Gentling the Cowboy (2 page)

She returned to the living room, plopped on the unforgiving couch, and flung out her arms in victory.
I did it!
The drive may have taken her three days, giving her horse time to rest along the way, but even that part of the journey had been amazing. Each bed and breakfast she’d stayed at on her way down had intensified her anticipation. Each time she’d told the other guests where she was going, she’d felt even more alive.

This is what life is about: seeing new places, meeting new people, grabbing life by the balls and squeezing until it coughs up a story worth telling.

I should write that down.

She whipped out the purple spiral notebook she’d purchased specifically for this trip and stopped halfway through recording her thoughts, hesitating before writing a word she normally avoided: balls.

I’m twenty-five, not five. Writers are not afraid of words.
On the very first page of her notebook, she wrote,
“Balls. Balls. Balls.”
And smiled with pride. With renewed enthusiasm, she wrote,
“Big balls. Hairy balls. Bald balls?”

Chewing on the end of her pen thoughtfully, Sarah decided to designate a section of her notebook to research topics. She drew a margin on the right side of the paper. In her finest penmanship, she wrote:
Do some men shave their balls?

I should write: What woman my age doesn’t know that? But this is not about passing judgment. Positive energy brings positive results. Acceptance of yourself is the first step toward improvement.

God, I’ve been reading too many self-help books.

It’s time to stop thinking about why I’m not living the life I want and just live it.

Which was why she’d chosen to bring a notebook instead of her laptop. Real change sometimes requires a clean sweep. No more wasting time searching the Internet hoping a topic would end her writer’s block. No more reading countless articles on how to write
. Just a pen, a notebook, and Texas. If I don’t write something this summer, I deserve to work for my parents for the rest of my life.

Time to color outside the lines.

No more settling for good enough.

Like Doug.

Her recent breakup with the man she’d dated chastely in high school, then slept with through college, had been as unexciting as any of the sex they’d ever had. Not that they’d had sex in months anyway. Which should have mattered, but it hadn’t.
Because I didn’t love him. Just like every other choice I’ve made up until now, he was safe, the type of man everyone expected me to be with.
Smart, successful, and someone who fit into her parents’ social circle. He’d never said a single thing anyone objected to.
Tapioca in a suit. Bland in and out of bed.

Why was I with him for so long?

The wrong size shoe doesn’t fit just because you want it to.

She slammed her notebook shut and hugged it to her chest. She took another look around the room before whispering, “The only one who can give me the life I want is me. Right now. Right here.”

Returning to her more immediate concerns, Sarah looked down at the damp cotton material of her shirt. Who knew how long Lucy would be gone?
What if she comes home and she’s not alone? I can’t meet people looking like this.

Coming to a quick decision, Sarah rushed back to her SUV for her luggage and a change of clothes. She left the heaviest pieces in the hallway and, taking just her small bag, searched for a place to freshen up.

The bleached-white downstairs bathroom was as spartan as the rest of the house, but it revealed a beautiful . . . no,
a heaven-sent
shower. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined washing off the dirt and sweat under the cool spray.

Would it be so wrong?

Tony considered taking the shotgun from the back of his truck when he saw the vehicle parked in his driveway, but quickly decided to toss this intruder off his land with his bare hands.
Hell, it might even make my day.

A Rhode Island license plate? Someone had traveled a long way for a good old-fashioned Texas beating.

’Course, there was a slim chance that David had invited a buyer to pick up his horse directly from the ranch.
No, David’s not that stupid.

Tony opened the door of his truck with more force than was necessary and took stock of the scene in his driveway. No one he knew would have driven this flashy gray two-horse trailer or matching silver Lexus SUV—neither of which appeared to have ever seen a day of work.

Upon closer inspection, the trailer looked more like a delivery truck than a pickup. The rear-loading ramp was still down. Someone had clearly unloaded a horse and led it into the barn.

He checked the barn’s interior first. Nothing out of place. The stalls were secure. He scanned the paddocks. All his horses were accounted for.

What the hell?
Whoever had driven that trailer had had the gall to put their small horse in one of his paddocks, smack-dab in the middle of his prized quarter horses.

A delicately boned bay horse, Paso Fino by breed. Tony’s eyes narrowed. Pampered, by the looks of it. Definitely not used to working. The sparkling painted black hooves and pink halter stopped him in his tracks.

The intruder is a woman.
Cursing, Tony strode toward the house, the pace of his footsteps picking up speed as his anger grew.

He considered each of his past female companions, although none were recent. He chose partners with care—experienced women who understood that he had nothing more than a few hours of mutual pleasuring to offer them. He didn’t promise them anything, and they were too smart to think they could come to his ranch uninvited and receive anything but a cold escort to the road. The only people who were welcome on his ranch were the ones who worked there, and even they knew to stay out of his way.

The pink-and-green checkered luggage that greeted him as he entered the house brought a rush of heat up his neck. He heard the downstairs shower running and a female voice mixed with the sound of the spray. Almost positive he must be hallucinating from the heat of the day, he walked toward the bathroom. With a bang, he opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped dead when he saw the outline of a small woman dancing behind the fogged glass.

She must not have heard him because she kept singing—some pop song, he figured. Not a tune he knew. The tone he chose was one that had cowered many grown men over the years. “What the hell are you doing in my shower?”

The water cut off and a hand shot out, grabbed a towel, and snatched it back behind the glass door. A second later, a wet blonde head poked out. “Hi, I’m Sarah,” she stated, as if that explained everything. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a quick shower while waiting for you. Sorry if I surprised you.”

Her face wore a warm, sheepish smile even while water dripped down from her hair across her forehead. He caught a glimpse of a bare arm as her hand came out to wipe the water away. His gut tightened in response.

Gorgeous.

Long, wet eyelashes framed two unguarded brown eyes. Small dimples made her classically beautiful features less intimidating. Here was a woman who seemed unaware that a man could have the air sucked right out of his lungs and be rendered speechless with just one look at her.

The front of his jeans became uncomfortably tight as his body came alive with the desire to strip and join her in the shower. He could see the outline of her towel-clad body and the expanse of exposed legs behind the lightly fogged glass. In her rush to cover herself, she hadn’t taken the time to dry off. He imagined sinking to his knees and burying his face in her damp pussy. Would it taste as sweet and fresh as her lips looked? Would she throw her head back and to the side when he lifted her naked against the shower wall and suckled the full breasts he could now only see the rounded tops of? Would her smiling mouth round in a gasp of pleasure as he drove his cock into her for the first time?

He wasn’t an impulsive man when it came to women, but the throbbing need that swept through him made him want to be.

Easy, cowboy. A man can’t be blamed for where his thoughts go when he finds a beautiful, naked woman in his shower, but thinking and acting are two different things. She could be anyone with God only knows what sort of intentions. Something that appears too good to be true almost always is.
“I don’t know what made you think—”

Securing the towel chastely around herself, she stepped out of the shower. With shocking audacity, she smiled and put her hand out to shake his. “I admit I wasn’t sure if it was okay to take a shower before you came home, but I figured since I’m staying here for the summer you wouldn’t mind.”

Oh, hell no.
“You’re what?”

Her extended hand shook, then fell to her side. She took a quick step back, eyes darting past him to a pile of clothes she had stacked on the counter near the sink. “I thought you knew.”

He towered over her, more out of habit than a desire to intimidate her. The press had become more creative recently in their attempts to interview him, but would they go this far? Her pale, creamy skin and pink manicured toenails warned him she’d be trouble. But, damned if he didn’t care. “I’m listening.”

She looked down at her state of undress, then back at him. Her eyes were as wide and expressive as a young filly’s. “I’m not dressed,” she said.

He hoped his swollen dick wasn’t as obvious as it was painful. “I noticed.”

Emotion deepened her already dark brown eyes. A line of exasperation creased her brow. “I’m sorry you didn’t know I was coming. I’m sorry I made myself at home while you were out.” She stopped and her voice softened. “The truth is, I’ve driven a long way to get here and I’m just too tired to fight about it. I’d like to get dressed. Did Lucy come home with you?” She began to slide around him, inching toward her clothing.

He sat back on his heels a bit. “Lucy?”

“Your sister.”

“I don’t have a sister.” This pretty little woman was about as loony as they come, but a man couldn’t be blamed for overlooking that when she stood there with her skin still pink from the heat of the shower.

She stumbled back a bit at that. “Y-you don’t?” Eyes big with surprise, she chewed her bottom lip nervously. “But this is the Double C Ranch.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“And you’re Lucy’s brother, Steven Albright.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. My name’s Tony, Tony Carlton.”

He waited for a reaction to his name, then received one he hadn’t expected. His little shower beauty rubbed her forehead with the back of one hand. He watched her and worried for his sanity as he once again became mesmerized by her movements. He should care who Steven was, but instead all he could think about was how he wanted to redirect that hand to rubbing something else, something that was craving her touch in a bad way.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t this the Double C Ranch in Mavis?”

He removed his hat and wiped the wet sheen from his forehead. The residual steam from the shower added to an overall temperature spike caused by prolonged exposure to a scene worthy of mention in a men’s magazine. “Fort Mavis.” Her mouth dropped open and her eyes rounded with real shock. Not too much amused him, but her look of horror tickled what was left of his funny bone. “We’re almost a day’s drive west of Mavis,” he added.

She went pale, and then a deep red flush started at her neck and ran straight over her face. “You all right, ma’am?” he asked and went to her side right quick. He was not about to explain to Doc how a near-naked city woman cracked her fool head in his bathroom. Desire took second seat to concern.

Thankfully, she sat on the closed toilet seat. Her adorable shoulders slumped and she covered her eyes in a childlike attempt to disappear. “So,” the little beauty groaned, “I’m in the wrong town.”

“Yes, ma’am, it sure sounds that way.” He knew he should step out of the bathroom and let her get dressed. The mystery was solved. She wasn’t a reporter or a thief. No, she was just . . . blonde. The thought had the corners of his mouth itching to smile.

Regaining some of her composure, she brought her delicate hands down, stood, squared her shoulders, and met his eyes—knocking all coherent thought clear out of his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that gas station attendant. I was just so happy that he’d heard of the place.” Her color was back to normal, but her voice was a bit strained. “Does Texas have a lot of ranches named Double C?”

“Appears we have at least two,” he said, and this time he could not restrain the lusty grin that spread across his face. She was as adorable as she was sexy—a disconcerting combination. Had she turned up the heat and come on to him, he would have lost interest—well, after sampling whatever she’d offered.

Apparently a man could only go so long without sex before he lost his damn mind, because it appeared that she wasn’t the least bit interested in him. Truth be told, as the enormity of the situation sunk in, she wasn’t paying very much attention to him at all.

“I can’t believe I did this . . .” A look of self-disgust crossed her delicate features. “Oh, my God. My brother will never let me live this down. Only I would drive all this way to the wrong ranch.”

She paused and her eyes widened. “The wrong ranch.” Repeating the words slowly with new emphasis. She retightened the top of her towel with hands that shook a little. “I should get dressed.”

Even though the towel concealed more than shorts and a tank top would have, picturing what lay beneath was torturing him. He’d managed to clear his head of images of her writhing with pleasure beneath him, but they were clamoring to return. It was time to make a hasty exit while he still had the mind to. Mustering a nod, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Too soon, she was with him again. No makeup. No shoes. Just wearing a simple flowered sleeveless blouse and a pair of tan shorts, whose midthigh length were likely considered modest. And it still drove him damn near crazy. He wanted to run a hand up one of her long legs, to test if they were, in truth, as soft as they appeared.