How to Wrangle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  Oh, this was going to be good.

  * * *

  Other women had come to Shane’s cabin, for one night or even, in one case, three. But when Cody arrived, his love life had screeched to a halt. He didn’t want his son to be subjected to a parade of “mommies” that appeared at the breakfast table, then never returned.

  Lindsey was the first woman he’d allowed near his son. He hadn’t had much of a choice, of course, but looking down at her, with her bright smile and smooth skin, her laughing eyes and lovely mouth, he thought he might like to have an actual relationship for once.

  Not that he really knew what that meant. He’d failed miserably the one time he’d tried, with Tara. After her, he’d done his best to make sure the women he slept with had no expectations.

  But Lindsey made him want something more than a one-night stand. Not only was she great with Cody, softhearted, and wise to the ways of the West; she also seemed to enjoy sex as much as he did. Maybe more.

  Right now, she was exploring his body with her small, smooth hands. They glided over his chest, traced the ridges and hollows of his ribs, and explored the crease that ran from his hips to his groin with a gliding motion that made his breath catch.

  “Go slow,” he said. “I want this to last.”

  “Me too.”

  Her voice was breathless and light. Everything about her was so delicate, so feminine, that she made him feel more of a man. He wanted to protect this woman, to keep her safe. He wanted her to lean on him. Depend on him.

  He’d never wanted that from a woman before.

  He kissed her again, doing his best to show her how he felt. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her, since he didn’t understand it himself. There were no words for the connection between them, but when her tongue met his in a sinuous dance of seduction, he knew they’d found a secret language, one made up of quick breaths and sighs, touches and tender looks.

  Holding himself above her, he changed the mood of his kisses from tender to teasing and back again, then worked his way down her body, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her beautiful breasts.

  He laid a row of kisses down the center of her belly, then pressed a line of them across the crease of each hip. Moaning, she opened to him, letting him see that her secret center was slick with desire.

  She tasted like honey, strawberry wine, and soft, willing woman. He felt her muscles clench as she arched her back and moaned, responding to every stroke, every touch. Slowing his pace, he made her purr with pleasure before he softly fluttered his tongue over the sweet nub of her desire.

  She sucked in a breath that sounded like shock mingled with pleased surprise, and he closed his lips and sucked, thrumming his tongue against her until her body tightened like a strung bow.

  She rocked her hips once, twice, then a third time, and he brought his fingers into the mix—stroking, probing, gliding inside her until she moaned and writhed. She responded to every move, twisting and moaning, then suddenly grew quiet.

  Lifting his head, he looked up the long, pale line of her body, past her breasts with their peaked nipples, and saw that she’d thrown her head back in ecstasy. Her long hair swirled over the pillow in flowing curves, and her brow was furrowed.

  Was he hurting her? He shifted his weight and lightened his touch, but she looked even more distressed.

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Don’t stop. Just do…that…more.”

  He tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw. He was going to lose it himself, just from hearing her say that.

  But this was about her, so he had to hold back. Opening his eyes, he did “that” more—and a few other things too.

  God, he loved to touch her. He wanted this all the time—every night and every minute of the day. He’d never known a woman to be so responsive, so easy to—to love.

  He could feel himself falling. He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t remember why.

  So he let go of everything—of conscious thought and self-imposed rules, of all the risks that didn’t seem to matter anymore—and let himself fall.

  Chapter 27

  Lindsey couldn’t believe the intensity of the feelings Shane called up in her. When Rodger had done this—well, he hadn’t done this, actually, but when he’d tried—it had felt like a medical procedure. He’d told her surgeons, with their talented fingers, made the best lovers. Well, surgeons didn’t operate with their tongues, did they? And that was the skill that mattered.

  She almost laughed at the thought, but then Shane touched the tip of his tongue to just the right spot, right where she needed him—there, there—and it was even better.

  Amazing.

  So good…

  And she was gone, spinning off in a swirl of sensation that mixed body and mind until there was no thinking, only feeling, and the feeling was like flying, like floating, like love.

  She came back to earth to find herself cradled in his arms.

  Closing her eyes, she felt yet another blush suffuse her face. She wasn’t sure what she’d done, but she knew she’d gone crazy. Had she hollered? Had she hit him? Had she drooled?

  Oh, God, she’d probably drooled. She’d been completely out of control.

  He was quiet so long, she finally opened her eyes to peek at his face. If she’d drooled, he apparently liked drooling women, because he gazed at her with such tenderness that his dark eyes looked deeper and more mysterious than ever.

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered, running her hands over his chest. “I want you so much.”

  Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, he’d prepared for that, with a slicker that hopefully didn’t have any holes in it.

  The thought made her giggle.

  “What?” he asked, smiling.

  She touched the tip of him, running her finger over the condom. It was warm from his body heat, and he sucked in a quick breath.

  “I have a habit of having inappropriate thoughts during sex,” she said. “And sometimes I say them out loud.”

  “What are you thinking now?” he asked.

  “You’re wearing a slicker,” she said. “Like the cows.”

  He laughed. When he relaxed like this, he looked like a different man. She wished she could help him become this person forever—this kind, gentle man who made love with such skill and surprising tenderness.

  She pulled him close, gasping when he eased himself, ever so slightly, inside her.

  He raised his brows in a question.

  “I’m fine.” She rocked toward him, wanting more. Needing more.

  He slid deeper, and deeper still, and then a roiling mix of sensations took her breath away, and her thoughts too. She was a tangling, jangling mass of happy nerve endings, all celebrating the way he made her feel.

  Moving against him, she rocked with each thrust, matching his rhythm until it felt as if they’d become one being. Their movements speeded and slowed, speeded and slowed, sometimes with hard, urgent, can’t-get-enough thrusts; sometimes in a sweet, slow symphony. But they were always in perfect harmony, as if they had one mind. This man filled her perfectly, like a piece of herself she’d lost and, finally, blessedly found.

  Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes, losing herself in the magic of being taken, utterly and completely, by a man who knew how to love a woman with everything he had.

  “Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me, Lindsey. I want to see you.” His voice lowered to a low rumble. “I want to watch you come.”

  She opened her eyes, and their gazes met and melded. The contact seemed to energize him even more. He thrust faster, again and again, his gaze set hard on hers. He was reading her, she realized, watching for hints of discomfort or desire and adjusting his touch, his pace, his pressure until she felt herself rising, hurtling skyward on a wave of sensation that made her shout out her gratitude and joy.

  She was at the height of her flight when he thrust hard one more time, then moaned and went still, his face taut with what looked lik
e agony. A cry escaped him, low and guttural, and she gazed down from the peak of ecstasy to see him clench his fists and throw his head back like a man in pain. Giving in to the gravity of the real world, she dove from the heights like a falcon that closes its wings and plunges earthward.

  She needed to catch him, to cling to him, to anchor him to the earth. Her own flight had been almost frightening, and even though he’d weathered every emotional storm the world could offer, she knew he needed her to help him find his way back from joy.

  When he collapsed onto her, she bore his weight without a murmur. He looked spent, content, and amazed, and a wave of love, intoxicating as any drug, took over her mind and heart the way his touch had taken her body.

  * * *

  Shane woke to find Lindsey staring at the ceiling in the gray light of dawn.

  Shoot. He’d hoped to wake to tousled hair and sleepy eyes, to warm skin and soft whimpers of desire. He’d looked forward to making love in the early morning light. But she looked tense and exhausted, as if she’d spent the night sleepless with worry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She turned. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” He reached over and stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Why can’t you sleep?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “I told you, you have to stop that.” He tried for a playful tone, but the words came out gruff, sounding too much like an order. He reached for her, knowing she’d feel better if he kissed away her tension, but she was already sitting up and reaching for her clothes.

  “I need to go,” she said. “I want to get a start on that tack room.” She gave him a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “Sierra’s bringing Josh for a playdate, remember? The kid who likes dirt.”

  She pulled on her jeans and slid into her shirt. Pausing midway down the buttons, she dropped her hands, slumped her shoulders, and slouched back onto the bed, hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m even thinking of selling Bud’s things.”

  This was the problem, then. Something was forcing her to grub for money when she should have been celebrating her new life. And she had no one to help her but his six-year-old and a kid who liked dirt.

  Again his mind spun with questions. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And she wouldn’t tell him what it was.

  “Talk to me, Lindsey. Let me help.” He tucked his hand under the hem of her shirt and rubbed the soft dip at the base of her spine with the backs of his knuckles. “Can’t we fix whatever’s wrong together?”

  Pressing her lips in a tight, grim line, she shook her head as she rose and finished buttoning her shirt.

  “If it involves the ranch, it involves me.”

  She paused, looking up at the ceiling as if irritated. “It’s family stuff, okay?”

  The words struck him like a fist to the gut. He’d been family to Bud and to Grace, but to Lindsey he was—what? The help?

  He sat up, facing away from her, and set his clenched fists on his thighs.

  “Last night, you gave me…” He’d been about to say “everything,” but that would obviously be inaccurate. “You gave me so much.”

  “That was personal. What I gave you was mine to give.” She sighed. “This is different. It’s not about me, okay?”

  “No, it’s about us. Or I thought it was.”

  He grabbed his jeans and shirt, tugging them on with short, angry bursts of energy.

  She set her hand on the doorknob, then paused.

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at him. “I know I’m asking you to take a leap, but I can’t tell you what’s going on.” Turning away from the door, she crossed the room to stand before him. There was no shy downward gaze this time, no sweet sideways smile. “Bud trusted me, and that’s sacred to me. If you can’t handle that…” She shrugged, spreading her empty hands.

  He blew out a long, frustrated breath. His life had turned into a daisy wheel, where petals were plucked off every day as Lindsey’s plans and moods changed. She loves me, she loves me not. She’s selling cattle, she’s selling land. She’ll stay, she’ll go.

  He thought of Decker Ranch, of Sierra and Ridge and the boy they’d adopted; of Brady and Suze, pregnant with two little girls; and of Isaiah, who’d found a home at last. All this time Shane had been searching for family in the form of a woman who’d be a mother to Cody, but his brothers and their wives were all the family he needed. They always had been.

  Besides, it was his job to hold them together. He was the big brother, the one who’d always dispensed advice, settled fights, and kept them on the right road.

  Unlike Lindsey, his brothers trusted him, even though they, of all people, had reason not to trust anyone. Like him, they’d been let down a thousand times by people who should have loved them. But while they gave him their bruised, battered hearts without question, Lindsey held herself apart, keeping secrets, holding back.

  So why was he torturing himself over her? And why the heck had he slept with her when he knew he was leaving? Dammit, he should have at least told her. That was plain wrong.

  Lindsey still stood before him, watching his eyes, and he realized she was waiting for some sort of answer. What was the question again?

  If you can’t handle that…

  He didn’t know if he could handle it or not, so he simply shook his head and mirrored her gesture, spreading his empty hands.

  Sighing, Lindsey set her hands on his shoulders. She didn’t speak, just stood there, leaning ever so slightly on him. Just enough so she wouldn’t be able to stand if he walked away.

  He knew, in that moment, why he hadn’t given his notice. Lindsey needed him. Ridge and Brady didn’t. They were all coupled up and happy. They didn’t need him ordering them around.

  Lindsey did. Not that she knew it. And she wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about the “ordering around” part either.

  Smiling at the thought, he reached up and placed his hands over hers. She smiled back, and he realized Decker Ranch would have to wait. Lindsey had caught him in a gossamer net of duty and desire so fine he hadn’t felt it settling over him, snaring his heart. And last night, she’d spun the web to steel.

  Was this what love felt like? He hoped not, because love was the last thing he needed right now.

  * * *

  Lindsey stood at the door to the cluttered old tack room, facing her small crew of two. She felt like a general marshaling her troops, gearing them up to face an impossible battle.

  The room was so cluttered, it was a challenge to get past the threshold. At some point in the past, Bud had given up on the place and turned one of the box stalls near the front of the barn into more modern storage for saddles and gear, with stands for the saddles and hooks for bridles.

  This room had no such conveniences. Dusty saddles were draped over dented buckets, and old blankets and bedrolls were stacked haphazardly on the floor, along with other items she couldn’t even identify. The ceiling’s rugged beams were studded with nails of all sizes from which hung ancient oil lanterns, cracked leather reins, and old harness parts. A layer of dust thick as the fur on a rabbit rendered everything unrecognizable.

  “We need to get all this stuff cleaned out,” she told her troops. “Take it out, dust it off, and sort it into piles—bridles, halters, blankets, whatever. Like with like. Okay?”

  Cody and his friend Josh nodded, looking a little stunned. They were still at the age where helping with chores was a treat, but even their enthusiasm was daunted by the mess.

  Josh grimaced and shoved his glasses up on his nose. “Do we have to clean all this stuff?”

  “Not today,” Lindsey said. “Just shake off the dust so we can tell what it is.”

  Shane stood beside her, his face unreadable. He’d walked away that morning with a smile, and she supposed that was the best she could hope for.

  She appreciated his willingness to help, but he made it hard for her to pay attention to the kids. The slightest hint of his presence made h
er remember the heat, the hunger, and the harsh brush of his stubbled jaw over her tender skin the night before. Those memories moved quickly to the main event—the slow, slick glide when he’d first entered her, the frenzied, urgent rhythm of their need as they’d stoked each other’s fires to blazing, impossible heights.

  Dammit, she shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts in front of the children. She had to stop looking at him and get to work.

  Turning abruptly, she tripped over a bucket and plunged into the filthy room, falling face-first into a hundred years of dirt.

  She shook off Shane’s helping hand. “I’m fine.”

  That was debatable. The front of her shirt and jeans were smudged with grime, and she couldn’t even imagine what her face looked like. When she swiped one hand over her forehead, it came away coated with dirt.

  “Here.” Shane struggled to hide a smile while he dabbed at her face with a red bandanna he’d produced from his pocket. She was pretty sure he’d used it to wipe down a saddle, but it was still cleaner than whatever she’d fallen into. She stood quietly while he wiped away the dirt, scowling at his amusement.

  The boys were less successful at smothering their laughter, moving rapidly from repressed giggles to all-out guffaws. By the time Shane finished his task, they were clutching their stomachs and rolling on the ground.

  “You just wait.” She tilted her grimy nose in the air in a sooty, snooty salute. “We’ll all look like this in ten minutes. I was just nice enough to give you a preview.”

  Edging into the room, she was careful to avoid the many tripping hazards as she pulled down the stuff that hung from the rafters. She had to start somewhere, and getting rid of the ropes and reins would make it easier to do the rest of the job without getting smacked in the face.

  Dust cascaded from every item she touched, settling on her hair, her shoulders, and even her face as she handed the stuff to Shane, who sorted it into piles on the lawn. The boys, too curious to act as mere helpers, moved past her to explore the mess. They crowed over their finds as if they’d uncovered the treasures of King Tut.