“I know you don’t need it,” he said. “But it’s what I do.”
“You’re right. I don’t need it.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t need it, but sometimes—sometimes I want it.”
He wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head against his chest, tucking her hands into his back pockets. He held her a moment, then reached back with one hand and swung the bedroom door shut.
“Good,” he said. “Let me show you what I want.”
***
Cat couldn’t believe she was here in Mack’s childhood home, necking in the bedroom like a teenager. The ridiculous bucking horse decor was a not-so-subtle reminder that he’d been a boy here. A rough-and-tumble kid by the look of things, obsessed with horses and ranching even then.
Well, he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d proven that just moments ago, when he’d punched Trevor into unconsciousness.
She didn’t like violence, or violent men. She went for brains, not brawn. But right now, pressed up against all that brawn, she was starting to rethink her priorities. Mack Boyd wasn’t a master painter or a hotshot intellectual like Ames, but being with him made her dizzy and breathless and confused and weirdly, ecstatically happy—as long as she didn’t ruin the feeling by thinking too hard.
Because feeling was better than thinking. She needed to shut out her problems with Dora and her worries about her career. She needed to just be, here with Mack.
Be here now. Zen cowgirl.
Hard as she tried, though, the thought that Viv was right next door kept her from surrendering to the moment.
“Viv,” she said. “We can’t…”
“It’s an old house. Thick walls.” He’d clearly thought this through, probably before opening the door. “We’ll just have to be quiet,” he whispered, running his hands up her arms and over her shoulders. “Very, very quiet.”
Grabbing the collar of her shirt, he tugged her face to his and kissed her.
The touch of his lips set off something desperate in her, something primal and basic and real. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, she bunched it in her fists and yanked it up over his chest. She wanted his bare skin under her hands. She wanted to feel the flex of his muscles as he embraced her. She wanted to feel his skin warm under her touch.
She wanted everything, all over again. And again. And again.
The shirt was up and over his head in one breathless moment, and they kept on kissing while his fingers worked at the buttons on her shirt. He’d only made it halfway down the front before he shoved it off her shoulders, briefly trapping her in the fabric with her arms pinned to her side. She writhed and twisted, then shrugged it away. The cool cotton slid down over her hips and pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before him in just a bra and jeans.
She felt a quick flash of self-consciousness, a jolt of worry about her belly being a little soft, her breasts a little small. But when he looked down at her, his eyes ate her up. Clearly, he liked what he saw.
His rough hands slid around her waist, skimming up her rib cage and slipping into her bra, squeezing and teasing and making her crazy. His touch left a trail of sweet sensation in its wake as he slid one hand to her back and unhooked her bra with an expertise that could only come from experience.
“You’ve done that a few times before,” she murmured, smiling into his neck.
“I have.”
“Here?” she asked. “In this room?”
He paused and she wondered if he was going to lie.
“Yes.”
She felt a whoosh of relief. She liked his frankness, the way he couldn’t help but tell the truth. It was one of the things that separated him from all the other men she knew. With Mack, the truth deep inside things seemed to matter more than the surface.
“It was never like this, though.” His whisper was hushed, almost reverent as his lips skimmed the curve between her shoulder and neck. “Never anything like this.”
She glanced at the door. “Does that lock?”
In answer, he leaned over and pushed a button in the doorknob with a satisfying click.
They sank down on the side of the small bed as if they’d agreed on the timing, both of them fumbling with belt buckles, snaps, and zippers. And then they were naked, gloriously naked, facing each other in the dim light that glowed through the curtains. The moonlight was warmed by a yellow lamp at the corner of the eaves that lit the whole front yard, and the combination created an ethereal, enchanted space. She could see all of him. Not just his body, but his heart, shining in his eyes.
This was what she needed. Not protection, but feeling. Warmth. Love.
She chased that last thought away, wiping it out of her mind like a wayward streak of paint on an otherwise perfect canvas. Not love. Just lust. Sex.
They stretched out on the bed, facing each other, and he stroked her hair, letting his palm drift under her jaw and cup her chin so he could look into her eyes. There was a question there, and she answered it by pulling closer and closing her eyes. Love, lust, want, need—the words just didn’t matter anymore. Neither did her job or her future.
She lifted her hands over her head and felt the current they’d created tug her away from reality. She was floating like a leaf on flowing water, riding swift, unstoppable waves as his hands ran over her body. He paused and she swirled in an eddy, then caught the current and the two of them were swept away.
His hands moved swiftly over her body, stroking the wings of her collarbones, smoothing her shoulders, shaping her breasts. Then his rough thumbs scraped her nipples and he kissed her, greedy and hard. Hands, lips, tongue—it all blended together as he moved down her body, his fingers tracing her ribs, trailing down her side, teasing with soft touches that almost, almost went where she wanted them.
And then he found the heart of her and set loose a flood of need and emotion she couldn’t contain. She heard a small cry and didn’t realize it had been her until he put his mouth over hers to stifle the sound.
“Shhhh.”
“I can’t help it. We have to stop. I’m going to…”
She broke off and bit her lip to keep from moaning as he kissed her again and stroked her center, immersing her in sensation and then lifting her slowly up, up, up—until she broke the surface and gasped. The air around her warmed and hummed. Incredibly, she kept on rising, floating impossibly high, flying on the invisible edge between dreams and reality.
***
Cat blinked her way back to reality to find herself resting against his chest. His heart pumped under her cheek, the sound seeming to fill the room with a slow, steady drumbeat.
Across the room, his face looked out at her from a half-dozen framed photos, years younger. Mack riding a wild horse. Mack with his buddies, grinning like the troublemaker he was. Mack with some kind of enormous cow on a leash.
She knew the pictures held clues to his past, to who he was, but it was a childhood so foreign to her he might as well have grown up in India. She should study them sometime, look for clues.
But what did that matter, really? He was whoever she wanted him to be. They wouldn’t be together long enough for his past to matter. Or his future.
The thought made her suddenly sad, but she knew what would make her happy. Sitting up, she straddled him and reached for the nightstand, feeling for the drawer pull. Hopefully he had protection somewhere.
“Already got that.” He held up a shiny square of foil and tore it open. He put it on with quick, efficient motions and she reminded herself he’d done this before—who knew how many times, with how many women in rodeo towns all across the West.
She felt herself shrink with the thought, as if she mattered less in the world if she didn’t matter to him.
But that wasn’t what this was about. She was making her own choice here, finding her own satisfaction. She wasn’t like the women that hung around rode
os, hoping to bag a champion. She was herself, Cat Crandall, taking all the experiences life had to offer. Looking for beauty in every corner of the world, and finding it here, in the dark, in this man’s bed.
***
Mack watched Cat’s face, searching for any trace of doubt. He’d never expected to have this chance again. They’d spent the past few hours proving how incompatible they were, and here they were, blending like they were born to be together. It didn’t make any sense, but he wasn’t about to question her, or remind her that she’d written him off three times that day.
She smiled and those blue eyes glowed with a shimmering heat.
“Go,” she said.
She straddled him and bent to kiss him as she rubbed herself against him. Her hair fell forward, creating a tangled curtain, and he watched her face as those blue eyes darkened, then turned soft and met his so honestly that it felt like the boundary between them blurred.
He’d expected heat from Cat since the day he’d first met her. He’d known she’d be incredible in bed. She had a light, bright energy about her that was full of promise, but he hadn’t expected to bond on this level.
This obviously wasn’t a one-night stand. It wasn’t a two-night stand either. He didn’t know how two people could create a relationship when they lived worlds apart. But somehow, he had to hold onto her beyond this brief summer romance.
Looking into her eyes, he felt like she could read his thoughts. She had to know he was falling for her. For a moment, she seemed to look through him, but then their gazes met and he knew, as surely as if she’d said it aloud, that she was falling too.
She eased herself down, letting him slide inside. Her gaze heated and her resistance seemed to melt as he reached up and framed her breasts with his big hands, moving his thumbs over the nipples as she moved with a sinuous grace. The two of them dipped and floated, rose to the sparkling surface and then dove into deep water, clinging together in a vast, blurry darkness where there was nothing but them, the two of them together, sharing breath and time and sensation.
Arching his back, he savored the sweet bliss of it, rocking slowly, then faster, feeling her clench in another climax as his heart lifted to join the stars that swirled in a dark perfect sky inside him.
When they’d finished, he held her, resting her head on his chest, and was thankful that she couldn’t see his face. There was no way to hide what he was feeling. Who’d ever think two people so different could touch each other so deeply in such a short time? He felt like this woman was forever and everything. His life was in turmoil, and she was the knot at its center, the one thing in the world that held it together. The one thing he had to hold onto.
He knew the knot probably wouldn’t hold. She’d leave, and he’d lose her. But he’d always want her, and always remember. His world had shifted forever onto a new axis, one that had him slipping and sliding and hanging on for dear life.
He looked up at the slanted rafters above the bed and thought back to that roadside attraction with its crazy angles and angled beams. The Wonder Spot.
Cat buried her face in his shoulder and smothered a laugh. “I never heard it called that before.”
“What?”
She looked up at him with a playful smile. “You were talking in your sleep. I think you said ‘Wonder Spot.’”
“Oh. Yeah.” He thought about explaining it, but he didn’t feel like he had to. He’d never had this kind of deep-down harmony with a woman—never wanted it, actually. But right now he felt like he could stay here forever, holding her in the quiet night.
“We’re in the right place,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “Right here. Right now.”
She snuggled closer. “Yeah,” she said. “I know what you mean.”
Chapter 28
Cat woke to the clatter of morning birdsong and a nasty grating noise. Lifting her head off the pillow, she rubbed her eyes. She was back in the Heifer House, in her own small bunkhouse bed. She could barely remember how she’d gotten there. It had been almost dawn before she and Mack parted ways. She’d tiptoed like a sneak-thief past the girls’ room, slipping into the bunkhouse with her clothes rumpled and her hair in a bed-head tangle.
Dressing hastily in a pair of jeans and the wrinkled shirt from the day before, she shoved her feet into her shoes and staggered outside. Madeleine was rummaging around in the chuckwagon while Mack scraped out a black iron Dutch oven with an old tin spatula.
“Biscuits didn’t rise,” he grunted. “Have some dough. There’s coffee, too.”
Madeleine nudged another pot closer to the fire. “That’s what you get for trying to cook without me. Don’t know why you had to start so early.”
Cat watched her students spill from the two bunkhouses in various states of grogginess. “Dora,” she said. “Where’s Dora?”
Mack cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Ah, she’s back at the barn. Vivian’s showing her some stuff about the horses.” He handed her an enamel cup of dark, hot coffee and a golden blob of heated dough.
She bit into the biscuit and washed it down with coffee. Mack didn’t seem to want to look at her, or talk. She’d expected some shared smiles, the heady feeling of a secret kept. But he kept shifting his weight, clearing his throat, busying himself with the fire.
Great. She’d thought last night was something special. Obviously, he was embarrassed about it.
Not that it mattered. It was nothing but a fling.
He stopped fooling with the fire mid-poke and his gaze zeroed in on hers so strongly she wondered if she’d spoken aloud. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking and brought his finger to his lips and smiled.
Shh.
Her heart lifted, suddenly light as dandelion fluff with the small joy of sharing a secret. He went back to poking at the fire, and she went back to her biscuit, but the day had taken on a new shine.
“Sleep okay?” she asked Ed, doing her best to sound casual.
“Not really. Charles snores like a soldier,” the old man said.
“That’s right.” Mack grinned across the fire at Ed. “He had the elk bugling, and it’s only May.” He made a whooping sound that was somewhere between a hollow cough and a yodel. Cat had never heard elk bugling, but she suspected it was a good imitation.
Charles shrugged off the joke with a laugh. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he looked like a good-natured Buddha. “Where we headed today, trail boss?”
“Back to the canyon.” Mack eyed the other students, who were lowering themselves onto the benches with varying degrees of stiffness. “You all up for it?”
“You bet,” Ed grunted.
“We’re rarin’ to go,” Emma said, almost falling onto the bench in her effort to sit down without bending her knees.
The girls finally turned up, providing a sprightly contrast to the old folks, and raced through breakfast. To Cat’s surprise, the two of them deliberately chose to share her bench, and though they were too intent on eating to talk much, she felt as if she and Dora had somehow cleared the air.
Maybe her niece had just needed to get her anger out of her system. Cat resolved to listen today, to give her a sounding board. She wouldn’t take anything personally or get defensive. She’d try to accept Dora for Dora, instead of trying to change her.
Both girls helped Maddie gather up the dirty dishes and load them into the chuckwagon, but the woman waved them away. “You go on and help with the horses,” she said to Dora. “I’ve got all day to take care of this stuff.”
Dora trotted over to Mack, who soon had her checking the knots that lashed their equipment to the pack horses while he tested cinches and adjusted bits on the riding horses.
“Ms. Crandall?” Viv was standing in front of Cat, looking uncertain. “Can I, um, talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Dora and I were talking yesterday.”
Cat smiled. “I know. And I’m so glad. She needs a friend right now.”
“She’s really enjoying working with my dad on the horses.”
“Yes, she is. Your father’s a good guy.” Cat hoped the warmth that rushed to her face didn’t show.
“Yeah. But the horse thing—it doesn’t really work for me.”
Cat nodded. It was clear Viv was no cowgirl. She wore jeans, as they all did, but they were low-rise designer models sporting artful rips in the fabric and a splashy acid wash. Her top was a complicated, drapey knit number that emphasized her cute, youthful figure without looking slutty, and she wore a crystal-studded headband in her carefully-styled hair.
“I really like art. Drawing and stuff.” The girl was a little motormouth, talking fast as if she was trying to make it through a long script in her allotted time with Cat. “I was wondering if I could work with you—with the other students, I mean. You wouldn’t have to help me much or anything. I’d just kind of watch. Like auditing a class.”
Cat paused. This was awkward. The price for the workshops was high, and she’d been cautioned to let the company know if any tagalongs joined the group. It was a money-making operation, after all, and they didn’t want to let her services go for free.
But how could she turn down a teenager who was interested in what she had to offer? Viv looked so excited, twisting her body from side to side with her hands clasped in front of her as she waited for Cat’s answer.
If only Dora was that eager to please.
“I guess we could find some equipment for you to use,” Cat said. “I’m sure the others would be happy to loan you some materials.” She was sure this was true. Paint and watercolor paper were expensive, but the older people would probably fall over each other in their eagerness to help a young person.
She eyed the horses, who were stamping and blowing in a long line along the fence. “The problem is the easels. Everybody brought their own, so there’s no extra.”
Cowboy Tough Page 18
