Once Upon a Cowboy (27 page)

by Tina Leonard

Available from Loveswept

“Don’t stop,” Saint Markham said, groaning, sure he’d explode if the sexy redhead stopped doing what she was doing. He was going to explode if she kept going, too, so either way, he was in for the ride of his life. Cameron Dix was sweet, she was hot, and she was driving him mad, stroking him with sure hands, every once in a while tantalizing him with a flick of that sexy pink tongue
he’d been staring at for months. He had been determined to avoid the fiery redheaded honey trap Mayor Judy Jasper thought she was going to lay on him.

He’d avoided the trap, but Cameron’s hands were just too soft, too eagerly determined to turn the heat up to full blast on him. “Don’t stop,” he growled again, reaching for that long, red, wild hair he’d been dying to run his hands through—coming
up with short, silky handfuls of hair instead.

His eyes flew open. “Damn it, Prince!” he yelled, and the golden-furred dog greeted him with chocolate doggie eyes, gave Saint’s ear one last lick, and hopped out of his bed to head to the back door, waiting impatiently for his bowl to be filled.

Saint cursed, dragged himself from bed, tugging on his jeans over his rock-hard erection. Dream number
one thousand by now, surely. Cameron Dix haunted him, her spell on him as sure as any spell Hell, Texas, had ever seen. He couldn’t even be free of her in his sleep. Five o’clock in the morning, and the only action he was getting was from Trace Carter’s hound, whom he’d agreed to keep for a few days, slurping at his ear to wake him for breakfast.

He wanted Cameron Dix. Had the hots for her like
nothing he’d ever wanted before. The fine line drawn in the dirt between them had deepened somehow when Cameron’s teammate, Ava Buchanan, had taken down his buddy Trace. Neither of them had ever mentioned the new tension, but it was there. They’d always observed professional distance, not only in that respect between people focused on their jobs, but in their silent agreement to agree to disagree
on Mayor Judy’s team of female bullfighters that was designed to grow Hell. But now they had distance that felt awkward.

Distance was a good thing. Underrated, especially when it came to a certain redheaded fireball with giant opinions and a sexy ass guaranteed to stop traffic.

“Damn dog,” he told Prince, who barked at him to open the door and get on with serving the eats. He ruffled the dog’s
ears affectionately, patted his back, and pulled open the door.

Cameron Dix stood on the other side, her red hair wild and beautiful, her pink lips wide open, as he’d clearly caught her in the act of doing something she didn’t want to be caught doing at his back door.

Prince was going to get a treat later for alerting him to his early, early morning visitor. This woman wanted him, she wanted
him bad, and now all the pretense of distance could be swept away.

Not that she was going to get what she’d come for—but let the record note that she’d ventured onto his turf.

“What’s up, Cameron?”

She hid something behind her back. “Not much.”

Ah, wasn’t she cute. She thought she was going to get away with whatever her plan was. First thing she needed to learn in Hell was that she was no
Mayor Judy Jasper when it came to effective manipulation—and he was no Trace Carter to be worked like an easy mark. “Something’s up. Unless you make a habit of hanging out at my back door.”

Her chin went up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She definitely had something behind her back. There was only one way to solve this standoff, show her he was nobody’s fool. Saint jerked her toward him, a mistake
he rued when a cloud of strawberry-scented red hair swirled around his face and sweet, round breasts bounced into his chest. Lust swept him like a heavenly river dragging him down.

Oh, shit. She’s got me now.

So delicate, yet lean and tight from all the riding she did. Cameron met him at almost eye level, which put him too close to her wide-eyed expression and moist, sweet lips.

He had to avoid
those lips.

Just reach around her, find out what she’s holding behind her back. You know you’re getting set up for something. Puncture Judy’s plan so she knows just who she’s messing with—no way in hell is she going to spring the trap shut on you the way she did your buddy Trace.

He kissed her, closing his eyes so he could absorb the impact of her soft mouth. Oh God, it was good, better than
his dreams all those tortured nights in Afghanistan when he’d fantasized about the arms of a loving woman to save himself from the insanity of the war. He instantly returned to a rock-hard condition, only this time it was incurable—he had to have this woman. Possess every sexy inch of her.

He felt Cameron’s mouth give under his, realized she hadn’t pulled away—though she wasn’t exactly trying
to eat him up, either—but he couldn’t have relinquished the sweetness he’d hungered for so long if his life depended upon it.

Bed
. He had to get her into bed. Wasn’t that why she was really here? Wasn’t that why Mayor Judy had brought her so-called team of bullfighting riders here to Hell—to find unlucky, unsuspecting victims to drag to the altar?

Saint didn’t release her. “Let’s continue this
discussion inside, beautiful.”

Cameron’s eyes widened. She didn’t look impressed with his invitation. She kneed him in the groin and Saint doubled over, gasping for air as his eyes watered against the pain.

She tossed something at him, stomped off. He thought she’d called him something harsh but his ears had bells ringing in them the size of ships. Staggering into the den, he collapsed on the
sofa, groaning. The woman had aim, and she was strong. She was also nearly as tall as he, and she was athletic as heck, all of which he had to grudgingly admire as the blackness began to recede. He glanced at the offering Prince brought over, the item Cameron had flung at him.

A twisted-wood basket of cupcakes, with a card that had the words
Happy Birthday
written on it, and signatures of his
best friends in the town: Mayor Judy, Sheriff Steel Durant, Declan O’Rourke, Trace Carter; even Cameron Dix and Harper Castleberry had signed it, among others from the town.

Cupcakes. They’d sent cupcakes for his birthday, courtesy of the cupcake he really wanted. Prince went back to licking his ear, reminding him about breakfast and wanting to be rewarded for alerting him to his visitor, so
Saint pulled himself painfully off the sofa, glanced at the pretty beribboned wood basket of now-smushed, chocolate-frosted cupcakes with tiny bulls atop them. Nice, no doubt delicious—but the one thing he really wanted had pulled out of his driveway, spewing dirt and tiny rocks from under her truck tires.

He just had to have that woman.

It was the only way to finally get her out of his mind—but
there was no way he was falling for Mayor Judy’s diabolical plan of matrimony for all in Hell, Texas.

It was a very, very cold day in Hell.

The weather itself was egg-frying hot, as July in Texas was never subtle about its intention to stay north of ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. But the sexy temptation Saint was watching school her horse seemed oblivious to the temperature, and unfortunately,
to him.

He’d been keeping a respectful, wary distance between himself and her siren appeal for weeks, ever since the accidental encounter with the cupcakes and kiss for his birthday, and frankly, there were days he wondered how much more temptation he could take before he lost his good sense and made his move. It wasn’t easy. Cameron was tall, about five-seven in her boots, and was a great fit
for him; she’d stand just right for cupping her sweet ass with his hands if he ever got to hold her. He could only imagine that the springy red curls that were even now sprouting out from a tight, high ponytail would feel great under his chin. She had a small nose that flared when she was annoyed, but most of the time she smiled a lot, with full, delicately shaped lips that drove him mad. According
to gossip she was one of seven children, so this Hell’s Belles mission she was on was no joking matter with her. He’d also heard that most of her paychecks went back home to help the family, though to be fair, her beautiful black and white Appaloosa horse, Charlie, could not have been cared for better by the Queen of England. As far as he could tell from his months-long perusal of her, she was
the whole package, with a saucy temper thrown in to keep a guy on his toes.

Especially a horny guy.

Like me
.

She’d spent a little time on the wrong side of town letting Jake the Snake take her out, but that had ended badly. Anything to do with Jake Masters—or any of their rivals, the Horsemen, of which Jake was a part—was guaranteed to end badly, so Saint hadn’t been worried. With a population
of around two hundred on a good day, Hell was largely a man’s town, and ladies, especially a beautiful woman like Cameron, would be in demand. But then the Horsemen had once again overplayed their hand, having a little fun on the Outlaws by roofying Saint’s buddy, fellow SEAL, and part-owner of the Hell’s Outlaws Training Center Declan O’Rourke one evening while everyone was hanging out at the
creek, and that had been the end of Jake the Snake’s getting anywhere near Cameron. She’d let Jake know in no uncertain terms that she considered him to be, indeed, a snake, of the lowest, most disloyal order.

Saint’s respect for Cameron had hit a new level after that, with the unfortunate result that he seemed to be addicted to looking at her, watching her, wanting to be around her. Once he’d
agreed to train her, which also kept Charlie learning, and in shape, he got to spend a lot more time around Cameron, which was good—and bad. He spent his days tied up like a pretzel, pretending he didn’t want her. His nights were hell on fire.

Mayor Judy would have a fit if he hit on Cameron, and since he hadn’t been bawled out for the inappropriate kiss he’d stolen, he figured Cameron must not
have shared their early morning encounter a few weeks back. Probably felt like the kneeing she’d given him had served as sufficient punishment, and truthfully, it had notched his respect up another level. Trace Carter, his buddy and the other co-owner of the Hell’s Outlaws Training Center, had gotten away with the seduction of one of Judy’s “Belles,” Ava Buchanan, only because Judy’d been dying
to see some of the many men in Hell, Texas, married off.

But Cameron was off-limits, because Judy had all her eggs stacked firmly in the redhead’s basket. Cameron was talented, she was tough and driven, and Judy felt strongly that, of all her current team, Cameron was the one with the toughness and the drive to make it in the world of bullfighting. Straight-up, right-there-with-the-boys bullfighting.

It was enough to make Saint sweat, if the Texas heat wasn’t enough to leach the moisture from his body. He saw exactly the same thing in Cameron that Judy saw—but he had a special, damning curse: He saw Cameron as a hot, sexy, desirable woman. One he’d kissed. And after that brief taste of her, he knew there’d been no going back.

Yes, it was a cold day in Hell. And today there’d be another cold
shower, and maybe even a dip in the creek.

“That’s enough for me today,” Saint called. “I’m heading out.”

Cameron turned. “Too hot for you?”

Hell, yes, you are. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be interested in getting burned.

“A beer will not do me wrong, I’m not gonna lie.” He waved, turned to go.

“Saint, hang on.” Cameron walked her horse to the side of the arena where he’d been leaning
on a short wall, watching her. “If you’re going to Redfeather’s, I’ll buy you that beer.”

This wasn’t entirely out of the blue. Any night of the week might find several of their gang crowded into a black leather booth in the dark bar and grill. Friendly enough, he supposed. But as he looked into Cameron’s sparkling, clear blue eyes, Saint felt uneasy.

She treated him like a friend, a brother,
and he’d been friend-zoning himself ever since she’d arrived in Hell—except for his one momentary indiscretion. Trace and Declan said he was a dumb-ass to take himself out of the running, and that he was being unusually cowardly to consign himself to the just-friends category so soon.

But as Declan wasn’t being brave and declaring his secret undying passion for Harper Castleberry, Cameron’s housemate
and also a member of the Hell’s Belles, Saint figured his friend had no business masquerading as a romance adviser. Trace had finally gotten around to letting himself fall hard for Ava, but the process had been long and painful for all, and Saint prided himself on having learned from that experience. Safe was better than sorry. Better a woman who called you a friend than a woman who didn’t
want to be in the same room with you.

Hell was a very small town. Awkward was best avoided.

Who was he kidding? Awkward had happened the moment he’d stolen a kiss. Not that he regretted what he’d done—even the shot to the balls she’d dispensed couldn’t make him regret kissing her. No, the regret was due to the tight overhang of discomfort that clouded his every encounter with Cameron now. And
since they worked closely together, every day was uncomfortable. He stayed uncomfortable, stuck in a dimension of wanting her, remembering how sweet her mouth was, and realizing she was totally, completely off-limits.

“Isn’t it my turn to buy the beer?” Saint asked, his voice carefully casual.

“It might be, but I want to talk to you. Privately.”

This was a first. He mentally reminded himself
that smart men waited for the move to be made before they showed their cards. “Sure, no problem.”

Relaxed and casual. Easygoing Saint. No problem, because he had everything under control.

Two hours later, sitting in Redfeather’s in their gang’s favorite black leather circular booth, Saint understood that he had absolutely nothing under control. Cameron was sitting very close to him, as they
waited for their friends to show up for their regular gathering. The smell of burgers and beer hung in the air in a comforting cloud, and the slight scent of Stephen Redfeather’s long pipe occasionally wafted across the well-ventilated restaurant. Smoking was specifically not permitted in here, but this was Stephen’s restaurant, and so his pipe was just one of his quirks everyone had accepted so
long ago that no one even thought about it anymore.