Cowboy Lies

by Lynde Lakes

  Molly nodded and gave a feeble smile. The baby’s cries made her feel inept, helpless, and they were probably driving Matt crazy.

  Minutes later, the plane touched down with a thump on the hard, baked-clay ground. Molly let out a sigh of relief; Sara Jane’s ears would stop hurting now.

  The countryside looked like the terrain around Matt’s ranch—dry, barren miles of isolation. Only the distant rugged line of purple mountains broke the monotony.

  Matt and Molly exited the plane followed by Tita, Roberto and Sara Jane’s shadow, Ramon. Ramon was a slat-sided stick of a man, and his faded blue shirt hung from his bony frame like a tent. Even with that six-gun strapped to his hips, he looked as if the first strong gust of wind could blow him away. Although he lacked the intimidating looks of the usual bodyguard, he was good at watching. His deep-set black eyes took in everything with a chilling thoroughness. It comforted her that extra eyes would be around watching her and her baby—but unnerved her that with the change of location, hidden away here on Buck George’s ranch, that Matt felt his protection wasn’t enough. How much danger were they really in?

  A teenaged freckle-faced cowboy leaned against an old school bus parked nearby. He tipped his straw hat, revealing hair the color of hay. “I’m Davy.” His expression was open and smiling. “Welcome to the Bar G.”

  Matt shook hands with the young cowboy and introduced him to Molly and Ramon. Molly gathered by the conversation that the others had met him sometime in the past.

  “Mom and Dad are waitin’ for you up at the house. I’ll drop you off. Then I gotta go to Mitchell’s Corner for supplies.”

  “Want some help?” Roberto asked.

  The young cowboy shook his head. “Mom would skin me alive if I lassoed you away before lunch. She’s been fussin’ in the kitchen all morning.”

  Tita stepped forward, put her arm around Molly, and hugged her. “We’re in for a treat,” she said. “Wanda is the county’s blue-ribbon cook.”

  Molly smiled and jiggled Sara Jane. Her mind wasn’t on food. She watched Matt’s arm muscles flex under his shirt as he easily lifted and thrust their totes and suitcases into the bus’s side luggage compartment. Roberto and Ramon grabbed the last two bags.

  Matt took Sara Jane into his arms and crooned to her. “Are your ears better now, sunshine?”

  Sara Jane rewarded him with a big dimpled grin that warmed Molly’s heart. She and her baby were falling under the spell of this cowboy. Too bad he wasn’t the baby’s real father. Molly sighed. Would the knowledge of the birth father bring more problems?

  The group boarded the bus with Matt carrying Sara Jane. He chose a double seat behind the driver, and Molly joined him. He bounced Sara Jane against his chest. The baby closed her eyes as though Matt’s strong arms around her made her feel secure. Then soon, with the lulling movement of the bus, the baby fell asleep.

  They rode a while in silence, then Matt said, “There it is, Buck’s Ranch. Here, you’d better take Sara Jane.” While handing over the baby, Matt’s fingers brushed her breast. She tried to ignore the puckering of her nipples. “I gotta corral our bags,” he continued, as though unaware that he’d stirred desire in her.

  Good, the thought. It wouldn’t do to complicate things more. Matt had enough to worry about, just keeping them safe. If he knew how much she ached for him—

  Molly took a breath and pushed all such thoughts aside. Sara Jane’s safety was their top priority. But maybe when this was all over…

  When they exited the bus, Buck and his wife welcomed them like family. Wanda was a tall, silver-haired woman with an Amazon’s bone structure and a smile that never quit. Buck was rangy and lean, the very picture of an aged, hard-living Texas cowman. His handlebar mustache looked like it belonged on an old-time movie sheriff.

  The commotion woke Sara Jane and she rubbed her eyes and came alert, twisting in Molly’s arms to see everyone. Molly felt the same curiosity and tried to take in everything at once—the people, the house. The whole place, with its underlying Mexican decor, was a virtual museum of rodeo memorabilia with pictures on the walls of cowboys on bucking bulls, trophies in glassed cabinets and cowboy gear displayed on hooks around the room.

  A pair of silver spurs hanging by a wire twisted in the breeze coming from an air-conditioning vent and caught the light streaming in a window. Sara Jane cooed and reached for the glittering reflection skittering around the room.

  “Oh, what a beautiful child,” Wanda said. She kissed Sara Jane’s cheek. “If I’m lucky, someday, I’ll have a granddaughter just like her.”

  Matt smiled and puffed up his chest, looking every bit the proud father. Molly’s heart constricted. He loved Sara Jane. That was obvious. It would be hard for him when they all went their separate ways. Molly raked a trembling hand through her hair. When the trial was over, could she leave the Witness Protection Program and return to her job, her life? If not, their history had shown that Matt wouldn’t remain in hiding with her. Who could blame him? His life was the ranch now.

  During introductions and hugs, Sara Jane’s special bodyguard, Ramon, stayed on the periphery, arms folded, silent, watching. Matt and Buck discussed the Rancher’s Rodeo with sparkling eyes and hyper-enthusiasm. Roberto chimed in. “I’m ready to prove myself in enough events to move on to become a true bull rider.” Not taking a breath or letting anyone else speak, he kept talking with excitement.

  After the teen monopolized the conversation for several minutes, Tita frowned and touched her exuberant son’s shoulder. “Perhaps our hosts prefer to talk about something besides the rodeo, no?”

  Laughing, Wanda shook her head. “Rodeoing is all we hear at the Bar G for six months before and six months after. In case y’all ain’t good at math—that’s the whole blessed year.”

  Buck sidled up to Wanda like a man half his age and gave her an enormous hug. “And she sure as shootin’ wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Like a young girl in love, Wanda wrapped her arm around her husband’s waist. “I’m so thrilled y’all came early. We can visit a spell before the rodeo opens. Afterward, it gets kinda crazy around here.”

  Wanda’s down-to-earth manner warmed Molly’s heart, and she felt she’d known Wanda all her life—the life Molly had only glimpsed.

  Buck poked Matt playfully in the ribs. “Let’s corral those bags and get ’em upstairs. I’ll show you where you and your little filly will bunk down.”

  Molly watched the men climb the stairs. “Where you and your little filly will bunk down” echoed in her head. Something tightened in her chest. How much did Buck know? It was obvious by the warmth between the men that Matt trusted him. But did he tell Buck the whole story, or did the roughshod rancher think they were really married? Oh, God. Did he expect them to share a bed?

  She tried not to think of that and forced herself to listen to the conversation on-going around her.

  Wanda smiled at Tita. “Bet you’re proud as punch that your boy’ll be playin’ the opening song for the rodeo.”

  “Si. I’m proud of Roberto every day of my life. He has mucho talent.” She ruffled her son’s hair.

  Roberto blushed and turned away. Circling the room, he looked at rodeo pictures with an intensity Molly doubted they warranted.

  The men returned, laughing over a private joke. “Hey, boy,” Buck said, looking at Roberto with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Lord A’mighty. After you sing at the opening, you won’t be able to keep those rodeo chicas away with a cattle prod.”

  Like a skittish colt, Roberto headed for the door. Wanda cut him off at the pass and wrapped her arm around his neck. “Pay no mind to Buck, honey. He’s just jealous ’cause he can’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow. I keep trying to bridle his mouth, but his teasin’ has a way of slipping the harness.”

  A pert, young blonde in a skimpy tank top and cut-off blue jean shorts came to the doorway. “Mom, the salad’s ready.”

  Roberto’s eyes lit up.

  “Thanks, honey.”
Wanda released Roberto and slid an arm around the blonde’s tiny waist. “Folks, this here’s our daughter Suzy. She’s entered in the calf roping competition. Won enough prize money last year that, if she had a mind to, she could paper her room with it.”

  Suzy’s gaze met Roberto’s, and they both blushed.

  Matt leaned over and whispered in Molly’s ear. “Looks like that young filly gives Roberto about the same thrill as staying on a bull for an eight-second count.”

  Molly wondered if Matt had gotten so caught up in the rodeo jargon that he’d forgotten she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. She smiled, assuming eight seconds was good—very good indeed.

  “Let’s herd this party to the patio,” Wanda said. “I got some good grub for y’all.”

  The enclosed brick patio, decorated with sombreros on the wall and palm trees in huge clay pots, smelled like cooked beef and spicy peppers. Bantering and laughing, the group seated themselves at a picnic table. Buck sat at the head of the table and passed a platter of enchiladas buried in melted cheese. He twitched his salt and pepper handle bar mustache and winked at Molly. “Been waitin’ years to meet you.” His bass-drum drawl rumbled from his lips with a fatherly warmth.

  Molly was surprised. “Years?”

  “Yep. Any woman who could lasso Matt Ryan is a mighty special filly.”

  Molly shook her head. Matt had brought her to his ranch, disconnected the phones, and basically imprisoned her. She managed a laugh. “I think it was the other way around.”

  Buck chuckled, and his twinkling blue eyes almost disappeared into his leathery face. “That’s what I like, a gal with spirit.”

  Molly darted a glance at Matt. He met her gaze with amusement, apparently unaware of how unamused she felt. She hated deceiving these people, but Matt insisted that they had to continue their married act to keep Sara Jane safe. How could anyone dear to him not know about a wife and child? What story could he have told family and friends to explain why they hadn’t met her before?

  Roberto and Suzy played eye tag during the meal. After dessert, they excused themselves to go see the new foal. Molly smiled at the sweetness of budding young love, still free of adult complications.

  She put Sara Jane down for a nap, then helped Wanda and Tita clear away the dishes. After the cleanup, Wanda looped her arms through Molly’s and Tita’s and guided them upstairs to admire the quilt she was making.

  Molly glanced out the bedroom window. Matt and Buck were repairing busted corral fencing. Matt had taken off his shirt. Sunlight shone on his sun-bronzed back. The sight of his bare skin and hip-hugging jeans sent heat coursing through her veins. She liked the way he pitched in and helped. From what she’d seen in the last few days, there wasn’t a lazy bone in that superb body.

  Tita was oohing and aahing over the quilt. Molly forced her attention back to the intricate artwork showing Crockett’s fight for Texas’s independence from Mexico.

  “Ol’ Davy boy wasn’t a Texan, you know.” Wanda lowered her voice and took on a confidential tone. “He was born in Tennessee. But he was killed defending the Alamo. In my book, that makes him our hero of heroes.”

  Molly glanced down at Matt standing in the yard below. He’d saved Sara Jane. That made him her hero of heroes. Too bad she couldn’t forgive his lies.

  She watched, fascinated, as he pulled off his boots and wet himself down with the water hose. His soaked jeans clung like snakeskin. He turned off the spigot and ran his hands down his chest to smooth away the water. She imagined her hands sliding over those glistening muscles, feeling them flex beneath her fingers.

  “Coming, dear?” Wanda asked, leaving the room.

  Molly took a shaky breath. “Right behind you.”

  How would she ever find peace with herself? What were her morals? Matt had been her lover, and a short time later, she’d been with another man—had a child by him. And here she was lusting over Matt again. A man who had left her. What about the baby’s father? Good or bad, dear God, let me remember him.

  The women passed an open door. Inside the room, Molly’s suitcase lay on the cedar chest at the end of the bed.

  “Hope you and Matt’ll be right comfy in this room,” Wanda said.

  The enormous suite, decorated in an old western motif, shrunk when Molly zeroed in on the king-size bed. Comfy wasn’t the word she’d use.

  Molly exchanged glances with Tita. Her mouth went dry. She was supposed to share a room with a man she wasn’t married to. A man playing a farce to maintain a safe cover for her and her baby. A man she found extremely attractive.

  Tita squeezed Molly’s arm, offering support.

  Wanda gestured to a crib in an alcove near the bay window. “Brought it up from storage. Used to be Suzy’s. We freshened it up a bit—Buck painted it, and I put on the rosebud decals. Wanted it to be nice for your little one.”

  Molly was taken aback by the couple’s thoughtfulness. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “See yonder, down the hill?” Wanda said, pointing out the window to a spouting fountain. “That’s the arena entrance. We light the waters at dusk. It’s plumb beautiful at night.”

  Molly darted a look at the bed she was expected to share with Matt and rubbed her arms. How would she ever make it through the night?

  ****

  Cleaning up in the bunkhouse, Matt showered off layers of dirt from an afternoon spent helping Buck do minor repairs to get ready for the rodeo. They had fixed plumbing in one of the arena’s restrooms, replaced a couple of short lengths of split wood bleachers, mended a busted chute door, and scoped out other small details that needed attention before the big event.

  Helping Buck and his son Davy mend the busted chute brought back all the old feelings.

  Matt sighed. He’d forgotten how competing in rodeos could get into your blood. On a whim, Buck had entered Matt’s name in a bull-riding event…and Matt was tempted. But he wasn’t here to ride. He was here to keep Molly and the baby out of harm’s way.

  Molly seemed to be taking everything in stride, including the news that they would share a room. Sleeping penned in the same stall would be rough. Because of his lies, he knew that Molly had reined in the feelings she was beginning to have for him. And when she finally remembered the cold way he’d walked out on her, any chance for a future for them might die.

  God, how he wanted her. Shoot, they wanted each other, but the passion heating their blood wouldn’t guarantee a future together. His dilemma paralleled rodeoing—sometimes, all he got was one chance and the high of charging out of the chute. Then, when the bull gave his twisting, snorting objection to being ridden and tossed him on his butt, it was over. The bull had won—and he had lost. With Molly, he wasn’t out of the game yet. Yet.

  Matt dried off and slipped on the clean clothes he’d placed in the bunkhouse locker earlier. Bone-tired, he headed for the room he would share with Molly and Sara Jane. He tapped on the door. No answer. Molly must have gone downstairs. He opened the door, and his breath caught. Molly was stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in a big burgundy towel. A fragrance of honeysuckle and a trace of steamy air trailed her. His body sprang to life, all fatigue forgotten. Molly had swept up her auburn hair in glistening ringlets, revealing a slender, very kissable neck. They stared at each other. She blushed.

  “Bad timing,” she said, looking like a rodeo queen caught in a spotlight wearing nothing but her crown.

  Matt laughed. “Or good timing.”

  “I guess we need a signal.” She arched an eyebrow. “Like perhaps knocking?”

  “I knocked. Where’s Sara Jane? I thought I’d take her off your hands for a while to give you a rest.”

  Molly edged to the dresser and eased the open drawer closed. “How thoughtful,” she said. “But Tita had the same idea and took the baby to her room for a while.”

  “Then there’s just you and me.”

  He stepped forward, wondering if the raw huskiness in his voice would frighten or comfort Molly. She c
lutched her towel tighter, but didn’t bolt.

  He was playing with fire, he knew, but just looking at her caused heated desire to pool low in his belly. Tension charged his nerve endings. The sensation was like when the chute opened—he knew he’d likely get thrown, but pride and determination forced him to hang on for as long as he could.

  His throat constricted. He wiped his palms on the sides of his jeans. He should hightail it out of here. Now. But he couldn’t seem to move. He drank in her loveliness like a thirsty man lost in the desert. A pulse throbbed in her throat. He longed to touch the pulsing point with his fingers and to match his heartbeat to hers. He moved toward her slowly, ready to stop if she said the word. She remained still, pressed tight against the dresser, her green eyes searching.

  He loosened his shirt from his jeans. “One of us is overdressed.”

  “Or underdressed,” she said softly. “Like you said, I don’t know what went on between us before.”

  “Maybe if I kiss you again, you’ll remember.”

  “I remember you lied to me.”

  Her words hit him with the impact of a charging bull. “I regret that.” He reached out, but when her eyes didn’t soften, he dropped his arms. “I regret lots of things.” Since he didn’t want get into all that, he should get the hell out of there, but the vibes oscillating between them gave him hope, and he stepped closer.

  Molly pressed one palm flat against the drawer.

  “What’s in the drawer, Molly?”

  “Stuff from my suitcase.” She tilted her head and gave a sly smile. “I’d do anything to remember our past, even kiss a frog.”

  He laughed deep in his throat. “Ribbit,” he croaked.

  A smile played at her lips. “Okay, cowboy frog. This had better work.”

  Matt’s heart raced. Kissing her would be more than he deserved. He drew her to him, and at the first meeting of their lips, he knew he’d started something that could hurt them both. She held the towel with one hand while the other slid around his neck. Her lips were soft and pliable, and her mouth opened to him. He tasted her sweetness with his tongue, and she met his exploration with an urgency that surprised him.