“I’ll get your stuff out of the car in the morning,” he said, faking interest in the back of the cereal box. Actually, he’d read it every morning since Sandi left. He could probably guide the leprechaun through the maze with his eyes closed, and he knew the answers to all the riddles.
“No rush.” She rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve got most of what I need in my purse.”
“You’ll need your clothes.”
“Yeah. Eventually. I always carry emergency panties, though. Just in case.”
In case of what? he wondered. That got him wondering what the panties looked like, and next thing he knew, Aunt Martha had gone back to Dubuque and he was picturing Charlie in black lace and garters.
He looked at the purse dangling from the back of her chair. It was small, not much bigger than a wallet, and decorated with so many zippers and buckles that there wasn’t room for much else. The cell phone had come out of there, and she probably had makeup with her too.
Those had to be really tiny panties.
A thong, maybe.
She saw him looking at the purse. He hoped she couldn’t read the expression on his face.
“Sorry,” she said. “Too much information.”
Too much? Now that she’d sparked his curiosity, Nate was thinking it wasn’t nearly enough.
* * *
Sandi might have kept the fifties-era furnishings in the rest of the house, but she’d released her inner Miss Kitty in the bedroom, decking it out like a Victorian bordello. An ornate brass bed dominated the room, draped in red velvet and mounded with pillows fringed with white fur and feathers. A carved chest of drawers was covered with candles, and Charlie could picture a forest of bright flames reflected in the dresser’s gilt-decorated mirror, casting a romantic glow over the room.
Anybody would look good in that kind of light. She remembered the feel of Nate’s muscles under her hands as they rode, the way his shoulders flexed when he lifted the saddle from Honey’s back, the glimpse of tanned skin when his shirt rode up.
He’d look better than most.
Obviously Sandi thought so. The cowboy seemed like a quiet kind of guy, but the bedroom appeared to be a celebration of some pretty impressive interpersonal skills. Either that or all the ruffles and flourishes were compensating for something that had been lacking in the relationship.
A stack of magazines and books occupied the nightstand, and Charlie couldn’t resist checking them out. They were obviously Sandi’s—fashion and style magazines, along with a book on makeup called The Perfect Face. Charlie flipped through the pages, scanning the parade of flawless features inside, then glanced up at the mirror. Too wide at the cheekbones, too sharp at the chin—her own face was far from perfect, but at least you’d never mistake her for anyone else. Certainly not any of the generic, vacant-eyed blondes in the book.
Setting it down, Charlie shimmied out of her jeans and shucked off her T-shirt, then took off her bra and slipped the T-shirt back on. Turning back the comforter, she poked her feet under the sheets, propped herself up on the pillows, and closed her eyes.
She could still feel the rocking motion of the horse, and that heightened the memory of Nate’s warm back against her breasts and the feel of his muscles under her clenched hands. She could feel her body coming alive at the thought of him. It was going to be tough to fall asleep knowing he was sprawled on the sofa in the next room, probably with his shirt off. Maybe he’d get uncomfortable and unsnap the waistband of his jeans, and then… She looked over at the candles again and decided he probably didn’t need to compensate for anything.
Other than the fact that he was a cowboy, of course. She didn’t like cowboys.
She needed to keep that in mind.
There was a tap on the door.
“Come in,” she said. She didn’t bother to get up—just opened her eyes halfway.
Nate’s eyes widened at the sight of her sprawled among the pillows. The guy was obviously shy, and it was fun to watch him get all flustered. She stretched and arched her back, then gave him a come-hither smile.
Yup. She’d found his blush button.
“Toothbrush,” he stammered. “In the bathroom. And towels. Clean ones.”
“Okay.” She patted down a yawn. “Sweet dreams.”
Nate stared a moment, then shut the door. She heard his boot heels hitting the hall floor as he fled to the safety of the sofa.
* * *
Charlie drifted off into a blissful state of slumber spiced with randy dreams starring her hard-riding host. Evidently her subconscious liked cowboys just fine.
It was after midnight when the bedroom door eased open and a shaft of light fell across the bed. Charlie thought she was awake, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was still sleeping. She could hear heavy breathing, but it could have been her own. She was pretty charged up from that ride, and the thought of having a nocturnal visitor got her amped up all over again.
Something thudded to the floor a couple times—boots?—and then a heavy weight settled on the bed beside her. She didn’t think she was dreaming, but she kept her eyes closed, just in case. After all, she couldn’t help it if she indulged her impulses in her sleep, right? Besides, the guy seemed really miserable. Let him cozy up for some comfort if he needed it. She’d be leaving soon, so it wouldn’t matter. There was no point in staying if he wasn’t doing the clinic.
A warm body cuddled up against her and heaved a long, satisfied sigh. She made a little sleepy noise and snuggled closer.
The distinctive scent of cowflops assaulted her senses, along with the heady perfume of wet dog. She jerked her head back, then pulled her arm out from under the covers and stroked the furry hide of her unexpected guest.
“Buttercup,” she said. “You slut.”
The dog grinned and panted, wriggling closer.
“I know.” Charlie sighed. “It takes one to know one.”
Chapter 5
Nate shook a flake of hay into Junior’s stall and watched the stallion paw his bedding and toss his head, ignoring the tasty alfalfa.
“I know just how you feel, buddy,” Nate said. “I couldn’t eat breakfast either.” Not only had he lost his appetite; he’d gotten about two hours of sleep, thanks to the emergency panties that danced in and out of his restless dreams. He’d spent most of the night imagining various types of risqué lingerie that might be lurking in the depths of Charlie’s purse. He could have revolutionized Victoria’s Secret with the designs he dreamed up.
Junior kicked the stall and shrieked out his frustration in a long, nervous whinny. The noise would have been alarming coming from any other animal, but it was Junior’s normal decibel level.
“Let’s use our inside voices today, okay?” Nate said. “You’re going to scare our guest.”
He didn’t want to turn out the mares until Junior had worked out his kinks in the round ring and was safely confined to his own paddock. The stallion didn’t go out of his way to bite and kick anymore, but Nate still wasn’t sure he had the kind of temperament that would justify breeding him. Right now his bad boy personality was manna to the mares, but slightly off-putting for humans.
He sure had the looks, though, and the pedigree too. If Junior could behave like a gentleman, the stud fees would go a long way toward supporting the ranch. Nate led the stallion out on a lunge line and admired his conformation as the animal bucked and kicked his way around the circular pen. Focusing his attention intently on the horse, Nate heeded him around the ring, working him until he calmed, then asked him to walk, trot, and lope until the horse forgot the mares and became docile and obedient as a circus poodle.
Nate was trying to concentrate on the horse, but the panties drifted through his consciousness again and his mind wandered into the house and through the bedroom door. Charlie was probably sleeping in, he thought, sprawled in his bed like
she was last night. Or maybe she was up, taking a shower. She’d arch her back as the warm water pelted her bare skin, then step out in a wreath of steam and caress her naked body with a towel. His towel. Then she’d step into those tantalizing undergarments…
A scream from Junior brought him back to earth. The horse reared up, striking his front hooves against the high walls of the pen. Nate glanced left and right, wondering what had startled him. Everything was normal. Then he looked up and saw Charlie’s tousled head peering over the top of the wall.
“Get down off of there,” he barked. The pen’s walls were six feet high. Charlie must have climbed up the hay bales he’d stacked against the fence, and her head probably looked to Junior like the crest of a seven-foot monster hovering above him.
Nate didn’t want to yank the lead rope or bully the horse, so he eased over to the edge of the ring and picked up his lunge whip. Returning to the center of the circle, he raised the whip’s long handle in the air. Junior stopped and stood quietly, breathing hard.
Then all hell broke loose. Charlie vaulted over the wall, landing hard, then dashed across the ring and threw herself at Nate. She grappled with him, struggling to wrench the whip out of his hand.
“No!” she shouted, digging her nails into his arm and grabbing for the whip. Junior screamed again in panic, galloping around the ring, his eyes rolling in fear as the whip jerked back and forth in the air.
“Take it then,” Nate shouted. He let go of the whip and Charlie fell over backwards just as Junior reared again. The stallion’s hooves crashed to earth inches from her head.
“Dang it! Get out!” Nate bent over and scooped her up, flinging her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry while she kicked her feet and tried to club him with the whip handle. Ignoring her thrashing, he dodged out of the pen, swung the gate shut, and dumped her on a stack of hay bales against the fence.
Tumbling onto her back, Charlie raised one knee and brought the whip handle down hard across her shin with both hands. She was trying to break it, but it just flexed and bounced away from her, landing unharmed a few feet away. She turned over, punched a clenched fist into the hay, and burst into tears.
Nate stood and watched her, his hands on his hips, waiting her out as if she were a spoiled pony. Finally, she sat up and faced him, doing her best to shoot daggers with her red, puffy eyes.
“You bastard,” she said. “Horse whispering, my ass.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Nate splayed his hands. “You scared the crap out of my horse. He could have been hurt.”
“By me? You’re saying he could have been hurt by me?” Charlie clenched her fists. “You were going to whip him.”
Nate shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Don’t try to deny it,” she said. “I saw you raise the whip.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I won’t allow it. I won’t let you hurt that horse. Goddamn cowboy.” She wrenched a fistful of hay out of the bale she was sitting on and flung it at him. It fell harmlessly at his feet, scattering in the breeze.
Nate picked up the whip and slowly extended it toward Charlie, his eyes never leaving her face. Eye contact worked with horses; hopefully it would work with this insane, irrational woman. If he broke the gaze, there was no telling what she’d do. Attack him, probably.
“Go ahead,” she said, her voice shaking. “It figures you’d whip women too. No wonder your girlfriend left you.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If she actually did. You probably whipped her to death and hid the body in the attic.”
He almost laughed at that idea. If anyone in his dysfunctional relationship with Sandi was whipped, it was him.
“Go ahead,” Charlie said. “Do your worst.”
Setting his mouth in a grim line, he lowered the whip toward her. Bringing it down slowly, he touched the tip to her thigh.
She winced, and he knew she expected him to raise the whip and lash her in earnest. Their eyes met, hers challenging, his steady and stern. He lifted the whip in the air and held it there, his lips curling in a grim smile that didn’t alter the flinty expression in his eyes.
“That’s my worst,” he said. “That’s it. If I touch the horse at all. When I hold it up, they stop. When I drop it, they go. I don’t whip horses, Charlie. Nobody does, except sociopaths. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a frightened horse to deal with—thanks to you.”
He turned and stalked back to the pen, breathing slowly and deeply in an effort to calm his anger so Junior wouldn’t sense it. As he lifted the latch, he turned.
“Junior was abused before I got him,” he said. “Your screaming and yelling probably brought it all back for him. So the only one hurting a horse here is you.”
He eased the gate shut, resisting the urge to slam it. Junior stood across the ring, trembling, his sides slick with sweat. He started when Nate walked into the pen, as if he expected to be hit, then darted his head at Nate’s arm, his lips drawn back to bite.
He hadn’t bitten anybody in a month. And it would take at least that long again to get over this setback.
Just as Nate expected, it took almost an hour to calm the stallion to the point where he’d allow himself to be led back to his stall. Eyes wild, the horse backed into a corner and stayed there, ready to defend himself with slashing hooves and nipping teeth. He wouldn’t move even when Nate set out a bucket of sweet feed.
Nate scowled as he put the mares out to pasture and went to work cleaning stalls. Between Sandi and Charlie, he’d learned his lesson. He was going to keep his life simple from now on. Simple, and female-free.
The steady work calmed him, and by the time Charlie showed up again, he was able to be civil.
“I need a ride to my car,” she said. All her bravado was gone and she hung her head, staring at the ground as she spoke and avoiding his eyes. She had straw in her hair from her tumble onto the hay bales and dark smudges streaked her jeans. She reminded him of an abused horse cowering in the pen at a livestock auction.
He chased the image out of his head. Those animals were innocent. This woman deserved to be miserable after what she’d done to Junior.
“I had it towed,” he said. “Ray Givens came out and got it first thing this morning. I grabbed your stuff out of it, though.” He waved toward the house. “Your suitcase is in the hall.”
“You what?” She stared at him as if she couldn’t grasp the concept of towing a wrecked car.
“I had it towed.” He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ray can fix it, but he’s got to order parts. Your axle snapped.” He settled the hat back on his head. “That little sissy car just wasn’t made for these roads.”
“How much is it going to cost?”
Nate shrugged.
“You didn’t get an estimate?” She didn’t look so whipped now. She looked mad.
“Nope. Ray won’t cheat you. It costs what it costs. You want it fixed, right?”
“Of course I want it fixed.” She stamped her foot, and he was almost relieved to see her acting herself again. “I need to get out of here.”
“That’s what I thought. So I had Ray order the parts. They should be here in about a week.”
She stood motionless, staring at him with her mouth half-open, looking like one of those goggle-eyed goldfish you see in the fish tanks at Wal-Mart.
“But I need to go,” she said. “This was all a mistake.”
“I know,” he said. “I want you out of here too.”
She turned away, but not before he saw the glisten of rising tears in her eyes. He felt a brief spasm of sympathy. She was just getting what she deserved, he reminded himself.
She still hadn’t been hurt as badly as Junior.
Chapter 6
Charlie swiped at an end table with a rag, then pummeled a flaccid throw pillow to life. Removing a row of plastic horses from each windowsill, she swa
bbed at the grit that had seeped through the crevices. The wind seemed to have swept every loose speck of the Wyoming plains right into Nate’s living room. It was a wonder there was anything left of the landscape outside.
She replaced the toy horses in their prancing rows, wondering why a grown man would collect such things. There was an old rocking horse in the corner too, with leather reins and a mane and tail of woven rope. The guy was obsessed with horses. It was odd, and kind of endearing, really. She shoved that thought out of her mind, calling up the image of him standing over her with the lunge whip.
There was nothing endearing about that.
And then there was that business with the attic. If he had an extra bedroom up there, why wouldn’t he let her use it? What was he hiding? Climbing the stairs, she paused at the door and tried the knob.
Locked.
Nate Shawcross didn’t seem like the criminal type, but it was a little unnerving to be alone on an isolated ranch with a man who had a locked secret chamber in his house. If he’d made any effort to lure her into his bed, she’d have been worried about becoming the next victim of the Wild West version of Bluebeard—but serial killers generally make some effort to charm their victims into submission, and he hadn’t so much as smiled at her all day.
Back in the kitchen, she filled the kitchen sink with hot water and a squirt of soap, rattling dirty plates and silverware around and scrubbing them before stacking them haphazardly in the dishwasher. The machine was full, so she stabbed a few buttons until it whirred to life. Then she danced a quick and dirty tango with a battered O-Cedar broom, unearthing the respectable hardwood floor that was hiding under all the mud and straw the dog had dragged in.
She cursed herself silently the whole time. Observe and report, Sadie had said. Maintain an objective perspective. If Charlie had taken that advice, she might have waited before reacting and saved herself a lot of embarrassment. Nate’s defense of the whip rang true, so he was probably right: the only person hurting the horse had been her.
But she wouldn’t apologize. Not after catching the hard glint in Nate’s eyes while he stood there with the whip raised. She remembered how exposed and vulnerable she’d felt, cowering in the straw. Apologizing would give him an advantage, and she couldn’t let that happen. So she’d help out. Clean his house. That ought to count for something.
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