The Texas Way

by Jan Freed

  She ravished him back, reveling in the freedom to express herself with such complete abandon.

  His hands played her vertebrae like the keys of a clarinet, sweeping down to cup her bottom and press her against the promise of ecstasy.

  It wasn’t enough. She was tired of promises.

  When she moved to reach between them, he broke their kiss and thrust her away with a choked laugh.

  “If you don’t slow down, I’m gonna disgrace myself like I haven’t since I was fourteen.”

  She sat back on her heels and looked up through her lashes.

  “You’re a drug in my bloodstream,” she said. “A fever. I can’t control myself when I touch you.”

  He squeezed his lids shut as if in pain. When they opened, his eyes were smoldering amber, hot and bright beneath the rim of sable lashes. “Then I guess you’ll have to let me do the touchin’ from now on.” He scooted to the edge of the bed.

  Her heart thumped as loudly as his boots hitting the floor.

  “Give me your foot,” he commanded.

  “M-my foot?”

  He nodded. “Left or right. Your choice.”

  Flustered, she offered her right foot.

  He worked the tiny buckle at her heel and slipped off her sandal. It looked feminine and frivolous dangling from his tanned finger by a single strap. Flipping the shoe over his shoulder, he took her foot in both hands and kissed her instep.

  Heat liquified her bones, her organs, her brain. She’d fantasized a hundred scenarios with Scott, but not one of them had involved her feet. Dropping back on propped elbows, she felt her lids drift shut.

  He lowered her foot and reached for its mate, repeating the process and adding a love bite for good measure. She opened her eyes to see his gaze rising from the inside of her thigh. Arousal flushed her face. Her lids fluttered down.

  “Take off your panty hose, darlin’.”

  Her eyes popped open.

  Scott chuckled. “I’ll be happy to do it for you if you’re shy.”

  She swung her legs off the bed, stood and peeled down her hose as discreetly as possible. Now what?

  He curled his forefinger. “C’mere.”

  The exquisite torment of sexual foreplay was new to her. She found his deliberate game exciting and intriguing. She crawled on hands and knees to the middle of the bed and sat primly.

  “Now, what was it I was supposed to do? Oh, yeah, take off your dress slow and easy, then kiss every inch of your skin.”

  He failed the first part of his instructions miserably. In seconds Margaret shivered in the champagne silk panties and bra she’d worn for just this moment.

  And then he was nibbling, kissing—devouring her shoulders, neck and arms until she was dazed with the feel of his lips. He fumbled with the clasp of her bra and slipped it off, replacing the scrap of silk with his callused palms.

  “Look at you, Maggie. Look at you.”

  His reverent tone made her obey. She watched him take a stiff pink nipple into his mouth, felt him warm it with his tongue. Saw his tanned jaw work against her white flesh, felt him suckle greedily. Tendrils of sensation spiraled downward as she watched and experienced at the same time.

  He lifted his head to watch her face, his eyes smoky. “Ah, that’s it, darlin’, don’t hold back.”

  He gave her no choice. Spinning her around so that she leaned back against his chest and thighs, he banded one arm across her ribs and slipped his free hand inside her panties. When her head lolled back against his shoulder, he whispered in her ear.

  Words of praise, words of encouragement, dark erotic words she’d never heard before but responded to nonetheless. She moaned his name, clutching his forearm to anchor herself against the swell of sensation lifting her heavenward.

  She stiffened and caught her breath.

  Her climax splintered through her, ripping a cry from her throat. Scott twisted her around and trapped the last vibration with his mouth, bending her over his arm and tangling his hand in her hair.

  All the pent-up hunger of months was in his savage kiss. It swept away every vestige of intelligent thought and left only quivering sensations. She clung to his neck even as he lowered her to the bed and stripped off her panties.

  Yanking out his shirttail, he fought his way free of the garment and flung it aside. She curled her fingers in his chest hair while he dug in his pocket for a foil-wrapped packet, wrestled his jeans down and kicked them away.

  As long as she lived, Margaret would never forget the sight of Scott magnificently aroused. He turned for a moment, then slid naked up her body for the first time. Hard against soft. Rough against smooth. Mate against mate. She gasped as he plunged deep with a force that lifted her hips off the bed. He held himself still with obvious effort, allowing her body to adjust.

  “Did I hurt you?” he said through his teeth.

  She was a small woman who hadn’t made love in a year. But she was fully aroused and joined with the man she loved. Tilting her hips, she accepted him fully, wringing a groan from deep in his chest.

  “No, darlin’,” she said, mimicking his drawl perfectly. “I want everything, remember? Nothing held back.”

  He raised up on his elbows and grinned, the wild promise in his eyes burning bright. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  And the warm sensations began anew. Itching, building, stabbing her with previews of the release awaiting her any second…any second…

  The explosion took the top off her head. She wrapped her legs around his waist, triggering Scott’s release and extending her pleasure for exquisite seconds.

  Reality returned by slow degrees. Her body felt drained, her mind stunned by the enormity of her experience.

  How had she ever thought this man would overpower her identity? Because of him, she was no longer haunted by Matt’s death. Because of him, she’d gained confidence in her ability to stand alone. Because of him, she no longer felt compelled to prove she could.

  She wanted everything. His problems. His joys. His children. His heart. Nothing held back.

  Scott brushed a strand of hair from her face. “What are you thinkin’ that’s got you so serious?”

  Margaret smiled tremulously. “I’m thinking that I love you.”

  His pupils dilated with strong emotion, but he remained silent. Margaret tried not to be hurt. If he didn’t love her, he’d shown her he cared in a hundred ways. She would build on that.

  Striving to lighten his somber expression, she forced a smile. “I’m also wondering if I set myself up for disappointment. How can I possibly top that experience, cowboy?”

  Amazingly she felt him stir inside her. His grin was slow. Arrogant. Vintage Scott Hayes. “Stick around and find out, darlin’. The night’s still young.”

  SCOTT SURFACED from sleep reluctantly, his body clinging to warmth and sated relaxation. He hugged his pillow closer and breathed in the scent of peaches.

  Maggie.

  She lay spooned against him, her head beneath his chin, her rounded bottom snugged tight against his groin. His morning erection grew painful, and he wondered if he’d ever get enough of this woman. He didn’t think so, but he was more than willing to spend a lifetime trying.

  What a revelation his princess had been!

  Being deprived of love while growing up could easily have made her sexually repressed. Instead, it was as if she’d stored a lifetime of tender emotion deep inside and had released it at long last. On him. A smalltime rancher who’d given up his big-time dreams—until she came along.

  God knew he wasn’t worthy. And he loved her enough not to declare his own feelings. Yet. His prospects were definitely improving, but far from secure. After the big race, he promised himself, he would ask her to be his wife. August wasn’t so very long to wait.

  Maggie shifted, filling his palm with an indescribably soft mound of flesh. His fingers stirred and made an interesting discovery. So she was awake, was she?

  Burying his smile in her silken hair, he caressed he
r lightly. Her thighs tensed. Her breathing quickened. But still she feigned sleep.

  He skimmed his hand south and confirmed her readiness, then flipped her over and drove himself deep with a single stroke. They both sighed.

  Scott raised up and looked down into her eyes. What a damn fine way to start the morning!

  “H’lo, Maggie,” he said with a spreading grin.

  “Hello, Scott.” Her eyes were drowsy and tender. She placed her palms against his chest and kneaded like a kitten. “You’re looking awfully chipper this morning.”

  He ground his hips and leered. “I’m feelin’ mighty chipper. How ‘bout you?”

  She lifted a hand and stroked his jaw, his neck, the hair at his nape. “I’m feeling you inside me and loving it. I love you.”

  Her breathy words were bellows on his burning libido. Every trace of playfulness vanished, replaced by a turbulent mixture of love and lust and wonder and fear he couldn’t verbally express. So he let his body do the talking.

  With hands that worshiped her beautiful rosy-tipped breasts. With lips that roamed and tasted and adored wherever they touched. With long, smooth strokes angled to give her the most pleasure possible.

  Maggie’s gratification increased his own a thousandfold, so that when she cried out his name, her climax fueled his in a blissful release that went on and on.

  As his breathing slowly returned to normal, Scott rolled off and pulled Maggie close. The nightstand clock read seven-fifteen, slothfully late by his normal standards. But hell, they could leave at nine and still make it home for lunch. Another hour of sleep with Maggie in his arms was too tempting to resist.

  Mmm, this was nice. Maybe he wouldn’t wait until August, after all. His eyes drifted shut, contentment blanketing his heart….

  Something was dragging him up toward wakefulness. Something insistent and shrill. The phone. He cracked his eyelids at the considerably brighter room. Maggie remained comatose beneath his arm. With a muttered curse, he flung himself over to the night-stand and snatched up the receiver.

  “Yeah?” he said rudely.

  A beat of silence. “Scott?”

  A beat of silence. “Dad?”

  “Yes, son, it’s me. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid it’s an emergency.”

  Scott scrambled upright, his heart pounding. Maggie mumbled and stirred beside him. “Are you all right, Dad?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s not me. It’s Twister. He’s been in an accident of some kind at Riverbend. Dr. Morley said it’s pretty serious.”

  Maggie sat up beside Scott, wide-eyed and clutching the sheet to her chest. He avoided her eyes.

  “Scott?” His father sounded odd.

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m here. Did Dr. Morley say what happened?”

  “He was very vague. Wouldn’t say any more than that Twister hit his head somehow. And that…well, that you and Margaret should get to Riverbend as soon as possible.”

  Oh God, no. Not this. Not now. “We’re on our way.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MARGARET STOLE a peek at Scott’s implacable face. She longed to nestle close and absorb his strength, but he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his eyes never leaving the road.

  Not knowing Twister’s condition frayed her sanity. Yet what she might learn frightened her more.

  For all their strength, or perhaps because of it, horses were notorious for injuring themselves in a variety of bizarre ways. She never should’ve left Twister in another’s care. She should’ve supervised his gate-training herself.

  Guilt curled her shoulders. She hugged her stomach against the bitterly familiar sensation. What would this mean for the future? Her mind refused to speculate.

  The old pickup rattled and whined, pushed to the limits of its capacity for speed. She concentrated on the passing miles.

  “We’re almost there,” Scott said, not sparing her a glance.

  The man who’d shown her such tender passion hours ago had disappeared, replaced by a grim stranger. Scott was worried sick, too, Margaret rationalized. Wanting him to comfort her was selfish. Straightening, she tensed as the truck turned onto the gravel county road that led to Riverbend Arabian Farm.

  She had to be brave enough to face the worst, and flexible enough to develop a contingency plan. If Twister couldn’t run in the Armand Hammer Classic, then there were several other prestigious races later in the year that would serve the same purpose. His health was the main priority now.

  An elaborate wrought-iron archway incorporating Riverbend’s logo loomed ahead. The pickup rolled through the entrance gate and onto a paved road much nicer than the one the county maintained. Towering oaks dappled the windshield with shade. A majestic white-columned house crowned a sloping hill in the distance. They passed the racetrack, and Margaret noted the mechanized starting gate stretching across the dirt. One of two horses being led into the gate balked violently, and her stomach lurched. Is that how Twister had been hurt?

  She scanned the grounds as Scott pulled up in front of the stallion facility. The absence of man or beast was odd. Her uneasiness increased. Just then a short, wiry man emerged from the building and stood near the dark entrance. Margaret was out of the truck before Scott had cut the engine.

  “Billy!” She jogged over, her welcome fading to sickened dread at the expression on his homely face. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. Her hands lifted involuntarily to her cheeks. “Oh, my God.”

  “Dr. Morley and Miss Howarth wanted me to tell them when you got here. I’ll just run up to the office while you—Hey!” Billy grabbed her shoulder as she walked past. “Don’t go in there, Miss Winston, please. Wait for Dr. Morley.”

  Margaret shrugged aside his hand and ran into the barn. Denial raged in her brain. Everything would be fine. Twister was in perfect physical condition. She would nurse him through whatever injury he’d received. If he could never race, then that was fine, too. He could have a happy, productive life standing stud. But please God, don’t let him…She couldn’t finish the thought.

  Walking slowly up the long corridor, she glanced into each stall. Swiveling ears pricked forward as she passed. Beautiful dish-shaped faces turned her way, none of them the one she sought. Her finely tuned inner radar—the sixth sense she’d always possessed-slowed her feet as she neared the second-to-last stall. She approached it cautiously. Stumbled to a stop. Stuffed her knuckles into her mouth and stifled a cry of anguish.

  The stall door was open, but there was no danger of Twister escaping.

  He stood with his muzzle almost touching the ground, his eyes closed and ears drooping. His powerful body listed drunkenly to one side. Margaret’s mind rejected the physical clues.

  “Twister?”

  His delicate ears twitched. He tried valiantly to lift his head. The effort made him stagger. He recovered his precarious balance and resumed his former position. She dropped on her knees before him and sandwiched his face with her palms. He whuffled softly in response.

  “Oh, Twister, what have I done to you?” she whispered brokenly.

  He opened his eyes for the space of a heartbeat, revealing dark, vacant corneas rimmed with red vessels. It was then she saw the blood trickling from his nostrils.

  Margaret pressed his magnificent head to her breaking heart and keened. When a masculine hand tried to pull her away, she hugged tighter.

  “Maggie, let go. Dr. Morley and Liz are here,” Scott said gruffly.

  Her overwhelming agony found outlet in fury. Still holding Twister tightly, she glared over her shoulder at the two Riverbend employees. “How could this have happened? How could you have let this happen?”

  Liz’s nostrils flared. She bristled with defensive-ness. “That’s not fair, Margaret. You know how careful we are with the horses here.”

  “Was it the starting gate? Did he spook during training?”

  “No. Twister did fine during his schooling this morning. But he pitched a fit when Billy led him back into the barn.”


  “Into the barn?” The irony twisted Margaret’s heart. This splendid specimen had survived ranch hazards and training hardships only to be defeated by a barn?

  Liz crouched down, gently pried Margaret’s hands from Twister, then squeezed them with her own. “Oh, honey, I’d give anything to change things. It was a freak accident. He reared up and hit his head on the entrance overhang. Caught him right on the poll. There was no way we could have foreseen it, right, Thomas?” She looked up at the tall man standing behind Scott.

  Dr. Morley’s dark eyes held compassion and regret. “She’s right, Margaret. We got him to his stall, but I’m afraid there’s not much we can do in cases of cerebral hemorrhage. Frankly I’m surprised…Well, I’m glad you got here so quickly.”

  Twister’s legs suddenly buckled. He fell heavily, without any trace of the fluid coordination Margaret had come to expect from him. Dr. Morley swept past the two women and raised the stallion’s eyelids. He looked from Margaret to Scott with an expression of helpless frustration.

  Liz patted Margaret on the shoulder.

  I’t can’t be true. It can’t be! She sent Scott a look of wild appeal.

  Shaken and pale, Scott ground the heel of his palm into one temple. When he lowered his hand, he seemed to have aged ten years. “What about an operation? A shot? Something, for God’s sake. We can’t just let him suffer.”

  “I agree,” Dr. Morley said gently. “But I need your signature for permission to put him down. Otherwise, the insurance company won’t pay your claim.” He was talking about euthanasia.

  Margaret met Scott’s shocked eyes. “There has to be another solution,” she choked out.

  Dr. Morley stood up and sighed. “Twister is starting to convulse. He’s already totally blind. Theory has it he’s not in pain at this point, but we can’t be absolutely sure. Is it kind to leave him like this?”

  Margaret forced herself to look at Twister closely. He lay on his side with his eyes closed, his ribs rising and falling in a shallow, quick cadence. When his legs jerked spasmodically, she groped blindly for Scott’s hand. He moved to her side and laced his fingers through hers, sharing her wretchedness and providing stability in this waking nightmare.