Cowboys Are For Loving

by Marie Ferrarella

  And when it was over, when he’d spent every molecule of energy that his body had to give, Kent rolled off her slick, near liquid form and gathered Brianne to him, content to feel just the heat of her body against his.

  And to pretend that morning wouldn’t come looking for them.

  He inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath, to make it steady again. The scent in her hair filled his head. Stirred his body. Damn, but the lady was lethal.

  “You made enough noise to spook the cattle,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

  She’d never felt so alive, so content and so exhausted all at the same time. For a while, she had even forgotten where she was, other than some place very special. Now, slowly, it was all coming back into focus.

  She had been pretty noisy, she realized with a grin. Pleasure had exacted sounds of enjoyment from her. The happiness she felt just couldn’t be contained within the boundaries of her body. She’d always been vocal about joy. And never more than tonight.

  “Are they still here?” She couldn’t even find the strength to turn and look.

  He raised his head just enough to see the makeshift corral he’d strung around the five calves. “Yup.” He grinned at her as he lay down again. “I think they’re taking notes.”

  Brianne laughed. A sense of humor. There was hope for him yet. All this and heaven, too. With her last ounce of energy, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Beats eating grass seven ways from sundown.”

  “Mmm?”

  She felt his breath, warm and steady, against her throat, lingering along her breast. Maybe a tad too steady.

  “Are you falling asleep on me?” The rhythmic sound of his breathing answered the question for her. Brianne laughed softly to herself. “No pun intended,” she added. Taking care not to wake him, she shifted slightly so that his body could warm her during the night. “You make one hell of a throw rug, Cutler.” She snuggled into place. “A girl couldn’t ask for much more.”

  But in the morning, Brianne learned that she could. She could ask for a great deal more.

  Like a man who acted as if they’d crossed a new threshold, rather than someone who pretended that everything was the same as it had been the day before. Someone who apparently preferred to think that what had happened in the night fell under the heading of a dream.

  Her eyes still closed, Brianne had reached for him, wanting to snatch just a little more of the euphoria that had been so much a part of last night and hug it to her. But her hand had come in contact with only the empty blanket.

  Sitting up, she looked around as she dragged the blanket around her. Kent was squatting down beside the dormant campfire, his back to her.

  There was something in the rigid set of his shoulders that warned Brianne the man she’d made love with last night had retreated.

  Still, maybe it was her imagination. “You’re up and dressed,” she commented, disappointed. A part of her had hoped to greet the morning the way she had ushered in the night.

  He didn’t turn around all the way. Still squatting, he aimed his words in her general direction. “Looks like I finally beat you to it.”

  The distance in his voice made her feel cold. The blanket was no defense against it. “I didn’t realize it meant so much to you.”

  It didn’t, he thought, but she did. And that was wrong. Wrong because it had nowhere to go.

  He rose, sticking his hands into his back pockets. He kicked more dirt into the campfire, even though the flame had long since gone out. “I don’t have any coffee.”

  “I can get started without it. I think,” she added uncertainly. What she couldn’t get past was the coolness that was facing her. Why was he acting as if they were barely acquainted strangers, instead of two people who had discovered something rare and precious last night?

  Why didn’t he come over here and take her in his arms, the way she ached for him to do?

  His choice, she thought, galvanizing her resolve. And, his loss. If the thought carried any further—to her own loss—Brianne refused to go there.

  She looked around, not really seeing anything, just feeling the bitter sting of her own disappointment, her own stupidity for thinking that one night could change him.

  Her clothes were in a heap beside the blanket; she reached for them. “Guess I’d better get ready.”

  Kent glanced at her then, and had trouble looking away. She was leaving today and he’d probably never see her again. It made no sense to dwell on what had happened last night. To think about it would only make him feel empty now, empty at the prospect of never feeling that alive again.

  Kent nodded in response. “Unless you want to ride back like that.”

  She thought she detected a hint of a smile, but dismissed it. He wasn’t human, he was a stone statue, incapable of feelings. “I might get saddle sore.”

  Brianne rose to her feet, the blanket slipping from her body as she reached for her clothes.

  Kent’s mouth fell open. He felt the muscles of his body tightening, felt desire send a fresh salvo through his veins. Was she trying to drive him crazy? Or just taunting him?

  He turned away, his hands fisted so tightly he dug his nails into his palms. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded angrily.

  If she could have gotten her hands on a good-size rock, she would have thrown it him. “I’m getting dressed,” she bit off.

  He could see that, but why did she have to do it in front of him? Just how much self-control did she think he had?

  “Don’t you want to go behind a tree and do it?”

  When she laughed, the sound low and sinfully lusty in its amusement, he almost turned around then. At that moment, he could have gotten down on his knees and begged her to stay, but he knew it would be no good. She belonged elsewhere far more than Rosemary ever had. Brianne had a home and a career waiting for her on the East Coast. He had nothing to offer that could compete with it and he wouldn’t sacrifice his pride by asking her to stay with him. Not when he knew she’d say no.

  He didn’t deal with rejection very well.

  “Wouldn’t that be a little like fitting the barn door for a lock after the stallion had run off with the mare?” She smiled to herself at her own choice of words. “You’ve already seen me naked. I don’t look any different in the daylight than I do in the dark.”

  Yes, she did, Kent thought. She looked better. His eyes trained in front of him, he put one foot in front of the other, not altogether sure how he managed. “I’ll saddle the horses.”

  Stuffing her bra into her back pocket, she punched her arms through her shirt, buttoned enough buttons to be decent and tucked the tails into her jeans. “You do what you’re good at,” she replied flatly.

  The words stopped him dead in his tracks. His own survival notwithstanding, his conscience chafed him for ending it this way. “Meaning?”

  Brianne pulled on her boots. “Whatever you want it to mean.” If he wanted to run, that was his problem, not hers. On her feet again, she strode up to him. “I’m dressed, you can stop being gallant. I’ll saddle my own horse, thanks.”

  Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he saw hurt in her eyes. “Brianne, I told you once nothing was going to come of this.”

  She wasn’t going to be lectured on top of everything else. Being unceremoniously dumped was quite enough for one day.

  And to think that she had actually thought he was sensitive.

  Brianne raised her chin, her defenses braced. “Yes, you did, didn’t you? And you’re a man of your word, I’m sure.”

  Damn it, he didn’t want to argue, he wanted to kiss her and hold her until the earth was just a faded memory in the sky.

  His hands remained at his sides. “What are you so sore about?”

  “I’m not sore,” she snapped, afraid that tension would loosen her tears and ruin everything. She wasn’t going to let him think she was crying over him. “I’m tired. I need coffee.”

  And he needed her, but all that wa
s moot. “So let’s get these calves back in a hurry.”

  “Not fast enough for me,” she muttered, throwing her saddle on the horse’s back.

  But too fast for him, he thought.

  It was hard saying goodbye. Hard because she’d truly come to like Jake and Zoe Cutler, liked being around them. They were her own fairy-tale parents come to life. If her mother had lived, Brianne knew that her parents would have behaved just the way Kent’s did, with a comfortable, knowing affection underlining everything they did.

  And it was equally hard leaving because she truly felt that she’d fit in on the ranch. She’d enjoyed all of it, the challenge of every day, the work, the land, the camaraderie of the men. Always outgoing and gregarious, Brianne had made more friends here in the short time she’d been at the Shady Lady than she usually did. She’d certainly gotten along marvelously with the Cutler men.

  Save for one.

  Kent was conspicuously absent from the ring of people as Brianne said her goodbyes. He’d dropped off the calves, and mumbled something about checking a length of fencing. Then he rode off before she could say a word.

  She might not have been able to say anything, but no such problem plagued Jake. He had several things to say about his son’s abrupt behavior, none of it flattering. For once, Zoe didn’t come to Kent’s defense.

  Brianne pretended it didn’t matter, though she caught herself more than once looking in the direction he’d ridden off. Hoping.

  She shrugged in response to Jake’s last criticism as she watched him load her equipment into the rented vehicle. “Maybe he’s busy celebrating the fact that I won’t be following him around anymore.”

  Jake snorted. “If he is, then he’s no son of mine.” He looked at Brianne. Part of him had hoped that, perhaps, she would become part of the family in name as well as in spirit. “If I were his age, I wouldn’t be celebrating a beautiful girl leaving. I’d be doing my damnedest to make her stay.”

  The heated declaration did wonders for her bruised ego. Brianne leaned over and kissed Jake’s cheek.

  “Knew I liked you the first minute I met you.” She looked at Zoe and saw an understanding in the woman’s eyes that almost undid her. She knew, Brianne thought. Knew how she felt. “Say goodbye for me, will you? And tell him…tell him that I appreciate everything he did because I know how hard it was for him to let me into his world.”

  But not so hard to slam the door again, she thought bitterly. She rallied, then smiled broadly. “I’ll send you all copies of the magazine once it’s out.”

  Zoe slipped an arm around Brianne’s shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. “Sure you don’t want one of us coming into town with you?”

  Brianne shook her head. “You’ve both put yourselves out for me more than enough.” She struggled to keep her voice level. Goodbyes were something she’d always hated. “Thank you for making me feel like one of the family.”

  Zoe smiled sadly. Kent had some tall accounting to do when she got her hands on him. “It wasn’t hard at all,” she assured Brianne.

  After saying a final goodbye to the wranglers, who had gathered around the main house, Brianne got into the car and drove off toward Serendipity.

  She had no way of knowing that as she passed a large ridge on her way to town, a lone rider watched her progress and silently said his own goodbyes.

  “You keep grooming him like that, you’re going to have the only skinless horse around.”

  Kent never broke rhythm as he continued brushing Whiskey in his stall. He didn’t bother turning around. He didn’t have to. He knew it was Quint from the first word his brother uttered.

  He should have known better than to hang around here. The range was the only place to be when a man wanted to be alone. “What are you doing here?”

  Quint walked into the stall. “A simple hello would be nice.”

  “Hello.”

  The greeting was more of a growl than a word. Quint stroked Whiskey’s muzzle. So, it was as bad as people said, he thought, glancing at his brother. Kent’s profile was wooden as he continued brushing.

  Quint leaned back against the stall and studied his younger brother. “Ma called and asked me to stop by and talk to you.”

  Talk. Talking wouldn’t accomplish anything. That was something she would have suggested. Always moving her mouth, Kent thought angrily, taking another long, sweeping pass over Whiskey’s rear flanks with his brush.

  “Why?”

  Quint laughed shortly. The question was rhetorical for everyone but Kent. “I think you know why. You’ve never had the most easygoing temperament.” He shrugged, looking around. Kent had fixed up the stable some. The last time he remembered being in here, it had been in disrepair. Kent was too good a man to waste his life married to a ranch. “The rest of us figured it was something that just developed because you’d had to fight so hard to hang on as a little guy.” Quint moved forward to face him. Kent kept his eyes on the horse. “But you’ve hung on quite a few years, and you’re not a little guy any longer. Ma says you’ve been a mean, ugly son of a bitch these last two weeks.”

  Kent looked up in surprise.

  “Oh, those weren’t her exact words, but that was what she meant.” Kent gave him a disgusted look and said nothing, as he went back to brushing his horse. Quint tried again. “Will said he stopped by the other day and you almost took his head clean off when he asked you if you’d heard from Brianne.”

  Kent’s jaw hardened. He wished everyone would just butt out and leave him alone. “Well, I hadn’t. And there’s no reason why I should have.”

  This time, the laugh had no feeling behind it, save for pity. “You believe that, you’re dumber than a post. And you’re not a post.”

  Kent’s thin hold on his temper all but gave out. “Look, she’s gone back to New York. I’m here, she’s there. End of story.”

  His brother had the tenacity of a pit bull when he set his mind to something. They’d all seen proof of that here at the Shady Lady. “Only if you want it to be.”

  Disgust turned the corners of his mouth down. “I don’t have anything to say about it.”

  “That’d be a first.” Kent always made his opinion known, in one way or another. Sympathy softened his voice as Quint laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you pick up a phone and call her?”

  Mechanically, Kent shrugged his brother off and went on working. “Don’t have the number.”

  That was a cop-out and they both knew it. “There’s always directory assistance. Oh, I forgot, you don’t take assistance, do you?”

  Kent struggled not to rail at the sarcasm. He didn’t like feeling as if he wasn’t in control, and that included losing his temper. Although in his book Quint was asking for it.

  “I don’t like talking on the phone.”

  “You don’t like very much of anything lately, do you?” Quint observed. What did it take to get Kent to admit he’d made a mistake in letting her go?

  Kent moved to the other side of the horse and started the process over again. “I especially don’t like older brothers thinking that they have a right to interfere in my life.”

  “What life?” Quint very rarely lost his temper, but now he felt it beginning to fray. “Cattle aren’t a life, kid. A wife, kids, that’s a life.”

  “Don’t call me kid.” Kent’s eyes darkened as he glared at Quint over Whiskey’s shoulder. “And you should talk.”

  “Yeah, I should.” He wouldn’t mind settling down. Quint was at an age where the idea had a great deal of appeal. But wanting and doing were two very different things. Doing had certain requirements. “I just haven’t found the right one.”

  For a second, Kent stopped grooming Whiskey, but then he resumed brushing again. “And what makes you think I have?”

  A simpleton would have noticed. “The look in your eyes when you looked at her. The glare in them when you saw me talking to her and thought I was moving in on your territory.”

  Kent was getting damn tired of
people acting as if they knew what was best for him. What was best was just to be left alone so he could come to terms with his life. To get it back to where it had been before she came and turned it all on its ear.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He threw down the brush and turned to face Quint. “I don’t have any territory.”

  “No, and you won’t,” Quint agreed evenly, “if you don’t file your claim to it. There’re a lot of claim-jumpers out there. One of them’s bound to stake a claim if you don’t. She’s prime stuff—”

  Quint’s irreverent observation struck the wrong chord. Frustrated, angry and pushed past his limit, Kent took a swing at his brother, connecting with Quint’s chin. Quint, more surprised than injured, staggered back several feet before he caught himself. His hands immediately fisted, but common sense prevailed, holding him back.

  “Because you’re my brother and obviously not yourself, I’ll let that one go. But only this once,” he warned. Quint rubbed his chin. “Now instead of taking your frustrations out on me, I suggest you do something smart for a change, ask Dad for her old man’s number and go look the lady up. Otherwise, I just might have to put you in jail for your own good, before you hurt somebody else.”

  Kent knew Quint wasn’t referring to himself. “Who’ve I hurt?”

  Quint shook his head. “If you don’t know the answer to that, then you’re a lot slower than I thought you were.”

  As he turned to pick up the brush Kent had thrown, Quint heard the stable door close. He smiled as he slowly began brushing Whiskey’s coat, then winced as a pain shot from his jaw straight up to his eyes. The kid had a harder punch than he did.

  “Took him long enough, didn’t it, Whiskey?”

  The horse nudged his hand, the one with the brush in it. With a satisfied laugh, Quint resumed brushing.

  Brianne stared at the computer screen on her desk. It was blank.

  Just like her mind.

  The photographs she’d taken this last month and a half had all been developed, tagged and pored over. With some outside input, she’d made her choices. All that remained was to write the piece.