Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  Mattie couldn’t resist. “Is that an invitation?”

  He glanced up, and Mattie saw the conflict in him. “You know, Miss Mary, if I were another kind of man, there’d be nothing I’d like better than to give you those babies.”

  His words, spoken in that low drawl, pierced her so deeply her breath fled. Oh, yes.

  “Trouble is,” he said, head cocked to one side, “I’d find some way to blow it all up before we were through, and you sure deserve better than that.”

  Mattie nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  He stood up by the fire a minute, seemingly undecided about something. Then he crossed the room and stopped by the bed, taking her hand to tug her upright. Mattie stared at him, bewildered by the swings of his moods.

  He touched her cheek. “I like you better than any woman I’ve ever met,” he said. He bent and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. “Go on and get some sleep. We’ll go into town tomorrow morning.”

  “Where are you going?” Mattie asked as he grabbed the sleeping bag from the floor.

  “Just out to the porch, Miss Mary.” His grin was wicked. “I think it’ll be easier for me, if you don’t mind.”

  “Won’t you be cold?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  *

  AND FINE HE was. In the cool mountain air, Zeke slept like a child, and awakened just as dawn tiptoed into the valley. Dew misted the pine trees around the porch and jeweled the grasses growing in stubby clumps all around the steps. A sprightly bevy of sparrows bounced in the yard, digging in the damp earth and chattering among themselves.

  He listened. No cars. No planes. No electric wires humming. Only birds and the soft whisper of a morning breeze moving through the flat coins of aspen leaves. The silence gave him a powerful sense of well-being.

  Something had shifted within him yesterday afternoon. So many painful emotions had torn at him, he thought he’d go insane with them. The old voices of derision and fury sounded like jackals in his brain.

  While they’d been at their loudest, Mattie had flown across that cabin, surrounded him with herself, ignoring the fear he’d seen in her face, to hug him. Soothe him. In all his life, no one had ever done that. As a child, there’d been no one to do it; as an adult, he’d never let anyone close enough.

  He’d never dreamed how good it would feel. How much sorrow and pain could drain so abruptly from him, like poisons spilling from a broken bottle. Maybe it was just the simple comfort of knowing there was someone who understood, who’d been there. The kind of childhood he’d known made most folks want to hide their heads.

  His mind this morning was not so much on his childhood, as on the business he’d lost to Amanda and John. Losing it, the only thing he had, had nearly killed him. It had made him bitter and cynical.

  This morning, what he wanted was to have his horses again. He missed the business and the money—that money had been mighty nice, and he was damned good at what he did—but he missed those horses with an almost physical pain.

  Mattie had teased him about the books on his shelf, but she had him rightly pegged. He’d been horse crazy from the first time he’d laid eyes on one at the age of seven at a county fair. It had been a Tennessee walker, black and proud. Looking at it, with one arm in a cast from the second of his furious battles with his father, Zeke had believed in something beyond himself for the first time in his life. Tentatively, he’d reached up to touch that velvety nose. The horse had allowed it, and gazing into the big brown eyes, it seemed as if the horse understood.

  What Zeke had learned was that he had a way with horses. When fairs and rodeos came to town, Zeke skipped school to spend his days and nights at the stables, hanging out until someone took pity on him and let him feed the creatures or clean the stables or whatever else needed doing. Didn’t matter. He’d have gladly shoveled manure with his hands to get close to the horses.

  And over the years, it became plain he knew the heart of horses. He knew when things weren’t right with them—when they were in pain or feeling restless or whatever—more, he seemed to know what to do for them, without even thinking much about it.

  It was a gift, the old stable hands maintained. Said he was half horse himself.

  Yesterday, when he’d accused Mattie of allowing Brian to chase her into the shadows, when he’d asked her if she’d let Brian force her to give up her dreams, he’d been shocked to realize that was just what he’d done. Like a dog kicked once too often, he’d tucked his tail between his legs and come up here to hide, too weary to even want anything any more.

  He wondered if Mattie had ever seen a real horse. The thought made him smile. She’d loved absolutely everything about the country life he’d shown her—not once had she complained about the lack of electricity or plumbing facilities. She was blooming up here. He bet she’d like horses one hell of a lot.

  *

  RIDING BEHIND ZEKE on his motorcycle in the clear of a summer mountain morning counted as equal parts pure pleasure and deepest torture. Mattie had no idea where they were going, only that he smiled over it, and that they needed some supplies. If they were going to get supplies, Mattie thought, he wasn’t going to get rid of her just yet, and that was good.

  In a way.

  The bike sailed over the narrow highway like some liquid beast from a fantasy story, so fleet and easy she felt as if she were flying. Zeke’s shirt billowed in the wind, against her fingers, and she could feel the freedom in him, in the easy play of muscles beneath her hands.

  He was different this morning. Lighter somehow. The boiling was not entirely gone from his eyes—she doubted it ever would be—but there was mischief and light, too.

  They stopped the first time in a little town, bigger than most along the little highway, with a proper square boasting drugstores, a grocery, filling stations at either end and several churches. “I need to see about getting some propane delivered,” he said, pointing to a storefront office on the corner. “Why don’t you go look around in the grocery store and pick out some food.”

  “I don’t really know what to pick,” she said, suddenly shy.

  “Sure you do.” He pressed several twenties into her hand. “Cans, mainly. Get some stuff with meat in it—I’ve gotta propane cooler, but it’s not hooked up at the moment, so we can’t have any fresh meat. I’d like to have some fruit, too. Maybe some jerky.”

  “I have money,” she said, and pressed his bills back into his hand. “Let me buy the groceries.”

  He gave her a half smile. “All right.” He tucked the money into his shirt pocket. “It won’t take me long. I’ll meet you inside.”

  “How will we carry things back?”

  He winked. “Trust me, Miss Mary. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  She laughed and went into the store, thinking it an intimate and pleasant act to be shopping for both of them, for the food they would consume. It was also deeply satisfying to be doing something as normal as shopping for groceries after such a long time. In Kismet, she’d had little storage space and only bought food a day a time, wary of spending more than she needed to spend for fear she’d have to leave at a moment’s notice. Which she had.

  Now she chose food for meals carefully. Good meals, balanced and varied, even if most of it had to come from cans. Idly, putting cans of chili and macaroni and cheese into the cart, she wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this all the time. Curious, she looked at the people in the store, wondering how their lives were different from the one she’d known. They were a tough-looking lot, with leathery skin and sturdy clothes. Even the young girls, in their shorts and tube tops and carefully applied makeup, looked strong, as if they could—

  With a smile, Mattie realized she didn’t even know what made them so strong. Taking care of animals? Weathering the elements? Braving such a rugged environment?

  She didn’t know, but she liked the strength she sensed. It felt important.

  Zeke found her when she was dithering over the fruit. The oranges mig
ht last better, but they were more expensive than the apples. He smelled an apple. “Go for the oranges. These are last year’s crop—they’ll be mealy as hell.”

  She grinned. It was just the sort of thing he was always saying, as if everyone knew the names of mushrooms that grew in circles, or that foxes made a particular track or that apples had a certain undernote when they were old. “I’ve never met anyone who is as smart as you are,” she said, lifting the apple to her nose.

  “Smart?” He picked out a few of the apples and put them in a bag. “That’s one thing I haven’t been accused of on a regular basis.”

  “Well, you are.” She grabbed the five-pound bag of oranges and gestured at the rest of the goods in the basket. “I tried not to get too much to carry, but I might have overlooked something.”

  He picked through the basket, lifting one or another of the items in his long-fingered hands, and Mattie liked the sureness of his movements. Cooking or shopping, chopping wood or riding a motorcycle, he was always utterly at home. It would be so strange to feel that confidence, she thought.

  “Let’s get the bigger size on the chili. I can eat two by myself. Other than that, you did just fine.”

  They loaded the groceries into a big leather pouch Zeke took from the compartment below the bike’s seat and attached to the sissy bar on the back. “I’d like to stop at a friend’s place on the way back, if you don’t mind,” Zeke said. “It’s a little out of the way, but I think we have time.”

  A friend. It was the first time he’d mentioned such a creature. “I think I can fit it into my schedule.”

  His eyes twinkled, and without warning, he bent and brushed a quick kiss over her mouth, in full view of anyone walking by. “Come on, then.”

  Mattie climbed on, bracing herself for more delicious torture. This time, she sat a little closer, unable to resist his extraordinary heat, or the smell of his skin. She snuggled against his back, wrapping her arms around his stomach. Her thighs straddled his lean hips, and his hair touched her face.

  Wicked thoughts pressed into her mind. It would be so easy to touch his thigh, to press her palm to that hard, jean-clad leg; so easy to explore his stomach and chest as he drove. It would be simple to unbutton his shirt, just enough to slip her hand inside, and feel that sleek, beautiful chest, touch his nipples and—

  Her breasts felt heavy and needful and there was an ache low and deep, an ache that grew as she imagined even more wicked things she might do with her hands—if only she was brave enough. Some of them, she conceded, might cause a wreck.

  She forced herself to sit upright again, tried to imagine the dance chaperon’s hands between their bodies.

  Zeke let go of the handlebars with one hand for a moment and touched her leg. He rubbed her thigh, just above the knee, as if he understood, as if he was not unmoved. Then he took her hand from his side and tugged her close again.

  Mattie settled against him and went back to her wicked thoughts. Somehow, she didn’t think they were in vain. Not any more.

  Chapter 12

  *

  THE RANCH WAS situated on a parcel of land in the high, flat valley floor. As they pulled into the driveway in front of a simple farmhouse, surrounded by outbuildings of various sorts, Mattie realized this was part of the land she could see from the hot-spring pool on Zeke’s land. In the waste areas between the square, sturdy house and the barns grew wide clumps of the orange flowers that provided the splashes of color patchworking the valley.

  She slid off the bike, hanging on to Zeke’s shoulder for balance. He caught her around the waist, his green eyes alight with a clean, wild desire. “I want you, Mattie. We won’t stay here long.”

  “I thought you said—”

  He cut her off. “That was before.”

  She smiled, and dared to touch his neck, slipping her hand below his collar. “Before what?”

  “Before I knew what I was getting into,” he said, his voice low and seductive, his hand making circles on her tummy. One wide brush came very close to the lower swell of her breast and her response was instantaneous—her nipple lifted, as if to touch him. He lifted his gaze. “Do you want me, Miss Mary?”

  She simply looked at him.

  His fingers moved on her sides, skimmed upward in a subtle way. No one watching would have seen what he was doing. “Why don’t you kiss me,” he said, lifting his head. Waited.

  Mattie swayed forward, holding her helmet in her hands, and pressed her lips to that irresistible mouth. He opened to her instantly and Mattie let herself drift for one tiny moment, let her herself explore again that unknown territory. She ended the kiss and straightened.

  Zeke smiled. “One more time like that and I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about anybody watching.”

  She winced and slapped his arm. “Your language!”

  He sobered. “Just remember, Miss Mary, there are no roses and lace at the end of this path.”

  “I read you loud and clear, Captain,” Mattie replied and slipped from his grasp to look around. Why did he always go out of his way to ruin the best moments?

  The corrals here were not empty. Spotted gray and white horses, strong and muscular-looking, stood around a metal watering trough. “What kind are they?” Mattie asked.

  “Appaloosas,” Zeke said behind her. “The best workhorses around.”

  A man emerged from the barn, leading a graceful, high-stepping animal, all black, with a tossing head. The man spied Zeke and Mattie and grinned. “Finally broke down?” he called.

  “I reckon,” Zeke returned, but he was already moving forward. Mattie followed.

  The man was in his late thirties, with coarse black hair and a powerfully angled face. The horse with him made a sudden noise, a high whining sound, and its graceful head tossed, jerked. The man let the reins go, and the horse galloped to the fence where Zeke stood waiting.

  Mattie glanced at him. He’d climbed onto the fence and leaned over the top, softly whistling a series of notes. On his face was an expression Mattie had never seen—equal parts joy and sorrow. The horse hurtled forward, still making that strange sound. It reached Zeke and reared with a wild noise, then dropped and came forward, snuffling close to Zeke’s neck, his hair, his face.

  Zeke laughed, touching the horse on the neck, the nose, the chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I missed you, too, you old lug.”

  Othello.

  Mattie glanced at the man in the corral. He caught her eye and grinned. “Enough to break your heart, ain’t it?”

  Mattie nodded, her throat tight. No one should have to be parted from an animal they loved as much as Zeke loved this one. No one. Even if, she thought darkly, that man could be a jerk at times.

  “He’s been restless all morning,” said the man. “Must have sensed you were on your way.”

  “Maybe,” Zeke said. “I’ve been thinking about him all week.” He gestured toward Mattie, his scooping arm meant to urge her forward. “Mattie, this is my friend George Romero. George, this is Mattie O’Neal.”

  Mattie glanced at Zeke, surprised he’d given her real name. If he trusted the man, so did she. “Hi, George,” she said.

  George nodded. There was speculation in his dark eyes. “Are you visiting?”

  “Um, more or less,” Mattie replied. “Is it so obvious I don’t belong here?”

  He chuckled. “Most natives aren’t too dazzled by a horse.”

  She smiled.

  Zeke turned. “Reach into the pack and get a couple of apples, Miss Mary. Bring them here.”

  “Please?”

  A flash of something crossed his eyes, too fast to be read. “Please.”

  She did as he asked. He took one from her. “Let me introduce you to Othello. He’s not as bad-tempered as old George would have you believe, are you Othello?—just temperamental. But he’d stand on his head for an apple.”

  Making his hand a shelf, he put the apple in his palm and held it out. Othello almost delicately accepted the offering, and Mattie lau
ghed. “He looks like he’s at a society ball,” she said.

  “Try it,” Zeke urged, pulling her closer. “He won’t hurt you as long as you keep your hand flat and open. He doesn’t know the difference between fingers and food.”

  “He might bite me?”

  “Not if you keep your hand flat.”

  The horse looked at her with a big dark eye. There were eyelashes over the liquid irises, which startled her. The feathery black fringe gave the horse a curiously human aspect that gave her courage. Following Zeke’s lead, she made her hand flat, put the apple in her palm and held it out.

  She felt caught in suspended animation as Othello’s great head descended. So close, she saw there were tiny threads of white in the hairs on his nose, and the big nostrils quivered. Once again, he opened his mouth and delicately plucked the apple from her palm with his teeth. Mattie had an impression of a soft whisk as the nose brushed her skin, then the apple was gone.

  “Will he let me touch his nose, like you did?” Mattie asked.

  “If he thinks you have another apple, he’ll let you do anything you want.” Zeke grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto the fence. “Go ahead.”

  Mattie clung with one hand and reached out with the other. The horse didn’t shy away when her hand came close, and she gingerly touched that broad, strong nose. “Oh,” she said softly. “It’s so soft.”

  Zeke chuckled, and the sound was rich and warm. He slapped her bottom playfully. “I’ve got some business to take care of with George. You visit with Othello all you want to.”

  George pointed to the others, separated by a fence from the big black stallion. “Those are the good horses, over there,” he said.

  Mattie smiled. “Thanks.”

  The two men wandered off, talking quietly, and Mattie hung on the fence, stroking Othello’s nose, absorbing the details of his body. In the early-afternoon sunshine, his coat gleamed with a shiny gloss, but it wasn’t the coat of a dog or cat. Tentatively, she touched his shoulder blade. Warm skin with sleek hair over it. She traced the slim line of a vein and touched the jutting bone of his shoulder.