Claiming the Cowboys (3 page)

“I ride.”

He snorted derisively. “The mare isn’t fit for riding, princess.”

Sophie’s temper flared. She grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. “I’m not any kind of princess. Hamish has a problem and I’m offering to help. I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

Hamish stuck his head back inside the door. “Are you coming?” He lifted his head. “Hi, Sophie. Since you’re up, would you mind coming down to the stables? We have a difficult birth and I could use all the help I can get.”

Sophie swept past Jackson with one haughty glance. If he was going to be a jerk, she’d treat him accordingly.

Hamish grabbed her hand. “Thanks.”

They hurried outside. The night was cool and clear. The stars Sophie seldom noticed in the city provided enough light for her to see the pale gravel path to the breeding stable. Hamish set a fast pace, only the firm grasp he kept on her hand kept her from stumbling. Ahead of them, Jackson paced out the distance as easily as if it were broad daylight.

When they entered the stable they went straight to the stall where the mare lay, breathing heavily, her sides rising and falling.

Hamish dropped Sophie’s hand and sank to his knees next to the mare. “Hang on, girl. It’ll be all right.”

“How bad is it?” Jackson asked.

“Bad enough,” Hamish replied. “I’ve tried massage but it wouldn’t turn. I’ll have to go in.”

He held out his hand. Jackson reached behind him and pulled out a packet and he ripped it open. He dropped the longest rubber glove Sophie had ever seen into Hamish’s waiting palm.

“What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

“I’m going to put my hand inside her and physically turn the foal,” Hamish answered. “If I don’t, we’ll lose the foal and the mother. Sophie, you go to the horse’s head and hold it. Talk softly to her. Try to keep her calm.”

He pulled on the glove and nodded to Jackson, who moved in to lean on the mare’s flank, holding her steady and starting a constant rotating massage. There were no words spoken between the two men. They clearly understood each other and the routine well enough to make instructions unnecessary.

For the next forty minutes the only sounds were the soft crooning Sophie kept up at the mare’s head, the huffs and moans of the horse and the grunts of exertion from Hamish. Every now and then Jackson wiped away the rivulets of sweat that poured down Hamish’s forehead, then returned to trying to push the foal around from the outside.

At last Hamish let out an explosive breath. “Got it.”

He withdrew his arm, the glove covered in a substance Sophie didn’t want to think about, and collapsed backwards into the straw. Jackson immediately stripped away the soiled latex. Around Hamish’s upper arm the flesh was bright red, with lines of compression scored into it. Below, the skin was an unnatural bluish-white. His lips were clamped together, lines of weariness dragging his mouth downwards.

Jackson settled beside him, drew his head onto his shoulder and ran his hands in long smooth strokes over the creased skin, down to Hamish’s wrist and back, over and over. The pressure of Jackson’s fingers left white indentations which filled rapidly as the blood began to circulate. Hamish gritted his teeth and moaned.

“Is he all right?” Sophie asked.

“His circulation’s been restricted for too long.” The anger that coloured his voice the few times he’d spoken to her had gone. “The ring of muscle’s still tight. Until we got the foal the right way round, the pressure of her contractions was working against her.”

“I’ll be okay in a minute.” Hamish’s raspy voice reflected his fatigue. “I should check her out again. See if the labour is progressing normally now.”

“She won’t deliver immediately. You have time to recover.” The tenderness with which Jackson spoke, the gentle touch of his hands, stunned Sophie. She would never have predicted this gruff, hard man could be so caring.

“I could get you coffee, if you wanted.” She knew where the kitchen was. Jackson looked almost as tired as Hamish. The whole time Hamish had been trying to turn the foal, Jackson had been on his knees pushing hard against the mare’s heaving sides, trying to help turn the foal from the outside.

Jackson’s hands faltered and he looked at Sophie. He seemed to take a long moment to think, then his lips curved. It wasn’t the kind of smile that lit up his face, but it softened the harsh lines. He gave a short nod. “That would help, thank you. Hamish has his with milk, no sugar.” He returned to his massaging.

“How do you take yours?”

“I’m all right. Just make sure Hamish gets a good strong cup.”

Sophie scrambled to her feet, giving the mare a parting touch on the forehead. “I’ll get some for all of us. So I’ll ask again. How do you take your coffee?”

Hamish puffed out a laugh. “He takes it black.”

“I could have guessed. And I bet he doesn’t take sugar either. Nothing sweet about Jackson.”

“Go and get the coffee,” Jackson grumbled, but he sounded more amused than annoyed. Who knew the big man would respond positively to being teased?

When she returned with the coffee, Hamish and Jackson were sitting as she’d left them. Hamish’s eyes were closed, his limbs relaxed. Jackson looked up as she walked in with a vacuum flask in one hand, three mugs and a small jug of milk dangling precariously from the fingers of the other.

“I hunted through the cupboards,” she said, holding up the flask. “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t work out any other way to get the coffee down here.”

Jackson reached out one hand and took the jug from her, twitching it upright just in time to prevent himself from being doused. He placed it carefully on the straw covered floor.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I tried not to spill it. Did any get on your shirt?”

“It’s fine,” Jackson said. “By the end of the night I’ll have a lot worse than fresh milk on it.” He took one cup.

“Black, right?” Sophie asked as she poured.

“Put milk in this one. It’s for Hamish.”

“I can get it myself,” Hamish said, opening his eyes and lifting his head. He pushed himself upright and took the coffee from Jackson, mumbling his thanks as Jackson poured in a little of the milk.

He finished the drink quickly and hauled himself to his knees. “Time to check on the little lady again.”

He donned another pair of gloves to examine the mare. “That’s better,” he said with a grin. “You’re doing just fine now, aren’t you, girl?” He turned to the others. “There’s not much to do now. The mare can manage the rest on her own. I’ll stay to keep an eye on things, but if you want to go back to bed…”

Jackson folded his arms. He didn’t have to say a word.

Sophie wasn’t leaving either. She settled down next to the two men. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

* * * *

Three hours later she watched a spindly-legged colt struggle to his feet. She shared the elation of the two men who couldn’t keep the smiles from their faces as the foal wobbled to its mother for its first feed.

They watched for a while longer then Hamish said, “They’ll do. I guess it’s time we got some sleep.”

Outside, the first yellow-grey streaks of dawn coloured the sky. They ignored the growing light and trudged wearily into the house. Hamish was in the middle, separating her from Jackson. When she’d first arrived, that would have made her more comfortable, but sometime during the long night the snarl that seemed almost constantly directed at her had gone. His eyes remained wary, though. He gave the impression he was leaning away from her. It was not a physical distance, more a suppressed tension that held him taut.

Sophie propped her elbows on the high-backed sofa, slumped over, rested her forehead on her hands and yawned, too exhausted to hide it.

Hamish rubbed the small of her back, making soothing circles. “Stay another night. By the time you’ve slept long enough it will be too late to make the drive back to the city.”

“It
would
be nice to see the foal again before I leave,” Sophie replied. She breathed deeply but kept her head down, hoping to hide the lustful feelings his talented fingers evoked.

“I’m going to bed.”

Jackson’s gravelly voice snapped her out of her stupor and she stood and turned.

Hamish draped his arm around her shoulders. “Good idea. No matter what we’ve got planned, it will work better when we’re rested enough to know what we’re doing.”

Plans? What exactly did he intend? She opened her mouth to ask him, but before a word came out he took it in a hard kiss. His tongue explored the warm, wet space, then just as suddenly he straightened and stepped back.

“I’ll see you when you wake up. We may not be in the house, but we won’t be far. Try the stables first.”

She blinked, trying to regain her equilibrium. She blinked again and met Jackson’s hard gaze. Once more, brush strokes of red lined his cheeks.

Muttering a hasty, “Goodnight,” she fled down the hall.

Her stop in the bathroom was as short as she could make it. She didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into either of the men.

In bed, she pulled up the covers and rolled onto her side. What was happening to her? She wanted to stay. Every time Hamish looked at her, a wave of heat sizzled over her. And every time Jackson touched Hamish, the heat flared into sparks zinging across her nerve endings. She’d never thought of herself as a voyeur, but the sight of the two of them stretched out on top of each other before she’d disturbed them still had the power to make her wet. Even in the stable, with both men working so hard to save the horses, the sexual awareness never completely faded.

The tension stretched three ways. Hamish’s kiss. Her desire. And Jackson’s unnerving focus.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Now was not the time to think about it. She wasn’t going to do anything. Jackson and Hamish were a couple. How could she disrupt their relationship for the sake of a brief fling?

There was only one right course of action. She had to leave before her presence did any more harm. Tomorrow. She’d head back to the city and forget all about Hamish and Jackson and this ill-advised adventure. The fog of tiredness grew too heavy and she slept.

* * * *

She woke some time past midday to find the house empty. She packed her bag and loaded the car, then set off to find either of the two men to say goodbye.

She looked around the home paddock but saw no sign of them, so she headed for the stable.

The interior was dark, broken here and there by bright shafts of light that etched clear-cut lines on the clean concrete. The mare and foal stood together in one stall. From somewhere further along, she heard the low murmur of male voices.

Sophie moved inside, blinking, trying to recover from the dark-induced blindness.

An arm reached out and pulled her close. “Looking for someone?” Hamish’s warm breath tickled her ear.

“I just came to say goodbye,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded, pumping blood throughout her body, bringing it alive.

“Not yet.” His arms tightened. “Mmm. You smell good.”

Her knees trembled and she clutched Hamish’s forearm, holding herself upright. He began to nibble his way from her ear, along the line of her chin to her mouth, she sighed. Once more he took advantage of the opening to sweep his tongue inside.

The tension rocketed, moisture flooding her, desire sending her brain into meltdown.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you,” he whispered. “Let me.”

Sense, reason and caution fled, leaving only need. “Yes.”

He shrugged out of his shirt then spread it down on the layer of fresh hay in an empty stall. Then he eased her down, his lips constantly seeking hers, taking sharp bites of her lower lip, licking his way inside. The man could have won prizes for his kissing skills alone.

Her skin was hot and tight, her clothing an unbearable confinement. She helped him tear it from her, not caring where it landed. Soon she was naked, the tiny scratches of hay on bare skin an aphrodisiac rather than a distraction. She couldn’t wait, could barely stand to have Hamish leave her for the few seconds it took him to reach into his jeans and find a condom.

He crawled over her, kissing his way up her belly, pausing to use his tongue and lips to suckle each of her nipples in turn. Then, in one forceful thrust he seated himself fully. There was no finesse, no subtlety just a hard, driving joining. And she wanted it—needed this wild pleasure.

She closed her eyes and arched upwards, taking him deeper, matching his thrusts, every stroke taking her closer and closer to the surging release of orgasm.

Like a stallion with a mare, Hamish fastened his teeth on the cords of her neck. The stinging pain detonated the explosion and the walls of her vagina contacted over and over again. Hamish stiffened and drove hard into her. She felt the pulsing release of his cock then he slumped down, his forehead on the straw beside her.

At last, the daze caused by one of best and fastest orgasms she ever had cleared. She opened her eyes.

And gasped. The blood that just seconds ago had hurtled through her veins froze.

Jackson stood above them, his feet planted next to their heads, his gaze fixed on the two of them, twined, sweaty and replete on the straw.

Twin spots of red burned on his cheeks. His mouth was slightly open. His heavy eyelids were half-shut, obscuring his expression, but his chest heaved, the air rushing audibly in and out of his mouth.

Sophie swallowed. She felt sick. How much must seeing them together have hurt Jackson? He loved Hamish and to come across him like this… She should have thought. Shouldn’t have let her passion destroy her sense. Her decency. How could she have been so stupid? She’d heard voices just before Hamish had touched her. She should have realised that Jackson was there. Hamish should have…

But that couldn’t be right. She
had
heard their voices. Hamish must have known Jackson was there if he was talking to him.

Before she could make any sense of it, Hamish rolled over, blithely naked, his cock only half-flaccid and surprisingly rising again as he removed the condom. “Did you enjoy it?”