Dare to Kiss a Cowboy Page 6

  Only one thing could engross Nicole so completely. Dusty Dare. Nicole was infatuated with her new uncle. Probably even more so, after the kitten episode this afternoon. Anna felt a lurch in her stomach as a thought occurred to her. What if Mr. Dare had a date, and they were, well, in his private pool making, er, doing private things?

  Her heart began to thud as she made quick work of the incline. She didn’t know why the image of her boss making love with a woman would affect her so negatively. His sex life wasn’t her business.

  She stepped onto the cement patio that surrounded the pool, trying to block out the sexy image her mind was forcing on her. “Nicole,” she whispered, dreading that Mr. Dare would find out what his niece was up to, “what are you doing?”

  The girl jerked around, then straightened, her eyes saucer-wide. Without a word she fled along the patio to vault a short flight of steps to the upper veranda and disappear into the house.

  Anna propped her fists on her hips, frowning after the girl. There was nothing to do about it now, she supposed. Turning away with a tired sigh, she decided she’d speak to Nicole and never mention this to her boss. As she began to make her way back toward the lawn, she saw something sparkle where Nicole had been crouching. She looked down, worried that the teen had lost a necklace or an earring. Kneeling, she picked it up, only to discover it was just a shiny candy wrapper.

  At that second, she glanced up. Between two boards that didn’t quite meet, she could see a man emerge from the pool, broad shoulders gleaming with cascading water as he rose. His trim flat belly coming into view, he bounded up the pool steps, then—

  The high-pitched gasp she heard startled her. It was another second before she realized the sound had come from her own lips and, worse, had been loud enough to be heard beyond the fence by a very gorgeous and very nude male, who was now wrapping a towel around his hips. Frozen, she could only watch as he looked accusingly toward the fence.

  She knew what he was thinking and felt ill. With his angry expression burned in her mind, she managed to straighten, the urge to run—to save herself—strong within her. But that would be cowardly, and she would be acting no better than Nicole if she did.

  “Who’s out there?” he called.

  Before she could manage to respond or figure out a way to shrivel up and disappear forever, the fence door slammed open and he was confronting her, dripping and angrier than she’d ever seen him.

  “I might have expected something like this from Nicole,” he said, his voice positively glacial. “Your boyfriend must be sadly lacking if you have to get your jollies ogling naked men.”

  She tried to breathe, but something wasn’t working, and she was only able to take tiny hurtful pants. “I...I...” She gulped. “Mr. Dare, I know it must look—”

  “The Andrews are quite a clan,” he interrupted, taking a threatening step toward her. “A thief and a voyeur.” With taunting deliberateness his fingers curved about the nape of her neck, and he tugged her into his damp embrace.

  Demanding lips came down on hers, devouring their softness. Too stunned to react, she sagged against him, jolted by the intoxicating rage of his kiss. His hands locked against her spine, holding her to him with rough authority. His kiss challenged, mocked, yet somehow caressed, and her emotions bounced and skidded together in a cacophony of confused messages.

  All too soon it was over, and he released her. As she staggered backward, slack-jawed, he warned softly, “Paybacks are hell, sugar. Next time, indulging in your kinky hobby will cost you more than a simple little kiss.”

  He strode away, and she stared after him, mortified by his scorn. At the same time, the unwanted thrill of his kiss, lingering on her mouth, made her giddy, unable to think clearly. Sinking to cement that still held the warmth of the day’s sun, she slumped against the fence. Dusty Dare had caught her peeking at him—accident or not. He thought she’d been purposely spying—no, ogling him. Naked! Closing her eyes, she let out a humiliated moan.

  But not all her despair was because of her embarrassment. She was mortified, too, by the fact that she’d never felt so alive in her life before tonight, never thrilled so completely to the touch of a man’s lips!

  Dusty Dare was all fireworks. She forced herself to recall her mother’s warning. “Don’t be fooled by fireworks, Anna. Fireworks fade. Marry a nice dependable man like Bruce.” Thad was exactly the kind of man her mother would have loved. Nice and dependable.

  With a shaking hand, she smoothed back a wisp of hair and tried to put thoughts of Dusty’s sparklers-and-skyrocket kiss from her brain. But her brain wasn’t buying. There was not going to be any forgetting that experience. A simple, little kiss, he’d called it. She exhaled long and low, rubbing her pounding temples. There was nothing simple or little about that kiss.

  Still shaking, she managed to stand up and stumble off into the darkness. Suddenly it hit her. She had to meet with the man in—she jerked up her wrist to check her watch—in half an hour.

  IN SOME KIND of cosmic cruelty, the minutes now flew by, and before she knew it, her watch said ten o’clock. Anna approached her boss’s office with all the joy of a person who had a date with a branding iron. When she reached the door, she was sorry to see it wide open, so the instant she appeared in the doorway, she made a perfect target.

  When she peeked in, he was absorbed in some papers and didn’t appear to either see or hear her. She stood, hesitant, unwilling to begin this latest and possibly last confrontation between them.

  “If you’re waiting for me to take my clothes off, forget it,” he said from behind a sheaf of papers. “You’ve had your freebie. Come in and sit down.”

  She jumped at the stringent sound of his voice. Without speaking and not sure she could if she tried, she crept into the office to take a seat in one of the antique chairs he no doubt kept there to make misbehaving employees as miserable as possible.

  There was a long silence as he kept her waiting while he read—and read and read. She balled her fists, crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Counted the trophies in the trophy case, lost count in her nervousness, gave up and simply stared at the brown round-toed roper boots Dusty had propped on his desk. Her gaze moved of its own volition along rangy, indigo-swathed legs to a flat-bellied waist where a silver buckle glimmered. Continuing her unauthorized survey, she took in his rust-colored button-down shirt.

  He was dressed in starched, tasteful cutter’s basics, and he looked like a million bucks. Just as he had without clothes.

  “Undressing me with your eyes, Miss Andrews?” he asked, sounding vaguely amused. “I feel so used.”

  Her gaze shot to his face. A malicious twinkle lit his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were tipped slightly upward. She blinked. “I was—” Stopping short in her heated defense, she recalled her vow not to talk back to him. She would appease this man at all costs. He could think what he wanted, say what he pleased. Nothing was as important as saving Steven from prison. Clamping her jaws shut, she sat still and met his bedeviling perusal straight on.

  “So you admit it,” he coaxed, putting the papers on the desk and placing his feet on the floor.

  She swallowed. “Anything you say, sir,” she managed in a tight whisper.

  He cocked his head. A small frown wrinkled his brow. “What, no fiery denial, no hostile justification?”

  Fidgeting, she recrossed her ankles, holding his dubious gaze with difficulty. “No, sir.” Yearning for her inquisition to end, she decided to screw up her courage and get it over with. Her voice as raspy as the rustle of dry leaves, she leaned forward, pleading, “Please don’t fire me, Mr. Dare. I’ll do better. I won’t argue or talk back. Just don’t call the authorities about Steven. I’m begging you. And I know you won’t believe this, but I really wasn’t spying on you—it was an accident. I’ll do whatever you ask, only give me another chance.” Feeling as though she didn’t have a scrap of air left in her body, she sank back into the chair, clutching its arms, fearful she’d sag all the way
to the floor if she let go.

  In the stillness, he watched her, his expression gradually becoming a stony mask, and Anna was at a loss as to what she’d done to make him angry this time. She’d tried her best to pacify him. All that was left was to leap over his desk and kiss his feet. What did the man want? Blood?

  A momentary look of discomfort flitted across his face. He shifted in his leather chair, and it squeaked. He rested his forearms on his desk. “That was hard for you, wasn’t it?” he observed quietly.

  She nodded, not quite sure where this was going.

  He steepled his fingers, his eyes boring into hers. “Miss Andrews, whatever other failings you might have, I have to admit you’ve got guts. That’s more than I can say for your brother.” Picking up his papers, he stood and walked over to stand above her. Holding out the papers, he added, “File these for me.” Then without another word, he headed for the door.

  Managing to grasp the pages before they dropped to the floor, she twisted around to stare at his back. “Is that it? Is that all you have to say? You only wanted me to file these? I... I begged you to let me keep my job for nothing?”

  He turned, framed by the doors. “It wasn’t for nothing, Miss Andrews. Let’s say we both bared our...souls tonight.” His lips lifted in a lazy smile. “I’d say your groveling makes us even.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t.” She jumped to her feet, her temper flaring. “You kissed me, remember!”

  He inclined his head, inquiringly. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  She felt a shiver of loathing—at least she chose to believe that was what it was. “I’d rather kiss muddy socks!”

  It upset Anna to notice that her retort didn’t douse the mocking twinkle in his eyes. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he said, “Oh, one other thing. I’m having guests tomorrow evening. Twenty. We’ll be taking a ride around the ranch at five. Have horses ready. Hunky will know which ones. And, of course, as my manager, you’ll be expected to ride along.”

  He was gone before she had a chance to respond, ask questions or throw a chair at his head—which is what she really felt like doing. He’d played a vindictive game, making her fret and wonder what he was going to do to her. Further payback, no doubt. Oh, how she hated the man!

  There was a crackling sound, and Anna realized she was crumpling the papers he’d wanted filed. She stared down at them, feeling a mutinous urge to throw them into the air and walk out. Then it dawned on her. She was filing papers and going riding tomorrow night because as his manager she’d be expected to. She was still his employee, and he hadn’t called the police about Steven.

  Unsteady on her feet, she sank into the spindly chair and thanked Providence for giving her another chance, however agonizing the price.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANNA HAD BEEN AMAZED and relieved when the ride around the ranch with Dusty’s guests went off without a hitch. Her boss had hardly spoken to her, which hadn’t amazed her. Neither had the fact that, on the few times he had addressed her, his expression had been far from cordial.

  As soon as she’d been able, Anna had slipped off to her cottage. Even though it was more than two hundred yards away from the pool, she could hear the hoots and laughter of Mr. Dare’s boisterous guests as they ate barbecue and mingled, talking and laughing around the pool.

  Anna had spent the rest of the evening trying to read a mystery novel but found the effort hopeless, her attention continually drawn back to the increasingly wild goings-on of Dusty and his friends. Finally she’d dropped off to sleep.

  Over coffee the next morning she yawned, suffering from her lack of sleep, and wondered how Dusty was feeling. She squelched the thought. His unprincipled life-style was no concern of hers. Besides she had problems of her own, namely Thad, who had arrived bright and early both yesterday and today with new medication and an amorous glint in his eyes.

  Shoving thoughts of both men from her mind, Anna headed for the practice pen to start training Freckle. Getting to work with Freckle was the one good thing that had come out of that ride around the ranch last night. Before she’d escaped, Dusty had pulled Anna aside and reluctantly admitted that the mare needed to be worked before some upcoming competitions. He’d made it clear he had no choice but to allow Anna to do it.

  She smiled to herself. Freckle was a wonderful horse. Quick to learn. Her biggest weakness was some sloppiness in her turns, but Anna was sure she could cure the horse of that this morning.

  She sat astride Freckle in the outdoor pen, watching a white-faced cow. Suddenly the cow tried to dash across the pen. Anna kept Freckle still for a count of two, then signaled her to turn. The mare dropped back on her hocks but not far enough to make the turn without touching her front feet to the ground. “Sweetheart, that’s not good enough,” Anna murmured, lightly touching the mare’s flank with her spur to coax her to try harder.

  The cow darted away from them, so Anna used leg pressure to get Freckle to break left, then right, then left again, keeping the horse’s moves synchronized with the cow’s. “Just keep your eyes on her, Freckle. Concentrate, sweetheart.” The cow zigged right, and Freckle lurched that way. “Good eye, good eye,” she whispered. Anna knew that training a horse was like raising a child. You had to make them respect you, but they responded better to love and a kind word than fear and abuse.

  The heifer ran to the fence. The mare advanced, but Anna reined her in ten feet away. That way Freckle still had control over the cow, but wouldn’t become pressed against the barrier or start depending on it to contain the cow. When the cow came off the fence, Freckle rolled back on her hocks a second time and made a smooth turn, blocking the heifer’s escape. Elated by Freckle’s swift improvement, Anna murmured, “Good girl. You didn’t drop those front—”

  “Punkin Pie,” called a gruff old voice, “that mare’ll be spinnin’ on a shirt button ’for the day’s out.”

  Anna grinned as her uncle limped out of the indoor arena to open the gate to the big round pen. As he stepped in, Freckle continued to control the cow in a series of textbook-perfect turns until the heifer stopped, giving up. Anna cued Freckle to stop working the little cow, then dismounted. Giving the horse an affectionate nuzzle, she looped the reins around the top rail.

  “Uncle Bud!” She ran through the dust she and Freckle had stirred up to hug the old man. Due to his accident, he was a little stooped, making him just her height. “I didn’t expect to see you here!” she cried happily, kissing his weathered cheek, which smelled of dust and inexpensive after-shave.

  She stepped back to look at him. Bud Sawyer was a true old-time cowboy. From the top of his sweat-stained straw hat to his scarred boots and jangling spurs, he was a walking example of a proud and dying American breed. A breed of strong men, brave and uncomplaining, who ignored the danger and the damage inflicted on their bodies, because their work was as essential to them as breathing.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her expression serious. “Anything wrong? You’re feeling okay, aren’t you?”

  He chortled, his watery blue eyes filling with impish glee. Suspicion prickled along her spine. “What is it, Uncle Bud?” A thought hit her, and she grabbed his hands. “Is it Steven? Has he come back?”

  Bud’s smile faded and he shook his head. “No such luck, Punkin, but I think you’ll be right pleased with what I’ve brought ya.”

  Anna was perplexed, but she followed him from the pen. Remembering Freckle, she yelled for Hunky, who had been repairing a fence nearby, to take care of the mare. Then she and Bud walked through the cavernous indoor arena until they were outside again and in front of the stable.

  Parked on the gravel drive was a pickup and livestock trailer, which Anna recognized. They belonged to a neighbor of theirs, Euby Hobbs. He was helping Ben and Flint unload the trailer. When she caught sight of what they were unloading, Anna hoped she was having a nightmare. “Goats?” The word came out high-pitched and faint.

  Uncle Bud chuckled and gave her such a healthy pat on the
back she stumbled forward. “I know’d you’d be pleased, Punkin.” He looked so proud, Anna’s heart sank. How could she tell him to take them away? “Yeah,” he was saying, “since Mr. Dare don’t have no goats of his own, I figured the least we could do was loan him some of ours. Ain’t he gonna be wild about having these bucks?”

  Anna rubbed her hands nervously on the sides of her jeans. “He’ll be wild, all right,” she mumbled as she watched Euby, who was also her best client, help Ben and Flint herd the ten goats away from the truck.

  “Well, Punkin,” her uncle said, “where do you want ’em?”

  “Uh...” Anna was at a loss. Goats were hard to contain, since they could climb or jump most fences. She could see Ben watching her, his chubby features tense with concern, as though wondering if he’d be judged guilty by association and fired once Mr. Dare found out about the goats. She wanted to reassure him that she’d take full blame, but she couldn’t do it in front of her well-intentioned uncle. Bud had no way of knowing that her boss had prohibited her from using goats to train horses.

  Stifling a weary sigh, she pointed to the south pasture. “Let’s put them in there for now. With the trees along the back there’ll be plenty of food to keep them happy for a while.”

  “Punkin Pie—” Bud took one of her hands into his warm, callused one “—me and Euby have to be getting back. He bought himself a couple of three-year-olds at a good price. They ain’t been trained worth dirt, but I told him I can turn ’em around. Ol’ Euby’s countin’ on me.”

  Anna gave her uncle another tight hug, her eyes tearing up. “Now don’t you overdo things. You hear me? I’ll be back to help as soon as I can.”

  “Heck, I’m gettin’ along fine. Nobody to nag me ’bout what I can and can’t stuff down my gullet.” He winked. “How ’bout you?” he asked, his bushy gray brows dipping. “Ya look a mite weary.”