The Cowboy Claims His Lady

by Meagan Mckinney

  Finally with a last soul-searching kiss, he lowered his body to hers.

  He was naked, hard and hot, and she wanted him like an alcoholic wants a drink. Her thirst became insatiable, even destructive, but she didn’t care.

  He parted her thighs with his hand and thrust himself inside her. His breath quickened; she moaned. The fullness was ecstasy. She didn’t ever want him to leave.

  She reached up to his chest and felt the hammer of his heartbeat begin to meld into the rhythm of his lovemaking. His tense, muscular legs rocked against her womanly soft thighs. Then he grew more fierce and demanding, and her body went with him, finally building into a long, racking release.

  The fall was exquisite.

  She took her orgasm and held it inside until tears filled her closed eyes. The feeling was life-affirming, yet terrifying; satiating, yet agonizing—taunting her that there might be no more.

  He stared down at her. She clutched him to her though his back was slick with sweat.

  Finally, when he could take no more, he devoured her mouth in a searing kiss and spilled himself inside her. His release racked his torso with pleasure, his muscles steeled with barely contained strength.

  The silence afterward should have horrified her. Instead, it was like a blanket of peace that lulled her into sleep.

  Her last thought as she snuggled within his arms was that she could get used to sleeping this way, protected in his strong embrace, serenaded by the rain falling on the shake roof.

  Waking the next morning was the hardest thing Lyndie ever had to do. Sunlight spilled through the bandana curtains of her bunkroom, her bedside lamp was still on. Next to her, the sheets were cold and empty.

  It seemed the dream, like a fire, had turned to ashes.

  She took a deep cleansing breath and tried to summon her courage.

  She didn’t know how to go about the day. She was not the kind to act on an impulse, but last night had been just that. She was lonely and Bruce had offered comfort. She’d thrown good sense to the wind and had taken everything he’d offered.

  Now she had to deal with it, no matter how painful, no matter how awkward and humiliating.

  As she saw it, she had two options: she could pretend last night never happened and go breezily about her way at the ranch, or she could admit to the intimacy they’d shared last night and hope he reciprocated the goodwill.

  She moaned and wished she were anywhere but there. New Orleans suddenly seemed so safe and secure. Even Mitch didn’t seem to matter as much as he had before. Now all she could think about was Bruce Everett. And what to do about him. And how to save herself.

  Outside she heard Justin ring the bell to saddle up. She’d missed breakfast, but that wasn’t much of a sacrifice these days. She hadn’t much appetite, anyway.

  Forcing herself out of the bed, she slipped on a bra and panties, grateful there wasn’t time for a shower. The scent on her body was too delicious to wash away.

  She threw on her riding jeans and a white oxford shirt and walked out her door, bracing herself for whatever came her way.

  “There she is. Girlie’s all tacked up and waitin’ for you.” Justin greeted her with a smile.

  Looking around for Bruce, she didn’t find him among the mounted riders. Susan gave her a rather baleful stare, but Kim seemed all too pleased to be riding in front, right behind Justin.

  “Where’s our fearless leader?” Roger thankfully exclaimed as they headed out of the paddock.

  “He’s off on his own this morning. Headed out before dawn. He’ll catch up to us. Always does,” Justin called out.

  Lyndie was thankful she hadn’t had to ask, but she was still tortured by questions. She wondered why Bruce had gone off on his own and where, but when they reached the fork in the trail, she looked up the forbidden path and saw fresh hoofprints in the mud.

  It answered a lot of questions.

  Suddenly chilled, she wrapped herself in her fleece jacket and tried to concentrate on what Justin was lecturing ahead about soapberries and the grizzlies that loved to eat them.

  It was no use.

  Her mind was filled with the vision of Bruce and Beastie Boy standing on the cliff that had taken Katherine.

  She suddenly feared last night had been a mistake. She had had no business getting herself involved with a man who was still mourning. There was little future for her with him, anyway. He was a dyed-in-the-wool good ol’ boy from Montana, and she was a career-minded businesswoman from the French Quarter. They were worlds apart. They were oil and water.

  “My, you’re quiet this morning, lovey,” Annette tsked. “Did the trip last night give you a head?”

  Lyndie thought she knew what the woman meant. “You mean a hangover?”

  Annette smiled at Roger knowingly.

  Lyndie smiled when she wanted to cry. “No, I haven’t got a hangover. We didn’t do much drinking last night, after all.”

  “Home in bed early. That’s how I like my nights,” Roger commented pleasantly.

  “Yes. Home in bed early,” Lyndie repeated, her words fading with the hope in her heart.

  Nine

  Lyndie wasn’t ready to face what had happened the night before. Her rash and impulsive jump into bed with Bruce still left her breathless. Confused and shaken, she had just finished an afternoon cup of coffee in the lodge when Susan sat down next to her, a frown on her face.

  “I have to tell you,” Susan began, “I don’t appreciate you making a fool out of me in front of Bruce. You knew all the time I was confessing to you that you were involved with him, and yet you let me continue talking. I hope you had a good laugh.”

  Lyndie shook her head, her cheeks red with chagrin. “We weren’t involved. Really. That kiss just happened. It just happened.”

  “Sure. Well, let me tell you, you’re either lying to me, or lying to yourself, because what I saw last night didn’t just happen. Good afternoon to you, Lyndie.”

  Susan got up and left.

  Watching her go, Lyndie realized the woman was right about one thing. The truth came at her like a freight train: she was lying to herself. It was ridiculous to think she could handle a man like Bruce. He was too independent and ferocious. And right now, she was too vulnerable.

  Chair legs scraped on the floor.

  Bruce sat next to her at the lodge table and stared, his legs stretched out before him, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was stony, his black eye making him look vaguely pirate-like.

  “That’s some shiner,” she said, desperate to keep the tone between them casual.

  His mouth twisted in a grin. “You know the old line, don’t you— You shoulda seen the other guy.”

  She smiled, though inside she wanted to flee.

  “Sleep well last night?” he asked.

  Her cheeks heated as she recalled the many times they’d made love. Even now, with him near, she wanted him, covering her, intoxicating her.

  “It’s hard not to sleep well after the workout you gave me.”

  She tried to keep it light, even though the night with him was the most earth-shattering encounter she’d ever had. No other man would ever live up to him—of that she was acutely, sorrowfully, aware. But it would do her no good to show weakness. He’d cut and run then, and she wouldn’t even be able to blame him.

  “It’s been a while,” he confessed, studying her.

  “Insatiable. I think that’s the word.” She tried to laugh. It sounded flat even to her. Her gaze met his, and she was caught.

  He demanded the truth, and she decided to give it a shot, especially since she was becoming terribly afraid of her feelings for him.

  “I—I hope it was more than just playing catch-up,” she stammered, hating to appear vulnerable after what had happened with Mitch.

  “It was more than a roll in the hay.”

  Becoming unnerved by his stare, she looked away from him, desperate to cover herself, to hide.

  “You should open a shop in Mystery, you
know that,” he said. “We get a lot of tourists either skiing or summering here. They’d keep you silky satin, all right.”

  She shrugged, helpless. “I can barely get my feet wet with two shops. How am I going to run a business here from New Orleans?”

  “You got it all wrong. You need to run your New Orleans business from here.” His expression grew taut with unexpressed emotion. “Believe me, I’ll never tell you how to run your business, but you need to expand—”

  “I’m planning to expand. That’s why I got Hazel to invest. But I’ve got to pay her back, and soon.” Her problems seemed to grow like a tsunami and overtake her. His words sounded wonderful, but she couldn’t see her way out of the financial maze in which she was trapped. More than that, there had to be a bigger reason to move to Montana than money. She’d do it for love. But never for money.

  “I can’t see me being able to afford a third shop here, when I’m barely able to carry two stores on my shoulders. The numbers just won’t work.” She couldn’t get around the fact that the only way to take on risk was with support—but all alone, jeopardizing everything, there was no way. Moving to Mystery could spell ruination for the shop.

  A strange anger crackled in his eyes. “I ain’t one to push the point with a lady, but I know more about business than you think. I think the numbers would work fine.”

  Her sigh seemed to echo through every timbered corner of the large lodge room. She didn’t want to fight with him, especially over such dry matters. What she really wanted was for him to hold her hand and take her back to bed with him. She’d give anything to shut out the world just a little longer.

  Defeated, she said, “I appreciate your input, but it’s my business and no one else’s. I have to do what I think best. And it’s best I return home to New Orleans.”

  He stood, his face taut. “You may come to regret that hasty conclusion, darling. There’s nothing in New Orleans.”

  Her head pounded from an oncoming headache. She couldn’t figure out why their conversations always went wrong. “Really?” she asked. “And how would you know? And what does Mystery have to offer?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know what? I just figured you out. You’re uppity just like Katherine was. A hardworking man isn’t good enough for you. You want tuxedos and champagne when whiskey and jeans might serve you better.”

  “Oh, let’s not discuss whiskey…” she begged.

  He became silent.

  Eventually he said, “All I know is that I’m through paying stud service to your type. Next time, little lady, you want a workout, you’ll be in my bed servicing me.”

  He gave her one last deadly glance, then stormed out of the lodge, his hat pulled low over his angry eyes.

  She stared at the closed door for what felt like a long, numbing moment.

  Deep down she felt guilty, even sorrowful. And she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d lost something she’d never even known she had.

  “Lookout Mountain’s the first overnight trip we’ll be taking.” Justin turned the carousel of the slide projector. He was lecturing the group in the lodge after breakfast.

  The morning had dawned with a crystal-blue sky and warm sun. Even Lyndie was anxious to go for a ride on Girlie and go find the day for herself.

  “This,” Justin explained, “is the terrain. As you can see, the drops are pretty magnificent. We just ask that you remain alert and let your horse guide you. Our animals are well-schooled in these mountains. Their instincts are good.”

  Lyndie watched the slide show with only half attention. The scenery was beautiful; the trail should be one of the best they’d been on. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of dread knowing she’d be camping overnight with Bruce.

  “We’re a little concerned,” Roger piped up behind her. “We heard a woman was killed on one of those trails.”

  Justin grimaced. Even Lyndie was glad Bruce was not among the group to hear Roger’s question.

  “The woman was killed because she did not listen to her horse. We ask you to listen to what your mount is telling you. You won’t have any trouble then.” He turned grim. “Nonetheless, we won’t be going on the trail where Katherine was killed, so no one need worry.”

  “Is it the one we never take going out to the Divide?” Kim asked.

  Justin nodded. “It’s off-limits. Now you know why.”

  A murmur went through the small group. Several cowhands who were there to answer any questions shot one another an uncomfortable look.

  They were glad, too, that Bruce wasn’t there, Lyndie mused, knowing firsthand what a temper their boss had.

  “Just ’cause we’re going out on the trail don’t mean you’ll suffer.” Justin continued with the slide show. “Horse-packers will go on ahead with all our gear and food. At the end of the trail, your dinner will be ready, your tent set up and your sleeping bag unrolled.”

  “What? No Jacuzzi for our saddle-sore muscles?” Annette added.

  Justin laughed. “We do the best we can, ma’am. We can’t have a Jacuzzi, but we have a coffee can with holes in it and a large piece of canvas. If you don’t mind one of us standing over you pouring the warm water, you can even take a shower.”

  “Oh dear,” Annette gasped.

  “She’ll bloody pass, she will,” Roger proclaimed, putting a possessive arm over his plump wife.

  This time even Lyndie joined in the laughter.

  But her smile froze when her gaze found Bruce. He must have just walked in.

  He stared at Lyndie as if there was something still unspoken between them.

  “This morning’s free time,” Bruce announced. “Lyndie’s great-aunt, Hazel McCallum, has been good enough to open her ranch to us this morning for a tour. Anyone who wants to go, see Justin.”

  The meeting was adjourned.

  While the rest of the group went with Justin to the Lazy M, Lyndie decided to remain behind. She’d seen enough of the ranch on her own over the years, and she wasn’t in the mood to share Hazel. Not when she needed a good heart-to-heart with her, instead.

  Frustrated that she couldn’t get on Girlie without a guide to accompany her, Lyndie decided to enjoy the morning on foot.

  Pulling on her hiking boots, she took the usual path up the mountain. She’d gone several miles before she noticed she was on the path that forked. The terrain looked different on foot than from the back of a horse, but when she passed through a familiar glade of aspens, she found the split in the path straight ahead.

  She could be more cautious walking than on a horse, she supposed. Perhaps it wasn’t so dangerous, to go exploring as long as one didn’t have to deal with the temperament of an animal.

  Her feet seemed to make the decision for her. She climbed the near-vertical path until the fork was behind her, and then out of sight.

  Compelled somehow to see the spot where Katherine died, and to see where Bruce went when he needed to be alone, she kept climbing, the view of the Divide getting more and more breathtaking with each step.

  Finally, she reached a widening of the path. There was a ledge that looked out at the blue tops of the Rockies. She went to the edge. The drop was easily a hundred feet. No one could survive the fall.

  But the panorama of mountains and sky was heaven meeting earth.

  She stood there for a long time, hating to leave the solitude of the aerie. A peace flowed over her like the breeze that sang through the aspens below.

  She turned, only to find herself looking at the furious expression on the face of Bruce Everett.

  “The first rule of the wilderness is don’t go anywhere alone,” he snapped, dismounting Beastie Boy.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, rattled by his stealth.

  “If something happened out here, who would know? Where would you get help?”

  “I didn’t think. I just wanted to see what was up here. I figured walking would be safer than going on Girlie.”

  “There’s no difference. You still could have been hurt
and no one would know where you were.” He stepped toward her. “Never do that again. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded, his anger bringing tears to her eyes.

  He had every right, she supposed, to chastise her. After all, he was in charge of the ranch’s guests, and he was doubly responsible for her because she was Hazel McCallum’s grand-niece.

  “I guess curiosity got the best of me. I know we were told not to go anywhere alone, but I wanted to see where you—”

  She hardly recognized the garbled cry in her throat.

  Under the heels of her hiking boots, the ground was giving way. Somehow she must have misjudged the strength of the ledge and it was crumbling beneath her.

  Paralyzed by fear, she realized Bruce’s stricken face, and wondered if that was the last thing she would see before she, too, fell to her death.

  “Do as I say. Take my hand,” he commanded, dropping and sliding to her on his belly as if they were both on thin ice rather than thin ground.

  She realized he’d tied Beastie Boy’s reins to his chaps. That way, if they both fell, maybe the horse would be able to drag them to safety.

  With a shudder of terror, she grabbed his hand.

  He held on to her while the ground gave way beneath her, inch by agonizing inch.

  The ledge was so fragile, she didn’t dare move for fear of causing a larger piece to take them both down.

  “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he soothed in his deep familiar voice.

  He barked a command to Beastie Boy and the animal began backing down the trail.

  The ledge disappeared beneath her.

  She screamed and felt the earth fall away from her scrambling legs.

  One violent tug on her arm and she was yanked back onto the firm side of the trail. Beastie Boy dragged them several feet more before he halted.

  In shock, she stared at Bruce. He faced her. They were both belly-down. The dust that had been kicked up as they were dragged stung her eyes.