One Fine Cowboy (27 page)

The ranch seemed strangely silent as Charlie and Nate stepped into the kitchen. There was a note on the counter.

“Took the girls riding,” it said in an almost illegible scrawl. “Sam’s chores done. Horses fed and watered. See U later. MUCH later. Taylor.”

“Guy should have been a doctor, not an actor,” Nate said. “Got the handwriting for it.”

“Should have been a shrink,” Charlie said. “He knows just what people need.” She pointed to the words “
way later
” and gave him a sultry smile. “Now, guess what
I
need?”

“Same thing I do.”

“Well, let’s see if I can help you with that.” Charlie led him to the bed, pulling him down beside her. Bringing one hand up to brush her hair out of her face, he gave her a look of such tenderness the room seemed to warm and she could swear the mattress softened beneath her. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said. “I thought you’d given up on me.”

Charlie smiled. “We Jersey girls are fighters.”

“You sure are,” Nate said. “You’re like a superhero.” He stretched out, propping his head up on one hand, and somehow, it seemed natural to join him, to lie down beside him. He turned toward her, then hiked himself up on his elbows. Suddenly he was looking down on her, his body pressed against hers, his face inches away. “The Girl Avenger,” he said. “That’s you.”

“I’ll pick up my gold cuffs and a mask tomorrow,” Charlie said.

“I think it’s time to take the mask off, don’t you?” Nate murmured. He kissed her, gently at first, then more insistently, his tongue seeking hers, his fingers buried in her hair. She reached up and tugged his shirt open, the pearl snaps clicking open one by one, and ran her hands down his bare chest, savoring the way the skin flowed so smoothly over his muscles. Stroking the fine hair that flecked his chest, she let her fingers skim over his nipples and stroke his ribs.

He deepened the kiss and she felt him gather power, his muscles swelling under her hands, his gentle touch firming as he cupped one breast and stroked the tip with his thumb. She arched her back, yielding, helpless, unable to hold back. She wasn’t sure her heart was ready for this. But it was as ready as it would ever be, and she was willing to take the risk. And her body?

It was all set.

They thrashed through the awkwardness of shedding their clothes, Nate tugging her T-shirt over her head, momentarily trapping her arms and taking advantage of her brief helplessness to duck his head and take her breast into his mouth, his tongue teasing while she pretended to struggle against the folds of fabric. When she finally pulled her hands free, she moved them to his chest, signaling with her own touch what she wanted from him, and he took the hint readily, giving her all she’d asked for and more. And more. And more.

Obviously, cowboys were
not
stupid. Not this one, anyway.

She moved her hands down to his belt, fumbling with the buckle, clawing at the snap on his Wranglers. He shifted his hips, making it easy for her to peel the rough denim down so he could kick his way free.

Charlie pushed him down on the mattress and sat up, straddling his hips. She just wanted to look. Just wanted to see him as she’d remembered him so often since the last crazy time they’d fallen into bed. That had been an accident—sort of. This time, she wanted to savor every moment. She wanted to see his muscles shifting under his skin, the solid mass of his chest, the fine hair trailing down that ranch-raised Grade A six-pack.

That trail led straight to where she wanted to go. The all-American cowboy wore appropriately all-American Fruit of the Looms.

“These have to go,” she said, slipping a finger under the elastic and giving it a gentle snap. He shook his head, despite the fact that his body was doing its best to stretch the white cotton to its limit. She ran her hand over him and he groaned. She paused and played a while, looking straight into his eyes, resisting his efforts to pull her down against him.

Grabbing his wrists, one in each hand, she lifted them above his head to hold him prisoner.

“You’re in no position to be bossy,” she said.

But that brought her body down to his, close enough that he could hook his leg across her and roll, pinning her to the mattress in an MMA move straight off of Spike TV. Before she could recoup, he had both her small hands in one of his large ones, leaving the other free to roam her body, stroking and smoothing, making its way over her breasts and down to her barely-there panties.

“I like these,” he said, flicking the elastic in gentle retaliation. “Are these the emergency panties?”

She laughed. “No. But this is definitely an emergency.”

He slipped his hand beneath the sheer fabric, teasing and touching everywhere but where she wanted him most. Her skin tingled, nerve endings shimmering with electricity, coaxing her to rock and writhe while his mouth covered hers, stifling her moans as her hips bucked up to meet his hand.

***

Nate shifted to one side so he could see Charlie’s face. He wanted to watch as she closed her eyes and her body responded. She was so ready for him, so warm and wet. She tilted her pelvis, begging for more, and he answered, stroking longer, deeper, harder as she tipped her head back, bracing her heels on the bed and lifting her hips.

She was right. The Fruit of the Looms had to go. He skinned himself out of them in a floundering rush, his hands fumbling as he shoved them down his legs and dipped his body to touch hers. There was no thought, no planning, no strategizing to get where he wanted to go; she was with him, carrying him on the tide of her own need.

The tide ebbed and surged and surged again. He didn’t want it to end. Squeezing his eyes shut, he strained to hold on, but she clenched around him, threw her head back, and let out a silent scream and he joined her, crashing into her like a high wind battering the wheat, riding her as she rose and broke and broke again.

***

Charlie was going to die. She was sure of it.

Her head was going to explode, her pelvis was shattering into a million pieces, and her arms and legs were about to fly off to the four corners of the room.

Nate would have to call an ambulance to peel her off the ceiling. And if they ever managed to put her together again, it wouldn’t matter.

She wouldn’t be good for anything but sex ever again.

And that was fine with her.

Strong arms swept around her,
his
arms, and held her together. She closed her eyes and slept, safe, secure, and whole.

Charlie opened her eyes to morning light. Rolling over, she smiled at… nothing.

“Dang,” she said to the empty bedroom and almost laughed. She was starting to swear like a cowboy now without even thinking about it. “When did he get up? And why didn’t I hear him?”

She didn’t know the answer to the first question, but the second one was easy. She hadn’t heard him because she’d been sleeping off the effects of the night before, when he’d turned her knees to Jell-O and her brain to sweet butterscotch pudding.

She climbed into her jeans and slid a T-shirt over her head, then padded to the kitchen and peered out the window. The sun had barely risen over the distant mountains, and the whole ranch was lit with a pinkish glow. An empty glass on the counter held a puddle of orange juice, the only evidence of Nate’s presence.

She refilled the glass and gulped down a slug of juice, then headed out the door. It started to swing shut behind her, but she caught it before it slammed.

She’d surprise him.

She crossed the yard as quietly as she could, then eased the barn door open and tiptoed down the aisle. She peered around the corner. He was in front of Honey’s stall, kneeling on the barn floor.

“When I see you, it’s like the sunrise,” he mumbled. Honey scarfed up a mouthful of hay and chewed contemplatively, tilting her head to watch Nate with the equine equivalent of a puzzled expression.

“Like when the birds start singing, and—oh, dang it.” Nate lurched to his feet and pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. “Sorry.”

The horse must have forgiven him because she kept on eating as he set off down the aisle, reading the words scrawled on the paper, his lips moving, his brow creased with concentration. He stopped at Razz’s stall to shake a flake of hay into the feed box, then fell to his knees again. “Like when the birds start singing, and everything’s new, and no matter what happened the day before, you know you’re going to get a fresh start,” he said to the horse. “You’re my, um, my rising—no, wait—you’re—oh, damn.” He rose again and fished for the paper.

He moved over to Junior’s stall. “When I see you, it’s like the sunrise—like when the birds start singing, and everything’s new, and no matter what happened the day before, you know you’re going to get a fresh start. You’re my fresh start, my rising sun, and I want to wake up to you every day.”

He dropped to his knees again and looked up at the horse.

“Will you marry me?”

Charlie clapped her hand over her mouth, but she couldn’t hold back the whoop of laughter that escaped her lips. Nate spun to face her, his face crimson.

“I’ve heard about you cowboys and your fondness for livestock, but I never thought it was true,” she said, grinning. “And I thought sheep were the critters of choice.” She slanted her eyes over toward Junior. “Ambitious, aren’t you?”

“No,” Nate blushed as he grabbed the edge of the stall and hoisted himself to his feet. “I was just, um, practicing.”

“Is inter-species marriage legal in this state?” Charlie asked, touching a finger to her lips and looking up to pantomime deep thought. “It’s the ‘Cowboy State,’ so I guess it would have to be.” She softened her smile and took a step toward him. “Wouldn’t you really rather marry a woman? Like, a human one?”

Nate nodded and swallowed. No wonder he’d been practicing on the horses. Now that she was in front of him, he was tongue-tied again.

“So, did you have a woman in mind?”

He nodded. “I, um…”

She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Show me,” she whispered.

He bent down and kissed her, and the kiss was a proposal in itself—soft and yielding, then firm and masterful, it carried her through every conceivable facet of a marriage, from panting need to tender longing and back again. She tightened her arms around him and proposed right back.

Junior let out a frustrated nicker. “Jealous brat,” Charlie muttered. She looked up at Nate, who still held her close, his eyes saying even more than the kiss.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

Sam shook her head, and the carefully arranged flowers decking her hair tumbled to the floor for the third time.

“Oops,” she said.

“Sam!” Phaedra gathered the flowers and set them aside, then smoothed Sam’s hair with a comb and rebraided it. “Sit still,” she said to the fidgeting child. “You want to look nice for the wedding, don’t you?”

Sam sighed and nodded, banging her feet against the rungs of the kitchen chair she’d been forced into when she’d snuck out to visit Peach and streaked dirt on her lacy pink dress.

“I wish Mom could have come,” she said.

“She had to work,” Phaedra said. Sandi had gone to beauty school after all. Sam went down to Denver every other weekend and “helped” her in the salon she shared with three other graduates.

“I know. It’s okay,” Sam said. “She likes her job a lot better than she likes the ranch anyway.”

In the next room, Nate shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other and picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his black dinner jacket.

“Leave that thing alone,” Taylor said. “You’ll have the whole thing unraveled if you don’t watch it. I’m not standing up as best man to a naked cowboy, I can tell you that. That’d be sure to hit the tabloids.”

Nate grinned. In the year they’d been in business together, he and Taylor had built up a solid friendship—a friendship, not a partnership. He hadn’t really needed Taylor’s money. One trip to a lawyer had revealed even more lies on Sandi’s part. There was no such thing as common law marriage in Wyoming.

Sandi didn’t have any claim on the ranch at all.

But Charlie had talked him into teaming up with Taylor anyway, and it had worked out fine. Together, they’d trained a half-dozen reining horses for film work, and Taylor had kept a steady stream of actors, friends, and wannabe wranglers coming to the clinics.

Then there were the kids. Nate felt like a father to every one of the long parade of high school misfits that had arrived at the ranch, their spirits broken and bruised. Every one of them had left stronger—not healed, not totally, but well on their way.

Who knew you could care so much about kids that weren’t your own?

Charlie. She’d known. And she’d taught him, and enriched his life beyond anything he’d ever dreamed of.

“How’s the work on the house going?” Taylor asked. Nate knew Taylor was just trying to distract him. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to marry Charlie. The past year had been perfect—except that they hadn’t had time to make their relationship official. Nate wanted everything nailed down so their life together would never change.

“It’s going okay,” he said. “Charlie won’t let me change that wallpaper in the kitchen, though. Or the cabinets.”

Taylor shook his head. “That is not a normal woman you’ve got there,” he said.

“Nope,” Nate said. That was the best thing about Charlie. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought of her as girlie. Working by his side in her battered Wranglers and ripped T-shirts, her hair grown long and her nails cut short, she looked like she’d been ranching all her life. Beautiful still, but healthy and wholesome. The perfect rancher’s wife.

He wondered how she’d look today. The gown had been guarded like a state secret.

An organ chord resounded through the church. Nate licked his lips and straightened his tie.

“Here we go,” Taylor said. The two of them covered the aisle in seconds; Purvis’s tiny church wasn’t exactly geared toward long processions. Taking his place before the daisy-decked altar, Nate turned to watch as the organ reeled into the “Wedding March” and Sam trotted out of the apse strewing flowers from a woven basket. Behind her walked the most beautiful creature Nate had ever seen.

Charlie had brought the best of her old Jersey girl self back for the wedding. The gown was a fitted white sheath that hugged every curve. Her hair was up in an elaborate ’do that brought to mind her old, spiky style, and she’d painted her lips scarlet and made her eyes look smoky and mysterious. He was reminded of the exotic creature he’d first seen standing beside the crippled Celica, but the smile tilting her lips was a far cry from the scowl she’d worn that first day.

The woman beside her was smiling too. It was a hard-won smile. Mona Banks hadn’t been pleased when her daughter gave up her education to “play cowgirl,” but a visit to the ranch had changed her mind.

It had changed the ranch too. Charlie’s mother had fussed so much about her daughter’s cooking that Nate told her to do it her own danged self, and she’d gone and done just that. She was the center of the household now, ruling the ranch kitchen, churning out massive amounts of food that kept the clients almost too full to ride. She’d outlawed sugary cereal for breakfast, but she’d made up for it with fluffy omelets and the best pancakes Nate had ever had.

She’d never pull another waitress shift in her life if he had anything to say about it.

The preacher was talking. Charlie’s mother was giving her away, but all Nate could do was stare at his wife-to-be through a haze of happiness. Charlie stepped up beside him, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He probably looked like the dumb cowboy she’d taken him for that first day. Well, now she was taking him again, for better or for worse. For richer or for poorer.

Forever.

His soon-to-be-wife lowered her lashes modestly, then glanced up at him and smiled.

“Love me?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

He nodded.

He’d always been better at nonverbal communication.

The End