Tossing his hat onto the seat, Shain eased his six-foot-five-inch frame inside the truck and gunned the engine. His sister’s dark brown eyes and stern voice filled his head: “Don’t you go and blow this opportunity, Shain. Our first customer will set the tone for other guests and tour book listings. We need this, Shain. We need her.”
Shain scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. It didn’t sit well with him, turning the ranch into a tourist attraction, but Nhya was convinced it was the only way to pay off the enormous balance due on the ranch’s title by the end of summer. And after poring over his mother and stepfather’s bills the past two weeks, Shain grudgingly conceded she might be right.
He slammed his palm onto the steering wheel. How in the hell had they managed to get so far behind? His mother had never said a word, but that was like her—never wanting to worry him or his sister. But now they were in a tighter spot than a rodeo clown in a barrel.
Shain sighed. As if dealing with the shock and grief of losing his mother and stepfather wasn’t enough.
He recalled the cell phone call from Nhya four weeks ago to the day. His gaze cut to the green tinted dashboard clock. Almost to the hour. Her ragged, tear-clogged voice telling him he had to come home. That Mom and Frank were dead—killed instantly when their Cessna crashed somewhere in Wyoming. They’d been on their way back from a stock trade show—trying, Nhya suspected, to solicit help from friends to keep the ranch afloat.
Coming back and running the ranch wasn’t something Shain wanted to do. In fact, he’d sworn to never get tied to the enormous commitment and thankless hours of work it took to run a ranch. He was well aware of the toll. He’d watched his mother and father build the ranch from the ground up on land willed to them by his Oglala grandmother after she passed. He’d been right there, even at a tender age, to muck stalls, mend fences and help herd and cut the cattle. Eventually Shain took to breaking the wild mustangs his father drove into Utah every summer.
But he’d also watched as the sun-up-to-sun-down, no-rest-for-the-weary lifestyle robbed more than just a few hours of recreation from his family. When his father died at the age of forty-three from, of all things, an untreated infection from a barbed wire cut to his knee, Shain swore he’d never tie himself to that way of life. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. Far from it. He relied on mind-numbing labor to relieve the pressure cooker that built inside him in idle moments but he’d be damned if he’d marry himself to a piece of land and a family along with it.
Then there were the…other things about the ranch and the land. The whispered voices of their ancestors. Mostly his grandmother. The “feelings” his sister had always been sensitive to, even as a young child. Shain had gotten very good at ignoring the odd sensations, the prickling of intuition or guiding urges. But Nhya thrived on them. They were as natural to her as breathing. Shain had other opinions. Interfering. Unnerving. Unexplainable. He realized at an early age that it was something he’d rather escape than embrace.
And so he’d decided to do what he loved and leave the ranching to his new stepfather and mother. They seemed to thrive on it. He’d been relieved when his mother had remarried. Shain liked Frank well enough and his stepfather let him chase his passion for rodeo, driving him to compete in regional events. As soon as Shain turned nineteen, he hit the rodeo circuit full time, making a name for himself and having one hell of a good time while he was at it.
Twelve years later, Shain was one of the best bronc riders in the nation, spending over six months of the year traveling the circuit, competing and now training newer riders and wranglers. He’d become a legend as a hellion and vicious competitor, which was how Shain liked it. Despite his numerous injuries, he was still in the best shape of his life.
The muted lights of Wolf Springs split the night and Shain slowed. He pulled into the lot at the Last Chance Saloon and parked.
Not that it mattered now. He had “responsibilities”, as his sister would put it. A duty to do what his mother and father would have wanted him to do—save the ranch. Nhya couldn’t do it on her own…well, Shain thought with a wry smile, she probably could but she shouldn’t have to.
His lips pressed into a hard line. Shain knew he was doing the right thing, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. And the sooner he pulled the ranch out of debt, the sooner he could go back on the road, his only cares which stallion he’d be breaking before the day was over and which horny sweet little rodeo honey would be rubbing down his sore muscles, and other things, that same night.
He grabbed his hat and opened the door. Unfolding his tall, rock-solid body from the cab, he stood, his boots crunching on the limestone hard-pack of the parking lot. “All right, darlin’,” he said quietly, before tossing back his hair, slapping on his hat and pulling the brim low. “Red Bear Ranch is waitin’. Time to get this show on the road and your money in my pocket.”
Chapter Three
As Shain pushed his way through the back door, whistles and hollers hit his ears. It sounded like the party was in full swing. He rounded the corner and crunched to a halt on the peanut-strewn floor.
What the hell…
“That’s it, sugar! Hold on tight!”
“Yer doin’ great, darlin’!”
Bright, full laughter cut through the haze of cowboy hollers and Shain’s gaze fastened on the tall, leggy blonde clamped onto the mechanical bull, which was rising and falling on the lowest speed, with no real twists and, even then, she was having a hard time holding on. The only thing keeping her from landing in a heap on the floor was the phenomenal grip of her bare thighs pressed against the worn leather.
Which brought on more laughter and shouts.
Shain took three strides forward then stopped. The closer he got, the stranger he felt. It was as if someone hefted a fifty-pound boulder and shoved it straight into his gut. Shain ignored the sensation as his gaze fastened on the honey’s beautiful thighs, calves and lovely slim ankles. She was a looker, all right. And her outfit left nothing to the imagination. Her legs were longer than those of a quarter horse on steroids and her skin…a shade of sun-touched cream that left Shain with an absurd desire to seize that finely shaped ankle, pull it up, and run his tongue from the curve of her heel all the way to the tight flesh of her ass cheek.
Which was nearly as exposed as the rest of her body.
Darrell had been right. This one was trouble. Shain wet his suddenly parched lips and his gaze snapped to the rowdy regulars who had yet to notice him, their attention fully focused on Miss Thing.
With his fingers hooked in his belt loops, Shain made for the bull. The whooping quieted. Only the creak and twist of the mechanical springs could be heard and the lilting, nervous laughter of the woman—the client.
“Shut ‘er down, Jimbo,” Shain rumbled, his eyes drawn to the swell of the woman’s breasts. Through the thin shirt and tight bra, he could see that her nipples tipped up, as if begging for a little extra attention. And with legs like that, Shain mused, it would take a lot for her other body parts to compete.
And then she looked up.
“Shit on a shingle,” Shain murmured. Her eyes—green as freshly sprung pine needles—fastened on him.
“Oh,” she whispered and Shain’s gaze fell to her parted lips. He could just see the tips of her even white teeth. Out snaked a coral pink tongue to wet them and Shain’s thoughts crashed to an image of that luscious tongue flicking across the head of his cock.
Damn…but her face would have no problem competing with her legs.
An impatient grumbling from the crowd brought Shain back to reality and he leaned in, placing his mouth next to her diminutive ear. “Let’s go, darlin’. I think you’ve entertained the pack enough for one night.”
The blonde stiffened and stared straight ahead, her teeth worrying her succulent lower lip. She mumbled something Shain couldn’t understand and, from the high flush on her cheeks, Shain doubted even she knew what she was saying. “Come on. Fun’s over,” Shain said, reaching for her sl
ender shoulder.
As his hand made contact, the woman gasped and then…of all things, whimpered like a lost kitten or mistreated puppy.
“Hey, Stevenson! What the hell?”
“Leave her alone, man! We were just havin’ some fun!”
More hollers, and Shain felt the horde moving in. A familiar sizzle of cold seeped into the soles of his feet and he took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to pound sense into a bunch of wasted cowboys.
What kind of game was she playing?
“Back off,” Shain growled without turning his head. The disgruntled shouts faded to grumbling.
He leaned forward once more, bracing his hands on either side of her body, his palms touching warm leather. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re up to but, if I have to beat the hell out of this bunch of rock heads because of you, you can damn well kiss your ranch trip goodbye. We’ll pack you onto the first flight out of Wolf Springs.”
Of course, that wasn’t what Shain really wanted to do with her. With his chest nearly touching her trembling back and her fresh, sultry scent of lilies and summer blooms wafting into his nose, all Shain wanted to do was tell her to hold on while he climbed up behind her and rammed his now pulsing cock into her sweet little pussy as she lay splayed out before him.
‘Course, that wasn’t an option—yet.
Shain realized that she was mumbling something. Ears straining, he picked up: “No, he can’t be the one. He can’t be…”
Shain grunted. He’d had enough. In one seamless move, he wrapped an arm under her waist and lifted her clear of the bull and turned her around, setting her onto her four-inch heels in front of him. She tottered forward and Shain was quick to hold her up, her pointy tits jammed against his chest. Shain repressed a groan, his focus captured by her upturned, dreamy-eyed gaze.
“Oh, my, God,” she whispered. “You’re my trigger tripper.” And with that her angel face promptly fractured into tears.
Tears, for Godsakes.
Shain was quick to sling her over his shoulder, where she dangled, sobbing like a three year old that’d just been told her favorite horse had to be put down.
But it had to be done. He was gonna need his hands—and fists—free.
* * * * *
Dark, thick hair…full, demanding lips… chiseled jaw… and eyes the color of high-polished mahogany with a hint of a storm-touched sky.
Mine. All mine. Mine to tease, and suck and pump to distraction…
“Hmmm…”
A cool finger found her clit and Lily moaned, the sensation zinging straight through her abdomen and up into the pleasure centers at the top of her skull. She wanted him to do more than tease, though. She wanted to get a taste of those beautiful abs and feel his thick, luscious cock on her lips and tongue. Sample his essence. Know every ripple of flesh, muscle and bone.
The slamming of a door brought Lily upright.
She blinked. Rubbed her eyes.
I’m in bed…
Her bleary gaze tripped through the shadowed room. Where the heck am I?
Taking a deep breath, Lily looked down and gasped. She was perfectly naked. “Oh, lord,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her throbbing head and pulling the sky blue sheets up to cover herself.
Fractured, half-formed pictures of the previous night came back to her. The drive from the airport. The bar…ohmygod…the bar! Lily remembered the attractive bartender, the blue Long Island Iced Tea and the cowboys. Who, if she was remembering correctly, had been pretty gentlemanly. But she hadn’t stopped with that one drink. There’d been another and then she’d been persuaded to drink a couple shots of Jack D with the “boys.”
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That’s the problem. This entire shindig had thrown Lily off track. Made her do things she wouldn’t normally do.
That’s the idea, cuz.
Nic and Bri’s tandem voices sliced through the muck in Lily’s brain and she groaned again.
But how had she ended up where she was now?
And, where exactly was she?
Lily forced her legs to one side of the four-poster pine bed and onto the cool hardwood floor. “There’s no way I would have gone home with one of those guys last night. “
With the sheet wrapped loosely over her breasts, Lily made for the heavily draped window across the room. As she walked she realized the insides of her thighs were sore.
“Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” Lily said, her stomach churning. “Nic and Bri, I’m going to rip every insane hair out of both your beautiful heads for this.”
She made it to the window and, with a trembling hand, pulled the hunter green drapes aside. Early morning sunlight, pure and head-splittingly bright, flooded the room and hammered against Lily’s squinting face. Closing her eyes, Lily let her body adjust to the laser-like pain, before forcing her lids open.
Her mouth gaped. The large window afforded her an unhindered view of a wide, uncluttered prairie grass lawn and, beyond that, a sprawling, sectioned corral. And barn. And sheds. Horses. Some milled in the pasture beyond the corral. Some in the corrals themselves. There were cows, too. Or steers. Whatever. Lily couldn’t tell the difference and, besides, the lumpy black animals weren’t what held her attention. It was the men. Five or six that she could see. All sun-browned and weather-toughened. Two were shirtless, their muscles flexing as they struggled with a fence post. The others were on horses, moving cattle toward some sort of long, narrow chute type thing. They were shouting. Motioning to one another.
“I woke up in Bonanza,” Lily murmured, her eyes wide, one hand pressed to the window casing.
The unique scent of male musk and Old Spice tickled Lily’s nostrils and prickles raced down the backs of her legs.
Lily stiffened as images crashed into her head. The smoky bar. The mechanical bull. Trying to hold on. Not feeling well. Wanting to get off. Find a dark corner. Go home.
And then he was standing there. An altogether different cowboy from the bar horde. Impossibly tall. With hair a rich shade of dark brown—lighter strands woven throughout the thick waves, and that masculine scent.
His eyes…warm, smoky…fastened on her, and it was clear as glass to Lily, even in her inebriated state, that this man was dangerous. Wild and uncultured. He’d spoken to her in that deep, rough voice but she hadn’t understood a word he’d said. The only thing reacting to the stranger was her traitorous body. Instantly. Without shame or reservation, her vaginal muscles contracted, sending a nearly painful thread of longing rippling through her. Moisture warmed her nether lips, which were pressed against hot leather, and all Lily could think of was how much she wanted the dangerous-looking cowboy to rip her off the bull, push that tiny bit of skirt up around her waist before hooking his big thumbs into her G-string and pressing his powerful hips against her crotch.
And then he’d touched her.
Lily recalled the electricity that had flashed through her at the contact, which was when she knew. He’s the one. The trigger tripper.
He’ll chew me up and spit me out, Lily had thought.
Which is when she’d…
Ohmygod, Lily thought, her face burning, I started crying. “I acted just like one of the simpering Bonanza damsels in distress…”
“Bonanza’s a relic of the past, darlin’. The Red Bear is all about the here and now.”
Lily gasped in surprise, nearly dropping the sheet as the sultry voice brushed the back of her neck.
She froze as two very large, tan and muscled forearms eased to either side of her, leaning on the windowsill. Heat, faintly damp and steamy, warmed her back and that scent again. Strong. Intoxicating.
Chest hairs tickled her shoulders and Lily bit her lower lip, her nipples tightening beneath the thin cotton.
“Like what you see out there, sweetness? Bet it’s what you were comin’ here for all along, hmmm?”
Remember your manners, Lily, and the wager. “Guess that’s for me to know and you to find out,” Lily managed to p
urr, wondering if she’d already done something in her drunken stupor to confirm his notion.
Lord.
His arms eased in tighter, hot flesh pressing against hers, his mouth directly above the curve of her ear. “I know all I need to know about you, sweetness. Seen your type in hundreds of different bars in a hundred different towns. The only difference between you and them is that you probably have the cash to legitimize your little games.” Lily felt and heard him draw a deep breath, before blowing it out across the sensitive tips of her ears. She shivered. “That the way it is, darlin’?”
Panic seized Lily as that languid feeling seeped into her abdomen. That distinct sensation that preempted all rational thought with images of hot tongues, roving hands and thrusting hips.
“Uh,” Lily mumbled, searching for an avenue of escape, redemption. “I—”
Before Lily could stumble through a sentence, a slap accompanied by a harsh sting made her jump and squeal.
He slapped my ass!
Lily spun, fury leaving her face a fine shade of crimson as she rubbed her stinging butt. “What in the he—”
Words stuck in her throat as she came face to face with her abuser. He was as she remembered him…tall…darkly handsome and built like a giant sequoia, slender in his hips but broad as a summer day is long, with muscles sculpted like iron, from his bulging calves to his rippling abs, on up to his full to bursting, crossed arms.
But it was his face that left her speechless—and alarmed. It was cold. His dark brown eyes fastened her with an intelligent and arrogant glare that made her want to shrink into a puff of dust and catch the first breeze out of town.
Then there was the little matter of the blue shiner and the hard red line of a cut beneath it. She was sure he hadn’t had that last night in the bar.
It was at that moment Lily realized he was wearing only a white towel low around his strong hips. “Did, uh, we—”
He snorted and stalked to a chair near the bed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Hearts Are Wild Page 22
