One Wild Cowboy (12 page)

Emily released a stress-filled breath. “Which is why I need to be out here today. Breathing in the fresh air and spending some time with the horses really helps me unwind.”

“You could do that at your folks' ranch.”

Emily moaned and playfully clapped both hands over her ears. “Yes, but at a price. My parents would want to talk about the financial details of my café.”

Dylan had wondered about that himself—even though he knew it was none of his concern.

But as long as they were on the subject… “They might have a point.”

Emily lifted her hand. “I know I'm losing money, Dylan. I had no choice. Xavier was driving me out of business with his coupon deals.”

Dylan's muscles tensed. “How is Shillingsworth?”

“I don't know—I haven't seen him. He put some college kid in charge of the Cowtown Diner and went back to the city a few days ago.”

This was news.

Dylan searched her face. “You think he's given up?”

Emily bit her lip. “I wish. But…probably not. He's probably just figuring out some other way to exact revenge on me.”

“Let's hope not.”

Whatever the situation was, Emily did not want to discuss it. “Enough chitchat. What are we going to do with Ginger today? Put the riding dummy back on her back and lead her around the ring?”

With Emily's help, Dylan had gotten the smart, adventurous horse used to the blanket and saddle. Then he'd progressed to the noisy plastic bags tied to the saddle horn. They flapped against her sides, where an actual rider's legs would go. And finally, a riding dummy that weighed fifteen pounds, strapped to the saddle. Now, she was ready for more. As was the woman beside her.

“Actually, I had something more exciting in mind. That is if you're up for it,” Dylan said.

 

T
HIS WOULD BE
a whole lot easier if she weren't still so attracted to the lonesome cowboy, Emily thought as Dylan stepped into the paddock.

Throat dry, she watched him attach a lead to Ginger's halter and lead the mustang back through the fenced aisleway to the round training pen.

As they walked together, he explained, “It's time for Ginger to get used to the weight of a rider. She likes and trusts you, so I'd like that rider to be you.”

Excitement bubbled up inside her, along with pride at having been chosen to do this. “I won't get thrown?”

Dylan favored her with a sexy half smile. He took the
blanket and saddle and put them on the big mustang. “Not if we do it my way,” he said reassuringly.

While Emily gently stroked Ginger's forehead, Dylan bent to attach the girths around the mare's middle.

“And how is that?” Emily asked, gazing into the horse's dark eyes. Ginger stared back at Emily, her ears fixed forward, in a sign of happy curiosity and trust.

“I'll show you.” Dylan secured the stirrups and walked around to take the mare by the bridle. He stood close to Ginger's head, on the left. Then gestured for Emily to come around, on his right.

“I want you to put your left foot in my right hand, instead of the stirrup. Take hold of the saddle horn and lift yourself up, so you are leaning against the middle of the saddle. Stay as erect as you can, to give her a chance to get used to your weight. But you can still jump off and back, away from her, if need be.”

Ready for action, Emily nodded her understanding.

Dylan gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. “I'm going to hold on to your left leg with my right hand, to keep you steady at the same time I'm holding on to her with my left hand. Okay?”

Emily had seen Dylan do the same thing with the riding dummy, so this was merely a reenactment of what they had done the previous day. Only now she would be the rider.

She looked at Ginger, doing her best to imbue the mustang with confidence and courage, then turned to Dylan. “Let's do it.”

The first time she hoisted herself, Ginger promptly moved in a way that shifted Emily right back off.

Dylan caught Emily in one arm, holding on to the now-prancing Ginger with the strength and gentleness of his other.

“It'll happen,” he told them both softly. “You just have to trust that it will.”

Emily nodded. Took a breath. And tried again.

And again she was shaken back off.

And so it went.

For the next dozen or so times, Dylan was right there to catch and steady them both.

Eventually, it became a game.

Ginger chewed her bit and pushed them both away with her nose, dancing back and forth all the while.

Emily knew then that Ginger never would be a docile, mutely accepting pet. After all, this was a mustang who was meant to state her opinion often. As if on cue, Ginger turned her head from side to side and whinnied softly, her voice carrying throughout the training pen.

“We're going to get through this,” Emily told her, already imagining the day she'd be able to take Ginger on a wild canter through the surrounding plains and meadows. Horse and rider as one…. And then, almost as suddenly, as if she were imagining it, too, Ginger allowed Emily to grab the saddle horn, step up and hold on.

 

T
HE TWO FEMALES WERE
a beautiful sight, Dylan thought in satisfaction as he let go of horse and half rider and used the long cloth lead to urge them both to circle the training pen.

By now, Emily had one foot in the stirrup. Her body was resting against the saddle, her middle draped across.

Ginger was moving forward, not quite trotting, not quite walking.

Testing, it seemed.

Liking what she felt.

Of being one with the equally feisty and daring spirit that was Emily.

And just that suddenly, Emily did what they had
not
agreed
upon, Dylan noted furiously. She shifted and brought herself all the way down into the saddle.

Caught as much by surprise as he, Ginger reared up on her hind legs.

Emily slid backward.

Momentarily lost her balance.

And somehow managed to hang on before all hell broke loose.

Fear roiled through Dylan as he watched Emily being catapulted off, falling into the wooden-railed side and finally landing with a hard thud on the dirt floor of the round training pen.

Dylan didn't know whether to read Emily the riot act or kiss her. The truth was he wanted to do a little of both. Ginger was equally on edge; the mare had backed up against the wall of the round pen and was standing still, head hanging down slightly, ears up and motionless.

Dylan swiftly closed the distance between them and dropped down beside Emily, who was now up on her elbows, looking more peeved than in pain.

He watched her sit up farther and test her limbs, apparently finding nothing broken. His relief morphed into anger. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

Emily accepted his hand and struggled to her feet. She dusted off the seat of her pants and tilted her head. “But I wasn't.”

Dylan kept one eye on Ginger, who was still standing against the wall, watching them both. Figuring the best thing to do was put the horse to pasture, he went back to Ginger and took her by the lead. “If I'd had to tell your parents you'd been injured…”

Emily came toward them both. “No point in worrying about something that never happened.” She boldly met his eyes. “I'd like to keep going.”

Wishing he didn't want to pull Emily into his arms so badly, Dylan said, “You really want to get back up on that horse?”

Emily removed the elastic band from her hair. “Halfway. No more,” she declared smoothing the dark strands away from her face, putting her hair back into a ponytail. “Just to let Ginger know nothing's changed, that this is still going to be expected of her.”

Dylan studied the flush in her pretty cheeks and the furrow of determination formed along the bridge of her nose. “You promise you'll do what I ask
and no more
this time?”

Emily took a step closer and said softly, “I promise.”

So up she went.

This time, maybe because she felt she had made her point in tossing Emily to the ground, Ginger accepted the rider's weight against her side.

And this time, Dylan did not let go of either of them.

Half an hour later, they finished the training session on good terms. Emily praised Ginger warmly as she turned her out into the paddock and then faced him.

In that instant, Dylan noted the stain on the back of Emily's burgundy cotton shirt. It was right across her shoulders, beneath the caked-on paddock dirt, and he knew exactly what had caused it.

“Now you are really overreacting,” Emily said, minutes later, after he had said goodbye to Andrew and escorted Emily into the ranch house.

Dylan did not think so. He tapped her in the vicinity of the spot. “Unless I miss my guess, that's dried blood.”

Emily didn't look all that surprised.

Which meant that she knew she'd been scraped up at the time. She just hadn't wanted to stop what she was doing to tend to the skin injury.

His exasperation with her grew.

Emily shrugged. “So I'll go home and take care of it.”

Feeling the pressure building at the front of his jeans, Dylan decided to dial it back a notch. He had to stop wondering if
she missed touching him as much as he missed touching her. He had to stop thinking about kissing her again. Concentrate on the here and now, and the first aid obviously required.

He eyed her injury, knowing it bore further inspection. Sooner rather than later. Enough time had elapsed already, given the bacteria-laden setting. “How?” he countered. “There's no way you can reach that on your own.”

Emily looked up at him. “You're offering to bandage me up?”

“Yes.” Figuring enough time had been wasted, Dylan motioned for her to turn around.

Emily made a face but obliged.

Dylan plucked the collar of her shirt away from the nape of her neck and peered down. Best he could tell, the scrape was four-by-six inches or so. Smack-dab between the shoulder blades. “I'll take care of it for you,” he offered dutifully, “but it's going to have to be thoroughly cleaned first, and the best way to do that is to hop in the shower.”

Wincing, Emily adjusted her shirt. “You really are a pain.”

He regarded her with barely masked impatience. “I could always call your family, let one of them take care of it.” Then he wouldn't have to go through the torture of touching her without making love to her.

Emily continued to scowl at Dylan. “Don't you dare.” She sighed loudly and gave him a vaguely accusing look. “And don't you dare tell them I got thrown, either. My parents would have a fit.”

And maybe with good reason, Dylan thought, given the poor judgment Emily had shown earlier today.

Hand beneath her elbow, Dylan steered Emily toward the stairs. “I'll need the duffel bag in the trunk of my car….”

He remembered the extension of her closet. No one could
ever say Emily did not come prepared. “Give me your keys and I'll get it for you.”

Emily dug in her pocket for her keys. “Thanks.”

Dylan tore his gaze from the enticing flatness of her abdomen. He did not need to be thinking about the snug fit of her jeans any more than he needed to be thinking about the clinging cotton of her shirt. “Towels are in the linen closet. Bathroom's—”

“I remember where it is, cowboy.” Emily slapped the key in the palm of his hand, her fingers warm and silky against his skin.

Because, Dylan thought, she had been there before. Not just upstairs, but in the same place he'd like to have her now—
in his bed.

He searched for some nonexistent gallantry and shot her a glance. “I'll get you some clean clothes.”
And while I'm at it,
he promised vehemently,
I'll do my best to obliterate these reckless thoughts before they land us both in hot water.

 

D
YLAN WAS AS GOOD
as his word, Emily noted. By the time she had washed the dirt off her face, he was back, her duffel bag in hand.

Unfortunately, the only things in there were another pair of jeans and two pairs of socks.

He lounged on the other side of the open bathroom door. “Problem?”

Yes, Emily thought in frustration, there were no extra undies. But Dylan didn't need to know that, she told herself sternly. Pleasantly, she explained the portion of her predicament she wanted him to know about. “Apparently, all the extra riding I've been doing, coupled with my lack of time to get any laundry done, has left me without a clean shirt.”

“Want to borrow one of mine?”

Emily tried not to think what it would feel like to be
wrapped in his clothing. And not want to make love with him again. “If it's okay.”

He nodded, as overtly casual as she. “No problem.”

By the time Emily got out of the shower, a clean navy blue shirt was hanging on the inside of the bathroom door. He had managed to put the shirt there without opening the door more than an inch or actually coming in. Truth be told, Emily was a little disappointed about that.

She'd wanted to think she was so irresistible that a rogue like Dylan couldn't help but make a pass at her.

Instead, he was nowhere to be found.

Sighing her disappointment, while simultaneously applauding his good sense, Emily finished toweling off. Despite the warm soak, the scrape on her back was still raw and stinging. She debated over putting on the bra and panties she had just taken off, but they were as sweaty as the rest of her discarded clothing, and she couldn't bring herself to put them on again when she felt so nice and clean.

Frowning, she slipped on Dylan's shirt, rolled up the sleeves and buttoned all but the top closure. The soft navy cotton fabric voluminously cloaked her middle and floated down past her hips. Grimacing, she tugged her jeans on over her bare skin. Luckily, they were one of her oldest, softest pairs.

Telling herself that her lack of undies didn't matter—it wasn't as if he hadn't seen her naked before, anyway—she put on her socks, bundled her filthy clothing together and headed down the stairs.

Dylan was in the kitchen, standing next to the counter, as he went through the items in the Last Chance Ranch first-aid kit. He turned, devilry gleaming in his eyes. “It's not too late,” he drawled.

Yes, Emily thought wistfully, as her heart skipped a beat, it was.

It was way too late.

He winked as the corners of his lips turned up into a warm, teasing smile. “If you want to call a real medic…”

Emily rolled her eyes and set her bundled clothing on the floor. Working to still her racing pulse, she stepped toward him. He was right. Taking a light, carefree attitude was best. “Don't be silly. You can do this.”

The look on his face said he knew that—he just didn't know if he should. Emily understood his hesitation. After the feed-store debacle, they'd agreed not to make love again, yet already the tension between them was sky-high. And she hadn't even partially disrobed yet.

Telling herself she could handle this, just the same way she handled him, Emily turned. Her back to him, she unbuttoned the second, third, fourth closures. Easing the fabric open, she simultaneously clutched it to her breasts and pushed it back and down so the shirt fell across her shoulders and lowered over her spine.

She winced as cool air assaulted the raw scrape that traversed the skin between her shoulder blades.

“You're lucky you didn't break anything.” Dylan picked up a spray mix of antiseptic and anesthetic lotion.

Emily closed her eyes in anticipation of more pain, muttering, “I'm too stubborn to break anything.”

“I hear that's what your father used to say when he was rodeoing,” Dylan murmured.

She exhaled. “I guess a little recklessness runs in the family,” she agreed.

“No doubt.” His warm breath brushed over her skin.

Emily hitched in a breath as the liquid hit her scrape, stinging at first, then promptly cooling into blissful numbness.

Relieved, she let out another slow breath.

Looking into his eyes at that moment would have been dangerous, but she could feel Dylan's smile. It was as warm and soothing as his touch.

“Now for the antibiotic cream,” he said.

Emily tensed despite herself. “That's got to hurt less, right?”

“You shouldn't feel much at all,” Dylan predicted.

He was right. She felt no pain with the application of the thick white cream, but there was no way
not
to feel the gentle strokes of his fingers across her back. No way not to be aware of the pearling of her nipples beneath the shirt he'd lent her, and the curl of desire sweeping through her insides.

By the time he had finished, it was all she could do not to tremble, she wanted him so much.

Sounding a lot more unaffected than she felt, he closed the cap on the tube. “We could bandage this, if you want.”

“I think it's probably better to leave it open to air, don't you think?”

Emily tried to adjust her shirt with her free hand, but found that to be an impossible task.

Again, Dylan stepped in to help, lifting the fabric away, easing it up and over her shoulders with gentlemanly care.

Embarrassed by her unprecedented vulnerability, glad for the modest coverage, Emily pushed the buttons through the holes. Only when she was sufficiently cloaked did she turn back to face him once again.

Aware her whole body was still aching with the need to be touched and loved, Emily forced herself to put aside her yearning and look Dylan square in the eye. “Thank you,” she managed.

Dylan rested a companionable hand on her shoulder. “You're welcome.” He paused, smiling. “Thank
you
for helping out with Ginger.”

“But not for taking too much upon ourselves, too fast?” Emily teased, wishing he would throw caution to the wind, forget their earlier promises and kiss her.

Dylan shook his head, in deadpan censure, then he dropped
his hand to his side. “Had you not done that, you never would have been thrown,” he reminded mildly.

Emily sighed. She guessed it wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to make a move on her after all. And really, she schooled herself firmly, it was for the best.

She stepped back. “I'm aware of that.” Unable to bear the intimacy in his eyes, coupled with the need welling inside her, Emily looked down at her clothing. “Unfortunately, I can't go back into town dressed like this.” She screwed up her face comically. “Not without causing a lot of talk anyway.”

He tapped her playfully on the nose. “And we certainly don't want that.”

Emily wanted Dylan to pull her against him and kiss her, taking the decision out of her hands.

“You can use the washer and dryer, if you want.” He stepped back. “I'll make myself scarce and give you your privacy.”

Here it was, Emily thought, the opportunity to put the fierce yearning aside and keep to their agreement. And maybe she would have had he not seemed tempted, too. The daredevil inside her was back, stronger than ever.

She curled her hands over his biceps. “That's not what I want.”

Dylan swallowed. “If I stay, you know what is likely to happen.”

“And you think that'd be wrong for me?”

His eyes gleamed. He came closer, all lazy, swaggering male. “You're a McCabe. You're meant to be married to someone from a family just like yours.”

And marriage, Emily knew, was not what Dylan wanted. He might have, of course, if he'd believed in happily-ever-afters. But he didn't.

And that meant she had a choice to make too that would require her to take a giant leap of faith.

She splayed her hands across Dylan's chest, her deter
mination to succeed stronger than ever. “I know what everyone thinks. That I have to have what my family wants for me. That I can't be with any man without trying to change him, but that's just not true,” she whispered, her growing feelings for him giving her courage. “I can be with you—without asking you to change—just like you won't ask me to change.” She wound her arms about his neck and rose on tiptoe. “Let me prove it to you.”