Ed was evidently happy to be a barstool cowboy. The old man was executing the steps with his trademark enthusiasm for all things Western, almost falling over as he lifted one foot to slap the side of his boot, then spun in a circle.
Cat flashed Mack a tight smile, but mostly she seemed preoccupied, staring straight ahead as she danced. It wasn’t until the band started trading solos, riffing on the infectious melody of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Honeybee,” that she seemed to come alive. As the fiddle player careened up and down the scale, unreeling a tune that sounded more old-style blues than cowboy, she glanced up and down the line. She did one last shuffle and kick, then faded back into the shadows.
Impulsively, he strode through the crowd edging the dance floor and went in search of her. He didn’t have to look far before a glint of metal caught his eye, then a flash of pale skin. She’d backed into the darkness under the eaves of the Heifer House. Her eyes closed, she swayed with the beat, lost in the music and some sweet faraway dream.
Tilting her head back, she twisted her hands and stretched them over her head in a sinuous motion that echoed the grace of the fiddle player’s fingers on the fretboard. There was almost no moon and a faint mist obscured the stars, so she was lit mostly by the remnants of firelight that cut through the darkness. Light flared up in her hair as she spun, then glanced off the curve of her swaying hip and lit the pale underside of one arm.
She obviously thought she was alone. A flash of firelight stroked her face and he realized her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted.
Caught by the lure of her body, he stepped closer. She seemed to sense him before he touched her, and her eyes opened lazily, like she was coming out of a deep sleep. She gave him that languid come-hither smile she’d given him the night before.
Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her to him and the two of them swayed like blades of grass teased by a shimmering breeze. Behind him, he could hear his mother, still calling out the line dance steps. He knew the others were slavishly following the routine, but Cat couldn’t fall into line even if she’d wanted to. She’d never fit in out here, but for some reason she seemed to fit him.
Maybe that was the reason he’d never found a woman he’d wanted to stay with. They were all too ready to follow the leader. Cat moved to her own beat.
He tightened his arms around her and bent his head, brushing her lips with his own. Without hesitation, she let him in and the two of them slowed their movements, shifting the energy that had set them swaying to something a little more intimate and a lot more potent.
The music stopped, the kiss ended, but she didn’t pull away. He looked down into her eyes, glistening in the light from the fire, and thought maybe he’d found what he was looking for after all.
***
Cat looked up at Mack and felt her heart dance a little Riverdance jig against his chest. What was it about this guy? She’d never had this kind of deep-down, unthinking response to a man before. She could hardly quell the urge to grab him by the hand and drag him off to the Heifer House.
Judging from the warmth in his gaze, he was thinking the same thing. She couldn’t look at him and not touch him, so she turned away.
“We’d better wait,” she said. “I can’t just walk away from my students, you know.”
“I don’t see why not.” Mack nodded to the front of the stage, where the guests had taken a break from line dancing and were enthusiastically clapping along with the SWAT team version of “Li’l Liza Jane.”
“I just can’t.”
She leaned back and he clasped his arms around her, lacing his fingers at her waist. It felt good, having the solid bulk of him behind her. What would it feel like to have a man like this backing her up every day?
Stifling, right? Restrictive. But hard as she tried to tell herself she didn’t want to deal with a strong, possibly overbearing man, it just felt good.
They stood there on the perimeter of the crowd, watching the guests mingle with the neighbors. Madeleine had introduced Cat to most of them, and she reviewed their names and stories as she watched. Ed and Emma were chatting up Jodi Treadwell, a strikingly beautiful cowgirl who ran a therapy riding program north of town. Abby was deep in conversation with Nate Shawcross, another local rancher, while his wife Charlie danced with their adorable redheaded daughter. Another couple, Luke and Libby Rawlins, were sitting quietly by the fire, so content with each other’s company they seemed oblivious to the rest of the crowd. Real estate agent Lacey Caldwell was pointing out the finer features of the ranch house to her husband Chase, who seemed far more interested in the barn.
Maddie was watching the shindig she’d set up with obvious delight. She was standing with Hank, and when the band struck up a new song she reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Cat felt Mack stiffen, then sigh and relax. It had to be hard to see your mother fall for a man who wasn’t your father, even if your father was gone and the man was as obviously devoted as Hank.
She scanned the crowd for a distraction.
“Who’s that?” She pointed to an older man with a face that appeared to be worn by hard living rather than the weather. His hair was Ronald Reagan black and oily. He was strolling up from the direction of the improvised parking lot with his hands in his pockets. It was an easy, casual posture, but Cat instinctively felt he was up to no good.
Mack tightened his grip on her. If his hackles had been raised before, they were bristling now.
“That’s Ollie. Son of a bitch. I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to come here.”
“Your stepfather?”
“My mother’s second husband. No father of mine.” He grabbed her hand, practically dragging her past the fire toward the new arrival. They almost knocked over a couple of dancers in his haste.
“Ollie.”
“Hey, son.” The older man widened his lips in a phony smile.
“I’m not your son. What are you doing here?”
“Came to see your mother.” The man’s false bonhomie shifted to a tense, whining tone. “I got a right to see my ex-wife, don’t I? I need to talk to her about some business.”
“You don’t have any business here but signing the divorce papers.”
“Sure I do.” The grimace widened into a grin, showing off two unsettling rows of unnaturally straight dentures. “I’m not signing any papers. I’m here to mend fences with your mother.”
“That fence is beyond repair.” Mack let go of Cat and grabbed the older man’s arm, swinging him back the way he’d come.
Ollie pulled away, then gripped his arm with a wounded look. “That’s Maddie’s call, son.”
“You call me son again and you’ll be saying it from the ground,” Mack said, clenching his fists. “And stay away from my mother. You’ve done enough damage.”
“Somebody had to take care of this place,” Ollie said. “You weren’t here. I did my best.”
“You did your best to milk it for all the money you could get. And now you’re trying to hang on, string things out. You need to sign the papers.” Mack peered through the ground. “I saw Daniels here earlier. Maybe he’s got the papers with him.”
“Forget your lawyer,” Ollie said. “Only person I’m talking to is your mother.”
***
Cat edged away from Mack and Ollie. She sensed a showdown coming, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see Mack lose his temper and beat somebody up again. Although he did seem to have a knack for finding men who deserved it.
And she couldn’t deny the thrill this relationship had brought her. For once, she felt as reckless and sexy on the inside as she looked on the outside. Despite her bohemian clothes and flyaway hair, she’d always been a little bit of a prude when it came to men. And to some extent, her love life had been stalled by her friendship with Ames. This wasn’t the first time she’d used their friendship to avoid intimacy, but she
vowed it would be the last.
She spent some time with her students, chatting with Ed and Emma and dancing a quick two-step with Charles, who proved to have the floating grace that so often makes big men good dancers. As the party started to wind down, the night air turned chilly and she went in search of Mack.
Edging through the crowd, she craned her neck to see if she could spot him or Ollie. As she neared the Bull Barn, she heard male voices and paused.
“They’re not yours to sell.”
Mack’s voice. There was a note of desperation in it that chilled her heart. She shouldn’t eavesdrop. His family issues were none of her business. But maybe she could help somehow.
Lightening her tread as much as she could, she crept closer to the barn. The two men were just inside the door.
“I’ll talk to your mother about that.”
“They’re not yours to sell,” Mack repeated. “So whatever deal you’ve got going, you need to cancel it and move on.”
“Until those papers are signed, I’m still her husband.”
Sensing he’d stepped over the line, Ollie backed up a step. Mack moved with him, one fist coming up fast. Ollie backed away just in time, then turned and fled for the parking lot. He beeped open a blue late-model Silverado and turned.
“I’ve been through the books. This place is shit, Boyd. Done.” He climbed into the truck. “It’ll take a miracle to save it. Your mother and her crazy dude ranch plans aren’t going to do it.” He slammed the door, then rolled down the window. “You might as well get back on the road. Rodeo’s what you always wanted anyway.”
“No.” Mack straightened, then surged to his feet. “It’s not what I wanted. Not without the ranch to back it up.”
“Well, then you’d better keep on romancin’ that little painter gal, ’cause there’s no other way you’re going to get folks to stay at this dump.” He let out a cynical chuckle that made Cat’s hackles rise. “Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘use it or lose it.’”
Mack grabbed the door handle and tugged furiously, slamming one foot against the truck in his effort to pull open the locked door. He nearly fell as Ollie rolled up the window and the truck surged forward, spinning out of the drive in a cloud of dust.
Cat backed away. Mack wouldn’t want her to see his desperation, and he definitely wouldn’t want her to hear what Ollie had said. Returning to the party, she eased into the line of dancers and picked up the steps as best she could, following Maddie’s rhythmic calls.
“Kick one, two, and kick three, four.”
Chapter 33
Mack scanned the crowd, searching for Cat’s willowy form among the dancers. Her pale grace should stand out like a heron in a hen coop, but he couldn’t spot her. He could feel his world starting to spin again, and he needed a touchstone—something that grounded him.
She stepped out of the darkness and into the circle of light around the barn like the answer to a wish. “Hey. Where are you going?”
He scanned her face as she took his arm. She had so many smiles—the languid, sexy tilting of the lips, the wry, ironic twist, and this one—teasing, lighthearted, and filled with promise. That was just the smile he needed right now.
“I just wanted to take a break.”
“Want company?”
He took her hand. “If the company’s you, I do.”
They didn’t speak as they strolled through the barn doors into the warm, hay-scented darkness. He pulled her close and felt the world steady under his feet. He breathed in the scent of her hair, violets and roses, and let his hands skim over her hips.
He needed to take the next step with this woman, and that meant finding a way to tell her how he felt. But with his luck, somebody would come into the barn and overhear them.
“I know a place where nobody can find us,” he said.
“Show me.”
There was no pretending now, no false flirtation. She simply let him lead her to the back of the barn to the tack and feed room. Racks jutting from one wall held an assortment of saddles, while hooks draped with halters and bridles lined another. A row of metal bins below the hooks held grain and sweet feed, with various horse blankets neatly folded on top. Bales of yellow straw and bright green alfalfa hay were stacked against the other two walls.
The room smelled of clean leather and new straw—Mack’s favorite scents other than the flowery fragrance of Cat herself. He could hear the high notes of the fiddle and the dull thud of bass coming through the walls. The only light came from a high window—a combination of cool moonlight and the warm glow of the fire. All he could see of Cat in the dimness was the sheen of her eyes and the light catching the colored stones she wore on a gold chain. Baubles and beads, gauze and lace—she was decked out like the queen. He loved the way she dressed, but he couldn’t wait to get all those trappings off her and be with the real, unadorned Cat.
The scrape of the fiddle was interrupted by the whine of electric guitars. If he weren’t here with Cat, he’d be out there with the rest of the revelers, standing just outside the circle, as he always had. He’d been an outsider all his life, looking for his own heart and never quite finding it here at the ranch, or out on the road. He’d never minded the loneliness of the road or the risks of the rodeo, because he’d had nothing to lose. He’d thought that made him free, but he was wrong. It only made him poor.
Not for long, though. His outsider status was about to change. He was going to stop looking for something vague and undefined and start making the most of what he had. Hopefully, the woman beside him would be part of that change.
He had four days to make that happen.
He grabbed a pair of clippers that hung by the hay bales and snipped the twine on one, then another, then another. As the bales broke open, he swept the loose hay to the floor. Grabbing two of the clean horse blankets, he spread them over the bed of straw.
“Hm,” she said. “I think I’m about to have another Wild West experience.”
***
Cat reached across the blanket and took Mack’s hand. All her life, she’d settled for something—for a job in advertising instead of art; for an apartment instead of a home; for her lukewarm relationship with Ames instead of love. Once, just once, she was going to have the real thing.
They met in the middle of the blanket. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him to the ground until they were both sprawled on the clean blanket in the single square of light that slanted from the window.
She reached up and stroked that teasingly unkempt shock of hair that fell over his forehead, then swept her hand down the side of his face, tracing the shard of light that glossed his cheekbone, drifting down to the rough stubble of his cheek and stroking the line of his jaw. Closing her eyes, she did it again. She wanted to trace every curve and angle, memorize him so she’d know him in the dark—and so she wouldn’t forget him when she was gone.
Because of course she was going. There was no question of that. They had four more days here at the ranch—four days to enjoy this surprising, surreal attraction of opposites. She ignored the pang of loss that shot through her at the thought of leaving him. It was ridiculous to even think about staying.
But staying in touch—that wasn’t impossible, was it? She could come back sometime. Visit. She didn’t have to say good-bye forever.
His next kiss was deeper and less playful. There was real feeling behind it—she knew that now. This wasn’t a game or a rehearsal for the real thing; he’d let her into his life and trusted her with his heart.
She wanted to be worthy of that trust, which meant she couldn’t hold back anymore. His hand brushed her breast and she twisted to press herself into his palm. Hooking one leg around his thigh, she pulled her hips to his and felt the hard evidence of his arousal. She closed her eyes and felt sparks flying from his touch. His fingers danced along her skin and the sparks grew to flames.
He pulled away and she squirmed, wanting more, as he pulled off her shirt and worked at her belt. He stripped her with the single-minded determination he brought to everything he did, and then applied the same commendable work ethic to his own clothes.
Laying a palm on his bare chest, she locked her elbow, holding him off for a second so she could look at him. She loved the way his muscles flowed and swelled, the practical economy of his movements. He was a working man, one who actually used his body, and every part of him served a purpose. The city boys she knew were nothing like him; they were just shells for their sophisticated brains and pretentious egos.
She was suddenly self-conscious. Her own body was hardly flabby, but she didn’t use her muscles much. Her hips had a little spare padding, and her tummy had a slight roundness to it that suddenly seemed superfluous. She closed her eyes, feeling shy, and he pulled his hand away from her breast to cup her chin. When he didn’t move, she opened her eyes to find him gazing intently into her own.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” She tried for a careless smile, but it trembled at the edges. She pulsed her hips against him, hoping she could dodge the question and move on.
“No. Wait.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You need to know some things.”
“I already know.” She smiled again. “The birds, the bees—it’s okay, I get it.”
“This isn’t about that,” he said. “It’s about who you are.” His eyes flicked over her body, taking in every slightly padded curve, and she felt heat rise to her face. “You have a beautiful body, Cat. It’s what got me here. But what’s keeping me is inside.”
She bit her lip. He wasn’t going to tell her that he loved her, was he? Because she wasn’t ready for that. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but she didn’t want to define it; she just wanted to set it free.
He seemed to sense her discomfort, because he looked away, releasing his hold. “It’s you,” he said simply.
And then he was moving again, and she was moving with him, their bodies joining like two flames from the same fire. They caught and flared, ebbed to a quiet glow, then flickered to life again and the flames leaped and danced, reaching into the sky and lighting the whole world on fire.
Cowboy Tough Page 21
