Love Me Some Cowboy

by Lisa Mondello

  His dark eyes glittered with laughter. "What?"

  She firmed her chin. "I'm not leaving in two weeks. And, mister, you can bank on that."

  The humor faded from his eyes and he straightened away from the fence post. "Banks in these parts have a history of folding. You'll have to excuse me if I prefer to wait and see."

  He climbed onto Loco and hesitated. With a muttered exclamation, he reached into his saddlebags and rummaged for a tube of lotion. "Haul your tail over here, Tex. You forgot to lather up that nose. You're starting to look like Rudolph."

  Cami urged Petunia closer and held out her hand. To her amazement, he snatched off her hat and hung it on his saddle horn. Then he squeezed a generous dab of zinc oxide onto his finger and with great care smeared the ointment across her nose. "This sun has given your freckles freckles." His voice dipped lower, acquiring a rough edge. "Lots of itty-bitty pinprick freckles."

  She froze, his tone unsettling her, reviving a keen awareness between them, along with an aching tension that left her confused and wanting. Why did she have to feel this way about Holt? Why couldn’t he be older? More of a father figure, like Frank? She could have learned the necessary skills without the distraction of so much…man.

  He was so different from other men she’d known. Tough. Lean. As strong and intimidating as the mountains around them. And equally as impervious. Just the way he stared at her, with those riveting black eyes, burning with the merest hint of passion.

  She was out of her depth and knew it.

  She eased away from his touch. "Thanks for the nose job. My freckles are eternally grateful."

  He dropped her hat back onto her head and a few more feathers bit the dust. He nodded in satisfaction. "Won't be long now."

  "Won't be long until what?"

  "Until that hat starts looking like a hat again, instead of something out of a chicken's worst nightmare."

  "You don't like my hat?" she asked, insulted.

  "I like it just fine. Except for the color and the feathers. Hats should be black or brown, and feathers belong on birds."

  There didn't seem to be an adequate response to that. Holt turned Loco east along the fence line, and after a moment she followed. They dipped into a deep ravine, muddy from spring runoff. At the bottom, he drew up short.

  "You hear something?"

  She listened carefully. "Sure do. Sounds like somebody's crying." She pointed toward thicker brush. "That way, I think."

  Single file, they picked a path through the scrub. In a small clearing they found a cow and her calf. The calf bawled its head off. The cow, bogged down in mud, simply stood looking miserable.

  Alarm swept through Cami. "What do we do?"

  "We pull out the cow," Holt stated, matter-of-factly.

  She couldn't conceal her relief. Of course. They'd pull out the cow. She knew he'd have the perfect solution. A sudden thought occurred and she frowned. "How do we pull her out?"

  "With a rope."

  "Good. A rope. We have ropes. This will work." Holt continued to sit and study the cow's predicament and Cami gazed at him in concern. "Well, what are we waiting for? That poor baby looks half starved. Let's get to it."

  He sighed. "It's a calf, not a baby. And it probably is half starved. But the first thing to learn about cattle, Tex, is you don't go in half cocked. In case you hadn't noticed, cows are big and heavy and dumber than a rock. You need to decide the safest way to handle the situation. Then you do it."

  She nodded decisively. "No problem. Plan first. Execute plan second. Tell me what you want and it's yours."

  "It can get tricky, so do exactly as I tell you," he instructed in a stern voice. "Understand?"

  "Yessir, boss."

  "I'm going to wade in and pull the cow's legs loose. Once that's done, we need to put a rope around her horns and haul her out."

  He shed his gloves and dismounted. Gingerly he entered the mud hole, sinking in up to his knees. Keeping a weather eye on the distressed animal, he worked his way around her, shoving his hands along her legs and carefully lifting them free of the mud. The cow rolled her eyes and bellowed, struggling against the pull of the ooze.

  Cami watched anxiously. She couldn't just sit and do nothing. She had to help. City slickers sat around without a clue. Like Holt said, cowboys, real cowboys, formulated a plan and took action. That decided, she freed her rope and twirled it carefully overhead.

  Take it easy. Don't screw up. Snagging the bushes won't help the cow. And more than anything, she wanted to help. This time she took care not to snap her wrist back, but used the natural impetus of the rope to throw it forward. The loop flew through the air and dropped cleanly. Unfortunately it dropped over the wrong animal. With the immediacy of long practice, Petunia danced backward and the rope pulled tight. Holt measured his full six-foot-three inch length in the muck.

  "Whoa, stop," Cami shouted, bouncing in the saddle and digging her heels into the horse's sides.

  Petunia, seeming to have a mind of her own, ignored the order and continued in reverse. With a loud slurping, sucking sound, Holt popped out of the mud hole and slid across dirt and rock. The horse shifted into neutral.

  Slowly, Holt stood. All she could see were two black eyes glaring from a mountain of mud. The mountain of mud whipped off the rope and threw it down. She swallowed. Hard. He took a step toward her and she fumbled for her canteen of water and burst into panicked speech.

  "Gee. I'm real sorry about this, Holt. Mr. Winston. Sir."

  "Get... off... that... horse."

  She unscrewed the top. "You see, Petunia got it into her head to back up and I couldn't stop her."

  She aimed the water in his direction, intent on hosing off some of the mud. She might have squeezed the container a bit too enthusiastically. A hard spray of water caught him full in the face. For an instant, neither of them moved. Neither of them even breathed. Even the calf broke off bawling, seeming to sense the danger thickening the air. The water definitely cleaned off the mud. Now she could see quite clearly the full extent of his fury. And then he broke the silence, blistering the air with words she’d never heard spoken before in all her born days.

  "Get. Off. That. Horse. Now!"

  "Yessir. Right away, sir. You think we should get that cow out first? I mean, as long as I'm up here and you're down there all muddy and every—"

  "Get off the fool horse, woman!"

  She tumbled off Petunia. "Oh, Holt. I’m so sorry. I was just trying to help. Honest, I was. And you said we had to rope the cow. We. That means both of us. Like, you and me. So, I thought, why not me? You were busy pulling the cow's legs from the mud. You couldn't do that and rope at the same time. Which left me to do it. So I did. Only I missed. And you... I... Petunia wouldn't stop. I said, whoa. I said, stop." She glared at Holt. "Doesn't your horse understand English?"

  He started for her and she belatedly shut her mouth, deciding a full retreat was in order. Before she could back out of reach, he grabbed a fistful of shirt with mud-coated hands. The next instant she found herself plastered up against him, stuck tighter than a bug on a strip of flypaper.

  His hard, muscular thighs rode her softer curves, his wide shoulders eclipsing her view. His chest heaved and his breath came fast and furious. He seemed to have trouble speaking, but she suspected that wouldn't last long.

  She was right.

  "You and me are going to come to an understanding, Tex," he informed her through gritted teeth.

  "You got it. Anything you say." She peeked up at him hopefully. "Um, do you think we might come to this understanding with a bit more distance between us? Remember? For safety's sake?" She wriggled tentatively. Slippery curves slid over taut, sinewy muscles. It was the wrong thing to do.

  She froze. He groaned.

  "You haven't been safe from the minute you hit Winston land." His head dipped lower. "And neither have I."

  And with that, he kissed her.

  Chapter 4

  EVEN THOUGH MUD covered him from
top to toe and most points in between, Cami had never experienced a kiss this marvelous…or this devastating. In fact, if her boots hadn't been in the way, his kiss would have knocked her socks clean off. Instead, he knocked her hat into the dirt. Not that she cared.

  She tilted back her head, wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed. His mouth took hers, rough in a passionate sort of way, though not in the least hurtful or insensitive. He'd done this before, she could tell. And he'd learned to do it real fine, too. For an instant she considered telling him so, but she couldn't seem to gather her wits sufficiently to speak.

  He eased his grip on the front of her shirt, his hands sliding upward to cup her face instead. They were strong hands, hands as quick to calm any misgivings as they were to curb any opposition. Not that she offered much opposition. Not a chance. Why would she fight a touch as smooth and warm as good whiskey? Especially when his brand of whiskey licked through her veins with dizzying speed.

  Her lips parted and she opened to him. He tasted of coffee and need, a need that echoed her own, sparking something deep down in the pit of her stomach. It spread outward, threatening to consume her. Maybe she could have resisted, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to spin them in a slow circle, pressing her back against a nearby cottonwood. The thick, furrowed bark pressed against her spine. Overhead, a light breeze caused the glossy leaves to rustle, the sound restless and turbulent, similar to distant waves crashing against the shore. For some reason, it seemed to magnify her own inner turbulence.

  Holt must have felt something comparable. A low groan escaped him and his hands slid downward along the sides of her throat, leaving streaks of slick, warm mud. He reached the snaps of her shirt and gave a hard yank. They popped, one after another, the edges falling open.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.” She stroked the side of his face, shuddering. Beneath his gaze she felt beautiful. “This is a first.” Everything he did was a first.

  “Then the men you’ve known are fools.”

  He cupped her breasts, his thumbs sliding across the soft cotton bra and causing her nipples to harden. She tilted her head back against the tree, her eyes drifting closed. He teased her nipples and when she would have cried out, his mouth closed over hers again. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and clung to him. Gave to him. Took everything he offered. She couldn’t think straight anymore and she knew why.

  She was totally, completely passion drunk.

  To her eternal frustration, he chose that moment to pull away, his touch no longer easy and caressing, but hard and inflexible. She resisted. She held on and resisted with every ounce of her strength and determination. Heck, even their shirts resisted, cemented together as they were by drying mud. Unfortunately, he was stronger and more determined. With a popping of shirt snaps, he set her from him. For a long moment they simply stood and stared at each other, his breath as fast and gusty as hers, both their shirts agape.

  "I shouldn't have kissed you," he admitted, putting more space between them and folding his arms across his exposed chest. Mud oozed down, painting the solid muscles of his abdomen a rich dark brown.

  Cami swallowed, struggling to turn a blind eye to such an irresistible sight. It proved an impossible task. The temptation to close the distance separating them almost bested her. For the first time ever, she found herself at a loss for words. She fumbled with her snaps, fastening them all the way to her throat, no doubt getting them mixed up due to her nervousness. She managed to get it done, though she almost strangled herself in the process.

  What should she say? That he could kiss her anytime he cared to? That she didn't mind if he kissed her silly? That she wanted him to do it again and soon? She shifted beneath his cool, remote scrutiny, dropping her gaze to her pointy-toed boots.

  Spying her hat, she bent and picked it up, twisting the brim between nerveless fingers. Tarnation! Wasn't this a fine mess. She glanced at his filthy clothes and that tantalizing glimpse of naked chest. A fine mess in more ways than one.

  "I gather you don't make a habit of kissing your wranglers?" It seemed a reasonable guess.

  "No, I don't. And if you'd been a man, I'd have knocked you on your backside for pulling a stunt like that." His black eyes continued to burn with a strange intensity. "But since you aren't a man—"

  "You kissed me." They couldn't avoid the truth. The sooner they faced facts, the sooner...what? What happened now? Did they ignore the kiss and put it behind them? She wasn't certain she could. Did they pretend the kiss never happened? It would take a heap of pretending.

  "I shouldn't have touched you," he stated baldly. "It won't happen again. I don't kiss my employees, nor do I kiss city slickers. And you qualify on both counts."

  She flinched at his harsh tone. "I may be your employee, but I'm no—" She broke off at the look on his face. She'd never seen him so cold and distant. She'd stumbled onto something here, and instinct told her she'd better find out what. "What's wrong with kissing city slickers?" she asked instead, dreading his response.

  For a minute, she didn't think he'd answer. Then he said, "The cost is too high. Last time I kissed one, I ended up married to her. That mistake almost lost me my ranch."

  She stared in shock. "You're married?"

  "Divorced."

  Divorced. Of course. It made perfect sense. It explained his flashes of anger and bitterness, she thought with compassion. It also explained his attitude toward her, both for being a woman and for being fresh from the city. "And because of that one experience, you hold a grudge against all city slickers?"

  "Good guess, Tex." He picked up her rope and tossed it to her. "Our arrangement isn't working. You realize that, don't you?"

  Panic-stricken, she shook her head. "No, I don't realize it. I'm a little green, I admit. But I can do the work. I know I can."

  He crushed down his hat, his jaw settling into rock-solid lines, suggesting he'd made up his mind, and come hell or high water he'd stick to it. "No, you can't. You've proved that here today. You're more hindrance than help."

  "Dropping you in the mud was an accident," she protested.

  A grim smile eased the lines around his mouth. "If I thought otherwise, we wouldn't still be talking. You'd be packed and on your way by now, sorer but smarter." He snapped his shirt closed and snagged his rope off Loco's saddle horn. "The fact remains, I don't have time for your brand of accidents. I have guests arriving in a couple days."

  She nodded enthusiastically. "Great. I can't wait."

  "Not great. There's work to be done that isn't getting done. You're holding me back. I need someone experienced enough to get a solid day's work under his belt."

  "His belt?"

  "His or hers, makes no nevermind to me," he replied coolly. "So long as they do the job and help train the newcomers, that's all that matters. You can't do either. I’d spend more time bailing you out of trouble than I would the damned dudes. You're dangerous, Tex. Putting someone like you on a ranch is just asking for it."

  Desperation edged her voice. "I'll get better. I know I will."

  He didn't give an inch. "Not on my ranch, you won't. And not on my time."

  "But—"

  He stopped her with a single cutting look. "I have enough hands to cover the general ranch work. Baling hay, hazing cattle, that sort of thing. And I have a couple of women who will take care of the guests' children. What I want and what I need is a wrangler who can help Gabby and me with the dudes. That's an experienced, honest to God, knows-what-he's-doing wrangler I'm talking about. I don't have the patience, nor the inclination, to play cowboy with you."

  "Great. Because I'm not playing.” She faced him down. "You're tromping on sacred ground here. Cowboying is serious business to me, not just a game. I'm here and I'm here to stay."

  Two swift strides brought him to her side. He towered over her. "Wrong. You're here because I'm a man of my word. I signed a contract with you and I'll honor it. You'l
l have your two weeks. But once those two weeks are up, you're gone. And nothing and no one is going to change my mind."

  "Unless I meet your conditions, you mean," she corrected.

  "Not likely, Tex." Grim certainty marked his expression. He pointed at the mud hole. "See that cow? My job is to yank it free and return it to the herd. A cowboy, a real cowboy, would have helped me drag her outta there by now. Instead, I'm still picking mud from between my teeth."

  "I already apologized for that. It's my fault you got a little dirty. I admit it."

  "A little dirty?"

  "Okay," she conceded. "A lot dirty. But as far as wasting your time…" She took a deep breath and plunged onward. "You didn't seem in any all-fired hurry to get down to business once you slid out of that hole."

  "You're walking a thin line here," he warned.

  "I don't doubt it. But that doesn't change the facts. You had other concerns on your mind after you got up close and personal with that mess of muck." She tilted her chin to a reckless angle, daring him to disagree. "And not one of them had a blessed thing to do with helping that poor cow."

  "What's your point, Tex?" he snarled.

  She continued doggedly. "That my being inexperienced isn't why your cow's still sitting rump deep in mud. You were the one sidetracked, not me. You were also the one doing the grabbing."

  He whipped his hat off his head and slammed it into the ground. "That tears it."

  Cami gulped. Maybe she'd gone a tad too far with her last remark. She took a hasty step back. Not that it helped. He swallowed the distance between them in one swift stride. She looked up at him. Boy howdy, was he tall. And hopping mad, too.

  "Excuse me there, Holt," a laughter-filled voice interrupted.

  Holt froze in his tracks, slowly swiveling to face the newcomer. Cami peeked around a wall of Holt, surprised to see his neighbor, Frank Smith. The rancher had a shoulder propped against his horse and his arms folded across his chest.