by Day Leclaire
I've died. I've died and am floating through limbo. Scratchy limbo, but limbo. I see a light ahead of me. I'm drifting toward the light. It's growing brighter. And brighter. I can see now. I see...
Holt stared down at her from Loco's back, a clump of hay in his hands. She coughed on bits of dirt and debris.
"Is this heaven?" she asked in dazed wonder.
"Nope. Not unless your idea of heaven is my idea of hell. Leastwise, it will be hell once I get done scorching your tail feathers." He reached into the wagon, shoving hay off her.
"Maybe I should explain."
"Maybe you shouldn't. Stop wriggling, Tex. Let me make sure there's nothing broken." He checked her limbs with an impersonal touch and nodded in satisfaction. "You'll live," he informed her, though the blatant fury deepening his voice made her suspect he'd hoped otherwise. "You can thank your lucky stars you landed in the hay wagon and not three feet to the left or right. Of course, by the time I'm finished with you, you may wish you had missed the wagon altogether."
The next thing she knew, he'd snatched her up onto Loco and cradled her in his arms. They trotted across the yard and she sighed and collapsed against him. She should be worried. She should be nervous. Instead, she grinned like an idiot. "If this is hell, heaven must be incredible," she mumbled, snuggling deeper into his arms.
"Pull it together, Tex. End of the line."
He plucked her from the saddle and planted her on the ground. She swayed, struggling to anchor herself on legs turned to mush. A dozen frightened faces spun before her dust-blurred eyes.
"Hey, there. Nice meetin' you folks," she said in greeting. She managed a beaming smile, ruined by the fact that her knees buckled. "You'll forgive me if I don't stand, won't you?"
Holt leaped from his horse and wrapped a supporting arm about her waist before she hit the ground. "Hang on another minute," he murmured in her ear. In a crisp carrying voice, he announced, "Welcome to the A-OK Corral. We hope you enjoyed our little stunt show. It's our way of welcoming you to the wild and woolly west."
There was a moment of silence before relieved laughter broke out. "A show! Of course, a show," the guests commented to one another. They applauded enthusiastically. A moment later, the more astute of the ranch hands followed suit.
"Give them a wave and a smile," Holt instructed in a forceful undertone.
She obeyed, then tried to go one better. She bowed. It was a big mistake. The world tilted upside down, black dots obscuring her vision. Swearing beneath his breath, Holt scooped her into his arms and slung her over his shoulder.
"Happy to have you here," he said, pumping hands as he edged his way through the press of people. "Tex is going to get cleaned up and will be back real soon. In the meantime, Agnes can tell you where to take your bags." With that, he pushed through the last of the guests, climbed the porch steps, and disappeared into the ranch house.
"Dang!" she moaned. "My ribs hurt."
"The state of your ribs are the least of your worries," he growled. "You're lucky you weren't killed."
"Aw, Holt."
He continued down the hall and shoved open a door at the far end. It was a bedroom, she noted. A very stark, masculine, and upside down bedroom. He set her carefully on her feet. With swift, economical movements, he slipped off her hat. A single flick of his wrist sent it soaring through the air. It nailed one of the bed knobs. His own followed ringing the opposite bedpost, the two hats spinning in identical lazy circles.
"Of all the stupid, idiotic stunts. What the hell were you thinking?" He dropped to his knees in front of her and unbuckling her chaps.
She shoved at his hands. He shoved right back. "That would be hard to say," she admitted.
"I'll bet. Because you weren't thinking, were you, Tex?"
"Could we skip that question and move on to the next?"
His shoulder clipped her hip and she toppled onto the bed. "Not tonight, dear," she groaned. "I have a headache."
"That's not the only thing you're going to have. Honey."
He tugged off her boots and stripped her chaps from her legs, tossing them to one side. She made a passing attempt to straighten her clothes, but he stopped her.
"Give it up. Your modesty's already shot to hell. All this shirt's good for is the ragbag. And that's being generous. Besides, I've seen women's undergarments once or twice before."
"Not mine you haven't." She reconsidered. "Well, except for my bra."
"I'll try and contain myself," came his dry response. He peeled back the dirt-streaked ripped cotton and released a long, gusty sigh. The fury faded from his face. "Good grief. You sure do take this cowboying business to heart."
"That bad?"
A small frown appeared between his eyebrows and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "I've seen worse." He traced her rib cage, probing with gentle fingers.
It was more than she could bear. She shivered, wriggling beneath his callused touch. "Cut that out," she complained. "You're taking advantage."
His hands stilled and a quiet laugh broke from him. "You call this taking advantage? No, Tex. When I take advantage, count on it, you'll be able to tell the difference. Now hold still. I want to check for damage."
"Damage?" If she didn't miss her guess, damage meant cuts and scrapes. And cuts and scrapes often leaked. And that type of leaking usually came in the form of vile and gruesome red splotches. She closed her eyes, unwilling to look for fear of seeing something that might make her woozy. Or rather, more woozy. "What's the verdict?"
"A few scratches. And you've got a nasty bruise on your side."
She risked a quick peek. "I seem to recollect a small skirmish with a rock."
"A losing skirmish, by the look of it. Nothing some soap and water and a few days' rest won't cure."
"I don't have a few days to rest."
"You do now."
She stared at him in distress. "Holt, please."
His expression might have been carved from granite. "Don't start in on me, Tex. You'll come out on the losing end."
She eased onto one elbow, wrapping the remaining bits of shirt around her chest. "It was an accident."
He inclined his head, a shaft of afternoon sun highlighting the strands of gold in his brown hair. "It always is with you."
"I wanted to show you how well I could rope," she tried to explain.
"Oh, you did that all right."
"You don't understand." Enthusiasm crept into her voice. "I nailed it, Holt. You should have seen me. I roped the fence two whole times!"
His eyebrows rose. "You roped the fence. Twice."
She beamed. "Sure did. And I would have done it a third time if I didn't get distracted." She bit down on her lower lip, suddenly remembering. "Poor Git. I hope he's not still mad."
Holt folded his arms across his chest. "Last I saw, he was chewing your rope into scrap. That dog's going to be rope shy for the rest of his natural days. I should just shoot the poor mutt and put him out of his misery."
Wincing, she struggled to her feet. "You wouldn't," she said, appalled at the mere suggestion.
"He'd probably thank me for it." He thrust a hand through his hair and glared at her. "Turn off the waterworks, Tex. You know damn well I wouldn't shoot Git. Come to think of it, the one I should shoot is you."
She bowed her head, overcome with remorse. "Are you very angry?"
"Very," he said in an uncompromising voice. "You disobeyed a direct order. And I take a dim view of employees who can't even follow the simplest of instructions."
"Is there any way I can make amends?" She glanced at him, fascinated by the sudden gleam in his dark eyes.
"I could come up with an idea or two, if pushed." He took a step closer and dropped his hands on her shoulders. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" he muttered.
Nervously she shifted backward and lost her balance yet again. The bed provided a much more comfortable landing than the hay wagon. Holt followed her down, his hands braced on either side of her so he wouldn't b
ring further harm to her bruised and battered ribs.
For a long moment, he stared at her. She saw in his face the battle he fought, one between anger and desire. She knew the instant desire won, just as it had the day she'd dropped him in the mud.
"Your eyes are the color of a summer sky," he murmured. "And your smile's like a tiny ray of sunshine." He swept the curls from her face, tracing her high cheekbones with a surprisingly delicate touch. "It's been a long time since I last saw sunshine."
"Maybe you were looking in the wrong place," she suggested.
"Maybe I just wasn't looking." He slid his hands into her hair, his thumbs stroking either side of her jaw. Never taking his gaze from her, he eased down, bracing himself on his elbows so his weight was a soft brush of leather and cotton against her breasts.
Without a word, he kissed her, a slow, searching kiss. She groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Are you taking advantage of me now?" she whispered.
A laugh rumbled in his chest. "I'm sure trying my best."
"I appreciate that." She raised her mouth to his. "I don't suppose you'd care to take further advantage?"
"My pleasure."
He kissed her again, harder this time, more consuming. He remained braced above her, careful not to cause her additional pain. She tugged him closer. She could handle a little pain if it meant being held by him. Kissed by him.
Touched by him.
As though sensing her longing, he swept aside the tattered remains of her shirt. He hesitated for an endless moment. Then slowly, so slowly she thought she'd go insane from the wait, he cupped her breast. She shuddered beneath the gentle caress, lifting herself a scant inch to encourage him. Apparently, he didn't need much encouragement. He found the back clasp to her bra and an instant later, cool air washed between them.
"Freckles," he whispered in wonder.
She started to cover herself, but he stopped her. "You like my freckles?" she asked, self-conscious beneath his scrutiny.
He nodded, his fascinated gaze locked on her breasts. "Every last itty-bitty one of them. All twenty-three."
A soft laugh escaped. "You counted them?"
"Every last itty-bitty one of them. Twenty-two on your nose. Twenty-three on your breasts. And right now, they're all mine."
Curiosity consumed her. "What do you plan to do to them?"
"This..."
He lowered his head to her breasts and kissed a path of fire across them, counting them off as he went. By the time he hit twelve, she couldn't help squirming in reaction, her breath escaping in desperate little gasps. "Holt, please."
"I'm doing my very best to please you."
No question about that, though it also left her with a powerful frustration, a need that built until she'd do almost anything to satisfy it. Like rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him. She possessed a general idea how to go about that sort of wickedness, if little practical knowledge. But then, she had little practical knowledge of cowboying skills and look how well she'd taken to them.
He reached the twenty-third freckle. She waited, barely breathing, curious to see what he'd do next. She didn't wait long. He took her nipple between his teeth and gently, slowly ran his tongue across the hardened tip. Her breath exploded from her lungs and she dug her fingers into his hair, holding him tight against her breast.
"Do that again," she pleaded.
He did. He gave it his full attention before turning to her other breast and repeating the process. Unable to explain her actions, she parted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He sank against her, locked tightly into the vee of her thighs. There were too many clothes between them. He shifted against her, the abrasive rub of masculine against feminine driving her insane with need. She lifted her hips against his helpless thrust. He cupped her breasts again, teasing the tight buds, before renewing his acquaintance with her mouth, kissing her with a delicious desperation. And all the while, he shifted against her, rocking to a rhythm as old as mankind.
She didn't know what might have happened if her enthusiasm for the embrace didn't override common sense. A sharp jab of pain reminded her of her less-than-perfect physical condition and she winced.
Holt's reaction was instantaneous. He rolled off her. His breath escaped in a gusty sigh and he swore beneath his breath. Did he regret his actions? She studied his shuttered expression, searching for a clue to his thoughts. She came up empty.
He glanced over at her, a lock of gilt-edged hair tumbling across his brow. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."
She shrugged awkwardly. "Don't be."
In a swift, easy move he gained his feet. "Time to get you cleaned up." She started to stand, but he shook his head in warning. "Sit still."
"I can do it," she insisted.
He raised a single eyebrow, pinning her with a stern, cool gaze. She sensed the return of his anger. But who was he angry at? Her, for her free fall into the hay wagon? Or himself, for having followed his more basic instincts? Probably a bit of both. Not that it mattered. She'd receive the brunt of his fury, regardless. She reached for the remnants of her shirt, pulling the tattered scrap across her chest, abruptly self-conscious of her nudity beneath his annoyed appraisal.
"You don't listen too good, do you, Tex?" he snapped. "Let me make myself crystal clear. Stir at your peril."
Considering how every muscle in her body protested the slightest movement, she decided he'd offered some sound advice. She lay back down. She ached from her belly flop into the mud puddle. But more painful still, she ached with a need so great it hurt to breathe. She suspected the latter would be the more lasting of the two.
Holt disappeared through a doorway and a moment later she heard the sound of running water. Unexpected tears filled her eyes and she shut them, fighting an acute sense of despair. Perhaps her injuries were worse than she'd suspected. How else to explain this sudden weakness? A moment later, Holt lifted her in his arms.
"Okay. Let's go," Holt said, crossing to the bathroom. There he thrust her, fully clothed, into the shower.
"Oh, good golly," she said with a sigh, enjoying the flood of warm water that poured over her. Her thick coating of dust turned rapidly to mud, pooling at her feet. Bits of hay dripped from her hair.
"Tex," Holt called. "It's time we discussed this problem you have with ropes."
"You'd like to discuss it here? Now?"
"Here and now. Help yourself to shampoo and soap."
"Thanks, I will." Considering what they'd just been doing, hiding behind a scrap of material more rag than shirt seemed ridiculous. She dropped it to the tile floor and reached for the plastic bottle and squirted a dollop of shampoo into her hand before applying it to her hair. It lathered up easily, smelling pleasantly of cedar and spice. "About my roping skills..."
"Or lack thereof."
"You, ah, you'd prefer me to keep away from ropes from now on?"
"'Fraid so. It's only for two more days. After that our contract will be satisfied and you can practice all you'd like. On somebody else's property, that is."
Cami bowed her head, suds dripping from her hair. What else had she expected? Had she really believed his kiss meant something? Had she really believed he'd want her to stay? "Is there any way I can change your mind?" Please, say yes. Please.
His response came in a hard unequivocal voice. "Not that I can think of. I'm sorry, Tex."
Her heart sank clear to her toes. "Me, too," she whispered. She spared him a peek. Was he counting again? She could have sworn he mouthed twenty-three.
Then he said, "Tex?"
"Yes?" Hope overflowed that single word.
He simply shook his head and her hope washed down the drain. "I'm going to get you a change of clothes. Don't go anywhere, hear?"
"Yessir. No, sir."
With that, the door closed behind him and Cami was left to her misery. She stood beneath the warm spray, a bar of soap clutched to her chest. So what did she do now? Concede defeat? Give up and go home?
Frown
ing thoughtfully, she rubbed the soap across all twenty-three of her freckles. She still had two days. She'd have to find a way to prove her worth to Holt. She'd force him to see he was making a huge mistake. But how? She set her mouth in a firm line. Texans were tough. Texans were determined.
She'd find a way.
* * *
Cami's last day on the job dawned clear and bright. Desperation marked her expression. This was it. Today she'd prove herself to Holt. Come hell or high water, today he'd hire her on a permanent basis. She just needed to rope something without hurting anyone. Then he'd realize she could do the job and she'd become his official wrangler for the summer. That decided, she snagged a length of manila off the corral fence, determined to practice. Instantly, every child on the ranch gathered round.
"Whatcha doing, Cami?"
"You gonna rope Git again?"
"Could you tie us up instead?"
Cami grinned at her following. "Practicing roping skills is serious cowboy work. You all stand clear and let me get on with my job."
Obediently they stood to one side, calling the occasional word of encouragement. Just as she tossed the rope for the third time, Tina screamed. Cami glanced from the rope to the child. No way had she done anything this time. Absolutely, positively, no way.
"Cami! Snake!" Tina pointed at the ground. A huge rattler sat coiled inches from the little girl's feet.
"Get back," Cami ordered the other children. "Go for help. Hurry!" She turned to Tina. "Now, sweetheart, don't move. And try not to be afraid. I'm right here with you. But you have to promise me you won't budge so much as an inch."
Tears filled Tina's big brown eyes. "I promise," she whispered. "Please, make it go away."
Urgently, Cami cast around for something—anything—with which to save Tina. Sweat beaded her brow. She had to think fast. She had to act now. Any minute the child would panic and run and the snake would strike. Her gaze fell on a shovel leaning against the barn and she could have wept with relief.
She addressed Tina once more. "I'm going to get something to hit the snake with, but don't worry. I'll be back in a sec. Don't move."
