Hold Me, Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  The physical response Sam felt to her uttering another man’s name was not something he ever could have anticipated. His stomach tightened, dropped, and a lick of flame that felt a hell of a lot like jealousy sparked inside him.

  “What do you mean you can’t get up here?” She looked away from him, determinedly so, her eyes fixed on the kitchen floor. “The road is closed. Okay. So that means I can’t get back down either?” There was a pause. “Right. Well, hopefully I don’t freeze to death.” Another pause. “No, you don’t need to call anybody. I’m not going to freeze to death. I’m using the neighbor’s phone. Just forget it. I don’t have cell service. I’ll call you if the power comes back on in my cabin.”

  She hung up then, her expression so sharp it could have cut him clean through.

  “I take it you had plans.”

  She looked at him, her eyes as frosty as the weather outside. “Did you figure that out all by yourself?”

  “Only just barely. You know blacksmiths aren’t known for their deductive reasoning skills. Mostly we’re famous for hitting heavy things with other heavy things.”

  “Kind of like cavemen and rocks.”

  He took a step toward her. “Kind of.”

  She shrank back, a hint of color bleeding into her cheeks. “Well, now that we’ve established that there’s basically no difference between you and a Neanderthal, I better get back to my dark, empty cabin. And hope that you aren’t a secret serial killer.”

  Her sharp tongue left cuts behind, and he had to admit he kind of enjoyed it. There weren’t very many people who sparred with him like this. Possibly because he didn’t talk to very many people. “Is that a legitimate concern you have?”

  “I don’t know. The entire situation is just crazy enough that I might be trapped in a horror movie with a tortured artist blacksmith who is also secretly murdery.”

  “I guarantee you I’m not murdery. If you see me outside with an ax, it will only be because I’m cutting firewood.”

  She cocked her head to the side, a glint in her blue eyes that didn’t look like ice making his stomach—and everything south of there—tighten. “Well, that’s a relief. Anyway. I’m going. Dark cabin, no one waiting for me. It promises to be a seriously good time.”

  “You don’t have any idea why the power is out, or how to fix it?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, sounding exasperated, and about thirty seconds away from stamping her foot.

  Well, damn his conscience, but he wasn’t letting her go back to an empty, dark, cold cabin. No matter that she had always treated him like a bit of muck she’d stepped in with her handmade riding boots.

  “Let me have a look at your fuse box,” he said.

  “You sound like you’d rather die,” she said.

  “I pretty much would, but I’m not going to let you die either.” He reached for his black jacket and the matching black cowboy hat hanging on a hook. He put both on and nodded.

  “Thank you,” she muttered, and he could tell the little bit of social nicety directed at him cost her dearly.

  They headed toward the front door and he pushed it open, waiting for her to go out first. Since he had arrived earlier today, the temperature had dropped drastically. He had come up to the mountain to do some planning for his next few art projects. It pained him to admit, even to himself, that solitude was somewhat necessary for him to get a clear handle on what he was going to work on next.

  “So,” he said, making conversation not so much for the sake of it but more to needle her and see if he could earn one of her patented death glares, “Christopher, huh? Your boyfriend?” That hot spike drove its way through his gut again and he did his best to ignore it.

  “No,” she said tersely. “Just a friend.”

  “I see. So you decided to meet a man up here for a friendly game of Twister?”

  She turned slightly, arching one pale brow. “Yahtzee, actually. I’m very good at it.”

  “And I’m sure your...friend was hoping to get a full house.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked forward again, taking quick steps over the icy ground, and somehow managing to keep sure footing. Then she opened the door to her cabin. “Welcome,” she said, extending her arm. “Please excuse the shuddering cold and oppressive darkness.”

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  She shook her head, walking into the house, and he followed behind, closing the door against the elements. It was already cold in the dark little room. “You were just going to come back here and sit in the dark if I hadn’t offered to fiddle with the circuit breaker?”

  “Maybe I know how to break my own circuits, Sam. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Oh, but you said you didn’t, Madison.”

  “I prefer Maddy,” she said.

  “Sorry, Madison,” he said, tipping his hat, just to be a jerk.

  “I should have just frozen to death. Then there could have been a legend about my tragic and beautiful demise in the mountains.” He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her until she sighed and continued talking. “I don’t know where the box thingy is. You’re going to have to hunt for it.”

  “I think I can handle that.” He walked deeper into the kitchen, then stopped when he saw two purple packets sitting on the kitchen counter. That heat returned with a vengeance when he realized exactly what they were, and what they meant. He looked up, his eyes meeting her extremely guilty gaze. “Yahtzee, huh?”

  “That’s what the kids call it,” she said, pressing her palm over the telling packets.

  “Only because they’re too immature to call it fucking.”

  Color washed up her neck, into her cheeks. “Or not crass enough.”

  In that moment, he had no idea what devil possessed him, and he didn’t particularly care. He turned to face her, planting his hands on the countertop, just an inch away from hers. “I don’t know about that. I’m betting that you could use a little crassness in your life, Madison West.”

  “Are you trying to suggest that I need you?” she asked, her voice choked.

  Lightning streaked through his blood, and in that moment, he was lost. It didn’t matter that he thought she was insufferable, a prissy little princess who didn’t appreciate any damn thing she had. It didn’t matter that he’d come up here to work.

  All that mattered was he hadn’t touched a woman in a long time, and Madison West was so close all he would have to do was shift his weight slightly and he’d be able to take her into his arms.

  He looked down pointedly at her hand, acting as though he could see straight through to the protection beneath. “Well,” he said, “you have a couple of the essential ingredients to have yourself a pretty fun evening. All you seem to be missing is the man. But I imagine the guy you invited up here is nice. I’m not very nice, Madison,” he said, leaning in, “but I could damn sure show you a good time.”

  Two

  The absolute worst thing was the fact that Sam’s words sent a shiver down her spine. Sam McCormack. Why did it have to be Sam McCormack? He was the deadly serpent to her Indiana Jones.

  She should throw him out. Throw him out and get back to her very disappointing evening where all orgasms would be self-administered. So, basically a regular Friday night.

  She wanted to throw herself on the ground and wail. It was not supposed to be a regular Friday night. She was supposed to be breaking her sex fast. Maybe this was why people had flings in the spring. Inclement weather made winter flings difficult. Also, mostly you just wanted to keep your socks on the whole time. And that wasn’t sexy.

  Maybe her libido should hibernate for a while. Pop up again when the pear trees were blooming or something.

  She looked over at Sam, and her libido made a dash to the foreground. That was the problem with Sam. He irritated her. He was e
xactly the kind of man she didn’t like. He was cocky. He was rough and crude.

  Whenever she’d given him very helpful pointers about handling the horses when he came to do farrier work at the estate, he was always telling her to go away and in general showing no deference.

  And okay, if he’d come and told her how to do her job, she would have told him where he could stick his hoof nippers. But still. Her animals. So she was entitled to her opinions.

  Last time she’d walked into the barn when he was doing shoes, he hadn’t even looked up from his work. He’d just pointed back toward the door and shouted, out!

  Yeah, he was a jerk.

  However, there was something about the way he looked in a tight T-shirt, his muscles bulging as he did all that hard labor, that made a mockery of that very certain hatred she felt burning in her breast.

  “Are you going to take off your coat and stay awhile?” The question, asked in a faintly mocking tone, sent a dart of tension straight down between her thighs.

  She could not take off her coat. Because she was wearing nothing more than a little scrap of red lace underneath it. And now that was all she could think of. About how little stood between Sam and her naked body.

  About what might happen if she just went ahead and dropped the coat now and revealed all of that to him.

  “It’s cold,” she snapped. “Maybe if you went to work getting the electricity back on rather than standing there making terrible double entendres, I would be able to take off my coat.”

  He lifted a brow. “And then do you think you’ll take me up on my offer to show you a good time?”

  “If you can get my electricity back on, I will consider a good time shown to me. Honestly, that’s all I want. The ability to microwave popcorn and not turn into a Maddycicle.”

  The maddening man raised his eyebrows, shooting her a look that clearly said Suit yourself, then set about looking for the fuse box.

  She stood by alone for a while, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Then she started to feel like an idiot just kind of hanging out there while he searched for the source of all power. She let out an exasperated sigh and followed his path, stopping when she saw him leaning up against a wall, a little metal door fixed between the logs open as he examined the small black switches inside.

  “It’s not a fuse. That means there’s something else going on.” He slammed the door shut. Then he turned back to look at her. “You should come over to my cabin.”

  “No!” The denial was a little bit too enthusiastic. A little bit too telling. “I mean, I can start a fire here—it’s going to be fine. I’m not going to freeze.”

  “You’re going to curl up by the fire with a blanket? Like a sad little pet?”

  She made a scoffing sound. “No, I’m going to curl up by the fire like the Little Match Girl.”

  “That makes it even worse. The Little Match Girl froze to death.”

  “What?”

  “How did you not know that?”

  “I saw it when I was a kid. It was a cartoon. She really died?” Maddy blinked. “What kind of story is that to present to children?”

  “An early lesson, maybe? Life is bleak, and then you freeze to death alone?”

  “Charming,” she said.

  “Life rarely is.” He kept looking at her. His dark gaze was worrisome.

  “I’m fine,” she said, because somebody had to say something.

  “You are not. Get your suitcase—come over to the cabin. We can flip the lights on, and then if we notice from across the driveway that your power’s on again, you can always come back.”

  It was stupid to refuse him. She knew him, if not personally, at least well enough to know that he wasn’t any kind of danger to her.

  The alternative was trying to sleep on the couch in the living room while the outside temperatures hovered below freezing, waking up every few hours to keep the fire stoked.

  Definitely, going over to his cabin made more sense. But the idea filled her with a strange tension that she couldn’t quite shake. Well, she knew exactly what kind of tension it was. Sexual tension.

  She and Sam had so much of it that hung between them like a fog whenever they interacted. Although, maybe she read it wrong. Maybe on his end it was just irritation and it wasn’t at all tinged with sensual shame.

  “Why do you have to be so damned reasonable?” she asked, turning away from him and stalking toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  She stopped, turning to face him. “To change. Also, to get my suitcase. I have snacks in there.”

  “Are snacks a euphemism for something interesting?” he asked, arching a dark brow.

  She sputtered, genuinely speechless. Which was unusual to downright unheard of. “No,” she said, her tone sounding petulant. “I have actual snacks.”

  “Come over to my place. Bring the snacks.”

  “I will,” she said, turning on her heel, heading toward the stairs.

  “Maybe bring the Yahtzee too.”

  Those words hit her hard, with all the impact of a stomach punch. She could feel her face turning crimson, and she refused to look back at him. Refused to react to that bait at all. He didn’t want that. He did not want to play euphemistic board games with her. And she didn’t want to play them with him.

  If she felt a little bit...on edge, it was just because she had been anticipating sex and she had experienced profound sex disappointment. That was all.

  She continued up the stairs, making her way to the bedroom, then changed back into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt as quickly as possible before stuffing the little red lace thing back in the bag and zipping everything up.

  She lugged it back downstairs, her heart slamming against her breastbone when Sam was in her line of sight again. Tall, broad shouldered and far too sexy for his own good, he promised to be the antidote to sexual disappointment.

  But an emotionless hookup with a guy she liked well enough but wouldn’t get emotionally involved with was one thing. Replacing him at the last moment with a guy she didn’t even like? No, that was out of the question.

  Absolutely and completely out of the question.

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s go.”

  * * *

  By the time she got settled in the extra room in the cabin, she was feeling antsy. She could hide, but she was hungry. And Maddy didn’t believe in being hungry when food was at hand. Yes, she had some various sugar-based items in her bag, but she needed protein.

  In the past, she had braved any number of her father’s awkward soirees to gain access to bacon-wrapped appetizers.

  She could brave Sam McCormack well enough to root around for sustenance. She would allow no man to stand between herself and her dinner.

  Cautiously, she made her way downstairs, hoping that maybe Sam had put himself away for the night. The thought made her smile. That he didn’t go to bed like a normal person but closed himself inside...not a coffin. But maybe a scratchy, rock-hewn box that would provide no warmth or comfort. It seemed like something he would be into.

  In fairness, she didn’t really know Sam McCormack that well, but everything she did know about him led her to believe that he was a supremely unpleasant person. Well, except for the whole him-not-letting-her-die-of-frostbite-in-her-powerless-cabin thing. She supposed she had to go ahead and put that in the Maybe He’s Not Such a Jackass column.

  Her foot hit the ground after the last stair silently, and she cautiously padded into the kitchen.

  “Looking for something?”

  She startled, turning around and seeing Sam standing there, leaning in the doorway, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. She did her best to look cool. Composed. Not interested in his muscles. “Well—” she tucked her hair behind her ear “—I was hoping
to find some food.”

  “You brought snacks,” he said.

  “Candy,” she countered.

  “So, that made it okay for you to come downstairs and steal my steak?”

  Her stomach growled. “You have steak?”

  “It’s my steak.”

  She hadn’t really thought of that. “Well, my...you know, the guy. He was supposed to bring food. And I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly think about the fact that whatever food is in this fridge is food that you personally provided. I was protein blind.” She did her best to look plaintive. Unsurprisingly, Sam did not seem moved by her plaintiveness.

  “I mean, it seems cruel to eat steak in front of you, Madison. Especially if I’m not willing to share.” He rubbed his chin, the sounds of his whiskers abrading his palm sending a little shiver down her back. God knew why.

  “You would do that. You would... You would tease me with your steak.” Suddenly, it was all starting to sound a little bit sexual. Which she had a feeling was due in part to the fact that everything felt sexual to her right about now.

  Which was because of the other man she had been about to sleep with. Not Sam. Not really.

  A slow smile crossed his face. “I would never tease you with my steak, Madison. If you want a taste, all you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

  She felt her face getting hotter. “May I please have your steak?”

  “Are you going to cook it for me?”

  “Did you want it to be edible?”

  “That would be the goal, yes,” he responded.

  She lifted her hands up, palms out. “These hands don’t cook.”

  His expression shifted. A glint of wickedness cutting through all that hardness. She’d known Sam was mean. She’d known he was rough. She had not realized he was wicked. “What do those hands do, I wonder?”

  He let that innuendo linger between them and she practically hissed in response. “Do you have salad? I will fix salad. You cook steak. Then we can eat.”

  “Works for me, but I assume you’re going to be sharing your candy with me?”