The Cowboy Claims His Lady

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A lump of anxiety caught in her throat, but the whiskey told her she wasn’t out of her mind—that it was perfectly acceptable to go swimming with a man she’d only met that afternoon.

“Hell, it’s the country, isn’t it? What’s wrong with getting back to nature when I’m on vacation?” she muttered, pulling off her hat.

“That’s the spirit,” he coaxed.

“But I’m keeping my T-shirt on,” she told him.

He seemed only too compliant. “Sure. Go right ahead.”

She looked down at herself.

The sheer white T-shirt would be worse—or better, depending on the perspective—than being naked. Still, her sense of modesty wouldn’t allow her to fling it off.

“You know, I think you’re setting me up,” she added warily.

“For what?” he whispered in her ear before he took her hand and pulled her on top of him into the swimming hole.

“You j-j-jerk!” she stammered, gasping at the frigid chill of Rocky Mountain melt water.

“Best to keep moving” was all he offered.

Enraged, she tried to dunk his head.

Laughing, he even let her a few times, as if it would be good for her to get her anger out.

“Bet you can’t do this.” He swam over to the wheel and held on to it for a few feet. Then he dove into the pool as if from a diving board.

“Oh, yeah?” she taunted, answering the challenge. She was shivering and acting like a child, but she had to admit, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so free.

She held on to the churning wheel. After a couple of seconds, she pushed herself off and plunged into the dark, frigid pool.

When she came up for air, she screeched with laughter. “My God, it’s c-c-cold!”

He went to her. Unbidden, his arms encircled her waist. His torso was like a branding iron against her, but she couldn’t deny herself the welcome warmth.

“Is this how you’ve gotten all your girls? Through hypothermia?” she jabbed.

“Nope,” he answered, looking down at her while they treaded water. “Whiskey always worked just fine. But I figured you’d be a tough pony to tame.”

“Ha!” She pushed his head into the water and swam away.

To prove her point, she held on to the wheel, this time longer, then cannonballed him.

“You know,” she said blithely, swimming on her back, “this is fun. I’m actually getting used to the temperature of the water.”

“Unfortunately, once you get out, you freeze all over again.” His gaze followed her.

“Can’t wait.” She splashed him, he nearly splashed back.

She laughed and was almost grateful when he took her waist again and warmed her.

“I have a confession,” she sputtered, wiping the water from her eyes. “You wouldn’t know it from what I do for a living, but I was a tomboy as a child. I always wanted an older brother, too. To do stuff like this. Now I kinda feel like I have one.”

He pressed her closer. “I hate to tell you this, but I have no intention of being your older brother.”

She looked at him. The moonlight sparkled across the water and upon the droplets that clung to his chest hair. He seemed sexier by the minute, and yet, no warning bells went off in her head.

She feared it might still be the whiskey.

“No, really,” she insisted. “That was a compliment. I always wanted some guy friends to pal around with. I thought after five years of marriage that I’d get some companionship from my husband, but, boy, was I wrong!” She smiled and gave him a little splash. “This has been just what the doctor ordered.”

“Good,” he answered in a husky tone, just staring at her.

“What?” she asked, her words lazy and maybe even more inviting than she had intended.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Who?” she asked, suddenly blank.

“Your husband.”

She almost laughed. “At a book reading. Can you imagine anything more dull? That should have been the first warning, huh?” She treaded water. “Then, after that, he decided to write the Great American Novel, and like the infatuated fool, I did everything I could to support him. Even when he took all the money I had to give with my little business, I still believed he deserved more. I always thought he needed to travel more, to prop up his surroundings so he could write. I had to be the perfect helpmate, and that meant to give and give and give ’till I and everything else was spent. But I wasn’t going to end up alone and poor like my mom.” She released a wry smile. “So since I’m alone now, I work 24/7, so I won’t be poor, too.”

A long pause reigned when the only sounds were the creak of the wheel and the soft splash of falling water.

To relieve the tension, she flicked some water at him. “So how d’ya like that for a sisterly confession?”

“Nothing sisterly about it.”

“No?” she asked, raising her damp eyebrows. “You think I’d confess that to a date? I don’t think so. That’s for brothers only, pal.”

His stare only grew more intense. Even in the dimness of the moonlight, she could see his gaze tracing every shadow of emotion that swept past.

“Can’t be my little sister,” he instructed, his voice low, like a seductive growl. “Impossible. Because, first of all, I already have one. Her name’s Becky.”

“I’m sure she’s lucky—” she stammered, losing her train of thought beneath that dark stare.

“And second, I never wanted to do this to her.”

His arms tightened. He crushed her against his chest. Slowly his hard lips descended upon hers. The heat of his mouth shocked her. The delicious contrast of her cold lips and his warm tongue made her release an involuntary moan.

His kiss deepened and she could taste the whiskey on his breath and smell the male scent of him. Against her will, she found her mouth opening to him, as if she was thirsty for him and all she wanted to do was drink. His broad warm chest coaxed like a blanket in the snow. It was all too much to resist, and she felt herself folding into it as if she could crawl inside the fortress of it and be safe and warm forever—

His tongue ran down the slick wet skin of her neck giving her chills that had nothing to do with the Montana night air. Instinctively she crushed her breasts against his chest, her nipples, puckered with cold, brushed erotically against the wet fabric of her bra and the hard warmth of his pectorals.

Her hand slid down his back and pressed his buttock. Groaning, he slid her fingers to his groin, enticing her to feel his arousal. But she knew he was hard and ready without having to verify it. He pressed himself against her, his maleness like a police baton.

She pulled back, suddenly knowing she was in over her head.

The weariness in her eyes seemed to stop him too. His warmth was suddenly gone. She seemed to awaken from a dream, and found herself in the arms of a snowman. He pulled away from her, the eyes still staring, but this time with accusation and censure.

“We’ve got to go,” he said abruptly, pulling her out of the water as if she were nothing but a rag doll.

“Why?” she gasped, disoriented by his moods and the lash of stinging cold air on her wet body.

“Do what’s good for you, girl. Get your clothes on,” he answered gruffly.

She looked at him. Every tight line of his buttocks was visible in the sheer wet cotton of his boxers.

He turned around to scowl at her. She held her breath. If what she saw between his legs was the result of cold shrinkage, she doubted she could handle it, even then.

“You want some now?” he demanded.

She gasped and shook her head.

“Then, get your clothes on.” He turned to scoop up his jeans and shirt.

She fumbled for her jeans. Sodden and shivering, she could hardly pull them on.

“You can put your boots on in the truck.” He led her by the elbow to the pickup and helped her into the cab.

Seated next to her, he flipped the switch for the diesel and started the engine.

“W-w-was it something I did?” she stammered.

He glanced at her, his face a stone mask in the dashboard light.

“I thought we were having fun—”

He stopped her. “Know what a grizzly feels like when it wakes up?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide.

“He’s hungry,” he growled. “So hungry he can’t think of anything but what it is that he wants.”

“And what do you want?” Her words came out in a frightened whisper.

He took one hard look at her. He didn’t have to speak.

Even she heard the word in the silence, the long, echoing word, damning her and praising her in a monosyllabic curse.

You.

Three

“A dead varmint. Yep. That’s what she looks like.” Hazel’s words penetrated the fog in Lyndie’s mind.

“It’s awake! It’s awake! Hallelujah!” Ebby, Hazel’s longtime cook, a tall raw-boned woman who’d ranched a hundred head of cattle and five sons all on a widow’s pension, stood over the bed.

Hazel peered over Ebby’s silver tray of coffee and toast. “Yep. There’s life in her still. I see her glaring at me.”

Lyndie sat up in bed. Her head pounded. She winced.

“Have a good stomp at the mill, did we?” Ebby tsked while she set down the breakfast tray.

“I’ll never drink whiskey again,” Lyndie moaned.

“Is it the whiskey you regret, or the man?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, please say it’s the whiskey.” Ebby clucked. “Even old hens like us dream about men like Bruce Everett.”

Lyndie eyed both women woefully. “I was set up. And which one of you did it? Was it—Hazel?” she accused.

Hazel smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Live life to bursting, I always say. But I didn’t think you’d go and do it the first minute you were off the yoke, dear. Still, you’re a McCallum through and through. You’ll find your way. We McCallums always do.”

“Hazel, promise me for the rest of this trip that you’ll refrain from mentioning the words whiskey and men.”

Lyndie wobbled to her feet, clad in pink satin pajamas of her own label. The memory of the night before was coming to her in waves like the water from a gristmill. She recalled the awkward silence in the pickup as Bruce drove her to the Lazy M. It was almost as if Mitch and Katherine had been in the truck cab with them, casting their pall. After a chilly farewell, she’d crawled to her bed, vowing to forget about Bruce Everett forever.

And then the nightmares came.

She’d had them all night long.

She’d be at the grocery store, the accountant’s, in line for a movie—then she’d look down and see herself as if in a mirror. Her white T-shirt was wet and transparent, outlining each half-dollar mauve nipple, and her sodden hair was plastered against her forehead like a water nymph.