” Zach admitted. “Would you rather I find someone else to do this?”
Reluctantly Niki handed him the bottle. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather the whole camp didn’t know how stupid I’ve been.”
He took the bottle, but didn’t bother to mention that the only way anyone else would have done the job was over his dead body. Since the night he’d tried to teach her how to throw a lariat, Zach had become very possessive of her, not that he had any intention of revealing that to her.
“Niki,” he prodded, “the jeans have to come off.”
“I’ll do it! Turn around.”
Standing up, Zach stepped away and turned his back. “If you can’t sit up, how are you going to get a pair of jeans off?”
“I’ll … manage … thank you.”
He heard the rustle of denim, and more than one hiss of pain from Niki. When he heard her rummaging in her duffle, his brows drew together. “What are you doing?”
“I always stuff a pair of running shorts in my bag. Just in case.”
“Just in case you get a rubdown from a strange man?”
“You’d be surprised how often the opportunity presents itself. You can turn around now.”
Zach’s eyes were well accustomed to the darkness of the tent. She lay on her back, dark shorts covering very little of her long, creamy thighs. As she slighdy bent her knees, she said, “Hurry up, before someone comes looking for you. I don’t want to explain this to anyone.”
Puzzled, Zach let his coat slide down his arms to the floor, then uncapped the liniment. “Why would you need to explain?”
“This is Wyoming,” Niki said as if that settled everything.
As much as he wanted to ask, Zach didn’t pursue the subject of
Wyoming and Niki Devlin. He’d ruled out a disagreement with her family. She talked too freely about her brothers for an estrangement to exist between them. One of her columns had warmly praised her parents. No, family wasn’t what kept Niki away from Wyoming.
Zach filled his palm with the fragrant cure-all that was created in the ranch kitchen from baby oil, cloves, and secret ingredients known only to Bess. He hated the husky rasp of his voice as he asked, “Where should I start?”
“Pick a spot. I’ll give you a dollar if you can find one that doesn’t hurt.” The words came out in a nervous rush.
“Pick a spot,” Zach mumbled, reminding himself that he was simply rescuing a damsel in distress and not indulging in a personal fantasy.
He rubbed his hands together to warm the liniment and knelt on the sleeping bag in front of Niki’s legs. Forcing himself to forget the tightening in his belly, he let his fingers cup her right calf and his thumbs rest on her shin below her knee. Slowly he pulled his hands down, spreading the liniment in one long stroke. Niki’s hands clenched as they lay beside her hips.
Zach stopped and asked, “Hurt?”
“No.” The monosyllable was tight and forced.
“Relax,” Zach urged as his hands made the return trip.
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
Slowly Zach worked the muscles, first kneading with his palms and then rubbing with his thumbs. He lingered over each calf longer than necessary. His fingers seemed bewitched by the curves of her legs and the softness of her skin. The heat of her body and the friction of his motions warmed the liniment and ignited sensation in his palms, reminding Zach that playing with Niki was a lot like playing with fire.
While the liniment worked its magic, Niki began to relax. Every contact, every brush of Zach’s hands, replaced pain with sensation. She’d never been more aware of the seductive feel of a man’s hands on her body than now, and he wasn’t touching any part of her that was considered a traditional erogenous zone. Closing her eyes, she fought the urge to sigh like a contented kitten when his hands moved to stroke her inner thighs.
