Of course, he knew he was lying. Hell, even Tabitha likely knew it. A burger and a cold beer had done nothing to ease the restlessness that Wayne Keenan’s daughter had ignited within Sam’s long dormant libido. Seeing her at The Drop Zone had only made the problem worse. The untouchable vibe she gave off kept most of the male population in the bar from approaching her, but for Sam, her demeanor was like a red flag to a charging bull.
And he didn’t like the feeling one bit.
Sam had come to Montana to shake off the torrent of emotions that had been dogging him these past months, not to stir up new ones. He was generally a pretty even-tempered guy—cool under fire. The ability to keep his emotions under wraps was something he’d been known for throughout his military career. Of course, with everything that had gone on in his life the past year, he wasn’t as cool as he’d like to be. Tonight, he’d gone to the barn figuring that reconnecting with the one thing his late wife loved most would quell whatever was brewing inside of him.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Tabitha nuzzled Sam’s outstretched hand, presumably looking for a treat. When she found none, she turned a shoulder to him and let her eyelids drift shut. Sam wondered if the mare missed Becky; whether she, too, blamed him for taking her away. That familiar squeezing was back in his chest.
“Well, you can just get in line to hate me with everybody else,” he admonished the horse.
“You’re not a’pposed to be in here,” a voice said behind him, startling Sam.
He turned to find the little boy—Tyson—who’d been in the barn this morning. The boy was standing on a set of stairs that presumably led to a living area above. He was wearing a pair of Star Wars stormtrooper pajamas and red cowboy boots. His blue eyes were large against his rosy cheeks and damp, wavy brown hair. The tough guy expression he was trying to work his mouth into lost a lot of potency when Sam glanced down at the ragged stuffed animal Tyson had clutched against his chest.
“And I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be in bed,” Sam said.
Tyson’s chin jutted up as he stomped down the two remaining steps. The sound of his boots hitting the stone floor made a few of the horses stir. “I’m not some baby who goes to bed early. I have chores. I’m doing the night check.” He marched along the aisle, going from stall door to stall door, testing every latch to see if it was secure, all the while softly calling out a goodnight to the individual horses inside. Sam had to admire the boy’s pluck as he mimicked a drill he’d probably seen his grandfather or one of his parents perform many times before.
The boy stopped abruptly at a stall across from Tabitha’s and began fumbling with the lock. “What’s wrong, Tator Tot?” he asked as he tried and failed to get the stall door open. He pulled harder before turning to Sam with a desperate look on his face. “Can you help me, mister?”
Suddenly Sam was furious at Laurel and her husband for neglecting their son, leaving him unsupervised in a barn where anything could happen. He thought of the child Becky took with her to the grave and his anger grew. Sam reached for the latch just as Tyson had worked it open.
“You’re not going in there,” he told the boy. It was one thing to let Tyson play like he was an adult, but to whatever animal was inside that stall, he’d be a defenseless child.
Tyson’s lip began to quiver. “But I gotta make sure Tator Tot is okay.”
Sam cursed under his breath. For the second time that day, he had scared the poor kid. He peered over into the stall and nearly laughed out loud when he saw what Tyson was so concerned over. A miniature chestnut pony—so plump it looked more like a giant stuffed animal than a horse—was staring back at them beneath an abundant fringe of hair. The pony had somehow gotten his foot stuck in a narrow bucket. The scraping of the metal against the stone floor as it had tried to free himself had likely frightened Tator Tot into remaining frozen rather than lift its leg out.
Without thinking about it, Sam was in the stall, Tyson at his heels. He gently lifted the pony’s hoof out of the bucket before carefully inspecting its leg for any cuts and bruises. “He looks okay,” Sam reassured Tyson. “He must have pulled it down to get the rest of his grain out.”
“Oh, Tots, you silly thing.” Tyson brushed the long brown forelock out of the pony’s eyes. Tator Tot nickered gratefully before giving the boy a nudge. “He thinks he can do everything the bigger horses can,” Tyson said.
Crouching on his haunches beside the boy and his pony, Sam nodded. “There seems to be a lot of that going on around here.” He gestured with his head toward Tator Tot. “Is he yours?”
Tyson wrapped his arms around the small pony’s neck. “My daddy got him for me. He’s my ’sponsibility.”
A familiar feeling niggled within Sam. He’d once given a horse to someone he loved as a consolation prize. “Your daddy helps you out with him, though, right?”
The boy shook his head. “My daddy lives in Utah. He’s training for the ’lympics. After he wins another gold medal, he’s gonna come home, though,” Tyson said proudly. “And then we’re gonna be a real family.”
“Tyson Campbell Johnson.” Laurel’s voice shot through the barn, followed by her hurried footsteps. “What have I told you about sneaking out of your grandparents’ house at night?”
The boy snatched up the toy he’d absently discarded in the shavings. “I had to get Oreo’s lovie. He can’t sleep without it.”
Sam slowly stretched to his full height and turned to see Laurel behind them. Her face was etched with panic, but her eyes were sparkling with that familiar agitation.
“Which explains why the dog is sound asleep on the bed and you’re not.” She crooked a finger at her son. “Grandma is beside herself with worry. You know she can’t chase after you—especially when Grandpa isn’t home. You’re abusing your sleep-away privileges. If you can’t behave at Grandma’s, how can I let you spend the night at Cameron’s this weekend?”
Tyson tucked his chin and slowly shuffled out of the stall. “Night, Tator Tot,” he murmured contritely.
Sam followed him out, securing the stall door behind them. The pony gave it a swift kick in solidarity with its master.
“March,” Laurel commanded her son as she pointed toward the house. “Brush your teeth for a good solid minute and then I’ll be up to tuck you in.”
Head low, Tyson crept out of the barn.
The crisp night settled around them and Laurel’s green eyes flickered with surprise when they landed on Sam, as though she’d just realized he was also in the barn. Her cheeks were flushed and her breasts were heaving enticingly beneath the teal puffy coat that hugged her body. The long legs that had been tantalizing his thoughts all day were clad in tight, brown jeans, ending in a pair of those furry Australian boots women liked so much.
She’s taken, Sam reminded the parts of him that were firing up at the sexy way her teeth were chewing on her lip.
“Your son seems to really care for his pets,” he said in an effort to fill the awkward silence that stretched between them.
Laurel grimaced as she wrapped her arms around herself. “He and his menagerie can be quite a handful.”
And then we’re going to be a real family, Tyson had said.
Sam had lost his ‘real family’. And they weren’t coming back. The insane jealousy he felt was squeezing painfully in his chest. He needed air and he needed to be away from this woman.
“I’m sure you’ll be glad when his father gets back after the Olympics and can help you out.” Sam wasn’t sure why he said what he did or why he was even still standing there talking to her, but the look of shock and vulnerability that settled on her face was like a sucker punch to his gut.
“Is that what Tyson said?” She slumped against one of the pillars with a heavy sigh. “Dear Lord, he’s going to be crushed next weekend when his father tells him he’s getting married to someone else. I don’t think even Mickey Mouse can make up for that.”
As usual, Sam was having trouble following a woman
’s train of thought. “Tyson’s father is marrying Mickey Mouse?”
She laughed, the lusty sound of it reverberating off the stone walls and settling in the vicinity of Sam’s groin.
“I think Minnie Mouse might have some objection to that arrangement. Tyson’s father is marrying a Victoria’s Secret model. One of the angels with wings.” She gestured wildly behind her back with her hands. “Nothing but the best for Straight Air Johnson.”
Recognition dawned on Sam. Bryce Johnson was a big time snowboarder who was famous for his Air Crippler in the halfpipe—not to mention his wholesome smile that dominated the cereal aisle in the grocery store. Everybody loved the gold medal guy. But he was obviously a father who put his career before his child. And Sam immediately hated him for it.
Glancing over at Laurel, he caught a brief glimpse beneath the protective shield she wore. Sam recognized the traces of pain and abandonment that bracketed her mouth—facial expressions that most people probably mistook for haughtiness. And suddenly, without reason, Sam hated Bryce Johnson even more for whatever pain he might have caused the woman in front of him.
“He’s an ass for hurting you both.” Sam tried unsuccessfully to keep his words from sounding like a growl.
Laurel leapt away from the pillar. “You, too?” She paced a few steps. “Oh, my gosh, you just got here and even you think I’m pining after Bryce Johnson.” She muttered something under her breath. “But then, why shouldn’t you think what you want, everybody else does.” She turned abruptly, her green eyes awash with indignation. “Let’s get something straight, Captain Cowboy; Bryce and I are just friends. Sure, we were a little more than that once, obviously, but nothing serious. He was a youthful mistake on my part.” She shrugged. “But one I don’t regret for a single minute because then I wouldn’t have Tyson.”
Her voice broke slightly at the mention of her son’s name, and the hint of her weakness did something to Sam’s insides. She’s not taken, his body was screaming.
“I’m happy for Bryce,” she continued with an enthusiasm that sounded as though she were trying to convince herself of her words. “And Tyson will be, too. He’s just got to get used to the idea, that’s all. Not that it matters to you or anyone else in this town. But let the record state, I’m not waiting around for Bryce to come carry me off on his stupid snowboard.”
Laurel shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, daring him to contradict her. Sam was having trouble concentrating on her words. Instead, he was fixated on the pulse beating wildly along the white column of her neck. He wanted to put his lips there just to see how her body would react.
Clearly, he was going insane.
“What about you?” She gestured toward Tabitha with her stubborn chin. “You must have had it bad for your wife to want to keep her horse around; to skulk around a barn at night just to check on the darn thing.”
It took him a minute to realize she was talking about Becky. Suddenly he was angry again. Angry at himself for totally forgetting why he’d come to the barn in the first place. And angry at the bewitching woman standing before him for making him forget Becky. For making him crave a woman again.
*
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” Laurel pressed her palms against her face. “That didn’t come out the way I intended.” What was it about this man that made her say such things? She lowered her fingers and forced herself to meet his stare. His expression was inscrutable, but she forged on just as she always did.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m really a nice person. Everyone thinks so. Believe it or not, I was voted Miss Congeniality of my high school class. You can ask anyone in town. Or have my mom show you the yearbook.” Laurel’s babbling tapered off, but Sam continued to level a hard stare at her. She swallowed painfully and tried again. “What I meant to say was your wife must have been a lovely person. Lucky, too, for you to go to so much trouble,” she said softly before extending her hand to him. “Please, can we start over? If I’m going to be training her horse, I’d really like us to be friends.”
His gaze drifted down toward her outstretched hand for a long heartbeat. Laurel gasped when he suddenly wrapped his fingers around hers and jerked her body flush against his chest. Her head fell back and she watched as his mouth softened just before his lips descended toward hers.
“Depends on what you mean by ‘friends’,” he drawled.
And then he was kissing her. It wasn’t one of those tentative, nice-to-meet-you first kisses, either. Sam Gaskill kissed her with authority, as though he already possessed her, easily opening her mouth with his own and sliding his tongue home without so much as a ‘may I please’. He tasted like hops and smelled like a man who spent all day outdoors. And Laurel, sexually starved woman that she was, submitted without protest, savoring the feel of his warm mouth melding with hers. Her hands slid beneath his leather jacket, trailing along the soft flannel shirt he wore to explore the contours of his chest. Sam’s fingers fisted in her hair, anchoring her mouth beneath him. A soft moan escaped the back of her throat when her hips collided with his. He deepened the kiss with a groan of his own and the ache within Laurel’s belly spread like wildfire.
“Please,” she pleaded when he lifted his mouth to let his lips trail along her neck. Although, she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what she was begging for. The man was a stranger, a client. Worse, he was an adrenaline junkie like Bryce. If Laurel was going to end her sexual drought, Captain Cowboy was the last guy she should choose.
Sam’s hands found her ass and the last wisps of rational thought left Laurel’s brain. His lips captured hers again, but now she was the one eagerly exploring. Her fingers bracketed the sides of his face as she delved deep into his mouth with reckless abandon. Desire, hot and fierce, coursed through her. It roared so loudly in her ears, she nearly missed the sound of Oreo’s yipping.
Fortunately, Sam did hear it, quickly breaking away before her father’s boots hit the barn floor. Laurel pulled in a few quick breaths while Sam put three giant paces between their bodies.
“I thought that was your truck out there, captain,” her father called as he strode down the aisle, Oreo at his heels. “Is everything okay with the mare?”
Laurel sank down into the collar of her coat, hoping her father wouldn’t notice the beard burn Sam had left behind. The last thing she needed was her dad figuring out that she’d been climbing the man like a tree just moments before.
Sam turned back to face them, his face devoid of any telltale signs that he’d just had his tongue lodged halfway to her spleen. “No problem,” he said. “I just wanted to check on her. Force of habit, I guess.”
“Of course,” her father said. “But she’s safe and sound here, rest assured. That’s not to say you’re not welcome to stop by anytime. You should drop in earlier in the evenings when Laurel will be working with her. You’d be amazed at what my daughter can do when she gets her legs wrapped around a powerful animal. She’s pure athleticism and poetry in motion.”
The hot, hard gaze flickered briefly in Sam’s eyes and she watched him swallow roughly. “I’m sure she is.” Laurel felt the heat blazing on her cheeks before Sam shuttered his expression again. “But with the fire season approaching, I’ve got my hands full at the station.” He looked at the palomino longingly, as though he was trying to glean some subliminal message from her, before turning back to her father. “I’ll check in when I can. G’night.” With nothing more than a nod, he was striding out of the barn. Laurel watched him go, unsure whether the emotion she was feeling was relief or disappointment.
Chapter Four
Five days later, Laurel’s thighs screamed in protest as she gingerly climbed the wide log steps leading to the forest service station. It turned out the mare wasn’t the only one out of shape. Her evening sessions training Tabitha had reacquainted Laurel with muscles she hadn’t used in years. The bulk of the riding she’d done during the past decade had been for pleasure—simple trail rides with guests and
friends. But that kind of riding didn’t prepare her for steering a horse through intricate patterns while using only her legs as a guide. Her father hadn’t lied, though. Tabitha was well trained. It was a sad commentary on the state of her life that the horse would regain its suppleness and range of motion much more quickly than Laurel would.
The joy her mother was getting out of the whole experience helped to ease the ache in Laurel’s cranky body, though. Freezing evening temperatures kept the ground hard, forcing them to work in the indoor arena, but her mother now had a reason to leave the house each day. And the bond her mom had already formed with the horse was uncanny. As much as Laurel hated the way her father had manipulated her into the whole situation, she had to admit his motives were good ones.
“Change in plans,” Miranda said as Laurel stepped through the double doors and into the lobby of the sprawling log cabin that served as a base for the smokejumpers. “I can’t have lunch. I have to shuttle a crew over to Glacier.”
“Already? It flurried last night. How can Glacier be dry enough for a fire?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “You’ve lived here all your life and you still think that’s all we do. We have other jobs besides that. One of them is to get the parks ready for summer tourism season.”
“In other words, we’ll be picking up pine cones and unclogging toilets for the next three days,” Ace Clark said from where he sat on one of the four leather sofas in the station’s vast two-story lobby area. The rest of the place seemed to be deserted, but he was carefully packing his gear into a giant backpack. Smokejumpers carried nearly a hundred pounds of equipment with them when they jumped into a fire zone—some of it in one of three packs strapped to their body and the rest stowed into pockets of their handmade Kevlar suits. Laurel had once tried to lift Liam’s pack and she’d ended up on the ground with the heavy thing crushing her.
Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) Page 4
