How To Catch A Cowboy: A Small Town Montana Romance

by Joanna Bell

"How are you not frost-bitten?" I asked, surprised by his seeming imperviousness to the cold.

  "Body mass, probably. I'm bigger than you. I eat more. Faster metabolism."

  I chuckled. "You just made that up, didn't you?"

  "Uh, I don't know. Maybe I did. But the cattle are always warm. Even on the coldest day they're like big, fuzzy heaters. I think it was Blackjack who told me that the bigger the animal the better it can handle cold weather. And I have no idea if he was right or not."

  When the hot chocolate was ready, Jack set mine down on the kitchen table and sat down across from me.

  "I called that bank last night – the one in Ireland."

  "Did you?" I asked, perking up and then instantly deflating again when I saw the look on his face. I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

  "Yeah, nothing. No account in that name."

  "Damnit. Damnit, Jack!"

  I surprised myself a little with the vehemence of my response – only then realizing how much I'd been hoping that there might be some money for Jack, an amount big enough to at least help stave off the seizing of Sweetgrass Ranch or, even if it was still lost, to give Jack something to start the next chapter of his life with.

  "It's OK," he said. "I wasn't expecting there to be anything there anyway. And realistically, even two hundred grand wouldn't have helped, would it? It's probably for the best – it means I can get this over with as quickly as possible, without false hope."

  I looked at Jack, sitting there with his jaw set stoically and his refusal to break under the weight of something I knew damn well would have broken me ages ago, and felt a surge of admiration in my heart. I would have done anything to make him feel better, to make him feel cared for. And that's not to imply that what I did next had nothing to do with how absolutely hot he was, either, because it did.

  There wasn't much thinking involved. I got up and went to him, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck because that's what I felt driven to do. The physical contact – the feeling of him between my legs and of his stubbly cheek against my neck, was intoxicating, better than any drug.

  "Jack," I whispered, pulling his head in close to me when he kissed my neck.

  His hands were everywhere, all at once, grasping one of my hips tightly and then splayed over my ass, pulling me down, hard, against him. It had been so long since I felt that rush with a man, that urgency, that I'd almost forgotten what it was like. With Jack, it was overwhelming. I couldn't even speak when he pulled away slightly and pushed my shirt up over my breasts.

  "Blaze," he said, his voice thick and gruff as he pulled my shirt off and unhooked my bra. "Blaze, Jesus."

  I cried out a little when he closed his mouth over one of my nipples, sending a little shock of pleasure down between my legs.

  It wasn't enough. His mouth on my breasts wasn't enough. The feeling of our bodies against each other wasn't enough. I needed to be closer, to feel his skin. I pulled his t-shirt off over his head and wrapped my arms around his thick neck, closing my eyes and whimpering at the feeling of my bare breasts against that strong chest of his.

  "Jack," I breathed, as he slid his hand down into my pants and caressed my ass. "Jack, I –"

  "I know," he said. "I know."

  I said it had been a long time since anyone made me feel the things that Jack made me feel in the Sweetgrass Ranch kitchen that day. In truth, I don't think I'd ever felt them. I'd felt desire, sure. I'd been horny. But Jack McMurtry made me crazy. He made it so I couldn't think, so there was nothing except the need for him to be as deep inside me as he could get. I stood up, unzipping my pants and yanking them roughly down my thighs as Jack ran his hands up my belly, cupping my breasts and looking at me with this expression in his eyes like he wanted to devour me whole.

  When I was standing in front of him in only my panties, he looked up at me as he slid them down, leaning in to kiss my bare belly when I was naked. There was a moment there – not long, maybe a few seconds at most – when we just looked at each other. My body was weak, pliant with need. When I reached for Jack's belt he grabbed my wrists and held my hands off him.

  "Wait."

  "Jack," I said, my voice high-pitched and thin. "Jack, please."

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Blaze. Just – just give me a minute. I need to cool down or this is going to be – this is going to be over before it starts."

  I knew what that meant. And unfortunately for Jack it had the exact opposite effect of what he intended. When I reached for his belt that time, he didn't stop me. He sat back, running his hands up and down my body, and watched me unbuckle him, unzip him, and pull his thick, hard cock out of his jeans.

  That's what I needed. Him. I lifted one leg and Jack pulled me up onto his lap again. Our eyes met. His seemed darker than I remembered them, a stormy blue, searching my own. I lowered my hips and felt him, suddenly, against my inner thigh.

  "Jack –"

  "Blaze –" he breathed, gripping my hips and pushing me, guiding me down onto him. My whole body stiffened at the sensation, my back arching and my fists clenching against his burly shoulders.

  I knew, at once, as soon as the feeling of being full of Jack McMurtry hit every nerve ending in my body, that I was not in control of myself. I wasn't. It was too much. He was too much. And at the same time, not enough. There was something there, something at that point when he was at his deepest, that needed it again, and again. That needed it harder, and faster.

  I looked up into his eyes, almost emotional with how badly I needed him, and he smiled. "You're perfect, Blaze. You are – oh, Jesus, ohh Goddamn you feel good... Blaze. Baby..."

  Jack was, in his own way, as lacking in control as I was. But his lack of control was purely male. It was strong and demanding and relentless and I felt like if we had been locked together until the end of time, I never would have gotten enough of it. I cried out his name as he lifted me up, and then pulled me back down again, because everything was starting to heighten, every sensation was becoming critical.

  "Jack, oh – Jack!" I squeaked, leaning my head back and clutching at his shoulders.

  "It's OK, Blaze. Baby, it's OK. Just let go. Let go..."

  He knew what was coming – maybe even before I did. I wasn't used to coming so quickly – or so easily. But when he talked to me like that, urging me on, flicking his tongue over my nipple again and again, I felt the retreat of an ocean inside me, in preparation for the tidal wave. And when it came, I clung to him, pressing my face into his neck and moaning his name over and over and over as the bliss seared through my body.

  Jack held me tight, watching me intently. He was very close – I could see it in his tense shoulders, hear it in his quick, ragged breaths and feel it in the way his hands grasped at my body, pulling me down against him.

  "Jack," I whispered, leaning in and kissing his neck. "Jack, I want you to come."

  His grip on my hips tightened as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I don't know what the word is to describe how it felt to watch him that first time, when before him all I'd been used to was boys. It had nothing to do with age, either. It had to do with the feeling in the air between us, the desperation inside me to please Jack, to make him smile, to make him content and happy and all of those things. I'd never felt it like that before that day – not even close.

  And nothing had ever been sweeter than watching him lose it. He didn't take his eyes off me, not until the end when he dug his fingers into the flesh of my hips and held me down against him, pulling my mouth to his so he could curl his tongue between my lips as he filled me up.

  "Blaze," he groaned, his voice strangled. "Oh, fuck, Blaze..."

  I almost told him I loved him. The phrase bypassed my conscious mind completely, almost tumbling right off my tongue before I caught myself. And I didn't have time to think about where the hell it had come from – how wonderful he was in that moment, perhaps – how perfectly, intoxicatingly male – because the on
ly object of my focus was Jack.

  When we were coherent again, he caught my eye. "Well goddamn, Blaze Wilson."

  "I think I needed that," I said, immediately a little shy about my boldness. Jack caught it.

  "You're so cute when you're embarrassed."

  "I'm not embarrassed!"

  Jack rolled his eyes, but it was an affectionate eye-roll, not a sarcastic one. It was winter and we were in a draughty old house, so the heat in our bodies began to dissipate quickly. "Let's get you a blanket or something," Jack said, helping me up. "I don't want you to freeze."

  As soon as I was on my feet I felt a warm, wet sensation between my legs.

  "Oh!" I said, looking down, a little surprised even though I shouldn't have been.

  "What?" Jack asked, leaning down and kissing my bare shoulder. His eyes followed my own gaze and he broke into a cocky grin. "Oh," he said, slipping one hand between my legs and holding it there for a few seconds. "Yeah, I guess I made kind of a mess of you."

  I wanted to scold him. No, not him – myself. What a stupid thing to do, I wanted to say. Didn't they teach you about this kind of thing in seventh grade? But there was something in Jack's eyes, something primal and proprietary that I couldn't help but revel in. His wetness on my thighs made me feel like I was his. And I found I very much liked feeling like I belonged to Jack McMurtry. Not that I said any of that out loud. No, what I said out loud was that if there was even a chance we were going to do that again, we needed to go to the drug store and buy some condoms right away.

  "Well," Jack said, "I guess we should drive into Little Falls right now."

  "Yeah. But you look sleepy, Jack. Maybe we should have a nap first?"

  We didn't even get fully dressed. Jack took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom where we crawled under the covers, nestled into each other, and drifted off sleep before there was even time to think about anything else.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jack

  I woke up before Blaze. She was still asleep next to me, her mouth open slightly and her body curled tightly into mine. I studied her face. Her lips were full and her eyelashes so long they grazed her cheeks. She had a freckle, too, just to the right of her nose. And even as she slept, there was an expression that looked like very mild skepticism on her face – a certain tightness of forehead. I wondered where that came from. Had she always worn that expression as she slept? Or was it something that came with adulthood, or with the type of work she did – or maybe even with me? Maybe she was dreaming of something dubious?

  I grinned at my own adolescent reverie and slipped, very carefully, out of bed. I was hard again, and I knew that if she woke up and so much as said my name in that sweet, slightly rough-edged voice of hers, we were both done for.

  "Jack?" She murmured, waking slightly in spite of my carefulness.

  "Shhh," I said quietly. "Go back to sleep, baby. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

  I grabbed another blanket from the linen closet in the hall and lay it over her before I left. It was freezing in the truck, so cold I could see my breath. I wasn't feeling the cold, though. Not like usual. There was a warmth in my chest and my belly, a contentment that neither the winter nor, for the time being, my worries could get to.

  Blaze. I smiled at the mere thought of her. She was the one responsible for that warmth, the gift of herself. I wondered if she knew how much it meant to have her there with me, during those last few days at Sweetgrass Ranch. I didn't imagine she did.

  At the drugstore, Krista Jones served me. Krista Jones was Lisa Halloran's best friend, and Lisa Halloran was Brandon Schneider's girlfriend. I reckoned it wouldn't take much longer than twenty, maybe thirty seconds for Krista to call her friend after I left and report that Jack McMurtry had just bought three packs of condoms.

  Normally, that would have irritated me. Knowing that I would be one of the subjects of the usual gossip at the Little Falls Saloon that night. That day, though, it didn't even mildly annoy me. I felt oddly untouchable.

  When I got back to the Ranch, Blaze was awake and in the kitchen, opening cupboards. When she heard me she turned and smiled, her whole face brightening at the sight of me.

  "Don't do that," I said, putting my keys and the bag from the drugstore on the table.

  "Don't do what?"

  "Don't do that thing – that adorable, smiling thing."

  "Why?" She asked, coming to me and resting her cheek against my chest.

  "Because I might get used to it," I whispered, kissing the top of her head.

  Blaze looked up at me, smiling at first and then more serious. "Yeah. Me too."

  I was about to say something when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and made a face. "It's the guy who's taking the beef cattle – I have to take this."

  When the call was over, I sighed. Timing. I had less than two days left with Blaze and now the company buying the cattle needed to pick them up in two days. Which meant they needed to be rounded up, like, yesterday.

  "What is it?" Blaze asked, touching my cheek when she looked up at me. Goddamn I loved the way she looked up at me.

  "The – damnit – the guys who are taking the cattle need them in two days. I have to go out there again right now and try to get them back into one of the fenced pastures."

  I didn't want to saddle up the horse again, and head back out into the cold. I didn't want to do anything except peel Blaze's clothes off her body and make love to her until neither of us could speak or think anymore. But that wasn't going to happen. Fuck.

  "Do you want me to come with you?" She asked. "Can I help?"

  I shook my head. "No. I'd love to take you, but this needs to get done fast and if you come with me I'll just be distracted. Probably end up driving the cattle up into Canada by mistake."

  Blaze laughed, but she was understanding. "OK. I get it. Well I'll, uh – I'll wait here? I'll read a book."

  "Are you sure?" I asked, feeling guilty about leaving her to her own devices. "Why don't I start a fire for you in the front room before I go? Then at least you can read in comfort."

  I didn't usually light fires in the house anymore, because firewood was just too precious a resource to waste on me alone. But there was over half a cord of wood left in the woodshed, and no more reason to conserve it. What was I going to do, rent a trailer and haul a load of firewood around behind me? No.

  So I lit a fire and showed Blaze how to stack the kindling and sticks and then logs of increasing size onto it so as not to snuff it out. Then I walked back down to the barn, lowering my head into the bitter wind as it picked up, and saddled the horse up again.

  The cattle were a pain in the ass to drive that day, more interested in huddling up against each other than actually moving. At least the cold kept the stragglers from wandering off. It took longer than I expected, and by the time I was walking back up the hill to the house, my hands were raw and frozen in spite of wearing gloves and my cheeks were chapped red from the wind.

  "Jack!" Blaze exclaimed when she saw me and then again, louder, when she saw my hands. "What the hell? What happened?!"

  I shrugged. "Just got a little cold is all. What's that smell?"

  "It's – uh – I made you something to eat. I don't know if it's any good or if you'll –"

  I took her face in my hands, forcing her to look up at my own face rather than down at my bloodied hands. "You made me something to eat, Blaze?"

  She suddenly went all soft and bashful. "Yeah. Well, I tried to. I'm not a very good cook, so don't get your hopes up. And it's more of a snack than a meal or anything so –"

  "Woman!" I commanded.

  "What?"

  "Stop talking. Stop telling me why it isn't good enough. It smells wonderful. And I'm starving."

  "Are you?"

  "Yes."

  In the kitchen, sitting on the old wooden cutting board, were twelve misshapen but perfectly baked fresh-from-the-oven blueberry scones. I stared at them for a few minutes, not quite believing what I was s
eeing.

  "How did you know?" I asked Blaze, who was standing back a little, her hands clasped nervously under her chin. How is it that a woman like was nervous – actually nervous – about my opinion? It was inexplicable.

  "Know what?" She asked, worried. "I just Googled Irish recipes and found one that didn't have too many ingredients. And I threw the blueberries in there because they were in the fridge. This is the second batch, too. I burned the first one."

  Jesus, I could have just about wept. I turned around and pulled Blaze against me, pushing the hair off her face and tucking it behind her ears. "My Grandma Dottie used to make scones on Sunday mornings, after church – when we still went to church. We'd eat them like this – warm, cut in half with a little butter. I love scones, Blaze. And only my Grandma Dottie knew how to make them – no one else in Montana even knows what they are."

  "They weren't difficult," she replied. "I mean, if they had been I wouldn't have been able to make them. Do they look OK? I wasn't sure if they were supposed to be round or triangle or square or what."

  "So you just went freeform?"

  She giggled. "Yeah. So your grandma used to make these?"

  I nodded, reaching for one as my stomach growled.

  "No," Blaze said, stepping in front of me. "Your hands, Jack. You're bleeding. I don't want you touching anything until we –"

  "Feed me one, then," I told her.

  "Really? But what about your hands? You need to –"

  "I will take care of my hands, Blaze. I promise. But you either agree to hand feed me a scone right now, or I lose all control of myself and stuff all twelve of them in my mouth. I reckon you've got about ten seconds before I do it."

  She laughed and relented, cutting one of them in half and buttering it as I watched, doing my best not to drool.

  "Is this right? You want butter on it? The recipe said you didn't have to butter them but –"

  "Yes. Butter. Lots of it."

  I sat down at the table, then, and let the woman who had just baked me scones break one of them up and feed it to me piece by piece.