How to Wrangle a Cowboy (21 page)

“I’ll bet you know the rest,” she said.

“Sure do.” Shane did his best to imitate Bud’s homespun way of speaking, and Lindsey laughed softly, leaning closer. “Love lit ’em afire like a spark hitting tinder.”

He felt a flame rise in himself, igniting on the promise in her laughter. It rose, wavering, and grew stronger as he cautiously stroked a dangling lock of hair out of her face.

She was wearing some sort of perfume, or maybe she just smelled good. He recognized the sharp tang of newly mown grass, the fragile musk of a bruised petal from a wild rose. There was a hint of spice too. It suited her—wholesome and unpretentious, but a little exotic, even dangerous.

Cripes, he was like one of those wine snobs, analyzing their booze to death. The only thing this woman was dangerous to was his sanity.

She smiled and looked down at her lap, twisting her hands, embarrassed by the silence, so it seemed only natural to run a hand over the back of the swing and settle his arm around her. She snuggled close, making a contented, kittenish sound in her throat. It was as innocent a sound as he’d ever heard, but it made him suddenly, blazingly aware of the spark between them. Their secret, sunlit kiss filled his memory, and he felt it all again—the softness of her skin, the sweet pressure of her lips on his, the way her hips nestled between his own, a perfect fit.

“Lindsey?”

She turned toward him, eyes wide, lips parted. Her chest was heaving and he knew she felt it too. The flame, rising.

He touched her chin with one finger, tilting her head up, and looked in her eyes. She blinked once, slowly, and her lips tilted up in a shy invitation.

When he kissed her, it was like a dam between them had broken. A raging torrent of lust burst free, barely tempered by tenderness as he gentled his all-out assault on her rich, warm mouth. She tasted faintly of coffee, some rich, exotic blend gentled with cream and sweetened with sugar.

Running his hand up the back of her neck, he nested his fingers in her hair and tugged her head back as he deepened the kiss. She opened to him, and he felt it then, what Bud had talked about—a spark meeting tinder. The two of them were liable to burn the house down just kissing on the porch swing.

When he paused for breath, she bent her head, shyly touching his chest with a tentative finger.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She traced her finger down the center of his chest, then up again, and looked into his eyes. “Thank you for staying. For not taking your horses and money and walking away. I know you really care about Grace. About the ranch.”

About you.

She looked so delicate and helpless, he wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her senseless, save her from any trouble the world might bring her. He knew, in that moment, that her bossy, irritable outbursts had to be products of fear.

Something was wrong. There was no way this sweet, tender woman would sell the ranch her grandmother loved if something hadn’t happened. He needed to find out what was wrong and fix it. She was depending on him.

She touched the spot where his collarbones met, and a
zing
of electricity shot through his loins. Unaware of the fire she’d set, she stroked one finger down his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hard, struggling to think of cattle, cowboys—anything but sex.

“It’s not like you don’t have somewhere to go,” she mused. “I guess you could just join your brothers at Decker Ranch if you wanted.” Sighing, she turned and leaned against his chest. “I’m so glad you’re staying.”

He let his arm dangle from her shoulder and thought about Cody’s movie-going strategy. It would be so easy to let that hand wander where it wasn’t supposed to go. So very easy…

But wait. He
was
leaving, going to work with Ridge. He should tell her, he really should, but she was so warm, so sweet, so sexy and innocent, he couldn’t say a word. She had his heart thumping like a bucking horse as it pounded out of the chute, hitting the ground hard and throwing all its pent-up energy into one wild and reckless dance.

When he bent to kiss her again, her beauty took his breath away, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever thought of leaving.

* * *

Lindsey had always been an overachiever, but this was ridiculous. She’d come over here to mend some metaphorical fences and now she was jumping them, leaping them, crashing through them.

And it felt
good.

This
was a man. This elemental combination of sweetness and swagger, temper and tenderness, with a brusque manner that hid a soft heart—a heart that laid down and rolled over for little boys, puppies, and old ladies.

It rolled over for her too, though a bit less willingly.

She pulled away for a moment, so she could look at him, read his face, figure out where to go from here. She wasn’t trying to seduce him into staying. Not really. But could she help it she was irresistible?

The two of them only managed to stare at each other for a half second before they were kissing again.

“Lindsey Ward,” he whispered.

She’d always hated her wholesome, commonplace name, but on his tongue it became a prayer, a chanted spell. It drew her back into the dark, heated rush of the kiss.

He pulled away and she made a little mew of protest until she realized the way he was looking at her was every bit as good as a kiss. Those dark eyes, deep and mysterious, gazed into hers, searching for—what?

“What’s happening here?” he whispered.

“I don’t know, but it’s good.” She scanned his face, looking for answers. “Isn’t it?”

“I think so. But you know what they’ll say.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “They’ll think I’m after your money and the ranch.”

She felt a thrill at her very core. So this was more than a stolen kiss. He was saying he’d be hers, in front of God and Wynott, and she’d be his. They’d definitely jumped that fence, and he didn’t care who knew it. For a man as private as Shane Lockhart, that was serious.

But he was right; gossip and speculation would flow like a river through the streets of their small town. In a place where nothing ever happened, romance of any kind was big news. There would be whispered secrets among the women, jocular bets between the men.

“I don’t care what they say,” she said.

It was true. All she cared about was tasting this delicious hunk of man, this dark-haired mystery who’d haunted her dreams half her life. How many times had she seen him looking at her from beneath that dark hat and wondered what he was thinking? How many times had she watched him work, admired the bunch and stretch of his muscles, the grip and squeeze of his hands, and longed for him to touch her?

I don’t want Lindsey mixing with boys like that. It’s not safe.

Remembering her grandfather’s words sent a delicious flicker of excitement down her spine. Shane wasn’t unsafe, not really, but he wasn’t from her world. He was forbidden, exotic, and just a little bit dangerous.

He was beautiful too. There was no other word for his honey-brown skin, his warm brown eyes, his sculpted features. She licked the soft spot behind his ear, then gently nipped the lobe. His breath hitched in response, and she felt her feminine power rise.

“Even
I
thought you were after my money once.” She flushed. “Yesterday, actually. Or maybe it was this morning.” She smiled into his neck. “I was convinced you were a con man.”

“And now?”

She gave him a smile loaded with promises. “I’ve always wanted to kiss a con man.”

Chapter 26

A con man? Shane smothered the flare of temper that always kicked up when people judged him by his roots. When he was younger, he’d gotten in fights and lost friends over that issue, but he was older now, and wiser.

“You don’t really think that, do you?”

She smiled, and he almost forgot what they were talking about. She had the sweetest smile—so bright and genuine, and just the slightest bit crooked.

“No. But I was scared of you when I first met you.”

“I remember. You ran off as soon as you could. What were you scared of?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged and looked away, and he got the impression she wasn’t telling the whole story. “You had a sort of bad-boy vibe, I guess. But I’m not scared anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve decided I like bad boys.”

Her husky voice and that crooked smile made him want to create whatever fantasy floated her boat, but he took his honor and his reputation too seriously to let her think he was anything but a good man.

“I’m not bad. Or at least, I try not to be.”

She gave him an appraising look as she traced the line of his jaw with her finger. He wanted to turn his head and take her finger between his teeth, flick his tongue over the sensitive tip, show her just how bad he could be.

But he kissed it instead, and took her hand in his. Looking at the situation through her eyes, he could see how she might have come to believe he was some sort of rebel. Hadn’t he tried to kiss her just twenty minutes after sharing a meal with her fiancé? The guy’d been a jerk, but that didn’t make it honorable. Maybe, if he tried a little harder to put himself in her shoes, they’d get along better.

He looked down at her feet and saw black leather cowboy boots that slouched fashionably at the ankles. They were embroidered with colorful flowers and tiny bluebirds. Hardly his kind of footwear, but it was the concept that mattered.

“I know you’re worried about Grace,” he said. “And I can see how it might look like I could take advantage of her. But I never would.” He licked the perfect curve of her ear, then nipped the lobe. “I’m no con man.”

“I know.” She returned the favor, tracing the whorl of his ear with her tongue, making his best buddy down under rise to attention. Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder, completely unaware of the flagpole her little pink tongue had raised.

“You’re the real deal,” she said. “A cowboy. I’ve always wanted to kiss a cowboy.”

“More than a con man?”

She nodded. “Even more.”

“More than a bad boy?”

She laughed. “Definitely.” She fluttered her lashes and ladled on a hefty dose of Southern twang. “I’ve heard things about cowboys. Good things.”

The light was fading, turning the world around them to gray and white. Gradually, the chorus of birdsong slowed and stopped as tiny singers settled into their nests and fluffed their feathers for warmth. There was no one around, but he still felt exposed. A genuine cowboy kiss demanded privacy, as did all the things that came after it.

“We need to take this inside.”

Rising, he shoved the swing back, then scooped her up as it pitched forward. She let out a little whoop that was half surprise and half celebration. Striding across the porch, he felt confident and strong. He was Tarzan; she was Jane. He was The Duke; she was Maureen O’Hara.

No, wait. Maureen O’Hara gave John Wayne a hell of a time in some old movie he’d seen. Maybe he was Roy Rogers and she was Dale Evans.

Whoever she was, she seemed to enjoy being carried, but when he reached the door, he was stymied. Carrying her inside had seemed like an appropriate romantic gesture, but how was he supposed to manage the doorknob? The Duke made everything look so easy.

As if she’d read his mind, Lindsey reached down and opened the door.

Definitely Roy and Dale. Pardners forever, riding happy trails toward home.

As they entered, he practiced seeing things through her eyes and decided that the place didn’t look half-bad. The kitchen was tidy, at least, although the sturdy farm table was littered with a laptop and some ranch paperwork at one end and a sloppy stack of Cody’s drawings at the other. In the living room, he’d gone for comfort and durability when it came to furnishings. He loved his sagging sofa and man-sized recliner even if they weren’t designer approved.

There were books on the coffee table—a couple of Westerns by Louis L’Amour and Terry C. Johnston, as well as some Magic Tree House books of Cody’s. A few articles of clothing hung over the back of the sofa—a man-sized T-shirt, a much smaller Western shirt in blue plaid, and a diminutive pair of jeans with a ragged tear at the knee. A pair of boys’ basketball shoes lay forgotten under the coffee table.

He set Lindsey down on the sofa, hoping she wouldn’t notice the Yorkie hair. He was so nervous, he forgot to be gentle, and she bounced a couple times before settling in. She let out a yip and let herself go limp, sprawling across the cushions.

“This is nice.” She hiked herself up and looked around. “Seems like most men decorate with all the stuff women hate—black leather sofas, chrome coffee tables, and those really ugly statues you find at furniture stores. But this is nice. Cozy.”

She sounded sincere, which was a good thing. A woman who wanted a fancy home with granite and stainless steel wouldn’t be happy on the ranch. He wanted a woman who cared about home and family, one who didn’t care any more about material goods and wealth than he did.

Whoa. Wait a minute
.

What was he thinking? Lindsey wasn’t going to marry him, for God’s sake. This was a lark for her. The Lazy Q had been her summer camp when she was a child, and now she was enjoying the novelty of the cabin and the cowboy. But she had a business back home, and a life he knew nothing about.

Whatever happened between them tonight, he’d have to enjoy it for its own sake—not as a stepping stone to some shared future. He needed to live for the moment.

This moment, and this woman.

He looked down to see she’d kicked off her boots and was gazing at him expectantly. When their eyes met, she bit her lower lip and looked away, letting her eyes drift shut in a gesture that was sweet, sexy, and shy.

Living in the moment never looked so good.

* * *

“Come on.”

Shane’s words woke Lindsey from a sort of trance. How long had they been staring at each other? She wasn’t sure, but she could have kept it up for at least another hour.

Except they had better things to do. Thrumming with anticipation, her heart did a little Irish step dance as she stood so abruptly she felt dizzy.