The Princess of Coldwater Flats (19 page)

The fire truck arrived in a wail of sirens and spiraling flashes of red and white lights. Tommy Weatherwood jumped down and barked orders to two other men Sammy Jo didn’t recognize. Cooper grabbed one of the snaking hoses without being asked.

The team poured a stream of water on the oak tree. Water sprayed and sparkled, hissing and sputtering as it slapped against the flaming oak.

Sammy Jo stood back, hot and aching. It was over in a matter of minutes, water pumped from the tanks aboard the truck.

But it didn’t matter. Soon the tree was a charred, miserable creature, broken in two, puffing up clouds of steam.

“You okay?” Tommy asked her, wiping his forehead. A splash of white cut his blackened face as he smiled at her.

“Couldn’t be better,” Sammy Jo managed to say.

“Heard you’re marryin’ Brent. If you change your mind, come on down to Shady Glen and look me up.”

He jumped back on the truck, barking to his fellow volunteers. Sammy Jo was too tired to scream. But that’s exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to yell at him for his insensitivity, his lack of caring. It was all an adventure to Tommy.

Cooper was leaning against his truck, his expression unfathomable as he gazed at the ugly hulk left behind. Sammy Jo stared at him, her fury transferred to him. She knew she was being irrational. It wasn’t his fault the tree was gone. It wasn’t Tommy’s, either.

Mutely, she turned her attention to the oak. Lord, it was awful. Hearing faint mewing sounds, she glanced around, then realize they were coming from her own throat. Miserable little sobs, fighting their way out.

She pressed her lips together and fought the shaking misery that consumed her. Turning in the direction of the house, she closed her eyes and tried to swallow, though her throat felt permanently closed.

“Get in the truck. I’ll drive you.”

She wheeled on him, shivering in the heat. “Thanks for helping, but I want to be left alone now.”

“You’re going to fall over halfway down the lane. You’re done in.”

She was. She’d worked until her muscles screamed and her head throbbed dully. But she ignored him and kept walking.

She wasn’t ready when he scooped her up and carried her to the truck. She wanted to give in. To just let this man carry her, but it wasn’t in her nature. Coming alive, she wriggled desperately to free herself, but Cooper half threw her inside.

“Stop it.” he ordered.

She scrabbled for the door handle. He clamped his hand over her wrist, and she clawed at his strong fingers. It was at that moment the rain finally arrived, pouring so hard, so fast, and so furiously it was a drenching silver sheet in mere moments, enclosing them in the hot cab of his truck, thickening the air.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, teeth grinding. “About the other day.”

Sammy Jo didn’t answer.

“And I’m sorry about the tree.”

Clamping her arms around her waist, Sammy Jo stared out the steamy side window and listened to the cacophony of the rain. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t.

Cooper drove her to her house. They both stepped out into the downpour. Soaked, they walked to the door, and Sammy Jo didn’t have the energy to tell him to get lost.

He seemed reluctant to leave her, and truthfully, she didn’t want to be alone. Not completely.

She washed her face and neck in the bathroom. When she returned to the living room, Cooper was examining her trophies.

“I heard you were a rodeo princess,” he said.

“A lifetime ago,” she answered expressionlessly. She had no feelings left whatsoever. The fire had drained her completely. Totally. She’d lost her closest friend.

Cooper’s dark blue eyes swept over her. It was hot in the room. Too hot. She brushed past him to the back porch.

The rain stopped just as suddenly as it began, as if someone turned off the tap. Water dripped musically from the eaves, warm, soft. The hoarse croak of frogs suddenly exploded. Sammy Jo listened, swallowing, enveloped by moist heat. Soon the puddles would dry and that would be it. Back to the everyday.

Except her beloved oak tree was gone.

She heard the screen door squeak open behind her. Cooper. She could smell his scent mixed in with the heat and smoke and thick odor of wet vegetation.

“You’ve got a whole army of suitors in this town,” he remarked.

“You mean Tommy Weatherwood? He was just kidding.”

“Maybe he wasn’t.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Sammy Jo, relax. At least for tonight. I know you’re hurting.”

She turned away from him, lifting a shoulder to further block him out. “Go away. I can’t deal with this.” She stalked to the porch swing and fell into it, refusing to meet his penetrating eyes. She felt near collapse.

“I could help you.”

“Help me?”

“Financially. I could buy the ranch.”

The glare she sent him could have sliced through metal. “If I wanted to sell, Mr. Ryan, I’d sell.”

“What do you think your real estate lover’s going to do? As soon as you’re married, he’s going to sell this place so fast it’ll make your head spin. And he’ll sell it to me.”

She didn’t need this abuse. Not now. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“Don’t I?”

“I’d rather eat snails than sell this ranch to you.”

“Snails aren’t so bad,” Cooper answered reasonably.

“They’re slimy and make me sick.”

“Don’t marry Rollins,” Cooper said again, tersely.

“I’ll do what I damn well please.”

He hesitated and she hugged her arms around her waist, still unwilling to look his way. But she could sense his every move. The creak of his leather belt, the smell of his skin. It was maddening.

“You always do what you please,” he said quietly. “Everyone knows that. But for once in your life,
think,
before you fly into a rage.”

Sammy Jo was nearly suffocated by the hurt and misery choking her. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to be alone to lick her wounds. “I’d really like…‌some privacy now.”

“I can’t leave you like this, Sammy Jo.” He sounded almost annoyed with himself.

“Why not?” she demanded in exasperation. “Just go!”

“You want to pick a fight, don’t you?”

He was right and it irked her further. She wanted to pick a fight with him. She wanted to scream and wail and stomp her feet and throw herself on the ground and bawl her eyes out.

“Don’t,” he said when she opened her mouth.

“Don’t what?” she asked bitterly.

“Say anything.”

He sank into the swing beside her. It was a wide, cushioned affair that barely rocked unless you really threw some body English into it. Curled in the corner, arms protectively wrapped around her chest, elbows and knees drawn up, Sammy Jo gazed at him uneasily.

Seeing her dirt-crusted knee, he brushed absently at it, feeling her tense muscles through her jeans.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

Growing irritated in spite of himself, Cooper kept his hand where it was. “You bring half of this on yourself, you know.”

“Half of what?”

“Everyone’s frustration with you.
My
frustration. I’m sorry about the tree and your finances and everything. But you won’t let anyone get close to you. You’re like a snapping dog. Bite, bite, bite.”

“I didn’t invite you over here.”

“Good point.” Cooper got to his feet, snatching up his hat from where he’d laid it on the porch rail. He slapped it against his thigh several times.

“Wait,” Sammy Jo murmured.

He looked down at her. To his surprise, he saw crystal tears glimmering in her eyes. She fought hard to pretend they weren’t there, but she couldn’t quite succeed.

“Sammy Jo…” he said softly.

Her hands covered her face and he saw the silent tremor that shook her as she struggled with her emotions. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and brushed her hands away, capturing one silvery tear with his thumb. A shudder went through her. “I hate being helpless,” she said, voice trembling. “Absolutely hate it.”

He didn’t answer. He wanted to be close to her, as close as humanly possible, and if she didn’t let her guard down a bit, just a fraction, he would never get past the barbs and self-protective barrier she enforced at all times.

Her lashes were wet with tears. She swiped at them. Cupping her chin in one hand, he forced her to look at him. No defiance in her eyes. Just weariness and sorrow and faint distrust.

“Sammy Jo,” he said softly.

“Don’t make me cry.”

“I don’t want to make you cry.”

“Well, you are.”

“No. You’re just hurting.”

Cooper enfolded her in his arms. In some distant part of his brain, he reminded himself that she needed comfort, only comfort. But she was sweet, warm, living heat in his arms, and he couldn’t resist just one kiss.

Her lips were salty with tears. She kissed him back. Tentatively. Emboldened, he kissed her again, conscious of her rapidly thudding heart, response to the danger signals his embrace was creating.

“No…” She pushed at him and gently. He stared down at her. Sammy Jo’s eyes were wide and darkly shadowed. “I can’t do this.”

“I shouldn’t.” But his lips brushed hers again, lightly.

That caught her attention. “
You
shouldn’t?”

“We don’t like each other very much.”

A faint smile crossed her lips. Cooper smiled back, knowing he was an out-and-out liar.

“You really ticked me off the other day.”

He nodded.

Time passed. His watch clicked softly, counterpoint to the water dripping slowly off the eaves. Her breathing was quiet, but her heart was still beating fast, a rapid galloping thud that said more about her state of mind than words.

He kissed her cheek, then let his tongue touch that downy skin. Half expecting to be rejected, he was gratified at her shaky sigh.

Sammy Jo slid lower in the swing. She was melting. She could feel it. His kisses were like wine, dark and intoxicating. A distant voice reminded her of obligations, but she shushed it angrily. She ached all over, and she wanted some relief.

Her mouth sought his, carefully, tentatively, as her arms slowly wound around his neck. She felt him hesitate, as if questioning the wisdom of this, but then he buried his hands in her hair. A choking sob erupted from her throat, shocking her.

“Sammy Jo,” he murmured, his mouth searching the curve of her jaw, her neck.

She wanted to be reckless. She wanted pure emotion. She was so incredibly sane all the time. Couldn’t she have this? This one moment of insanity and pleasure?

No.

Her ruthless conscience smote her. Suddenly struggling, she gasped when she saw her shirt was already undone, the lacy top of her bra white in the dark night. In that moment of suspended reality, Cooper deftly unhooked her bra, her breasts tumbling into his warm palms.

“Sammy Jo,” he whispered, and the worshipful tone of his voice was her undoing. She watched as his thumbs rubbed over one crest, sending little waves of pleasure pulsing through her.

His head bent to her breast. She sucked in a breath, lips parting in wonder at the hot wetness and shooting desire that swept through her.

She tensed. Her fingers clenched, frozen. Cooper sucked hard, and Sammy Jo relaxed, liquid, boneless, weightless.

She suddenly wanted more. Closing her eyes, she held his head to her breast, moaning faintly. Her legs moved, shifting restlessly. He responded, one heavy leg pinning her down to the cushions. She could feel him, that part of him that was totally male, and another shockwave rocked through her.

Sammy Jo’s mouth opened as Cooper moved downward, his fingers working a strange, seductive magic along the curve of her hip, then between her legs.

“Sammy Jo,” he gasped suddenly.

She knew the question. How far could he go? For an answer, she pulled his mouth to hers, plundering it with her tongue. His hips pressed intensely to hers. She wanted more.

His fingers tore at her clothes; she helped him. Eagerly she fumbled with the buckle of his jeans, aiding him in his efforts to fling off his clothes.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Before sense comes back. Before reason returns.

Then they were naked together on the swing, which swayed ever so gently, rhythmic, mesmerizing. With wonder Sammy Jo felt the weight of his body on hers.

He pulled back to look at her, to brush her sweat-dampened hair away from her face. But looking straight at him brought doubts to mind, and she couldn’t bear it. She dragged him close, stealing more of his drugging kisses, her hands tentatively searching the sinewy strength of his back muscles.

Magic. He was making magic with his tongue as it searched the shell of her ear, the downy curve of her jawline, her breasts, her nipples…‌. She arched upward with a moan, and he shifted until there was nothing between them but themselves.

A pulse beat hard in her throat. She swallowed, scared, feeling the tip of his manhood probe that liquid part of herself that seemed to have a heart beat of its own.

Latent conscience assailed her. “Cooper,” she breathed.

But it was too late. He moved against her, slowly, achingly slowly, and in such a way that sensations superseded reality. His kisses grew harder, his arms taut as they surrounded her.

Her legs felt disembodied, parting, opening for him. She sensed his movements, knew what was happening, wouldn’t stop if she’d been able…‌.

Then he thrust inside her, and she cried out. He stiffened, but she held him close. “Sammy Jo!”

Her lips quivered. She couldn’t speak. His palms held her face. His expression was grim as he stared at her.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I—didn’t bring anything.”

“Didn’t bring anything?”

“Condoms,” he murmured.

“It’s fine.” She moved inadvertently, and he sucked air between his teeth, his body shuddering.

A sense of power enveloped her. She did that. She could do that to him. When she moved her hips, he closed his eyes and groaned. No more pain, just a delicious feeling of excitement enveloped her, and oh, Lord, a thrusting jab of desire.

“I can’t stop,” he groaned through gritted teeth.