Daddy's Little Cowgirl

by Charlotte Maclay

  “I’ve never been a man to hurry things.” Slow heat was better. Until it was a firestorm that couldn’t be stopped. Then fast. And hard. And as long as possible.

  Her high—heeled shoes were all wrong for walking on the uneven ground, her tight skirt too confining. She was too citified, too soft for ranch life.

  Reed liked soft, and he hadn’t had much of that in his life.

  She stopped in front of him, her eyes locked on his. “You’re sure I’m not disturbing you?” The tip of her tongue peeked out and swept a line of dampness across the fullness of her lower lip.

  Reed felt the gesture right behind the snaps on his jeans. “You’re doing a fine job of disturbing me, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “I mean…keeping you from your work.”

  “Most chores can wait…if there’s a good reason.” She’d be reason enough but Reed suspected she didn’t know what she was asking for. Bedding her wouldn’t be real smart. She might be hot between the sheets but she was dangerous, too. One of those “nice” women who confused making love with something else. Something permanent. They turned harpy when a man decided to move on down the road. Screaming mad. Or weepy.

  Reed was almost surprised by his reluctance. Then again, no sense adding to the troubles he already had cluttering his life. And his responsibilities.

  “How ‘bout we compromise,” he said. Lifting his hand, he fingered the tips of her golden—brown hair right where it lay against her throat. Silken threads turned to rose by the sun. His body complained bitterly that his good sense had taken over, denying him release from the tautness that was already building. “I’ll keep on doing my chores and you can tell me what it is you want.”

  Torturing himself, he ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw. Warm, soft velvet.

  Then he turned and walked into the barn.

  Ann exhaled slowly. Unsteadily.

  Definitely a bad idea, coming here. Reed was more man than she’d ever had to handle. The volatile chemistry between them—at least on her side—had an explosive quality, like kids playing with chemicals to make flash powder in the high school lab. The results could be blinding.

  The aroma inside the barn was ripe and rich and earthy. Masculine. Nothing like what Ann was used to. No smell of old textbooks or copier ink. No feminine touch like a flower in a vase or a fake apple on the corner of the desk. This was real. Both unexpectedly riveting and bordering on dangerous.

  Reed’s horse was tied in the center of the barn. Silently, he lifted the animal’s back hoof and began scraping the gunk out. Ann felt ill at ease. Out of her comfort zone, fighting the urge to flee. If it weren’t for Jason, she’d do just that. The child was the reason she was here. No ulterior motive. She’d swear to that in a court of law, or so she told herself.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” she asked, as much to hear her own voice as to put off asking for Reed’s help. He could say no so easily, and she’d made a promise both to herself and the boy.

  “He doesn’t have a name.”

  “Of course he does. All pets have a name.”

  He looked up from his work. Beneath his hat she could barely see the glint of his bronze eyes in the fading light. “He’s not a pet. He’s a mutt and a working dog.”

  “But how do you call him when you want him to come?”

  “I whistle. He knows what to do.”

  “That’s cruel.” She glanced at the dog in question, who’d plopped himself down nearby. His tail twitched. “Without a name, there’s no dignity. Even for a dog.”

  Releasing his grip on the horse’s leg, Reed straightened. “Lady, when you give an animal a name, then you begin to care about him. That’s not a real good idea on a ranch. Animals die. A dog gets into a chicken coop and somebody shoots him. Or a horse steps in a hole, breaks his leg and has to be put down. Out here in the country it doesn’t pay to get too attached.”

  Ann shuddered. What terrible losses Reed must have experienced to become so hardened against caring. Sympathy welled inside her, and she made a valiant attempt to quash the feeling. The effort wasn’t entirely successful.

  “Don’t you name your horses either?”

  He rested his hand on the sorrel’s rump. “This one came with a name when I bought him. Fiero. He’d been in a stable fire and they were going to turn him into glue. I bought him cheap.”

  She sucked in a quick breath. He treated pain so casually, but he’d also rescued the animal from certain death. Reed was an enigma, a man she might never understand even if she spent a hundred years trying. Which, of course, she had no intention of doing. “Well, I think Arnold deserves a name, too.”

  He frowned. “Who’s Arnold?”

  “Your dog. Arnold’s a very dignified name. He deserves it, don’t you, boy?” His tail picked up speed and he stood, stretching.

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Come here, Arnold, honey.” She smacked her lips together and held out her hand. “Let’s show your master you know your—”

  Reed whistled two short bursts, and the dog dropped to his belly. With angry strides, Reed closed the distance to Ann, moving purposefully into her personal space. “How ‘bout we get to why you’re here, sugar?”

  She retreated a step and her back made contact with the rough wood of a stall. She lifted her chin. “I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

  “Just what sort of a favor would that be?”

  His scent was as potent as the earthy aromas in the barn. Fully as masculine and totally arousing. Desperately she tried to ignore her instinctive reaction to him. Her erotic reaction. “One of the boys who was helping you with the fence posts today needs a male role model. Someone who could mentor him. I was hoping that you might consider—”

  “Me?” The word erupted on a near laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding, right?”

  She bristled. “I never joke about my students.”

  “Then why the hell would you think—”

  “Mr. Dunlap mentioned you weren’t exactly a model student when you were in school, and that you’d run away when you were quite young. Jason is a troubled youngster. He needs to know someone cares about him before he throws his whole life away. I thought you’d be able to relate to him better than I can.”

  “Because you’ve never done anything wrong or stupid in your entire life.”

  The accusation stung because the opposite was the case. “That’s not entirely true,” she admitted.

  His sculpted brows rose in a slow, suggestive motion. “Hard to believe, teach.”

  “What I may or may not have done in the past is not at issue here. It’s Jason I’m worried about. What I’m asking of you is to spend some time with the boy. Talk to him. Let him know you care about what happens to him.”

  “And if I don’t give a damn about the kid?”

  “He has a name. It’s Jason, and you will care if you give yourself—and him—a chance. He’s in foster care. The family’s fine but they’ve got six children to worry about. Jason needs to be special to someone, or I’m afraid he’s going to go bad.”

  Reed braced his hands against the wall on either side of her, effectively trapping her between his arms, and brought his face so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. “You have a weakness for bad boys, huh?”

  “Yes.” Her throat closed tightly around the word. In Reed’s eyes she saw flecks of gold hidden in the narrowing band of bronze. His lashes were unfairly long for a man; the slight hump on the bridge of his nose suggested it had been broken, at least once. Probably in a fight. His full lips tempted a woman to taste them, to explore their texture, their moist heat. Tempted her to want to be bad.

  “If I did this little favor for you, teach, just what would be in it for me?” The low rasp of his question implied a simple thank—you would not be enough. The price would be far higher than that.

  “I can’t promise anything,” she hedged, her heart tripping uneasily in her chest. “Perhaps the school—”

&
nbsp; “That’s not what I’m talkin’ about and you know it, sweetlin’.”

  Tilting his head, he leaned forward. It didn’t take much before his lips slanted over hers, claiming her mouth with soft, warm, determined pressure. There was no escape. Though only their lips were touching, she was as helpless to move as if she’d been chained to him. She felt herself yielding. Giving way to urges she’d denied for years. Wanting. Craving. Hungry for the taste of his raw sensuality.

  Even as she opened to him, fear trembled through her. How would she ever be able to stop? His tangy flavor was addictive, his potency irresistible. She needed to push him away. To refuse to travel a path that had once cost her so dearly. But even as she recognized the wisdom of that thought, her tongue tangled with his. Mating. Matching his every thrust and parry with one of her own.

  Blood pulsed low in her body. Muscles clenched. Though the connection between them remained the same, his kiss touched her all over. Touched her clear to her soul.

  A moan aching with need vibrated through her throat. At her sides, she tightened her fists into balls to prevent herself from linking her arms around his neck, from dragging him down to the ground with her where he could ease the terrible wanting that throbbed through her.

  Changing the angle of attack, he sucked her lower lip between his teeth, holding her there in an im—possibly gentle grip. She was his captive. His willing prisoner. A victim of her own weakness. More vulnerable than she had ever been in her life.

  A sob rose and she jerked away, freed as easily as she had been captured. Her breathing came in ragged little pants. So did his, his eyes almost entirely black now as he held his position, their faces only inches apart.

  She fought for the control she’d exercised so carefully over the years since her one rebellious slip. Struggled to find that strong inner core. She gathered herself.

  “I trust you’ll find that adequate payment,” she said, proud that in spite of her thundering heart and trembling body, her voice was even.

  “Not a chance, sweet sugar—Annie,” he drawled. His lips curved ever so slightly. “I figure that was only the down payment.”

  Ann fled. There was no other way to describe her frantic escape.

  In a breathless dash, she reached her car just as someone opened the front door to Reed’s house. An older woman stepped out onto the porch, the light from the window slanting across her heavy set figure. In her arms she carried a baby.

  Eyes wide, Ann froze at the open door to her car.

  A baby? No one had mentioned Reed had a child. Dear heaven, did he also have a wife?

  Revulsion churned in Ann’s stomach and her entire being rebelled at the thought that she had just been thoroughly kissed by a married man. And she had enjoyed it.

  She threw herself into the car, twisted the key, and slammed the car into gear. She never should have come here.

  REED CHUCKLED as he watched gravel spray from under the tires of her Mustang and she sped down the farm road. Smart lady.

  He thumbed his hat farther back on his head. She had no business hanging around with the likes of him.

  He’d given her a good fright. Served her right, too, coming up here with her tempting body and those sweet, sultry lips of hers. Teasing a man. Giving him a helluva hard—on, which served him right, too.

  Normally he didn’t mess with “nice” women. But she’d gotten to him. Asking him, of all people, to worry about some predelinquent kid? When he hadn’t been looking, somebody must have stamped Sucker on his forehead. It was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

  About as dumb as naming an old mutt Arnold.

  He look down at the dog, who’d parked himself right up against Reed’s leg.

  “Arnold.”

  Tail flagging, the dog leaned into him.

  “No self—respecting dog would answer to a name like Arnold. It makes you sound wimpy.”

  The dog licked his hand.

  “Unless your last name is Schwarzenegger.”

  Arnold whined.

  Hell, Reed didn’t want to care about a dog. Or some kid who was wet behind the ears. Certainly not about a woman with the softest, sweetest lips he’d ever tasted.

  She had no damn right sticking her nose into his business. He had enough on his plate worrying about Bets and the ranch.

  “Señor Reed?”

  He glanced toward the house. “What is it, Lupe?”

  Heavy—footed, the housekeeper lumbered across the yard toward him, Bets propped comfortably against her full bosom. “My son, he called from Aledo.”

  “Texas? What’s up?” With the back of his fingers, he stroked Bets’s silky cap of hair.

  “His wife, she is sick. I’ve got to go back and take care of their kids so he can keep working.”

  He frowned. “How long you planning to be gone?” He’d be able to manage for a few days, maybe a week.

  “I’m no coming back, señor.”

  That news staggered him. “Wait a minute. You can’t just up and go. Who’ll take care of Bets while I’m working?”

  “It’s family.” She shrugged as if that explained everything. “I’ll take the morning bus to Los Angeles. You’ll find somebody else for Betina.”

  Sure he would, Reed thought. But how long was it going to take? And how the hell was he going to finish putting in that fence and handle all his other chores when he didn’t have anybody to look after Bets?

  ANN HAD NEVER BEEN so relieved to get home to her sanctuary, to some renewed sense of security. Once inside, she twisted the dead bolt shut, drew a deep breath and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. His flavor was still there. Deep down, she suspected it always would be. Her moral aversion to infidelity didn’t carry an ounce of weight with her overactive hormones.

  Maybe he wasn’t married, she thought in desperation. Surely Mr. Dunlap—or someone—would have mentioned…

  But she was only rationalizing, and she knew it.

  Dropping her briefcase and the box that she’d exchanged at Dora’s onto the coffee table, Ann plopped down on the couch. She leaned back and stared up at the beamed ceiling.

  So much for priding herself on her self—control. Obviously she hadn’t learned a thing in the past thirteen years about keeping her runaway passions in check. At least not when a reckless cowboy was involved. One simple kiss and she’d very nearly forgotten every lesson she’d ever learned.

  Well, perhaps the kiss hadn’t been all that simple, she conceded. Expert was closer to the truth. Relentless.

  She’d wanted so much to rip off his hat and thread her fingers through the thick silkiness of his hair. Had ached to feel his arms fully embrace her, drawing her body against the hard length of his. In secret, rebellious places she had flowed with the miracle of desire, a miracle she had denied herself for a long time.

  And would continue to deny as long as she had an iota of good sense. That wasn’t likely to be long if she was around Reed again anytime soon.

  She’d have to find someone else to help Jason, that was all. Reed wasn’t interested. She could hardly blame him. She’d overstepped her bounds by even asking.

  And she’d paid the price.

  At least this time the consequences hadn’t been as costly as her adolescent folly when she’d run off with another unrepentant bad boy, Shane Edwards. It hadn’t taken her long to realize she’d made a terrible mistake. All he’d wanted to do was drink and carouse, and when she objected, he’d simply moved out of their dingy motel room, deserting her. By then it was too late.

  She was pregnant.

  Dear God, what a fool she’d been.

  Her throat tightened and tears sprang to her eyes. Instinctively she placed her palm on her stomach. After all these years she still remembered the most painful lesson of all.

  She’d lost the baby, miscarrying within days of her return home.

  On the rare occasions when she allowed herself to think about the baby, the hollow, burning ache was still there. The emptiness. The terri
ble sense of loss and grief. She doubted anyone who hadn’t experienced a miscarriage could understand her lingering sorrow.

  Her chin quivered, and she pursed her lips to halt the flow of emotion.

  Certainly her parents had only felt relief. Their daughter’s pristine reputation could be restored.

  With a determined sigh, she leaned forward and picked up Dora’s Dream Man box. Maybe if she could get the miniature medieval knight in its proper place on her mantel, her whole life would settleback to where it belonged—back to a calm, conservative routine.

  An occasionally lonely routine, she admitted with characteristic honesty.

  She lifted the lid and stared at the lead figure nestled carefully in the foam padding. Her heart contracted.

  “No, this can’t be happening to me. It can’t. It’s a terrible mistake.”

  The cowboy was still there—chambray shirt, chaps, mounted on a sorrel cow pony, his stained Stetson right beside him. But this time he was carrying a baby up against his shoulder. To compound the image, in one corner of the box there was a raggedy—looking black—and—white dog, its tail poised to signal the animal’s pleasure at trotting along beside his master when he whistled.

  There was no woman in the picture. None.

  Somehow in the confusion at Dora’s store when she’d been helping the customer find the Custer display, Ann had picked up the wrong box. She hadn’t checked again. Now it was too late.

  For a long time, she didn’t move. She barely breathed. She simply stared at the Dream Man she didn’t dare to want.

  Chapter Four

  Cradling Bets in one arm, Reed managed to dial the phone. He’d driven Lupe into town early that morning, where she’d gotten on a bus for L.A. Now he needed to find a replacement for her so he could get on with his own work.

  Not that he wouldn’t mind being a full—time daddy to Bets, he thought, brushing a kiss on her cheek. But somebody had to earn a living around here. Looked like he was elected.

  On the third ring, a woman answered. “Del Oro employment agency.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking to hire a housekeeper, a livein if you’ve got one.”