Loaded

by Joanna Wayne

  "I didn't see you standing there," Bart said. "Why didn't you say something when we came in?"

  "You were having a conversation. I didn't want to interrupt."

  "Conversation's over," Matt said. "Let's check out the new foal."

  "You two go ahead," Bart said. "I'll come back later with Jaclyn. She loves the young colts and I've promised her a sunset ride anyway—if the rain holds off."

  Matt chatted casually as he checked out the newborn and the mother—talking as much to the horses as to her. His tone was calming, and the bond between him and the animals couldn't have been more evident if it had been tangible.

  She was as mesmerized by him as she was of the mare and colt. But instead of putting her at ease, his presence created currents of crackling electricity that zinged through her senses.

  He finished with the horses and walked back to where she was standing. He trailed a finger down the length of her arm, and the innocuous touch felt like fire on her skin. Finally she looked up. His face was inches from hers, his lips taunting her, daring her not to remember how they'd felt pressed against hers.

  "Let's go for a ride."

  "A horseback ride?" Her voice was breathy, her heartbeat erratic.

  "Why not? There's plenty of time before dinner, and I promise I'll fix you up with the gentlest mare on the ranch. We can take the wooded trails. It will give you a chance to see some of the undeveloped land you can't get to by car."

  She and Matt—alone in the woods, with this wild hunger for him raging inside her. Did she dare risk it? Was he fighting the same insane passion, or was all the heat and sensual tension radiating from her?

  Not that it mattered. Some agents had no doubt used sex to weaken a suspect's resistance. She couldn't. Nor could she put her own heart on the line when there was no chance this could work. She had little faith in love under the best of circumstances. This was the worst.

  Even if Matt was as innocent as she wanted so desperately to believe, he'd hate her once he'd found out she'd tricked her way onto Jack's Bluff Ranch for the express purpose of bringing his family down.

  "It's okay to say no, if you don't want to go ride with me," he said.

  "No, I'd like to go horseback riding," she said, forcing herself to do the job she'd come to do. "As long as we take it slow. Remember, I'm a city slicker."

  "We'll go as slowly as you like, and I'll be right by your side. I'll go saddle up a couple of horses and meet you outside the stable in about ten minutes."

  She managed a nod, waiting until he was out of sight to fall back against one of the support columns that separated the stalls. For the last few years, she'd feared she'd never fall into anything that even resembled love again.

  What a time to find out she'd been wrong!

  * * *

  "Langston, this is Bart. Do you have a minute?"

  "Yeah, I'm just finishing up here at the office and about to leave for home."

  "Are thinks okay with Trish?"

  "Perfect. She went to her gynecologist this afternoon. He thinks it will be a couple more weeks before she goes into labor. She's antsy, but feeling good. What's up with you?"

  "Shelly Lane."

  "What about her? Mom says she's a perfect fit for the family and she's confident Jeremiah will warm up to her in no time."

  "I know. The rest of the family has no qualms at all with her. Even Jaclyn is fond of her."

  "But not you?"

  "She worries me."

  "Anything specific?"

  "I walked in on her and Jeremiah this afternoon and she had him talking about the oil company's problems with the CIA. Then this afternoon, Matt and I ran into her in the stables. She had to have heard and seen us but she didn't say a word until we spotted her."

  "C'mon, you surely don't think she's a spy for the CIA?"

  "It's possible. What's more likely is that she's trying to get something on us that she can use in a blackmail scheme. She wouldn't be the first to try some kind of scam to get money out of the family."

  "You're getting a little paranoid. She's here because Mom hired her."

  "I just don't want any trouble. We already have enough."

  "Are you suggesting we try to pressure Mom into firing her?"

  "No. But I think you should make sure the private investigator leaves no alley unexplored where her background's concerned."

  "I'll see that he gets that message. And thanks for the heads-up though I'm surprised to be hearing this from you. Mart's usually the suspicious brother."

  "Not this time. He lit up like neon when he noticed her in the horse barn. I think he's finally met a woman who fires his engine."

  "And you want to get rid of her. Mom would die if she knew that."

  They both laughed, but Bart was certain Langston would follow up with the private investigator. Only now, he was almost sorry he'd said anything.

  Matt liked her. That should have been good enough for Bart.

  * * *

  Matt stood beside the two saddled horses, their reins in one of his hands. He reached the other out to Shelly. She quivered as she took it, her nerves on edge and not just from the size of the horses.

  Her CIA phone vibrated. She ignored it. Brady would have to wait. It was time to ride.

  Chapter Ten

  The two horses walked side by side along the swiftly running creek. It was swollen from the May rains, but would likely be bone dry by the end of August.

  Normally, Matt would have soaked up the scenery, noticed every new growth of underbrush, checked for deer tracks to see if the herd numbers were up or down, and enjoyed the scurry of squirrels and the plodding of the turtles along the muddy banks.

  All he could see today was Shelly.

  She'd monopolized his thoughts from the moment he'd met her, though he'd tried to convince himself it was caution that had sent him back to town to check on her that first night. That had been a crock, a protective facade he'd pulled over his eyes to keep from acknowledging the way she got to him.

  The timing for this couldn't be worse. This was his busiest time on the ranch. He had a million things he should be focusing on. Langston was worried that the troubles with the CIA were coming to a head, and anything that affected any member of the Collingsworth family affected them all.

  It had always been that way, especially between him and his brothers. They might fight with each other, but go against one of them and you went against them all.

  Even worse than the timing issues, Shelly was the wrong woman. The ranch was his life. She was a city girl, here on a Texas adventure. But the day-to-day reality of ranch life didn't provide the kind of excitement most women envisioned when they thought about cowboys.

  He wasn't all that exciting, either, and he was smart enough to know it. He might have the money to live the life of the rich and famous, but he had no desire to jet set or to be a staple of the Houston Chronicle's society section. Ranching was his life.

  "I never thought I'd say it about a horse ride, but that wasn't half bad," Shelly said, "except when I spotted that snake wiggling its way through the pine straw."

  "A king snake. They're harmless." The rattler she hadn't seen wasn't, but there was no need to point that out when he was drowning in the most seductive smile he'd ever seen.

  Bad timing. Wrong woman. So why the hell did just being near her get his blood and juices pumping this way?

  "Are there snakes in the creek?"

  "It's Texas. Snakes are everywhere."

  "Not inside the big house?"

  "No, only the brave would take on two rambunctious boys and Jaime."

  "That is not true, Matt Collingsworth and you know it. You adore your nephews and Jaime is—"

  "Jaime is Jaime. We'll leave it at that."

  "I like her. I like the whole family."

  "Even Jeremiah?"

  "He's growing on me. I think at least some of the bluster comes from his being afraid of all the changes that happened so quickly. Growing old slowly is ba
d enough, but when a stroke steals so much from you in the blink of an eye, it's difficult to adjust."

  "I know. He's a pretty terrific guy when you think about it. He had to be father to all of us after my dad died. He had that drill-sergeant personality even then, teaching us about honor and responsibility.

  "I can still hear his lectures ringing in my ears. 'A man is only as good as his word.' That was a favorite line of his. I probably heard that at least once a day growing up. It worked, though. I am as good as my word."

  "And did your brothers buy into his philosophy?"

  "Yeah. I'd have to say they did. We're all very different, but if one of my brothers tells you something, you can be sure it's damn straight. What about you? Do you have brothers? Sisters?"

  "No. I'm an only child."

  "Spoiled, I guess."

  "Rotten."

  "That explains that strange smell."

  She stuck her tongue out at him. The kidding backfired; he imagined her tongue tangling with his own. He'd vowed that if they kissed again, she'd have to ask for it. Who'd known that promise would be so difficult to keep?

  Still, it was probably for the best. Fat chance he'd ever be satisfied with just a kiss, when desire was bucking around inside him like a mad bull.

  Shelly looked upward. The wind caught her hair and blew wispy strands of it into her face. His hands itched to reach across the distance between them and tuck it behind her ears. His fingertips would brush her cheeks, might even trail to the curve of her neck. His mouth went dry.

  "I think I felt a raindrop," she said.

  He pulled his attention to the weather long enough to check the sky. He'd meant to keep an eye on it, but his attention had been captured by more exciting things. A raindrop plopped on his nose, followed by a few more, though the moisture was barely a mist at this point.

  "Main storm's to the west of us and moving that way," he said. "We won't get the brunt of it, but it's probably best to go to my place and wait it out. It's nearby."

  The words had spilled out of his mouth so fast, he had to wonder if the idea hadn't been skirting the edges of his subconscious before he said them, maybe the reason he'd brought her in this direction.

  Moisture glistened on the cleft of Shelly's breasts, just above her blue cotton T-shirt. The tightening in his groins was almost painful. His apprehension level surged.

  "Or we can just start back to the big house," he offered. "We'll get wet, but nothing that a few towels and a change of clothes can't remedy." And nothing would happen there that either of them might regret.

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. "Your place."

  He'd almost swear there was a hint of anticipation in the tone. More likely, he was reading into it what he wanted to hear. But he'd keep his promise. The first move would have to be hers.

  * * *

  The rain was still falling steadily when they reached Mart's rustic home on the edge of the woods. It dripped from Shelly's hair, the cool wetness meandering down her forehead and the back of her neck.

  Matt climbed off his horse first, and then walked over to give her a hand dismounting. She slid her feet from the stirrups and he caught her at the waist, pulling her from the saddle and into the circle of his arms.

  Matt's hands tightened around her waist, his thumbs digging into her flesh, searing through her shirt. The air between them grew steamy, and she was aware of the quick intake of his breath when his gaze fixed on the distinct outline of her pebbled nipples thrusting against the wet shirt.

  His thumbs inched higher burying into the soft mound of flesh and pushing her breasts upward. She had a crazy urge to lift the shirt, raise it over her arms and fling it into the rain. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest.

  "I'll secure the horses out back," he said, releasing her suddenly and pulling away. "The door's unlocked. Make yourself at home."

  She raced to the porch as a streak of jagged lightning lit the gray sky. The rain might last longer than they'd thought— minutes or hours that she'd be alone with Matt, stranded inside his cozy cottage with electrical currents firing between them that were far more dangerous than the storm.

  Get close was the name of the game, she reminded herself, but not so close that disentangling herself would jeopardize her mission—or shatter her heart.

  Once inside, she slipped out of her shoes and padded to the bathroom for a couple of towels. She used one to dry her dripping hair and face and took the other to the back door for Matt.

  She was dabbing at the back of her neck when she heard the stomp of his boots just outside the door. "Tell me I can't pick great weather for a ride," he teased as he swung the door open and joined her inside.

  He pulled off his hat and placed it on a shelf near the back door with a couple of other western hats, all well-worn. Locks of his thick hair fell over his forehead. Impulsively, she reached to push them back then caught herself and pulled her hands back to her side.

  A smile touched his wet lips, and though he didn't say anything, she knew he realized what she'd done and knew exactly why she'd pulled her hand away. His knowing she was fighting her feelings, like a young woman afraid of losing her virginity to a virile cowboy, made this all the worse.

  She tossed him the dry towel.

  "Thanks." He blotted his face, but never took his eyes off her. "I like the view," he said, grinning and for the first time openly flirting with her, "but you might want to get out of those wet clothes."

  The ridiculous blush crept to her flesh again. "A good idea. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?"

  "Better than that. I have a robe. I'll put your wet clothes in the dryer."

  Getting out of the wet clothes made perfect sense, but the thought of being naked beneath a robe that had hugged Mart's body and likely even retained the soapy, musky scent of him was risky at best.

  But Matt didn't wait for an answer. He disappeared down the hall and returned a minute later with a cotton robe still encased in plastic.

  "You don't have to give me a new one."

  "It's the only one I have," he said, placing it in her hands. "A Christmas gift from Becky who thinks I lack the rudiments of civilized living out here."

  "Christmas was months ago."

  "The Christmas I received that was years ago. A man living alone doesn't have much use to be covered up when he gets out of the shower."

  Another image she didn't need. She took the robe and whispered a hurried thanks before she returned to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she leaned against it a few seconds, regrouping and taking deep breaths to still the sensual turmoil.

  No man had ever affected her the way Matt did, and she was still mystified as to exactly what it was about him that got to her. His virility? His rugged good looks? The way his mouth had felt on hers? Or was it the way he'd taken over as her protector from the moment they met?

  Probably all that and more, and still she had to let it lie. She had a job to do and she'd do it. It was the way it had to be. She only prayed that all her instincts were right and that Matt was as innocent as she believed him to be. If she was wrong about that, she may as well turn in her resignation today.

  The snap on her wet jeans was difficult to maneuver and by the time she'd undone it and the equally reticent zipper, she felt a little more in control. Pushing them past her hips, she let them fall to the floor and then kicked them past her feet.

  Unfortunately, the uneasiness returned when she slipped her fingers beneath the elastic waist of her panties. Some of her friends back in D.C. routinely went without underwear. Shelly never did, and the realization that she was about to be doing just that in Matt's house sent heated spikes from her brain right to the core of her being.

  She hesitated, then wiggled her panties over her hips and kicked them off. After all, the robe was not transparent. Determinedly, she yanked the wet shirt over her head and reached behind to unclasp her bra. The straps slid over her shoulders and arms and she let the lacy garment fall to the floor with
the rest of the wet clothes.

  Grabbing the robe, she ripped off the plastic and shook the garment loose. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and pulled it tight. It hung from her shoulders like a sheet, touching her almost nowhere except the shoulders. She yanked on the ties, bunching the fabric at the waist.

  Her mirror image taunted her. Very attractive. Kind of like a pregnant rag doll. That should take care of any sexual urges Matt might have. She gathered her wet clothes, realizing as she balled the panties and bra that there was no way she was handing them to him.

  He'd said to make herself at home. Surely that included using the dryer without his supervision. She found the laundry room just off the garage. It was as neat and clean as the rest of the house. Apparently Matt did not like clutter. Yet another trait she could live with.

  Live with. Her insides rocked insanely. How had that thought crossed her mind? At best she was here to ruin his family's reputation. At worst—well she didn't even want to go there.

  She threw the clothes into the dryer and went to find Matt. He was in the kitchen, but unfortunately he hadn't been nearly as accommodating in his choice of attire. His dry jeans rode low on the waist. His clean, white western shirt was open with the tail of it hanging loose. The spattering of dark hairs on his chest seemed to be inviting her fingers to curl around them.

  His bare feet slapped against the tile floor as he stepped toward her. "Cocktail hour. The choices for fancy drinks are limited, but I have the basics on hand. Scotch, whiskey, gin and tequila. I can fix you a margarita if you like, or there's wine. I'm not much of a connoisseur, but Jaime stocks the wine closet at home and she makes sure I have few choice bottles on hand."

  "Right, so you don't embarrass yourself with lady visitors."

  "I could probably count them on one hand. Haven't we already had this conversation?"

  "You said you'd never come close to getting married. We didn't discuss numbers." And she had no business doing it now. But the question was out there, and she had no inclination to call it back.

  "Then we should probably set the matter straight." Matt set two highball glasses on the counter and turned to face her. "I date, Shelly, actually more than I want, since my mother has decided I need a wife. I don't have sex indiscriminately, and I haven't had unprotected sex since my last semi-long-term relationship. That was two years ago."