How to Handle a Cowboy (20 page)

Sierra reached up and cupped Ridge's face in her hands. He looked down into puzzled green eyes and realized, with a jolt of panic, that they'd lost that playful spark.

“Ridge?” She started to sit up. “Do you need a break?”

“No.” He wanted to tell her why he'd stopped. What if he told her he'd seen the future, and the two of them were together in every part of it, for years to come? What if she knew what he was thinking?

She'd run away screaming, that's what. She'd scramble off the bed and throw her clothes on, tossing off some vague excuse while she ran for the door, for her car, for some future that didn't keep her here, with him.

She wasn't ready. And anyway, lists and goals had no place in the bedroom.

“No, darlin'. I'm fine.”

He looked straight into her eyes, and she probably saw a piece of his thoughts there, but she let him ease closer, let him kiss her, and then they were lost in lovemaking again.

Lovemaking. That's what they called it, right? And that meant that sex
made
love. So he was doing it right after all.

Now that he'd shut down the whirling tornado in his brain, his confidence came back. His hands stroked her skin, rough on smooth, and his tongue and lips followed, kissing what he'd just caressed. He memorized the gentle geography of her curves and swells, an explorer advancing into new terrain.

Easing her legs apart, he found her sweet and swollen, glistening with her want for him. As he licked and teased, she threw her head back and moaned, erasing everything from his mind but desire.

But she hadn't reached the heights yet. He gripped her hips as she writhed and rose; he kissed and licked, but it was when he said her name that she tensed and lifted her hips as she cried out, formless cries at first and then his name, over and over and over.

When he stopped, she was breathing hard, like a racehorse pushed to the edge of endurance, but rather than roll away, she reached for him for comfort.

Lovemaking.

He lay beside her and held her while she calmed, stroked her hair and kissed her cheek, her ear, her neck while she trembled through the aftershocks.

He could feel her coming back to the real world, leaving the world they'd made together. He hoped they'd truly
made
love,
and she wouldn't pull away when she returned to reality.

But she did.

***

Sierra scrambled up to a sitting position and stared at Ridge. What the hell had he done? She'd had sex before, good sex, but the feelings he'd filled her with were something new. She had been completely out of control, utterly at his mercy, and yet she felt empowered, not diminished.

Empowered.

How could that be? She'd called his name over and over, wanting him, needing him with a desperation she'd never experienced before. And yet, she felt stronger than she'd ever felt before.

It was her turn now.

Putting one palm on his chest, she pushed him onto his back. She straddled his thighs with her hands on his shoulders and rocked her hips, slowly at first, slip-sliding her center along the length of him, leaving him glistening with her wetness and groaning with desire.

He reached up to grab her hips, but she wasn't letting him take charge again. Not that she'd minded, but it was her turn now. Catching his hands, she laced her fingers into his and pushed them down on the mattress at his shoulders while she lowered herself onto him, just a little, barely letting him inside before she stopped and rocked again. All the while, she watched frustration war with ecstasy on his face, inches below her own.

She thought she might lose it again if she kept playing, so she lowered herself a little more then pulled away, then gave him more, then more, then more, until she had to reach up and grab the top of the headboard so she could hang on and close her eyes and
go,
just
go
, riding, riding to sweet oblivion.

He filled her. He warmed her. And he touched all the right places inside her, as if he'd been made to fit her. He felt perfect, so perfect…

She thought about hanging on to sanity, but then she lost her grip on everything, everything but him. Her body tightened, tensed, and broke all over again. She rose on a dizzy tide of sensation as he thrust one more time and clenched his fists and she knew he'd broken too.

***

Ridge held Sierra as she slept, but he didn't sleep. He couldn't. He was too busy sorting out the conflicting ideas that were running through his mind like a bunch of ornery bull calves, knocking stuff over and trampling his sensible plan into an unrecognizable mess.

Hell, Sierra had done some trampling of her own. He hadn't had this much taken out of him since his last rodeo ride. Their lovemaking had been anything but gentle, and he felt bruised and battered and worn right down to the bone—in a good way.

For the most part, his plan hadn't changed. He still wanted Sierra to be his partner in plan B. But he wanted her in another way too—a way that had nothing to do with plans or partnerships. She'd suddenly become a whole lot more than an item on a list.

She stirred in her sleep and muttered something he couldn't understand. He closed his eyes and pulled her closer, but instead of snuggling up, she bolted from her pillow like a vampire popping up from a coffin.

“No,” she said.

He chuckled as she glanced wildly around the room, as if she wasn't sure where she was.

“You having a dream, sweetheart?”

She fixed her eyes on him, and her look of horror made him feel like
he
was the vampire.

“No.” She groaned and fell back onto the bed so hard she bounced. “I wish I was.”

She said it under her breath, and he knew he wasn't meant to hear it—but he did, and he felt his own dream shattering like crystal hitting concrete.

What was he thinking? There was no happily ever after in Wynott for Sierra. She'd made it clear from day one that her goal was to view Wynott in her rearview mirror as soon as possible. If he wasn't careful, she'd run him over on her way out, leave him lying in the dust while she zoomed off to better things in bigger places.

***

Sierra turned her head to see the numbers on Ridge's ancient clock radio glowing red in the darkness.

Midnight. Great. She'd be returning to her apartment above Phoenix House around one.

Gil and Jessie wouldn't ask her to explain where she'd been, though Jessie would smile knowingly. Riley was spending the night in Denver, so Sierra wouldn't have to face her. But her neighbors on Main Street would hear the van pull up. The whole town would be talking by daybreak.

She scrambled out of bed and started gathering her clothes. Where were her panties? What was it about this guy that had her flinging her underclothes in all directions?

“Hey.” Ridge sat up against the headboard, the rumpled sheets barely hiding the fact that he was ready for another go-round. “Take it easy.”

She had her jeans half on, and when she turned to look at him, her foot got stuck. She hopped twice and fell sideways on the bed. Scrambling up quickly so he wouldn't have a chance to seduce her again, she made another attempt at pushing her foot through the leg of her jeans and fell again, this time on her back. There was that ceiling again. She closed her eyes tight and wished the world would just stop spinning.

“Breathe,” Ridge said.

That was easy for him to say. He wasn't looking at himself naked and wishing he could start the whole rumpus all over again. Nor did he know what a bad idea said rumpus was.

No, he was looking at her. Not at her breasts, barely hidden by the lacy bra, but at her face. And his expression scared her to death. It was—it was
tender.

Lustful would have been okay; even leering was all right. But tenderness set off warning bells that made her want to get in her car and drive to some far corner of the earth where there were no cowboys to look at her like that and make her feel this way. This
much.

Because he made her want to stay. She had things to do, places to go. She'd always been defined by her fierce ambition, but he made her want to chuck it all and keep her job in Wynott, so she could stay with her little boys and her cowboy, and enjoy a normal, happy life. He made her feel like she didn't have to change the world, like she could let somebody else do that.

And what if everybody felt that way?

“Breathe,” he said again.

She did, but it came in short, shallow breaths that sounded like the Tweedles panting. Fortunately, he let go of her arm and didn't make any attempt to touch her again, so she eventually regained her self-control and managed to get the rest of her clothes on without falling down.

He didn't say much as she readied herself to leave, just followed her out of the bedroom and down the hall. He'd put on a pair of jeans and nothing else, so when she turned to say good-bye, she didn't know where to look. She couldn't look at his chest, because it was naked and might get her thoughts spinning back to the bedroom. So she looked at his pants, but that wasn't any better since apparently he'd really enjoyed watching her dress. That left his face, and the minute she met his eyes, she realized that was a mistake too.

The tender expression was still there.

“Thank you,” he said.

What was she supposed to say now?
You're welcome
seemed to invite a second showing, and she wasn't about to offer that. But she'd better figure out her exit line soon, because the longer she stood there, the longer he could work his magic on her.

She'd been relieved when this job in the back of beyond turned out to be temporary. But now she felt like she'd stepped into a quagmire of love and attraction. She was crazy about the kids, every one of them, and loved them almost as if they were her own. She was crazy about this cowboy too, and by the looks of things, he felt the same way.

But in four weeks—one short month—she was leaving Wynott forever. She was starting to worry she'd be leaving her heart behind.

The light from the hallway spilled out the door, highlighting the uneven floor of the porch and making the white railing stand in sharp relief to the pure, deep dark of the country night. She looked out into black velvet and felt her heartbeat steady to the chirping of the crickets' faint chorus. The distant call of a night bird added a touch of mystery to the scene, and the grass whispered, stroked and soothed by a gentle breeze.

“It's beautiful here.” She stepped outside to lean on the porch rail. “Don't you get lonely, though? It's so quiet.”

“It's not quiet all the time. But yes, I do get lonely sometimes.”

The crickets chirped a few more bars of their steady symphony.

“I'm—sorry,” she said. “I—you're a really nice guy. I just…”

“I know,” he said. And she felt like he did. He understood, and he wasn't asking anything of her that she wasn't willing to give. The problem was what she was asking of herself.

“You're welcome back anytime,” he said. “You know that. The door's always open.”

You're welcome, please, thank you
—since when had life's little pleasantries become so loaded with meaning?

He stepped past her, jogging down the porch steps and heading for his truck.

Shoot. Talk about awkward; she'd forgotten she'd have to endure the long, bouncy ride to her vehicle.

Hadn't they bounced enough?

The thought made her smile, breaking the grim mood that had plagued her since she'd woken up next to Ridge. They
had
bounced, and it had felt great, and there wasn't a darned thing she could do about it now.

They jounced down the road in silence for a while. She stared straight ahead, but she could see, from the corner of her eye, that he watched her whenever he didn't need to watch the road.

“I'll get that door fixed,” he said. “I can probably get Ben to come out and grade the road too. Make it a little easier for you to get up here.”

“That's right,” she said. “I need to bring Riley out. Would tomorrow morning be okay for that?”

“Anytime tomorrow, I guess. And you're still bringing the boys on Saturday, right?”

His tone was sharper, and she didn't blame him. She had to admit that it would be cruel to deny the boys their outing just because she couldn't keep her hands off the teacher.

“Sure.” She hoped her casual tone covered up her original intention, which was
to
heck
with
the
boys, I'm staying away from Decker Ranch.
“But we need to stay on a professional level, okay? On a personal level, I feel like I'm on a roller coaster ride.”

“My fault,” he said as he pulled the truck to a rocky stop.

“No, it's not your fault at all. It takes two. And I'm really grateful for your help with Riley.”

She didn't mention that she was also grateful for the darkness, so he couldn't see her blush, and grateful for the van, waiting at the foot of the drive to carry her back to Wynott. Back to Denver, if she wanted. Back to a city so big nobody knew who you were. That was her kind of place. Here in this little town, everybody knew your business. And her business was getting too complicated to share.

He stepped out of the truck and she crawled awkwardly after him, trying to maintain a little dignity despite the fact that she was scrambling around on all fours. Finally, she slid to the ground, planning to run to the van and go. But he was standing right there, so close she wanted—
needed
to touch him. She leaned against his truck, staring down at the ground.

“So you don't like roller coaster rides,” he said.

She shook her head. “Not emotional roller coasters.”

She edged past him to climb into the van and sit behind the steering wheel, but his eyes were on hers and although she heard a danger signal deep in her brain, she was still unable to do what she knew she should do—crank the ignition and drive.