by Amy Faye
She takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. Tries to stop her stomach from twisting up and her skin from jumping immediately to over-sensitivity.
"How's the ranch?"
Phil Callahan looks the same as he always has. Jeans and a t-shirt and all of it looks like he just finished a wrestling match in it.
"New. Different. The boys are patching her up."
"Yeah?"
"Sure." The silence between them is long. Part of her wants to apologize. Part of her wants to seem like she's not some needy little woman who can't bear to be disliked, though, and that part keeps her lips shut. "You know, about that tour. This place seems a little more complete than the last one I was inside of."
She can't bring herself to smile at the joke. "You didn't have to do this, you know."
He steps inside further, closes the door behind him. It seems like it's only another step or two until he's right there, in her space. Until he's standing over her, looking down at her.
She should feel small, she should hate it. She should feel so many things, and she doesn't feel any of that. Her head leans forward in a moment of weakness and her head presses into his chest. It feels good.
His arms wrap around her shoulders and squeeze tight. That feels good, too. "But I wanted to anyways."
She can't do this, but she can't say no again.
"I'm sorry," she says. She's supposed to be strong. She's supposed to be so tough nobody can say a damn thing about her. Her voice sounds weak and afraid and it's not half as bad as she feels.
"You don't have to apologize. Just don't run away again."
Her eyes feel hot, but her arms wrap around his thick chest. "No," she agrees.
She can't hurt like that again.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
Cowboy’s Bride
Historical Western Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
"You like what you see?"
Glen closed his eyes, tried to collect himself. He was acting like a teenager. Then, slowly, he nodded. Swallowed hard and tried to get hold of himself again.
Instead he heard clothes fall to the floor, and he felt her start to work his belt. His pulse started pounding in his ears. He had to control himself. He couldn't go off doing anything too crazy. She hadn't remotely signed up for what his body was telling him to do.
His pants came undone, and they joined her dress on the floor. Catherine enjoyed the sight of his cock, pressed out against the fabric of his boxers, and she traced a line around it.
It was a good size, long and thick. She pulled it out and wrapped her fingers around it, moving up and down the length slowly. She could see from his face that Glen was needing a little encouragement from her.
He didn't know about her past, and if she was very lucky he would never need to, but now it was going to provide some very helpful benefits. She kissed the tip softly, still moving her hand, and then used her tongue to swirl around the head. Glen shuddered.
"Jesus Christ, that feels good."
Catherine let her lips open, took a little more of him inside her mouth. She was enjoying this more than she wanted to admit to herself. The feeling of control over him, seeing how badly he wanted her to continue. How much he needed her. It was one of the best feelings in the world.
She could feel him coming closer and closer to the edge as she took him in her mouth. She could let him, if she wanted to. It wouldn't be so bad at all. But then that would be the end of it, and God—she hated to admit it, but she wanted more than that.
She pulled herself away, almost hearing the disappointment in his labored breathing. He wasn't disappointed for long. When she laid on her back, spread her knees a little, and held out a hand, he realized exactly what was going on.
He lined himself up between her thighs, rubbing the head up and down her moist slit before settling in and pressing against her. She was tight, tighter than he had expected. It almost hurt to get in.
Catherine gasped at the feeling of the intrusion. She had worried, what if she was ruined after all those favors she'd paid back for Billy. What if she wasn't going to be good for another man?
The first thrust told her that wasn't much of a concern. He started to move after a moment, and she could feel him moving in her, scraping her insides with his cock, stretching her out until she was about to explode.
He had a grip on her hips, using it to pull into her harder, stronger. Every thrust seemed to hit in just the right place, so she saw stars in her eyes. Every one of them. As she felt his thrusts starting to come faster, more erratic, she knew what was going to come next.
"Catherine," he breathed, his voice strained and hoarse. "I'm gonna—"
"Yeah," she answered. "Go ahead."
She wanted him to. She was so close, she could already feel it. If he just kept going a few more seconds, gave her just another minute of pleasure, then she would be able to finish. She felt him push inside her, harder than the last time, and her vision went white as every muscle in her body started to tense.
She felt him spasming inside her, felt the hot warmth fill her up. A feeling that she hadn't wanted to admit how much she missed.
After he'd spent himself inside her, Glen rolled off, laid down in the bed next to her. After a moment he leaned over and took a kiss from her lips.
One
Catherine could see the discomfort playing out across the man's handsome features. She would have felt bad for him, maybe, if someone else were in her shoes, or if someone else were in his. A knock at the door had been a welcome surprise. Perhaps the Sheriff had finally decided to get off his ass and come out to deal with the cattle rustling.
Instead, Glen Riley was sitting on her sofa, the kids sent off to their room while she heard him explain to her why it was that he said she should get out of her own house. So the embarrassment of his situation must have been unpleasant, but not half as bad as what she was going to make him feel if the story wasn't good.
"So I was sittin' there across from—"
"My former husband," she finished for him. The thought of Billy had almost stopped hurting before Mr. Riley had shown up. She could see his cattle, a meager fifty head, grazing out front.
"Yes, ma'am. From your husband. He'd been losing all night, you know? I'm not sittin' there with the intention of takin' anyone's last dollar. But he was insistent on givin' it away, and I'm sittin on a queen-high straight, so when he raised—" He mopped the summer heat from his forehead with the back of one well-toned arm. "Well, I asked if he was good for it, and he assured everyone he was. So I took the bet."
She already knew that he wasn't. Billy had never been a great poker player, but he was a fine liar. Right up until it came time to settle up, then suddenly the mistakes all seemed to pile up right in front of him. As if they were completely unforeseeable. It had been a sticking point for her, once upon a time. When Billy's problems had been her problems.
Now she was free from him, or at least that's what the Judge said. Divorce wasn't how Catherine had seen her life going. She hadn't seen her kids growing up with their dead-beat father wandering around Colorado losing the money they'd set aside for their children's future at a poker table.
Catherine wasn't like her ex-husband. She wouldn't walk away from a bad situation, and she knew how to play the hand she was dealt. It looked bad, but that didn't mean she was going to pretend it was anything but what it was.
"Well, when the table starts to clear up, what do I see but Bill Howell trying to sneak off. He at least had the sense not to try to pull some cash back off the table, but he still had to settle that money he was so good for." Glen set down his hat on the couch beside him. He looked up at Catherine, whose expression hadn't changed much since he had sat down.
"I'm not seeing how this relates to me." Catherine's voice was clipped and hard. Glen swallowed hard.
"So I figure he's the type who figures he can just cop a whuppin', and I'll walk away. But he keeps promising he's good for it. He takes me back to a run-down hotel on the edge of the town—place I'm surprised he hadn't gotten broken into—and says just wait a minute outside. I'm no fool, ma'am. I follow him in, and he seems surprised to see me. The way he was going through luggage, I figured he might be fixin' to pull a gun on me. So I was watching extra close. He turns around with a piece of paper, folded up. That paper, right there."
He tapped the paper he'd laid out on the table. The paper that read "DEED" across the top, and had an 'x' marked beside the printed name "William Howell".
"He said it would more than cover what he owed, so would I please take it and forget the debt."
Catherine let herself sit back, thinking. That was Billy, all right. To a T. She didn't have to guess where he'd gotten the deed. The night before he left, he'd sworn up and down he had left it in the safe. He'd sworn he was coming back in a few days, too. Just a quick trip down to Laramie. Like a vacation. He'd left most of the money they had just made from the herd along with it.
She hadn't been fool enough to believe him completely, but she hadn't expected how little he had left her. Three silver dollars, and a paper with a big, poorly-drawn heart.
She had smiled at it. Still had the paper, folded up in her little jewelry box. The thought of it sitting there made Catherine want to get up and toss the thing into the stove, but she stopped herself.
"So what is it that you wanted, exactly, Mr. Riley?"
His mouth twisted in discomfort. "Well, you see, that's the trouble, Missus Howell. I had it in my head that he'd offered to sell me property that no one was usin'. I spent what I had gettin' the cattle out there and payin' a few men to help me get them out here. So you can see where I might have a problem just leavin' it be."
She looked over his shoulder again. They were too young to sell for any profit. More than likely, he'd lose his shirt if he tried to get anything for them at all. She could feel for him, that was sure. But she couldn't exactly justify letting him take her ranch, neither.
"Well, Mr. Riley, I don't—"
"You can call me Glen, Ma'am. I'm not nobody."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. This is my land. Bought with my money. My children have lived here their whole lives. What's more, Billy walked away with what money we did have."
Glen's jaw tightened. He didn't like the sound of that. He hadn't had the time or inclination for a wife, but sometimes, he figured marriages just didn't work out. Two people heading different directions. No need to judge anyone for that.
That wasn't what seemed to have happened. He thought of the children upstairs. They were the worst part of all of this. They hadn't done anything to deserve to be left alone. The boys needed a father in their lives—but then, he was getting ahead of himself.
If he could have bought her out of her half, he would have. It might have helped them find someplace more comfortable for a single mother and her three kids. But the money just wasn't there.. He wasn't any sort of ranch hand, never knew much about cattle, but he figured he'd be able to learn it. The boys he'd hired had given him just about enough advice to get him started.
The one thing they'd made sure he knew was that he'd gone in a little deeper than he shoulda. These cows would take six months or more to fatten up. Oh, he'd be able to buy feed and get 'em seen to on credit. Folks knew the score. But he wouldn't see a cent his first year, not with these cows. Not with the prices he'd paid for 'em.
"Well, I don't want to cause any trouble for you, ma'am." He set the hat back on his head, went back out to his horse. Glen had only bought four things, with the money that his thirty years up to that point had added up to.
He'd have plenty of time to figure it out over the next few days, but he could see this wasn't going to solve itself in one afternoon, and the horse needed feeding.
Cattle were a mystery to him. The men, he'd gotten lucky. Horses, he knew just well enough to buy a ride he wouldn't regret.
His hands had recommended he start carry a gun again, for dealing with varmints. And as for the pistol hanging at his hip—Glen knew pistols. It sat just right on his leg, just like the Colt he'd given returned when he'd finished his duty.
Two
Catherine turned over in her bed, the summer heat not the only thing keeping her awake. What right did that man have to come around and try to tell her that he had the rights to her house? For that matter, what did he plan on doing with it?
She knew what she had expected him to say. Pack a bag. She'd been tensed for it to come the entire conversation they'd had. Instead he'd gone back out, signaled the two hands he'd brought with him, and then they'd gone out to bring the cows around to her corral. Though he surely thought of it as 'his' corral, now that he had a piece of paper that said he owned the place.
It was downright strange having a man around the house again, and not in a way that Catherine liked one bit. The worst part was that instincts she thought were gone and buried were rearing their ugly heads. She would be lucky if she didn't have a pot of coffee on for him tomorrow.
She let out a breath. Three men for fifty head of cattle. She smiled at the idea. One could have driven so few by himself without much trouble. He couldn't have known a whole lot if he let himself get swindled like that. What was worse, though, was that having him right across the way made her miss other things.
Things she shouldn't be getting from him. Things she didn't really want, but her body protested nonetheless. She turned over again, pushed the sheets off her body with her feet, and let the night air cool the thin layer of sweat on her skin. She just wanted to sleep.
She'd been fine the night before he came. What difference would one day—or a man sleeping in the barn, regardless of how handsome he was—make?
Glen wanted to get to work. He had never sat still for long in the Army. He'd always been on the move. Always something else to be done. He figured that it was no different now. There would be plenty to do here, and he'd never be quite done.
He looked out at the cattle, sleeping out in the field. Dark shapes in the night. He was new at this, but he knew enough to know that she was in over her head with all these cattle.
If what she said was true, and her good-for-nothing husband had walked out with all of their money, then he figured she must have let go the guys she had working the herd when she couldn't pay 'em no more. The thought frustrated him, not for the first time.
He thought about the way she had looked in that living room. With plenty of time to think about it, this late at night, he was realizing more and more how surprising a woman she was. She had nobody to help her. The eldest couldn't have been more than seven, from what he'd seen of the children before she'd shooed them off to their room.
Yet, the cattle seemed fed. The house was in good shape, at least so far as he could tell. And she had looked—well, God had played a role in how good she looked, he reckoned. But she certainly hadn't hurt her chances of looking damn good. She looked like she was in control of her life.
Glen didn't love that he had to walk into it this way. But whatever he thought didn't matter a whole hell of a lot. How could he have known that there was someone else living there? He couldn't, he knew. It was just how things went.
But that didn't make him feel any better. If he had it to do again, knowing what he would be walking into, he would have let her keep the place. Would've taken his payment out of Billy Howell's
hide just for what he'd done to his wife, never mind squelching on his debts.
But now he was in too deep, and he was stuck there. He leaned back against a bale of hay, ignored the smell, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be another early day. He hadn't had one for a long time before a week ago.
He was slipping back into the life he'd had in the army easier than he had expected. Waking up with the sun, working fast and hard. He didn't know how to feel about it, but he knew well enough that he didn't want it to keep happening.
Catherine didn't look like someone who had spent the whole night tossing and turning, she thought, looking in the polished hand-mirror. She looked alright. Not that it mattered—after all, no one would see her whose opinion mattered. Just that gambler who had shown up on her property with a sad story and a sadder herd of cattle.
He'd brought a pair of boys along with the journey, and if she understood right, he had paid them in advance. How long their term was to be, she didn't know. But if it were more than just the journey north, she had a herd herself that needed tending…
She pushed the thought away before it could root itself in her mind. She couldn't afford to think that way. They would be fine, come time to sell. It had taken years to recover to the point where she didn't spend most of her night in a panic, but now they were close.
Just one or two more drives. That was what she had to tell herself every time anything happened. Ada had a cough that was making Catherine a little nervous, but she was telling herself it was just a summer cold.
Once they sold, they'd be able to buy the herd for next season, and maybe even have enough to be comfortable again. The way Catherine had always been back east. She heard the voice in the back of her head again. Write home, it said. Daddy would take them back in. He would love to meet his two grand-daughters. He'd like little Cole, too, though he was still too young to spend a whole lot of time.
Glen's arrival, and the news that the deed to the property she'd bought with what little money her father would send had resurfaced, threw a monkey wrench into those plans.
