When the Rancher Came to Town (6 page)

But all her worries about the future had faded. There was only Mason, his sweet concern, his flattering desire, and her own desperation. She put her hands on his face, felt the faint whiskers against her palms, and pulled him to her for a deep kiss. Their mouths played, licking, exploring, teasing, until finally he boldly went deeper, meeting her tongue with his, stroking until she squirmed with need.

Her breath was coming fast now, her breasts rising and falling within the constricting dress that had been shaped to mold her best assets. He'd certainly noticed, for he went there again, pressing kisses along the smooth curves, even as he dropped to his knees on the floor, parting her legs so that he could settle his torso between.

And suddenly she could take a deep breath. The bodice gaped forward, when she hadn't even felt his hands at her back. But she didn't question it, just enjoyed the heat of arousal between her thighs when he stared at her naked breasts. He lifted one gently and put his mouth to it, flicking his tongue, taking long strokes that made her cry out her rising desperation.

His hand was moving up her inner thigh with purpose, and she found herself arching up against him, whimpering as she waited for the touch that would be magic. His fingers traced the lace along her thong, then rubbed gently across the satin right at the very heart of her. She shuddered in his arms, wanting more. He didn't deprive her, sliding his thumb beneath the lace and dipping into the hot wetness before sliding up and over her clitoris.

She cried out, legs and arms trembling. His open mouth claimed her breasts, his fingers stroked her, and within minutes she climaxed hard, shuddering beneath him, throwing her head back in triumph.

Everything inside her turned weak with satisfaction, and she half-­opened her eyes, meeting his dark, smoldering gaze. He wasn't languid but tense with his own need, his hands gripping her hips. She shoved hard on his chest and he fell back onto the soft carpet before the bare fireplace, bracing on his elbows. She rose to her feet over him, holding her full skirts high, feeling powerful and alluring as he caught a glimpse beneath.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked. “I know I can find one in my room somewhere.”

“In my pocket. I wasn't taking any chances. A sheriff is always prepared.”

Grinning, she knelt down, straddling his thighs, letting her gown pool around her waist in red splendor. With both hands, she pulled his shirt apart, the pearl snaps opening in a long line. The hair was dark over his chest, arrowing down toward his jeans, and she let herself play, tweaking his nipples, tracing the curves of his abdominal muscles, bending to place little kisses wherever she could reach. His chest rose in almost a spasm whenever she touched him. Teasing him, she played with the zipper of his jeans, tight over his erection, then tugged it down slowly, only to leave it alone to reach into his pockets for a leisurely search.

With a groan, he dropped back on the floor. When she found what she'd been looking for, together they tugged at his jeans. He arched his hips, and she saw the sleek way his muscles connected to prominent bones, then disappeared beneath his dark boxer briefs. She slid her fingers along his erection slowly, up and down, and they both watched what she did. She took a long time teasing him, still straddling his thighs, her skirt cascading all around them.

“Amanda.” He said her name in a hoarse, desperate whisper.

She smiled. “Now?”

He gave a weak laugh. “Please now.”

She slid off his thighs and was amazed at how quickly he removed the last of his clothes. She didn't take the dress off. There was something about playing a character, being someone else that appealed to her tonight. She pushed him back on the floor and just looked at his nakedness, admiring every curve of muscle and the arousal that made her feel so wanted. She put the condom on him herself, enjoying the silky, hot hardness of him.

And then she straddled his hips and lowered herself over him, gasping with pleasure when he filled her. Breathing hard, she sank until they were hip to hip, accepting his length.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The fact that he could think about her when a guy was normally focused on pleasure—­well, that only made her feel even more special and important. And then she started to move, and it was as if they were born to work in sync. The pleasure suffused her again as his hands cupped her breasts and played with her. She leaned down to kiss him again, over and over, braced her arms on the floor and rode him, letting the sight of his nakedness arouse her as much as his hands caressing her flesh. Together they let passion rise up and consume them, until they moved faster, their bodies slick and heated. She reached orgasm again, letting it shudder over her, and as if he'd waited for her, he let go, grinding their hips together. She collapsed across his chest, breathing hard, her head pillowed against his neck. His arms folded around her, and it was heaven to be held within his embrace.

“That was . . .” He trailed off.

“I hope it was amazing, because it certainly was for me.”

His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “Damn, there aren't words.”

“Okay, I'll accept that,” she said, kissing his salty skin.

The windows now held only gray light, the sun giving up for the day. At last she slid to the side, and he pulled her up against him.

“Oh, you're still wearing the dress,” he said, his voice bemused.

It was now slung around her waist in an untidy mess. “So I am. And I still have to wear it Sunday, so maybe I better take it off.”

“I'm not stopping you.”

She sat up and pulled the dress up and over her head, then enjoyed his look of reverence as he watched her breasts. She was never going to be skinny, but apparently he didn't mind.

And then his gaze lifted to hers, and his expression sobered. “I know you'd wanted to take things slower than this.”

“I did, but apparently I'm not that good at controlling myself.”

His growing smile was relieved. “Because I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn't. I wanted this as much as you. We were playing characters, and it made me feel sexy and silly, and I haven't felt like that in forever. Maybe I needed it.”

“Or maybe it was how good we are together,” he said softly.

They studied each other for a long time, smiles fading.

“I don't know, Mason.”

“I don't either, Amanda, but maybe the point is that we have some kind of chemistry that's rare and good. Can't we take our time and explore it?”

“But—­”

“Slowly. We have all the time in the world.”

Though she'd been naked and not felt shy, now she did. “Okay.”

“Good. And I'm happy you're going to the rodeo tomorrow. I want to show you some of my world, introduce you to my sisters.”

“Your sisters?”

“Don't sound so surprised. They brought our stock for the rodeo.”

“Oh, right.” Damn, that was forgetful of her.

He caressed her cheek and down around her chin, murmuring, “They'll like you a lot, I know it.”

How could his sisters, related to a man like Mason, not be just as wonderful?

“Since you have to work,” he said, “just call when you're ready, and I'll come get you.”

“But you have to compete. I can get there alone.”

“I know you can, but I want to be with you. I want everyone to see that the prettiest girl at the rodeo is with me.”

His words made her feel warm and tender and flustered. And it was wonderful. “I've never been to a rodeo. What should I wear?”

“Jeans or a skirt or shorts—­and cowboy boots.”

She laughed. “I think I can manage that. Oh, but what time do you want breakfast?”

“Is seven too early? I'm fine with cereal or whatever's easiest.”

“Cereal? After the way I worked you tonight? I think not. We'll give you a hearty breakfast: eggs, bacon, and toast. And don't protest again. In fact, I'm kinda hungry now. Shall we go search my kitchen for some snacks?”

The spent an hour in the semidarkness of her kitchen, enjoying ice cream and each other. Amanda felt like their conversation was natural and easy, like she would never run out of things to say.

Tomorrow would take care of itself.

 

Chapter 8

T
HOUGH
M
ASON SLEPT
in his own room, he dreamed of Amanda, her lush body, her uninhibitedness, her unselfishness in bed—­and everywhere. He'd never met anyone like her. She'd been betrayed by a man, yet she'd been willing to give herself to Mason. She'd started her life over again, when many ­people might have given up, or at least settled for whatever wouldn't hurt them. He admired her, he desired her—­could he fall in love with her? So quickly? Once he would have scoffed at “love at first sight,” but he'd been drawn to her from the moment he'd heard her voice, let alone seen her. And though she'd wanted to take things slowly with him, she'd been unable to control the passion they inspired in each other.

As he showered and dressed, he thought about her and mused how he'd have to wait until weekends to date her—­and wasn't sure he could go days between. He really had it bad.

Eager as a boy, he entered her dining room, knowing the Sassafras Girls would probably sleep in, which would mean he'd have Amanda all to himself. He inhaled the scent of bacon appreciatively, and then she came through the swinging door from the kitchen.

Her smile made something bright bloom within his soul. He opened up his arms, and she came into them easily. His concern that she'd regret their evening together faded into dust. Just the press of her body along his felt right.

He kissed the top of her head. “Good morning. Sorry to get you up so early.”

“You forget you're talking to a working girl—­oh wait, that sounded like I really do work at a brothel.”

He chuckled.

“There's plenty of delicious food to fill you up. Now sit down and start eating. You need your energy to ride a bull!” She winced. “I'm already nervous for you.”

He waved her concern away. “I'm an old pro.”

“But your shoulder—­”

“Will be fine. So stop worrying. I'll still be able to warm your bed tonight.”

She laughed and swung her hips as she went back into the kitchen. He sat down at the table and opened the
Valentine Gazette.
Below the fold, he saw the headline “Five-­Year Anniversary of Washington Sexual Harassment Scandal—­Are Women Any Safer in the Workplace?”

His smile died. He started reading, and when he saw Amanda's legal name, Lauren Amanda Cramer, he groaned aloud.

“What is it?” Amanda asked with interest as she brought a hot plate in her mittened hand and set it before him. “The
Gazette
doesn't usually inspire that much emotion.”

He held up the paper. “I assume you didn't read this.”

“No time.”

“I think you'd better.”

Frowning, she took the paper from his hands, and when she saw the headline, her face paled. “Oh no,” she breathed.

He waited, saying nothing. She wouldn't want to be humored or reassured. She sank into the chair next to him, and a few minutes later, she finished reading and let the paper sag as she stared at him. Though she was still pale, her eyes were dry, her expression sober.

“I was contacted about this article,” she said wearily. “I wouldn't comment. I've made it a policy not to talk about it, not to relive it. It's not all about me, you know, but the slow pace of women's safety in the workplace.”

“But you're featured because of the anniversary?”

She nodded. “Did you read it?”

He shook his head. “You came in just as I started, and I thought it was more important for you to see it.”

She sighed. “Thanks. It would have been okay, but they even included my picture as I testified before the ethics panel. I know most ­people in Valentine Valley didn't remember me from the scandal. Now . . .”

“Now you'll be conspicuous.” He knew this was a setback she hadn't imagined. “I'd understand if you want to stay home today, maybe wait until the memory of the article dies down a little.”

She stiffened. “No. I'm not doing that anymore. I said I'm going to the rodeo, and I'm going.”

Relief and admiration surged into his chest. “Amanda,” he began gently.

“I'm going, and that's all there is to it. ­People will forget the article in a day or two, and I can go back to just being a regular person—­an anonymous, regular person.”

When the phone rang, she straightened her shoulders. “No one else would call this early but reporters. I'll let it go to voice mail. Now, you need to eat before your eggs get cold.” She kissed his cheek as she walked past him and headed back to the kitchen.

“Call me when you're free so I can pick you up,” he told her.

She simply waved and kept going. He almost felt like a jerk for putting her on display at the rodeo, where she'd be vulnerable. He wanted to protect her but didn't know if he should—­or even could.

A
FT
ER A ­COUPLE
of hours, Amanda had to mute the sound of the ringing house phone. Luckily, her cell remained blessedly silent, except for the music filtering softly through her earbuds to distract her. She cleaned and straightened the guest suites until, at last, everything was prepped for the day and she had no other excuse for not calling Mason.

Oh, she had to get dressed. But even that only took fifteen minutes. At last she called him, and though he sounded totally casual about picking her up in twenty, she thought she heard relief in his voice.

He was her new boyfriend, and
relief
was what she inspired. It made her blink back tears of frustration. She'd vowed not to live like this anymore, letting fear control her behavior and her emotions.
She
was in charge of herself.

She was waiting on the front porch, eyes closed in meditation, when she heard the sound of an approaching truck. She opened her eyes as Mason pulled his pickup into the parking space and jumped out. Wearing a smile, she rose and went to the stairs to meet him.

When he came to an abrupt stop and gave a low whistle at the sight of her, she held her arms wide.

“You like?” she asked, feeling sexy in a short flowery pink sundress with spaghetti straps. Her cross-­body purse was yellow, and her cowboy boots were carved with flowering vines.

“Wow,” he breathed, striding toward her.

He lifted her off the stairs by her waist, bringing their bodies together as she slid slowly to the ground against him. The intimate touch made her breathless, and his possessive kiss brought on the good kind of dizziness.

“Let's go,” she said, taking his hand and heading with determination for the truck.

“In a hurry?” He grinned as he opened the door for her.

“I'm looking forward to seeing you conquer a bull.”

He grimaced.

“You're not nervous, are you?” It was her turn to tease.

“I'm just hoping I can show off for you.”

Before he could shut the door, she stopped him, saying softly, earnestly, “I'll be cheering the loudest.”

It wasn't a long drive to the Silver Creek Ranch, only a mile south of Valentine Valley. But the wait was long to get into a dirt parking lot, even though Mason had a competitor parking pass.

The ranch unfolded in the shadow of the Elk Mountains, the log house, barn, and outbuildings topped with matching red roofs. Colorful tents sheltered food stands and the work of craftsmen. Mason kept up a running commentary about the ranch, how their cattle were gone for the summer at their grazing allotment in the White River National Forest, just like his were. Amanda knew he was trying to distract her, and she appreciated the effort.

Near the competition arenas, a haze of dust seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. A man with a deep Western drawl spoke over a loudspeaker, announcing events. The smell of fair food was intoxicating: sausages and onions, fried dough.

“My sisters are excited to meet you,” Mason said. “Mind if we head for the stock pens?”

Holding hands, they walked the length of the parking field. Strangers smiled and nodded as they passed—­and then the double takes began, the recognition in ­people's eyes, the whispers as they passed. She tried not to stiffen, but she noticed that Mason squeezed her hand a bit tighter.

Damn that newspaper article. Damn the five-­year anniversary. Damn the senator who'd thought he could control her, bend her to his will.

And he was still controlling her after all these years, wasn't he? She wasn't going to stand for it! She wanted to be herself again, the confident woman who didn't inspire worry in her boyfriend. Already Mason meant so much to her. She didn't want to disappoint him—­or herself. She smiled up at him, glad when the concern faded from his eyes.

“I guess I don't understand why you enter a rodeo,” she said. “Isn't it dangerous?”

“Well, sure it is, but the life of a cowboy can be dangerous anyway, and the things we train for in the rodeo are things we sometimes do in our everyday life. Take team roping, where partners take turns roping a steer by his horns and then his hind legs until he's on the ground. We have to do that to immobilize a steer for vet treatment. And of course the rodeo life is exciting. When you're young, you want to travel around, you want to compete and show off your skills. Every day is different, and you never know what kind of bull or bronc you'll be riding. It's like the high of gambling. I loved being outside, being with animals, traveling around, meeting all kinds of ­people, and, in the end, testing myself. And I was good at it, until the injury. My family needing me was more important than anything else.”

Mason lifted his arm and waved to someone. Amanda craned her neck and saw two young women with the same dark hair and olive complexion he had, both standing beside the corral gate. These two women were part of the family he'd sacrificed so much for.

Suddenly two teenage girls stopped right in front of Mason and Amanda, forcing them to come up short. Amanda had rehearsed this scenario over and over. She would be polite, answer questions briefly, then move on. It was just two teenage girls, wearing ponytails, a brunette and a strawberry blond.

But they weren't looking at her. Their worshipful gazes were on Mason.

“You're Mason Lopez, right?” said the blond girl breathlessly.

Her friend giggled.

Mason gave them a friendly smile. “Yep, that's me.”

“We're so excited you're going to ride again!” said the blond. “I was at your last competition with my dad—­I can't believe I'm lucky enough to see your return.”

“My temporary return,” he corrected. “I'm not going back on tour.”

The two girls frowned at each other, shrugged, then held out rodeo programs. “Can we have your autograph?”

Amanda watched in disbelief and confusion as he bent his dark head to sign their rodeo programs. They looked at his autograph like it was made of gold, then backed away as they left, as if they needed to keep him in their line of sight as long as possible.

“Sorry,” Mason said, taking her hand again. “I hadn't thought this would happen. I've been off the circuit for a long time.”

She didn't know what to say, how to answer. Though she attracted a few sympathetic and curious stares from some older ­people, which she attributed to the
Gazette
article, it was nothing compared to the worship Mason's mere presence inspired in the young women gathered for the rodeo. And the dislike when those same young women saw Mason holding her hand. It gave her a chill, reminding her of the senator's supporters, who'd glared at her as if she'd deliberately engineered her boss's scandal and downfall.

He was studying her with concern. “I guess I should have told you. Maybe—­”

“Mason Lopez!”

A woman in her late twenties actually shrieked his name, and Amanda gave a start. He pulled Amanda away until they reached his sisters.

The two women eyed her with friendly interest, and Amanda was glad to focus on an outthrust hand.

“Hi, I'm Sabrina,” one sister said, shaking vigorously. “You must be Amanda. This is my sister Zoe. Our baby brother did nothing but talk about you this morning.”

Sabrina wore her hair in a loose knot at the top of her head, while Zoe wore a low ponytail, the better for the cowboy hats in their hands. Amanda saw the resemblance to their brother in their high cheekbones and dark eyes. Sabrina was tall, with a more muscular build, whereas Zoe was petite and almost delicate. But her handshake was firm.

Amanda smiled. “It's so good to meet you both. I hope he didn't bore you.”

“Not at all,” Zoe said, eyeing her. “And he never even told us details, until we read them in the paper today.”

Mason gave his sisters a warning frown, but Amanda waved it off. “Yeah, I didn't know the story would be published today. Guess I shouldn't have been surprised, with the anniversary this week and all.”

“Bet you weren't happy to see it brought up again,” Sabrina said with sympathy. “I imagine you'd rather it stayed in your past.”

Amanda was touched by her understanding. “It's been difficult to live down. But I know it's an important subject, and sadly, bosses everywhere continue to take advantage.”

“You must have been very brave to talk about it in front of the whole world,” Zoe said, “and it's obvious you still are.”

“Thanks.” Amanda cleared her tight throat, knowing she was blushing.

Sabrina punched her brother lightly on the arm. “And it can't help that this big guy has women practically jumping him. I thought it'd go away by now, but no.”

“It's not that bad—­” Mason began.

“Not that bad?” Zoe interrupted, rolling her eyes. “We call them buckle bunnies, Amanda. Have you heard that term?”

“No,” Amanda said softly.

“Every rodeo we go to, every Western town, it's the same. They want his autograph, they want his attention.”