Cowboy Lessons (Harlequin American Romance)

by Pamela Britton

  She’d put her hair up behind her head in some kind of loopy knot that sent the ends of her hair skyward like a peacock’s tail. On most women such a style would look messy, on Amanda it looked almost elegant. She bent over to set her own saddle and blanket down, Scott almost groaning as she did so. When she turned around, she froze, Scott trying to look away in time, but he knew he hadn’t succeeded.

  “What do I do with Rocket?”

  “Tie him to that tree over there,” she said, and he knew he was right, because he could tell just from the tone of her voice that she’d caught him staring at her rear.

  “Won’t he run away?”

  “Your horse is trained to ground tie, Scott. If he gets loose, he won’t run away.”

  “And what about you?” he asked, tipping his cowboy hat back as he did so. “Are you going to run away tomorrow?”

  He met her gaze, seeing ire in those blue, blue eyes of hers, eyes that reflected the colors of the sky above them: the pinks, the buttercup-yellow and the deep purple of the atmosphere saying good-night to the sun. She looked amazing against that backdrop. Amazing and beautiful, and she didn’t want a thing to do with him.

  “Mr. Beringer—”

  Uh-oh.

  “What I do tomorrow or the next day or the week after that is none of your business.”

  Because he couldn’t commit.

  And that’s when he saw it, that’s when he noticed the way the rims of her eyes had reddened. The way moisture pooled in that little dip of her lower lashes. The way she blinked, then blinked some more, then finally turned away.

  Everything inside Scott froze. He sensed there was a decision being made inside of him, a decision that scared the heck out of him, but one he couldn’t ignore.

  “Amanda,” he said softly, going to her, gently turning her and, thank the stars above she didn’t pull away from him. Her smell engulfed him, that floral scent that was uniquely hers and that filled him with a sense of comfort and peace. “It doesn’t have to be this way. It really doesn’t.”

  She looked up at him, and his Amanda, his beautiful, brave Amanda, had tears running down her cheeks. “Yes, Scott, it does—”

  He cut her words off with a kiss, knew as he did so that he was committing them to a course neither of them might like the consequences of in the morning. But he didn’t care. Something about Amanda, something in the way she handled herself, in the way she proudly stood up for what she believed in, in the way she championed her father even though he’d disappointed her more than once in her life, something about all of that and more made him want her in a way that had more to do than with mere sexual desire.

  “Mandy,” he said softly, pulling back a bit, only to kiss the side of her mouth, and then her chin, and then the side of her neck. “Oh, Mandy. What am I going to do with you?”

  She clung to him, even though when he straightened he could see there were more tears in her eyes. Her chin swang from side to side as she shook her head sadly. “How can I want to make love to you when I know full well that I shouldn’t?”

  “Because I feel the same way.”

  He did. He knew that his body might give her pleasure, but he was almost afraid to act on that desire. They might say goodbye tomorrow. He knew that, and yet he still kissed her again, still pulled the soft flesh of her lower lip with his own two lips, still pushed that lip down and then her upper one up, until they were kissing fully, their tongues coming together fiercely and in a way that led them to a place neither one of them wanted to come back from. Not for a long, long time, anyway.

  Tugging her white cotton T-shirt out from her jeans, Scott placed his hand on her stomach, her muscles contracting in that familiar way. Scott’s other hand slid gently up until he reached behind her and undid the clip that secured her hair, sending the whole mass of it falling down around her shoulders.

  Beautiful. More beautiful than any ten-thousand-dollar-an-hour model. More stunning than those movie actresses he’d socialized with. More naturally gorgeous that any woman he’d ever seen.

  She began to undress him—and Scott had a hard time concentrating on anything other than the way her hands felt against him. Only this time their coming together didn’t have the sexual edge as the time before. This time they took their time, lingered over the undressing, stroked each other softly and tenderly. Scott was amazed at how her work-worn hands could feel like the gentle touch of a feather.

  When they were both naked, standing there by the pond, the sun having sunk beneath the horizon leaving behind a muted light, they both stopped, both paused to look into each other’s eyes, as if each gave the other a chance to pull back, to stop, but knowing that neither of them had the willpower to do so.

  So when she led him to the bedroll she’d laid out already, Scott followed. And when they sank down together and made soft love, neither of them could ever remember feeling so perfectly attuned to another person, so physically excited by a person’s touch, nor so completely frightened at what the future might bring.

  WHAT HAD SHE DONE?

  It was a thought that kept clouding Amanda’s thoughts as she lay next to Scott.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  She nodded miserably.

  Silence again, a silence that seemed to escalate Amanda’s heartbeat the longer it went on.

  What had she done?

  Since the moment he’d come back she’d tried not to think about the way being near him made her feel—that exhilarating blend of desire and longing. She’d wanted him, never mind that she knew she shouldn’t. She’d wanted him and when he’d kissed her she’d let him take her. Or she’d taken him. Whichever, it shouldn’t have happened because now they were left with…what?

  She closed her eyes, the flicking light of the fire still ticking her lids.

  A mess. Now it was all a mess.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You sure? You’re shivering.”

  “Rabbit running over my grave.”

  Anxiety, she admitted. Anxiety because she wanted to know if his making love to her meant he was willing to commit. If maybe, and, man, how she hoped the next was true, if maybe he’d decided to make their relationship a priority.

  But he didn’t say anything, just held her, his breath sighing into her ear. “You know, this is the first time I’ve ever slept out of doors.”

  She didn’t say anything, just stared and stared into the fire, her thoughts going round and round and round as bright white spots danced before her eyes.

  “I used to watch John Wayne movies or reruns of Bonanza and think, wow, wouldn’t that be cool? To have a home that belonged to you and only you. To know that it was yours and your father’s before you. To be able to look out and know that everything your eyes can see is yours and nobody else’s but yours.”

  He moved, shifting her so that she was on her back and he was leaning above her. “When I was older I would dream of riding that land with a good-looking blonde—”

  “Blonde?” she exclaimed, because she didn’t want him to know how close she was to crying.

  “Yeah,” he said, his hand moving up to swipe at her nose. “I didn’t understand the charm of a redhead back then.”

  Once again her heart melted because she could tell…she knew just by looking at him…that it was the things he wasn’t telling her that caused him the most pain.

  “Was it hard, living in foster care?”

  He rolled off of her and Amanda missed being able to look in his eyes, missed the comfort—however fleeting—of his warm body against her own.

  “I suppose,” he said on a long breath. “After my parents died I was too numb with grief to think about where I was living. Afterward, when I got bounced between families, I just figured that’s the way it was. I think that’s why I was drawn to watching westerns. The sense of family, the community, the lifestyle…I lived out my fantasies through movies.”

  She swallowed, staring at the profile of his handsom
e, masculine face. And though she knew to ask her next question would likely push him too far, though she doubted he’d answer it, she found herself asking, anyway, “Is that why you’re afraid to commit?”

  She waited for him to deny it, to tell her she was wrong, that he wasn’t afraid to commit. Or more important, that he wasn’t afraid to commit to her.

  “Maybe.”

  It wasn’t quite the answer she’d wanted to hear.

  She knew she was falling in love with him. It wasn’t because of his money or his house on the hill or any of the material things that stupid newspaper article had mentioned as a reason for why she should date him. No. It was because as she watched him talk about his childhood, as she’d observed him over the previous weeks, she’d seen in him a man who could be so much more than just Scott Beringer, billionaire. So much more. And he wasn’t likely to ever feel the same way about her.

  She sat up suddenly, clutching the sleeping bag to her breasts as she did so.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She looked at him and took a deep breath, steeling herself for yet another question she knew she had to ask. “Tell me something, Scott. Does what we just did change anything between us? Anything at all?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shivered with a sudden chill that she feared had nothing to do with the cold. “When we get back, are—” Dang, she couldn’t say it. Despite how intimate they’d become, she was too afraid to ask it.

  “Are we going to go our separate ways?” he finished for her. “Of course not. I figure we can split our time between your father’s place and mine. Of course, that means you’ve got to unpack…why are you shaking your head?”

  “Because that’s not what I’m trying to ask.” She ran a shaking hand through her hair. “What I’m trying to ask is if you think you could ever love me, Scott.”

  He just stared at her blankly. No, not blankly. He stared at her in surprise and then fear.

  “Of course I care about you—”

  “Forget it,” she said, standing suddenly, clutching the cover they’d been using as she did so.

  “Hey,” Scott protested, having been left to lie there naked. “Where are you going?”

  “To get dressed.”

  “Why? Because I can’t say I love you?”

  She turned and grabbed her clothes, slipping on her jeans and her T-shirt with more speed than she’d have thought possible with only a glittering fire to light the way.

  “Amanda, don’t do this. Don’t make me say words I’m not sure I know how to say right now.”

  She whirled on him. He was standing, her sleeping bag wrapped around his lower half. A lock of his hair had fallen over his eyes, a day’s growth of beard shaded his chin. He looked handsome and formidable and utterly masculine.

  “But, I’m not asking for that,” she said softly. “Or maybe I am. I don’t know. All I know is I can’t get involved with a man who doesn’t seem to care about me as much as I care about him.”

  “Of course I care,” he said, walking toward her.

  “Do you, Scott?” she said, holding her ground. “Do you care enough about me to put me first?”

  “Amanda, you’re asking me to walk away from a company I’ve poured my heart and soul into. To step away from everything I know just to please you.”

  “No, Scott. What I’m asking is for you to put me first and your business second.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, shoving the unruly locks off his forehead. “Same thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” She turned.

  “Give me time, Amanda.”

  “Why? So you can change your mind and walk away from me six months from now?”

  “You don’t know that will happen.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. I just know odds are against me. And I can’t live like that, not again.”

  “I’m not Jake.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re Scott Beringer, and in some ways that’s far, far worse.”

  “Why?”

  Because I could love you in a way I never, ever loved Jake.

  “Because you’re even more famous, even more wealthy, even more—” she searched for a word “—out of my league, and the fall would be long and hard.”

  She turned her back to him, turned because if she didn’t he’d see that she was crying again, and if he touched her again, if he tried to console her like he had earlier, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to resist. She gulped air as she zipped up his stupid sleeping bag.

  “Here,” he said. “Use this.”

  As silly as it seemed, his offer only tripled the pain, because she’d heard him approach, heard him come to her, only she’d hoped he’d touch her—

  “Thanks,” she said, praying her hair shielded her eyes as she took her wool blanket from his outstretched hand.

  He went to his spot and she went to hers. Alas, this wasn’t one of Scott’s silly westerns. There’d be no riding off in a trail of dust. The only dust around was the remnants of her heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They found the last of the strays in the morning, Amanda was in such a hurry to get back to the ranch that she didn’t do her usual double-check to make sure they got them all in. Scott didn’t seem to be in any mood to prolong their stay, either. He’d just packed up that silly solar thing of his, rolled up his bag, attached all of it to Rocket’s saddle and mounted up.

  When they met up with her father and Chase about an hour later, her dad gave Scott an odd look, one that made Scott shake his head as if warning her father not to say a derogatory word. In answer, Scott got a shake back from her dad, the two of them communicating in a way that made Amanda think there was more there than met the eye. But soon she was too busy trying to keep a couple of hundred head of steers going the right direction. To be perfectly honest, she welcomed the work. It helped her to forget for a bit that she was leaving the ranch she’d grown up on, a place that held both fond and bittersweet memories. To her left was the tree stump she used to jump her horse over when she was younger. Up ahead was the trail she used to follow to an old mining shaft that had long since been abandoned. To her right she’d chased a bobcat while atop Thumper right before her dad had sold him. So many memories. So many years.

  And then there was Scott.

  She’d silently cried herself to sleep last night, had torn herself apart and then glued herself back together again at least a hundred times. But in the end it all boiled down to one thing—well, three, really: trust, love and commitment. Scott didn’t trust in love enough to commit to it. And who could blame him? She’d figured out in the wee hours of the morning that a man who’d been shifted around from home to home, who’d lost his parents and then lived in a string of foster families for all of his young life, really couldn’t be blamed for shying away from love. He’d lost those he loved too many times for him to let the emotion get the better of him.

  The stock trucks were already there when they arrived, their big aluminum bodies waiting to take the steers off to a sale, their plaintive calls to one another filling the air. As stupid as it seemed, Amanda found herself tearing up as she listened to those calls.

  “You heading out?” her father asked as they pulled up by the big arena. “Because if you want to leave now, Chase and I can take it from here.”

  She watched as Chase dropped to the ground, hanging back a bit. Scott looked at her once, just once, as if giving her one last opportunity to change her mind, and when she didn’t move, he turned Rocket away to ride him to the barn.

  Don’t go, a part of her said.

  Silly fool, another accused.

  “Yup,” she said when she realized her father still waited for an answer.

  “I wish you’d wait.”

  “Why?” she said with a shrug, meeting his watery-blue gaze. “I’ve packed everything there is to pack. The movers will be here next week. And what you don’t want to take can be sold by that estate-sale company. By then y
ou’ll be settled into your new home.”

  “Retirement home,” he clarified with a spit on the ground.

  She smiled, Lord knows where it came from, but she did. “Retirement home,” she said, though she couldn’t believe her hyperactive father would hang his spurs at the Rosewood Community for Seniors…with Flora and the gang.

  “You look ready to cry.”

  Gosh, she was. “What do you expect, Pop? Of course I’m sad. I’m leaving the only home I’ve ever known.”

  “You don’t have to. Scott told me that he offered you a job running the place. It’s not too late to take him up on the offer.”

  “No,” she said instantly and firmly. “I’m not living on Scott Beringer’s charity.”

  A car pulled up then and Amanda turned to see Flora pull to a stop in her new Camaro. Her heart stabbed her with a sharp beat. The Biddy Brigade. Darn it. She’d been hoping she could slip out of town without them knowing. Her father must have told them she was leaving.

  “Amanda,” her father said, catching her attention again. He took off his hat, a ring of sweat where the leather inside had rested against his skin glistening in the morning sun. “I know I’ve made some mistakes in the past. Hell, I still keep making mistakes. If I’d known how much this place really meant to you, I’d have never let the tax situation get so bad. I coulda sold off a couple acres here and a couple acres there, but I let it get out of hand, no thanks to the bottle you were always trying to take away from me. But I hope you understand, I never intentionally meant to hurt you. Never. You’re my only daughter. Hell, my only child. You mean more to me than all the Sundays I’ve yet to live on this Earth.”

  There were tears in his eyes. Tears in her normally cranky, unemotional dad’s eyes. “Oh, Pop. You know I love you, too.”

  They hugged until Flora said, “Get away from her, you old coot. We need to say goodbye, too.”

  “I smell,” Amanda said as Flora enveloped her in a hug.

  “We don’t care,” she said, drawing back to look into her eyes, then looking over at the barn, her gaze obviously finding Scott, who’d cross-tied his horse in the aisle.