One Night with a Cowboy (Paint River Ranch) (Entangled Indulgence) (6 page)

She’d already set him out of her mind, chalked up their hook-up to just that, with no possibility of being more. It couldn’t be more because she wasn’t staying in Montana, and she had nothing to offer him anyway, so his sudden lack of interest didn’t matter.

Sophie pushed her ponytail over one shoulder and straightened her spine. No, it didn’t matter.

“You’re here all week?” A muscle in the side of his jaw jumped.

“Mmm-hm.”

The ground sounded like thunder was trying to rise up out of it. Tucker looked down the path as a cloud of dust settled around his horse’s feet. A white horse with huge black spots pulled up next to Tucker.

“Hey boss. Brady said you were down here yet. Everything all right?”

Tucker swallowed and his Adam’s apple moved with a slow glide. He clenched his jaw. Sophie’s brows rose when she looked at the newcomer. His face was chiseled, his lips full and soft. Violet eyes made a startling contrast against his mocha skin. Sophie followed the opening in his khaki shirt, his neck and the rise of firm chest muscles dark and supple and dusted with a curl of black hair. Whatever they fed the cowboys around here was working.

The man looked her way and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.” Sophie crossed her arms over her breasts and gave a shy smile.

“Everything’s fine, Jax. Ready?”

“Just waiting on you.”

Tucker looked back at her and Sophie’s heart jumped. That face. She couldn’t get enough. She smiled though it didn’t quite touch her heart, thanks to the tornado of excitement and longing and hesitation swirling around inside. Tucker was stoic, his face displaying nothing. She crossed her arms tighter, equally irked and curious over his sudden standoffishness. Fine. This was a shock to them both, but their close proximity didn’t have to mean anything. This was a huge ranch from what she gathered; they could certainly stay out of each other’s way.

Her brain agreed, but her body said
no, no, no
.

Tucker pulled up the slack on his horses’ reins. “I’ll see you,” he said. It was more final than promising.

She shrugged. “Okay,” was all she could manage. He spun the huge horse. She was tempted to peek around the cabin and watch him go, but couldn’t get her quivering muscles to lift her pathetic ass out of the chair.

I’ll see you? What the hell did that mean? Sophie leaned back against the chair and replaced her sunglasses. She’d thought coming here would help ease the tension she experienced at Carla’s, the kind that comes from being around someone who consistently rubs you wrong. Looks like she’d been mistaken about that. All coming to Paint River Ranch had done was give her new tension.

The kind that comes from the one person who rubs you right.

Chapter Seven

The Paint River Ranch brochure in her hand spouted nothing but damn lies. Sophie flipped it over with a grumble. The smiling couple on the front was having a great time horseback riding, while a smaller inset photo showed a young boy fishing in a pristine creek.
The Haywoods welcome you to all the relaxation a mountain haven brings. Rest, rejuvenate, and let the Big Sky soothe your soul.
Lies, lies, all lies. She’d felt nothing but restlessness and nervous energy since Tucker had shown up unexpectedly. There wasn’t a damn thing in this sticky-sweet brochure about how to handle an unequivocally hot cowboy that you never expected to see again when he popped up in the middle of your rest and tranquility. Relaxed? Hell no. Now she was just frustrated and horny.

Her little cabin was perfectly quaint, with its red-stained exterior walls, white trim, and window planter full of Marigolds. And the pine beadboard interior with an old, wrought-iron bed and huge red-and-blue braided rugs was better than her crappy apartment back home. Combined with the stunning mountains all around the property and stretch of flower-dotted prairie off the back porch, Sophie
should
be relaxed. Carla had insisted Sophie take the week-long cabin rental. Her, “get some rest” comment had been a little ironic considering their mother’s illness made rest and relaxation impossible.

She stuffed the brochure into her small pack, trying not to mingle too much with the other ranch guests waiting in line with her. Friendly by nature, Sophie didn’t feel up to small talk right now. It was hot, bugs kept landing on her bare arms, and the other guests seemed overly happy about the impending two-mile hike. She tried to be happy. It was exercise. It would help her refocus and forget about her mother’s dismal prognosis, Tucker, and everything else making her tense. Reading didn’t work. Trying to take a nap was useless. Pacing the cabin was getting old. And no matter what she tried to do, her mind kept shifting to the grin on Tucker’s handsome face.

Over half the state of Montana was likely populated by cowboys and she had to run into the one she never thought she’d see again. The one she hadn’t stopped thinking about in days. The one who’d robbed her of sleep and any moments of rational thought, thanks to the constant mental replay of hot cowboy sex in a hay wagon. It was pathetic.

She’d wanted to line-drive him right out of the saddle and jump him—if she hadn’t been too terrified to actually get next to the horse. Growing up in the metro in an apartment that didn’t allow animals hadn’t left Sophie many options for experiencing critters. The closest she’d ever been to a horse was the carousel in Como Park. Farm animals looked cute behind the petting zoo constraints at the Minnesota Zoo. Beyond that, she’d fed the fish in her third grade classroom and dissected a pig in tenth grade biology. Ending up at Paint River, surrounded by nature and animals, was a turn she hadn’t seen coming.

A young man in khaki shorts and black sunglasses came around to the front of the group and handed out maps while Sophie swatted flies and tried to wrangle her brain into a happier place. She’d be going to the nursing home to visit her mother later, and getting her mindset into a calmer place right now would help her deal later on. When a man and woman on horses rode up the driveway and got a little too close, Sophie forgot about calm and panicked, scurrying to the left to get out of the way just as the man pitched sideways, nearly sliding off. If he hadn’t grabbed the horse’s mane in one fist, he would have gone down.

Sophie’s medical instincts kicked in when her eyes settled on the man’s face. A gray hue lay beneath a pale face, cheeks puffed out trying to fill with enough air to keep the brain going. His chest worked hard, dapples of sweat glistening along his forehead and dripping down his temples. Forgetting the horse, Sophie strode over.

“Sir? Sir!” She had no doubt he was going to be a classic fainter in about two seconds. The man’s eyes were far away as he wobbled in the saddle. Sophie’s arms outstretched to support him. The map guy rushed over to help, but was too late as the man leaned to the right and slid off the horse. He was too muscular and stocky, his weight a deadfall as gravity took over and he landed partially on top of Sophie. The air squeezed out of her lungs, the man’s sweat dripping onto her neck. Shocked voices filled the air, faces blocking out the sun as people gathered around. A pair of hands helped roll the man to the side so she could get away. Panting, Sophie wiped the sweat from her face and got to her knees, mumbling a “thank you” to the map guy, who had a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Jim!” A woman with blazing blue eyes spread her hands wide as she fell to her knees. “Are you all right?” Jim’s skin was clammy, the pulse at his wrist was normal if a little slow when Sophie gave a quick check.

“Jim!” The woman called again, taking the man’s face in her hands and urging him to look at her. His eyes fluttered open, his gaze fixed on the older woman’s face. Sophie touched his shoulder.

“I’m a paramedic,” Sophie said, swallowing back a bitter lump that rolled around in her throat. Am, was. Semantics. “What happened?”

The man’s fit physique and full head of brown hair made it hard to tell how old he was, but she guessed mid-sixties. Despite the obvious care he gave his body, there was no telling what kind of medical conditions might have cropped up. Her brain was alive with all the possibilities, carefully narrowing them down to those that fit the best.

“Got dizzy. We were just crossing the river when it hit me. I…could barely hold on long enough to make it back.”

“We were trying to get to the ranch house,” the woman said. She looked over her shoulder at the small crowd of guests who were staring. The woman indicated to the map guy that they should start their hike and, within a few seconds, the crowd had cleared.

“Did you eat today?” Sophie supported the man’s back when he rolled a little to the side and sat. His breathing slowed down, color returning to his face. After a moment, he shook his head.

“No. We were too eager to ride out this morning.” He looked at the woman with an affectionate twinkle in his eyes. “That’s probably what did it.” Jim stood, much steadier than Sophie had expected him to be, as she kept one hand on his back and watched his face. His symptoms easily pointed to low blood sugar—sweating, paleness, fainting—but it could be more.

“I think we should call the ambulance for you, sir.” He wobbled a little and Sophie held onto him more tightly. He gave a little laugh.

“Ambulance has to come all the way from Missoula, a good forty minutes away. Let me just eat a bit, and if I still feel off, I’ll have Maeve drive me in.”

Used to the city with an ambulance around every corner, a forty-minute response time for a paramedic was a primitive concept. What if something horrible happened around here? The medic in her wanted to dig deeper, but with a confident nod, the man took a few steps and started walking away. Sophie kept up with him, suddenly aware the woman was leading the horses along right behind them. Crossing a few feet of lawn, they were at the front porch of a huge log house with river stone foundation.

He sat on the steps, and patted Sophie’s hand. “Thank you, young lady.”

She smiled. “Sophie. And, you’re welcome.” She opened her mouth, wanting to ask more questions, to do a proper exam. The amused way he looked at her told Sophie he knew, but he wasn’t going to allow it. He thrust his hand out for a shake. “Jim Gilfoyle. To make you feel better, I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow. For now, I think some lunch will fix me up just fine.” The gray-haired woman hurried over, relief flooding her face to see Jim sitting and talking. Sophie studied her face a moment under lowered lids, realizing there was something strikingly familiar about her.

“Thank you for your help,” the woman said. “I’m Maeve Haywood, and if there is anything I can do for you while you’re staying with us, please let me know.” Haywood, the name from the brochure. Sophie nodded.

“Thank you. I’m glad everything is all right.” Maeve fussed over Jim, helping him off the step and ushering him across the porch and through the sliding doors. Sophie watched them go with a little wave. This elated feeling of having just done something important was the same she used to get in her paramedic job—knowing that she had the ability to help—to possibly save someone’s life. Sometimes things went wrong, and in the worst-case scenario, she couldn’t help at all, but the drive to keep trying made the bad times worth it.

She turned and walked back down the flower-lined path. Sunlight warmed her face, the heat sinking into the deepest parts of her that had seemed cold for a long time. She missed this, the feeling of helping, the rush of having her skills tested. Budget cuts across the city had put a lock on hiring with many of the metro’s ambulance services. She’d applied to a couple, but was met with same answer: hiring freeze. Maybe it was time to think about going back to school… Nursing, maybe. She could do that. Or moving to some other Minnesota city to find a medic job. Irritation gnawed at her. She was almost thirty—the age when she should be firmly established in a career and maybe thinking about a family. It was ridiculous, really, that she had to virtually start over.

Sophie trotted up the cabin’s porch steps and went inside. Restless now, her mind swirling with possibilities she really didn’t want to ponder right now, she went into the bedroom for a change of shoes and her car keys. She might as well go into Missoula to visit her mom. A little alone time with Violet, without Carla hovering over them, sounded perfect. She was absently flipping through her cell phone on the way back to the living room when she heard the crash.

Her scalp prickled as she looked up from the phone and noticed she’d left the front door slightly cracked open. Something banged from the curtain-covered closet in the kitchenette. Something big by the sounds coming out of there. Gripping the cell to her chest, Sophie tiptoed to the closet, made a wide berth around it with her eyes honed in on the curtain, and she grappled to reach a spatula that lay on the breakfast counter.

She gripped the utensil until her knuckles turned white. Damn Montana and its animals. She contemplated pulling the curtain aside with her foot when the something lunged at it from the inside. Screaming, she threw her cell phone at the curtain. Instead of warding it off, the animal went super-ninja on the fabric, seemingly unable to find its way out from underneath. Until a little black nose peeked underneath.

Chapter Eight

He wasn’t going to go back to her cabin. Tucker rode an uneven line between being irritated and elated at seeing Sophie again. She’d rejected him after dishing out what had amounted to the best sex he’d had in recent memory. Worse, he’d
longed
to see her again, an unwelcome realization that punched the breath out of his rule to never see the same woman twice. He’d smelled the phantom coconut from her skin, her taste just a wishful recall away from his lips. Tossing and turning in bed each night from the constant replay of her body under his hands was real fun, too. Yeah, he was in unfamiliar territory and thinking he would never see her again made it a little easier to push her out of his mind.

Then she showed up at his ranch in the same yellow bikini that got him in this mess in the first place.

Jaxon had picked up on Tucker’s angst in the blink of an eye over coffee at four that morning. Tucker considered him a third brother. He’d shown up at Paint River when he was thirteen, thrust into the Haywood’s care by an anonymous “family friend.” Maeve had been more than happy to take Jax in and, being the same age, the boys had taken to each other like brothers of blood would do.

Though his friend tried his best to pry, Tucker kept his lips sealed. Talking about his attraction to Sophie would do nothing but keep her in the front of his mind, and remind him why he wasn’t good for her. Thoughts he could do without, thanks.

But now that coffee and early morning chores were over, Tucker couldn’t stop the itch to go to Sophie’s cabin. He had the potent sensation that he was forgetting something all morning, but was so distracted by Sophie he couldn’t remember what. Muttering that this was a bad idea, but ignoring himself completely, Tucker drove to Sophie’s cabin as slowly as he could stand without his brain imploding. Metal poles and a thick coil of wire banged around in the back of the truck, reminding him he had work to do. He’d say hi, he’d stay a minute, and then he was out of there. An unsettled feeling tried more than once to sit on his back, but he shrugged it off. His insides were having an MMA fight, his heart taking a right hook and doing a back flip by the time he got to her door.

And heard her scream.

By the time he’d pushed open the cracked front door and rushed in, she was uttering muffled little grunts like she was trying to beat something to death. Tucker found her in the kitchen, a blue plastic spatula in one hand, the other clutching a wooden spoon.

“Sophie?”

She spun with a shout, the wooden spoon slicing down and whapping him on the bicep. “Tucker! I’m so sorry.” She turned back to the narrow closet next to the stove. “There’s a…something is…it’s an animal. In there!” Her eyes were wide and frantic, the spatula trembling in her hand. With her hair strewn in some kind of braid that had come undone, her shirt falling off one bare shoulder, Sophie was a perfect mix of terrified and sexy. He took a step to the closet, his boot colliding with metal. Two stock pots, a sauce pan and a broken cell phone lay near her feet.

“What kind of animal are we talking about?” he slid the stockpots out of the way with a quiet chuckle.

“I don’t know. It’s big.” She gingerly held the curtain away for him so he could peek into the dark space. Tucker took off his hat and set it on the breakfast counter behind them. Sophie peeked around his arm. He reached up for the pull chain and turned the overhead light on. The tip of a bushy brown tail stuck out from behind a broom. Tucker stepped just inside the small closet, turning slightly sideways so he could crouch down. He glanced up at Sophie as he whipped his T-shirt off with one hand. A sharp intake of breath sounded in his ear, making him smile.
Hmh.
Maybe she’d been hoping he’d stop by after all. The sweep of appreciation on her face went right to his groin.

“Hand me my hat.”

She did, crouching beside him so her shoulder bumped into his arm, jostling shivers loose over his torso. Her face was intensely curious and a little afraid and he couldn’t help being amused at her expense. “Good thing I got here when I did, Fifi.” Tucker bundled the shirt in one hand, his hat in the other. “What you’ve got here can get pretty vicious.”

“Really?” she squeaked, squirming next to his knee. He knocked the broom out of the way, and brought his hat down with one swift move. Rampant chattering and rustling ensued under his hat. Sophie jumped.

“Yeah,” he grunted, shifting so he could reach in with his other hand and slide his shirt beneath the hat, trapping the animal inside. Turning the hat upside down, he kept the T-shirt over the opening and shifted out of the closet.

Sophie’s cheeks were flushed; her mouth parted in anticipation of what he’d caught. Leaning toward her on one knee, he moved the shirt just a touch. A rusty brown head popped through. She gasped, stumbling back against the breakfast corner, her cheeks flaming red. Tucker covered the opening back up, pushing the squirrel back down and keeping it firmly inside. He laughed low in his throat, afraid to let it out lest she start beating him with the plastic spatula again.

“Montana squirrels have a reputation, you know. Man killers, they say.”

Indignation crossed her face and she scowled. Tucker lost it and laughed full tilt. Sophie, smoothed her shirt and tossed her head back, looking down her nose at him.

“A squirrel.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Well it…it sounded
bigger
.” She cleared her throat, her eyes glistening with anger and a flicker of amusement. She crossed her arms, tapping the spatula against her upper arm. Tucker rose, careful not to shift the shirt. He didn’t miss how her eyes raked over his bare chest. Maybe a hay wagon repeat was in order…round two. He almost growled at himself to scare that idea right out of his head. Round two? Ridiculous, no matter how hot she looked with her flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Were you going to flip it to death?” Tucker nudged her with his shoulder to get himself back on track. When she twisted her lips, he wagged one brow. “How about I take it outside and skin it? Then you can cook it up for me, seeing how you’re prepared.”

One corner of her mouth tugged up with a dubious squint of her eye. “People do not eat squirrels!”

He scoffed. “Hell if they don’t.” As if understanding them, the squirrel became demon-possessed under the shirt, spinning and knocking against Tucker’s hand. He went out to the porch and tossed it gently under the railing where it made a mad dash out to the field. Just to tease her, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Well, there goes supper.”

When he stepped back inside, Sophie was still by the couch with her arms crossed but the frown was gone. A smile lit her face and it took his breath away. Her full lips were tinted with the same gorgeous pink that flushed her cheeks. Tucker moved to take a step but stopped himself. He wanted to crush her up in his arms and…

The spatula wobbled as she spread her arms wide. Her eyes roved over him, spiking his urge to pull her close. “You’d be out of luck anyway, cowboy. I don’t know how to cook.”

He put a hand over his chest like she’d wounded him. She might as well of confessed she used to be a man. That would have been easier to handle.

“So…does this mean no pie?”