Wyoming Bride (13 page)

Hannah stared, too enervated to move. She wasn’t sure what she’d said to amuse Flint, but she was glad he wasn’t angry that she’d called a halt to his lovemaking.
Lovemaking
. That word suggested feelings that didn’t exist between the two of them.
Seduction
. That was more to the point.

Flint crossed to the low wooden chest at the foot of the bed and began rummaging through it, finally coming out with another gray blanket. “I might be foolish enough to share the bed,” he said, “but I think I’ll sleep on top of the covers.”

Hannah was still frozen in place as he began to ready himself for bed. She turned slightly away to give him privacy. But gazing at the fireplace, where a warm, cheery fire was burning, gave her far too much time to think.

She touched her still-damp lips. She’d liked Flint’s kiss far more than she’d expected, probably because it had involved more than lips. Their bodies had been entwined, and she’d felt the warmth and the strength of him. His hands had been thrust into her hair, pulling her head back so he could claim her mouth.

Hannah shivered.

“Hey, you’re getting cold. You better get under the covers,” Flint said.

“Right,” Hannah replied, crossing to the bed and turning down the covers. Her body was still quivering with remembered pleasure. She’d wanted to be courted, but Flint seemed to have skipped over several steps, like holding hands and taking walks, to kisses that involved not just lips, but teeth and tongues.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared while Flint pulled off his vest and began unbuttoning his shirt. She’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he leave the room while she disrobed, because he’d seen all there was to see, but she hadn’t realized how discombobulating it would be to watch this almost-stranger strip down.

Hannah found herself entranced as Flint dropped his shirt on a nearby chair, leaving him in his long john shirt. There was nothing skinny about this man. She was admiring the breadth of his shoulders when he pulled the long john shirt off over his head.

She suppressed a gasp. Everything about him looked hard as rock, from ridged abdomen to broad chest, from sinewy forearms where veins stood out, to shoulders rippling with muscle. When he looked up and caught her staring, she flushed and said, “You’re beautiful.”

He looked surprised, then made a face. “That’s the wrong word to describe a man.”

“Nevertheless, you are.”

Abruptly, he grabbed his long john shirt and pulled it back on. Then he retrieved his plaid wool shirt and thrust one arm into a sleeve. He hunted for the other sleeve behind his back as he said, “I just realized I forgot to put some harness away in the barn.”

A moment later he was gone.

Hannah stared at the closed bedroom door. So this was
desire
. Or was it
lust
? Whichever it was, she’d better figure out a way to control it. At least until she was sure Flint wasn’t in love with his brother’s fiancée.

Flint didn’t know what had come over him. He’d kissed Hannah because he’d thought that would prove to her the danger of the two of them sleeping in the same bed. What had happened next had been totally unexpected. Especially in light of the fact that he was in love with another woman.

He stared at Ransom’s closed bedroom door before he headed downstairs, buttoning his shirt along the way. He wondered if his brother was doing with Emaline what he’d been doing with Hannah. That way lay madness. He hurried downstairs and left the house through the kitchen, headed to the barn. There was enough moonlight to see his way but he lit a lantern before he closed the barn door behind him.

Most of the horses remained as they were in their stalls, dozing on three legs or lying down in the straw. He hadn’t taken two steps into the barn before he was assailed by the pungent odor of manure. Another step brought the smell of fresh hay and leather.

“You awake, Buck?” he called out.

A moment later, his horse’s head appeared over the top of a wooden stall door.

Flint hung the lantern on a nearby hook, then crossed to the stall and reached out to stroke Buck’s neck. “Yeah, I know it’s late,” he said. “But I needed to talk, and you’re a good listener.”

The horse shook his head and snorted.

“My problem is a woman, of course. What else could it be?” He laughed at himself. “Rustlers, I suppose. I’ve got a hundred head of cattle missing and a pretty good idea that the man who stole them is the meanest, baddest—and second-richest—guy around.

“Patton could hide a hundred head of my stock in some arroyo on his property for months, and I’d never know it. Or hot iron my CC brand into his OOX, run those steers down to Cheyenne, and ship them east. I’ve got no way of proving one way or the other that he took them.

“But that’s not what’s worrying me tonight. Tonight it’s a woman. Her name is Hannah and she’s … different.”

Maybe that was why he felt so attracted to her, almost against his will. He loved Emaline. He couldn’t understand how this other woman could so quickly turn him into a stag in rut. He found it funny—more odd, really, than ha-ha funny—that he’d felt incensed at the thought of handing Hannah over to Ransom. Especially when he was perfectly happy with the thought of Ransom handing Emaline over to him.

He couldn’t have them both.

What if you could have both and had to choose? Emaline, of course. No question, no hesitation, no—

Flint found himself hesitating, nonetheless. Why? What was it about Hannah McMurtry that he found so appealing? How had he let her get under his skin? Why could she make his body turn hot and hard in an instant when such a thing had never—not ever—happened with Emaline?

“It’s because I’ve seen Hannah naked,” Flint said as he shoved Buck’s mane back and smoothed his hand over the horse’s neck. “Even though I’ve laid eyes on every square inch of her, I only allowed myself to touch her enough to do what needed to be done to make her well. I wanted to touch more. A lot more. It’s only because I was tempted, and resisted that temptation, that I want to do more now,” he told Buck.

He stopped rubbing the horse’s neck as he realized that was probably the answer he’d been seeking.

The horse shoved his nose against Flint’s chest, looking for more attention. Buck lowered his head, and Flint laughed. “All right. I know what you want.” He scratched behind the animal’s ears while Buck hung his head low and stayed still.

“I’ll tell you this,” Flint said. “I’m not going to succumb to temptation. I only want Hannah so bad because I’ve been too long without a woman. Yes, she’s damned pretty. But she doesn’t have Emaline’s dark beauty,” he said. “Hmm. Maybe that’s why I find myself so drawn to her. Hannah’s so very different from Emaline.”

Buck lifted his head, and Flint continued scratching, this time under the horse’s chin.

“Hannah’s taller than Emaline, which means she’ll fit against me better in all the right places. And she has those wild, untamed blond curls, which makes me wonder, Buck, if she’s anything like her hair. Emaline’s hair is always combed so perfectly, every hair in its proper place, which is why I think of Emaline in terms of perfection, I suppose.

“Hannah has those forthright, almost bold blue eyes. She’s not at all demure like Emaline. And Hannah’s body …”

Flint stopped stroking his horse and let his mind’s eye review Hannah’s naked form, a body he’d seen in the flesh, so he knew how very flawless—and very female—it was.

Emaline was always the picture of propriety, dressed in a rigid, tightly laced corset and a dress that came up to her throat, down to her toes, and covered her arms all the way to the wrists. He could
imagine
what lay beneath the sober, well-designed cloth. But he didn’t
know
.

With Hannah there was no guessing, no wondering. Emaline might be a lady. But he knew for a fact that Hannah was all woman.

That was the problem. He didn’t have to imagine Hannah naked in his bed. He could remember the exact feel of the parts of her smooth, silky skin it had been necessary to touch. He’d had his hands in her hair as it tumbled over his pillow. He’d even imagined what it might be like to lie beside her but denied himself the pleasure.

That was it. All this denial was making him crave something he didn’t even want. He wanted Emaline, damn it!

Buck shoved his head against Flint’s chest, and he realized he’d stopped stroking the animal. He found another favorite spot, at the base of Buck’s throat, and began scratching again.

Considering how long he’d been without a woman, it was no mystery that he was knotted up inside as tight as a wet rope. “I would have reacted to any female the way I reacted to Hannah tonight,” he told Buck.

Buck snorted and nodded his head.

Flint laughed and rubbed Buck’s jaw, then slid his hand down over his horse’s muzzle. “I should be getting some shut-eye, not standing out here talking to you. Only problem is, there’s a woman in my bed.”

An image of Hannah standing beside his bed wearing nothing but his plaid wool shirt and his too-large gray socks rose in his mind. His body reacted violently and insistently.

Flint swore.

“She might as well have been naked,” he told Buck. “Because I knew what she looked like under my clothes. Yes,
my
clothes. I could have had them off of her in two seconds flat.”

He straightened Buck’s forelock so it lay in the center of the horse’s forehead. “If only I hadn’t needed to undress her. If only I hadn’t seen everything. Nipples like pink rosebuds. That slightly rounded belly.”

Flint stepped back and held out his callused hands and stared at them. “A waist I could span with these two hands. And those legs of hers. Long and sleek. And strong, I bet. Strong enough to wrap around me.”

Buck whinnied, and Flint realized the animal must have sensed how agitated he was in body and mind. He gripped the edge of the stall door and took a deep breath and huffed it out. That didn’t really help the most obvious problem.

He was hard as a rock.

“I’d better get back inside,” he said as he met Buck’s steady, brown-eyed gaze. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy to spend the night in bed with her. What choice do I have? It’s either a soft bed in there or a pile of scratchy hay out here. I choose the soft bed, no matter how much more agony it causes.”

It was going to be sweet misery lying there on his back staring at the ceiling and wanting second best. At least he would have something to distract him from thoughts of Emaline with his brother. Flint scowled as he imagined Ransom undressing Emaline, seeing what he yearned to discover for himself.

Buck sidestepped and shook his head up and down.

“Don’t get yourself all het up,” Flint said in a soothing voice. “I’m taking my frustration and leaving.”

He’d only moved a couple of steps toward the door when Buck’s head reappeared over the stall door. Flint turned back to give his horse a consoling pat on the side of his neck. “None of this is your fault. I promise not to take it out on you like I did the other day, running you hell-bent-for-leather. Just be patient if you find me a bit distracted over the next couple of weeks.”

Buck nickered.

Flint laughed at the horse—and at himself. “Yeah, we’re two crazy fools, all right. Good night, Buck. See you in the morning, hopefully in a better mood than I’m in tonight.”

Flint blew out the lantern and left the barn, determined to keep his hands off Hannah, no matter what. He didn’t want her. He wanted Emaline. He could wait to see whether Emaline and Ransom came to some agreement. The prize was within his grasp. He had no intention of ruining things by succumbing to the siren call of Mrs. Hannah McMurtry.

Hannah was already in bed, dressed in one of Flint’s wool shirts, by the time he returned to the bedroom. The lantern was extinguished but she could see his silhouette in the scant moonlight. She opened her mouth to greet him, but a lump was lodged in her throat like a ragged stone.

She realized Flint was undressing when she heard him removing clothing. Cowboy boots hit the floor with two heavy
thunks
. His belt
clinked
as he unbuckled it and
clunked
as it hit the floor. She heard the soft brush of Levi’s, the
whoosh
of his wool shirt dropping on the ladderback chair beside the window, and finally, the chuffing exhale as he pulled his long john shirt off over his head.