"MBA. Finish next June."
He shook his head in admiration. "That's terrific, Lisa. What are you going to do with the MBA? You going to stay working for Taylor?"
"Maybe." She slanted a look at him. "Maybe I'll start on a law degree, so I can join that legal brain trust of yours."
He laughed. "It would be a major step down in class for you, Lisa. A major step down."
* * * *
Cal, on foot, nodded into the milling congregation of heifers and calves. "Red with the white slash."
Matty spotted the one he meant and maneuvered old Reve into position. Juno was just learning to work cattle, so among the nervous first-time mothers, she preferred riding an old hand like Reve. He wasn't fast, but he was sure.
They'd been working steadily, down to the last few now. Cal would spot one that needed doctoring, she'd rope the calf, he'd administer the vaccine, loose her rope and they were on to the next one. A chute would have made this easier, but building chutes cost money.
As always, the thought of what wasn't being done at the Flying W because of money brought her back to the grant. She should have heard by now. She'd been so sure that with the Slash-C being her official address it would all be routine. It had seemed a sure thing from reading the regulations or she never would have swallowed her pride and asked Dave to marry her.
Although she had to admit her pride hadn't felt nearly as prickly lately.
You didn't come easy for me, Matty.... I never understood the restlessness in you, that energy that pushed you into leaping into things.... While you were off exploring the world and finding yourself like a normal person, in college and beyond, I stayed at home and wondered what was wrong with me that I didn't want to.
She'd scoffed at his words then, but they hadn't left her. The stuff about her not being easy for him, no, that couldn't be true. But maybe things hadn't been as perfect for Dave these past six years as they'd seemed from the outside. Maybe he had hurt some, too. Maybe he even–
"Hey, you gonna rope that critter or stare at him till he dies?"
Matty jolted at Cal's call. "Sorry."
She adjusted the coil in her left hand, guided Reve into position and started the loop in her right hand on the clockwise rotation of a houlihan catch. The rope settled securely over the neck of the red calf with the narrow white stripe on his face. Reve planted his feet to keep the rope taut so Cal could go to work.
How many thousands of times had she done this in her life? It didn't matter. Every time the rope went true and taut she felt a twang of pleasure at doing it well.
If there was one thing she'd known how to do growing up, it was how to throw a rope.
If there was one thing she'd learned as an adult, it was how to throw a party.
Especially throwing the kind of party meant to put people in the mood to give you something you wanted. Mostly that was money, but sometimes it was something else. This was one of the sometimes.
The idea had come to her full-blown in that instant yesterday after she'd realized it wasn't a regular party Dave had planned without telling her.
She wouldn't lie to herself; she'd been relieved to hear it was a work session for a group of his lawyer cronies. Relieved–how stupid was that? What difference would it have made if he had planned to have a real party without telling her. It wasn't like they were a real couple who would make decisions together.
Just because they'd done okay in the mornings didn't make them a team.
Just because he'd made room for her in bureaus and closets, just because he kept his word about giving her first shot at the bathroom in the mornings, just because he pitched in and put some dishes in the dishwasher, didn't mean they were a real couple.
And just because he'd gone along with this marriage didn't mean that she wasn't on her own when it came to making sure there were changes made.
No, she'd do this herself, with some help from Taylor, who'd loved the idea as soon as she heard it. She'd make this work for her. Make it work for the Flying W. By herself. She'd needed Dave for his address, but that was for the short-run. Not the way she'd once thought she needed him. Not the kind of need that had to be filled so your heart could keep pumping and your lungs could keep pushing out and pulling in.
No, not that kind of need at all.
And once she got the Flying W back on its feet, she'd make up for leaning on him even temporarily. A lot of that depended on getting the grant and hopefully putting through the other project she had her eye on. But she couldn't control those things; she could make sure she made a success of this legal gathering. It would help future people who might need the grant. And maybe it would be a little bit of a thank you to Dave, too.
* * * *
Dave heard Matty ride in well after dark, and went out to the barn to meet her. He'd been waiting nearly two hours for her return. For most of that time, the envelope he'd picked up from the mailbox when he drove in had stared at him from the family room mantel where he'd propped it. Now it rested in his shirt pocket like a rock against his chest.
"Hey there, Matty." He patted Juno's neck.
"Oh." Matty's eyes popped open. "Hi. I didn't see you."
"Tough to see me with your eyes closed."
"I was just resting them."
"Hard day." He didn't make it a question.
"Yeah."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Not particularly."
He hesitated, both because of that answer and because he saw that her weariness was more than a long day in the saddle and physical labor. Maybe he should wait. If it was bad news, she'd deal with it better after a good night's sleep...
As long as you've grown up, and have the smarts to see that she has, too.
Lisa's words rattled sharply in his head. But dammit, Matty looked so tired... was it so wrong to want to protect her, to want to smooth the way for her?
You got so used to being the leader and her your faithful follower when you were little kids that you never adjusted when she caught up to you....
He shook his head to himself. That was nonsense; he knew Matty's strength.
"No what?" she asked, tipping her head, as if trying to read him better.
He pushed out the first thought that came to mind. "Thinking about you riding in the dark. You shouldn't do that, Matty. It can be dangerous."
She snorted. "I can do that ride with my eyes closed. I did it a thousand times as a kid and nothing ever happened."
"That was on horses who knew the trail. Juno doesn't."
"She doesn't need to–" Her voice sounded a little strange and the muscles of her face seemed to be fighting some urge. "– because I do."
The last word came out half strangled.
"Matty, are you okay?"
His concerned question was interrupted and answered when she yawned. A huge yawn. A yawn so deep and so big that she slipped sideways in the saddle a little and he moved toward her. But she automatically righted herself. Matty hadn't changed in that way. She'd stay in the saddle if she were completely asleep instead of only three-quarters.
She'd blow her top if she recognized that he'd made a move meant to protect her from any fall. And she'd blow her top if she knew he was delaying handing over the envelope for the same reason.
"I've got something here for you. Came today."
"What?" But he was already handing up the envelope to her and she could see what from the official return address imprinted on it. "Oh. It's from the commission."
"I know."
"Guess I should open it."
"Guess so."
But she held each end in a gloved hand and looked at the fat envelope.
"Want me to?" he offered.
"No." She yanked off her gloves, dropping them to the V of the saddle between her legs. She tore open the envelope and skimmed across the contents. Then he watched her eyes travel back to the start of the letter and take in its contents more slowly. At the end, she sucked in a slow breath between her teeth.
> He knew right then that he'd make this right for her. No matter what it took, Matty would not lose the Flying W.
When she started to read it a third time, he cuffed her on the thigh. "Matty, if you don't tell me what that letter says–"
"We've got it! We've got it! The Flying W got the grant!"
As she shouted, she started to dismount, only instead of swinging her right leg back and over Juno's rump, Matty brought her right leg forward, twisting in her left stirrup at the same time she slid her leg between her own body and the horse's neck. It was a fancier dismount, one that should have ended in her making a little hop to the ground.
But Juno wasn't used to the maneuver, and skittered to the side and back as Matty released. The horse's side bumped Matty's back as she came down, and she stumbled forward.
Right into Dave's open arms.
Closing his arms around her was as right as breathing. She was laughing, interrupted by little huffs from being first knocked by a thousand pounds of horseflesh, then having her momentum stopped by his body. Still holding her, he tried to ease the force of the impact by retreating two steps, until his back met a solid surface.
She threw her arms around his neck, her grin masking any signs of her earlier exhaustion.
"The Flying W's got a reprieve!"
She was so close, so warm, so alive, so familiar and so...Matty. There was no planning, no consideration of pushing her, no thought of how she might react or what the consequences might be. He kissed her.
And she kissed him back. As she had in front of the judge. As she had in front of Pamela Dobson. As naturally as if the years apart had evaporated. But this time it couldn't be a performance, because they had no audience. Just the two of them, the way it used to be.
Her mouth moved against his in a joyful glide that made him want to howl.
"I am so excited, Dave!"
She tightened her arms around his neck in a spasm of joy, and he used the opportunity to bow his head and come back to her mouth.
"I got that feeling," he murmured against her lips. "In fact, I could say the same."
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then caught her bottom lip and tugged it gently between his teeth. Her lips parted and she made a little sound that he caught in his mouth, swallowing it like a shot of the smoothest whiskey, hot and sweet intoxication speeding directly into his blood stream. He flicked his tongue in once, darted out, then came back again, repeating the dance until he thought his veins might explode.
And then she pushed him even further with an answering touch of her tongue against his. Slight at first, then stronger. A slow glide that grew more eager.
Ah, Matty. The taste and feel of her.
He slid one hand down her back, holding their positions, with her right leg tucked between his two. Then he turned them, pivoting so her back would be against the wall, to have his body pressed against her curves, to feel the sensations of her body against his, but to still have his hands free.
But somehow their legs tangled and they made another half turn, his left shoulder coming up against the unlatched door of a stall. The door gave way, and so did he, with Matty tumbling right along with him.
He twisted as they went down, so she landed mostly on top of him. But they didn't come down square, and the momentum kept them rolling.
They came to rest against the far stall wall, shadows and the smell of fresh, clean hay blanketing them like fine-spun silk.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
She didn't look away from him. He felt a tremor through his arms at the effort of holding his upper body away from her, though it was definitely a tremor of willpower, not muscles.
"Matty?"
She didn't say no.
He bent his elbows and felt the sweet cushion of her breasts against his chest as his mouth found hers again. Her leg was still between his, riding high enough to bring a pressure that made him crave more. Better yet, their tumble had left one of his legs between hers, too, and he drew it up to give her the same sensations. She gave a breathy moan into his mouth, and her hips rocked.
He swore that despite the layers of clothing he could feel the tightening points of her breasts against his chest. From the first time he'd dared a fleeting brush against her breasts, her responsiveness had brought him such satisfaction.
He shifted to slide his hand up her side, under where her shirt had worked free from her jeans. His palm against her skin was like a rocket going off inside him. A rocket given a power boost by the quick, soft intake of her breath. He wanted to savor every second of her skin under his hand, but some instinct even deeper pushed him. He found the silky edge of her bra, found the texture of lace, then where the lace and silkiness met he found what he'd been seeking, the tight nub of her nipple. He circled it, then brushed across the tip. Her hips came off the ground, and he met the cradle between her legs with the weight of his arousal.
He heard the hard, sharp knocking of what must have been his heart. If he touched her lips again or brought his mouth to her breast now, with the two of them in this position, with the heat and weight of his wanting growing more palpable each second, he didn't know how he'd stop.
"Dave?"
Breathing burned his lungs, all because the air tasted of Matty. And the knocking never quit.
"Are you okay?" Okay with letting this take them where it would lead–where he desperately wanted it to lead, where it had so often led before.
"I...I'm fine, but..."
"But?" he prompted, his voice rasping, his eyes on her lips.
"But I don't think Brandeis is–okay, I mean."
Her words snapped the knocking he'd heard from metaphor into reality. It wasn't his heart. It was Brandeis' hoofs. Kicking at the wall that separated them from his stall next door with all the power of an irked stallion.
"He sounds upset."
"Jealous," he managed with a grin.
It was the wrong thing to say.
Matty's expression stiffened, leaching out the joy, and returning all the signs of tiredness.
"He doesn't need to be," she said lightly, shifting her hips to the side that would get her free of him the fastest. "You're still all his."
He'd meant that Brandeis would be jealous because he wasn't having the pleasure Dave was having, but it would do no good to explain. It never had done any good to try to explain things to Matty. She got something in her head and that was it.
Ignoring the discomfort, he jack-knifed his body up and offered her a hand. She ignored it, and started getting up on her own. He reached down and grabbed her hand, tugging her to her feet with more force than finesse.
Her gaze, wider now, came to his face, but he had himself back under control.
"Glad to hear it," he said, with his usual calm. "Tell you what, you go take a shower and I'll fix dinner, and we'll celebrate this grant, and you can tell me what all it means for the Flying W."
* * * *
She knew perfectly well what Dave was doing getting her to talk about what the grant meant for the Flying W.
The moment she emerged in clean jeans, a big, soft sweater and her hair slicked back to find him setting the small table, he'd asked about the grant. That led to talk of well-drilling techniques and irrigation theories. Any time the conversation threatened to flag, he'd ask another of his calm questions, and they'd be off again, talking about ranches in general, and theirs in particular.
He was trying to spare her embarrassment for throwing herself at him. And she let him. At least for a while.
But how long could a reasonable person ignore the gorilla in the middle of the room? Even with the cooperation of her dinner companion. It wasn't like talking about the grant kept her from thinking–or remembering.
They'd finished the grilled steaks, microwaved potatoes and broccoli and salad before she brought it up. But finally, she started clearing the table–that was the deal, one cooked, the other cleaned–and also cleared her throat.
"Dave, there's something
...I think we should clear this up."
"Clear what up?"
"What happened earlier." He gave her no help, and as she started toward the sink with the stack of dishes, she added, "In the barn."
"I thought what happened was pretty obvious."
He hooked the fingers of one hand into their empty water glasses and picked up the butter dish with his other hand. The look he gave her as he deposited the glasses by the sink had her blood heating, or maybe it was the raspy note in his voice. Either way, it was because those signs of his made her embarrassed about her behavior. Yes, it was definitely embarrassment warming her insides, she told herself as she quickly put the dishes in the dishwasher.
"What was obvious was that I should have stopped it."
He turned from the open refrigerator door and studied her before inquiring, "So you see me as the poor male, unable to control the primitive desires that drive him?"
"Of course not."
"Then why should you have stopped it?" He closed the fridge door with more muscle than necessary.
"Because I'm the one who started the whole thing."
"That's true."
And the way he was eyeing her, he was remembering her throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and plastering her body to his.
"I didn't kiss you first." As soon as she'd made the protest, she realized that was opening a door to dangerous territory. Because she had kissed him back. She slammed it closed as fast as she could. "But that's not what I was talking about, anyhow. I was talking about the whole...whole, uh..."
"Charade? Masquerade? Con game?"
She glared at him, liking each of his suggestions less than the previous one. "This temporary marriage. So, I have the responsibility for keeping things on an even keel. And for not letting things get, uh, complicated. That's why I should have stopped it. Plus, I was the one who stated up front that there would be no... uh, physical expressions of...of a...an intimate nature."
He raised his brows, leaning back and watching her. She closed her mouth firmly, refusing to be drawn into saying any more until he responded.
His eyes glinted, though she didn't think he was amused. "So, why didn't you?"
"Why didn't I what?"
"Stop it."
"I got carried away by the moment. It didn't mean anything. That happens to people sometimes, like that famous Life Magazine picture of the sailor kissing the woman on V-J Day."
Almost a Bride (Wyoming Wildflowers Book 1) Page 11
