by R. C. Ryan
He looked up and realized he’d been lost in his thoughts.
Now, with sounds of activity downstairs and the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee drifting into his room, he decided he could use the shower without feeling guilty about waking anybody.
Barefoot, his jeans unsnapped at the waist, he picked up his gear before heading down the hall. He paused outside the door of the bathroom. Hearing no sound, he let himself in. And found himself staring at a sight that stole his breath away.
Cheyenne, wearing nothing but a towel that barely covered her from torso to hips, was brushing out her long, wet hair. The instant the door opened she froze, her head coming up sharply to meet his gaze in the steamy mirror.
“You could’ve knocked.”
“I didn’t hear the water running, and figured you were already downstairs.”
When she said nothing in her defense he added, “Hey. You did brag that you’d be first in here, didn’t you? I thought you’d be long gone.”
“Yeah.” She picked up a tote filled with her bath supplies and turned away.
“Wait. Take your time. No need to rush on my—” Without thinking Quinn put a hand on her bare shoulder. At the intimate contact the rest of his words died in his throat as heat spiraled through him.
“No. I…” Equally flustered, Cheyenne felt the tote slip from her hand and drop to the floor, spilling the contents everywhere.
Reflexively they both dropped to their knees and bent to retrieve the tubes and bottles and jars, nearly butting heads as they did.
Laughing, they moved slightly apart and continued to pick up the articles, setting them in the tote.
Quinn held up a tube and read the label. “ ‘Frizz control.’ ” He chuckled. “I’ll never understand why someone blessed with perfectly natural curly hair would want to make it straight.”
“We’re just slaves to fashion, I guess.”
He grinned. “Think the cows like you better with fashionable hair?”
“Definitely.” Feeling her towel dropping dangerously low, she tugged it upward.
When she looked over and found Quinn staring at her, she felt her cheeks grow hot.
She got quickly to her feet. “Okay. I’m out of here. It’s your turn.”
Before she could make the quick exit she’d planned, he tugged on a strand of her wet hair. “Let’s start over. You deal with your hair and, when you’re done, knock on my door before you head downstairs.”
“No. I…” She turned and found him entirely too close for comfort. His eyes, smoke gray, were fixed on her with such intensity, she couldn’t look away. With nothing but a towel for cover, she was even more aware of his size, his strength, his potent maleness. Suddenly the room felt too small, too confining, with him beside her.
“I can do this in my bedroom.” She moved as quickly as possible toward the door.
He couldn’t resist teasing. “Sure you don’t want to stay and scrub my back?”
“A really lame, tired old line, Conway.”
He shot her a heart-stopping grin. “Sorry. I haven’t had much practice lately. But if you want to stay, I’m sure I can come up with something better.”
“I just bet you can. You’re on your own, cowboy.”
Once inside her own room, Cheyenne dropped down on the edge of the mattress and told herself to breathe in and out until her pulse rate returned to normal.
Without his bulky parka and heavy shirt, Quinn Conway had a fantastic body. All those sculpted muscles and that hair-roughened chest had left her tongue-tied.
If he hadn’t looked as surprised as she’d been, she would suspect him of deliberately barging in, shirtless and with those jeans unsnapped, just to tempt her. But the look on his face told her that he’d honestly expected to find the bathroom empty.
It was a good thing he was leaving right after breakfast. Even with a tired line, this guy was entirely too sexy for his own good. Or hers.
Quinn stared at the closed door and grinned foolishly. Cheyenne O’Brien was an altogether different person without the rancher’s attire. In jeans and woolen shirt, she gave off vibes of single-minded efficiency. In nothing but a towel, she offered a glimpse of a heart-stopping figure and a vulnerability that was endearing. In this steamy bathroom she’d been all woman. And downright delicious to look at. The kind of woman a man wanted to devour, bite by tasty bite.
He gave a shake of his head at the direction of his thoughts.
He shaved off the beard that had been allowed to grow while on the trail. Stripping, he turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. He soaped himself before pressing his hands to the tile wall and lifting his face to the water. As it spilled over him he gave a sigh of pure pleasure. Now this was heaven.
As he stepped out and toweled himself dry he was chuckling. Not a bad way to start the day, he mused. A hot shower and a view of a hot babe, all before breakfast. Now if Micah’s cooking lived up to last night’s promise, the day would be just about perfect.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he returned to the bedroom and dressed quickly before packing up his gear and heading for the stairs.
Micah stood at the stove flipping flapjacks. Sausage sizzled in a blackened skillet. Another skillet was filled with fried onions and potatoes. It was the sort of hearty ranch breakfast that was familiar to Quinn and his family.
Hearing Quinn’s footsteps on the stairs, the old man looked up. “ ’Morning. Help yourself to coffee.”
“Thanks.” Quinn filled a mug and walked to the window, watching as, in the distance, Cheyenne leaned her weight against the barn door until she’d managed to close it against the wind. With her head down against the snow that was being whipped by the wind, she made her way to the house.
He listened to the sound of the outer door being opened and closed and turned to watch as she stepped into the kitchen. For a moment their gazes met and held, and he thought he detected the slightest hint of excess color on her cheeks before she turned away. For some perverse reason, he liked knowing that he made her uncomfortable.
“Freezing out there,” she muttered to no one in particular.
Though she didn’t look at Quinn, she was acutely aware of him sitting at the table. His presence filled the room, just as he’d filled the doorway of Buddy’s bedroom last night, and the bathroom this morning. Despite her best efforts, this wasn’t a man she could ignore. It wasn’t just that toned body, or the handsome face with those hypnotic eyes and the teasing grin. It was the man himself. Down-to-earth, direct, and sexy as hell.
“Yeah.” Micah filled a platter with a mound of flapjacks and carried it in one hand to the table, managing to balance it gracefully while using his cane with the other hand. “I promised Wes and the boys I’d deliver enough grub to hold ’em for a week or more.”
Cheyenne paused in the act of filling her coffee mug. “You think it’s wise to go up in the hills today?”
The old man shrugged. “They’ve been stuck up in that bunkhouse for more’n a week now. That spring snowstorm caught everybody by surprise. I figure they’re about to go stir-crazy unless they get some fresh, hot food to take their minds off the herd.”
Quinn drained his mug and poured more coffee. “There’s snow in those clouds. From the looks of them, there’s a big storm blowing in. You head up in the hills, you may be stuck there for a week yourself.”
Micah merely laughed. “That’s springtime in Wyoming. If I’ve got to be stuck somewhere, it may as well be with wranglers who appreciate my cooking.”
Cheyenne’s head swiveled. “You don’t think I appreciate you?”
“Now, Cheyenne, honey, I never said that. But cooking for one’s not nearly the challenge as cooking for a dozen hungry cowboys. Whenever I get the chance to go up in the hills to cook for the ranch hands, I’m in hog heaven.”
She smiled. “I know. But I worry about you. Like Quinn said, there’s snow coming.”
He patted her shoulder, then turned away to stir something simmering in a huge kettle. �
��Stop treating me like I’m some helpless old man and eat your breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” She winked at Quinn across the table, and the two of them dug into the food.
When Micah returned the lid, Cheyenne breathed in the steam from the kettle. “You made your chili.”
“I wouldn’t dare show my face up in the hills without a pot of my chili. Those cowboys would have my hide.”
“I hope you plan on leaving some here for me.”
“Yes, ma’am. A big pot of it, so even if I get snowed in, you’ll have plenty of food until I get back.”
She touched a hand to her heart. “My hero.”
“And don’t you forget it.” He nibbled a sausage while he limped around the kitchen, wrapping loaves of freshly baked bread in plastic bags, filling giant containers with coffee, packing everything carefully on a wheeled cart that had been cleverly designed with shelves and drawers to keep from rolling around while being hauled in the back of a truck.
“You going to be okay alone here?” Micah glanced over at Cheyenne.
“And why wouldn’t I be?”
When he opened his mouth she held up a hand to stop him. “I said I’d be fine.”
“Uh-huh. And I told your daddy at his grave that I’d look out for you.”
“I know that. And you do. But you didn’t promise to be a nursemaid, holding my hand every minute of the day.”
“All the same, I wish this place wasn’t so far away from civilization.”
“Wishing won’t change things. Besides, maybe being isolated is a good thing.”
The old man paused in his work. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She merely smiled. “Being this far off the beaten track, it isn’t easy for someone to just happen to be passing through.”
Quinn looked up. “I did last night.”
“That’s different.” Annoyed, Cheyenne stabbed another pancake and smothered it in syrup.
“Different?” Quinn glanced from Cheyenne to Micah. “What’re we talking about here?”
“Nothing.” Cheyenne’s eyes narrowed on the old man, as though issuing a warning.
Micah shrugged. “I have a right to worry. I’ve known her since she was a runny-nosed kid.”
She huffed out a breath. “My nose never ran.”
“But your mouth did. Still does. You think you know it all, but you’ve still got a lot to learn. Who taught you to ride? To rope? To birth a calf?”
“You did.”
“That gives me the right to worry.”
She shoved back her chair and crossed the room to brush a kiss over his weathered cheek. “Yes, it does. And I appreciate it, Micah. Really I do. But I’ll be just fine here.”
“I know. Just don’t go taking any chances.” He stuck out his hand to Quinn. “Nice meeting you, wolf whisperer.”
“It was nice meeting you, too, Micah. Thanks for the fine food.”
“Any time.” After patting his pocket to assure that he had his pipe and tobacco, the old man headed toward the door, shoving the wheeled cart ahead of him, before pausing to turn to Cheyenne. “If the weather holds, I could be back by sundown.”
“Wishful thinking.” She lifted a hand to wave him off before pouring another cup of coffee.
At the sound of the truck leaving Quinn carried his empty dishes to the sink, where he began to rinse them and set them in the dishwasher.
He glanced over. “Is there some reason why Micah is worried about leaving you alone?”
“Of course not.” She turned away, avoiding his eyes.
“Last night you suggested that I was someone’s bully. Would you care to explain?”
His question was met with complete silence.
He studied her for a moment before giving a slight nod of his head. “Well then, I’d better be leaving, too, and let you get to your chores.”
“Wait.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a hip against the counter. “Sorry. You deserve an explanation. There was an… incident some time ago with a neighbor. I think it’s left me spooked.”
“You think you’re in danger?”
She shook her head. “Not really. But when I saw you in the barn holding that rifle, Deke was the only one I could think of.”
“That’s what you said. One of Deke’s bullies.”
“I guess he’s been on my mind. I hate the fact that a longtime friend and neighbor could let me down.”
Quinn shrugged. “People have a way of doing that.”
She nodded. “Yeah.” She looked up. “Are you heading home to family?”
“Yeah.”
“A wife and kids?” She’d wanted to ask that sooner, but there had never been a time that seemed right. Now, she realized, she was holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
“No wife. No kids. But I’ve got a father, grandfather, and two brothers.”
She let out a long, slow breath. “Tell me about them.”
He arched a brow, realizing that she was trying to draw out their good-bye. In a way it was flattering. He really would have enjoyed spending more time with her.
He leaned a hip against the counter. “Right about now my youngest brother, Jake, is taking his final exams at Michigan State University’s school of veterinary medicine.”
“He’s a vet?”
He nodded. “Or will be when he gets that piece of sheepskin that says it’s so. It’s perfect for Jake. He’s been doctoring the herd since he was a kid. Big Jim always says he’s assisted at more births than an obstetrician.”
“Big Jim?”
“My grandfather.”
Her tone was warm with sarcasm. “I guess it would be too easy to call him Grandpa like other kids.”
“Yeah.” Quinn chuckled. “He’s always been Big Jim. Always will be.”
Cheyenne laughed. “I think I’d like your grandfather and your little brother.”
“I know you would. Then there’s my father, who’s tougher than a grizzly, with a temper to match, and my brother Josh, who’s a rancher like the rest of us when he isn’t off rescuing missing hikers on the mountain.”
“That’s a pretty impressive family. And everybody lives together on your family ranch?”
“Yeah. Live together, eat together, fight together.” While he was talking he dried his hands on a kitchen towel and wondered at the fact that he was being so chatty. It wasn’t at all his style, but she’d asked and he’d sensed her need to keep him talking. “Now it’s time I let you get to your ranch chores.” He offered a handshake and a smile. “Thanks for the hospitality, Cheyenne. After the way I behaved last night, it was more than I deserved, but much appreciated.”
She returned the handshake and the smile. “My pleasure, Quinn Conway. I hope you find a new wolf to track.”
“I’m sure I will. In time.” He made his way to the utility room and pulled on his parka before snatching up his gear.
She followed him and slipped into her own parka. “I’ll walk you out. I’m heading to the barn.”
As they walked outside she studied his heavy gear. “You’ve got a lot of miles to haul that. If my wranglers weren’t up in the hills with all my trucks, I’d loan you one. But how about taking one of my horses?”
He arched a brow. “I’d be grateful. As long as you have one to spare.”
“More than one.” She crossed the distance from the house to the barn, with Quinn following.
Once inside she pointed to the various stalls. “You can take the spotted mare over there. Or the gray mustang.”
Quinn shrugged. “You choose.”
“The mustang.” She was laughing as she opened the stall and stepped inside. “He was tough as nails when we first caught and tamed him, but now he’s only skittish when it storms. I’ll just—”
The blow from the mustang’s hoof came out of nowhere. One minute Cheyenne was reaching for the saddle blanket tossed over the rail. The next she was thrown against the rail with such force she could feel her world going bla
ck.
In that same instant Quinn dropped his gear and raced into the stall. Seeing the mustang’s eyes wild and terrified as he danced nervously around the tiny space, Quinn knew he had to get the horse out of there before Cheyenne was trampled.
In one quick movement Quinn scooped up the saddle blanket and covered her horse’s head before leading him into a nearby stall. Quinn hurried to kneel beside Cheyenne, who gave a low moan of pain.
“Lie still and I’ll see if anything’s broken.”
Her breath was coming hard and fast as she struggled to speak. “He’s never done anything like that before.”
“Shh.” Quinn took his time, checking for any breaks, but even though he found none, he could see the pain etched on her face. “I’m going to carry you back to the house. Think you can hold on?”
She nodded. “I think I can walk.”
At once Quinn had his arm around her, helping her to sit up before easing her to her feet.
She was moving slowly, her right arm gripped firmly around her left to keep it as still as possible. The slightest movement had her wincing and moaning.
Once inside the kitchen Quinn led her to a chair and unzipped her parka. “Let’s have a look at that arm.”
She was gritting her teeth as he removed the bulky coat. It was plain that even that slight movement caused her excruciating pain.
After a thorough examination he sat back on his heels. “Not broken. But I’d lay money that you’ve dislocated your shoulder.”
She sucked in a breath. “I helped my dad treat my brother for that once. I think I’d rather have a break.”
“Yeah.” Quinn’s mind was working overtime.
They were too far from town to call a doctor. And since Quinn had had an intimate contact with a dislocation, he knew the pain she was suffering, and the even greater pain he would have to inflict on her in order to get that shoulder back into place.
“Got any whiskey?”
She nodded. “In the cupboard over the fridge.”
He crossed the room and located the bottle. Filling a tumbler to the top, he carried it to her and muttered, “Drink it. All of it. And then”—his voice lowered—“we’ll have to get on with it.”
Get on with it.
