Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4 (2 page)

But that laugh… That was real, the rare and special Miss Belle she only shared with her beloved family.

“Tyrell always was too smart for his own good. Stubborn as a mule, slow and silent and careful until he was sure, he never backed down from a fight, which is exactly what you needed the most. He was definitely the man God must have created just for you.”

Virginia had to swallow to keep the tears locked away. Before he’d died, she could have counted the number of times she’d cried as an adult on one hand. Twelve years might have passed, but his loss haunted her like a phantom limb. “I figured you were going to side with him.”

“I am.” Miss Belle patted her leg gently.

“But you just said…”

“Do you really think there was never any other man for me other than your father?”

Luckily her children had disappeared into the kitchen to help the girls with dinner. “Mother! I so do not want to hear about how many men you might have loved and left over the years. I certainly don’t want to know that you cheated on Daddy too.”

Miss Belle smacked her thigh, whether for slipping on her name or for the affair comment, she wasn’t sure. “Who said anything about cheating? We had a one-of-a-kind love, the kind that lasts down through the years of children and grief, victory and defeat, war and sickness and eventually death. It was wonderful. But he wasn’t the only man I loved. I don’t believe we were put on this earth to love only once and then die. Else couples would always die together, wouldn’t they? What kind of God would join two hearts and then leave one cold and alone the rest of her days without a single hug or kiss or affectionate word ever again?”

The kind of God who took Tyrell and left me alone all these years.
Though Virginia didn’t say it aloud.

“Besides, I’ve got the perfect solution.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Miss Belle was already shouting.

“Girls! I need your help!”

The three young women came running, probably terrified that Virginia had suffered a seizure or something by the volume of Miss Belle’s voice.

Dark haired and fiery like all the Connaghers, Vicki was a lot like her Mama. Maybe too much. It’d taken her years to find the right man and in fact, she’d settled on two. She needed the explosive fireworks with Elias—the same as her parents—but Vicki also needed the softer, gentler side of her submissive, Jesse. There was something about that young man that made all the ice and iron in Vicki’s heart melt.

Rae and Shiloh would soon be her daughters-in-law. Each head over heels in love with her Connagher boy, both submissive, but yet so entirely different. Rae was shy and too timid for Virginia’s patience. It was all she could do not to bark at the girl to buck up and put some starch in her spine. But that wide-eyed-doe look appealed to Conn’s protective side. There had to be more spunk to the girl than was on the surface, because she’d managed to evade Conn for over five years, definitely giving him a run for his money before surrendering the fight. And of course, Rae not only survived living with Miss Belle, but she also seemed to actually enjoy the woman’s company. No small feat, because God knew Virginia would probably be ready to murder her mother before she finally went back to Missouri.

Shiloh was completely opposite Rae: bright and cheerful and bold. Yet when the oldest Connagher son touched her—even a simple arm around her shoulders or an innocent touch of his palm in the small of her back—she went on complete and wholly dedicated alert. If Victor told her to jump off a cliff, she’d do it or die trying, even while cursing at him all the way down.

We done well with our boys.
Virginia closed her eyes a moment and tried to bring up Tyrell’s image in her mind as fresh and vibrant as that vision, but he was still hazy and softened by the passing of years.
You’d be proud of them, Ty. You’d like these girls too.

“Girls,” Miss Belle declared, “I’m charging you with a most solemn duty. You must find a man for your Mama.”

Virginia jerked so hard she couldn’t stifle a moan at the grating pain in her busted arm. “What? Are you insane?”

Ignoring her, Miss Belle continued. “It’s high time Virginia starts dating again. I’m sure between the three of you brilliant young ladies you know a handsome, courageous man dumb enough to come wrestle with her.”

A speculative gleam shone in Vicki’s eyes.

“No,” Virginia said firmly. “Dating is something young people do. I’ve had my time.”

“Now who’s the fool?” Miss Belle snapped. “You’ve got half your life ahead of you still. It’s high time you start living it.”

Virginia could only stare at her mother, both moved and amused by her concern. Most people had feared her father, Colonel Healy, and yes, he’d been a tough old Marine who didn’t take shit off anyone. But it only took one look from Miss Belle and that man would have taken San Juan Hill singlehandedly or died trying. Miss Belle wore big hats and frivolous pink dresses, but when push came to shove, she was the one who ran the family with a gay laugh and her wickedly keen mind. She used to joke that God had known exactly what He was doing when He’d put her in a small female body, because if He’d made her a big strapping man, she’d have been one mean bully.

“I bet Mal will know someone,” Vicki said.

Virginia groaned. “Don’t get the Mistress of Dallas involved or I’ll never have any peace. You know very well what kind of man that woman would try to set me up with.”

Vicki laughed, a knowing chuckle that spoke volumes. “A good-looking boy willing to do anything you say for a chance to kiss your toes? What’s the harm in that? Although I suspect she’s involved with someone herself right now. I don’t know if she’s still got her finger on the pulse of Dallas’s submissive male scene or not.”

Rae stared at Virginia a moment with those big, startled eyes. “Oh.
Oh.
”

“Where do you think Victor and Conn got their hard side, Rae Lynn?” Miss Belle said.

“But that doesn’t mean I want some boy running around my house saying, ‘Yes, Mistress, how may I serve, Mistress?’” Virginia didn’t try to keep the disgust from her voice. “Good lord. I’ve got boys older than Mal. I sure don’t want her to set me up with anyone of that age.”

“Cougar,” Vicki said teasingly.

Virginia growled in response. “Grizzly bear is more like it, mean and nasty after getting woke up too early from hibernation.”

“And hungry,” her daughter replied, still teasing, but with a growing understanding in her eyes that made Virginia look away.

Hungry. They have no idea.
She didn’t want them to know exactly how lonely she’d been. How many nights she’d paced and practiced with the whip or crop just to exhaust herself, or drank herself into a stupor just to find a few hours of peace.

“What do you want in a man?” Shiloh asked.

I want Tyrell.
Virginia made herself shut the mental door on what she couldn’t have any longer, the fuzzy memories she’d clung to all these years. “If I were to date again, and that’s a big IF, he’d have to be older, more my age. A man my age would already be mature and confident. He’d know exactly what he wanted with the rest of his life and he’d do anything to get it. The same as me. He wouldn’t need coddling or teaching or patience, which I don’t have patience for! A man used to hard work, who’s probably already seen and done more than you children ever dreamed about. Someone who can stand up to me and tell me when I’m being a fool—” she said that with a smile for Miss Belle, “—and won’t get his ego bruised when I tell him the same.”

“Now that will be the challenge.” Laughing, Miss Belle stood and started herding everyone toward the door. “Even Tyrell got his ego bruised on occasion.”

“All men do.”

“Let’s finish up dinner so our patient can get some rest. I’ll see what we can do about your man, Virginia. You’ve placed a tall order.”

Virginia settled down deeper into the pillows, her eyes already heavy. She’d done hardly anything but sleep at the hospital, but there wasn’t anything like coming home to her own bed.
Tall
, she sighed, slipping into sleep.
He should definitely be tall.

Chapter Two

March 1974

According to her fashionable mother, nineteen-year-old Virginia should have been interested in college, shopping and boys, not show horses. But horses were her life. She’d rather spend a whole day sweating in the ring with a stubborn horse than talk for five minutes with most of the humans of her acquaintance.

The recently hired tall, lanky handyman was one exception. For one thing, he hardly ever spoke. When he did, he revealed a surprisingly sharp wit that as often as not infuriated her even while she had to grudgingly admit he was right. Daddy had admitted over dinner one night shortly after hiring him that the man was a wanderer, roaming the country chasing rodeos. When he ran out of money, he paused in some town and got a job, working just long enough to earn enough cash to put a little more gas in his old beat-up Ford and haul his roping horse to the next dusty, falling-down arena.

She still couldn’t quite believe her hardcore by-the-book father had hired such a bum, but Tyrell Connagher did more than his fair share of work on the ranch and he never stuck his nose up at a job. Even when she deliberately sent him to do something disgusting or petty, just to see if she could get a rise out of him.

Instead, he’d push his sweat-stained straw hat back on his head and look up at her with that leathered tanned face and say, “Yes’m.” The last few times, she’d sworn there was a twinkle in his eyes. Deep blue eyes the color of the ocean on a perfect sunny day.

She pushed such a ridiculous thought away as she led Dancer out of his stall. It was pitch dark outside and the ranch was silent. Miss Belle and Daddy had gone out to some charity ball, both acting like it was the crime of the century for their only daughter to refuse to go. They knew she hated such fancy events. All of the major families of the area would be there, the doctors and lawyers, the politicians. Ugh. All fake smiles and sparkling gowns and expensive perfumes while they plopped down a couple thousand bucks for some charity none of them really cared about.

Then Miss Belle had dared say that Dr. Garrett’s son expected her to be there, even though he’d gone away to college while she’d been in Ireland after graduation. Like Jebadiah had bothered to
ask
her on a date or even spoken to her about the event. Everyone assumed they were a “thing” when nothing could be further from the truth. Before he’d left for college, everyone had kept checking her finger like they expected him to pop the question any day. When he came home for holidays or family occasions, it was even worse. Those snide smiles as if they knew he’d only come home to see her. Thankfully, she’d been able to avoid all those awkward whispers and rumors the past year while visiting Miss Belle’s family.

They weren’t even dating. They’d never dated. They’d just happened to attend a hundred charity balls over the years because the Healys and Garretts were friends.

Great, just great. I’m engaged and the man’s never even asked me out.

She turned around and ran into a solid wall of muscle. She jumped back with a squeak that made her blush, even while she tipped her chin up. “Get out of my way.”

“Now hold on, Princess,” Tyrell drawled out. “Surely you aren’t thinking about heading out in the middle of the night.”

Princess? She couldn’t help but snort. “What I do is none of your business.”

He pushed his hat farther back on his head. In the moonlight, his eyes were dark and intent on her face. “It
is
my business when I know for a fact your folks are gone and most of the other hands have the night off. So if you get lost or hurt out there in the dark, I’m the only one here to make sure you get what you need.”

His words made her shiver, as if he meant something else entirely. She was suddenly aware of his size. The fact that he was more hobo than respectable man. He’d only been working for them a few weeks. Nobody knew what kind of man he was, not really. For all they knew, he was wanted in a dozen states for petty crimes. Or worse.

And here I am alone with him.

Fear curdled in her stomach, which only served to piss her off. She hated to be afraid. When she’d stared at her first triple-pole jump, her stomach a sick pit of dread, she’d marched over to her horse and jumped it a dozen times until she’d conquered the fear. She refused to ever let fear cripple her. As Daddy always said, it was time to saddle up and ride on anyway
.

Dancer snorted and pranced sideways, picking up on her anxiety. He almost tugged the lead out of her hand, but she couldn’t spare a glance at him, not with this danger threatening her. She clutched the crop in her left hand, glad she’d snagged it out of habit. “I told you to get out of my way.”

“No’m. I’m sorry but I can’t.”

Ignoring him, she led Dancer forward, planning to use the horse to push him out of the way, but he was on to her and stepped across the aisle, closer to her. She started to turn, swinging Dancer his direction, but her horse was too polite to step on a human, even if the man might cause her harm.

His fingers closed around hers in a punishing grip, trying to yank Dancer’s rope free.

Panic flared but her anger burned hotter. None of the help ever laid a hand on her. They were too respectful—and too scared of her Marine father. If she said boo, every man she’d ever met jumped. Even Jebadiah Garrett, the boy she’d watched turn into a man who was too damned polite to even ask her on a date away from their parents. Before she could stop to think, she brought the crop down in a sharp crack on Tyrell’s left shoulder. “Get your filthy hands off me!”

Instead of letting her go, he clamped his hands on both of her shoulders and hauled her up against the long, lean lines of his body. God, he was so tall, a tower of strength that sent her pulse hammering frantically. She brought the crop down again, swinging awkwardly against his back, but he didn’t let her go. In fact, he bent down and slanted his mouth over hers.

He was hungry, hard, his lips and mouth melting away the fear into something else that was wild and reckless and still pissed. She swung her arm up toward his head, the crop handle clubbing him against his temple and knocking his hat off. She wrenched out of his grip and stomped away. “Pack your bags and be gone before Daddy gets home or he’ll shoot your rangy hide.”

She didn’t pause, couldn’t hear his response if he had one, not over the thundering of her pulse. The stable door slammed behind her and she broke into a run. She wasn’t even sure what she was running from. Him? All he’d done was kiss her. Safely away, she could admit that he hadn’t hurt her. The misguided fool had only been trying to protect her. Then she’d beaten him with her crop. Pausing on the wraparound porch, she ducked into the shadows and watched the stable door, but he didn’t attempt to follow. Panting, she leaned her back against the wall of the house and tried to gather her thoughts.

Why on earth had he kissed her? She’d barely talked to him. Sure, she’d noticed the bright blue of his eyes. She’d caught him staring at her from beneath the shadowed brim of his hat several times. They’d exchanged a few “good morning’s” and pleasant smiles. She’d even tried to take a few bites out of his calm, silent demeanor but he hadn’t risen to the bait. That’s it. Certainly nothing like the years of polite social events she’d attended with Jebadiah. They’d danced together countless times, her hand in his, his other hand on the small of her back. But her pulse hadn’t ever hammered like this, her breathing coming fast and frantic. It hadn’t just been fear. The long lines of his body had been nice. Extremely nice. And his mouth. She’d dreamed about kissing and it’d never been like that. His mustache had poked her lips and tickled her nose and somehow she hadn’t cared one bit.

She caught herself absently stroking her fingers over her lips while she stared back at the stable. She wanted to go back and give him a piece of her mind. Maybe he’d try to steal another kiss. But was it safe? Perhaps she ought to wait until someone was around to hear her scream. Just in case.

Fool.
The last thing she wanted was to end up hurt and possibly dead. For one thing, Miss Belle would never let her lie in her grave peacefully, but would harass her until she herself passed just for having the audacity to die first.

Virginia dropped her hand to the door handle but froze. Dancer. She’d left him out of his stall. That sealed it. She had to make sure her prized jumper got put away safely. Head up, refusing to look left and right like she was scared of her own shadow, she marched back to the stable and opened the door without trying to be quiet.

The aisle light was off and no horse seemed to be running around looking for a treat. Keeping her steps light and soft, she walked down to Dancer’s stall and found him settled in for the night, his lead rope curled up neatly on the hook just as she would have left it if she’d been in her right mind. At least Tyrell had the good sense to care about the welfare of a horse. She’d give him that. But where had he gone? He could have gone out the back door, but that seemed a little cowardly for the man who boldly stood up to the boss’s only daughter just to make sure she didn’t break her neck riding her horse in the dark.

The light was on in the small lavatory at the rear of the stable, the door barely cracked. She’d never used it herself, for fear one of the hands would amble by and decide to test the door’s rusted lock. Creeping closer, she tried to see if he was in there. What he might be doing. She could see a shadow moving slightly through the crack, but not much else. He was in there, but what he was doing, she couldn’t say. Not without pushing the door open. She debated with herself as she drew closer, but surely he wasn’t doing anything too private if he hadn’t bothered to shut and lock the door.

Then she heard a low, muffled sound. A cry, though she’d never heard a big, strapping man make such a sound before. Could she have hurt him? Seriously? She’d thumped him in the head pretty hard.

Quietly, she pushed the door open farther and froze.

Tyrell Connagher stood over the toilet, one hand braced on the wall as if he was using the facility. He’d taken off his shirt for some reason and the angry red welts she’d left on his back struck her to her core. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her mouth to apologize when she finally noticed his jeans were jerked open. He ran his cock through his fist, the muscles in his forearm, biceps and back flexing deliciously beneath the tanned planes of his lean body. She couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away. Until he spoke.

“I had to see the marks you left. Then I couldn’t stop.”

Trembling, she jerked her gaze up and away from her first tantalizing view of a man’s private parts. She met his gaze in the cracked, streaked mirror, sure she was blushing but unable to stop herself. A knot swelled on the side of his head, but the only thing burning in his eyes was hunger. Not pain. Certainly not delirium.

“If you’ll hit me again, Princess, then I’ll be able to finish quicker.”

He
wanted
her to hit him? Again?

Numbly, she glanced down at her left hand to find the crop still gripped in her white-knuckled fist. She was surprised she hadn’t dropped it in her frantic retreat. She looked back at his shoulder and tried to imagine striking him again, not in anger this time, not some mindless reaction to frustration at so many things in her life that she couldn’t control. But deliberately. At his request. She’d never hit another person like that. Sweat trickled down her spine, making her shiver, but her body blazed with heat. Embarrassment, yes, but something else. Something that made her transfer the crop to her right hand so she could lay a better blow on his back. If that’s what she decided to do.

She checked his face in the mirror again, half convinced he had to be yanking her chain. His blue eyes were darker like the midnight sky, the skin tight across his cheeks, his lips tight. No teasing. No. Rather, he looked like he was on the verge of something that would change their lives forever.

“I dare you, Princess. Hit me again.”

God, for a man who’d only spoken to her a handful of times, he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted. What they both wanted, evidently, because she moved farther into the room, shifting so she could get a better blow across his back with her right hand. The first sharp crack made her flinch as hard as he did at the impact. Tears filled her eyes and her throat ached like he’d wrapped his fist around her neck. She almost dropped the crop, her fingers numb and cold.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growled out. “Give me another good one. Just one more, Princess. That’s all I’ll need.”

His head dropped back, his body arching, his hips surging forward. His hand pumped harder, his face dark and taut. She swallowed hard and brought the crop down again on his broad shoulder. He let out a gut-wrenching sound, like she’d jammed her hand down his throat and grabbed a fistful of his belly to drag back out. Spasms shook his lean frame as he spent himself, pulse after pulse that left her trembling and aching as if she’d taken a nasty fall off her horse. And the red marks on his back. She wanted to sob at what she’d done even though he’d found pleasure in it.

His bracing arm bent so he could use his entire forearm and not just his hand, as if his strength had given out. He dropped his head against his arm and drew a shaking breath. “Come here, darlin’.”

He didn’t turn around or reach for her, which made her glad. She didn’t want to see his face right now, nor him hers. It was too much. Too intimate and personal. Instead, she buried her face against the velvet heat of his back.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t regret what you gave me.”

She didn’t realize she was crying, but he must have felt the wetness of her tears against his back. She lifted her face and impatiently wiped her eyes, but the sight of the welts she’d given him made a fresh wave of tears flood her eyes and she couldn’t stifle the pitiful little cry.

“Ah, Princess.” He sighed and lifted away from the wall, pressing back against her. “Let me wash up so I can hold you.”

Awkward and shy like she’d never felt in her entire life, she stepped back and watched as he washed and dried his hands. At least he’d tucked himself back into his pants, though his jeans still hung loose and open about his hips, only staying up thanks to an old cracked leather belt. He’d undone the buckle and loosened it a few notches, but it held enough to keep his pants up. She couldn’t help but run her gaze over the lean lines of his body, even though she didn’t have to look in the mirror to know she was fire-engine red. He had the body of a man who’d worked hard his entire life. Not an ounce of fat or softness on that wiry frame, and so damned tall she’d get a crick in her neck every time she had to glare at him. He had a surprising number of scars too. Had he been in knife fights or something? God, what kind of man was he, really? She didn’t have any idea.