The Princess of Coldwater Flats (17 page)

Cooper shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe her at all. “Don’t marry Rollins.”

“I’ll marry whomever I damn well please.”

“You’re better than this. Smarter.”

“I like Brent, okay. Really like him. This isn’t all about the Triple R.”

“The hell it isn’t.” His mouth twisted. “You’re marrying him to save the ranch. You’re marrying him for money. You said you were going to.”

Sammy Jo squirmed, infuriated beyond reason. Cooper wasn’t expecting her strength, and she was free before he could grab her again.

“Get off my property! Leave me alone, and just go away.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He twisted on one heel, heading toward the creek. So furious she could scarcely see straight, Sammy Jo lifted one small booted foot and gave him a little helpful heave-ho in the buttocks. Cooper stumbled and then to Sammy Jo’s consternation, fell into the water, his hat floating on the surface.

Sammy Jo’s eyes widened in horror. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she jumped forward, shocked at herself, ready to bolt as soon as his head reappeared. He would be furious! Oh, Lord, he would
kill
her!

He surfaced slowly, water streaming from his hair, his blue shirt sticking to his chest, his expression grim. He scooped up his hat and glared coldly at Sammy Jo. If Sammy Jo had ever seen murder in another person’s eyes, it was burning in Cooper’s at that moment.

Steepling her fingers, she rested them against her lips. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m really sorry. Really.”

Silently, he stalked up the muddy bank, slipping several times. Sammy Jo fought back a hysterical laugh. His eyes skewered hers and her own danced with mirth mingled with fear.

Cooper continued forward and Sammy Jo couldn’t help staggering backward. Pine branches tangled in her hair, holding her captive. She couldn’t break her gaze from his. There was no mercy in his eyes, just unrelenting, frigid fury.

“Cooper…‌really…‌I wasn’t thinking.”

“Do you ever?” he growled.

“You just made me so mad. I’m not proud of my tactics, but I’ll…‌I’ll make Brent a good wife. I will. It’ll work out.”

“Someone ought to teach you a lesson.”

She frowned, not liking the sound of that at all.

“You’ve got a mean temper.”

“You know, you’re right. I do. And you do, too, sort of,” she rattled on desperately, her fingers yanking on the pine branches to free herself.

“That’s true.” He loomed in front of her, bristling with male fury. “Someone ought to pound some sense into that hard head of yours.”

“Well, it’s not going to be you.” She ripped her hair free. “Ow!”

He grabbed her arm, his hand shooting out with the speed of a striking rattler. Sammy Jo automatically resisted, glaring at him. She wasn’t really afraid. She’d never been afraid of any man. But then, she’d never antagonized one quite so much before. At least not since she was a kid.

“Whatever you plan to do, don’t,” she advised. Her heart thundered, fear suddenly shooting through her veins like poison.

He pulled her forward. Intuitively, Sammy Jo knew he couldn’t decide whether to bend her over his knee to tan her hide or to kiss her. How silly. How ironic. It was enough to make her laugh aloud.

Her lips curved, drawing his gaze. “Cooper, I—”

His mouth swept down on hers, hard and crushing. Her blood rose with the demand, surging wildly in response, singing. She gasped and his tongue followed as she bent over his arms like a willow branch.

His hand was in the small of her back, fingers hard against her skin. Her shoulders touched the bark of the pine. His hips were hard against hers. His mouth promised pleasures she’d never dreamed of. Sammy Jo twisted away, but he was insistent, pulling her back, staring at her in such a way that her resistance melted like snow under a hot sun.

“I don’t…”

“Shh,” he warned her, and instead of an angry, pursuing male, she was suddenly faced with a man trying to gain control of his emotions. He closed his eyes, fighting some inner demon, and Sammy Jo, fascinated, didn’t use the opportunity to escape. Instead, she waited for him to open his eyes.

She wanted…‌something. Something he could give her. Reason fled beneath true sexual desire. When his lashes lifted, he gazed into eyes of crystal green.

“God,” he whispered, kissing her again, insistently. This time, Sammy Jo didn’t think of resistance. A small moan escaped her lips. The weight of his body was an intoxicant. She wanted to drag him closer, as close as possible, and he seemed intent on the same.

His hands slid up her back, around the front to cup her breast. He squeezed it hard and Sammy Jo panted, shocked and thrilled. The buttons of her shirt miraculously fell free and then his thumb traveled the edge of her bra.

Heaviness infused her breasts. They felt hard and liquid at the same time. Her knees were water. His mouth kept hers prisoner while one hand cupped her breast and his hips thrust against hers.

“Cooper,” Sammy Jo breathed, choking the name out.

The sound of her voice only spurred him onward, moving his hand downward to the curve of her hip. Sammy Jo swept in a breath, alarmed, yet when his hand slid up her inner thigh and began rhythmically rubbing through her jeans, she was too surprised and distracted by his boldness and the feel of it to do more than whisper a faint protest, which even to her ears sounded more like a moan of pleasure.

His fingers went to her belt. Above her head, the shriek of a blue jay nearly shattered her eardrum. Sammy Jo jumped. Her eyes flickered open. The jay scolded again and was joined by an irritated squirrel.

Reality struck, hard and painful. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, thrusting him away, her fists balling.

The glazed look he swept over her was almost her undoing, but horror had replaced desire, constricting her chest all over again.

“Kissing you,” he admitted frankly. “And more.”

“You forced yourself on me.”

His mouth formed a silent,
“What?”,
as incredulity filled his expression.

“You did,” Sammy Jo insisted. “I didn’t ask to be manhandled. You…‌threatened me.”

“You loved it.”

“I did no.” Sammy Jo shook with belated reaction. “I hate being touched, and especially hate being touched by you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

The childishness of their conversation wasn’t lost on either of them. Sammy Jo’s chin was thrust forward, daring him to refute her. Cooper examined her face emotionlessly. A sound rumbled faintly. It took Sammy Jo a moment to realize it was laughter, low in his throat.

“You’re too much,” he said, his amusement spilling into a roar of mirth. The man actually tipped back his head and howled.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“Yes, you do.” He brought himself under control with difficulty, passion dissipating with the release of emotion. “You’re the biggest liar, and you do most of your lying to yourself.”

That ticked her off royally. “I want the Triple R, and I’m going to make Brent Rollins a good wife.”

“I could have had you right now.”

Slapping his hat onto his head, he splashed back through the creek. Sammy Jo didn’t have time to do much, but she managed to scoop up some mud and fling it at him. It hit his shoulder, splattering like chocolate pudding to mark his entire shirt.

His deep chuckle was her only indication that he’d even noticed.

THE PRINCESS OF COLDWATER FLATS — NANCY BUSH

Chapter Seven

“Ornery, black-hearted, miserable, son-of-a-mongrel-dirt-chewing dog…‌doesn’t deserve to live on the planet…‌hope he chokes on his own self-importance and dies a horrible, screaming death…”

The litany had gone on for hours. Days, actually. Any time Sammy Jo was alone, she vented her feelings about Cooper Ryan. At the house. In the barn. In the fields. It didn’t matter that Ridge Range Ranch’s livestock didn’t seem to care. While the horses stared at her in gentle bewilderment, Sammy Jo kept up a stream of consciousness liberally sprinkled with words that would scorch the ears of the good, churchgoing people of Coldwater Flats, had they but heard them.

Sweating, Sammy Jo grabbed a bale by its twine and thumped it atop another at the crest of the hayloft. Her hands hurt, and she gasped for air. The air was dense as soup and almost as hot. Her eyes burned from floating bits of straw and dust.

She’d been called a lot of names over the years, some of them well and truly earned, but she’s never been treated so downright nastily by a member of the male sex. Who in God’s name did he think he was, anyway? Telling her she would have lain down and
done it
with
him!

“Bastard,” Sammy Jo muttered fiercely. She hated him. All the way down to the tips of her boots.

Men like Cooper Ryan gave the whole male population a bad name.

Gazing out the open hayloft door, she focused on the dots of cattle and horses in the field. As if of their own volition, her eyes turned toward Cooper’s property. Someone was standing by the fence about a quarter of a mile off. Cooper?

Sammy Jo aimed an imaginary rifle, pulled the trigger and blew him away. “Take that.”

Immediately, she felt like an idiot. What was wrong with her? So he’d been crude and superior and completely wrong. No reason to act like a child. She was going to marry Brent and she didn’t give a rat’s ass what Cooper Ryan or the rest of Coldwater Flats thought about it.

You’re the biggest liar. And you do most of your lying to yourself.

Through her anger, Sammy Jo could still feel the stab of that remark. It hadn’t been as pointed as some of his other comments, but it had been the one that hit vital tissue. She knew he meant she was lying about Brent in particular.

Uneasy, she returned to yanking hay bales around until exhaustion forced her back to the house. After pouring a glass of lemonade down her parched throat, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then gazed at the living room telephone. She’d avoided Brent since their date. She’d avoided everyone.

Wrinkling her nose, she placed the call she’d been dreading for days.

“Rollins Real Estate,” Brent’s sister, Connie, answered.

“Hi, this is Sammy Jo. Is Brent around?”

“Oh, hi, Sammy Jo. He’s showing the Pendleton house to some couple from California.”

“Think I can barge in?”

Sammy Jo could hear her chew on her pencil. “Gee, I don’t know.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll wait for his call.” She hung up, her hands staying on the receiver for long seconds afterward. It had been three days since her fight with Cooper. She touched her lips experimentally. Three days since he’d last kissed her.

Snorting, she flung herself onto the couch. Kissed her?
Kissed her?
Hah! He’d done a lot more than just press his lips to hers. He’d made one pretty heavy-duty pass, baby. Really heavy-duty.

…‌you do most of your lying to yourself…‌.

Covering her face with her hands, Sammy Jo groaned in anguish. He was right. Instead of kicking him where it counted, she’d practically tumbled to the ground and begged him to take her right then and there.

And, why?
Why?
Sammy Jo shook her head in consternation. Over and over again in the past, she’d ripped guys verbally up one side and down the other as soon as they made the slightest remark about her feminine attributes. She’d stopped them cold with drop-dead stares and “make my day” body language. And she’d kicked butt a few times, too, although that was mainly when she’d been horsing around.

Why had she reacted so differently to Cooper? Why had she wanted him? Why did she
still
want him?

Sammy Jo groaned again and closed her eyes. “Holy moley,” she muttered through her teeth.

The phone rang and she jumped, staring at the receiver as if it might suddenly sprout fangs. Gingerly she picked it up. “Hello?”

“Sammy Jo, honey, I heard you called,” Brent said, his voice thick with relief. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. We’ve got to get you a cell phone.”

“I’ve really been busy. And I’ve got this thing with my throat, too.” Sammy Jo manufactured a cough, gooseflesh rising on her arms as she once again recalled Cooper’s accusations about her lies.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Fine. I just needed some time…‌to recover.”

“Good, well, are you busy tonight? I’d like to show you some things.”

“What kind of things?” she asked doubtfully.

“Some documents I had drawn up. Nothing big.”

“A prenup agreement?” Sammy Jo was faintly amused.

“Oh, no! What’s mine is yours. It’s just a way for us to seal our plans in a meaningful way.”

Sammy Jo was uncertain she liked the sound of that. Sighing, she said, “Why don’t you come for dinner? We’ll have corn on the cob, chicken salad and lemonade.”

“I’ll bring a bottle of champagne,” he agreed happily and rang off.

Vaguely disquieted, Sammy Jo wandered back to the kitchen. Could she marry Brent? Really? Could she?

Of course she could.

Slopping together a tuna and sweet pickle sandwich with more speed than style, Sammy Jo munched noisily and stared out the window. It was high noon, hot as a pistol, the sky more white than blue. Far off she could see the dark gathering of thunderclouds. Good, she thought. She could use a good storm. For some reason, she felt as if she were going to explode.