Rebel Cowboy (13 page)

“What time is it?” she asked through a yawn.

He glanced back at her, standing in the entrance of his kitchen, the hem of his T-shirt skimming the pale skin of her thighs. He liked her legs, the long, muscular length her sturdy work jeans never gave him a glimpse at.

“If I tell you that, you’re going to kill me.”

She looked around the kitchen, presumably for a clock that was set to the right time. She scowled when her perusal came up empty. “The time, Sharpe.”

“Eight thirty.”

“Eight…” She blinked like she’d never heard such a thing before, as if this was impossible, to wake up at eight thirty. “How could you let me—”

“Before you blow any important gaskets, I already fed and watered the llama, called the lumber company to make sure they had those extra few things we needed—which they’ll have ready for us around noon—
and
”—with a grand flourish, he presented the skillet of eggs—“I made breakfast. After I threw away the eggs you made me forget about last night and cleaned this pan, since I only have one.”

The shock on her face didn’t dissipate, though some of the irritation did. She looked at the eggs, then back at him. “No one…” She cleared her throat. “Well, anyway, thank you, I guess.”

“You could rephrase that so there’s no ‘I guess.’” He grinned at her before scooping the eggs onto a plate. The toaster popped and he slid the piece of bread onto her plate. “I have peanut butter or…well, I have peanut butter.”

“I can—”

“Sit down and tell me what you want on your toast. I’m waiting on you.”

“
Why
are you waiting on me?”

“I’ve never done it before. Nice change of pace.” And it was. Probably because she was so damn baffled by it, and probably because he’d felt ineffectual and useless since he’d come here. Well, scratch that, since he’d screwed The Game—so being effectual and useful had its appeal.

“What do you want on your toast?”

“I guess peanut butter.”

He slathered it on the toast for both of them, then puttered around getting everything on the table in front of her. A big plate of food and a full cup of coffee. He could feel her watching him, but, much like he had with Mystery Llama, he chattered and worked and pretended like he didn’t notice.

And because he knew at least a thing or two about women, he didn’t mention that he was comparing her to a llama in his head.

“You’re…shockingly good at this.”

He slid into the chair next to her, trying to ignore the warmth the compliment offered. It was no big deal. Who couldn’t make eggs and toast and serve it to a beautiful woman he’d had sex with last night?

Twice.

She rolled her eyes. “Smug smile, Sharpe.”

“Just…remembering.”

“Oh jeez,” she muttered, focusing on eating her food, drinking her coffee. He liked the way the messed-up hair and his T-shirt made her look more…human, less like the machine that usually steamrolled into his life.

He liked that too, in a weird way, but he couldn’t deny seeing the softer side of her, this, last night, made her less…intimidating.

Not that he’d ever admit to being intimidated.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Why llamas? Really? I mean…that thing is so creepy.”

He chuckled. “You don’t believe all the reasons I gave you the other day?”

“Cattle or horses or, hell, crops would be more sensible.”

“Dan Sharpe is not known for being sensible.”

She screwed up her face in mock disgust. “Oh God, you just spoke about yourself in the third person.”

He donned his best hockey-announcer voice. “Dan Sharpe does that sometimes. Dan Sharpe is a pretty important person, and the third person emphasizes that.”

He was more than a little rewarded when she laughed—a full-bodied, cheerful laugh he didn’t think he’d ever heard come out of her mouth.

He would do a million goofy things to have that happen again.

But she stood, her plate and mug empty. “Well, enough of this leisurely morning. There is work to be done.”

“No rush.”

She placed the dishes in his sink, her eyes caught on something outside the window. “Not true, Dan. It’s nearly nine a.m. I haven’t started a day this late in…ever. Even when I have the flu, I get out of bed and do chores before nine.”

“Well, that’s just sad, darlin’.”

She shook her head, shoulders back, and fixed him with an I’m-the-boss glare. “We have work to do, and it’s long past work hours.” Some of her surety faded and she smoothed a hand over her hair. “I’m going to need to go home for a little bit. I don’t have…work clothes.” Her cheeks were pink as she fiddled with the hem of the shirt, pulling it down. “I’ll work overtime.”

“You know that’s hardly necessary.”

“It’s very necessary. You’re paying me to do a job, and I intend to do it. Otherwise…” She looked off at some point past his shoulder, expression pained. “Paying me and having sex is weird without work.”

He pushed away from the table, irritated at what she was insinuating. He wasn’t sure what the odd mix of discomfort and twisting in his stomach was, but he didn’t like it. “I’m not so hard up I have to lure women to sleep with me.”

She didn’t even falter when he stood toe to toe with her.

“I’m sure you’re not, but nevertheless…”

“Honey, your nevertheless always wants to make me beat my head against the wall.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Mel,” he said, cupping her face. He liked that for some reason, the feel of her cheeks under his palms, the way she looked up at him when he did it. She always felt warm and real and…alive, with a kind of current that seeped into him, something akin to the feeling he got when he was on the ice. Like there was some untold source of energy there.

“Mel,” he repeated. He’d lost his train of thought on what they’d been talking, er, arguing about. So, he kissed her instead.

He had been braced for an argument, but she didn’t give it. She sighed against his mouth, and he wanted her again. Again and again.

“I need guidelines. For me,” she said against his mouth, not pulling away, not uncurling her fingers from his forearms.

“All right. Name them.”

“I need eight hours of every day that are spent on working your ranch. No touching, no flirting, and definitely no sexing.”

How she said that with a straight face was beyond him. “Sexing,” he said with a snort. “You are something else, Mel Shaw.”

“Deal, then?”

“One question.”

“Yeah,” she said warily, but remained still against him, still not backing away or putting distance between them.

“Do they have to be eight straight hours, or can there be…breaks?”

The slight pink to her cheeks went darker, but her eyes just drifted down to his mouth. “Um, well, I guess. As long as the breaks were specifically delineated.”

“All right. Specifically delineate.” He backed her into his bedroom, more than gratified at the sound of her laugh, the wideness of her smile.

Yeah, taking care wasn’t half bad.

The stars were out in full force, and Mel knew she needed to head home. She had snuck home after Break #1, managed to avoid Caleb and Dad, and had returned to Dan—no, Dan’s ranch—and put in eight full hours of work on preparing his stables for llamas.

Okay, and two breaks.

Really awesome breaks.

How much longer could she let that go on?

Worry about it later.
Yeah, much later.

“Did it ever freak you out as a kid?” he asked.

She glanced back at Dan, who was sitting on the fence they’d just expanded, the llama not too far to his right. The damn thing still tried to bite her if she got that close to it, but it seemed to understand Dan was its meal ticket.

“Did whatever freak me out?” she asked, patting down her pockets to make sure she had her keys and wallet. She couldn’t deny she didn’t want to head home any more than she could deny she needed to go check in on things.

He motioned his chin toward the sky. “Look at all that. So big and vast and bright and we’re just…these little blips. Gives me the creeps. Like aliens are watching me.”

She snorted. “City boy. Just wait till you see the Northern Lights.” Oh, wait, he probably wouldn’t be here
to
see those, would he? She turned her gaze back to the sky. It
was
vast, with bright dots and trails of stars and cosmos and whatever else was up there, the world around them completely dark.

It had never been her favorite part of the day. Darkness had always meant too much time for thinking. The fuzzy reminder of something she wasn’t sure was a dream or reality.

Mom whispering good-bye in the dark.

“I have to go.”

“You could stay.”

“Unfortunately, I really can’t. Dad’s nurse quit yesterday, and…” She had never mentioned Caleb’s issues to Dan, not in detail, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to now. “I just need to make sure he’s okay, start trying to make some alternate arrangements.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Tempting, but she needed to be careful about where she let Dan help. Distractions, yes. Family stuff, that had to be a no. Because it was her family, and she would always be bound to them. She would not always be bound to Dan. She wasn’t bound to Dan, period.

She might do good to remind him of that as well as herself. “Not unless you can find some pretty nurse to charm into working for me three days a week.”

“I’m only interested in charming one pretty rancher at the moment.”

She did not like the little flip in her stomach one bit. That little flip, a hop of hope, a burst of excitement, that was the kind of thing that was going to get her in to trouble if she trusted it too much.

“Then, I guess I’m out of luck.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and jangled them from her fingers. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Though she could just barely make out his form in the dark, she could tell he hopped off the fence and advanced on her. The kind of advance she should retreat from, but she was not a woman who believed in retreat.

Especially if standing her ground meant a kiss. Which it did. His mouth on hers, soft and warm against the cool of the evening. Strong arms around her, capable when they wanted to be. Sturdy.

Quite a dangerous illusion.

“You know, if you want to think of me tonight while you’re drifting off to sleep,” he said against her mouth, bodies still pressed together, “I wouldn’t be offended.”

“Ha.” Only she was already getting a little squirmy thinking of him and the things he’d done to make her feel good. Really, really good. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dan.”

“Yes, ma’am.” After a pause he released her and she pulled her hat back down after the kiss had knocked it precariously up.

“Come by early tomorrow. I’ll make you breakfast again.”

She stopped her backward retreat, that annoying flip taking a few extra turns this time. “You don’t have to feed me.”

“Maybe I’m not one hundred percent innocent in my motivations,” he said, and, oh hey, there were all those squirmy feelings again.

Worse, there were other feelings. Those things he made her want that she’d spent so much of her adult life trying not to ever consider. Someone to take care of something so she didn’t have to. Someone to care.

But he didn’t care. Not in that way. This was about attraction and sex and maybe some mutual fondness, but not
care
. “You know, there are plenty of women in town who’d sleep with you.” She meant it as a flip comment, a reminder that sex was all this had been.

It didn’t even take the whole sentence getting out of her mouth for her to realize it didn’t sound flip. It sounded nasty and mean, and he didn’t deserve that.

“I thought I’d been clear. I’m well aware that I could talk quite a few women into my bed, but I choose to talk you into it,” he said in that tone that oozed ease, but underneath…underneath something dangerous and cutting was hiding.

She should apologize or make light or something other than dig herself deeper, so of course she went ahead and dug herself deeper. “You didn’t talk me into it. I showed up at your doorstep.”

“Yeah, you really forced my hand.” She could barely make out the shadow of him advancing on her, and again there was her mind telling her to retreat and stubbornness telling her to stand her ground.

It wasn’t a shock which one won, and it wasn’t a shock that her body wasn’t braced for a blow—no, her traitorous body was leaning in for another kiss. Another moment of heat and power and forgetting all the ways she was failing.

But he didn’t kiss her. He gave her ponytail a tug, much like he had last night when she’d been tongue-tied. She couldn’t decide if she liked it or not. On the surface, it seemed like some strange power play, but her lady bits…well, they seemed to like the little tug just fine.

“I can’t promise you much,
Ms. Shaw
,” he fake drawled, “but I will promise you this.” His tone grew serious, his palm cradling her cheek. She had to repeatedly remind herself not to snuggle in like a cat desperate for a pet.

He was so quiet for so long, his hand resting against her face, her heart absorbing that painful, bittersweet ache she refused to give name to. She couldn’t wait any longer for him to finish. “You promise me what?” It shouldn’t matter. She didn’t believe in promises. At least not from the likes of him. Okay, anyone.

“I promise that I won’t make your life any harder than it already is. I’m not going to add to your load, Mel. I will do everything in my power to make sure of it.”

Her heart was beating harder, her chest tighter, making it difficult to take a full breath.
You don’t believe in promises
.
You don’t believe in promises.

But no matter how much she repeated that to herself, his promise wrapped around her heart and squeezed, painful and sweet at the same time. She had to clear her throat before she could speak, had to blink a few times to make sure the burning in her eyes was just the air…or something.

“Thank you,” she said—a whisper, but in the quiet of the mountain valley evening, the whisper held weight.

His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, then his lips brushed against hers, so light and quick she didn’t even have a chance to reciprocate.

Which was good. She was way too shaky for reciprocation to be a good idea. “Good night, Dan. I’ll…be by…early.”

She couldn’t see his mouth in the dark, but she could only figure he had on one of those cocky-ass grins she wanted to equally smack and kiss off his face.

“Night, Cowgirl.”

“Good night.” This time she forced herself to her truck, no backing away, no dawdling. She needed to get home, not just to check on things, but to distance herself from all this…feeling. Danger.

Who knew danger could feel so good? Make her feel alive and giddy. It was better than anything.

Is that how Caleb feels when he’s drunk?

Well, good-bye giddy, hello responsibility. Would Caleb be sober today? Apologetic? Pretend nothing had happened?

She drove home along dark streets, the only interruption her headlights cutting through the thick black of night. The dread at going home wasn’t new. It was hard not to dread all the things she had to deal with, especially in those early days of Dad’s paralysis.

What
was
new was the wishing she was somewhere else. Wishing she’d stayed with Dan. That was new and not particularly comforting. Was that what Mom had felt before she’d left? Wishing for anything but home?

Mel pulled into the garage shed and took a deep breath. She had worked her ass off for years. She was not her mother, no matter how many times she entertained thoughts that might be similar.

Mel climbed out of her truck. She would not be shaken by any choices she made, because she had made them with her eyes wide open. If Dan made her
feel
, well, she wasn’t stupid enough to think that might last.

The house was dark, and Mel didn’t know what that could mean. If she should be happy or scared. What would be waiting for her?

You do not have to be responsible for it all. Caleb is supposed to be stepping up.

But Caleb had been drinking last night, drowning whatever pain he wouldn’t share, and she didn’t know how to face that without crumbling.

She stepped into the mudroom, the empty boot mat all but mocking her. She should know better than to even look at this point. She pulled off her own boots, carefully placed them upright with room for the other pair of boots that
should
be there.

She stepped into the kitchen and stood there in the darkness, trying to decide what to do. She should check on Caleb, on Dad, but she couldn’t force herself to do either of those things.

What she didn’t have a choice in was making sure Dad had a part-time nurse. No one had been happy when she’d attempted to take on that role back in the beginning.

The floorboard creaked, and Caleb appeared. “Where have you been?”

She straightened, looking him directly in the eye. If he’d been drinking, he hadn’t drank very much. “None of your business.”

“Look, I’m sorry about last night, but—”

“No buts. I am not interested in your buts. Did you do any work to get Fiona to come back or find a new nurse?”

“No, I—”

“Then get out of my way, because I have things to do.” She wasn’t ready to forgive Caleb yet. She wasn’t ready to give him that chance, and she wasn’t ready to face that him drinking as much as he had last night meant…

Yeah, she couldn’t stand to think about what it meant right now.

* * *

Dan was a man who thrived on routine, and luckily he’d forced himself into one the past few days. It made a remarkable difference on his attitude. Probably having a plan in place helped too.

Then there was Mel in his bed. Okay, possibly that had the most to do with his newfound good mood that even texts from Scott about
still
being “this close” to tryout possibilities couldn’t dim.

Especially with the fact that the sun was rising over the mountain, he’d gotten a hell of a run in, and Mel Shaw was driving up the gravel a full thirty minutes earlier than usual.

Oh, there was a lot he could do with those thirty minutes.

First, Mystery needed to be watered and fed. It was a chore Dan would gladly speed through.

By the time Mel made it up to the top of the hill, he had almost filled and moved all the water barrels and added a bit of hay to the pile. He felt like a right and proper rancher, all things considered, even in the face of Mel’s infinitely ranchier appearance.

Flannel shirt, heavy-duty work pants, boots, but he could clearly picture everything that was beneath now, and he looked forward to undoing all those buttons, shedding all those layers she guarded herself with.

“Perfect timing. I was about to go take a shower. You can join me.” He flashed her a grin as he moved the last barrel of water over to where she stood on the other side of the fence. He definitely didn’t miss how her eyes dropped to his arms as he hefted the weight of the full barrel.

When she looked up at him, caught in her shameless appreciation of his muscles, her cheeks tinged pink.

“I already took a shower, Dan,” she said firmly, though he was pretty sure her mouth had curved at the corners just a teeny bit.

“Are there laws against two showers in a day? Some kind of drought? Because I’m pretty sure sharing means—”

She clapped her hand over his mouth, and he grinned against it. Too bad there was a fence between them, because he was pretty sure if there wasn’t—

“You need a hose so you don’t have to heft those barrels around.” She dropped her hand from his mouth and pointed to the barrel of water he’d just moved. “Add it to your to-acquire list.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy the show.”

“Ugh.” But now she really
was
smiling, regardless of how hard she tried to press her lips together.

Something about that, that happiness that
he
put there filled him with a kind of…he couldn’t even put words to it. His chest felt full and tight and like if he didn’t act, it would all burst beyond any control he had in this strange place.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He hopped the fence and did the first thing that came to mind.

Tackled her to the ground.

She pushed at his chest, but she was laughing. “Lord, you really do have the mountain crazies.”

“If that’s what I have, it’s not half bad.”

She shook her head, but there was a loosening in her muscles, not quite pushing against his chest as hard. The crisp grass under his palms, the coolness at his knees from where they pressed in the ground, even the warmth of the morning sun on his back all faded away as he looked down at her…and that overflowing-chest feeling was back. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel right, and underneath it was a kind of excitement, like being in one of those playoff games.

The pressure. The thrill. Knowing it mattered.

You screwing it up.

Something deflated, went cold, and Mel was just staring at him, underneath him, and this was stupid. Thinking about anything to do with hockey was stupid when Mel Shaw was on the ground beneath him.