The Cowboy's Surrender (9 page)

"I was thinking that I haven't danced in years. Want to give it a try?" She forced a smile.

"Well, I'm not very good--" Harold began.

Gillian stood up. "Please?"

Harold nodded. "Hope I don't crush your toes, that's all."

"Don't worry. It's your toes that are in danger."

The neon-lit jukebox blared out a country-western ballad. Harold awkwardly touched Gillian's waist and gingerly held her hand as he carefully guided her around the circle of whirling couples.

Gillian kept her eyes glued to Harold's shoulder, concentrating on the steps. Why she had asked him to dance, she didn't know. She just felt she had to get away from the laser-sharp gaze of Dallas McCade.

"Your cheeks are red as tomatoes," Harold said. "What's wrong?"

Gillian shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Must be the beer. It sometimes makes me flushed. Oh, crud." Through the crowd, she could see Dallas making a beeline toward them.

Harold stopped in the middle of the dance floor, concern in his eyes. "What? Did I step on you? I told you I wasn't any good at this."

"Don't stop!" Gillian pushed at him, tugging at his hand, trying to get him moving again. She looked over her shoulder after they made a turn. Dallas was still coming, determination and something else, something dangerous, stamped on his face.

"What's the matter?" Harold looked at her like she had lost her mind.

"Dallas McCade is here--"

"Where?" He glanced around the dance floor.

Gillian's eyes widened as Dallas planted himself in their path. He
was
going to single her out. And there was nothing she could do about it.

"Don't worry." Harold tried to maneuver past the tall rancher, but Dallas blocked the attempt.

He tapped Harold's shoulder to cut in.

Harold looked him up and down, then kept on dancing, moving to the opposite side of the floor.

Gillian glanced back. Dallas stiffened, his hands balled into fists. Surely, he wouldn't resort to violence. Not all men were like her husband, Nick. Her heart skittered when Dallas marched toward them again.

Instead of tapping Harold's shoulder, he clamped his fingers on Gillian's shoulder, effectively stopping them.

Dallas caught her eyes in a mesmerizing gaze. "Dance with me." He tightened his hold on her shoulder, waiting for her reply.

The pressure from his fingers electrified Gillian's whole body. What would it feel like to dance with him? To be held in those strong, muscled arms? Suddenly, she wanted to find out. They were in a public place. What could one little dance hurt?

Harold glanced down at her. Gillian knew he didn't trust Dallas. He really believed the rancher was behind the sabotage attempts at the rig. But she wasn't totally convinced. Dallas McCade had a reputation as a hard working, honest man. Sarah Sue had told her all about him and his family a few days ago at the cafe.

Giving into temptation, she stepped away from Harold. "Go back to the bar and talk to Ben. I'll be fine."

"You sure? Why don't you come with me?" Harold eyed Dallas with contempt and suspicion. "You don't have to dance, you know."

"You heard the lady," Dallas said. Taking Gillian in his arms, he whisked her away.

Gillian glanced back at Harold, who shook his head as he walked away. Now that she was enclosed in the steely grip of Dallas's arms, she wasn't sure she'd made the right decision. Tiny shards of fear trickled down her spine, only to be obliterated by the forceful surge of sexual awareness spreading throughout her body. What was it about this man that could turn her on like no one else ever had?

They danced in silence, the slow, sultry tune weaving in and around them. The dim light provided a cocoon of privacy, the other couples merely floated in the background.

Dallas tightened his hold, fitting her closer to his body. Gillian's breasts pressed against the rock-hard muscles of his chest, her nipples instantly beading at the intimate contact.

She raised her head and caught her breath. The blue eyes burned into hers with potent sexual hunger. When he dropped his gaze to her lips, Gillian involuntarily wet them with her tongue. An immediate shudder ran through Dallas's massive frame. The hard ridge behind the zipper of his jeans made her acutely aware of his intent.

Dallas moved his hand upward, grasping a handful of hair, sliding his fingers through the silken strands to clutch the nape of her neck. He leaned his forehead against hers, locking eyes, breathing hard. His warm breath fanned her cheeks, smelling of beer and hot male desire.

Gillian felt his thighs rub against hers with each movement of the dance. The tantalizing brush of denim against denim emphasized the restricted closeness of their two bodies. She almost moaned when a powerful urge to feel those thighs bare against hers teased her imagination.

Burying her face in the crook of Dallas's shoulder, Gillian tried to control her breathing. Each time she inhaled, his musky scent assaulted her senses. Her legs quivered with reaction, barely strong enough to keep her from falling in a puddle at his feet. Or maybe it was his powerful arms preventing her from sinking to the floor.

The hand on her neck screamed possession. An absolute right to be there. A long-forgotten, but familiar sensation pooled in the lower portion of her body. Gillian gulped back a sob. It had been so long, so damn long, since she'd felt like this.

The music on the jukebox stopped, but the melody continued in the rhythm of Gillian's heartbeat. Suddenly, Dallas pulled away. She should say something, but words were beyond her. The dance had been both magical and disturbing. Dallas placed his hands on her shoulders and started to say something. After a long tense moment, he dropped his arms and shook his head. Turning abruptly, he left Gillian standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

She saw him speak briefly to a man near the pool tables. Without looking in her direction, Dallas left the bar.

Gillian drew in a shaky breath. Blindly, she made her way back to Harold and Ben. It was like it had been in the cafe. He had rejected her presence then, he had rejected her now. This time it was worse. Much worse.

She had been foolish to think one little dance couldn't hurt. It hurt all right. It hurt like hell.

****

Dallas woke early the next morning, grabbed a cup of coffee and rode the fence line on the southern border of the ranch. The throbbing in his head ran counterpoint to the beat of Black Star's hooves. Thank God, he wasn't in the habit of drinking and carousing. He felt like death warmed over.

Lack of sleep didn't help either. All night long, he had tossed and turned, images of Gillian never far from his thoughts and dreams.

God, she had felt good in his arms. His body ached with wanting her. Anger and desire warred in his belly. He was well aware of the trouble a woman caused when she got under a man's skin. He should know better than to let Gillian affect him the way she did. But he seemed to lose control whenever she was in his vicinity.

Kissing her had been a mistake. That day in her office, he had wanted to taste her so badly, everything else seemed unimportant. He could have cared less about the drilling at that moment. When she yielded to the passion between them, it had been sweet heaven. He couldn't get it out of his mind.

Dancing with Gillian last night had been cataclysmic. Holding her in his arms, feeling her body pressed against him, responding to his touch--he had almost come undone right then and there. Man, he wanted her. Wanted to be inside her, wanted to feel her warm moist flesh surround him as he plunged deep and hard.

Dallas cursed. His frustrated state of arousal was driving him nuts. If he didn't find satisfaction soon, he would burst at the seams. Implode. And explode. With a groan, he had the sinking suspicion the only way to find complete satisfaction would be in Gillian's arms. No other woman would do.

Tugging on the reins, Dallas pulled Black Star to a halt. The drilling site was a little ways ahead on the other side of the fence. Everything looked different from this perspective. Different than when he stood on the ridge gazing through the binoculars.

Once again, his gut twisted with inner turmoil and helplessness. He hated Copper River Oil. He hoped to God they wouldn't strike oil. He wanted them off his ranch. Soon and for good.

How could he even think of Gillian and desire her, when she was so closely linked to the drilling and destruction of his land? Gillian Bankston
was
Copper River Oil Company. No getting around that fact. If he pursued her and gave in to his passion, he would betray the Diamondback Ranch and everything he valued.

But damn, he was attracted to her. No matter. He would have to forget about her. That's all there was to it.

Kicking lightly on Black Star's flanks, Dallas turned back toward the house. On second thought, he decided to go by the county road and see if the mail had come. Jumping the fence, he guided his horse along the graded dirt road. Up above, the blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon, and the sun was rising fast. Dallas tipped back his Stetson and wiped sweat from his forehead. The temperature was already in the mid-nineties.

A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the mesquite trees scattered throughout the pasture. Two cottontail rabbits chased each other, hiding beneath a large stand of cactus. Breathing deeply, Dallas enjoyed the fresh morning scent of the West Texas countryside. This was his land and he loved it. No woman was worth making him forget his loyalty to the Diamondback Ranch.

It was still a good half-mile to the mailbox when he spotted a car parked on the opposite side of the road. Only a couple of other families lived on County Road. No one would be parked out here in the middle of nowhere.

As Dallas rode closer, he realized it was Gillian's car. Those California license plates stuck out like a sore thumb.
So much about forgetting her and moving on.
Whatever she was doing, it was none of his business. He should just keep going and leave her alone.

Like hell.

Gillian was nowhere in sight. Dallas scanned the surrounding area, but couldn't see any sign of her.

The county road marked the boundary line on the west side of the Diamondback Ranch. The landscape changed drastically within fifty yards of the road. His neighbor's pasture was very different from his own. The rough, rocky terrain with deep gullies and ragged ravines contrasted sharply with the low cliffs and wide valleys on the Diamondback.

Dallas quickly dismounted and tied Black Star's reins to a fence post. He looked inside the car. The keys were in the ignition and Gillian's purse sat on the seat of the passenger side. There was nothing to give him any clues.

Where was she? What was she doing? Was she hurt?

He shouted her name, then climbed through the barbed wire fence. Was that her voice in the distance? Sweat and fear trickled down his back. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

"
Gillian!
" he called again, walking faster. He tried to block all the dangerous scenarios flashing through his mind. She could be doing something as simple as picking wild flowers. Women got strange notions into their brains sometimes. Maybe she had twisted her ankle and couldn't move. Maybe she had stumbled across a rattlesnake.

Jesus Christ
. He quickened his pace, though it was rough going over the rocky ground.

"Gillian, answer me." His words echoed against the walls of the canyon. Dallas climbed a jagged embankment, his boots sliding in the red sandy soil sending a spray of rocks and gravel to the ground below.

"I'm down here." Gillian's voice sounded faint and muffled.

Dallas hurled himself to the top of the hill barely able to breathe. She must have slipped and fallen down the other side. Panic washed over him as he thought of her laying helpless and injured.

Standing on the crest of the ravine, he searched the dried creek bottom.The undergrowth was dense with tumbleweeds and cactus. It would be difficult to find her. He would have to follow the sound of her voice.

He started to call her name again, but the words died in his throat when he spotted her. Cold fury replaced the empty hollow of fear in his stomach. That woman would be the death of him yet. She wasn't hurt at all, oh no. And she certainly didn't need his help.

Far down on the side of the ravine, Gillian sat crouched in a squatting position. She was holding a camera and taking pictures.
Taking goddamned pictures.

Dallas wanted to throttle her. He started the climb downward, making his way to her side. He didn't know what he'd do when he got there, but it wouldn't be pretty.

"Shhh," she whispered, as he came near. "Look over there, across the way." She motioned toward the opposite bank.

Dallas stared at her. The conflicting emotions raging inside of him made his belly roil. The relief he felt knowing she was safe battled with the anger towards her for making him want her so badly.