Love Me Some Cowboy

by Lisa Mondello

His breath exploded from his lungs. “If you expect to get any use out of what you found down there, you might consider loosening your grip a tad.”

  Instantly, she complied, cupping and stroking instead of treating his poor privates like a pair of yo-yos she hoped to knot around his fence post. Her gentleness only served to make his situation more dire. Time to even the odds.

  He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, sending it winging across the pool to settle neatly across a nearby rock. Her panties followed, snagging on a low-slung branch. Cami stared at the dangling scrap of cotton and her mouth twitched. Unable to help herself, she tilted back her head and laughed. He did, too, but only for a moment. He stared, helpless, at the sight of her lovely face alight with amusement, the angle of her head exposing the long, pale length of her neck. Her breasts broke the surface of the water, diamond beads of moisture glittering across them, no doubt clinging to each itty-bitty freckle.

  Without another word, he gathered her close and set about turning a magical evening into something extraordinary. Something she’d always remember. Hell, something he’d always remember.

  He lifted her, tenderly. Kissed her, sweetly. Gave of himself, unstintingly. He filled his hands with delicious temptation, her breasts velvet soft against the calloused ridges of his palms. He traced his thumbs across the rigid peaks and she sighed into his mouth, her legs moving restlessly against his. He drifted across the spring, so they’d be close to where he’d left the condom. And all the while, he stroked her, igniting a fire that burned across her skin and flared to life in her darkened eyes.

  He parked them along a section where moss padded the rocks. Cupping the back of her thighs, he parted her legs. She opened to his touch and he found the fragrant petals that protected her. Spread them. Discovered the rich honey within. Slowly, he stroked, easing a finger deep into her passage. She shuddered against him, his name barely a whisper, but wild with need. Burning with desire. Overflowing with an emotion he should have rejected, but couldn’t. Instead of rebounding off his hard, unforgiving hide, it somehow slipped inside of him and tangled him into desperate knots.

  “Cami…” He whispered her name in reply, the sound every bit as wild with need. Burning with a desire that matched hers. Overflowing with an emotion he refused to name. “Be mine.”

  “Always and forever.”

  The words should have shamed him. Instead, they joined them on some level, bonding one to the other. He found the foil packet and made short work of availing himself of its contents. With exquisite care he joined his body to hers, easing inward. Apparently, he didn’t ease inward at the appropriate speed. Cami bucked within his arms, driving him home in one swift thrust. Her eyes widened and she gasped, half in pain, half in pleasure.

  “Easy, sweetheart.” He gripped her hips and held her in place. “Let’s get you in the saddle before you kick us into a gallop.”

  She started to laugh again, clinging to him helplessly. “At least I’m not wearing spurs.”

  He winced. “Thank God for small favors.” He kissed her, a slow, soothing melding of lips and tongue. “Let’s try a nice, slow walk, shall we?”

  He eased backward, then rocked forward a delicious few inches. She was snug and warm, the perfect fit. And she took to walking just fine.

  “I’m going to end up with saddle sores again. I just know I am. But, boy howdy, is it worth it.” She continued to grin at him, beaming with innocent delight, her dimples flashing. “Do you suppose we could try trotting?”

  “Only if I last that long.”

  Cami instantly matched Holt’s rhythm and her laughter faded, replaced by a fierce hunger and determination. He soon discovered trotting didn’t cut it. Not by a long shot. But galloping… He’d never known galloping could be as necessary to his health and wellbeing as food and water and the very air he breathed. Cami rode with him, driving him on, as perfect at this as she was imperfect at cowboying. They flew together. Soared. The mist rising from the spring captured their soft cries, trapping the sounds within the privacy of the glade.

  He wanted the moment to go on forever, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold back. He felt the ripples of Cami’s impending release and watched her helpless surrender. Then he felt himself going over with her. With one final, desperate thrust, he exploded within her, his bellow of release mating with her cry of delight.

  For endless moments, he held her, unwilling to let go or allow sanity to return. It couldn’t last, and they both knew it. Still, sorrow filled him when she eased back first.

  "Holt?"

  "What is it, Tex?" But he knew. Time to pay the price for his foolishness.

  "Tell me what she did. Tell me how she ended any hope for a future with you."

  The pain and disillusionment in her voice caught him square in the gut. He stared at her through the rising steam. Beaded water dripped from her curls to round white shoulders, the drops reminding him of tears. He tucked her hair behind her ears, hoping to stem the helpless fall, allowing his fingers to trace the sculpted lines of her face. Finally he spoke. "I met Gwen in Dallas."

  A disbelieving gasp escaped. "She was a Texan? Your ex-wife?”

  "That surprise you?"

  "I have to admit it does."

  "Why? Because you're a Texan?" He didn't wait for her to respond. He already knew the answer. "Sort of kills your theory, doesn't it? Not all Texans are born cowboys."

  Cami shot him a familiar look, one of pure defiance. "Her genes must have mutated. It happens every once in a while. You probably picked one of the few women in the whole state of Texas not born to be a cowboy."

  "If you say so,” he said with a shrug. "Anyway, we met around springtime. We fell in love. I married her and brought her home. It all happened very fast. One of those romantic clichés."

  "And then what?"

  "Nothing at first. She settled into ranch life. Or at least her idea of ranch life."

  "Which was?"

  "Playing lady of the manor. Agnes took care of the house. I took care of the stock."

  "And Gwen?"

  "She took care of herself." He allowed a few more precious inches of hot water to seep in between them. "Winter arrived. Gwen left."

  Cami frowned. "That's it? That's all? End of story?"

  He ground his teeth at her nonchalant attitude. "One small codicil. She did manage to clean out my savings on her way through the door."

  "Let me get this straight. You fell in love with the wrong woman and because of that you're not willing to give..."

  She broke off, momentarily flustered, though he could guess what she'd been about to say. "Us?" he suggested. A deep flush streaked her cheekbones and he knew he'd guessed right.

  "...romance another try," she corrected doggedly.

  "Wrong. I fell in love with a city girl, which resulted in my learning a few important life lessons. One. City girls can't handle ranch life. And two. Don't bet the ranch on a losing hand."

  She hit the pool with her fist, spraying him with water. Somehow he’d drifted a solid three feet away from her. "You are plumb loco, Holt Winston. If Gwen truly loved you, she'd never have left. In fact, she would have adored wintertime."

  That gave him pause. "Oh, yeah? And why is that?"

  "Because," she said without hesitation. "Because she would have had you all to herself. Things slow down a bit in winter, don't they? No roundups, no dawn to dusk days, no distractions. Just you and a roaring fire and… And..." Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip, as if aware she'd said too much. Far too much.

  He drifted closer. "And?"

  "Don't," she whispered. "Please don't tease me."

  "Tease you!" he exclaimed. "You drive me crazy, you know that? I won't breathe easy until you've hightailed it off my ranch and back to Richmond where you belong."

  She shook her head. "I don't belong there."

  "You don't belong here." He caught her in his arms. "I should never have brought you to this place. I warned you before we… Befor
e we—"

  “Say it, Holt.” She looked at him with those heavenly blue eyes and desire ripped through him with the elemental force of a killer tornado. “Before we made love.”

  “Fine. Before we made love, I warned you it wouldn’t change anything. And it hasn’t.”

  "Why?"

  “I already told you. You don’t belong here.”

  “No. I mean, why did you bring me here? Why make love to me if nothing is going to change?”

  "Because I had no choice." He dipped his head and kissed her with an urgency he couldn't conceal. He wanted her. And he made sure she knew it. “This was as inevitable as your leaving at the end of summer.”

  She eased back and gazed up at him with a sweetly earnest expression. "I'm not like Gwen," she attempted to reassure him. "One of these days you'll realize that."

  He froze. He needed the reminder. No matter what she hoped, he had nothing to give her. Forcibly, he set her from him. "I won't be realizing it today. Nor tomorrow, for that matter."

  "Holt, please."

  "Get out of here, while I can still let you. Otherwise you really will get saddle sores. And even though staying may offer us both some temporary relief, it won't change a thing."

  He saw her illusions shatter, saw the loss of hope and trust and innocence. And he, bastard that he was, did nothing to stop it.

  She didn't wait for another invitation. She shot out of the water and snatched her clothes from the rock and her bra from the tree. Struggling into her damp jeans and shirt, she raced over to Petunia. She mounted and turned to look at Holt.

  For a long moment, their gazes met. With a shrill "Hiyah," she wheeled her horse and tore from the glade as if the devil himself were at her heels. Holt could only stare after her.

  God help him, but that woman could gallop.

  Chapter 8

  CAMI MANAGED TO snatch a few hours of sleep before daylight. Crawling from bed and facing the morning sun, though, proved almost more than she could handle. Or it did until she discovered she was the last one up.

  Tossing on her clothes, she raced outside. All the wranglers and guests stood in a group around Holt, Gabby, and Frank, intent on a serious discussion. She crept closer, hoping to listen in without drawing attention her way.

  "I don't think it's wise to divide up the group," she heard Holt say.

  "I'm not talking about dividing the group," Frank insisted. "There are only four longhorns still missing. I need one volunteer to help find them. We'll be a couple hours behind you at most."

  Holt shook his head. "I'll still be two men short working the herd.”

  Frank stared at the ground, his patience clearly running out. "You know these animals aren't going to give you any grief. You have more than enough wranglers to move them. Two men more or less won't amount to a hill of beans."

  To Cami's utter astonishment, her mother spoke up. "I'll help Frank."

  "Now, Charlie," Frank began.

  Charlotte smiled, her expression wryly amused. "I know. I seem like some helpless city girl, right? Well, I'm not. I lived on a ranch for a few years and worked roundup with my husband. I know my way around cattle well enough to bring in four strays."

  Holt's eyes narrowed and he glanced from Frank to Charlotte. "Okay. You two start out now. Everyone else, pay attention to your assigned positions."

  He ran through the roster until he reached Cami's name. He looked up, his black gaze colliding with hers. Memories of last night glittered there, the need, along with his rejection of that need. Longing filled her, accompanied by an intense sorrow. Had last night meant nothing to him?

  No. It meant something. She could see it, practically feel his pain and frustration. Damn that Gwen. And double damn her for being a Texan. She’d pert near ruined the man, made him as gun shy of matrimony as Git toward a rope. Cami set her chin. Not that it changed her intentions. If anything, it solidified them. Come hell or high water, by summer’s end she’d prove she deserved the name “cowboy” every bit as much as she did “wife.” She’d make Holt see sense. Because she couldn’t live with knowing what could have been. Nor could she live without having him in her life, in her arms, and in her bed.

  Fortunately, she had one point in her favor… He wanted to take her for another gallop. She saw it in the streak of red riding his cheekbones, as well as the hectic desire burning in the blackness of his eyes.

  Holt checked his roster again. "You're on flank, Tex."

  "Thought you wanted her on point so she could be at lead with Buttercup," Gabby reminded him.

  "You thought wrong," Holt snapped. And in that instant, Cami knew he’d changed his mind within the last thirty seconds and for some reason the knowledge filled her with a wild hope. "We're a couple men short, remember? I don't have the manpower to spare two at point."

  "What about Buttercup?"

  Holt's jaw tightened. "I'll keep Buttercup in line. I don't plan on spillin' the herd just because our lead steer has gone and got himself a crush on one of my hands. Tex, you're on flank."

  She squashed her hat low on her brow. If that's the way he preferred to play it, that's the way she'd play it. But he couldn’t avoid her forever. "Yessir, boss."

  He addressed the guests. "We're in for fun and plenty of it. The main rule is to keep to your assigned positions. Those behind me on swing will be responsible for holding the cattle in line. Remember though, keep what you've got. If you have a cow take off, let those in the rear bring 'em back home. That's what flank and drag are for."

  "When we're not eating dust, you mean?" one of the guests hollered.

  Holt inclined his head. "When you're not eating dust. Any more questions?" There weren't. "Okay. Let's mount up and move out. We're due in Lullabye in four hours."

  Gabby released the cattle from the holding pen in a long string, Buttercup leading the way, Holt not far behind. Four of Frank's men fell into swing. Several cows later, Cami and several guests took their positions at flank. Gabby and the remaining guests moved in behind the herd at drag.

  Holt’s prediction proved accurate. They kept busy. The cattle were at their most difficult, determined to go in the exact opposite direction of where they were driven. Three hours later, Cami could barely contain her exhaustion. The sleepless night, the kisses she'd shared with Holt—their lovemaking—not to mention their rather distressing conversation, all took a toll. And she still had another hour of hard riding. At least she didn’t have saddle sores, only a delicious ache.

  Gritting her teeth, she cut off an escapee and circled the cow back into the herd. "Cut the nonsense, Tulip," she scolded. "You owe me for saving you from that rope happy city slicker. Now behave yourself or I'll turn him loose on you again."

  Tulip obediently rejoined the herd and Cami nodded in satisfaction. She could do this. After all, she'd waited her entire life for an opportunity to work on a ranch. She loved cowboy work. It was her first love.

  Her first love next to Holt.

  She caught her breath at the unwelcome reminder, choking on a mouthful of dust. She stared at Holt's back, swaying in the saddle as though one with the horse, moving with a natural rhythm she could spend the rest of her life admiring. She'd never shied from the truth before and she wouldn't now. She loved the man. For all the good it did her.

  And yet deep in her heart she suspected he cared about her. Despite all that had happened, all he'd said, he felt something. More than something. Perhaps they still had time to work it out, assuming she could circumvent his prejudice toward city slickers. Not to mention, Texas women.

  "Heads up!" the command floated back. "Lullabye's just over the next ridge."

  Relief flowed through Cami. Not much further now. Drive them straight down Main Street and into the corral. What could be simpler?

  What, indeed.

  It didn't happen until they were three-quarters of the way through the center of town. A little boy, no more than five, darted into the street. Swaggering up to Tulip, he tugged his toy cap gun from his mi
niature holster and pulled the trigger.

  All hell broke loose.

  Tulip, already on the spooked side due to the masses of people lining the street, cheering and hollering and carrying on, took exception to the boy's actions. With a trumpetlike bellow, she charged him. The child's father, recognizing the possible ramifications of more than two thousand pounds fixing to mow them down, snatched up his son by the seat of his pants and took off at a dead run. Fortunately for Cami's peace of mind, most of the nearby crowd also recognized imminent disaster when they saw it and scattered.

  The cow, set firmly on her course and resembling nothing more than a locomotive on a fast track to tomorrow, crashed through the rail lining the boardwalk. Like lemmings heading for the sea, a half dozen others followed her lead, Cami on their collective tails, clinging to the pommel and hollering loud enough to wake the dead.

  All but Tulip found their way back to the main herd with some able assistance from Gabby. With unswerving determination and a true talent for destruction, Tulip continued along her path of ruin, smashing everything within horn's reach. Down the boardwalk she went, Cami in hot pursuit.

  Reaching Lem's Mercantile and General Gathering Spot, Tulip bounded over a sack of grain and crashed through the front door. Petunia, ever valiant and faithful in her duly appointed job as cow fetcher, followed right behind.

  "Coming through," Cami had the presence of mind to shout.

  Lem leaped onto the counter and wrapped his arms around the cash register. His son, Lorin, dove into the frozen food case and burrowed beneath the chocolaty chocolate fudge and raspberry swirl parfait ice cream. His wife, Carlene, scampered nimbly up the wall shelves lined with preserves, jellies, and pickled beets. Jars smashed to the ground.

  The cow plowed down a row of groceries, her horns ripping through bags, sacks, and plastic. Flour filled the air. Sugar, salt, and various spices scattered across the floor, making the going underfoot treacherous. Until, that was, the longhorn knocked over the display of cooking oil and molasses. Then the going underfoot was gone.

  Petunia slid down the aisle on her rump, Cami gamely clinging to the saddle.