by Norah Wilson
“Special event, this weekend only,” Cal said with an easy drawl. “A bit of a curtain call, I guess you’d call it.”
“I see.”
I see. Two tiny words, but they said it all. Cal wanted to tear off his protective vest and hurl it. He wanted to drag the stupid show chaps off too. Instead he said, “So what could possibly bring you to my doorstep after all these years, Dad? Nothing wrong, I hope?”
“No, no,” came his gruff reply. “Thought I’d just come down here for a spot of vacation, see how the other half lives.”
Vacation? When had Zane Taggart taken a vacation? And why in holy hell did he imagine he’d be welcome to stay here? “You might have called first.”
“Right. And you’da told me not to waste the trip.”
Cal bared his teeth in a smile. “You got me there.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“And there’s a very fine bed-and-breakfast a few towns over. I can even draw you a map.”
“What? You’re so busy you can’t accommodate a last-minute reservation?” Zane Taggart clasped his hands behind his back and thrust his chin out in a gesture Cal used to think of as his drill sergeant mode. “That’s not what I heard.”
Cal felt the flush of temper reach his neck. “You’re right; I do have vacancies. But nothing says I have to rent to you.”
“Mr. Taggart!”
Cal tuned out Delia’s shocked tone. No doubt she thought he owed his father more respect.
“What’s the matter? Doesn’t my money spend as well as the next guy’s?” Zane Taggart’s color had deepened. “It’s not like I’m asking you to put me up in the ranch house or anything. Any one of those vacant cabins’ll do. Unless you don’t have the staff to handle more than this handful here.” He gestured to the small crowd standing corral-side.
Cal bridled at the suggestion, even though he knew that Zane was deliberately goading him. “We can handle a full house, can’t we, Delia?”
“Yes, sir,” Delia said, still wringing her hands.
“Then take the man’s money and show him to a cabin.”
“Of course.” Delia stepped forward, ready to do her job.
“That’s very hospitable of you,” Zane said.
“Yeah, it is.” The slightly mocking edge to Zane’s words galled Cal. “In the circumstances, I’d say it was pretty damned hospitable.” Sonofabitch. He’d just agreed to let the man he hated above all others rent a cabin. That made twice in one day that he’d let foolish pride spur him into committing to something he really should have steered clear of. Pathetic. He made a show of looking at his watch. “I have to go.” He forced his words through a tightened jaw. “I’ve got a roping clinic in an hour’s time.”
With that he turned and strode off toward the barn.
Lauren had watched that exchange, unable to take her gaze off what could be an older version of Cal. He was stockier and his hair was shot with gray. His face, too, was more weathered by life and the prairie sun, but he had the same proud, almost arrogant bearing as Cal. Then, before her eyes, he seemed to deflate as he watched his son’s retreating back. Quite suddenly he looked like an old man.
“Would you like to come with me, Mr. Taggart?” Delia said. “We’ll get you registered and settled in.”
At Delia’s words, he seemed to recall himself. He straightened his spine. “Of course.” His right hand came up as though to remove a hat, but he wasn’t wearing one. The absence seemed to disconcert him for a second. “Lead on, Miz Delia.”
As Zane and Delia moved off, Lauren turned to scan for Cal. She caught sight of him just as he disappeared into the barn, his stiff-necked carriage telling her volumes about his state of mind. She took two steps in his direction, then stopped herself. Wait a minute! Don’t go after him. He’s going to ride that bull again tomorrow and to hell with what you think. He’ll probably break his stubborn neck.
Unfortunately, her anger had ebbed and the pep talk failed to resuscitate it. Experimentally, she summoned an image of the bull leaping and heaving, streamers of watery mucus flying from its dilated nostrils. The graphic mind-picture made her quake with fear all over again, but her anger had died. Cal really felt he had no choice. And now his father had landed on him, complete with baggage, both literal and emotional.
Cal’s father…Lauren remembered vividly the tale Cal had related about Zane destroying the horse he’d rescued. With that one action, he’d ripped everything away from his lonely son. Whether or not there was any hope of reconciliation after something like that, Lauren didn’t know. But what she did know was that Zane Taggart’s timing couldn’t have been worse. She’d actually hoped the older man would take Cal’s suggestion and carry on to the next B&B down the road. Cal so didn’t need the distraction right now.
With a resigned sigh, she started toward the barn, picking her way carefully in her sandals. She found Cal in the tack room. Scowling, he looked up at her, then went back to rummaging through boxes of odd leather straps and mismatched work gloves.
She drew a slow breath, inhaling the clean scents of oiled leather and horse. Unbidden came the memory of the last time she’d shared space with Cal in this tiny room. She pushed the shuddery feeling down.
“Cal, are you okay?”
“Where in hell are my gloves? I left them right here.” He slammed the last box back on the shelf.
Lauren jumped at the force of his action. “Your riding glove? You gave it to Seth.”
“No, my work gloves.”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you could borrow some—”
“I don’t need to borrow any damned gloves.” He yanked out another box, grabbed a brand-new pair of stiff-looking work gloves, and shoved the box back into place. “I just want my old gloves.”
She bit her lip. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Granite-gray eyes warned her to leave it alone, but she ignored their “back off” message. “Your father dropping in like that without warning, after all these years. And on top of the anthrax threat and having to organize this rodeo…”
“Dammit, Lauren. I said I’m fine.”
She bit her lip. He didn’t look fine. Didn’t sound fine either. “I mean, anyone would understand if you were upset. We could talk about it, if you—”
“Let me make myself plain—I don’t feel like talking.”
“But—”
“No talking.” His glittering gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt a current of awareness zing through her.
“Okay, no talking. Maybe we could go for a walk by the creek…”
Her words trailed off as she saw his face change. In a heartbeat his demeanor shifted. Cool eyes now raked her with an unmistakable sexual appraisal that bordered on the insulting.
“Don’t feel like walking either.” His arm lashed out like a rattlesnake, capturing her wrist. Excitement, unbidden and uneasy, leapt in her belly as he drew her closer. “But since you’re so anxious to accommodate, I’m sure you won’t mind giving me a little of what I do want.”
In a fluid movement, he crushed her against his chest with one arm. She tried to twist away, more from his offensive words than from the idea of his kiss, but he used his other arm to hold her head. Then he proceeded to plunder her mouth with such ferocity that she was shocked into stillness.
Lauren gasped. It felt as if he was putting all the anger and confusion of his soul into it. His teeth ground against her lips, and the pressure of his hand at her back flattened her breasts against his chest. She brought her hands up only to discover he still wore the Kevlar-reinforced vest. That’s what bit into her so cruelly. She slid her hands up as far as she could and pushed against his chest to buy a little room.
He let her go the moment she pushed back. Let her go so suddenly, in fact, that she almost stumbled. Chest heaving, eyes glittering dangerously, he dragged a hand across his mouth. “Better run along.”
Run along? Like hell she would! She touched a trem
bling hand to her own mouth but made no move to leave. “Dammit, Cal, what was that kiss about? That hurt.”
He looked away. “Then you’d better get out of here while the gettin’s good.”
She studied his rigid demeanor, taking in his tight shoulders and averted head. Why was he being such a jerk?
Suddenly, in a flash of intuition, she understood. He was trying to drive her away. That was his intent. The man who handled everything on his own didn’t know how to lean on anyone. He’d rather run her off than have her witness what he clearly perceived as a moment of weakness.
The knowledge changed everything. He wouldn’t hurt her, and she wasn’t leaving. She couldn’t make him share his burdens, but she had an idea how to ease the lid on the pressure cooker of his emotions. She stepped closer, laying a hand on the vest.
“Who’s running away? I just want to get this thing off you.” She couldn’t feel his heartbeat through the vest, but a muscle leapt in his jaw. “I was glad to see you wearing it earlier, mind you, but it’s got to go now. I can’t feel you through it.”
He closed a hand over her roaming hand. “Don’t.”
She used her free hand to skim his right hip. “Why not?”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he challenged.
She held his gaze. “Do you want to hurt me?”
“No,” he said on an exhalation. “No, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Good.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, but he pulled his head back, evidently not ready to surrender yet. She groaned. “What is it now?”
“This might not be such a good idea.” The words came out sandpaper rough. “I was trying to chase you off, grabbing you like that. But I’m so tightly wound right now, I don’t know if I can be careful enough. Do you know what I’m saying?”
The raggedness of his voice excited her. Clearly he wasn’t as in command of himself as she’d thought. Suddenly she wanted to see him lose control completely. She wanted—needed—to drown her own fears and anxieties in the taste and smell of him.
“Careful wasn’t what I had in mind anyway.” Her insides liquefying with desire, she freed her trapped hand and slid her arms around his neck.
His answer was to jerk her close, but this time his forceful kiss sent a jolt of excitement to her very core. Meeting his invasion of her mouth greedily, she dropped her hands to tug at his vest, needing to be rid of that piece of armor. Sensing her need, he shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. The moment it was gone, she flexed her fingers and raked her nails—not especially gently—over hard, fabric-covered muscle.
Groaning, he wrenched his mouth away from hers and caught one of her hands. “Better slow this down,” he said, his voice strangled.
“No,” she protested, “don’t hold back on me now.”
“Lauren—”
“Please, Cal.” Impossibly, desperately aroused now, she surged against him, forgetting this was supposed to be for him. “Don’t hold anything back.”
His mouth crashed back down on hers. She was drowning, dying for oxygen, yet she didn’t want to breathe anything but Cal. Then she felt cool air on her legs as he rucked her skirt up to her waist. Bunching the material in his fist, he stepped back. Lauren could have screamed her regret at losing full body contact, but then she saw his face.
His skin seemed stretched more tautly over his bones, and dark patches of color rode his cheeks. For a moment he just stared with hooded eyes at what he’d exposed.
Lauren knew what he’d see—bare, tanned legs and sensible white cotton briefs. She wished she’d worn some tiny scrap, some gossamer-thin thing, so he could rip it away with one strong tug. The thought made her knees wobble.
He caught her, lending the support of his chest even as he plunged a hand into her panties. Anticipating his touch, she moaned, spreading her legs, but he merely yanked the briefs down to her knees. Somehow, that was even more arousing.
She shimmied, and her panties fell. She barely stepped free of them before he backed her up against the wall. He kissed her, fiercely and at length, as though he would have her very breath.
From outside, she heard voices buzzing, laughter. Someone could walk in at any moment. Instead of horrifying her, the thought just made her hotter.
“Spread for me,” he commanded.
Lauren obeyed instantly. When his hand found the wetness between her legs, she fairly climbed onto him.
Growling, he lifted her. Her heart leaping against her ribs, she wrapped her legs around him. As though she weighed nothing, he carried her across the room and deposited her on top of a tack trunk, the cool metal sending shivers up her back. She expected him to follow her down, crush her with his weight, but he hauled her closer to the edge of the trunk.
Yes! was all she had time to think before he lifted her hips. She hadn’t even seen him free himself, let alone get the condom on. But there was no arguing the evidence of the blunt, latex-sheathed hardness nudging her opening.
Without preliminaries, he pushed into her, stretching her. She muffled a scream.
He stilled. “Are you okay?”
Oh, don’t let him stop. Not now. “Yes,” she gritted.
“Don’t let me hurt you,” he rasped.
“Do it again,” she begged. “Just like that.”
Shuddering, he withdrew and plunged into her again. This time she swallowed her sob. Shifting her legs, she opened wider, arched higher. He grasped her hips tighter, anchoring her against his next thrust. She writhed against him. She couldn’t be open enough, take him deep enough. He drove into her again. Like a flash flood, her climax came out of nowhere, taking her with sudden, shocking violence.
Too soon, she mourned.
He rocked against her as she rode it out, but incredibly, he didn’t follow her. Her muscles still contracting around him, he lifted her, knocked a horse blanket to the floor and lowered her onto it. Propping himself on his arms, he plunged into her with ferocious, hammering thrusts, over and over and over again. Lauren moaned as the ever-tightening waves began to build again, but Cal covered her mouth with his, absorbing the sounds as he drove her higher. She tried to spin it out, make it last, but his rhythm was too insistent. Again she was catapulted over the edge into ecstasy. This time, he followed.
Unbelievable, thought Cal. Fantastic. Amazing, tooth-rattlingly thrilling sex.
He rolled, pulling Lauren with him, letting her skirt drape them modestly. Her body felt like dead weight, her head lolling. Alarm jolted through him. Dammit, had he hurt her after all? He tipped her head up.
“Lauren, are you all right?”
She lifted her head, giving him a smug smile. “Are you kidding? If I felt any better, it’d be illegal.”
He laughed, relieved. “I’m not sure it wasn’t, considering we could’ve been caught. Public lewdness, at the very least.”
She blushed and buried her head against his chest again.
“Hey, we better get dressed and out of here,” he murmured into her hair.
“Mmmmm, I wish we could stay here like this.”
“Me too.” He stroked her back through the fine material of her hopelessly wrinkled tank top, knowing if they stayed here much longer, they wouldn’t stay quite like this. “But before long someone’s going to come through that door. They’ll be looking for me soon to start the roping.”
She tipped her head up and kissed his chin. “I guess I better get moving then.”
Despite the fact that he’d prodded her to get up, he felt as if a piece of himself peeled away as she rolled off and got to her feet. Damn, didn’t it seem like he handed her big chunks of himself every time they made love? A frown creased his brow.
Lauren scooped her underwear from the floor, pushing it into a pocket. By the time he’d dealt with his jeans, she’d tidied her own clothes. She slipped into his arms, and he brushed a piece of straw from her hair.
“I’ll leave first so as not to raise any eyebrows.”
He grinned. “That’s very circumspect of you, Miz Townsend, but I think everyone already knows we’re lovers.”
She grinned back at him. “Yeah, but they don’t need to know we’ve been engaging in—what did you call it?—public lewdness in the tack room.”
He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Yeah, they’ll never know from the look of you.”
Those blue eyes widened. “What? Do I still have straw in my hair?”
Lord, she was beautiful. He lifted a hand to smooth her hair. “It’s a little mussed, is all. It’s the stubble burn all over you that gives you away.”
She stepped back out of his arms, lifting a hand to her throat. “Oh, crap. Guess I’d better go shower and moisturize.”
Hand pressed to her chest in an attempt to cover the redness, she stepped out into the fading sun and made a beeline for her cabin.
Cal smiled as he folded the horse blanket. He almost wished he hadn’t told her how she looked. The idea of her walking around with her delicate skin abraded and her lips swollen from his kisses—and having people know he’d put those marks on her—pleased him on a very primitive, possessive level.
His smile faded as he remembered his earlier thought about losing himself to her piece by piece.
But that was a figurative deconstruction. He stuck the new gloves in his pocket and jammed his hat on his head. Facing two more go-arounds with Misadventure, his more pressing concern was holding his pieces physically together.
Then there was the matter of his father. What the devil was he doing here after all these years? It sure as hell wasn’t for a vacation. The man didn’t know what that word meant.
Zane Taggart would be coming clean soon, Cal decided, grabbing his hat. As soon as this rodeo business was out of the way, the two of them were gonna have a talk. And if the prospect of that hurried Zane on his way, so much the better.
Snagging a couple of lariats, Cal walked out into the evening.
CHAPTER NINE
Cal pulled his riding glove on, carefully adjusting each seam on each finger. Well, here they were, set to go again under a blistering sun on day two. He scanned the crowd, stopping when he found Lauren’s pinched white face. His heart squeezed.
