Cowboy's Kiss (5 page)

“Whoa there, slow down. There's no hurry—I haven't headed for the shed to get your gear yet,” he told her when she reached him, ruffling up her hair.

But the feel of those silky locks flashed him back to the night before, and it wasn't the child's hair he was focused on so much as the memory of fingering the long strand of Ally's curls. And somehow what shot through him at that moment, purely in response to the mother, was the same thing that had washed over him when he'd had Ally before him.

But it didn't seem to fit with just being riled by the woman.

No, if he'd had no other reason to want Ally Brooks off his ranch before, he had an all-fired powerful one right then.

He'd be damned if he'd let anything start up with another woman who didn't belong here.

No matter what.

* * *

Ally was in the kitchen packing the saddlebags Jackson had brought her when Beth came in through one of the sliding doors from the patio.

“‘Morning,” the pregnant woman greeted as she did.

“‘Morning,” Ally answered, though she'd been up so long by then it seemed as though it ought to be afternoon.

“What's all that?” Beth asked with a nod at the food Ally was carefully putting into the heavy leather satchels.

“Lunch.”

“Ah. Better bring a lot to drink, too, it's a hot one out there today.” She stole a cucumber-and-dilled-cream-cheese pinwheel before Ally wrapped them. “We just finished up at my place. Jackson was headed here with me but he stopped to see how Meggie was doing with the eggs. He told me to tell you it was time to leave and send you out.”

Jackson with Meggie?

Trying not to be too obvious, Ally went to the kitchen sink and rinsed her hands while taking a quick glance outside.

She couldn't see the chicken coop from there, but she imagined she could hear the harsh criticisms and rebukes that poor, defenseless Meggie was no doubt suffering at that very moment from the man who didn't want them around.

“Relax,” Beth said from where she sat on a stool at the butcher block. “Jackson is great with kids. He should have a dozen of his own.”

Only if they didn't show up without warning to trespass on his precious ranch, Ally thought, tempted to rush out of the kitchen to her child.

But she knew that wasn't a good idea, that what she was imagining was probably not happening and that charging in, in her overprotective-mother mode, would only make Meggie think there was something to be afraid of from Jackson. Ally had to hope that wasn't the case. Certainly if what she'd seen of his treatment of her daughter the night before was any indication, there was nothing to worry about.

So why was she worrying?

“How about you?” Beth asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you want more kids?”

Standing at the window wasn't doing her any good, so Ally decided a better course of action would be to finish packing the lunch so she'd have an excuse to get outside to Meggie.

Somewhat belatedly she answered Beth's question as she went back to the butcher block. “I'd like to have more kids, yes.” But mostly she'd just like to save the one she had now. She no longer carefully set food in among the cold packs, but stuffed everything in in a hurry.

“I know that in this mood Jackson seems pretty daunting, but he really isn't as fierce as you may think,” Beth said again as if she could tell what was going through Ally's mind. “You have to understand what this ranch means to him.”

“He made the analogy that it was like his child.”

“It's true. Just the way Meggie is your child. And think how you'd feel if someone showed up one day to claim part of her. But he'll get used to the idea if you just give him a little time. And then you'll see that underneath that stern, tough exterior is a pretty tender heart.”

Ally thought that she'd have to see it to believe it. But the lunch was all stowed in the saddlebags by then and she didn't want to waste time debating the subject.

Instead she hoisted the satchel to her shoulder, surprised by the weight and leaning low on that side because of it. “I'd better let him know I'm ready to go,” she said by way of an exit line.

Beth followed her out. “I came over to tell you that I'll be around all day—along with Hans and Marta—to look after Meggie, so you don't need to be concerned about her. Not that you'd need to be even if it was just Hans and Marta. They've been friends of the family for years and years. Hans used to run the lumber mill, then he retired, but the two of them were getting on each other's nerves, so Jackson offered them light work here. It helps him out and them, too.”

Ally didn't think it prudent to tell Beth that it wasn't Hans and Marta she was worried about.

Beth went on as they headed for the barnyard. “Hans and Marta just got back from an extended vacation to Sweden to visit relatives they haven't seen since they came to this country as newlyweds. The trip was Jackson's gift to them for their fiftieth wedding anniversary this past May. They've been gone almost all summer.”

Ally assumed this sudden wealth of information was meant to illustrate just what a good guy Jackson really was. But at the moment it didn't help ease her mind.

And then the two of them turned a corner of the paddock fence and came upon Jackson and Meggie not too far in the distance.

Ally's steps slowed as she drew near and finally stopped just short of reaching them, shocked to the core by what she was seeing and hearing.

Jackson was teaching her daughter to paint a doghouse. He was actually smiling and so was Meggie as the deep sound of his voice carried to Ally.

There were certainly no harsh criticisms or rebukes coming from him, though he also wasn't fawning over the child or talking down to her, either, the way some people who didn't have any experience with kids did. Instead he was treating her with the same respect he would have an adult. And something about the way he took for granted that Meggie could do the job once he'd shown her how seemed to make Meggie respond with a new self-confidence.

“See?” Beth said from beside her. “Nothing to worry about. Kids and animals—Jackson is great with them.”

He caught sight of Ally and his sister just then, took a sweat-stained Stetson from the doghouse's roof to put on his head, patted Meggie on the back, and crossed to them. As he did, his expression changed completely—sobering first, then turning fierce.

“It's about time,” he growled.

Beth let out a laugh, turned and left as Jackson reached Ally to stand accusingly before her, his legs apart, his hands on his hips, his head slightly forward on his neck as if he were a drill sergeant berating a miscreant private.

“How long does it take to make a few sandwiches?”

Ally just stared at him for a moment, amazed by the transformation between what she'd witnessed of him with Meggie and what faced her now. Jekyll and Hyde, alive and living in Wyoming.

Still, she was grateful that Meggie was seeing the Dr. Jekyll side.

But she didn't answer his question. Instead she set the saddlebags on the ground at his booted feet and stepped around him to go to Meggie to kiss her goodbye. Then she came back.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked as brusquely as he had.

His cornflower blue eyes narrowed at her as if the look alone could put her in her place. Then he blew out a derisive snort of a breath and headed for the barn. “Saddle up,” he ordered.

Saddle up? Did he mean find a horse and mount it or did she actually need to put a saddle on one?

She had to jog to catch up with him, because after having given the command he hadn't waited for her to fall into step, and his long legs carried him away fast, even with the heavy leather bags slung over one broad shoulder as if they were no more than a towel he'd used to dry himself after a shower.

As she followed, Ally wondered whether to tell him that all the horses she'd ridden had come already saddled or to try bluffing her way through the task if he'd meant she needed to do it herself.

How difficult could it be? A bunch of straps and buckles. Like a pair of shoes. Just match up the right strap with the right buckle and that was that.

Wasn't it?

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

But the one thing she was sure of was that if she told Jackson she'd only ridden the presaddled kind and didn't know how to go about doing it from scratch, he'd bite her head off. So she decided to go with the how-hard-could-it-be theory.

Still, she was not at all disappointed to find “saddle up” had been an order to get on an already saddled horse.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they headed for two that were tied to the paddock fence waiting for them.

“The men are already out rounding up the herd,” he informed her as if she'd asked, swinging easily up onto the taller of the animals after he'd attached the saddlebags.

So much for gallantry or helping a lady mount.

Ally was left standing beside a gray mare, her eyes barely level with the curve of the saddle seat.

Somehow the camp horses had seemed shorter than these ranch horses. Plus there had always been a stable boy to offer a boot up. Or a tennis shoe up as it were, because Ally didn't own any cowboy boots.

But here she was on her own.

“Whoa, girl,” she murmured, though the animal was only standing docilely in place, staring at the white rail in front of it.

Hoping the horse was as calm as it looked, Ally pulled her knee nearly to her chin to get her foot into the stirrup.

She missed.

It was higher than she'd thought.

She took a step backward and tried again.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jackson barked when she missed a second time. “Move ‘er beside the fence and climb on from there if you have to,” he ordered disgustedly.

Wishing she'd thought of that herself, Ally took his advice, finally making it into the saddle. She felt good about it until she realized she couldn't reach the reins to untie them.

Jackson realized it, too, at about the same time.

“Damned woman,” he muttered under his breath. And with that, he reached over to yank the reins free and handed them to her.

Then he nudged his own mount and headed away from the barn, leaving Ally to play catch-up again.

“Oh, this is going to be loads of fun,” she grumbled to herself so softly she didn't think he could possibly hear her.

She was wrong.

“We aren't out here to have fun. We're here to work,” he barked at her.

And though she knew it was childish, she couldn't help sticking out her tongue at his back.

His broad, straight back...

She hated herself for noticing that. For admiring the magnificence of the man in the saddle. For appreciating the graceful way he rode, flowing with the rhythm of the animal so smoothly horse and rider could have been floating on air.

And it didn't help matters at all that her wayward gaze slid to the jeans pockets that so snugly hugged his great derriere, then slipped right on down the thick, hard thighs that finessed the horse with subtle pressure to do his bidding.

Ally suffered a sudden horribly delicious image of those same thighs on either side of her, nudging, guiding, riding....

Her mouth went dry, her heart raced, and beads of perspiration erupted on her upper lip.

Could she be suffering heatstroke already?

But she knew better.

Hunk stroke was more like it.

And it would never do. She had to fight it. To keep her thoughts—and her eyes—off him.

It helped that about then they reached the section of the range where the ranch hands were.

It
didn't
help that Ally couldn't keep herself from comparing the other men to Jackson or that they came up short as he did a cursory, first-names-only introduction.

Then he solved the problem of distraction for her.

“You'll take up the rear,” he told her. “That means you keep an eye out for any of the herd that try to stray, and don't let them.”

At that, one of the cowboys grimaced and exchanged a glance with the man beside him.

Ally wondered why but didn't say anything as she waited for Jackson to explain how she was supposed to keep a cow with wanderlust from roaming.

But further instructions never came. Instead he shouted, “Let's move ‘em out of here,” to the ranch hands and they all took off.

For a moment Ally just sat there, watching them go and feeling like an idiot for not knowing what to do. Then she realized the only way she was going to learn was by trial and error, because Jackson was not likely to fill her in. So she set her horse to a canter and followed along, taking up a place behind the herd as the cowboys hee-yawed them into motion.

It didn't take long for Ally to understand the reason she'd been given the rear position, or the cowboys' reaction to her being relegated to it. Driving cattle on a dry, ninety-five-degree day was dirty, dusty work. And Ally got the worst of it as she rode straight into the clouds the cattle and horses stirred up.

By the time they stopped near a stream for lunch, she felt as if she'd personally experienced the dust bowl. She was covered with grit from head to toe. It crunched beneath her teeth, clogged her nose and scratched her eyes. Every fold of her clothes carried enough soil to pot houseplants; it had settled into the creases of her skin and sifted through her hair to her scalp. Even her ears were full of it.

Off their horses the men all went to the stream to wash their hands and splash water on their faces.

Ally joined them and then—though she hated having to do it and turned away from them when she did—she had to use some of the canteen water to swish in her mouth and spit out, and blow her nose on the tissue she'd luckily stuffed into her pocket before they'd left.

And still she was dirtier than she'd ever been in her life. Which was no doubt exactly what Jackson had had in mind.