Cowboy's Kiss

by Victoria Pade

  And yet if he had been, he might have glanced up and given her a view of those incredible blue eyes of his—something she suddenly craved.

  “That’s nice,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t stop but willing to risk it to satisfy that need.

  Up went his brows and, with them, his lids as he finally looked at her, still holding her hand but not applying the cream just then. “You missed supper,” he said in a quiet, husky voice that only informed without criticism.

  But even if he had criticized, it would have been worth it for the sight of those eyes.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Almost eleven.”

  “And Meggie—”

  “Upstairs asleep.” He dipped his fingertips into the jar of ointment and went back to her blisters.

  “This is the second night I’ve missed tucking her in.”

  “I did it tonight,” he said, his gaze on what he was doing again. “She asked to take Mutt with her and when I brought him up to her I got her all settled in.”

  “Mutt the dog?”

  “Mmm. He’s sleeping at her feet.” Jackson let a split second of silence pass before he said, “I’ve never seen anyone brace themselves with all those dolls and things the way she does. What’s that about?”

  His tone held more than curiosity, it actually rang with some concern and compassion, too. And something about that melted her insides even more than the soft touch of his hands. “Insecurity, I guess. She started doing the bumper pad of toys after the divorce and she hasn’t been able to sleep any other way since.”

  He nodded as if she’d only confirmed what he’d suspected.

  He had finished with her left hand by then and let it go. Ally immediately regretted losing his touch, but at least he didn’t move away. He stayed where he was, so close beside her that the shin of the leg he had up on the couch ran the length of her thigh.

  He leaned an arm along the back of the sofa where her head still rested and stared at her, studying her, but in a thoughtful way now, unlike the other times when his eyes had bored through her.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Do you have insecurities from your divorce?”

  “I don’t know. One or two, I suppose. Comes with the territory.” Territory she didn’t want to talk about. She held up her hands, palms first. “Thanks for this.”

  He only nodded and changed the subject yet again. “With that red hair and those green eyes, I keep wondering if you’re Irish. Are you?” he asked out of the blue.

  “On my mother’s side.”

  Again he nodded. “Irish eyes—that’s what I thought.”

  Those sparks he’d raised in her at the end of the day came back to play along her nerve endings with the dark whiskey tone of his voice just then and the words that let her know she wasn’t the only one noticing things she shouldn’t be noticing.

  “You should sell out to me and go away, Ally,” he told her then, not an order, more a suggestion, unlike even the warnings he’d delivered in the past. This was quiet, heartfelt, as if he were wishing she’d do it before whatever it was that was wrapping around them both at that moment got any stronger or pulled them any closer.

  But even as he said it, he kept on studying her face, searching her eyes, and she didn’t seem able to do more than shake her head in denial as she lost herself in the sight of his face, too.

  For a moment time seemed to stand still as the intimacy of the room, of being so close together on that couch, of the touch they’d just shared, wiped away all the harsh words that had been said since they’d met, all the harsh treatment. Suddenly they were not two people at odds. They were two people attracted to each other.

  Intensely attracted...

  Very slowly, Jackson came nearer, pausing—hesitating—with his mouth poised a scant breath from hers. But only for a heartbeat before closing that last distance and kissing her.

  Had she really thought he might not be good at it? She’d been wrong. He was better than good at it. He was great. His lips felt as supple as they looked. Just slightly moist, just slightly parted, just...wonderful. His mustache was soft, almost silky and the little bit it tickled was tantalizing. Titillating. Very sexy...

  He kissed the way he did many things—expertly, firmly but gently, with knowledge and experience. And with a quiet passion that took her breath away.

  She shouldn’t be doing this and she knew it. She knew she should put a stop to it right then.

  But it felt so terrific to be cocooned in the soft cushions of the couch with Jackson’s big, powerful body looming over her, his hand tenderly cupping the side of her face, his mouth on hers. She just couldn’t do it.

  Then all at once, Jackson did, pulling away so abruptly it was as if someone else had yanked him back.

  He shook his head in a strong denial, and his expression seemed to be full of self-disgust. “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered.

  Then he shoved himself off the couch and stood there, tall, gorgeous, angry again. “Are you going to make it up the stairs under your own steam tonight or do I have to carry you?” he demanded as brusquely as ever and as if the end of the previous night had irked him, too.

  “I can make it on my own just fine, thanks,” she answered with a fair share of coldness to mask her confusion and embarrassment—though what she had to be embarrassed about she wasn’t quite sure.

  “Good, then do it,” he ordered. And with that, he headed for the foyer with one last bark. “We start at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

  Ally watched him go, wanting to throw something at that broad, straight back; wondering why the sound of his boots on each step that took him to the second level echoed in her pulse; and wishing—wishing hard—that she’d pushed him away the moment her eyes had opened and she’d found her hand in his.

  Hearing his bedroom door close, she got to her feet and moved stiffly in the same direction, all the while telling Jackson off in her head, calling him names, letting him know in no uncertain terms just how much she didn’t like him.

  And she didn’t like him.

  Yet after she’d looked in on Meggie and finally eased out of her clothes with the agony of the sore, tired muscles and raw flesh that he’d caused, the memory of those scant few minutes when things had been so different between them got into bed with her.

  As angry as she was at Jackson for stirring things up and then pulling the rug out from under her, she was more angry with herself for remembering too vividly that warm, sweet kiss.

  And worse than that, longing for another one...

  Chapter Five

  Jackson never set an alarm to get himself up in the mornings. He didn’t need to. Waking early just came naturally.

  But four o’clock was too early. Especially when he hadn’t fallen asleep until after one.

  Oh, he’d gone to bed long before that. Nearly two hours before, in fact. But he’d tossed and turned, fighting off thinking about that kiss. Wanting to kick himself for having done it.

  Wanting to do it again.

  When he’d finally managed to get to sleep, it hadn’t been restful. He’d had so many dreams that he might as well not have slept at all.

  He’d dreamed Ally was in danger and he was stuck where he couldn’t get to her. He’d dreamed that Ally was in the shower and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see through the curtain. He’d dreamed Ally was in his bed and he was locked in a glass box from which he could see but not touch. He’d dreamed of Ally in someone else’s arms....

  A shot of adrenaline had finally jolted him out of that torture.

  And now here he was, all churned up inside, staring at a pitch-black ceiling before the sun had so much as thought about rising.

  Churned up over Ally.

  Over those dreams.

  Over that kiss the night before.

  Hell, even over Meggie.

  The trouble was, he was getting to like some things he shouldn’t be liking. Too many things. Too much.

  Meggie, for inst
ance.

  He really enjoyed her. Enjoyed her shyness, her quiet humor, her sweetness and innocence. The sight of her welcoming her mother when they got back to the ranch at the end of the day warmed and delighted him, just as her saying that first hello to him did.

  He liked finding her in the kitchen when he got there after his shower. It was nice to hear her talk as they set out supper together while Ally took longer than he did washing off the work grime. Nice to have someone to talk to.

  But then, suppertime was a weak spot for him.

  That was when he felt the loneliest here. It always seemed like the whole damn world went home to people around the dinner table while all that waited for him was a silent, solitary meal. So of course he was susceptible to having company then.

  But getting to like that family atmosphere of sharing supper with a chatty child wasn’t good. Not at all. Not when he knew that family atmosphere was only a temporary thing.

  Because when it ended, when Ally and Meggie were gone, facing this big old empty house after a day’s work would only be worse. He knew that from experience. Adjusting to that emptiness wasn’t something he ever wanted to go through again. Consistent loneliness was better than that.

  Safer.

  His mind went on wandering as he lay there, back to the night before, to Ally sleeping on the couch.

  The memory of how she’d looked haunted him. So soft. So beautiful. Long eyelashes resting against her high cheekbones, her lips parted just enough to look inviting...

  Oh, yeah, he’d liked that, too....

  Too damn much, he thought, trying to force the image out of his mind.

  He didn’t want to be thinking about her all the time the way he was. He didn’t want to be dreaming about her. He didn’t want to be having feelings for her. Wanting her...

  His emotions were running amok and it was driving him crazy.

  He was a man who knew how to live with external things being out of his control. The crops. The cattle when they had a mind to stampede. The blizzards, the torrential spring rains and floods, the drops in beef prices and rises in the cost of feed.

  But the interior things being out of his control, that was something else again. Thunder and lightning and gale-force winds inside of himself over this woman, or even the feeling of internal sunshine that had come as he’d watched her sleep on that couch, were a damn sight tougher to tolerate.

  In fact they scared the living hell out of him.

  Why couldn’t he be attracted to a woman who understood what a rancher’s life involved? A woman who wouldn’t be done in by it? Scared off by it?

  That would solve the loneliness around here without so much of the risk that things wouldn’t work and he’d find himself lonely again.

  So why wasn’t he attracted to a woman like Marilyn Mercer?

  His neighbor was pretty enough. Sexy enough. Willing enough, that was for sure.

  She’d grown up on that place next door, helped her father run it, helped her husband run it after him, run it herself for the past five years. She’d never be daunted or overcome by everything around here. She’d even be a good partner. They could join the properties, work side by side. Have a real future together. One he could count on. He’d never have to waste a single minute worrying that she’d light out of here because the going got too tough for her to take.

  But thoughts of Marilyn Mercer didn’t get a rise out of him. Even Marilyn Mercer herself—all trussed up in clothes tight enough to strangle her and hangin’ out the top—hadn’t stirred him up the way Ally did in loose-fitting, work-grimy duds.

  Standing there with his neighbor flaunting everything she had to offer, he’d only wanted to get the hell away from her and back to the truck and Ally.

  Go figure.

  A gorgeous, sexy woman had been throwing herself at him and he’d been more alert to the forlorn, dejected look that had eased across Ally’s features when she’d first set eyes on Marilyn. He’d wanted to bend over and whisper in her ear that if she was feeling less a woman next to his neighbor, she should stop. That she was every bit as beautiful, as desirable...more because it wasn’t Marilyn he’d been itching for, it was Ally.

  Even when Ally had walked off and left him stranded with his neighbor and Marilyn’s suggestions had turned to outright propositions, he’d barely heard her. Instead he’d been more aware of Ally’s tight little behind as she’d walked away from him. Of how she’d kept looking over at them. Of the jealousy that had cropped up in her features and caused her to beat an angry path back to the truck.

  He’d liked that, too. If she was jealous it must mean she was having the same stirrings he was.

  But he didn’t want to like it. He didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to be so attracted to her he ached to kiss her again, to get his hands on her...

  Why the hell couldn’t he feel that way about Marilyn Mercer or any of the other women around these parts? he demanded of himself yet again. Women he was more suited to. Women who were more suited to him.

  But he didn’t know why.

  He only knew he wasn’t. They just didn’t appeal to him.

  And Ally Brooks did.

  * * *

  Before going downstairs every morning, Ally poked her head into Meggie’s room just to have a look at her daughter. Even if she hadn’t ordinarily done it, she would have this morning, because as she left her own room she could hear a soft, intermittent whine coming from there.

  Not a human whine, though. A dog’s.

  Mutt, Ally remembered, had spent the night and most likely wanted out.

  She eased the door open and went into the shadows that were barely lightened by the dawning sunshine sifting through the curtains.

  The sight that greeted her was unusual. Since Meggie had begun the practice of surrounding herself with toys to sleep, she’d not once woken up having disturbed any of them. But today the dolls and stuffed animals were all scattered—half on the bed, half off—and Meggie was at the foot of the mattress, sleeping against the big dog’s back as if discarding the makeshift bumper pad hadn’t mattered.

  Mutt didn’t move even as Ally approached. He only stared at her with eyes that begged for help.

  She patted his head and carefully lifted Meggie’s arm from over the top of him.

  That and the dog’s escape woke her daughter.

  “Iss a-right,” Meggie said in a sleepy stupor. “Jackson said Mutt could sleep with me.”

  “I know, but it’s morning and Mutt was whining. He probably needs to go outside.”

  Meggie rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. “I been hungry for pancakes. If I get up now, would you make some?”

  Marta had been coming over in the mornings to wait for Meggie to get up and to fix her breakfast. Ally had missed that time with her daughter and so rather than encouraging Meggie to get the extra couple of hours of sleep she could, she said, “Sure. I think I can squeeze in a quick batch before I have to do whatever Jackson has planned today. I’ll go and start them and let Mutt out. You get dressed and then come down.”

  Twenty minutes later Ally was beating egg whites when Meggie joined her.

  She climbed up onto one of the tall stools at the butcher block where her mother was working. “Is Jackson still asleep?” the little girl asked, glancing around as if he might be somewhere she hadn’t noticed.

  Ally nodded at the coffeemaker. “Looks like he was up a long time ago—he’s already had half a pot of coffee. But I don’t know where he is.” The affection in her daughter’s voice when she’d asked intrigued Ally. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “He’s nice to me now. Not like when we first got here and he was mad.”

  “So it was okay that he tucked you in last night?”

  “Sure. He bringed Mutt up.”

  “He brought Mutt up,” Ally corrected. “I’m sorry I fell asleep the way I did.”

  “You must’a been real tuckered out. We couldn’t even get you to wake up to eat. But it was okay. Me ‘
n’ Jackson took everything back in here so’s we didn’t bother you. And then he played the Candy Land game with me, and checkers and chest—”

  “Chest?”

  “It’s like checkers ‘cept there’s all these different-shaped things—like a horse head and a queen and a king and fawns and stuff.”

  “Pawns,” Ally amended again, smiling at her daughter’s mispronunciations. “And the game is called chess not chest.“

  “Okay. Anyway, then we had cookies and milk outside on the patio and talked about stars, and then it was time for bed so I went up and got ready while he rounded up ol’ Mutt.”

  Ally couldn’t help a second smile at the jargon and mode of speech her daughter was picking up. And at the image of Jackson talking to the little girl about stars while the two of them shared cookies and milk. “Sounds like you had quite an evening without me.” One that Ally was sorry to have missed, though she didn’t want to admit it even to herself.

  “I did.”

  Ally took the bowl of batter to the stove where the griddle had been heating, and Meggie went to one of the sliding doors that led out back.

  “Should I go look for Jackson? We wouldn’t want him to miss your pancakes.”

  “Maybe he already ate,” Ally hedged because she wasn’t anxious to see him this morning. Not after that kiss she’d liked much too much and relived a million times in bed before she’d been able to fall asleep again. And certainly not after Jackson’s swift about-face when he’d ended it.

  “Uh-oh...”

  Ally glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. “What’s the matter?”

  “Jordy must be sneakin’ a smoke back of the chicken coop again—that’s what he calls it. But Hans’ll get mad if he catches him like he did yesterday.”

  Jordy was one of the ranch hands. A very young one with a cocksure attitude and what seemed to be an ever-present sneer in his expression.

  Meggie went on talking. “Jordy’s not s’pose to be smokin’ out there on accounta Hans says all the grasses are real dry this time of year. Jordy said a bad word at him and called him a old man, and Hans said that’s right he was a old man, old ‘nuff to know one hot match was all it took to start a fire that’d burn down this whole place. Hans hollered at Jordy and everything.”