“Doubt that, Half-Pint.” Teeth flashing white against bronzed skin, Jake had the nerve to tug on one of Sheridan’s loose blonde curls like she was the pesky little sister he’d always believed her to be. But Maggie knew better.
After almost a month living at the Silver Lining Ranch, she quickly learned there was nothing sisterly about Sheridan’s crush on Jake Sullivan. At seventeen—almost eighteen as Sheridan was quick to point out—Blaze’s little sister was determined to prove she was a woman to her brother’s best friend. Unfortunately for Sheridan, Jake Sullivan seemed just as determined to ignore the fact completely.
Bending to retrieve the last stray horseshoe, Maggie hid a secret grin when Sheridan slapped Jake’s hand away, pretty sure Jake was either blind or blessedly oblivious. Because for all the snug dresses and shirtwaists that highlighted Sheridan was no longer a little girl, they may as well have been pinafores and pigtails for all that Jake noticed.
“One more game of horseshoes, and winner takes all,” Sheridan challenged the two men, and Maggie shook her head as she moseyed over to join them. Well aware Sheridan had been rigorously practicing horseshoes during the day while the ranch hands were occupied elsewhere, Maggie also knew the little stinker purposely lost their first two games, plotting to win the third with a bet attached.
“Uh … I’m not sure plotting is the best way to win a man’s heart,” Maggie had said to Sheridan after dinner when the seventeen-year-old had shared her plan to “innocently” suggest she could whip Jake’s hide in horseshoes.
The poor thing had nearly chewed the skin off her lower lip, so nervous was she that Maggie might not go along. “But, Maggie, how else am I supposed to get him to notice me?” she’d whispered back, gaze darting at the barn where Jake was laughing with the other ranch hands.
Sucking air through a gritted smile, Maggie couldn’t help but feel a wee bit responsible since Sheridan needed a woman’s opinion, clearly looking to Maggie as a big sister. “I don’t know, Sher—to trick him into taking you to the rodeo dance?” Maggie shook her head, wishing Aunt Libby were home to help dissuade Sheridan rather than at dinner with Finn in Carson City. “There must be an easier way to get Jake to notice you, sweetheart.”
Sheridan had merely grunted in the grand fashion of her uncle and older brothers. “A gun would be easier,” she said with a wry bent of her lips that quickly melted into a lovesick smile. “Only I’d really like him alive and well when he finally realizes I’m the girl of his dreams.”
Glancing at Sheridan now while she fluttered her lashes at Clint to lure him in, too, Maggie had little doubt Sheridan was up to the task. Despite her innocence from a sheltered life at the hand of her Uncle Finn and older brothers, the young girl had the grit and determination to make her dreams come true. Maggie shot a grin at poor, sweet, unsuspecting Jake. And maybe those of a lovable and easy-going cowhand, as well, if Sheridan got her way.
“So, what do you say?” Sheridan said with an impatient tap of her boot, dangling the bait both she and Maggie knew would easily hook both men. “You win, and Maggie and I will march right into that kitchen and bake you a fresh batch of my famous chocolate chunk cookies.”
Maggie bit back a grin when Jake’s Adam’s apple actually bobbed several times, his mouth watering, no doubt, for what he always claimed was his favorite dessert and demise.
Which in this particular case, certainly would be.
“And in the extremely remote possibility that you do win,” Clint said with a wink at Maggie as he folded muscular arms, “what do you ladies get?”
A shot of color bruised Sheridan’s face over and above the hint of beet juice she rubbed on her cheeks and lips when her Uncle Finn wasn’t around. “Welllllll,” she dragged out with a squint of blue eyes that spelled nothing but trouble, “I have been dying to learn how to become a sharpshooter like Annie Oakley … and Jake did promise to teach me when I was old enough …”
Jake offered a patient smile. “Sorry, Half-Pint, but seventeen doesn’t qualify as ‘old enough’ in my book.”
“Annie Oakley was only fifteen when she won that shooting match against Frank E. Butler,” Sheridan defended, “and Lillian Smith just joined Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show this year as a trick shooter at age fifteen.”
“What about you, Miss Mullaney?” Clint sidetracked, homing in on Maggie with that crooked smile he always seemed to reserve just for her. “What do you win?”
“Oh, Maggie needs an escort to the rodeo,” Sheridan announced happily, obviously thrilled that Clint had diverted all attention away from her.
“What?” Maggie’s mouth slacked open. “Sheridan Marie Donovan!” Her cheeks burned as if she herself were wearing a whole pot of Sheridan’s silly beet juice.
“Is that a fact?” Clint said with a broad smile.
“No, it isn’t a fact—ouch!” Maggie rubbed her arm where Sheridan pinched her, tempted to ignore the plea in the little brat’s eyes.
Clint tipped his hat. “Well, either way, I do believe that’s a challenge we’d like to take on, don’t you, Sully?”
Thumbs hooked in his back pockets, Jake shifted his stance with a slow shake of his head, his smile calm even if the leery squint of his eyes was not. “I don’t know, Clint,” he said with an idle scratch at the back of his neck, “I’m not comfortable with teaching Half-Pint to shoot—”
“Then I’ll think of something else, I promise,” Sheridan begged in a giddy rush, hands clasped to her lips in hope.
“Come on, Sully.” Clint elbowed Jake before looping an arm over his shoulder. His voice lowered to a tease. “We both know the chances of them winning are as likely as a blizzard in July.”
“You’re on!” Sheridan squealed, not even giving Jake a chance to object as she dragged Maggie back to their side of the lawn. “And we’ll even give you the first toss,” she called over her shoulder.
“Sheridan Marie, what on earth were you thinking?” Maggie’s voice was close to a hiss as she marched alongside Sheridan, finally hooking her around to stare her down. “You are in big trouble, young lady!”
“Not me,” the imp said with a wiggle of brows, nibbling her lip as she shot a furtive glance Jake’s way. “It’s that stubborn man down there who’s in trouble if I win.” She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Oh, and you, of course, Maggie, since Clint Keller is known to be a lady-killer.”
Maggie groaned and slapped a hand to her eyes, parting two fingers to give Sheridan a stern look that could’ve curdled beet juice. “So help me, I have a mind to throw this game.”
“Oh, Maggie, please don’t,” Sheridan pleaded. “I turn eighteen this year, so this is the best present you could ever give me! Besides”—she tossed a glance over her shoulder to where Clint stood, all strapping six-foot-three of him with the bluest eyes Maggie had ever seen—“Clint Keller is the cutest cowboy on this ranch besides Jake and my brothers, so what are you complaining about?”
Maggie blew out a blast of air that ruffled wisps of gold around Sheridan’s heart-shaped face, remembering Blaze’s warning that Clint was not only “sweet” on her, but had a “reputation” as well. “So help me, Sher, if Clint Keller so much as gives me an iota of trouble—”
“He won’t,” Sheridan assured with saucer eyes that revealed the naive little girl inside. “Because Uncle Finn and my brothers won’t let any of us out of their sight, I swear.”
“Let’s get this game started,” Clint called. “Sully’s hankerin’ for some chocolate chunk cookies.”
Unfortunately, the only thing poor Sully appeared to be “hankerin’” for twenty minutes later was a stiff drink as Sheridan took careful aim with her second to last horseshoe. Maggie held her breath as the shoe appeared to sail through the air in slow motion, the loud ping of which merged perfectly with Jake’s and Clint’s groans when she tied the game up.
“Eeeeeeekkkkk!” Maggie couldn’t help it, she grabbed Sheridan up by the waist and spun her around and around, the both of t
hem dizzy when they finally wobbled to a stop. “Great balls of fire, girl,” she shouted, her drive to win completely obliterating all prior objections, “I swear you are on fire—!”
Hard hoofbeats interrupted, drawing her and everyone else’s attention to the stallion and rider racing toward them in a cloud of dust. “Talk about on fire,” Maggie said with a chuckle. Only she didn’t realize just how close to the truth it was until Minx skidded to a stop in front of their game, veritable sparks shooting from Blaze’s eyes. His face was etched in stone as he cauterized Maggie with a glare. “You, me—in the barn, Miss Mullaney—now!”
“For heaven’s sake, Blaze,” Sheridan said with a crease in her brow, “we’re just about to win the game, so Maggie will be there when we’re done.”
Not bothering to respond, Blaze slapped the reins in a fury, stabbing his heels into Minx’s flanks like his glare stabbed into Maggie’s mind, driving Minx toward the barn without a glance back.
“Good heavens, what on earth has gotten into him?” Sheridan stared after her brother, her jaw as gaping as Maggie’s. “I’ve never seen Blaze so angry before.”
“I don’t know,” Maggie whispered, a niggle of guilt confirming that just maybe she did. “All I can say is, let’s get this game won, because from that red-hot glare on your brother’s face?” She almost welcomed the cold chill that skittered her spine given the blistering heat she’d seen in his eyes. “Gotta feeling I may be needing some of Clint’s so-called ‘blizzard in July.’”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“So help me, Minx, if she wasn’t a woman …” Blaze jerked the bridle off his horse and all but hurled it onto the tack wall before wiping it down with a rag. He snatched a wet sponge from a bucket to cool Minx down, thinking he could use some cooling down as much as the mare.
Temper seething, he rubbed her with brisk motion, checking for rubs or chafing from the bridle or other tack out of pure habit. He was barely aware as he ran his hands down her legs to feel for cuts, bumps, or rubs from riding her so hard. His jaw calcified. But one thing was for dead sure: Minx wasn’t the only mare he intended to ride hard today.
Yes, Maggie had her quirks that sometimes annoyed, no question, but mostly she was a good friend whose company he enjoyed. A nerve pulsed in his jaw. Despite the blasted attraction that hovered beneath the surface. He ripped the grooming brush from its hook. But this time she’d really done it, gone and fired him up but good. His teeth ground till he thought they might crack.
And he fully intended to return the favor.
“Blaze?”
He stiffened, as taut as the brush in his hand.
“Are you … all right?”
No, Miss Mullaney, I’m not. And when I’m done, you won’t be either.
Completely ignoring her, he continued to groom Minx with carefully controlled strokes, the tic in his temple keeping time with the movement.
“I’m … not exactly sure why you are so angry with me, but I”—she stood so close, he actually heard her gulp—“might have a vague idea …”
“Vague?” He spun around, causing her to stumble back when he slammed the grooming brush back onto its hook. “The only ‘vague’ thing here, lady,” he ground out, “is our so-called friendship, which I plan to redefine quite clearly in a moment.” Shoving past, he led Minx to the paddock before returning to the barn, the fire in his eyes matching that in his gut.
“Blaze, please—let me explain …”
He shoved his hat up hard, hands welded to his thighs as he glared her down. “No, let me explain how it’s going to be between you and me from now on, Maggie.”
“Hey, Boss, when are we—” One of the cowhands barreled into the barn and stopped dead in his tracks, the scowl on Blaze’s face apparently threatening enough to flare his eyes.
“Get out, Dawson,” Blaze ordered in a deadly tone, eyes locked on Maggie without a blink.
“Uh … yes, sir.” Dawson was gone in one violent clip of Blaze’s heart, quietly closing the door behind until the stream of daylight at the entrance was cut off.
Kind of like this friendship is about to be …
“Blaze, listen to me, please—” She stood like a statue in the shadows of the barn, arms wrapped so tightly to her waist, she could have been a tree shivering in the wind.
“No, Maggie, you listen to me, and you listen good.” He took a step in, fist curled white while he stabbed a finger just inches from her face. “I told you to butt out of my life, but no, you couldn’t leave it alone. You had to peddle your Christianity hogwash to Rachel, and now you’ve ruined what we had.”
“Better than ruining her!” Maggie shouted, the sparks in his eyes obviously igniting hers.
He re-aimed his finger straight down, drilling toward the dirt floor like he planned to do with Miss Busybody, hopefully to keep her out of his bloomin’ life from now on. “This, right here, lady, is exactly why I have no stomach for judgmental, hypocritical, so-called holier than thou women like you, not content to let people live and let live. Oh, no,” he shouted, throwing his hands in the air, “you gotta stick your stuck-up little nose in where it doesn’t belong and peddle your confounded morality where it’s not wanted—”
She cut him off with a rigid finger of her own, thumping it hard against his chest while she thumped him with a scowl rivaling Gert’s on a bad day. “Oh, it’s wanted, all right, you … you … cocky cowboy! Just not by the likes of you, a rogue more concerned with his own pleasure than the safety and care of the woman he supposedly loves.”
“I do love her,” he bellowed, “you meddlin’ morality monger!” His voice rose in an uproar that startled the horses, causing several to neigh and buck against their stalls.
“Then prove it!” she screamed, pushing him back with the heel of her hand.
Never would Blaze raise a hand to a woman, but sweet mother of patience, never had he been tempted more. Emitting a frustrated growl, he hurled his hat against the stall.
“For the love of decency, marry her!” she shouted, fisting his paisley vest with both hands and jerking it hard before shoving him away. “And make an honest woman out of her!”
In knee-jerk reaction, his palms snapped onto her arms like a prison padlock, holding her at bay so stiffly, her boots nearly dangled over the floor. She literally stopped breathing when he backed her toward a stall, expanding her eyes like a mare who’d just been spooked. “Seems to me you already did that, Miss Pure and Pious, when you turned Rachel away from me, convincing her that any sparkin’ between us is straight from the devil.”
He leaned in till his face was mere inches away, voice lowering to a dangerous level. “Well, you made an honest woman out of her, all right, Maggie, so how ’bout I do the same for you? Because if you’re going to steal something from me, Miss Mullaney, I’m sure in the devil gonna steal something from you.”
Ignoring the sharp catch of her breath, he butted her to the wall and molded his mouth to hers, his intent fueled by both fire and fury. Her open-mouthed gasp allowed access to explore with a passion he’d only dreamed about, liberating haunted thoughts of Maggie late at night while he lay in his bed.
He had wanted to make her pay, to steal the kisses from her that she’d stolen from him with Rachel. But he’d never expected this—a fire licking through him hotter than anything he’d ever known, white shivers of heat that near singed his very soul. In the space of one hoarse groan, he clutched her close and took it deeper, the want so strong, it produced an ache in his gut that shot clear to his throat. The mere taste of her threatened an addiction for which he had no cure, and the very notion turned his body to stone.
God help me—I’m falling in love with her!
Needles of sleet shot through his veins, and he pushed her back so abruptly, she thudded against the stall, lips swollen pink and breathing as ragged as his. Chest heaving, he slashed a shaky hand through his hair, the desire coursing through his veins coagulating into strangled panic he’d never experienced before. No! H
e would not sell his soul to any woman or to her god.
No matter how much he wanted her.
A white-hot rage stoked in his gut, and aiming a stiff finger, he scorched her with a look that brought a sheen of tears to her eyes. “This friendship is o-ver, Miss Mullaney, you got that?” He bludgeoned a palm to the stall that made her jump, then jerked his hat up and yanked it back on before searing her with a final glare. “Stay away from me, Maggie,” he warned, his voice hoarse from both anger and attraction. Stalking to the front entrance, he hurtled the door open with a hard slam to the wall before he flung one last threat over his shoulder. “And stay out of my life!”
Or else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Goodness—when was the last time I felt this relaxed? Libby rested her head against the back of the blue velvet chair in the intimate restaurant at the Ormsby House Hotel, leisurely twirling the stem of her wine glass. A smile tickled her lips.
Uh … never?
Grateful Finn had excused himself to visit the privy, she breathed in the lingering scent of apple cinnamon tarts, a dessert both she and Finn had thoroughly enjoyed. Lashes lowering to savor the memory, she whetted her lips to envision the taste, only to have her eyes pop right open with a quick catch of her breath. Because suddenly it wasn’t the tarts she was tasting at all, but Finn McShane’s lips.
Each and every night he’d made love to me in a room upstairs.
She quickly threw back more wine.
“Another glass, miss?”
She jolted, face whooshing hot as she blinked up at the waiter, then down at her near-empty goblet.
Yes!
No!
She chewed on the edge of her lip. I really shouldn’t …
Peeking around the waiter to make sure Finn wasn’t on his way back, she gave the man a wobbly smile. “Uh, that would be lovely, yes, and quickly, if you don’t mind.”
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