Cowboy of Mine

by Red L. Jameson

  “It took me a long time to figure out the shower nozzle,” she said, standing close to him. “I didn’t know how to drill through steel, or how to make the holes, but after a visit from the ferrier I realized I could use the blacksmith tools to punch small holes into a copper disk and weld it onto the pipe like that.”

  He smiled down at her. “Lord, ye’re a bona fide genius, aren’t ye?”

  She looked away, shaking her head.

  “Yes, you are, Meredith. This invention is wonderful.”

  She bit at her lips, still not gazing at him. “I—I had no idea I would like to build things. I never took an engineering class, and I wasn’t that great at math, but I like to do this, even if it did take me months to make.”

  He chucked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Woman, now listen to me. Ye’re amazing and that’s all there is to it. Got it?”

  She pushed his hand away, glaring at him. “You’re rather bossy.”

  “When I’m right, I’m bossy. And I’m right about you.”

  The smile she was trying to hide truly did vanish at what he’d said. She blinked, almost appearing to flicker away tears. He thought she was probably not used to compliments, probably not used to be told she’d done well. The little wild thing that she was, was probably much too used to being stuck in her own head, in her own damned way.

  “I’m right,” he whispered, then forced a kiss on her. Leaning away, he gauged her reaction.

  She looked as though she were going to argue with him, so he did it again. “I’m right,” he said, then pressed another hot kiss on her mouth. She moved her lips with his, easily accepting him, then slid her tongue in his mouth.

  And he’d won again.

  It felt wonderful too. When she moved her hands to his, pulling away the blanket around his hips, he couldn’t help but smile through their kiss. Her hands flew all over him, molding over his body in such a seductive way, as if she thought him utterly desirable. Then she guided him into her ceramic tile canister, warm water flooding his senses almost as much as his wee fae’s kisses. He planted his feet and anchored himself still as she tugged herself free from her plaid. Then she was inside the shower, closing the door. With the water cascading on her glorious curves, he moaned and let his hands do as hers had, kissing her all the while. He cupped her ample breasts, loving the softness, the way her nipples hardened whenever he touched them. Next, he explored the deep curve of her waist, whilst their passion kept escalating.

  He pulled away from her lips, hoping to breathe and think a little, but she kissed down his chest, one of her hands grazed around his bollocks. Her other hand wrapped around his cock, and he couldn’t think anything coherent again, save his dreamy thoughts about her. She somehow had soap in hand and lathered him in floral-scented bubbles.

  “I’m going to smell like a woman,” he choked through his desire.

  She giggled.

  With her being so small, washing his hair was a challenge, but she managed it and everything else, making sure his hardness stayed erect in her hands, which he was, incidentally, putty in. She pushed him into the curved wall of the canister, then, before he could tell what she was doing, for water kept landing in his eyes, she was on her knees before him.

  “Meredi—”

  When she’d wrapped her lips around the head of his penis, he couldn’t even cough out a noise. He moaned and leaned back into the cold wall, feeling her tongue lathe around him, down, then back up where her mouth took him again. Channeling his fingers through her wet hair, he couldn’t believe how his luck had changed, couldn’t believe any of this actually.

  He was warm and healthy, in a town where people didn’t massacre each other just because they could—oh, sure, they had bigotry towards each other, but nothing like what he’d seen. Further, he was clean and one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen was pleasuring him. She’d have him undone in no time. With the water running cool, he pulled her hot mouth away from him.

  “You didn’t like that?” she asked, as he bent over and pulled her to her feet.

  “Too much.” He could only grunt. “How do ye turn this off?”

  Meredith pulled open the glass door, pulling the levers, and he had her scooped in his arms faster than she anticipated. She squealed and giggled in the cold winter’s night, where still no snow blanketed the land. But that was all right. He rushed his bundle into her warm cabin and laid her on the bed.

  “Now, it’s yer turn.” He smiled, hovering over her with his arms on either side of her shoulders, opening her legs with his knees and thighs.

  When his hand found her core, she closed her wide eyes, a smile warming her lips and face. Oh, he’d pleasure her and warm her goose-bumped skin. After he was finished satisfying her, he’d pray what he planned for their future brought her even more gratification. For he was going to promise himself to her, to provide for and protect her, which he needed to remind himself of more often—she had been threatened, after all. But he was here now. For the rest of his life, he’d be here with her.

  Chapter 9

  Meredith didn’t want to wake up. It had been too perfect a night. She and Jake had talked for hours and had made love just as much. She’d done things she’d never thought possible, all because Jake was such a considerate lover. And he was only twenty-four. Gads. So young and already so accomplished.

  She almost giggled at that, but stopped herself so she wouldn’t wake completely. Last night, even after their bodies melted into exhausted, happy lethargy, she found herself staring at Jake as he did the same. They’d laughed. Then he’d shyly asked about the books she liked to read and her political leanings if she had any. Meredith loved that he’d asked. She’d brought up Charles Dickens, because she couldn’t go wrong with that, and tried to think of other current writers, including Edgar Allen Poe, Walt Whitman, and Emily Dickinson. Shaking her to the core, Jake had softly recited Meredith’s favorite poem by Dickinson.

  “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers—

  That perches in the soul—

  And sings the tune without the words—

  And never stops—at all—”

  He’d wound a few strands of her hair around his finger while whispering the poem. Swallowing, he gently reached down for a tender kiss, and Meredith knew her heart was his, even without him asking. But she also knew it would hurt so much when he would toss her aside. However, did it matter when this moment was more perfect than anything she could have ever imagined? Even all those years pining for love, she’d never thought of Jake—poems in bed, being sweetly kissed, and as her body was boneless, a restlessness for the night to never end.

  Somehow their conversation curved to the new president, Grover Cleveland—if he’d become president because of his pull with the Railway businesses or if he was as honest as he claimed. She’d feared she’d lost Jake when she’d brought up one of Cleveland’s first acts as president—closing the Dakota territory to settlers and giving it back to the Creek, Crow, and Winnebago. For a heartbreaking moment, she worried, biting her lip, he would say something crass, something that would force her to see him as a man of his time.

  Instead, he’d sat up more, gaining a bit of distance, looking down at her as if gauging her, then said, “Aye, Cleveland did right in giving the land back. But ‘tisn’t enough. Settlers are already squatting the land, taking over, treaty or no. The railway pushes through, sometimes paying tribes for the land, often not paying enough. And the rail bosses send devils in as paid security men for the railroad. Those supposed security men round up and kill hundreds of Indians. For sport, Meredith. They kill children, wee bairns, defenseless and innocent of such inhumanity. Ach, hell.”

  She sat up, letting the sheet skitter to her hips, leaning closer, caressing his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she’d said as much, but she felt it. As an historian in her own time, she’d been asked to put aside her bias and shame over all the Native American massacres. But how could she? Granted,
it had happened in the past, but weren’t there lessons to be learned from the past? Then she’d been told she was moralizing. Her. She almost snorted at the thought. How could someone so fallible as she moralize? Didn’t it make that much more of an impact that someone as corrupt as she felt compassion and shame?

  He’d taken her hand. “Meredith, sweet lass, tell me what are yer feelings about the Indians?”

  And she’d known it then. It was a test. He was testing her for bigotry.

  She blinked then gave him a smile. “I wish I could do something. I wish I knew what to do.”

  His gray eyes narrowed slightly. “Assimilation is something.”

  He was fishing for information in a most clever way, and something about it made her proud of him, made her realize all the more how bright he was. She shook her head. “I vaguely know that Cleveland wants to assimilate the Chinese immigrants too. All immigrants, in fact. And Native Americans. But I think it horrific, and I wish I could do something.” Then she did a little fishing of her own. “I know that once landed here in America, the Irish are forced to assimilate. But I don’t think it’s right. I think people should keep their traditions and their...ways of speech.”

  His brows furrowed a little. “Ye don’t believe in assimilation then?”

  “Not at all.”

  “And ye like Irish immigrants?”

  She nodded, trying to look encouraging.

  “Well, there’s a lot of ‘em, those Irish. I’ve heard Butte is filled with ‘em. They even speak Gaelic there, I’ve been told.”

  The way he’d said Gaelic was especially pronounced with his brogue, but he still spoke in his damned faux American accent predominately. She’d just have to keep working on him to trust her more, then hopefully he’d start loosening his tongue. Oh, that tongue of his.

  His dark brows relaxed and an easy smile spread over his perfect lips. “I’m glad we’re of the same mind about things, Meredith.” He cocked his head. “Are ye part Irish? Would ye like to go to visit Butte sometime?”

  She leaned back against her pillows. Jake followed suit, and she felt his arms around her again. That felt so good.

  “I’m glad we’re of the same mind about things too. And I was told I’m a little Irish, but, really, I’m just an American mutt.”

  He hovered over her suddenly, inspecting. “I’d say nay to ye being a mutt.”

  She softly chuckled. Then she couldn’t believe what popped out of her mouth. “I’d go to Butte with you, if you wanted to go?”

  He swallowed, his smile fading into serious contemplation.

  Oh, she’d gone and messed it all up, asking for a road trip so soon. It didn’t matter if he’d just talked about it. She knew the rules. He could say whatever he wanted. Promises were always broken. But she—her—she couldn’t try to encourage further commitment. Damn it. He’d toss her aside now.

  “I’d be honored to go with ye to Butte, whenever ye’d like,” he said reverently.

  She swallowed and remembered she wasn’t at all in her time. And she wasn’t with David any longer.

  Jake had kissed her then, and soon enough they’d made love again. Something about his motions, his tender kisses made her think of commitment and promises that would be kept, and her heart had no clue what to do about that.

  Now, in the morning, while thinking of all the fun she’d had last night, Meredith decided to open her eyes to the adventure Jake brought with him. The bed was empty. The pillow where he’d lain had a dent where his head should have been, but he wasn’t anywhere in her warm cabin, where the sun streaked its happy early morning winter pink rays through her windows. Her heart caved in, tears rushed to her eyes. She knew she’d been stupid about him, hoping like that.

  The door whooshed open and there he was, in his black duster and hat, smiling at her as he entered the house.

  “Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.”

  His lovely half-covered brogue lilted through her body, making her remember all the ways he’d touched her last night. Heat rose through her cheeks. Funny, but every time he’d compliment her it still felt so new and unearned that she wanted to shake it off. But there was no way to do that under his gray observant eyes.

  “Morning.” She beamed at him.

  He took off his hat and boots and hurried to her with a kiss. His lips were chilled as was his cheeks, but she loved touching him, feeling for herself his warm skin under her fingertips. His lips melded with hers, then he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. After parrying for a few moments, feeling a surge of energy bounce through her body and into his, he pulled away, slightly panting.

  “I don’t ken what this is, but what we have is strong, aye?”

  She nodded. He was right. Every time they touched, it seemed they couldn’t stop until they both turned into a mass of melted bones and muscles.

  He leaned back, caressing some of her wild morning hair away from her face. “There’s no tracks ‘round the house.”

  She sighed in relief.

  “Do ye think the man on your porch might have been a vagrant, just passing through?”

  She shrugged. “That could be a possibility.”

  “Or do you think he looked like that Mr. Bruisner ye smacked ‘round?”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t smack him around.”

  “Oh, I think ye did with a mighty deserved slap, it sounds like.”

  “Just one slap. I’ve never done that before.”

  “Never hit a man before?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never hit anyone. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I wasn’t obviously.”

  “Anyone insulting Mrs. Casper the way he did deserved it, lass.” He punctuated his sentiment with a quick kiss. But his lips stayed close, and he came in for another round of kissing. Soon enough she was clawing at his duster to come off, while he was pushing her down on the bed.

  He flew away from her, this time noticeably huffing. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what is that? I’m sorry. I can’t seem to keep my hands off ye. Ifn I’m bothersome, please let me ken, aye?”

  She sat up again, clutching the sheet to her chest. “You’re not bothersome.”

  He snorted derisively. “I don’t ken about that. I keep...We can have a conversation, a whole conversation, without the both of us becoming naked by the end of it, aye?”

  She giggled. “We haven’t had a conversation without being naked, have we?”

  His smile turned lopsided and adorable. “Nay.”

  “Do you want to have a conversation without being naked?”

  “Nay.” His grin widened. “But—but perhaps we should try, eh? We’re more than just...what we do in yer bed, and the table, and yer shower, and the floor, and there was that time against the wall, and...well, ye were there. Ye remember, aye?”

  Her heart pounded in her ears as she nodded. He wanted more than just sex. Wasn’t that what he was saying?

  He stood and strode over to her black and pink-checkered woolen blanket.

  “When did you get that?” She thought they’d left a sheet and her favorite blanket outside after the shower.

  He grabbed the bedding and turned back to her smiling. “I woke early, fetched what we left outside, shook ‘em out, and tried to warm ‘em by the stove.” He sat back on the bed, causing the springs to make that exciting squeaking noise under his weight. She’d come to like that sound a lot and felt a bit like Pavlov’s dog, salivating and wanted him back on top of her.

  He covered her with the tartan blanket, smiling at her very proudly. “There now, I didn’t ravish ye when I gave ye the plaid. I can do this.”

  She fashioned the blanket around her and over one of her shoulders, grinning.

  He cleared his throat. “So, about this Mr. Bruisner, do ye think it was him on yer porch?”

  She sat on her shins, shrugging. “I never saw the man’s face. His back was pressed against the window.”

  “Was that when he was close to yer shower contraption? Ye saw his bac
k pressed against the window?”

  She nodded. “Do you—do you think I overreacted? I mean, there was just some guy on my porch.”

  Jake’s face grew tense. After he took a breath, his jaw started to kick. “Ye never saw him looking in?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know whether he even saw me.”

  Jake’s dark brows creased. He stared at her for a long moment, as if measuring his thoughts. Finally, he said, “He saw ye, Meredith. He stood at that window, I’m guessin’, for more than ten minutes.” He pointed to one of the windows close to her kitchen. “He stood there so long, he melted the frost.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. She worried she might vomit or—God, how utterly Victorian—faint. He’d watched her while she’d baked the quiche. A stranger had watched her.

  Jake sat closer, his hand on her shoulder, instantly comforting her raw nerves. “I need ye to tell me as much as ye remember about the man. Please?”

  Bowler hat. Brown duster. That large overcoat looked as if it were made from leather, tanned elegantly and sewn together by a tailor. It would be called a fine coat, in this time. And she remembered Mr. Bruisner had worn a fine suit too, as if he were trying to look like one of the top businessmen from Chicago, instead of a Montana miner’s secretary or whatever it was he did.

  Meredith glanced at Jake and told him her suspicions about the sophistication of Mr. Bruinser’s suit and the man’s duster who had been on her porch. He grunted an acknowledging sound.

  “It definitely could have been Mr. Bruisner. I doubt it was some rambling vagabond. The coat was very well made. And, now that I think more about it, he did have the same size and build as Mr. Bruisner.”

  Jake nodded while looking out her window. His gray eyes caught the light, and Meredith saw gold flakes close to the center of his pupils. Maybe she should have been more terrified, but with Jake near all she thought about was how good it felt when he was close, and how she loved his eyes. When he was about to come the gray turned very dark yet the gold would intensify, making it seem as if his eyes were glowing. She loved that she knew that about him, the way he looked when he was naked, sweating, and sweetly smiling down at her.